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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:19:39 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 05:19:39 -0700 |
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diff --git a/2684-h/2684-h.htm b/2684-h/2684-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a717b80 --- /dev/null +++ b/2684-h/2684-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14013 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Five Tales, by John Galsworthy + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 2em; 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; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Five Tales, by John Galsworthy + +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: Five Tales + +Author: John Galsworthy + +Release Date: June 14, 2006 [EBook #2684] +Last Updated: February 18, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIVE TALES *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + FIVE TALES + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By John Galsworthy + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +<i>“Life calls the tune, we dance.”</i> +</pre> + <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_4_0001"> <b>THE FIRST AND LAST</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> <b>A STOIC</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> <b>THE APPLE TREE</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> <b>THE JURYMAN</b> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> <b>INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE</b> </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <blockquote> + <p> + <i>INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE is also posted as Etext #2594 <br /> [In + the present 1919 edition of “Five Tales” the fifth tale was “Indian + <br /> Summer of a Forsyte;” in later collections, “Indian Summer...” + became <br /> the first section of the second volume of The Forsyte Saga]</i> + <br /> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + THE FIRST AND LAST + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“So the last shall be first, and the first last.”—HOLY WRIT. +</pre> + <p> + It was a dark room at that hour of six in the evening, when just the + single oil reading-lamp under its green shade let fall a dapple of light + over the Turkey carpet; over the covers of books taken out of the + bookshelves, and the open pages of the one selected; over the deep blue + and gold of the coffee service on the little old stool with its Oriental + embroidery. Very dark in the winter, with drawn curtains, many rows of + leather-bound volumes, oak-panelled walls and ceiling. So large, too, that + the lighted spot before the fire where he sat was just an oasis. But that + was what Keith Darrant liked, after his day's work—the hard early + morning study of his “cases,” the fret and strain of the day in court; it + was his rest, these two hours before dinner, with books, coffee, a pipe, + and sometimes a nap. In red Turkish slippers and his old brown velvet + coat, he was well suited to that framing of glow and darkness. A painter + would have seized avidly on his clear-cut, yellowish face, with its black + eyebrows twisting up over eyes—grey or brown, one could hardly tell, + and its dark grizzling hair still plentiful, in spite of those daily hours + of wig. He seldom thought of his work while he sat there, throwing off + with practised ease the strain of that long attention to the multiple + threads of argument and evidence to be disentangled—work profoundly + interesting, as a rule, to his clear intellect, trained to almost + instinctive rejection of all but the essential, to selection of what was + legally vital out of the mass of confused tactical and human detail + presented to his scrutiny; yet sometimes tedious and wearing. As for + instance to-day, when he had suspected his client of perjury, and was + almost convinced that he must throw up his brief. He had disliked the + weak-looking, white-faced fellow from the first, and his nervous, shifty + answers, his prominent startled eyes—a type too common in these days + of canting tolerations and weak humanitarianism; no good, no good! + </p> + <p> + Of the three books he had taken down, a Volume of Voltaire—curious + fascination that Frenchman had, for all his destructive irony!—a + volume of Burton's travels, and Stevenson's “New Arabian Nights,” he had + pitched upon the last. He felt, that evening, the want of something + sedative, a desire to rest from thought of any kind. The court had been + crowded, stuffy; the air, as he walked home, soft, sou'-westerly, charged + with coming moisture, no quality of vigour in it; he felt relaxed, tired, + even nervy, and for once the loneliness of his house seemed strange and + comfortless. + </p> + <p> + Lowering the lamp, he turned his face towards the fire. Perhaps he would + get a sleep before that boring dinner at the Tellasson's. He wished it + were vacation, and Maisie back from school. A widower for many years, he + had lost the habit of a woman about him; yet to-night he had a positive + yearning for the society of his young daughter, with her quick ways, and + bright, dark eyes. Curious what perpetual need of a woman some men had! + His brother Laurence—wasted—all through women—atrophy of + willpower! A man on the edge of things; living from hand to mouth; his + gifts all down at heel! One would have thought the Scottish strain might + have saved him; and yet, when a Scotsman did begin to go downhill, who + could go faster? Curious that their mother's blood should have worked so + differently in her two sons. He himself had always felt he owed all his + success to it. + </p> + <p> + His thoughts went off at a tangent to a certain issue troubling his legal + conscience. He had not wavered in the usual assumption of omniscience, but + he was by no means sure that he had given right advice. Well! Without that + power to decide and hold to decision in spite of misgiving, one would + never have been fit for one's position at the Bar, never have been fit for + anything. The longer he lived, the more certain he became of the prime + necessity of virile and decisive action in all the affairs of life. A word + and a blow—and the blow first! Doubts, hesitations, sentiment the + muling and puking of this twilight age—! And there welled up on his + handsome face a smile that was almost devilish—the tricks of + firelight are so many! It faded again in sheer drowsiness; he slept.... + </p> + <p> + He woke with a start, having a feeling of something out beyond the light, + and without turning his head said: “What's that?” There came a sound as if + somebody had caught his breath. He turned up the lamp. + </p> + <p> + “Who's there?” + </p> + <p> + A voice over by the door answered: + </p> + <p> + “Only I—Larry.” + </p> + <p> + Something in the tone, or perhaps just being startled out of sleep like + this, made him shiver. He said: + </p> + <p> + “I was asleep. Come in!” + </p> + <p> + It was noticeable that he did not get up, or even turn his head, now that + he knew who it was, but waited, his half-closed eyes fixed on the fire, + for his brother to come forward. A visit from Laurence was not an unmixed + blessing. He could hear him breathing, and became conscious of a scent of + whisky. Why could not the fellow at least abstain when he was coming here! + It was so childish, so lacking in any sense of proportion or of decency! + And he said sharply: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Larry, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + It was always something. He often wondered at the strength of that sense + of trusteeship, which kept him still tolerant of the troubles, amenable to + the petitions of this brother of his; or was it just “blood” feeling, a + Highland sense of loyalty to kith and kin; an old-time quality which + judgment and half his instincts told him was weakness but which, in spite + of all, bound him to the distressful fellow? Was he drunk now, that he + kept lurking out there by the door? And he said less sharply: + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you come and sit down?” + </p> + <p> + He was coming now, avoiding the light, skirting along the walls just + beyond the radiance of the lamp, his feet and legs to the waist brightly + lighted, but his face disintegrated in shadow, like the face of a dark + ghost. + </p> + <p> + “Are you ill, man?” + </p> + <p> + Still no answer, save a shake of that head, and the passing up of a hand, + out of the light, to the ghostly forehead under the dishevelled hair. The + scent of whisky was stronger now; and Keith thought: + </p> + <p> + 'He really is drunk. Nice thing for the new butler to see! If he can't + behave—' + </p> + <p> + The figure against the wall heaved a sigh—so truly from an + overburdened heart that Keith was conscious with a certain dismay of not + having yet fathomed the cause of this uncanny silence. He got up, and, + back to the fire, said with a brutality born of nerves rather than design: + </p> + <p> + “What is it, man? Have you committed a murder, that you stand there dumb + as a fish?” + </p> + <p> + For a second no answer at all, not even of breathing; then, just the + whisper: + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The sense of unreality which so helps one at moments of disaster enabled + Keith to say vigorously: + </p> + <p> + “By Jove! You have been drinking!” + </p> + <p> + But it passed at once into deadly apprehension. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean? Come here, where I can see you. What's the matter with + you, Larry?” + </p> + <p> + With a sudden lurch and dive, his brother left the shelter of the shadow, + and sank into a chair in the circle of light. And another long, broken + sigh escaped him. + </p> + <p> + “There's nothing the matter with me, Keith! It's true!” + </p> + <p> + Keith stepped quickly forward, and stared down into his brother's face; + and instantly he saw that it was true. No one could have simulated the + look in those eyes—of horrified wonder, as if they would never again + get on terms with the face to which they belonged. To see them squeezed + the heart-only real misery could look like that. Then that sudden pity + became angry bewilderment. + </p> + <p> + “What in God's name is this nonsense?” + </p> + <p> + But it was significant that he lowered his voice; went over to the door, + too, to see if it were shut. Laurence had drawn his chair forward, + huddling over the fire—a thin figure, a worn, high-cheekboned face + with deep-sunk blue eyes, and wavy hair all ruffled, a face that still had + a certain beauty. Putting a hand on that lean shoulder, Keith said: + </p> + <p> + “Come, Larry! Pull yourself together, and drop exaggeration.” + </p> + <p> + “It's true; I tell you; I've killed a man.” + </p> + <p> + The noisy violence of that outburst acted like a douche. What was the + fellow about—shouting out such words! But suddenly Laurence lifted + his hands and wrung them. The gesture was so utterly painful that it drew + a quiver from Keith's face. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you come here,” he said, “and tell me this?” + </p> + <p> + Larry's face was really unearthly sometimes, such strange gleams passed up + on to it! + </p> + <p> + “Whom else should I tell? I came to know what I'm to do, Keith? Give + myself up, or what?” + </p> + <p> + At that sudden introduction of the practical Keith felt his heart twitch. + Was it then as real as all that? But he said, very quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Just tell me—How did it come about, this—affair?” + </p> + <p> + That question linked the dark, gruesome, fantastic nightmare on to + actuality. + </p> + <p> + “When did it happen?” + </p> + <p> + “Last night.” + </p> + <p> + In Larry's face there was—there had always been—something + childishly truthful. He would never stand a chance in court! And Keith + said: + </p> + <p> + “How? Where? You'd better tell me quietly from the beginning. Drink this + coffee; it'll clear your head.” + </p> + <p> + Laurence took the little blue cup and drained it. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said. “It's like this, Keith. There's a girl I've known for some + months now—” + </p> + <p> + Women! And Keith said between his teeth: “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Her father was a Pole who died over here when she was sixteen, and left + her all alone. A man called Walenn, a mongrel American, living in the same + house, married her, or pretended to—she's very pretty, Keith—he + left her with a baby six months old, and another coming. That one died, + and she did nearly. Then she starved till another fellow took her on. She + lived with him two years; then Walenn turned up again, and made her go + back to him. The brute used to beat her black and blue, all for nothing. + Then he left her again. When I met her she'd lost her elder child, too, + and was taking anybody who came along.” + </p> + <p> + He suddenly looked up into Keith's face. + </p> + <p> + “But I've never met a sweeter woman, nor a truer, that I swear. Woman! + She's only twenty now! When I went to her last night, that brute—that + Walenn—had found her out again; and when he came for me, swaggering + and bullying—Look!”—he touched a dark mark on his forehead—“I + took his throat in my hands, and when I let go—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Dead. I never knew till afterwards that she was hanging on to him + behind.” + </p> + <p> + Again he made that gesture-wringing his hands. + </p> + <p> + In a hard voice Keith said: + </p> + <p> + “What did you do then?” + </p> + <p> + “We sat by it a long time. Then I carried it on my back down the street, + round a corner to an archway.” + </p> + <p> + “How far?” + </p> + <p> + “About fifty yards.” + </p> + <p> + “Was anyone—did anyone see?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “What time?” + </p> + <p> + “Three.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “Went back to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Why—in Heaven's name?” + </p> + <p> + “She was lonely and afraid; so was I, Keith.” + </p> + <p> + “Where is this place?” + </p> + <p> + “Forty-two, Borrow Street, Soho.” + </p> + <p> + “And the archway?” + </p> + <p> + “Corner of Glove Lane.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God! Why—I saw it in the paper!” + </p> + <p> + And seizing the journal that lay on his bureau, Keith read again that + paragraph: “The body of a man was found this morning under an archway in + Glove Lane, Soho. From marks about the throat grave suspicions of foul + play are entertained. The body had apparently been robbed, and nothing was + discovered leading to identification.” + </p> + <p> + It was real earnest, then. Murder! His own brother! He faced round and + said: + </p> + <p> + “You saw this in the paper, and dreamed it. Understand—you dreamed + it!” + </p> + <p> + The wistful answer came: + </p> + <p> + “If only I had, Keith—if only I had!” + </p> + <p> + In his turn, Keith very nearly wrung his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Did you take anything from the—body?” + </p> + <p> + “This dropped while we were struggling.” + </p> + <p> + It was an empty envelope with a South American post-mark addressed: + “Patrick Walenn, Simon's Hotel, Farrier Street, London.” Again with that + twitching in his heart, Keith said: + </p> + <p> + “Put it in the fire.” + </p> + <p> + Then suddenly he stooped to pluck it out. By that command—he had—identified + himself with this—this—But he did not pluck it out. It + blackened, writhed, and vanished. And once more he said: + </p> + <p> + “What in God's name made you come here and tell me?” + </p> + <p> + “You know about these things. I didn't mean to kill him. I love the girl. + What shall I do, Keith? + </p> + <p> + “Simple! How simple! To ask what he was to do! It was like Larry! And he + said: + </p> + <p> + “You were not seen, you think?” “It's a dark street. There was no one + about.” + </p> + <p> + “When did you leave this girl the second time?” + </p> + <p> + “About seven o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you go?” + </p> + <p> + “To my rooms.” + </p> + <p> + “In Fitzroy Street?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did anyone see you come in?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “What have you done since?” + </p> + <p> + “Sat there.” + </p> + <p> + “Not been out?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Not seen the girl?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't know, then, what she's done since?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Would she give you away?” + </p> + <p> + “Never.” + </p> + <p> + “Would she give herself away—hysteria?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Who knows of your relations with her?” + </p> + <p> + “No one.” + </p> + <p> + “No one?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know who should, Keith.” + </p> + <p> + “Did anyone see you going in last night, when you first went to her?” + </p> + <p> + “No. She lives on the ground floor. I've got keys.” + </p> + <p> + “Give them to me. What else have you that connects you with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “In your rooms?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “No photographs. No letters?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Be careful.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “No one saw you going back to her the second time?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “No one saw you leave her in the morning?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “You were fortunate. Sit down again, man. I must think.” + </p> + <p> + Think! Think out this accursed thing—so beyond all thought, and all + belief. But he could not think. Not a coherent thought would come. And he + began again: + </p> + <p> + “Was it his first reappearance with her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “She told you so?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “How did he find out where she was?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “How drunk were you?” + </p> + <p> + “I was not drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “How much had you drunk?” + </p> + <p> + “About two bottles of claret—nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “You say you didn't mean to kill him?” + </p> + <p> + “No-God knows!” + </p> + <p> + “That's something.” + </p> + <p> + “What made you choose the arch?” + </p> + <p> + “It was the first dark place.” + </p> + <p> + “Did his face look as if he had been strangled?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't!” + </p> + <p> + “Did it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Very disfigured?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you look to see if his clothes were marked?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not? My God! If you had done it!” + </p> + <p> + “You say he was disfigured. Would he be recognisable?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “When she lived with him last—where was that?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know for certain. Pimlico, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Not Soho?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “How long has she been at the Soho place?” + </p> + <p> + “Nearly a year.” + </p> + <p> + “Always the same rooms?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Is there anyone living in that house or street who would be likely to + know her as his wife?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think so.” + </p> + <p> + “What was he?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think he was a professional 'bully.'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + “I see. Spending most of his time abroad, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know if he was known to the police?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven't heard of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, listen, Larry. When you leave here go straight home, and don't go + out till I come to you, to-morrow morning. Promise that!” + </p> + <p> + “I promise.” + </p> + <p> + “I've got a dinner engagement. I'll think this out. Don't drink. Don't + talk! Pull yourself together.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't keep me longer than you can help, Keith!” + </p> + <p> + That white face, those eyes, that shaking hand! With a twinge of pity in + the midst of all the turbulence of his revolt, and fear, and disgust Keith + put his hand on his brother's shoulder, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Courage!” + </p> + <p> + And suddenly he thought: 'My God! Courage! I shall want it all myself!' + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + Laurence Darrant, leaving his brother's house in the Adelphi, walked + northwards, rapidly, slowly, rapidly again. For, if there are men who by + force of will do one thing only at a time, there are men who from lack of + will do now one thing, now another; with equal intensity. To such natures, + to be gripped by the Nemesis which attends the lack of self-control is no + reason for being more self-controlled. Rather does it foster their pet + feeling: “What matter? To-morrow we die!” The effort of will required to + go to Keith had relieved, exhausted and exasperated him. In accordance + with those three feelings was the progress of his walk. He started from + the door with the fixed resolve to go home and stay there quietly till + Keith came. He was in Keith's hands, Keith would know what was to be done. + But he had not gone three hundred yards before he felt so utterly weary, + body and soul, that if he had but had a pistol in his pocket he would have + shot himself in the street. Not even the thought of the girl—this + young unfortunate with her strange devotion, who had kept him straight + these last five months, who had roused in him a depth of feeling he had + never known before—would have availed against that sudden black + defection. Why go on—a waif at the mercy of his own nature, a straw + blown here and there by every gust which rose in him? Why not have done + with it for ever, and take it out in sleep? + </p> + <p> + He was approaching the fatal street, where he and the girl, that early + morning, had spent the hours clutched together, trying in the refuge of + love to forget for a moment their horror and fear. Should he go in? He had + promised Keith not to. Why had he promised? He caught sight of himself in + a chemist's lighted window. Miserable, shadowy brute! And he remembered + suddenly a dog he had picked up once in the streets of Pera, a + black-and-white creature—different from the other dogs, not one of + their breed, a pariah of pariahs, who had strayed there somehow. He had + taken it home to the house where he was staying, contrary to all custom of + the country; had got fond of it; had shot it himself, sooner than leave it + behind again to the mercies of its own kind in the streets. Twelve years + ago! And those sleevelinks made of little Turkish coins he had brought + back for the girl at the hairdresser's in Chancery Lane where he used to + get shaved—pretty creature, like a wild rose. He had asked of her a + kiss for payment. What queer emotion when she put her face forward to his + lips—a sort of passionate tenderness and shame, at the softness and + warmth of that flushed cheek, at her beauty and trustful gratitude. She + would soon have given herself to him—that one! He had never gone + there again! And to this day he did not know why he had abstained; to this + day he did not know whether he were glad or sorry not to have plucked that + rose. He must surely have been very different then! Queer business, life—queer, + queer business!—to go through it never knowing what you would do + next. Ah! to be like Keith, steady, buttoned-up in success; a brass pot, a + pillar of society! Once, as a boy, he had been within an ace of killing + Keith, for sneering at him. Once in Southern Italy he had been near + killing a driver who was flogging his horse. And now, that dark-faced, + swinish bully who had ruined the girl he had grown to love—he had + done it! Killed him! Killed a man! + </p> + <p> + He who did not want to hurt a fly. The chemist's window comforted him with + the sudden thought that he had at home that which made him safe, in case + they should arrest him. He would never again go out without some of those + little white tablets sewn into the lining of his coat. Restful, even + exhilarating thought! They said a man should not take his own life. Let + them taste horror—those glib citizens! Let them live as that girl + had lived, as millions lived all the world over, under their canting + dogmas! A man might rather even take his life than watch their cursed + inhumanities. + </p> + <p> + He went into the chemist's for a bromide; and, while the man was mixing + it, stood resting one foot like a tired horse. The “life” he had squeezed + out of that fellow! After all, a billion living creatures gave up life + each day, had it squeezed out of them, mostly. And perhaps not one a day + deserved death so much as that loathly fellow. Life! a breath—aflame! + Nothing! Why, then, this icy clutching at his heart? + </p> + <p> + The chemist brought the draught. + </p> + <p> + “Not sleeping, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + The man's eyes seemed to say: 'Yes! Burning the candle at both ends—I + know!' Odd life, a chemist's; pills and powders all day long, to hold the + machinery of men together! Devilish odd trade! + </p> + <p> + In going out he caught the reflection of his face in a mirror; it seemed + too good altogether for a man who had committed murder. There was a sort + of brightness underneath, an amiability lurking about its shadows; how—how + could it be the face of a man who had done what he had done? His head felt + lighter now, his feet lighter; he walked rapidly again. + </p> + <p> + Curious feeling of relief and oppression all at once! Frightful—to + long for company, for talk, for distraction; and—to be afraid of it! + The girl—the girl and Keith were now the only persons who would not + give him that feeling of dread. And, of those two—Keith was not...! + Who could consort with one who was never wrong, a successful, righteous + fellow; a chap built so that he knew nothing about himself, wanted to know + nothing, a chap all solid actions? To be a quicksand swallowing up one's + own resolutions was bad enough! But to be like Keith—all willpower, + marching along, treading down his own feelings and weaknesses! No! One + could not make a comrade of a man like Keith, even if he were one's + brother? The only creature in all the world was the girl. She alone knew + and felt what he was feeling; would put up with him and love him whatever + he did, or was done to him. He stopped and took shelter in a doorway, to + light a cigarette. He had suddenly a fearful wish to pass the archway + where he had placed the body; a fearful wish that had no sense, no end in + view, no anything; just an insensate craving to see the dark place again. + He crossed Borrow Street to the little lane. There was only one person + visible, a man on the far side with his shoulders hunched against the + wind; a short, dark figure which crossed and came towards him in the + flickering lamplight. What a face! Yellow, ravaged, clothed almost to the + eyes in a stubbly greyish growth of beard, with blackish teeth, and + haunting bloodshot eyes. And what a figure of rags—one shoulder + higher than the other, one leg a little lame, and thin! A surge of feeling + came up in Laurence for this creature, more unfortunate than himself. + There were lower depths than his! + </p> + <p> + “Well, brother,” he said, “you don't look too prosperous!” + </p> + <p> + The smile which gleamed out on the man's face seemed as unlikely as a + smile on a scarecrow. + </p> + <p> + “Prosperity doesn't come my way,” he said in a rusty voice. “I'm a failure—always + been a failure. And yet you wouldn't think it, would you?—I was a + minister of religion once.” + </p> + <p> + Laurence held out a shilling. But the man shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Keep your money,” he said. “I've got more than you to-day, I daresay. But + thank you for taking a little interest. That's worth more than money to a + man that's down.” + </p> + <p> + “You're right.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” the rusty voice went on; “I'd as soon die as go on living as I do. + And now I've lost my self-respect. Often wondered how long a starving man + could go without losing his self-respect. Not so very long. You take my + word for that.” And without the slightest change in the monotony of that + creaking voice he added: + </p> + <p> + “Did you read of the murder? Just here. I've been looking at the place.” + </p> + <p> + The words: 'So have I!' leaped up to Laurence's lips; he choked them down + with a sort of terror. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you better luck,” he said. “Goodnight!” and hurried away. A sort + of ghastly laughter was forcing its way up in his throat. Was everyone + talking of the murder he had committed? Even the very scarecrows? + </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> + III + </h2> + <p> + There are some natures so constituted that, due to be hung at ten o'clock, + they will play chess at eight. Such men invariably rise. They make + especially good bishops, editors, judges, impresarios, Prime ministers, + money-lenders, and generals; in fact, fill with exceptional credit any + position of power over their fellow-men. They have spiritual cold storage, + in which are preserved their nervous systems. In such men there is little + or none of that fluid sense and continuity of feeling known under those + vague terms, speculation, poetry, philosophy. Men of facts and of decision + switching imagination on and off at will, subordinating sentiment to + reason... one does not think of them when watching wind ripple over + cornfields, or swallows flying. + </p> + <p> + Keith Darrant had need for being of that breed during his dinner at the + Tellassons. It was just eleven when he issued from the big house in + Portland Place and refrained from taking a cab. He wanted to walk that he + might better think. What crude and wanton irony there was in his + situation! To have been made father-confessor to a murderer, he—well + on towards a judgeship! With his contempt for the kind of weakness which + landed men in such abysses, he felt it all so sordid, so “impossible,” + that he could hardly bring his mind to bear on it at all. And yet he must, + because of two powerful instincts—self-preservation and + blood-loyalty. + </p> + <p> + The wind had still the sapping softness of the afternoon, but rain had + held off so far. It was warm, and he unbuttoned his fur overcoat. The + nature of his thoughts deepened the dark austerity of his face, whose + thin, well-cut lips were always pressing together, as if, by meeting, to + dispose of each thought as it came up. He moved along the crowded + pavements glumly. That air of festive conspiracy which drops with the + darkness on to lighted streets, galled him. He turned off on a darker + route. + </p> + <p> + This ghastly business! Convinced of its reality, he yet could not see it. + The thing existed in his mind, not as a picture, but as a piece of + irrefutable evidence. Larry had not meant to do it, of course. But it was + murder, all the same. Men like Larry—weak, impulsive, sentimental, + introspective creatures—did they ever mean what they did? This man, + this Walenn, was, by all accounts, better dead than alive; no need to + waste a thought on him! But, crime—the ugliness—Justice + unsatisfied! Crime concealed—and his own share in the concealment! + And yet—brother to brother! Surely no one could demand action from + him! It was only a question of what he was going to advise Larry to do. To + keep silent, and disappear? Had that a chance of success? Perhaps if the + answers to his questions had been correct. But this girl! Suppose the dead + man's relationship to her were ferreted out, could she be relied on not to + endanger Larry? These women were all the same, unstable as water, + emotional, shiftless pests of society. Then, too, a crime untracked, + dogging all his brother's after life; a secret following him wherever he + might vanish to; hanging over him, watching for some drunken moment, to + slip out of his lips. It was bad to think of. A clean breast of it? But + his heart twitched within him. “Brother of Mr. Keith Darrant, the + well-known King's Counsel”—visiting a woman of the town, strangling + with his bare hands the woman's husband! No intention to murder, but—a + dead man! A dead man carried out of the house, laid under a dark archway! + Provocation! Recommended to mercy—penal servitude for life! Was that + the advice he was going to give Larry to-morrow morning? + </p> + <p> + And he had a sudden vision of shaven men with clay-coloured features, run, + as it were, to seed, as he had seen them once in Pentonville, when he had + gone there to visit a prisoner. Larry! Whom, as a baby creature, he had + watched straddling; whom, as a little fellow, he had fagged; whom he had + seen through scrapes at college; to whom he had lent money time and again, + and time and again admonished in his courses. Larry! Five years younger + than himself; and committed to his charge by their mother when she died. + To become for life one of those men with faces like diseased plants; with + no hair but a bushy stubble; with arrows marked on their yellow clothes! + Larry! One of those men herded like sheep; at the beck and call of common + men! A gentleman, his own brother, to live that slave's life, to be + ordered here and there, year after year, day in, day out. Something + snapped within him. He could not give that advice. Impossible! But if not, + he must make sure of his ground, must verify, must know. This Glove Lane—this + arch way? It would not be far from where he was that very moment. He + looked for someone of whom to make enquiry. A policeman was standing at + the corner, his stolid face illumined by a lamp; capable and watchful—an + excellent officer, no doubt; but, turning his head away, Keith passed him + without a word. Strange to feel that cold, uneasy feeling in presence of + the law! A grim little driving home of what it all meant! Then, suddenly, + he saw that the turning to his left was Borrow Street itself. He walked up + one side, crossed over, and returned. He passed Number Forty-two, a small + house with business names printed on the lifeless windows of the first and + second floors; with dark curtained windows on the ground floor, or was + there just a slink of light in one corner? Which way had Larry turned? + Which way under that grisly burden? Fifty paces of this squalid + street-narrow, and dark, and empty, thank heaven! Glove Lane! Here it was! + A tiny runlet of a street. And here—! He had run right on to the + arch, a brick bridge connecting two portions of a warehouse, and dark + indeed. + </p> + <p> + “That's right, gov'nor! That's the place!” He needed all his self-control + to turn leisurely to the speaker. “'Ere's where they found the body—very + spot leanin' up 'ere. They ain't got 'im yet. Lytest—me lord!” + </p> + <p> + It was a ragged boy holding out a tattered yellowish journal. His lynx + eyes peered up from under lanky wisps of hair, and his voice had the + proprietary note of one making “a corner” in his news. Keith took the + paper and gave him twopence. He even found a sort of comfort in the young + ghoul's hanging about there; it meant that others besides himself had come + morbidly to look. By the dim lamplight he read: “Glove Lane garrotting + mystery. Nothing has yet been discovered of the murdered man's identity; + from the cut of his clothes he is supposed to be a foreigner.” The boy had + vanished, and Keith saw the figure of a policeman coming slowly down this + gutter of a street. A second's hesitation, and he stood firm. Nothing + obviously could have brought him here save this “mystery,” and he stayed + quietly staring at the arch. The policeman moved up abreast. Keith saw + that he was the one whom he had passed just now. He noted the cold + offensive question die out of the man's eyes when they caught the gleam of + white shirt-front under the opened fur collar. And holding up the paper, + he said: + </p> + <p> + “Is this where the man was found?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Still a mystery, I see?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we can't always go by the papers. But I don't fancy they do know + much about it, yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Dark spot. Do fellows sleep under here?” + </p> + <p> + The policeman nodded. “There's not an arch in London where we don't get + 'em sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing found on him—I think I read?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a copper. Pockets inside out. There's some funny characters about + this quarter. Greeks, Hitalians—all sorts.” + </p> + <p> + Queer sensation this, of being glad of a policeman's confidential tone! + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-night!” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, sir. Good-night!” + </p> + <p> + He looked back from Borrow Street. The policeman was still standing there + holding up his lantern, so that its light fell into the archway, as if + trying to read its secret. + </p> + <p> + Now that he had seen this dark, deserted spot, the chances seemed to him + much better. “Pockets inside out!” Either Larry had had presence of mind + to do a very clever thing, or someone had been at the body before the + police found it. That was the more likely. A dead backwater of a place. At + three o'clock—loneliest of all hours—Larry's five minutes' + grim excursion to and fro might well have passed unseen! Now, it all + depended on the girl; on whether Laurence had been seen coming to her or + going away; on whether, if the man's relationship to her were discovered, + she could be relied on to say nothing. There was not a soul in Borrow + Street now; hardly even a lighted window; and he took one of those rather + desperate decisions only possible to men daily accustomed to the instant + taking of responsibility. He would go to her, and see for himself. He came + to the door of Forty-two, obviously one of those which are only shut at + night, and tried the larger key. It fitted, and he was in a gas-lighted + passage, with an oil-clothed floor, and a single door to his left. He + stood there undecided. She must be made to understand that he knew + everything. She must not be told more than that he was a friend of + Larry's. She must not be frightened, yet must be forced to give her very + soul away. A hostile witness—not to be treated as hostile—a + matter for delicate handling! But his knock was not answered. + </p> + <p> + Should he give up this nerve-racking, bizarre effort to come at a basis of + judgment; go away, and just tell Laurence that he could not advise him? + And then—what? Something must be done. He knocked again. Still no + answer. And with that impatience of being thwarted, natural to him, and + fostered to the full by the conditions of his life, he tried the other + key. It worked, and he opened the door. Inside all was dark, but a voice + from some way off, with a sort of breathless relief in its foreign tones, + said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! then it's you, Larry! Why did you knock? I was so frightened. Turn up + the light, dear. Come in!” + </p> + <p> + Feeling by the door for a switch in the pitch blackness he was conscious + of arms round his neck, a warm thinly clad body pressed to his own; then + withdrawn as quickly, with a gasp, and the most awful terror-stricken + whisper: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Who is it?” + </p> + <p> + With a glacial shiver down his own spine, Keith answered + </p> + <p> + “A friend of Laurence. Don't be frightened!” + </p> + <p> + There was such silence that he could hear a clock ticking, and the sound + of his own hand passing over the surface of the wall, trying to find the + switch. He found it, and in the light which leaped up he saw, stiffened + against a dark curtain evidently screening off a bedroom, a girl standing, + holding a long black coat together at her throat, so that her face with + its pale brown hair, short and square-cut and curling up underneath, had + an uncanny look of being detached from any body. Her face was so alabaster + pale that the staring, startled eyes, dark blue or brown, and the faint + rose of the parted lips, were like colour stainings on a white mask; and + it had a strange delicacy, truth, and pathos, such as only suffering + brings. Though not susceptible to aesthetic emotion, Keith was curiously + affected. He said gently: + </p> + <p> + “You needn't be afraid. I haven't come to do you harm—quite the + contrary. May I sit down and talk?” And, holding up the keys, he added: + “Laurence wouldn't have given me these, would he, if he hadn't trusted + me?” + </p> + <p> + Still she did not move, and he had the impression that he was looking at a + spirit—a spirit startled out of its flesh. Nor at the moment did it + seem in the least strange that he should conceive such an odd thought. He + stared round the room—clean and tawdry, with its tarnished gilt + mirror, marble-topped side-table, and plush-covered sofa. Twenty years and + more since he had been in such a place. And he said: + </p> + <p> + “Won't you sit down? I'm sorry to have startled you.” + </p> + <p> + But still she did not move, whispering: + </p> + <p> + “Who are you, please?” + </p> + <p> + And, moved suddenly beyond the realm of caution by the terror in that + whisper, he answered: + </p> + <p> + “Larry's brother.” + </p> + <p> + She uttered a little sigh of relief which went to Keith's heart, and, + still holding the dark coat together at her throat, came forward and sat + down on the sofa. He could see that her feet, thrust into slippers, were + bare; with her short hair, and those candid startled eyes, she looked like + a tall child. He drew up a chair and said: + </p> + <p> + “You must forgive me coming at such an hour; he's told me, you see.” He + expected her to flinch and gasp; but she only clasped her hands together + on her knees, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + Then horror and discomfort rose up in him, afresh. + </p> + <p> + “An awful business!” + </p> + <p> + Her whisper echoed him: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, oh! yes! Awful—it is awful!” + </p> + <p> + And suddenly realising that the man must have fallen dead just where he + was sitting, Keith became stock silent, staring at the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she whispered; “Just there. I see him now always falling!” + </p> + <p> + How she said that! With what a strange gentle despair! In this girl of + evil life, who had brought on them this tragedy, what was it which moved + him to a sort of unwilling compassion? + </p> + <p> + “You look very young,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I am twenty.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are fond of—my brother?” + </p> + <p> + “I would die for him.” + </p> + <p> + Impossible to mistake the tone of her voice, or the look in her eyes, true + deep Slav eyes; dark brown, not blue as he had thought at first. It was a + very pretty face—either her life had not eaten into it yet, or the + suffering of these last hours had purged away those marks; or perhaps this + devotion of hers to Larry. He felt strangely at sea, sitting there with + this child of twenty; he, over forty, a man of the world, professionally + used to every side of human nature. But he said, stammering a little: + </p> + <p> + “I—I have come to see how far you can save him. Listen, and just + answer the questions I put to you.” + </p> + <p> + She raised her hands, squeezed them together, and murmured: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I will answer anything.” + </p> + <p> + “This man, then—your—your husband—was he a bad man?” + </p> + <p> + “A dreadful man.” + </p> + <p> + “Before he came here last night, how long since you saw him?” + </p> + <p> + “Eighteen months.” + </p> + <p> + “Where did you live when you saw him last?” + </p> + <p> + “In Pimlico.” + </p> + <p> + “Does anybody about here know you as Mrs. Walenn?” + </p> + <p> + “No. When I came here, after my little girl died, I came to live a bad + life. Nobody knows me at all. I am quite alone.” + </p> + <p> + “If they discover who he was, they will look for his wife?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. He did not let people think I was married to him. I was + very young; he treated many, I think, like me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he was known to the police?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. “He was very clever.” + </p> + <p> + “What is your name now?” + </p> + <p> + “Wanda Livinska.” + </p> + <p> + “Were you known by that name before you were married?” + </p> + <p> + “Wanda is my Christian name. Livinska—I just call myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I see; since you came here.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Did my brother ever see this man before last night?” + </p> + <p> + “Never.” + </p> + <p> + “You had told him about his treatment of you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And that man first went for him.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw the mark. Do you think anyone saw my brother come to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. He says not.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell if anyone saw him carrying the—the thing away?” + </p> + <p> + “No one in this street—I was looking.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor coming back?” + </p> + <p> + “No one.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor going out in the morning?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not think it.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you a servant?” + </p> + <p> + “Only a woman who comes at nine in the morning for an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she know Larry?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Friends, acquaintances?” + </p> + <p> + “No; I am very quiet. And since I knew your brother, I see no one. Nobody + comes here but him for a long time now.” + </p> + <p> + “How long?” + </p> + <p> + “Five months.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you been out to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “What have you been doing?” + </p> + <p> + “Crying.” + </p> + <p> + It was said with a certain dreadful simplicity, and pressing her hands + together, she went on: + </p> + <p> + “He is in danger, because of me. I am so afraid for him.” Holding up his + hand to check that emotion, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Look at me!” + </p> + <p> + She fixed those dark eyes on him, and in her bare throat, from which the + coat had fallen back, he could see her resolutely swallowing down her + agitation. + </p> + <p> + “If the worst comes to the worst, and this man is traced to you, can you + trust yourself not to give my brother away?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes shone. She got up and went to the fireplace: + </p> + <p> + “Look! I have burned all the things he has given me—even his + picture. Now I have nothing from him.” + </p> + <p> + Keith, too, got up. + </p> + <p> + “Good! One more question: Do the police know you, because—because of + your life?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head, looking at him intently, with those mournfully true + eyes. And he felt a sort of shame. + </p> + <p> + “I was obliged to ask. Do you know where he lives?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You must not go there. And he must not come to you, here.” + </p> + <p> + Her lips quivered; but she bowed her head. Suddenly he found her quite + close to him, speaking almost in a whisper: + </p> + <p> + “Please do not take him from me altogether. I will be so careful. I will + not do anything to hurt him; but if I cannot see him sometimes, I shall + die. Please do not take him from me.” And catching his hand between her + own, she pressed it desperately. It was several seconds before Keith said: + </p> + <p> + “Leave that to me. I will see him. I shall arrange. You must leave that to + me.” + </p> + <p> + “But you will be kind?” + </p> + <p> + He felt her lips kissing his hand. And the soft moist touch sent a queer + feeling through him, protective, yet just a little brutal, having in it a + shiver of sensuality. He withdrew his hand. And as if warned that she had + been too pressing, she recoiled humbly. But suddenly she turned, and stood + absolutely rigid; then almost inaudibly whispered: “Listen! Someone out—out + there!” And darting past him she turned out the light. + </p> + <p> + Almost at once came a knock on the door. He could feel—actually feel + the terror of this girl beside him in the dark. And he, too, felt terror. + Who could it be? No one came but Larry, she had said. Who else then could + it be? Again came the knock, louder! He felt the breath of her whisper on + his cheek: “If it is Larry! I must open.” He shrank back against the wall; + heard her open the door and say faintly: “Yes. Please! Who?” + </p> + <p> + Light painted a thin moving line on the wall opposite, and a voice which + Keith recognised answered: + </p> + <p> + “All right, miss. Your outer door's open here. You ought to keep it shut + after dark.” + </p> + <p> + God! That policeman! And it had been his own doing, not shutting the outer + door behind him when he came in. He heard her say timidly in her foreign + voice: “Thank you, sir!” the policeman's retreating steps, the outer door + being shut, and felt her close to him again. That something in her youth + and strange prettiness which had touched and kept him gentle, no longer + blunted the edge of his exasperation, now that he could not see her. They + were all the same, these women; could not speak the truth! And he said + brusquely: + </p> + <p> + “You told me they didn't know you!” + </p> + <p> + Her voice answered like a sigh: + </p> + <p> + “I did not think they did, sir. It is so long I was not out in the town, + not since I had Larry.” + </p> + <p> + The repulsion which all the time seethed deep in Keith welled up at those + words. His brother—son of his mother, a gentleman—the property + of this girl, bound to her, body and soul, by this unspeakable event! But + she had turned up the light. Had she some intuition that darkness was + against her? Yes, she was pretty with that soft face, colourless save for + its lips and dark eyes, with that face somehow so touchingly, so + unaccountably good, and like a child's. + </p> + <p> + “I am going now,” he said. “Remember! He mustn't come here; you mustn't go + to him. I shall see him to-morrow. If you are as fond of him as you say—take + care, take care!” + </p> + <p> + She sighed out, “Yes! oh, yes!” and Keith went to the door. She was + standing with her back to the wall, and to follow him she only moved her + head—that dove-like face with all its life in eyes which seemed + saying: 'Look into us; nothing we hide; all—all is there!' + </p> + <p> + And he went out. + </p> + <p> + In the passage he paused before opening the outer door. He did not want to + meet that policeman again; the fellow's round should have taken him well + out of the street by now, and turning the handle cautiously, he looked + out. No one in sight. He stood a moment, wondering if he should turn to + right or left, then briskly crossed the street. A voice to his right hand + said: + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, sir.” + </p> + <p> + There in the shadow of a doorway the policeman was standing. The fellow + must have seen him coming out! Utterly unable to restrain a start, and + muttering “Goodnight!” Keith walked on rapidly: + </p> + <p> + He went full quarter of a mile before he lost that startled and uneasy + feeling in sardonic exasperation that he, Keith Darrant, had been taken + for a frequenter of a lady of the town. The whole thing—the whole + thing!—a vile and disgusting business! His very mind felt dirty and + breathless; his spirit, drawn out of sheath, had slowly to slide back + before he could at all focus and readjust his reasoning faculty. + Certainly, he had got the knowledge he wanted. There was less danger than + he thought. That girl's eyes! No mistaking her devotion. She would not + give Larry away. Yes! Larry must clear out—South America—the + East—it did not matter. But he felt no relief. The cheap, tawdry + room had wrapped itself round his fancy with its atmosphere of murky love, + with the feeling it inspired, of emotion caged within those yellowish + walls and the red stuff of its furniture. That girl's face! Devotion; + truth, too, and beauty, rare and moving, in its setting of darkness and + horror, in that nest of vice and of disorder!... The dark archway; the + street arab, with his gleeful: “They 'ain't got 'im yet!”; the feel of + those bare arms round his neck; that whisper of horror in the darkness; + above all, again, her child face looking into his, so truthful! And + suddenly he stood quite still in the street. What in God's name was he + about? What grotesque juggling amongst shadows, what strange and ghastly + eccentricity was all this? The forces of order and routine, all the + actualities of his daily life, marched on him at that moment, and swept + everything before them. It was a dream, a nightmare not real! It was + ridiculous! That he—he should thus be bound up with things so black + and bizarre! + </p> + <p> + He had come by now to the Strand, that street down which every day he + moved to the Law Courts, to his daily work; his work so dignified and + regular, so irreproachable, and solid. No! The thing was all a monstrous + nightmare! It would go, if he fixed his mind on the familiar objects + around, read the names on the shops, looked at the faces passing. Far down + the thoroughfare he caught the outline of the old church, and beyond, the + loom of the Law Courts themselves. The bell of a fire-engine sounded, and + the horses came galloping by, with the shining metal, rattle of hoofs and + hoarse shouting. Here was a sensation, real and harmless, dignified and + customary! A woman flaunting round the corner looked up at him, and leered + out: “Good-night!” Even that was customary, tolerable. Two policemen + passed, supporting between them a man the worse for liquor, full of fight + and expletives; the sight was soothing, an ordinary thing which brought + passing annoyance, interest, disgust. It had begun to rain; he felt it on + his face with pleasure—an actual thing, not eccentric, a thing which + happened every day! + </p> + <p> + He began to cross the street. Cabs were going at furious speed now that + the last omnibus had ceased to run; it distracted him to take this actual, + ordinary risk run so often every day. During that crossing of the Strand, + with the rain in his face and the cabs shooting past, he regained for the + first time his assurance, shook off this unreal sense of being in the grip + of something, and walked resolutely to the corner of his home turning. But + passing into that darker stretch, he again stood still. A policeman had + also turned into that street on the other side. Not—surely not! + Absurd! They were all alike to look at—those fellows! Absurd! He + walked on sharply, and let himself into his house. But on his way upstairs + he could not for the life of him help raising a corner of a curtain and + looking from the staircase window. The policeman was marching solemnly, + about twenty-five yards away, paying apparently no attention to anything + whatever. + </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> + IV + </h2> + <p> + Keith woke at five o'clock, his usual hour, without remembrance. But the + grisly shadow started up when he entered his study, where the lamp burned, + and the fire shone, and the coffee was set ready, just as when yesterday + afternoon Larry had stood out there against the wall. For a moment he + fought against realisation; then, drinking off his coffee, sat down + sullenly at the bureau to his customary three hours' study of the day's + cases. + </p> + <p> + Not one word of his brief could he take in. It was all jumbled with murky + images and apprehensions, and for full half an hour he suffered mental + paralysis. Then the sheer necessity of knowing something of the case which + he had to open at half-past ten that morning forced him to a concentration + which never quite subdued the malaise at the bottom of his heart. + Nevertheless, when he rose at half-past eight and went into the bathroom, + he had earned his grim satisfaction in this victory of will-power. By + half-past nine he must be at Larry's. A boat left London for the Argentine + to-morrow. If Larry was to get away at once, money must be arranged for. + And then at breakfast he came on this paragraph in the paper: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “SOHO MURDER. +</pre> + <p> + “Enquiry late last night established the fact that the Police have + discovered the identity of the man found strangled yesterday morning under + an archway in Glove Lane. An arrest has been made.” + </p> + <p> + By good fortune he had finished eating, for the words made him feel + physically sick. At this very minute Larry might be locked up, waiting to + be charged-might even have been arrested before his own visit to the girl + last night. If Larry were arrested, she must be implicated. What, then, + would be his own position? Idiot to go and look at that archway, to go and + see the girl! Had that policeman really followed him home? Accessory after + the fact! Keith Darrant, King's Counsel, man of mark! He forced himself by + an effort, which had something of the heroic, to drop this panicky + feeling. Panic never did good. He must face it, and see. He refused even + to hurry, calmly collected the papers wanted for the day, and attended to + a letter or two, before he set out in a taxi-cab to Fitzroy Street. + </p> + <p> + Waiting outside there in the grey morning for his ring to be answered, he + looked the very picture of a man who knew his mind, a man of resolution. + But it needed all his will-power to ask without tremor: “Mr. Darrant in?” + to hear without sign of any kind the answer: “He's not up yet, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind; I'll go in and see him. Mr. Keith Darrant.” + </p> + <p> + On his way to Laurence's bedroom, in the midst of utter relief, he had the + self-possession to think: 'This arrest is the best thing that could have + happened. It'll keep their noses on a wrong scent till Larry's got away. + The girl must be sent off too, but not with him.' Panic had ended in quite + hardening his resolution. He entered the bedroom with a feeling of + disgust. The fellow was lying there, his bare arms crossed behind his + tousled head, staring at the ceiling, and smoking one of many cigarettes + whose ends littered a chair beside him, whose sickly reek tainted the air. + That pale face, with its jutting cheek-bones and chin, its hollow cheeks + and blue eyes far sunk back—what a wreck of goodness! + </p> + <p> + He looked up at Keith through the haze of smoke and said quietly: “Well, + brother, what's the sentence? 'Transportation for life, and then to be + fined forty pounds?'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + The flippancy revolted Keith. It was Larry all over! Last night horrified + and humble, this morning, “Don't care” and feather-headed. He said sourly: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! You can joke about it now?” + </p> + <p> + Laurence turned his face to the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Must.” + </p> + <p> + Fatalism! How detestable were natures like that! + </p> + <p> + “I've been to see her,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “You?” + </p> + <p> + “Last night. She can be trusted.” + </p> + <p> + Laurence laughed. + </p> + <p> + “That I told you.” + </p> + <p> + “I had to see for myself. You must clear out at once, Larry. She can come + out to you by the next boat; but you can't go together. Have you any + money?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “I can foot your expenses, and lend you a year's income in advance. But it + must be a clean cut; after you get out there your whereabouts must only be + known to me.” + </p> + <p> + A long sigh answered him. + </p> + <p> + “You're very good to me, Keith; you've always been very good. I don't know + why.” + </p> + <p> + Keith answered drily + </p> + <p> + “Nor I. There's a boat to the Argentine tomorrow. You're in luck; they've + made an arrest. It's in the paper.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + The cigarette end dropped, the thin pyjama'd figure writhed up and stood + clutching at the bedrail. + </p> + <p> + “What?” + </p> + <p> + The disturbing thought flitted through Keith's brain: 'I was a fool. He + takes it queerly; what now?' + </p> + <p> + Laurence passed his hand over his forehead, and sat down on the bed. + </p> + <p> + “I hadn't thought of that,” he said; “It does me!” + </p> + <p> + Keith stared. In his relief that the arrested man was not Laurence, this + had not occurred to him. What folly! + </p> + <p> + “Why?” he said quickly; “an innocent man's in no danger. They always get + the wrong man first. It's a piece of luck, that's all. It gives us time.” + </p> + <p> + How often had he not seen that expression on Larry's face, wistful, + questioning, as if trying to see the thing with his—Keith's-eyes, + trying to submit to better judgment? And he said, almost gently— + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here, Larry; this is too serious to trifle with. Don't worry + about that. Leave it to me. Just get ready to be off'. I'll take your + berth and make arrangements. Here's some money for kit. I can come round + between five and six, and let you know. Pull yourself together, man. As + soon as the girl's joined you out there, you'd better get across to Chile, + the further the better. You must simply lose yourself: I must go now, if + I'm to get to the Bank before I go down to the courts.” And looking very + steadily at his brother, he added: + </p> + <p> + “Come! You've got to think of me in this matter as well as of yourself. No + playing fast and loose with the arrangements. Understand?” + </p> + <p> + But still Larry gazed up at him with that wistful questioning, and not + till he had repeated, “Understand?” did he receive “Yes” for answer. + </p> + <p> + Driving away, he thought: 'Queer fellow! I don't know him, shall never + know him!' and at once began to concentrate on the practical arrangements. + At his bank he drew out L400; but waiting for the notes to be counted he + suffered qualms. A clumsy way of doing things! If there had been more + time! The thought: 'Accessory after the fact!' now infected everything. + Notes were traceable. No other way of getting him away at once, though. + One must take lesser risks to avoid greater. From the bank he drove to the + office of the steamship line. He had told Larry he would book his passage. + But that would not do! He must only ask anonymously if there were + accommodation. Having discovered that there were vacant berths, he drove + on to the Law Courts. If he could have taken a morning off, he would have + gone down to the police court and seen them charge this man. But even that + was not too safe, with a face so well known as his. What would come of + this arrest? Nothing, surely! The police always took somebody up, to keep + the public quiet. Then, suddenly, he had again the feeling that it was all + a nightmare; Larry had never done it; the police had got the right man! + But instantly the memory of the girl's awe-stricken face, her figure + huddling on the sofa, her words “I see him always falling!” came back. + God! What a business! + </p> + <p> + He felt he had never been more clear-headed and forcible than that morning + in court. When he came out for lunch he bought the most sensational of the + evening papers. But it was yet too early for news, and he had to go back + into court no whit wiser concerning the arrest. When at last he threw off + wig and gown, and had got through a conference and other necessary work, + he went out to Chancery Lane, buying a paper on the way. Then he hailed a + cab, and drove once more to Fitzroy Street. + </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> + V + </h2> + <p> + Laurence had remained sitting on his bed for many minutes. An innocent man + in no danger! Keith had said it—the celebrated lawyer! Could he rely + on that? Go out 8,000 miles, he and the girl, and leave a fellow-creature + perhaps in mortal peril for an act committed by himself? + </p> + <p> + In the past night he had touched bottom, as he thought: become ready to + face anything. When Keith came in he would without murmur have accepted + the advice: “Give yourself up!” He was prepared to pitch away the end of + his life as he pitched from him the fag-ends of his cigarettes. And the + long sigh he had heaved, hearing of reprieve, had been only half relief. + Then, with incredible swiftness there had rushed through him a feeling of + unutterable joy and hope. Clean away—into a new country, a new life! + The girl and he! Out there he wouldn't care, would rejoice even to have + squashed the life out of such a noisome beetle of a man. Out there! Under + a new sun, where blood ran quicker than in this foggy land, and people + took justice into their own hands. For it had been justice on that brute + even though he had not meant to kill him. And then to hear of this arrest! + They would be charging the man to-day. He could go and see the poor + creature accused of the murder he himself had committed! And he laughed. + Go and see how likely it was that they might hang a fellow-man in place of + himself? He dressed, but too shaky to shave himself, went out to a + barber's shop. While there he read the news which Keith had seen. In this + paper the name of the arrested man was given: “John Evan, no address.” To + be brought up on the charge at Bow Street. Yes! He must go. Once, twice, + three times he walked past the entrance of the court before at last he + entered and screwed himself away among the tag and bobtail. + </p> + <p> + The court was crowded; and from the murmurs round he could tell that it + was his particular case which had brought so many there. In a dazed way he + watched charge after charge disposed of with lightning quickness. But were + they never going to reach his business? And then suddenly he saw the + little scarecrow man of last night advancing to the dock between two + policemen, more ragged and miserable than ever by light of day, like some + shaggy, wan, grey animal, surrounded by sleek hounds. + </p> + <p> + A sort of satisfied purr was rising all round; and with horror Laurence + perceived that this—this was the man accused of what he himself had + done—this queer, battered unfortunate to whom he had shown a passing + friendliness. Then all feeling merged in the appalling interest of + listening. The evidence was very short. Testimony of the hotel-keeper + where Walenn had been staying, the identification of his body, and of a + snake-shaped ring he had been wearing at dinner that evening. Testimony of + a pawnbroker, that this same ring was pawned with him the first thing + yesterday morning by the prisoner. Testimony of a policeman that he had + noticed the man Evan several times in Glove Lane, and twice moved him on + from sleeping under that arch. Testimony of another policeman that, when + arrested at midnight, Evan had said: “Yes; I took the ring off his finger. + I found him there dead .... I know I oughtn't to have done it.... I'm an + educated man; it was stupid to pawn the ring. I found him with his pockets + turned inside out.” + </p> + <p> + Fascinating and terrible to sit staring at the man in whose place he + should have been; to wonder when those small bright-grey bloodshot eyes + would spy him out, and how he would meet that glance. Like a baited + raccoon the little man stood, screwed back into a corner, mournful, + cynical, fierce, with his ridged, obtuse yellow face, and his stubbly grey + beard and hair, and his eyes wandering now and again amongst the crowd. + But with all his might Laurence kept his face unmoved. Then came the word + “Remanded”; and, more like a baited beast than ever, the man was led away. + </p> + <p> + Laurence sat on, a cold perspiration thick on his forehead. Someone else, + then, had come on the body and turned the pockets inside out before John + Evan took the ring. A man such as Walenn would not be out at night without + money. Besides, if Evan had found money on the body he would never have + run the risk of taking that ring. Yes, someone else had come on the body + first. It was for that one to come forward, and prove that the ring was + still on the dead man's finger when he left him, and thus clear Evan. He + clung to that thought; it seemed to make him less responsible for the + little man's position; to remove him and his own deed one step further + back. If they found the person who had taken the money, it would prove + Evan's innocence. He came out of the court in a sort of trance. And a + craving to get drunk attacked him. One could not go on like this without + the relief of some oblivion. If he could only get drunk, keep drunk till + this business was decided and he knew whether he must give himself up or + no. He had now no fear at all of people suspecting him; only fear of + himself—fear that he might go and give himself up. Now he could see + the girl; the danger from that was as nothing compared with the danger + from his own conscience. He had promised Keith not to see her. Keith had + been decent and loyal to him—good old Keith! But he would never + understand that this girl was now all he cared about in life; that he + would rather be cut off from life itself than be cut off from her. Instead + of becoming less and less, she was becoming more and more to him—experience + strange and thrilling! Out of deep misery she had grown happy—through + him; out of a sordid, shifting life recovered coherence and bloom, through + devotion to him him, of all people in the world! It was a miracle. She + demanded nothing of him, adored him, as no other woman ever had—it + was this which had anchored his drifting barque; this—and her + truthful mild intelligence, and that burning warmth of a woman, who, long + treated by men as but a sack of sex, now loves at last. + </p> + <p> + And suddenly, mastering his craving to get drunk, he made towards Soho. He + had been a fool to give those keys to Keith. She must have been frightened + by his visit; and, perhaps, doubly miserable since, knowing nothing, + imagining everything! Keith was sure to have terrified her. Poor little + thing! + </p> + <p> + Down the street where he had stolen in the dark with the dead body on his + back, he almost ran for the cover of her house. The door was opened to him + before he knocked, her arms were round his neck, her lips pressed to his. + The fire was out, as if she had been unable to remember to keep warm. A + stool had been drawn to the window, and there she had evidently been + sitting, like a bird in a cage, looking out into the grey street. Though + she had been told that he was not to come, instinct had kept her there; or + the pathetic, aching hope against hope which lovers never part with. + </p> + <p> + Now that he was there, her first thoughts were for his comfort. The fire + was lighted. He must eat, drink, smoke. There was never in her doings any + of the “I am doing this for you, but you ought to be doing that for me” + which belongs to so many marriages, and liaisons. She was like a devoted + slave, so in love with the chains that she never knew she wore them. And + to Laurence, who had so little sense of property, this only served to + deepen tenderness, and the hold she had on him. He had resolved not to + tell her of the new danger he ran from his own conscience. But resolutions + with him were but the opposites of what was sure to come; and at last the + words: + </p> + <p> + “They've arrested someone,” escaped him. + </p> + <p> + From her face he knew she had grasped the danger at once; had divined it, + perhaps, before he spoke. But she only twined her arms round him and + kissed his lips. And he knew that she was begging him to put his love for + her above his conscience. Who would ever have thought that he could feel + as he did to this girl who had been in the arms of many! The stained and + suffering past of a loved woman awakens in some men only chivalry; in + others, more respectable, it rouses a tigerish itch, a rancorous jealousy + of what in the past was given to others. Sometimes it will do both. When + he had her in his arms he felt no remorse for killing the coarse, handsome + brute who had ruined her. He savagely rejoiced in it. But when she laid + her head in the hollow of his shoulder, turning to him her white face with + the faint colour-staining on the parted lips, the cheeks, the eyelids; + when her dark, wide-apart, brown eyes gazed up in the happiness of her + abandonment—he felt only tenderness and protection. + </p> + <p> + He left her at five o'clock, and had not gone two streets' length before + the memory of the little grey vagabond, screwed back in the far corner of + the dock like a baited raccoon, of his dreary, creaking voice, took + possession of him again; and a kind of savagery mounted in his brain + against a world where one could be so tortured without having meant harm + to anyone. + </p> + <p> + At the door of his lodgings Keith was getting out of a cab. They went in + together, but neither of them sat down; Keith standing with his back to + the carefully shut door, Laurence with his back to the table, as if they + knew there was a tug coming. And Keith said: “There's room on that boat. + Go down and book your berth before they shut. Here's the money!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to stick it, Keith.” + </p> + <p> + Keith stepped forward, and put a roll of notes on the table. + </p> + <p> + “Now look here, Larry. I've read the police court proceedings. There's + nothing in that. Out of prison, or in prison for a few weeks, it's all the + same to a night-bird of that sort. Dismiss it from your mind—there's + not nearly enough evidence to convict. This gives you your chance. Take it + like a man, and make a new life for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Laurence smiled; but the smile had a touch of madness and a touch of + malice. He took up the notes. + </p> + <p> + “Clear out, and save the honour of brother Keith. Put them back in your + pocket, Keith, or I'll put them in the fire. Come, take them!” And, + crossing to the fire, he held them to the bars. “Take them, or in they + go!” + </p> + <p> + Keith took back the notes. + </p> + <p> + “I've still got some kind of honour, Keith; if I clear out I shall have + none, not the rag of any, left. It may be worth more to me than that—I + can't tell yet—I can't tell.” There was a long silence before Keith + answered. “I tell you you're mistaken; no jury will convict. If they did, + a judge would never hang on it. A ghoul who can rob a dead body ought to + be in prison. What he did is worse than what you did, if you come to + that!” Laurence lifted his face. “Judge not, brother,” he said; “the heart + is a dark well.” Keith's yellowish face grew red and swollen, as though he + were mastering the tickle of a bronchial cough. “What are you going to do, + then? I suppose I may ask you not to be entirely oblivious of our name; or + is such a consideration unworthy of your honour?” Laurence bent his head. + The gesture said more clearly than words: 'Don't kick a man when he's + down!' + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what I'm going to do—nothing at present. I'm awfully + sorry, Keith; awfully sorry.” + </p> + <p> + Keith looked at him, and without another word went out. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI + </h2> + <p> + To any, save philosophers, reputation may be threatened almost as much by + disgrace to name and family as by the disgrace of self. Keith's instinct + was always to deal actively with danger. But this blow, whether it fell on + him by discovery or by confession, could not be countered. As blight falls + on a rose from who knows where, the scandalous murk would light on him. No + repulse possible! Not even a wriggling from under! Brother of a murderer + hung or sent to penal servitude! His daughter niece to a murderer! His + dead mother-a murderer's mother! And to wait day after day, week after + week, not knowing whether the blow would fall, was an extraordinarily + atrocious penance, the injustice of which, to a man of rectitude, seemed + daily the more monstrous. + </p> + <p> + The remand had produced evidence that the murdered man had been drinking + heavily on the night of his death, and further evidence of the accused's + professional vagabondage and destitution; it was shown, too, that for some + time the archway in Glove Lane had been his favourite night haunt. He had + been committed for trial in January. This time, despite misgivings, Keith + had attended the police court. To his great relief Larry was not there. + But the policeman who had come up while he was looking at the archway, and + given him afterwards that scare in the girl's rooms, was chief witness to + the way the accused man haunted Glove Lane. Though Keith held his silk hat + high, he still had the uncomfortable feeling that the man had recognised + him. + </p> + <p> + His conscience suffered few, if any, twinges for letting this man rest + under the shadow of the murder. He genuinely believed that there was not + evidence enough to convict; nor was it in him to appreciate the tortures + of a vagabond shut up. The scamp deserved what he had got, for robbing a + dead body; and in any case such a scarecrow was better off in prison than + sleeping out under archways in December. Sentiment was foreign to Keith's + character, and his justice that of those who subordinate the fates of the + weak and shiftless to the needful paramountcy of the strong and well + established. + </p> + <p> + His daughter came back from school for the Christmas holidays. It was hard + to look up from her bright eyes and rosy cheeks and see this shadow + hanging above his calm and ordered life, as in a glowing room one's eye + may catch an impending patch of darkness drawn like a spider's web across + a corner of the ceiling. + </p> + <p> + On the afternoon of Christmas Eve they went, by her desire, to a church in + Soho, where the Christmas Oratorio was being given; and coming away + passed, by chance of a wrong turning, down Borrow Street. Ugh! How that + startled moment, when the girl had pressed herself against him in the + dark, and her terror-stricken whisper: “Oh! Who is it?” leaped out before + him! Always that business—that ghastly business! After the trial he + would have another try to get them both away. And he thrust his arm within + his young daughter's, hurrying her on, out of this street where shadows + filled all the winter air. + </p> + <p> + But that evening when she had gone to bed he felt uncontrollably restless. + He had not seen Larry for weeks. What was he about? What desperations were + hatching in his disorderly brain? Was he very miserable; had he perhaps + sunk into a stupor of debauchery? And the old feeling of protectiveness + rose up in him; a warmth born of long ago Christmas Eves, when they had + stockings hung out in the night stuffed by a Santa Claus, whose hand never + failed to tuck them up, whose kiss was their nightly waft into sleep. + </p> + <p> + Stars were sparkling out there over the river; the sky frosty-clear, and + black. Bells had not begun to ring as yet. And obeying an obscure, deep + impulse, Keith wrapped himself once more into his fur coat, pulled a + motoring cap over his eyes, and sallied forth. In the Strand he took a cab + to Fitzroy Street. There was no light in Larry's windows, and on a card he + saw the words “To Let.” Gone! Had he after all cleared out for good? But + how-without money? And the girl? Bells were ringing now in the silent + frostiness. Christmas Eve! And Keith thought: 'If only this wretched + business were off my mind! Monstrous that one should suffer for the faults + of others!' He took a route which led him past Borrow Street. Solitude + brooded there, and he walked resolutely down on the far side, looking hard + at the girl's window. There was a light. The curtains just failed to meet, + so that a thin gleam shone through. He crossed; and after glancing swiftly + up and down, deliberately peered in. + </p> + <p> + He only stood there perhaps twenty seconds, but visual records gleaned in + a moment sometimes outlast the visions of hours and days. The electric + light was not burning; but, in the centre of the room the girl was + kneeling in her nightgown before a little table on which were four lighted + candles. Her arms were crossed on her breast; the candle-light shone on + her fair cropped hair, on the profile of cheek and chin, on her bowed + white neck. For a moment he thought her alone; then behind her saw his + brother in a sleeping suit, leaning against the wall, with arms crossed, + watching. It was the expression on his face which burned the whole thing + in, so that always afterwards he was able to see that little scene—such + an expression as could never have been on the face of one even faintly + conscious that he was watched by any living thing on earth. The whole of + Larry's heart and feeling seemed to have come up out of him. Yearning, + mockery, love, despair! The depth of his feeling for this girl, his stress + of mind, fears, hopes; the flotsam good and evil of his soul, all + transfigured there, exposed and unforgettable. The candle-light shone + upward on to his face, twisted by the strangest smile; his eyes, darker + and more wistful than mortal eyes should be, seemed to beseech and mock + the white-clad girl, who, all unconscious, knelt without movement, like a + carved figure of devotion. The words seemed coming from his lips: “Pray + for us! Bravo! Yes! Pray for us!” And suddenly Keith saw her stretch out + her arms, and lift her face with a look of ecstasy, and Laurence starting + forward. What had she seen beyond the candle flames? It is the unexpected + which invests visions with poignancy. Nothing more strange could Keith + have seen in this nest of the murky and illicit. But in sheer panic lest + he might be caught thus spying he drew back and hurried on. So Larry was + living there with her! When the moment came he could still find him. + </p> + <p> + Before going in, he stood full five minutes leaning on the terrace parapet + before his house, gazing at the star-frosted sky, and the river cut by the + trees into black pools, oiled over by gleams from the Embankment lamps. + And, deep down, behind his mere thoughts, he ached-somehow, somewhere + ached. Beyond the cage of all that he saw and heard and thought, he had + perceived something he could not reach. But the night was cold, the bells + silent, for it had struck twelve. Entering his house, he stole upstairs. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII + </h2> + <p> + If for Keith those six weeks before the Glove Lane murder trial came on + were fraught with uneasiness and gloom, they were for Laurence almost the + happiest since his youth. From the moment when he left his rooms and went + to the girl's to live, a kind of peace and exaltation took possession of + him. Not by any effort of will did he throw off the nightmare hanging over + him. Nor was he drugged by love. He was in a sort of spiritual catalepsy. + In face of fate too powerful for his will, his turmoil, anxiety, and even + restlessness had ceased; his life floated in the ether of “what must come, + will.” Out of this catalepsy, his spirit sometimes fell headlong into + black waters. In one such whirlpool he was struggling on the night of + Christmas Eve. When the girl rose from her knees he asked her: + </p> + <p> + “What did you see?” + </p> + <p> + Pressing close to him, she drew him down on to the floor before the fire; + and they sat, knees drawn up, hands clasped, like two children trying to + see over the edge of the world. + </p> + <p> + “It was the Virgin I saw. She stood against the wall and smiled. We shall + be happy soon.” + </p> + <p> + “When we die, Wanda,” he said, suddenly, “let it be together. We shall + keep each other warm, out there.” + </p> + <p> + Huddling to him she whispered: “Yes, oh, yes! If you die, I could not go + on living.” + </p> + <p> + It was this utter dependence on him, the feeling that he had rescued + something, which gave him sense of anchorage. That, and his buried life in + the retreat of these two rooms. Just for an hour in the morning, from nine + to ten, the charwoman would come, but not another soul all day. They never + went out together. He would stay in bed late, while Wanda bought what they + needed for the day's meals; lying on his back, hands clasped behind his + head, recalling her face, the movements of her slim, rounded, supple + figure, robing itself before his gaze; feeling again the kiss she had left + on his lips, the gleam of her soft eyes, so strangely dark in so fair a + face. In a sort of trance he would lie till she came back. Then get up to + breakfast about noon off things which she had cooked, drinking coffee. In + the afternoon he would go out alone and walk for hours, any where, so long + as it was East. To the East there was always suffering to be seen, always + that which soothed him with the feeling that he and his troubles were only + a tiny part of trouble; that while so many other sorrowing and shadowy + creatures lived he was not cut off. To go West was to encourage dejection. + In the West all was like Keith, successful, immaculate, ordered, resolute. + He would come back tired out, and sit watching her cook their little + dinner. The evenings were given up to love. Queer trance of an existence, + which both were afraid to break. No sign from her of wanting those + excitements which girls who have lived her life, even for a few months, + are supposed to need. She never asked him to take her anywhere; never, in + word, deed, look, seemed anything but almost rapturously content. And yet + he knew, and she knew, that they were only waiting to see whether Fate + would turn her thumb down on them. In these days he did not drink. Out of + his quarter's money, when it came in, he had paid his debts—their + expenses were very small. He never went to see Keith, never wrote to him, + hardly thought of him. And from those dread apparitions—Walenn lying + with the breath choked out of him, and the little grey, driven animal in + the dock—he hid, as only a man can who must hide or be destroyed. + But daily he bought a newspaper, and feverishly, furtively scanned its + columns. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII + </h2> + <p> + Coming out of the Law Courts on the afternoon of January 28th, at the + triumphant end of a desperately fought will case, Keith saw on a poster + the words: “Glove Lane Murder: Trial and Verdict”; and with a rush of + dismay he thought: 'Good God! I never looked at the paper this morning!' + The elation which had filled him a second before, the absorption he had + felt for two days now in the case so hardly won, seemed suddenly quite + sickeningly trivial. What on earth had he been doing to forget that + horrible business even for an instant? He stood quite still on the crowded + pavement, unable, really unable, to buy a paper. But his face was like a + piece of iron when he did step forward and hold his penny out. There it + was in the Stop Press! “Glove Lane Murder. The jury returned a verdict of + Guilty. Sentence of death was passed.” + </p> + <p> + His first sensation was simple irritation. How had they come to commit + such an imbecility? Monstrous! The evidence—! Then the futility of + even reading the report, of even considering how they had come to record + such a verdict struck him with savage suddenness. There it was, and + nothing he could do or say would alter it; no condemnation of this idiotic + verdict would help reverse it. The situation was desperate, indeed! That + five minutes' walk from the Law Courts to his chambers was the longest he + had ever taken. + </p> + <p> + Men of decided character little know beforehand what they will do in + certain contingencies. For the imaginations of decided people do not endow + mere contingencies with sufficient actuality. Keith had never really + settled what he was going to do if this man were condemned. Often in those + past weeks he had said to himself: “Of course, if they bring him in + guilty, that's another thing!” But, now that they had, he was beset by + exactly the same old arguments and feelings, the same instincts of loyalty + and protection towards Laurence and himself, intensified by the fearful + imminence of the danger. And yet, here was this man about to be hung for a + thing he had not done! Nothing could get over that! But then he was such a + worthless vagabond, a ghoul who had robbed a dead body. If Larry were + condemned in his stead, would there be any less miscarriage of justice? To + strangle a brute who had struck you, by the accident of keeping your hands + on his throat a few seconds too long, was there any more guilt in that—was + there even as much, as in deliberate theft from a dead man? Reverence for + order, for justice, and established fact, will, often march shoulder to + shoulder with Jesuitry in natures to whom success is vital. + </p> + <p> + In the narrow stone passage leading to his staircase, a friend had called + out: “Bravo, Darrant! That was a squeak! Congratulations!” And with a + bitter little smile Keith thought: 'Congratulations! I!' + </p> + <p> + At the first possible moment the hurried back to the Strand, and hailing a + cab, he told the man to put him down at a turning near to Borrow Street. + </p> + <p> + It was the girl who opened to his knock. Startled, clasping her hands, she + looked strange to Keith in her black skirt and blouse of some soft velvety + stuff the colour of faded roses. Her round, rather long throat was bare; + and Keith noticed fretfully that she wore gold earrings. Her eyes, so + pitch dark against her white face, and the short fair hair, which curled + into her neck, seemed both to search and to plead. + </p> + <p> + “My brother?” + </p> + <p> + “He is not in, sir, yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know where he is?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “He is living with you here now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you still as fond of him as ever, then?” + </p> + <p> + With a movement, as though she despaired of words, she clasped her hands + over her heart. And he said: + </p> + <p> + “I see.” + </p> + <p> + He had the same strange feeling as on his first visit to her, and when + through the chink in the curtains he had watched her kneeling—of + pity mingled with some faint sexual emotion. And crossing to the fire he + asked: + </p> + <p> + “May I wait for him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Please! Will you sit down?” + </p> + <p> + But Keith shook his head. And with a catch in her breath, she said: + </p> + <p> + “You will not take him from me. I should die.” + </p> + <p> + He turned round on her sharply. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want him taken from you. I want to help you keep him. Are you + ready to go away, at any time?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Oh, yes!” + </p> + <p> + “And he?” + </p> + <p> + She answered almost in a whisper: + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but there is that poor man.” + </p> + <p> + “That poor man is a graveyard thief; a hyena; a ghoul—not worth + consideration.” And the rasp in his own voice surprised him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she sighed. “But I am sorry for him. Perhaps he was hungry. I have + been hungry—you do things then that you would not. And perhaps he + has no one to love; if you have no one to love you can be very bad. I + think of him often—in prison.” + </p> + <p> + Between his teeth Keith muttered: “And Laurence?” + </p> + <p> + “We do never speak of it, we are afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “He's not told you, then, about the trial?” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes dilated. + </p> + <p> + “The trial! Oh! He was strange last night. This morning, too, he got up + early. Is it-is it over?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What has come?” + </p> + <p> + “Guilty.” + </p> + <p> + For a moment Keith thought she was going to faint. She had closed her + eyes, and swayed so that he took a step, and put his hands on her arms. + </p> + <p> + “Listen!” he said. “Help me; don't let Laurence out of your sight. We must + have time. I must see what they intend to do. They can't be going to hang + this man. I must have time, I tell you. You must prevent his giving + himself up.” + </p> + <p> + She stood, staring in his face, while he still held her arms, gripping + into her soft flesh through the velvety sleeves. + </p> + <p> + “Do you understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes-but if he has already!” + </p> + <p> + Keith felt the shiver which ran through her. And the thought rushed into + his mind: 'My God! Suppose the police come round while I'm here!' If Larry + had indeed gone to them! If that Policeman who had seen him here the night + after the murder should find him here again just after the verdict! He + said almost fiercely: + </p> + <p> + “Can I trust you not to let Larry out of your sight? Quick! Answer!” + </p> + <p> + Clasping her hands to her breast, she answered humbly: + </p> + <p> + “I will try.” + </p> + <p> + “If he hasn't already done this, watch him like a lynx! Don't let him go + out without you. I'll come to-morrow morning early. You're a Catholic, + aren't you? Swear to me that you won't let him do anything till he's seen + me again.” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer, looking past him at the door; and Keith heard a key in + the latch. There was Laurence himself, holding in his hand a great bunch + of pink lilies and white narcissi. His face was pale and haggard. He said + quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Hallo, Keith!” + </p> + <p> + The girl's eyes were fastened on Larry's face; and Keith, looking from one + to the other, knew that he had never had more need for wariness. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Laurence nodded. His expression, as a rule so tell-tale of his emotions, + baffled Keith utterly. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “I've been expecting it.” + </p> + <p> + “The thing can't stand—that's certain. But I must have time to look + into the report. I must have time to see what I can do. D'you understand + me, Larry—I must have time.” He knew he was talking at random. The + only thing was to get them away at once out of reach of confession; but he + dared not say so. + </p> + <p> + “Promise me that you'll do nothing, that you won't go out even till I've + seen you to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + Again Laurence nodded. And Keith looked at the girl. Would she see that he + did not break that promise? Her eyes were still fixed immovably on Larry's + face. And with the feeling that he could get no further, Keith turned to + go. + </p> + <p> + “Promise me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Laurence answered: “I promise.” + </p> + <p> + He was smiling. Keith could make nothing of that smile, nor of the + expression in the girl's eyes. And saying: “I have your promise, I rely on + it!” he went. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX + </h2> + <p> + To keep from any woman who loves, knowledge of her lover's mood, is as + hard as to keep music from moving the heart. But when that woman has lived + in suffering, and for the first time knows the comfort of love, then let + the lover try as he may to disguise his heart—no use! Yet by virtue + of subtler abnegation she will often succeed in keeping it from him that + she knows. + </p> + <p> + When Keith was gone the girl made no outcry, asked no questions, managed + that Larry should not suspect her intuition; all that evening she acted as + if she knew of nothing preparing within him, and through him, within + herself. + </p> + <p> + His words, caresses, the very zest with which he helped her to prepare the + feast, the flowers he had brought, the wine he made her drink, the + avoidance of any word which could spoil their happiness, all—all + told her. He was too inexorably gay and loving. Not for her—to whom + every word and every kiss had uncannily the desperate value of a last word + and kiss—not for her to deprive herself of these by any sign or + gesture which might betray her prescience. Poor soul—she took all, + and would have taken more, a hundredfold. She did not want to drink the + wine he kept tilting into her glass, but, with the acceptance learned by + women who have lived her life, she did not refuse. She had never refused + him anything. So much had been required of her by the detestable, that + anything required by a loved one was but an honour. + </p> + <p> + Laurence drank deeply; but he had never felt clearer, never seen things + more clearly. The wine gave him what he wanted, an edge to these few hours + of pleasure, an exaltation of energy. It dulled his sense of pity, too. It + was pity he was afraid of—for himself, and for this girl. To make + even this tawdry room look beautiful, with firelight and candlelight, dark + amber wine in the glasses, tall pink lilies spilling their saffron, + exuding their hot perfume he and even himself must look their best. And + with a weight as of lead on her heart, she managed that for him, letting + him strew her with flowers and crush them together with herself. Not even + music was lacking to their feast. Someone was playing a pianola across the + street, and the sound, very faint, came stealing when they were silent—swelling, + sinking, festive, mournful; having a far-off life of its own, like the + flickering fire-flames before which they lay embraced, or the lilies + delicate between the candles. Listening to that music, tracing with his + finger the tiny veins on her breast, he lay like one recovering from a + swoon. No parting. None! But sleep, as the firelight sleeps when flames + die; as music sleeps on its deserted strings. + </p> + <p> + And the girl watched him. + </p> + <p> + It was nearly ten when he bade her go to bed. And after she had gone + obedient into the bedroom, he brought ink and paper down by the fire. The + drifter, the unstable, the good-for-nothing—did not falter. He had + thought, when it came to the point, he would fail himself; but a sort of + rage bore him forward. If he lived on, and confessed, they would shut him + up, take from him the one thing he loved, cut him off from her; sand up + his only well in the desert. Curse them! And he wrote by firelight which + mellowed the white sheets of paper; while, against the dark curtain, the + girl, in her nightgown, unconscious of the cold, stood watching. + </p> + <p> + Men, when they drown, remember their pasts. Like the lost poet he had + “gone with the wind.” Now it was for him to be true in his fashion. A man + may falter for weeks and weeks, consciously, subconsciously, even in his + dreams, till there comes that moment when the only thing impossible is to + go on faltering. The black cap, the little driven grey man looking up at + it with a sort of wonder—faltering had ceased! + </p> + <p> + He had finished now, and was but staring into the fire. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “No more, no more, the moon is dead, + And all the people in it; + The poppy maidens strew the bed, + We'll come in half a minute.” + </pre> + <p> + Why did doggerel start up in the mind like that? Wanda! The weed-flower + become so rare he would not be parted from her! The fire, the candles, and + the fire—no more the flame and flicker! + </p> + <p> + And, by the dark curtain, the girl watched. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X + </h2> + <p> + Keith went, not home, but to his club; and in the room devoted to the + reception of guests, empty at this hour, he sat down and read the report + of the trial. The fools had made out a case that looked black enough. And + for a long time, on the thick soft carpet which let out no sound of + footfall, he paced up and down, thinking. He might see the defending + counsel, might surely do that as an expert who thought there had been + miscarriage of justice. They must appeal; a petition too might be started + in the last event. The thing could—must be put right yet, if only + Larry and that girl did nothing! + </p> + <p> + He had no appetite, but the custom of dining is too strong. And while he + ate, he glanced with irritation at his fellow-members. They looked so at + their ease. Unjust—that this black cloud should hang over one + blameless as any of them! Friends, connoisseurs of such things—a + judge among them—came specially to his table to express their + admiration of his conduct of that will case. Tonight he had real excuse + for pride, but he felt none. Yet, in this well-warmed quietly glowing + room, filled with decorously eating, decorously talking men, he gained + insensibly some comfort. This surely was reality; that shadowy business + out there only the drear sound of a wind one must and did keep out—like + the poverty and grime which had no real existence for the secure and + prosperous. He drank champagne. It helped to fortify reality, to make + shadows seem more shadowy. And down in the smoking-room he sat before the + fire, in one of those chairs which embalm after-dinner dreams. He grew + sleepy there, and at eleven o'clock rose to go home. But when he had once + passed down the shallow marble steps, out through the revolving door which + let in no draughts, he was visited by fear, as if he had drawn it in with + the breath of the January wind. Larry's face; and the girl watching it! + Why had she watched like that? Larry's smile; and the flowers in his hand? + Buying flowers at such a moment! The girl was his slave-whatever he told + her, she would do. But she would never be able to stop him. At this very + moment he might be rushing to give himself up! + </p> + <p> + His hand, thrust deep into the pocket of his fur coat, came in contact + suddenly with something cold. The keys Larry had given him all that time + ago. There they had lain forgotten ever since. The chance touch decided + him. He turned off towards Borrow Street, walking at full speed. He could + but go again and see. He would sleep better if he knew that he had left no + stone unturned. At the corner of that dismal street he had to wait for + solitude before he made for the house which he now loathed with a deadly + loathing. He opened the outer door and shut it to behind him. He knocked, + but no one came. Perhaps they had gone to bed. Again and again he knocked, + then opened the door, stepped in, and closed it carefully. Candles + lighted, the fire burning; cushions thrown on the floor in front of it and + strewn with flowers! The table, too, covered with flowers and with the + remnants of a meal. Through the half-drawn curtain he could see that the + inner room was also lighted. Had they gone out, leaving everything like + this? Gone out! His heart beat. Bottles! Larry had been drinking! + </p> + <p> + Had it really come? Must he go back home with this murk on him; knowing + that his brother was a confessed and branded murderer? He went quickly, to + the half-drawn curtains and looked in. Against the wall he saw a bed, and + those two in it. He recoiled in sheer amazement and relief. Asleep with + curtains undrawn, lights left on? Asleep through all his knocking! They + must both be drunk. The blood rushed up in his neck. Asleep! And rushing + forward again, he called out: “Larry!” Then, with a gasp he went towards + the bed. “Larry!” No answer! No movement! Seizing his brother's shoulder, + he shook it violently. It felt cold. They were lying in each other's arms, + breast to breast, lips to lips, their faces white in the light shining + above the dressing-table. And such a shudder shook Keith that he had to + grasp the brass rail above their heads. Then he bent down, and wetting his + finger, placed it close to their joined lips. No two could ever swoon so + utterly as that; not even a drunken sleep could be so fast. His wet finger + felt not the faintest stir of air, nor was there any movement in the + pulses of their hands. No breath! No life! The eyes of the girl were + closed. How strangely innocent she looked! Larry's open eyes seemed to be + gazing at her shut eyes; but Keith saw that they were sightless. With a + sort of sob he drew down the lids. Then, by an impulse that he could never + have explained, he laid a hand on his brother's head, and a hand on the + girl's fair hair. The clothes had fallen down a little from her bare + shoulder; he pulled them up, as if to keep her warm, and caught the glint + of metal; a tiny gilt crucifix no longer than a thumbnail, on a thread of + steel chain, had slipped down from her breast into the hollow of the arm + which lay round Larry's neck. Keith buried it beneath the clothes and + noticed an envelope pinned to the coverlet; bending down, he read: “Please + give this at once to the police.—LAURENCE DARRANT.” He thrust it + into his pocket. Like elastic stretched beyond its uttermost, his reason, + will, faculties of calculation and resolve snapped to within him. He + thought with incredible swiftness: 'I must know nothing of this. I must + go!' And, almost before he knew that he had moved, he was out again in the + street. + </p> + <p> + He could never have told of what he thought while he was walking home. He + did not really come to himself till he was in his study. There, with a + trembling hand, he poured himself out whisky and drank it off. If he had + not chanced to go there, the charwoman would have found them when she came + in the morning, and given that envelope to the police! He took it out. He + had a right—a right to know what was in it! He broke it open. + </p> + <p> + “I, Laurence Darrant, about to die by my own hand, declare that this is a + solemn and true confession. I committed what is known as the Glove Lane + Murder on the night of November the 27th last in the following way”—on + and on to the last words—“We didn't want to die; but we could not + bear separation, and I couldn't face letting an innocent man be hung for + me. I do not see any other way. I beg that there may be no postmortem on + our bodies. The stuff we have taken is some of that which will be found on + the dressing-table. Please bury us together. + </p> + <p> + “LAURENCE DARRANT. + </p> + <p> + “January the 28th, about ten o'clock p.m.” + </p> + <p> + Full five minutes Keith stood with those sheets of paper in his hand, + while the clock ticked, the wind moaned a little in the trees outside, the + flames licked the logs with the quiet click and ruffle of their intense + far-away life down there on the hearth. Then he roused himself, and sat + down to read the whole again. + </p> + <p> + There it was, just as Larry had told it to him-nothing left out, very + clear; even to the addresses of people who could identify the girl as + having once been Walenn's wife or mistress. It would convince. Yes! It + would convince. + </p> + <p> + The sheets dropped from his hand. Very slowly he was grasping the + appalling fact that on the floor beside his chair lay the life or death of + yet another man; that by taking this confession he had taken into his own + hands the fate of the vagabond lying under sentence of death; that he + could not give him back his life without incurring the smirch of this + disgrace, without even endangering himself. If he let this confession + reach the authorities, he could never escape the gravest suspicion that he + had known of the whole affair during these two months. He would have to + attend the inquest, be recognised by that policeman as having come to the + archway to see where the body had lain, as having visited the girl the + very evening after the murder. Who would believe in the mere coincidence + of such visits on the part of the murderer's brother. But apart from that + suspicion, the fearful scandal which so sensational an affair must make + would mar his career, his life, his young daughter's life! Larry's suicide + with this girl would make sensation enough as it was; but nothing to that + other. Such a death had its romance; involved him in no way save as a + mourner, could perhaps even be hushed up! The other—nothing could + hush that up, nothing prevent its ringing to the house-tops. He got up + from his chair, and for many minutes roamed the room unable to get his + mind to bear on the issue. Images kept starting up before him. The face of + the man who handed him wig and gown each morning, puffy and curious, with + a leer on it he had never noticed before; his young daughter's lifted + eyebrows, mouth drooping, eyes troubled; the tiny gilt crucifix glinting + in the hollow of the dead girl's arm; the sightless look in Larry's + unclosed eyes; even his own thumb and finger pulling the lids down. And + then he saw a street and endless people passing, turning to stare at him. + And, stopping in his tramp, he said aloud: “Let them go to hell! Seven + days' wonder!” Was he not trustee to that confession! Trustee! After all + he had done nothing to be ashamed of, even if he had kept knowledge dark. + A brother! Who could blame him? And he picked up those sheets of paper. + But, like a great murky hand, the scandal spread itself about him; its + coarse malignant voice seemed shouting: “Paiper!... Paiper!... Glove Lane + Murder!... Suicide and confession of brother of well-known K.C..... + Well-known K.C.'. brother.... Murder and suicide.... Paiper!” Was he to + let loose that flood of foulness? Was he, who had done nothing, to smirch + his own little daughter's life; to smirch his dead brother, their dead + mother—himself, his own valuable, important future? And all for a + sewer rat! Let him hang, let the fellow hang if he must! And that was not + certain. Appeal! Petition! He might—he should be saved! To have got + thus far, and then, by his own action, topple himself down! + </p> + <p> + With a sudden darting movement he thrust the confession in among the + burning coals. And a smile licked at the folds in his dark face, like + those flames licking the sheets of paper, till they writhed and blackened. + With the toe of his boot he dispersed their scorched and crumbling wafer. + Stamp them in! Stamp in that man's life! Burnt! No more doubts, no more of + this gnawing fear! Burnt? A man—an innocent-sewer rat! Recoiling + from the fire he grasped his forehead. It was burning hot and seemed to be + going round. + </p> + <p> + Well, it was done! Only fools without will or purpose regretted. And + suddenly he laughed. So Larry had died for nothing! He had no will, no + purpose, and was dead! He and that girl might now have been living, loving + each other in the warm night, away at the other end of the world, instead + of lying dead in the cold night here! Fools and weaklings regretted, + suffered from conscience and remorse. A man trod firmly, held to his + purpose, no matter what! + </p> + <p> + He went to the window and drew back the curtain. What was that? A gibbet + in the air, a body hanging? Ah! Only the trees—the dark trees—the + winter skeleton trees! Recoiling, he returned to his armchair and sat down + before the fire. It had been shining like that, the lamp turned low, his + chair drawn up, when Larry came in that afternoon two months ago. Bah! He + had never come at all! It was a nightmare. He had been asleep. How his + head burned! And leaping up, he looked at the calendar on his bureau. + “January the 28th!” No dream! His face hardened and darkened. On! Not like + Larry! On! 1914. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A STOIC + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + 1 + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Aequam memento rebus in arduis + Servare mentem:”—Horace. +</pre> + <p> + In the City of Liverpool, on a January day of 1905, the Board-room of “The + Island Navigation Company” rested, as it were, after the labours of the + afternoon. The long table was still littered with the ink, pens, + blotting-paper, and abandoned documents of six persons—a deserted + battlefield of the brain. And, lonely, in his chairman's seat at the top + end old Sylvanus Heythorp sat, with closed eyes, still and heavy as an + image. One puffy, feeble hand, whose fingers quivered, rested on the arm + of his chair; the thick white hair on his massive head glistened in the + light from a green-shaded lamp. He was not asleep, for every now and then + his sanguine cheeks filled, and a sound, half sigh, half grunt, escaped + his thick lips between a white moustache and the tiny tuft of white hairs + above his cleft chin. Sunk in the chair, that square thick trunk of a body + in short black-braided coat seemed divested of all neck. + </p> + <p> + Young Gilbert Farney, secretary of “The Island Navigation Company,” + entering his hushed Board-room, stepped briskly to the table, gathered + some papers, and stood looking at his chairman. Not more than thirty-five, + with the bright hues of the optimist in his hair, beard, cheeks, and eyes, + he had a nose and lips which curled ironically. For, in his view, he was + the Company; and its Board did but exist to chequer his importance. Five + days in the week for seven hours a day he wrote, and thought, and wove the + threads of its business, and this lot came down once a week for two or + three hours, and taught their grandmother to suck eggs. But watching that + red-cheeked, white-haired, somnolent figure, his smile was not so + contemptuous as might have been expected. For after all, the chairman was + a wonderful old boy. A man of go and insight could not but respect him. + Eighty! Half paralysed, over head and ears in debt, having gone the pace + all his life—or so they said!—till at last that mine in + Ecuador had done for him—before the secretary's day, of course, but + he had heard of it. The old chap had bought it up on spec'—“de + l'audace, toujours de l'audace,” as he was so fond of saying—paid + for it half in cash and half in promises, and then—the thing had + turned out empty, and left him with L20,000 worth of the old shares + unredeemed. The old boy had weathered it out without a bankruptcy so far. + Indomitable old buffer; and never fussy like the rest of them! Young + Farney, though a secretary, was capable of attachment; and his eyes + expressed a pitying affection. The Board meeting had been long and + “snadgy”—a final settling of that Pillin business. Rum go the + chairman forcing it on them like this! And with quiet satisfaction the + secretary thought 'And he never would have got it through if I hadn't made + up my mind that it really is good business!' For to expand the company was + to expand himself. Still, to buy four ships with the freight market so + depressed was a bit startling, and there would be opposition at the + general meeting. Never mind! He and the chairman could put it through—put + it through. And suddenly he saw the old man looking at him. + </p> + <p> + Only from those eyes could one appreciate the strength of life yet flowing + underground in that well-nigh helpless carcase—deep-coloured little + blue wells, tiny, jovial, round windows. + </p> + <p> + A sigh travelled up through layers of flesh, and he said almost inaudibly: + </p> + <p> + “Have they come, Mr. Farney?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. I've put them in the transfer office; said you'd be with them + in a minute; but I wasn't going to wake you.” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't been asleep. Help me up.” + </p> + <p> + Grasping the edge of the table with his trembling hands, the old man + pulled, and, with Farney heaving him behind, attained his feet. He stood + about five feet ten, and weighed fully fourteen stone; not corpulent, but + very thick all through; his round and massive head alone would have + outweighed a baby. With eyes shut, he seemed to be trying to get the + better of his own weight, then he moved with the slowness of a barnacle + towards the door. The secretary, watching him, thought: 'Marvellous old + chap! How he gets about by himself is a miracle! And he can't retire, they + say-lives on his fees!' + </p> + <p> + But the chairman was through the green baize door. At his tortoise gait he + traversed the inner office, where the youthful clerks suspended their + figuring—to grin behind his back—and entered the transfer + office, where eight gentlemen were sitting. Seven rose, and one did not. + Old Heythorp raised a saluting hand to the level of his chest and moving + to an arm-chair, lowered himself into it. + </p> + <p> + “Well, gentlemen?” + </p> + <p> + One of the eight gentlemen got up again. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Heythorp, we've appointed Mr. Brownbee to voice our views. Mr. + Brownbee!” And down he sat. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brownbee rose a stoutish man some seventy years of age, with little + grey side whiskers, and one of those utterly steady faces only to be seen + in England, faces which convey the sense of business from father to son + for generations; faces which make wars, and passion, and free thought seem + equally incredible; faces which inspire confidence, and awaken in one a + desire to get up and leave the room. Mr. Brownbee rose, and said in a + suave voice: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Heythorp, we here represent about L14,000. When we had the pleasure + of meeting you last July, you will recollect that you held out a prospect + of some more satisfactory arrangement by Christmas. We are now in January, + and I am bound to say we none of us get younger.” + </p> + <p> + From the depths of old Heythorp a preliminary rumble came travelling, + reached the surface, and materialised— + </p> + <p> + “Don't know about you—feel a boy, myself.” + </p> + <p> + The eight gentlemen looked at him. Was he going to try and put them off + again? Mr. Brownbee said with unruffled calm: + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure we're very glad to hear it. But to come to the point. We have + felt, Mr. Heythorp, and I'm sure you won't think it unreasonable, that—er—bankruptcy + would be the most satisfactory solution. We have waited a long time, and + we want to know definitely where we stand; for, to be quite frank, we + don't see any prospect of improvement; indeed, we fear the opposite.” + </p> + <p> + “You think I'm going to join the majority.” + </p> + <p> + This plumping out of what was at the back of their minds produced in Mr. + Brownbee and his colleagues a sort of chemical disturbance. They coughed, + moved their feet, and turned away their eyes, till the one who had not + risen, a solicitor named Ventnor, said bluffly: + </p> + <p> + “Well, put it that way if you like.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp's little deep eyes twinkled. + </p> + <p> + “My grandfather lived to be a hundred; my father ninety-six—both of + them rips. I'm only eighty, gentlemen; blameless life compared with + theirs.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed,” Mr. Brownbee said, “we hope you have many years of this life + before you.” + </p> + <p> + “More of this than of another.” And a silence fell, till old Heythorp + added: “You're getting a thousand a year out of my fees. Mistake to kill + the goose that lays the golden eggs. I'll make it twelve hundred. If you + force me to resign my directorships by bankruptcy, you won't get a rap, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Brownbee cleared his throat: + </p> + <p> + “We think, Mr. Heythorp, you should make it at least fifteen hundred. In + that case we might perhaps consider—” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “We can hardly accept your assertion that we should get nothing in the + event of bankruptcy. We fancy you greatly underrate the possibilities. + Fifteen hundred a year is the least you can do for us.” + </p> + <p> + “See you d—-d first.” + </p> + <p> + Another silence followed, then Ventnor, the solicitor, said irascibly: + </p> + <p> + “We know where we are, then.” + </p> + <p> + Brownbee added almost nervously: + </p> + <p> + “Are we to understand that twelve hundred a year is your—your last + word?” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp nodded. “Come again this day month, and I'll see what I can + do for you;” and he shut his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Round Mr. Brownbee six of the gentlemen gathered, speaking in low voices; + Mr. Ventnor nursed a leg and glowered at old Heythorp, who sat with his + eyes closed. Mr. Brownbee went over and conferred with Mr. Ventnor, then + clearing his throat, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, we have considered your proposal; we agree to accept it for + the moment. We will come again, as you suggest, in a month's time. + </p> + <p> + “We hope that you will by then have seen your way to something more + substantial, with a view to avoiding what we should all regret, but which + I fear will otherwise become inevitable.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp nodded. The eight gentlemen took their hats, and went out one + by one, Mr. Brownbee courteously bringing up the rear. + </p> + <p> + The old man, who could not get up without assistance, stayed musing in his + chair. He had diddled 'em for the moment into giving him another month, + and when that month was up-he would diddle 'em again! A month ought to + make the Pillin business safe, with all that hung on it. That poor funkey + chap Joe Pillin! A gurgling chuckle escaped his red lips. What a shadow + the fellow had looked, trotting in that evening just a month ago, behind + his valet's announcement: “Mr. Pillin, sir.” + </p> + <p> + What a parchmenty, precise, thread-paper of a chap, with his bird's claw + of a hand, and his muffled-up throat, and his quavery: + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Sylvanus? I'm afraid you're not—” + </p> + <p> + “First rate. Sit down. Have some port.” + </p> + <p> + “Port! I never drink it. Poison to me! Poison!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you good!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I know, that's what you always say.” + </p> + <p> + “You've a monstrous constitution, Sylvanus. If I drank port and smoked + cigars and sat up till one o'clock, I should be in my grave to-morrow. I'm + not the man I was. The fact is, I've come to see if you can help me. I'm + getting old; I'm growing nervous....” + </p> + <p> + “You always were as chickeny as an old hen, Joe.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, my nature's not like yours. To come to the point, I want to sell my + ships and retire. I need rest. Freights are very depressed. I've got my + family to think of.” + </p> + <p> + “Crack on, and go broke; buck you up like anything!” + </p> + <p> + “I'm quite serious, Sylvanus.” + </p> + <p> + “Never knew you anything else, Joe.” + </p> + <p> + A quavering cough, and out it had come: + </p> + <p> + “Now—in a word—won't your 'Island Navigation Company' buy my + ships?” + </p> + <p> + A pause, a twinkle, a puff of smoke. “Make it worth my while!” He had said + it in jest; and then, in a flash, the idea had come to him. Rosamund and + her youngsters! What a chance to put something between them and + destitution when he had joined the majority! And so he said: “We don't + want your silly ships.” + </p> + <p> + That claw of a hand waved in deprecation. “They're very good ships—doing + quite well. It's only my wretched health. If I were a strong man I + shouldn't dream....” + </p> + <p> + “What d'you want for 'em?” Good Lord! how he jumped if you asked him a + plain question. The chap was as nervous as a guinea-fowl! + </p> + <p> + “Here are the figures—for the last four years. I think you'll agree + that I couldn't ask less than seventy thousand.” + </p> + <p> + Through the smoke of his cigar old Heythorp had digested those figures + slowly, Joe Pillin feeling his teeth and sucking lozenges the while; then + he said: + </p> + <p> + “Sixty thousand! And out of that you pay me ten per cent., if I get it + through for you. Take it or leave it.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Sylvanus, that's almost-cynical.” + </p> + <p> + “Too good a price—you'll never get it without me.” + </p> + <p> + “But a—but a commission! You could never disclose it!” + </p> + <p> + “Arrange that all right. Think it over. Freights'll go lower yet. Have + some port.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! Thank you. No! So you think freights will go lower?” + </p> + <p> + “Sure of it.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'll be going. I'm sure I don't know. It's—it's—I must + think.” + </p> + <p> + “Think your hardest.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. Good-bye. I can't imagine how you still go on smoking those + things and drinking port. + </p> + <p> + “See you in your grave yet, Joe.” What a feeble smile the poor fellow had! + Laugh-he couldn't! And, alone again, he had browsed, developing the idea + which had come to him. + </p> + <p> + Though, to dwell in the heart of shipping, Sylvanus Heythorp had lived at + Liverpool twenty years, he was from the Eastern Counties, of a family so + old that it professed to despise the Conquest. Each of its generations + occupied nearly twice as long as those of less tenacious men. + Traditionally of Danish origin, its men folk had as a rule bright + reddish-brown hair, red cheeks, large round heads, excellent teeth and + poor morals. They had done their best for the population of any county in + which they had settled; their offshoots swarmed. Born in the early + twenties of the nineteenth century, Sylvanus Heythorp, after an education + broken by escapades both at school and college, had fetched up in that + simple London of the late forties, where claret, opera, and eight per + cent. for your money ruled a cheery roost. Made partner in his shipping + firm well before he was thirty, he had sailed with a wet sheet and a + flowing tide; dancers, claret, Cliquot, and piquet; a cab with a tiger; + some travel—all that delicious early-Victorian consciousness of + nothing save a golden time. It was all so full and mellow that he was + forty before he had his only love affair of any depth—with the + daughter of one of his own clerks, a liaison so awkward as to necessitate + a sedulous concealment. The death of that girl, after three years, leaving + him a natural son, had been the chief, perhaps the only real, sorrow of + his life. Five years later he married. What for? God only knew! as he was + in the habit of remarking. His wife had been a hard, worldly, + well-connected woman, who presented him with two unnatural children, a + girl and a boy, and grew harder, more worldly, less handsome, in the + process. The migration to Liverpool, which took place when he was sixty + and she forty-two, broke what she still had of heart, but she lingered on + twelve years, finding solace in bridge, and being haughty towards + Liverpool. Old Heythorp saw her to her rest without regret. He had felt no + love for her whatever, and practically none for her two children—they + were in his view colourless, pragmatical, very unexpected characters. His + son Ernest—in the Admiralty—he thought a poor, careful stick. + His daughter Adela, an excellent manager, delighting in spiritual + conversation and the society of tame men, rarely failed to show him that + she considered him a hopeless heathen. They saw as little as need be of + each other. She was provided for under that settlement he had made on her + mother fifteen years ago, well before the not altogether unexpected crisis + in his affairs. Very different was the feeling he had bestowed on that son + of his “under the rose.” The boy, who had always gone by his mother's name + of Larne, had on her death been sent to some relations of hers in Ireland, + and there brought up. He had been called to the Dublin bar, and married, + young, a girl half Cornish and half Irish; presently, having cost old + Heythorp in all a pretty penny, he had died impecunious, leaving his fair + Rosamund at thirty with a girl of eight and a boy of five. She had not + spent six months of widowhood before coming over from Dublin to claim the + old man's guardianship. A remarkably pretty woman, like a full-blown rose, + with greenish hazel eyes, she had turned up one morning at the offices of + “The Island Navigation Company,” accompanied by her two children—for + he had never divulged to them his private address. And since then they had + always been more or less on his hands, occupying a small house in a suburb + of Liverpool. He visited them there, but never asked them to the house in + Sefton Park, which was in fact his daughter's; so that his proper family + and friends were unaware of their existence. + </p> + <p> + Rosamund Larne was one of those precarious ladies who make uncertain + incomes by writing full-bodied storyettes. In the most dismal + circumstances she enjoyed a buoyancy bordering on the indecent; which + always amused old Heythorp's cynicism. But of his grandchildren Phyllis + and Jock (wild as colts) he had become fond. And this chance of getting + six thousand pounds settled on them at a stroke had seemed to him nothing + but heaven-sent. As things were, if he “went off”—and, of course, he + might at any moment, there wouldn't be a penny for them; for he would “cut + up” a good fifteen thousand to the bad. He was now giving them some three + hundred a year out of his fees; and dead directors unfortunately earned no + fees! Six thousand pounds at four and a half per cent., settled so that + their mother couldn't “blue it,” would give them a certain two hundred and + fifty pounds a year-better than beggary. And the more he thought the + better he liked it, if only that shaky chap, Joe Pillin, didn't shy off + when he'd bitten his nails short over it! + </p> + <p> + Four evenings later, the “shaky chap” had again appeared at his house in + Sefton Park. + </p> + <p> + “I've thought it over, Sylvanus. I don't like it. + </p> + <p> + “No; but you'll do it.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a sacrifice. Fifty-four thousand for four ships—it means a + considerable reduction in my income.” + </p> + <p> + “It means security, my boy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there is that; but you know, I really can't be party to a secret + commission. If it came out, think of my name and goodness knows what.” + </p> + <p> + “It won't come out.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, so you say, but—” + </p> + <p> + “All you've got to do's to execute a settlement on some third parties that + I'll name. I'm not going to take a penny of it myself. Get your own lawyer + to draw it up and make him trustee. You can sign it when the purchase has + gone through. I'll trust you, Joe. What stock have you got that gives four + and a half per cent.?” + </p> + <p> + “Midland” + </p> + <p> + “That'll do. You needn't sell.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but who are these people?” + </p> + <p> + “Woman and her children I want to do a good turn to.” What a face the + fellow had made! “Afraid of being connected with a woman, Joe?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you may laugh—I am afraid of being connected with someone + else's woman. I don't like it—I don't like it at all. I've not led + your life, Sylvanus.” + </p> + <p> + “Lucky for you; you'd have been dead long ago. Tell your lawyer it's an + old flame of yours—you old dog!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there it is at once, you see. I might be subject to blackmail.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell him to keep it dark, and just pay over the income, quarterly.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't like it, Sylvanus—I don't like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Then leave it, and be hanged to you. Have a cigar?” + </p> + <p> + “You know I never smoke. Is there no other way?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Sell stock in London, bank the proceeds there, and bring me six + thousand pounds in notes. I'll hold 'em till after the general meeting. If + the thing doesn't go through, I'll hand 'em back to you.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I like that even less.” + </p> + <p> + “Rather I trusted you, eh!” + </p> + <p> + “No, not at all, Sylvanus, not at all. But it's all playing round the + law.” + </p> + <p> + “There's no law to prevent you doing what you like with your money. What I + do's nothing to you. And mind you, I'm taking nothing from it—not a + mag. You assist the widowed and the fatherless—just your line, Joe!” + </p> + <p> + “What a fellow you are, Sylvanus; you don't seem capable of taking + anything seriously.” + </p> + <p> + “Care killed the cat!” + </p> + <p> + Left alone after this second interview he had thought: 'The beggar'll + jump.' + </p> + <p> + And the beggar had. That settlement was drawn and only awaited signature. + The Board to-day had decided on the purchase; and all that remained was to + get it ratified at the general meeting. Let him but get that over, and + this provision for his grandchildren made, and he would snap his fingers + at Brownbee and his crew-the canting humbugs! “Hope you have many years of + this life before you!” As if they cared for anything but his money—their + money rather! And becoming conscious of the length of his reverie, he + grasped the arms of his chair, heaved at his own bulk, in an effort to + rise, growing redder and redder in face and neck. It was one of the + hundred things his doctor had told him not to do for fear of apoplexy, the + humbug! Why didn't Farney or one of those young fellows come and help him + up? To call out was undignified. But was he to sit there all night? Three + times he failed, and after each failure sat motionless again, crimson and + exhausted; the fourth time he succeeded, and slowly made for the office. + Passing through, he stopped and said in his extinct voice: + </p> + <p> + “You young gentlemen had forgotten me.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Farney said you didn't wish to be disturbed, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good of him. Give me my hat and coat.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. What time is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Six o'clock, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell Mr. Farney to come and see me tomorrow at noon, about my speech for + the general meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + At his tortoise gait he passed between the office stools to the door, + opened it feebly, and slowly vanished. + </p> + <p> + Shutting the door behind him, a clerk said: + </p> + <p> + “Poor old chairman! He's on his last!” + </p> + <p> + Another answered: + </p> + <p> + “Gosh! He's a tough old hulk. He'll go down fightin'.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 2 + </h2> + <p> + Issuing from the offices of “The Island Navigation Company,” Sylvanus + Heythorp moved towards the corner whence he always took tram to Sefton + Park. The crowded street had all that prosperous air of catching or + missing something which characterises the town where London and New York + and Dublin meet. Old Heythorp had to cross to the far side, and he sallied + forth without regard to traffic. That snail-like passage had in it a touch + of the sublime; the old man seemed saying: “Knock me down and be d—-d + to you—I'm not going to hurry.” His life was saved perhaps ten times + a day by the British character at large, compounded of phlegm and a liking + to take something under its protection. The tram conductors on that line + were especially used to him, never failing to catch him under the arms and + heave him like a sack of coals, while with trembling hands he pulled hard + at the rail and strap. + </p> + <p> + “All right, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + He moved into the body of the tram, where somebody would always get up + from kindness and the fear that he might sit down on them; and there he + stayed motionless, his little eyes tight closed. With his red face, tuft + of white hairs above his square cleft block of shaven chin, and his big + high-crowned bowler hat, which yet seemed too petty for his head with its + thick hair—he looked like some kind of an idol dug up and decked out + in gear a size too small. + </p> + <p> + One of those voices of young men from public schools and exchanges where + things are bought and sold, said: + </p> + <p> + “How de do, Mr. Heythorp?” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp opened his eyes. That sleek cub, Joe Pillin's son! What a + young pup-with his round eyes, and his round cheeks, and his little + moustache, his fur coat, his spats, his diamond pin! + </p> + <p> + “How's your father?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Thanks, rather below par, worryin' about his ships. Suppose you haven't + any news for him, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp nodded. The young man was one of his pet abominations, + embodying all the complacent, little-headed mediocrity of this new + generation; natty fellows all turned out of the same mould, sippers and + tasters, chaps without drive or capacity, without even vices; and he did + not intend to gratify the cub's curiosity. + </p> + <p> + “Come to my house,” he said; “I'll give you a note for him.” + </p> + <p> + “Tha-anks; I'd like to cheer the old man up.” + </p> + <p> + The old man! Cheeky brat! And closing his eyes he relapsed into + immobility. The tram wound and ground its upward way, and he mused. When + he was that cub's age—twenty-eight or whatever it might be—he + had done most things; been up Vesuvius, driven four-in-hand, lost his last + penny on the Derby and won it back on the Oaks, known all the dancers and + operatic stars of the day, fought a duel with a Yankee at Dieppe and + winged him for saying through his confounded nose that Old England was + played out; been a controlling voice already in his shipping firm; drunk + five other of the best men in London under the table; broken his neck + steeple-chasing; shot a burglar in the legs; been nearly drowned, for a + bet; killed snipe in Chelsea; been to Court for his sins; stared a ghost + out of countenance; and travelled with a lady of Spain. If this young pup + had done the last, it would be all he had; and yet, no doubt, he would + call himself a “spark.” + </p> + <p> + The conductor touched his arm. + </p> + <p> + “'Ere you are, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you.” + </p> + <p> + He lowered himself to the ground, and moved in the bluish darkness towards + the gate of his daughter's house. Bob Pillin walked beside him, thinking: + 'Poor old josser, he is gettin' a back number!' And he said: “I should + have thought you ought to drive, sir. My old guv'nor would knock up at + once if he went about at night like this.” + </p> + <p> + The answer rumbled out into the misty air: + </p> + <p> + “Your father's got no chest; never had.” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin gave vent to one of those fat cackles which come so readily + from a certain type of man; and old Heythorp thought: + </p> + <p> + 'Laughing at his father! Parrot!' + </p> + <p> + They had reached the porch. + </p> + <p> + A woman with dark hair and a thin, straight face and figure was arranging + some flowers in the hall. She turned and said: + </p> + <p> + “You really ought not to be so late, Father! It's wicked at this time of + year. Who is it—oh! Mr. Pillin, how do you do? Have you had tea? + Won't you come to the drawing-room; or do you want to see my father?” + </p> + <p> + “Tha-anks! I believe your father—” And he thought: 'By Jove! the old + chap is a caution!' For old Heythorp was crossing the hall without having + paid the faintest attention to his daughter. Murmuring again: + </p> + <p> + “Tha-anks awfully; he wants to give me something,” he followed. Miss + Heythorp was not his style at all; he had a kind of dread of that thin + woman who looked as if she could never be unbuttoned. They said she was a + great churchgoer and all that sort of thing. + </p> + <p> + In his sanctum old Heythorp had moved to his writing-table, and was + evidently anxious to sit down. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I give you a hand, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Receiving a shake of the head, Bob Pillin stood by the fire and watched. + The old “sport” liked to paddle his own canoe. Fancy having to lower + yourself into a chair like that! When an old Johnny got to such a state it + was really a mercy when he snuffed out, and made way for younger men. How + his Companies could go on putting up with such a fossil for chairman was a + marvel! The fossil rumbled and said in that almost inaudible voice: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you're beginning to look forward to your father's shoes?” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin's mouth opened. The voice went on: + </p> + <p> + “Dibs and no responsibility. Tell him from me to drink port—add five + years to his life.” + </p> + <p> + To this unwarranted attack Bob Pillin made no answer save a laugh; he + perceived that a manservant had entered the room. + </p> + <p> + “A Mrs. Larne, sir. Will you see her?” + </p> + <p> + At this announcement the old man seemed to try and start; then he nodded, + and held out the note he had written. Bob Pillin received it together with + the impression of a murmur which sounded like: “Scratch a poll, Poll!” and + passing the fine figure of a woman in a fur coat, who seemed to warm the + air as she went by, he was in the hall again before he perceived that he + had left his hat. + </p> + <p> + A young and pretty girl was standing on the bearskin before the fire, + looking at him with round-eyed innocence. He thought: 'This is better; I + mustn't disturb them for my hat'. and approaching the fire, said: + </p> + <p> + “Jolly cold, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + The girl smiled: “Yes-jolly.” + </p> + <p> + He noticed that she had a large bunch of violets at her breast, a lot of + fair hair, a short straight nose, and round blue-grey eyes very frank and + open. “Er” he said, “I've left my hat in there.” + </p> + <p> + “What larks!” And at her little clear laugh something moved within Bob + Pillin. + </p> + <p> + “You know this house well?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. “But it's rather scrummy, isn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin, who had never yet thought so answered: + </p> + <p> + “Quite O.K.” + </p> + <p> + The girl threw up her head to laugh again. “O.K.? What's that?” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin saw her white round throat, and thought: 'She is a ripper!' And + he said with a certain desperation: + </p> + <p> + “My name's Pillin. Yours is Larne, isn't it? Are you a relation here?” + </p> + <p> + “He's our Guardy. Isn't he a chook?” + </p> + <p> + That rumbling whisper like “Scratch a Poll, Poll!” recurring to Bob + Pillin, he said with reservation: + </p> + <p> + “You know him better than I do.” “Oh! Aren't you his grandson, or + something?” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin did not cross himself. + </p> + <p> + “Lord! No! My dad's an old friend of his; that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Is your dad like him?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much.” + </p> + <p> + “What a pity! It would have been lovely if they'd been Tweedles.” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin thought: 'This bit is something new. I wonder what her + Christian name is.' And he said: + </p> + <p> + “What did your godfather and godmothers in your baptism—-?” + </p> + <p> + The girl laughed; she seemed to laugh at everything. + </p> + <p> + “Phyllis.” + </p> + <p> + Could he say: “Is my only joy”? Better keep it! But-for what? He wouldn't + see her again if he didn't look out! And he said: + </p> + <p> + “I live at the last house in the park-the red one. D'you know it? Where do + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! a long way—23, Millicent Villas. It's a poky little house. I + hate it. We have awful larks, though.” + </p> + <p> + “Who are we?” + </p> + <p> + “Mother, and myself, and Jock—he's an awful boy. You can't conceive + what an awful boy he is. He's got nearly red hair; I think he'll be just + like Guardy when he gets old. He's awful!” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin murmured: + </p> + <p> + “I should like to see him.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you? I'll ask mother if you can. You won't want to again; he goes + off all the time like a squib.” She threw back her head, and again Bob + Pillin felt a little giddy. He collected himself, and drawled: + </p> + <p> + “Are you going in to see your Guardy?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Mother's got something special to say. We've never been here before, + you see. Isn't he fun, though?” + </p> + <p> + “Fun!” + </p> + <p> + “I think he's the greatest lark; but he's awfully nice to me. Jock calls + him the last of the Stoic'uns.” + </p> + <p> + A voice called from old Heythorp's den: + </p> + <p> + “Phyllis!” It had a particular ring, that voice, as if coming from + beautifully formed red lips, of which the lower one must curve the least + bit over; it had, too, a caressing vitality, and a kind of warm falsity. + </p> + <p> + The girl threw a laughing look back over her shoulder, and vanished + through the door into the room. + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin remained with his back to the fire and his puppy round eyes + fixed on the air that her figure had last occupied. He was experiencing a + sensation never felt before. Those travels with a lady of Spain, + charitably conceded him by old Heythorp, had so far satisfied the + emotional side of this young man; they had stopped short at Brighton and + Scarborough, and been preserved from even the slightest intrusion of love. + A calculated and hygienic career had caused no anxiety either to himself + or his father; and this sudden swoop of something more than admiration + gave him an uncomfortable choky feeling just above his high round collar, + and in the temples a sort of buzzing—those first symptoms of + chivalry. A man of the world does not, however, succumb without a + struggle; and if his hat had not been out of reach, who knows whether he + would not have left the house hurriedly, saying to himself: “No, no, my + boy; Millicent Villas is hardly your form, when your intentions are + honourable”? For somehow that round and laughing face, bob of glistening + hair, those wide-opened grey eyes refused to awaken the beginnings of + other intentions—such is the effect of youth and innocence on even + the steadiest young men. With a kind of moral stammer, he was thinking: + 'Can I—dare I offer to see them to their tram? Couldn't I even nip + out and get the car round and send them home in it? No, I might miss them—better + stick it out here! What a jolly laugh! What a tipping face—strawberries + and cream, hay, and all that! Millicent Villas!' And he wrote it on his + cuff. + </p> + <p> + The door was opening; he heard that warm vibrating voice: “Come along, + Phyllis!”—the girl's laugh so high and fresh: “Right-o! Coming!” And + with, perhaps, the first real tremor he had ever known, he crossed to the + front door. All the more chivalrous to escort them to the tram without a + hat! And suddenly he heard: “I've got your hat, young man!” And her + mother's voice, warm, and simulating shock: “Phyllis, you awful gairl! Did + you ever see such an awful gairl; Mr.—-” + </p> + <p> + “Pillin, Mother.” + </p> + <p> + And then—he did not quite know how—insulated from the January + air by laughter and the scent of fur and violets, he was between them + walking to their tram. It was like an experience out of the “Arabian + Nights,” or something of that sort, an intoxication which made one say one + was going their way, though one would have to come all the way back in the + same beastly tram. Nothing so warming had ever happened to him as sitting + between them on that drive, so that he forgot the note in his pocket, and + his desire to relieve the anxiety of the “old man,” his father. At the + tram's terminus they all got out. There issued a purr of invitation to + come and see them some time; a clear: “Jock'll love to see you!” A low + laugh: “You awful gairl!” And a flash of cunning zigzagged across his + brain. Taking off his hat, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Thanks awfully; rather!” and put his foot back on the step of the tram. + Thus did he delicately expose the depths of his chivalry! + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you said you were going our way! What one-ers you do tell! Oh!” The + words were as music; the sight of those eyes growing rounder, the most + perfect he had ever seen; and Mrs. Larne's low laugh, so warm yet so + preoccupied, and the tips of the girl's fingers waving back above her + head. He heaved a sigh, and knew no more till he was seated at his club + before a bottle of champagne. Home! Not he! He wished to drink and dream. + “The old man” would get his news all right to-morrow! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 3 + </h2> + <p> + The words: “A Mrs. Larne to see you, sir,” had been of a nature to + astonish weaker nerves. What had brought her here? She knew she mustn't + come! Old Heythorp had watched her entrance with cynical amusement. The + way she whiffed herself at that young pup in passing, the way her eyes + slid round! He had a very just appreciation of his son's widow; and a + smile settled deep between his chin tuft and his moustache. She lifted his + hand, kissed it, pressed it to her splendid bust, and said: + </p> + <p> + “So here I am at last, you see. Aren't you surprised?” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp, shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I really had to come and see you, Guardy; we haven't had a sight of you + for such an age. And in this awful weather! How are you, dear old Guardy?” + </p> + <p> + “Never better.” And, watching her green-grey eyes, he added: + </p> + <p> + “Haven't a penny for you!” + </p> + <p> + Her face did not fall; she gave her feather-laugh. + </p> + <p> + “How dreadful of you to think I came for that! But I am in an awful fix, + Guardy.” + </p> + <p> + “Never knew you not to be.” + </p> + <p> + “Just let me tell you, dear; it'll be some relief. I'm having the most + terrible time.” + </p> + <p> + She sank into a low chair, disengaging an overpowering scent of violets, + while melancholy struggled to subdue her face and body. + </p> + <p> + “The most awful fix. I expect to be sold up any moment. We may be on the + streets to-morrow. I daren't tell the children; they're so happy, poor + darlings. I shall be obliged to take Jock away from school. And Phyllis + will have to stop her piano and dancing; it's an absolute crisis. And all + due to those Midland Syndicate people. I've been counting on at least two + hundred for my new story, and the wretches have refused it.” + </p> + <p> + With a tiny handkerchief she removed one tear from the corner of one eye. + “It is hard, Guardy; I worked my brain silly over that story.” + </p> + <p> + From old Heythorp came a mutter which sounded suspiciously like: + </p> + <p> + “Rats!” + </p> + <p> + Heaving a sigh, which conveyed nothing but the generosity of her breathing + apparatus, Mrs. Larne went on: + </p> + <p> + “You couldn't, I suppose, let me have just one hundred?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bob.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed again, her eyes slid round the room; then in her warm voice she + murmured: + </p> + <p> + “Guardy, you were my dear Philip's father, weren't you? I've never said + anything; but of course you were. He was so like you, and so is Jock.” + </p> + <p> + Nothing moved in old Heythorp's face. No pagan image consulted with + flowers and song and sacrifice could have returned less answer. Her dear + Philip! She had led him the devil of a life, or he was a Dutchman! And + what the deuce made her suddenly trot out the skeleton like this? But Mrs. + Larne's eyes were still wandering. + </p> + <p> + “What a lovely house! You know, I think you ought to help me, Guardy. Just + imagine if your grandchildren were thrown out into the street!” + </p> + <p> + The old man grinned. He was not going to deny his relationship—it + was her look-out, not his. But neither was he going to let her rush him. + </p> + <p> + “And they will be; you couldn't look on and see it. Do come to my rescue + this once. You really might do something for them.” + </p> + <p> + With a rumbling sigh he answered: + </p> + <p> + “Wait. Can't give you a penny now. Poor as a church mouse.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Guardy + </p> + <p> + “Fact.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Larne heaved one of her most buoyant sighs. She certainly did not + believe him. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” she said; “you'll be sorry when we come round one night and sing + for pennies under your window. Wouldn't you like to see Phyllis? I left + her in the hall. She's growing such a sweet gairl. Guardy just fifty!” + </p> + <p> + “Not a rap.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Larne threw up her hands. “Well! You'll repent it. I'm at my last + gasp.” She sighed profoundly, and the perfume of violets escaped in a + cloud; Then, getting up, she went to the door and called: “Phyllis!” + </p> + <p> + When the girl entered old Heythorp felt the nearest approach to a flutter + of the heart for many years. She had put her hair up! She was like a + spring day in January; such a relief from that scented humbug, her mother. + Pleasant the touch of her lips on his forehead, the sound of her clear + voice, the sight of her slim movements, the feeling that she did him + credit—clean-run stock, she and that young scamp Jock—better + than the holy woman, his daughter Adela, would produce if anyone were ever + fool enough to marry her, or that pragmatical fellow, his son Ernest. + </p> + <p> + And when they were gone he reflected with added zest on the six thousand + pounds he was getting for them out of Joe Pillin and his ships. He would + have to pitch it strong in his speech at the general meeting. With + freights so low, there was bound to be opposition. No dash nowadays; + nothing but gabby caution! They were a scrim-shanking lot on the Board—he + had had to pull them round one by one—the deuce of a tug getting + this thing through! And yet, the business was sound enough. Those ships + would earn money, properly handled-good money. + </p> + <p> + His valet, coming in to prepare him for dinner, found him asleep. He had + for the old man as much admiration as may be felt for one who cannot put + his own trousers on. He would say to the housemaid Molly: “He's a game old + blighter—must have been a rare one in his day. Cocks his hat at you, + even now, I see!” To which the girl, Irish and pretty, would reply: “Well, + an' sure I don't mind, if it gives um a pleasure. 'Tis better anyway than + the sad eye I get from herself.” + </p> + <p> + At dinner, old Heythorp always sat at one end of the rosewood table and + his daughter at the other. It was the eminent moment of the day. With + napkin tucked high into his waistcoat, he gave himself to the meal with + passion. His palate was undimmed, his digestion unimpaired. He could still + eat as much as two men, and drink more than one. And while he savoured + each mouthful he never spoke if he could help it. The holy woman had + nothing to say that he cared to hear, and he nothing to say that she cared + to listen to. She had a horror, too, of what she called “the pleasures of + the table”—those lusts of the flesh! She was always longing to dock + his grub, he knew. Would see her further first! What other pleasures were + there at his age? Let her wait till she was eighty. But she never would + be; too thin and holy! + </p> + <p> + This evening, however, with the advent of the partridge she did speak. + </p> + <p> + “Who were your visitors, Father?” + </p> + <p> + Trust her for nosing anything out! Fixing his little blue eyes on her, he + mumbled with a very full mouth: “Ladies.” + </p> + <p> + “So I saw; what ladies?” + </p> + <p> + He had a longing to say: 'Part of one of my families under the rose.' As a + fact it was the best part of the only one, but the temptation to multiply + exceedingly was almost overpowering. He checked himself, however, and went + on eating partridge, his secret irritation crimsoning his cheeks; and he + watched her eyes, those cold precise and round grey eyes, noting it, and + knew she was thinking: 'He eats too much.' + </p> + <p> + She said: “Sorry I'm not considered fit to be told. You ought not to be + drinking hock.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp took up the long green glass, drained it, and repressing + fumes and emotion went on with his partridge. His daughter pursed her + lips, took a sip of water, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I know their name is Larne, but it conveyed nothing to me; perhaps it's + just as well.” + </p> + <p> + The old man, mastering a spasm, said with a grin: + </p> + <p> + “My daughter-in-law and my granddaughter.” + </p> + <p> + “What! Ernest married—Oh! nonsense!” + </p> + <p> + He chuckled, and shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Then do you mean to say, Father, that you were married before you married + my mother?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + The expression on her face was as good as a play! + </p> + <p> + She said with a sort of disgust: “Not married! I see. I suppose those + people are hanging round your neck, then; no wonder you're always in + difficulties. Are there any more of them?” + </p> + <p> + Again the old man suppressed that spasm, and the veins in his neck and + forehead swelled alarmingly. If he had spoken he would infallibly have + choked. He ceased eating, and putting his hands on the table tried to + raise himself. He could not and subsiding in his chair sat glaring at the + stiff, quiet figure of his daughter. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be silly, Father, and make a scene before Meller. Finish your + dinner.” + </p> + <p> + He did not answer. He was not going to sit there to be dragooned and + insulted! His helplessness had never so weighed on him before. It was like + a revelation. A log—that had to put up with anything! A log! And, + waiting for his valet to return, he cunningly took up his fork. + </p> + <p> + In that saintly voice of hers she said: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you don't realise that it's a shock to me. I don't know what + Ernest will think—” + </p> + <p> + “Ernest be d—-d.” + </p> + <p> + “I do wish, Father, you wouldn't swear.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp's rage found vent in a sort of rumble. How the devil had he + gone on all these years in the same house with that woman, dining with her + day after day! But the servant had come back now, and putting down his + fork he said: + </p> + <p> + “Help me up!” + </p> + <p> + The man paused, thunderstruck, with the souffle balanced. To leave dinner + unfinished—it was a portent! + </p> + <p> + “Help me up!” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Heythorp's not very well, Meller; take his other arm.” + </p> + <p> + The old man shook off her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I'm very well. Help me up. Dine in my own room in future.” + </p> + <p> + Raised to his feet, he walked slowly out; but in his sanctum he did not + sit down, obsessed by this first overwhelming realisation of his + helplessness. He stood swaying a little, holding on to the table, till the + servant, having finished serving dinner, brought in his port. + </p> + <p> + “Are you waiting to sit down, sir?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. Hang it, he could do that for himself, anyway. He must + think of something to fortify his position against that woman. And he + said: + </p> + <p> + “Send me Molly!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” The man put down the port and went. + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp filled his glass, drank, and filled again. He took a cigar + from the box and lighted it. The girl came in, a grey-eyed, dark-haired + damsel, and stood with her hands folded, her head a little to one side, + her lips a little parted. The old man said: + </p> + <p> + “You're a human being.” + </p> + <p> + “I would hope so, sirr.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to ask you something as a human being—not a servant—see?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sirr; but I will be glad to do anything you like.” + </p> + <p> + “Then put your nose in here every now and then, to see if I want anything. + Meller goes out sometimes. Don't say anything; Just put your nose in.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! an' I will; 'tis a pleasure 'twill be to do ut.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded, and when she had gone lowered himself into his chair with a + sense of appeasement. Pretty girl! Comfort to see a pretty face—not + a pale, peeky thing like Adela's. His anger burned up anew. So she counted + on his helplessness, had begun to count on that, had she? She should see + that there was life in the old dog yet! And his sacrifice of the uneaten + souffle, the still less eaten mushrooms, the peppermint sweet with which + he usually concluded dinner, seemed to consecrate that purpose. They all + thought he was a hulk, without a shot left in the locker! He had seen a + couple of them at the Board that afternoon shrugging at each other, as + though saying: 'Look at him!' And young Farney pitying him. Pity, + forsooth! And that coarse-grained solicitor chap at the creditors' meeting + curling his lip as much as to say: 'One foot in the grave!' He had seen + the clerks dowsing the glim of their grins; and that young pup Bob Pillin + screwing up his supercilious mug over his dog-collar. He knew that scented + humbug Rosamund was getting scared that he'd drop off before she'd + squeezed him dry. And his valet was always looking him up and down + queerly. As to that holy woman—! Not quite so fast! Not quite so + fast! And filling his glass for the fourth time, he slowly sucked down the + dark red fluid, with the “old boots” flavour which his soul loved, and, + drawing deep at his cigar, closed his eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + The room in the hotel where the general meetings of “The Island Navigation + Company” were held was nearly full when the secretary came through the + door which as yet divided the shareholders from their directors. Having + surveyed their empty chairs, their ink and papers, and nodded to a + shareholder or two, he stood, watch in hand, contemplating the + congregation. A thicker attendance than he had ever seen! Due, no doubt, + to the lower dividend, and this Pillin business. And his tongue curled. + For if he had a natural contempt for his Board, with the exception of the + chairman, he had a still more natural contempt for his shareholders. + Amusing spectacle when you came to think of it, a general meeting! Unique! + Eighty or a hundred men, and five women, assembled through sheer devotion + to their money. Was any other function in the world so single-hearted. + Church was nothing to it—so many motives were mingled there with + devotion to one's soul. A well-educated young man—reader of Anatole + France, and other writers—he enjoyed ironic speculation. What + earthly good did they think they got by coming here? Half-past two! He put + his watch back into his pocket, and passed into the Board-room. + </p> + <p> + There, the fumes of lunch and of a short preliminary meeting made cosy the + February atmosphere. By the fire four directors were conversing rather + restlessly; the fifth was combing his beard; the chairman sat with eyes + closed and red lips moving rhythmically in the sucking of a lozenge, the + slips of his speech ready in his hand. The secretary said in his cheerful + voice: “Time, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp swallowed, lifted his arms, rose with help, and walked + through to his place at the centre of the table. The five directors + followed. And, standing at the chairman's right, the secretary read the + minutes, forming the words precisely with his curling tongue. Then, + assisting the chairman to his feet, he watched those rows of faces, and + thought: 'Mistake to let them see he can't get up without help. He ought + to have let me read his speech—I wrote it.' + </p> + <p> + The chairman began to speak: + </p> + <p> + “It is my duty and my pleasure,' ladies and gentlemen, for the nineteenth + consecutive year to present to you the directors' report and the accounts + for the past twelve months. You will all have had special notice of a + measure of policy on which your Board has decided, and to which you will + be asked to-day to give your adherence—to that I shall come at the + end of my remarks....” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, sir; we can't hear a word down here.” + </p> + <p> + 'Ah!' thought the secretary, 'I was expecting that.' + </p> + <p> + The chairman went on, undisturbed. But several shareholders now rose, and + the same speaker said testily: “We might as well go home. If the + chairman's got no voice, can't somebody read for him?” + </p> + <p> + The chairman took a sip of water, and resumed. Almost all in the last six + rows were now on their feet, and amid a hubbub of murmurs the chairman + held out to the secretary the slips of his speech, and fell heavily back + into his chair. + </p> + <p> + The secretary re-read from the beginning; and as each sentence fell from + his tongue, he thought: 'How good that is!' 'That's very clear!' 'A neat + touch!' 'This is getting them.' It seemed to him a pity they could not + know it was all his composition. When at last he came to the Pillin sale + he paused for a second. + </p> + <p> + “I come now to the measure of policy to which I made allusion at the + beginning of my speech. Your Board has decided to expand your enterprise + by purchasing the entire fleet of Pillin & Co., Ltd. By this + transaction we become the owners of the four steamships Smyrna, Damascus, + Tyre, and Sidon, vessels in prime condition with a total freight-carrying + capacity of fifteen thousand tons, at the low inclusive price of sixty + thousand pounds. Gentlemen, de l'audace, toujours de l'audace!”—it + was the chairman's phrase, his bit of the speech, and the secretary did it + more than justice. “Times are bad, but your Board is emphatically of the + opinion that they are touching bottom; and this, in their view, is the + psychological moment for a forward stroke. They confidently recommend your + adoption of their policy and the ratification of this purchase, which they + believe will, in the not far distant future, substantially increase the + profits of the Company.” The secretary sat down with reluctance. The + speech should have continued with a number of appealing sentences which he + had carefully prepared, but the chairman had cut them out with the simple + comment: “They ought to be glad of the chance.” It was, in his view, an + error. + </p> + <p> + The director who had combed his beard now rose—a man of presence, + who might be trusted to say nothing long and suavely. While he was + speaking the secretary was busy noting whence opposition was likely to + come. The majority were sitting owl-like-a good sign; but some dozen were + studying their copies of the report, and three at least were making notes—Westgate, + for, instance, who wanted to get on the Board, and was sure to make + himself unpleasant—the time-honoured method of vinegar; and + Batterson, who also desired to come on, and might be trusted to support + the Board—the time-honoured method of oil; while, if one knew + anything of human nature, the fellow who had complained that he might as + well go home would have something uncomfortable to say. The director + finished his remarks, combed his beard with his fingers, and sat down. + </p> + <p> + A momentary pause ensued. Then Messieurs Westgate and Batterson rose + together. Seeing the chairman nod towards the latter, the secretary + thought: 'Mistake! He should have humoured Westgate by giving him + precedence.' But that was the worst of the old man, he had no notion of + the suaviter in modo! Mr. Batterson thus unchained—would like, if he + might be so allowed, to congratulate the Board on having piloted their + ship so smoothly through the troublous waters of the past year. With their + worthy chairman still at the helm, he had no doubt that in spite of the + still low—he would not say falling—barometer, and + the-er-unseasonable climacteric, they might rely on weathering the—er—he + would not say storm. He would confess that the present dividend of four + per cent. was not one which satisfied every aspiration (Hear, hear!), but + speaking for himself, and he hoped for others—and here Mr. Batterson + looked round—he recognised that in all the circumstances it was as + much as they had the right—er—to expect. But following the + bold but to his mind prudent development which the Board proposed to make, + he thought that they might reasonably, if not sanguinely, anticipate a + more golden future. (“No, no!”) A shareholder said, 'No, no!' That might + seem to indicate a certain lack of confidence in the special proposal + before the meeting. (“Yes!”) From that lack of confidence he would like at + once to dissociate himself. Their chairman, a man of foresight and acumen, + and valour proved on many a field and—er—sea, would not have + committed himself to this policy without good reason. In his opinion they + were in safe hands, and he was glad to register his support of the measure + proposed. The chairman had well said in his speech: 'de l'audace, toujours + de l'audace!' Shareholders would agree with him that there could be no + better motto for Englishmen. Ahem! + </p> + <p> + Mr. Batterson sat down. And Mr. Westgate rose: He wanted—he said—to + know more, much more, about this proposition, which to his mind was of a + very dubious wisdom.... 'Ah!' thought the secretary, 'I told the old boy + he must tell them more'.... To whom, for instance, had the proposal first + been made? To him!—the chairman said. Good! But why were Pillins + selling, if freights were to go up, as they were told? + </p> + <p> + “Matter of opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so; and in my opinion they are going lower, and Pillins were right + to sell. It follows that we are wrong to buy.” (“Hear, hear!” “No, no!”) + “Pillins are shrewd people. What does the chairman say? Nerves! Does he + mean to tell us that this sale was the result of nerves?” + </p> + <p> + The chairman nodded. + </p> + <p> + “That appears to me a somewhat fantastic theory; but I will leave that and + confine myself to asking the grounds on which the chairman bases his + confidence; in fact, what it is which is actuating the Board in pressing + on us at such a time what I have no hesitation in stigmatising as a rash + proposal. In a word, I want light as well as leading in this matter.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Westgate sat down. + </p> + <p> + What would the chairman do now? The situation was distinctly awkward—seeing + his helplessness and the lukewarmness of the Board behind him. And the + secretary felt more strongly than ever the absurdity of his being an + underling, he who in a few well-chosen words could so easily have twisted + the meeting round his thumb. Suddenly he heard the long, rumbling sigh + which preluded the chairman's speeches. + </p> + <p> + “Has any other gentleman anything to say before I move the adoption of the + report?” + </p> + <p> + Phew! That would put their backs up. Yes, sure enough it had brought that + fellow, who had said he might as well go home, to his feet! Now for + something nasty! + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Westgate requires answering. I don't like this business. I don't + impute anything to anybody; but it looks to me as if there were something + behind it which the shareholders ought to be told. Not only that; but, to + speak frankly, I'm not satisfied to be ridden over roughshod in this + fashion by one who, whatever he may have been in the past, is obviously + not now in the prime of his faculties.” + </p> + <p> + With a gasp the secretary thought: 'I knew that was a plain-spoken man!' + </p> + <p> + He heard again the rumbling beside him. The chairman had gone crimson, his + mouth was pursed, his little eyes were very blue. + </p> + <p> + “Help me up,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The secretary helped him, and waited, rather breathless. + </p> + <p> + The chairman took a sip of water, and his voice, unexpectedly loud, broke + an ominous hush: + </p> + <p> + “Never been so insulted in my life. My best services have been at your + disposal for nineteen years; you know what measure of success this Company + has attained. I am the oldest man here, and my experience of shipping is, + I hope, a little greater than that of the two gentlemen who spoke last. I + have done my best for you, ladies and gentlemen, and we shall see whether + you are going to endorse an indictment of my judgment and of my honour, if + I am to take the last speaker seriously. This purchase is for your good. + 'There is a tide in the affairs of men'—and I for one am not + content, never have been, to stagnate. If that is what you want, however, + by all means give your support to these gentlemen and have done with it. I + tell you freights will go up before the end of the year; the purchase is a + sound one, more than a sound one—I, at any rate, stand or fall by + it. Refuse to ratify it, if you like; if you do, I shall resign.” + </p> + <p> + He sank back into his seat. The secretary, stealing a glance, thought with + a sort of enthusiasm: 'Bravo! Who'd have thought he could rally his voice + like that? A good touch, too, that about his honour! I believe he's + knocked them. + </p> + <p> + It's still dicky, though, if that fellow at the back gets up again; the + old chap can't work that stop a second time. 'Ah! here was 'old Apple-pie' + on his hind legs. That was all right! + </p> + <p> + “I do not hesitate to say that I am an old friend of the chairman; we are, + many of us, old friends of the chairman, and it has been painful to me, + and I doubt not to others, to hear an attack made on him. If he is old in + body, he is young in mental vigour and courage. I wish we were all as + young. We ought to stand by him; I say, we ought to stand by him.” (“Hear, + hear! Hear, hear!”) And the secretary thought: 'That's done it!' And he + felt a sudden odd emotion, watching the chairman bobbing his body, like a + wooden toy, at old Appleby; and old Appleby bobbing back. Then, seeing a + shareholder close to the door get up, thought: 'Who's that? I know his + face—Ah! yes; Ventnor, the solicitor—he's one of the + chairman's creditors that are coming again this afternoon. What now?' + </p> + <p> + “I can't agree that we ought to let sentiment interfere with our judgment + in this matter. The question is simply: How are our pockets going to be + affected? I came here with some misgivings, but the attitude of the + chairman has been such as to remove them; and I shall support the + proposition.” The secretary thought: 'That's all right—only, he said + it rather queerly—rather queerly.' + </p> + <p> + Then, after a long silence, the chairman, without rising, said: + </p> + <p> + “I move the adoption of the report and accounts.” + </p> + <p> + “I second that.” + </p> + <p> + “Those in favour signify the same in the usual way. Contrary? Carried.” + The secretary noted the dissentients, six in number, and that Mr. Westgate + did not vote. + </p> + <p> + A quarter of an hour later he stood in the body of the emptying room + supplying names to one of the gentlemen of the Press. The passionless + fellow said: “Haythorp, with an 'a'. oh! an 'e'. he seems an old man. + Thank you. I may have the slips? Would you like to see a proof? With an + 'a' you said—oh! an 'e.' Good afternoon!” And the secretary thought: + 'Those fellows, what does go on inside them? Fancy not knowing the old + chairman by now!'... + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 2 + </h2> + <p> + Back in the proper office of “The Island Navigation Company” old Heythorp + sat smoking a cigar and smiling like a purring cat. He was dreaming a + little of his triumph, sifting with his old brain, still subtle, the wheat + from the chaff of the demurrers: Westgate—nothing in that—professional + discontent till they silenced him with a place on the board—but not + while he held the reins! That chap at the back—an ill-conditioned + fellow! “Something behind!” Suspicious brute! There was something—but—hang + it! they might think themselves lucky to get four ships at that price, and + all due to him! It was on the last speaker that his mind dwelt with a + doubt. That fellow Ventnor, to whom he owed money—there had been + something just a little queer about his tone—as much as to say, “I + smell a rat.” Well! one would see that at the creditors' meeting in half + an hour. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Pillin, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Show him in!” + </p> + <p> + In a fur coat which seemed to extinguish his thin form, Joe Pillin + entered. It was snowing, and the cold had nipped and yellowed his meagre + face between its slight grey whiskering. He said thinly: + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Sylvanus? Aren't you perished in this cold?” + </p> + <p> + “Warm as a toast. Sit down. Take off your coat.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I should be lost without it. You must have a fire inside you. So-so + it's gone through?” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp nodded; and Joe Pillin, wandering like a spirit, scrutinised + the shut door. He came back to the table, and said in a low voice: + </p> + <p> + “It's a great sacrifice.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Have you signed the deed poll?” + </p> + <p> + Producing a parchment from his pocket Joe Pillin unfolded it with caution + to disclose his signature, and said: + </p> + <p> + “I don't like it—it's irrevocable.” + </p> + <p> + A chuckle escaped old Heythorp. + </p> + <p> + “As death.” + </p> + <p> + Joe Pillin's voice passed up into the treble clef. + </p> + <p> + “I can't bear irrevocable things. I consider you stampeded me, playing on + my nerves.” + </p> + <p> + Examining the signatures old Heythorp murmured: + </p> + <p> + “Tell your lawyer to lock it up. He must think you a sad dog, Joe.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Suppose on my death it comes to the knowledge of my wife!” + </p> + <p> + “She won't be able to make it hotter for you than you'll be already.” + </p> + <p> + Joe Pillin replaced the deed within his coat, emitting a queer thin noise. + He simply could not bear joking on such subjects. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “you've got your way; you always do. Who is this Mrs. + Larne? You oughtn't to keep me in the dark. It seems my boy met her at + your house. You told me she didn't come there.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp said with relish: + </p> + <p> + “Her husband was my son by a woman I was fond of before I married; her + children are my grandchildren. You've provided for them. Best thing you + ever did.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know—I don't know. I'm sorry you told me. It makes it all + the more doubtful. As soon as the transfer's complete, I shall get away + abroad. This cold's killing me. I wish you'd give me your recipe for + keeping warm.” + </p> + <p> + “Get a new inside.” + </p> + <p> + Joe Pillin regarded his old friend with a sort of yearning. “And yet,” he + said, “I suppose, with your full-blooded habit, your life hangs by a + thread, doesn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “A stout one, my boy” + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-bye, Sylvanus. You're a Job's comforter; I must be getting + home.” He put on his hat, and, lost in his fur coat, passed out into the + corridor. On the stairs he met a man who said: + </p> + <p> + “How do you do, Mr. Pillin? I know your son. Been' seeing the chairman? I + see your sale's gone through all right. I hope that'll do us some good, + but I suppose you think the other way?” + </p> + <p> + Peering at him from under his hat, Joe Pillin said: + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ventnor, I think? Thank you! It's very cold, isn't it?” And, with + that cautious remark, he passed on down. + </p> + <p> + Alone again, old Heythorp thought: 'By George! What a wavering, quavering, + thread paper of a fellow! What misery life must be to a chap like that! He + walks in fear—he wallows in it. Poor devil!' And a curious feeling + swelled his heart, of elation, of lightness such as he had not known for + years. Those two young things were safe now from penury-safe! After + dealing with those infernal creditors of his he would go round and have a + look at the children. With a hundred and twenty a year the boy could go + into the Army—best place for a young scamp like that. The girl would + go off like hot cakes, of course, but she needn't take the first calf that + came along. As for their mother, she must look after herself; nothing + under two thousand a year would keep her out of debt. But trust her for + wheedling and bluffing her way out of any scrape! Watching his cigar-smoke + curl and disperse he was conscious of the strain he had been under these + last six weeks, aware suddenly of how greatly he had baulked at thought of + to-day's general meeting. Yes! It might have turned out nasty. He knew + well enough the forces on the Board, and off, who would be only too glad + to shelve him. If he were shelved here his other two Companies would be + sure to follow suit, and bang would go every penny of his income—he + would be a pauper dependant on that holy woman. Well! Safe now for another + year if he could stave off these sharks once more. It might be a harder + job this time, but he was in luck—in luck, and it must hold. And + taking a luxurious pull at his cigar, he rang the handbell. + </p> + <p> + “Bring 'em in here, Mr. Farney. And let me have a cup of China tea as + strong as you can make it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. Will you see the proof of the press report, or will you leave + it to me?” + </p> + <p> + “To you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. It was a good meeting, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful how your voice came back just at the right moment. I was afraid + things were going to be difficult. The insult did it, I think. It was a + monstrous thing to say. I could have punched his head.” + </p> + <p> + Again old Heythorp nodded; and, looking into the secretary's fine blue + eyes, he repeated: “Bring 'em in.” + </p> + <p> + The lonely minute before the entrance of his creditors passed in the + thought: 'So that's how it struck him! Short shrift I should get if it + came out.' + </p> + <p> + The gentlemen, who numbered ten this time, bowed to their debtor, + evidently wondering why the deuce they troubled to be polite to an old man + who kept them out of their money. Then, the secretary reappearing with a + cup of China tea, they watched while their debtor drank it. The feat was + tremulous. Would he get through without spilling it all down his front, or + choking? To those unaccustomed to his private life it was slightly + miraculous. He put the cup down empty, tremblingly removed some yellow + drops from the little white tuft below his lip, refit his cigar, and said: + </p> + <p> + “No use beating about the bush, gentlemen; I can offer you fourteen + hundred a year so long as I live and hold my directorships, and not a + penny more. If you can't accept that, you must make me bankrupt and get + about sixpence in the pound. My qualifying shares will fetch a couple of + thousand at market price. I own nothing else. The house I live in, and + everything in it, barring my clothes, my wine, and my cigars, belong to my + daughter under a settlement fifteen years old. My solicitors and bankers + will give you every information. That's the position in a nutshell.” + </p> + <p> + In spite of business habits the surprise of the ten gentlemen was only + partially concealed. A man who owed them so much would naturally say he + owned nothing, but would he refer them to his solicitors and bankers + unless he were telling the truth? Then Mr. Ventnor said: + </p> + <p> + “Will you submit your pass books?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I'll authorise my bankers to give you a full statement of my + receipts for the last five years—longer, if you like.” + </p> + <p> + The strategic stroke of placing the ten gentlemen round the Board table + had made it impossible for them to consult freely without being overheard, + but the low-voiced transference of thought travelling round was summed up + at last by Mr. Brownbee. + </p> + <p> + “We think, Mr. Heythorp, that your fees and dividends should enable you to + set aside for us a larger sum. Sixteen hundred, in fact, is what we think + you should give us yearly. Representing, as we do, sixteen thousand + pounds, the prospect is not cheering, but we hope you have some good years + before you yet. We understand your income to be two thousand pounds.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp shook his head. “Nineteen hundred and thirty pounds in a good + year. Must eat and drink; must have a man to look after me not as active + as I was. Can't do on less than five hundred pounds. Fourteen hundred's + all I can give you, gentlemen; it's an advance of two hundred pounds. + That's my last word.” + </p> + <p> + The silence was broken by Mr. Ventnor. + </p> + <p> + “And it's my last word that I'm not satisfied. If these other gentlemen + accept your proposition I shall be forced to consider what I can do on my + own account.” + </p> + <p> + The old man stared at him, and answered: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you will, sir; we shall see.” + </p> + <p> + The others had risen and were gathered in a knot at the end of the table; + old Heythorp and Mr. Ventnor alone remained seated. The old man's lower + lip projected till the white hairs below stood out like bristles. 'You + ugly dog,' he was thinking, 'you think you've got something up your + sleeve. Well, do your worst!' The “ugly dog” rose abruptly and joined the + others. And old Heythorp closed his eyes, sitting perfectly still, with + his cigar, which had gone out, sticking up between his teeth. Mr. Brownbee + turning to voice the decision come to, cleared his throat. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Heythorp,” he said, “if your bankers and solicitors bear out your + statements, we shall accept your offer faute de mieux, in consideration of + your—” but meeting the old man's eyes, which said so very plainly: + “Blow your consideration!” he ended with a stammer: “Perhaps you will + kindly furnish us with the authorisation you spoke of?” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp nodded, and Mr. Brownbee, with a little bow, clasped his hat + to his breast and moved towards the door. The nine gentlemen followed. Mr. + Ventnor, bringing up the rear, turned and looked back. But the old man's + eyes were already closed again. + </p> + <p> + The moment his creditors were gone, old Heythorp sounded the hand-bell. + </p> + <p> + “Help me up, Mr. Farney. That Ventnor—what's his holding?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite small. Only ten shares, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! What time is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Quarter to four, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Get me a taxi.” + </p> + <p> + After visiting his bank and his solicitors he struggled once more into his + cab and caused it to be driven towards Millicent Villas. A kind of sleepy + triumph permeated his whole being, bumped and shaken by the cab's rapid + progress. So! He was free of those sharks now so long as he could hold on + to his Companies; and he would still have a hundred a year or more to + spare for Rosamund and her youngsters. He could live on four hundred, or + even three-fifty, without losing his independence, for there would be no + standing life in that holy woman's house unless he could pay his own scot! + A good day's work! The best for many a long month! + </p> + <p> + The cab stopped before the villa. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 3 + </h2> + <p> + There are rooms which refuse to give away their owners, and rooms which + seem to say: 'They really are like this.' Of such was Rosamund Larne's—a + sort of permanent confession, seeming to remark to anyone who entered: + 'Her taste? Well, you can see—cheerful and exuberant; her habits—yes, + she sits here all the morning in a dressing-gown, smoking cigarettes and + dropping ink; kindly observe my carpet. Notice the piano—it has a + look of coming and going, according to the exchequer. This very + deep-cushioned sofa is permanent, however; the water-colours on the walls + are safe, too—they're by herself. Mark the scent of mimosa—she + likes flowers, and likes them strong. No clock, of course. Examine the + bureau—she is obviously always ringing for “the drumstick,” and + saying: “Where's this, Ellen, and where's that? You naughty gairl, you've + been tidying.” Cast an eye on that pile of manuscript—she has + evidently a genius for composition; it flows off her pen—like + Shakespeare, she never blots a line. See how she's had the electric light + put in, instead of that horrid gas; but try and turn either of them on—you + can't; last quarter isn't paid, of course; and she uses an oil lamp, you + can tell that by the ceiling: The dog over there, who will not answer to + the name of 'Carmen,' a Pekinese spaniel like a little Djin, all prominent + eyes rolling their blacks, and no nose between—yes, Carmen looks as + if she didn't know what was coming next; she's right—it's a + pet-and-slap-again life! Consider, too, the fittings of the tea-tray, + rather soiled, though not quite tin, but I say unto you that no + millionaire's in all its glory ever had a liqueur bottle on it.' + </p> + <p> + When old Heythorp entered this room, which extended from back to front of + the little house, preceded by the announcement “Mr. Aesop,” it was + resonant with a very clatter-bodandigo of noises, from Phyllis playing the + Machiche; from the boy Jock on the hearthrug, emitting at short intervals + the most piercing notes from an ocarina; from Mrs. Larne on the sofa, + talking with her trailing volubility to Bob Pillin; from Bob Pillin + muttering: “Ye-es! Qui-ite! Ye-es!” and gazing at Phyllis over his collar. + And, on the window-sill, as far as she could get from all this noise, the + little dog Carmen was rolling her eyes. At sight of their visitor Jock + blew one rending screech, and bolting behind the sofa, placed his chin on + its top, so that nothing but his round pink unmoving face was visible; and + the dog Carmen tried to climb the blind cord. + </p> + <p> + Encircled from behind by the arms of Phyllis, and preceded by the gracious + perfumed bulk of Mrs. Larne, old Heythorp was escorted to the sofa. It was + low, and when he had plumped down into it, the boy Jock emitted a hollow + groan. Bob Pillin was the first to break the silence. + </p> + <p> + “How are you, sir? I hope it's gone through.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp nodded. His eyes were fixed on the liqueur, and Mrs. Larne + murmured: + </p> + <p> + “Guardy, you must try our new liqueur. Jock, you awful boy, get up and + bring Guardy a glass.” + </p> + <p> + The boy Jock approached the tea-table, took up a glass, put it to his eye + and filled it rapidly. + </p> + <p> + “You horrible boy, you could see that glass has been used.” + </p> + <p> + In a high round voice rather like an angel's, Jock answered: + </p> + <p> + “All right, Mother; I'll get rid of it,” and rapidly swallowing the yellow + liquor, took up another glass. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Larne laughed. + </p> + <p> + “What am I to do with him?” + </p> + <p> + A loud shriek prevented a response. Phyllis, who had taken her brother by + the ear to lead him to the door, let him go to clasp her injured self. + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin went hastening towards her; and following the young man with + her chin, Mrs. Larne said, smiling: + </p> + <p> + “Aren't those children awful? He's such a nice fellow. We like him so + much, Guardy.” + </p> + <p> + The old man grinned. So she was making up to that young pup! Rosamund + Larne, watching him, murmured: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Guardy, you're as bad as Jock. He takes after you terribly. Look at + the shape of his head. Jock, come here!” The innocent boy approached; with + his girlish complexion, his flowery blue eyes, his perfect mouth, he stood + before his mother like a large cherub. And suddenly he blew his ocarina in + a dreadful manner. Mrs. Larne launched a box at his ears, and receiving + the wind of it he fell prone. + </p> + <p> + “That's the way he behaves. Be off with you, you awful boy. I want to talk + to Guardy.” + </p> + <p> + The boy withdrew on his stomach, and sat against the wall cross-legged, + fixing his innocent round eyes on old Heythorp. Mrs. Larne sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Things are worse and worse, Guardy. I'm at my wits' end to tide over this + quarter. You wouldn't advance me a hundred on my new story? I'm sure to + get two for it in the end.” + </p> + <p> + The old man shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I've done something for you and the children,” he said. “You'll get + notice of it in a day or two; ask no questions.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Guardy! Oh! you dear!” And her gaze rested on Bob Pillin, leaning + over the piano, where Phyllis again sat. + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp snorted. “What are you cultivating that young gaby for? She + mustn't be grabbed up by any fool who comes along.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Larne murmured at once: + </p> + <p> + “Of course, the dear gairl is much too young. Phyllis, come and talk to + Guardy!” + </p> + <p> + When the girl was installed beside him on the sofa, and he had felt that + little thrill of warmth the proximity of youth can bring, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Been a good girl?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “Can't, when Jock's not at school. Mother can't pay for him this term.” + </p> + <p> + Hearing his name, the boy Jock blew his ocarina till Mrs. Larne drove him + from the room, and Phyllis went on: + </p> + <p> + “He's more awful than anything you can think of. Was my dad at all like + him, Guardy? Mother's always so mysterious about him. I suppose you knew + him well.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp, incapable of confusion, answered stolidly: + </p> + <p> + “Not very.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was his father? I don't believe even mother knows.” + </p> + <p> + “Man about town in my day.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! your day must have been jolly. Did you wear peg-top trousers, and + dundreary's?” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp nodded. + </p> + <p> + “What larks! And I suppose you had lots of adventures with opera dancers + and gambling. The young men are all so good now.” Her eyes rested on Bob + Pillin. “That young man's a perfect stick of goodness.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp grunted. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't know how good he was,” Phyllis went on musingly, “unless + you'd sat next him in a tunnel. The other day he had his waist squeezed + and he simply sat still and did nothing. And then when the tunnel ended, + it was Jock after all, not me. His face was—Oh! ah! ha! ha! Ah! ha!” + She threw back her head, displaying all her white, round throat. Then + edging near, she whispered: + </p> + <p> + “He likes to pretend, of course, that he's fearfully lively. He's promised + to take mother and me to the theatre and supper afterwards. Won't it be + scrummy! Only, I haven't anything to go in.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp said: “What do you want? Irish poplin?” + </p> + <p> + Her mouth opened wide: “Oh! Guardy! Soft white satin!” + </p> + <p> + “How many yards'll go round you?” + </p> + <p> + “I should think about twelve. We could make it ourselves. You are a + chook!” + </p> + <p> + A scent of hair, like hay, enveloped him, her lips bobbed against his + nose,—and there came a feeling in his heart as when he rolled the + first sip of a special wine against his palate. This little house was a + rumty-too affair, her mother was a humbug, the boy a cheeky young rascal, + but there was a warmth here he never felt in that big house which had been + his wife's and was now his holy daughter's. And once more he rejoiced at + his day's work, and the success of his breach of trust, which put some + little ground beneath these young feet, in a hard and unscrupulous world. + Phyllis whispered in his ear: + </p> + <p> + “Guardy, do look; he will stare at me like that. Isn't it awful—like + a boiled rabbit?” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin, attentive to Mrs. Larne, was gazing with all his might over + her shoulder at the girl. The young man was moonstruck, that was clear! + There was something almost touching in the stare of those puppy dog's + eyes. And he thought 'Young beggar—wish I were his age!' The utter + injustice of having an old and helpless body, when your desire for + enjoyment was as great as ever! They said a man was as old as he felt! + Fools! A man was as old as his legs and arms, and not a day younger. He + heard the girl beside him utter a discomfortable sound, and saw her face + cloud as if tears were not far off; she jumped up, and going to the + window, lifted the little dog and buried her face in its brown and white + fur. Old Heythorp thought: 'She sees that her humbugging mother is using + her as a decoy.' But she had come back, and the little dog, rolling its + eyes horribly at the strange figure on the sofa, in a desperate effort to + escape succeeded in reaching her shoulder, where it stayed perched like a + cat, held by one paw and trying to back away into space. Old Heythorp said + abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Are you very fond of your mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am, Guardy. I adore her.” + </p> + <p> + “H'm! Listen to me. When you come of age or marry, you'll have a hundred + and twenty a year of your own that you can't get rid of. Don't ever be + persuaded into doing what you don't want. And remember: Your mother's a + sieve, no good giving her money; keep what you'll get for yourself—it's + only a pittance, and you'll want it all—every penny.” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis's eyes had opened very wide; so that he wondered if she had taken + in his words. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Isn't money horrible, Guardy?” + </p> + <p> + “The want of it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it's beastly altogether. If only we were like birds. Or if one could + put out a plate overnight, and have just enough in the morning to use + during the day.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp sighed. + </p> + <p> + “There's only one thing in life that matters—independence. Lose + that, and you lose everything. That's the value of money. Help me up.” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis stretched out her hands, and the little dog, running down her + back, resumed its perch on the window-sill, close to the blind cord. + </p> + <p> + Once on his feet, old Heythorp said: + </p> + <p> + “Give me a kiss. You'll have your satin tomorrow.” + </p> + <p> + Then looking at Bob Pillin, he remarked: + </p> + <p> + “Going my way? I'll give you a lift.” + </p> + <p> + The young man, giving Phyllis one appealing look, answered dully: + “Tha-anks!” and they went out together to the taxi. In that draughtless + vehicle they sat, full of who knows what contempt of age for youth; and + youth for age; the old man resenting this young pup's aspiration to his + granddaughter; the young man annoyed that this old image had dragged him + away before he wished to go. Old Heythorp said at last: + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + Thus expected to say something, Bob Pillin muttered + </p> + <p> + “Glad your meetin' went off well, sir. You scored a triumph I should + think.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I don't know. I thought you had a good bit of opposition to contend + with.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “Your grandmother!” he said; then, with his habitual instinct of attack, + added: “You make the most of your opportunities, I see.” + </p> + <p> + At this rude assault Bob Pillin's red-cheeked face assumed a certain + dignity. “I don't know what you mean, sir. Mrs. Larne is very kind to me.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt. But don't try to pick the flowers.” + </p> + <p> + Thoroughly upset, Bob Pillin preserved a dogged silence. This fortnight, + since he had first met Phyllis in old Heythorp's hall, had been the most + singular of his existence up to now. He would never have believed that a + fellow could be so quickly and completely bowled, could succumb without a + kick, without even wanting to kick. To one with his philosophy of having a + good time and never committing himself too far, it was in the nature of “a + fair knock-out,” and yet so pleasurable, except for the wear and tear + about one's chances. If only he knew how far the old boy really counted in + the matter! To say: “My intentions are strictly honourable” would be + old-fashioned; besides—the old fellow might have no right to hear + it. They called him Guardy, but without knowing more he did not want to + admit the old curmudgeon's right to interfere. + </p> + <p> + “Are you a relation of theirs, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp nodded. + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin went on with desperation: + </p> + <p> + “I should like to know what your objection to me is.” + </p> + <p> + The old man turned his head so far as he was able; a grim smile bristled + the hairs about his lips, and twinkled in his eyes. What did he object to? + Why—everything! Object to! That sleek head, those puppy-dog eyes, + fattish red cheeks, high collars, pearl pin, spats, and drawl-pah! the + imbecility, the smugness of his mug; no go, no devil in any of his sort, + in any of these fish-veined, coddled-up young bloods, nothing but playing + for safety! And he wheezed out: + </p> + <p> + “Milk and water masquerading as port wine.” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin frowned. + </p> + <p> + It was almost too much for the composure even of a man of the world. That + this paralytic old fellow should express contempt for his virility was + really the last thing in jests. Luckily he could not take it seriously. + But suddenly he thought: 'What if he really has the power to stop my going + there, and means to turn them against me!' And his heart quailed. + </p> + <p> + “Awfully sorry, sir,” he said, “if you don't think I'm wild enough. + Anything I can do for you in that line—” + </p> + <p> + The old man grunted; and realising that he had been quite witty, Bob + Pillin went on: + </p> + <p> + “I know I'm not in debt, no entanglements, got a decent income, pretty + good expectations and all that; but I can soon put that all right if I'm + not fit without.” + </p> + <p> + It was perhaps his first attempt at irony, and he could not help thinking + how good it was. + </p> + <p> + But old Heythorp preserved a deadly silence. He looked like a stuffed man, + a regular Aunt Sally sitting there, with the fixed red in his cheeks, his + stivered hair, square block of a body, and no neck that you could see-only + wanting the pipe in his mouth! Could there really be danger from such an + old idol? The idol spoke: + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you a word of advice. Don't hang round there, or you'll burn + your fingers. Remember me to your father. Good-night!” + </p> + <p> + The taxi had stopped before the house in Sefton Park. An insensate impulse + to remain seated and argue the point fought in Bob Pillin with an impulse + to leap out, shake his fist in at the window, and walk off. He merely + said, however: + </p> + <p> + “Thanks for the lift. Good-night!” And, getting out deliberately, he + walked off. + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp, waiting for the driver to help him up, thought 'Fatter, but + no more guts than his father!' + </p> + <p> + In his sanctum he sank at once into his chair. It was wonderfully still + there every day at this hour; just the click of the coals, just the + faintest ruffle from the wind in the trees of the park. And it was cosily + warm, only the fire lightening the darkness. A drowsy beatitude pervaded + the old man. A good day's work! A triumph—that young pup had said. + Yes! Something of a triumph! He had held on, and won. And dinner to look + forward to, yet. A nap—a nap! And soon, rhythmic, soft, sonorous, + his breathing rose, with now and then that pathetic twitching of the old + who dream. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <h3> + 1 + </h3> + <p> + When Bob Pillin emerged from the little front garden of 23, Millicent + Villas ten days later, his sentiments were ravelled, and he could not get + hold of an end to pull straight the stuff of his mind. + </p> + <p> + He had found Mrs. Larne and Phyllis in the sitting-room, and Phyllis had + been crying; he was sure she had been crying; and that memory still + infected the sentiments evoked by later happenings. Old Heythorp had said: + “You'll burn your fingers.” The process had begun. Having sent her + daughter away on a pretext really a bit too thin, Mrs. Larne had installed + him beside her scented bulk on the sofa, and poured into his ear such a + tale of monetary woe and entanglement, such a mass of present difficulties + and rosy prospects, that his brain still whirled, and only one thing + emerged clearly-that she wanted fifty pounds, which she would repay him on + quarter-day; for their Guardy had made a settlement by which, until the + dear children came of age, she would have sixty pounds every quarter. It + was only a question of a few weeks; he might ask Messrs. Scriven and + Coles; they would tell him the security was quite safe. He certainly might + ask Messrs. Scriven and Coles—they happened to be his father's + solicitors; but it hardly seemed to touch the point. Bob Pillin had a + certain shrewd caution, and the point was whether he was going to begin to + lend money to a woman who, he could see, might borrow up to seventy times + seven on the strength of his infatuation for her daughter. That was rather + too strong! Yet, if he didn't she might take a sudden dislike to him, and + where would he be then? Besides, would not a loan make his position + stronger? And then—such is the effect of love even on the younger + generation—that thought seemed to him unworthy. If he lent at all, + it should be from chivalry—ulterior motives might go hang! And the + memory of the tear-marks on Phyllis's pretty pale-pink cheeks; and her + petulantly mournful: “Oh! young man, isn't money beastly!” scraped his + heart, and ravished his judgment. All the same, fifty pounds was fifty + pounds, and goodness knew how much more; and what did he know of Mrs. + Larne, after all, except that she was a relative of old Heythorp's and + wrote stories—told them too, if he was not mistaken? Perhaps it + would be better to see Scrivens'. But again that absurd nobility assaulted + him. Phyllis! Phyllis! Besides, were not settlements always drawn so that + they refused to form security for anything? Thus, hampered and troubled, + he hailed a cab. He was dining with the Ventnors on the Cheshire side, and + would be late if he didn't get home sharp to dress. + </p> + <p> + Driving, white-tied—and waist-coated, in his father's car, he + thought with a certain contumely of the younger Ventnor girl, whom he had + been wont to consider pretty before he knew Phyllis. And seated next her + at dinner, he quite enjoyed his new sense of superiority to her charms, + and the ease with which he could chaff and be agreeable. And all the time + he suffered from the suppressed longing which scarcely ever left him now, + to think and talk of Phyllis. Ventnor's fizz was good and plentiful, his + old Madeira absolutely first chop, and the only other man present a + teetotal curate, who withdrew with the ladies to talk his parish shop. + Favoured by these circumstances, and the perception that Ventnor was an + agreeable fellow, Bob Pillin yielded to his secret itch to get near the + subject of his affections. + </p> + <p> + “Do you happen,” he said airily, “to know a Mrs. Larne—relative of + old Heythorp's—rather a handsome woman-she writes stories.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor shook his head. A closer scrutiny than Bob Pillin's would have + seen that he also moved his ears. + </p> + <p> + “Of old Heythorp's? Didn't know he had any, except his daughter, and that + son of his in the Admiralty.” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin felt the glow of his secret hobby spreading within him. + </p> + <p> + “She is, though—lives rather out of town; got a son and daughter. I + thought you might know her stories—clever woman.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor smiled. “Ah!” he said enigmatically, “these lady novelists! + Does she make any money by them?” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin knew that to make money by writing meant success, but that not + to make money by writing was artistic, and implied that you had private + means, which perhaps was even more distinguished. And he said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! she has private means, I know.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor reached for the Madeira. + </p> + <p> + “So she's a relative of old Heythorp's,” he said. “He's a very old friend + of your father's. He ought to go bankrupt, you know.” + </p> + <p> + To Bob Pillin, glowing with passion and Madeira, the idea of bankruptcy + seemed discreditable in connection with a relative of Phyllis. Besides, + the old boy was far from that! Had he not just made this settlement on + Mrs. Larne? And he said: + </p> + <p> + “I think you're mistaken. That's of the past.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Will you bet?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin also smiled. “I should be bettin' on a certainty.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor passed his hand over his whiskered face. “Don't you believe + it; he hasn't a mag to his name. Fill your glass.” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin said, with a certain resentment: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I happen to know he's just made a settlement of five or six + thousand pounds. Don't know if you call that being bankrupt.” + </p> + <p> + “What! On this Mrs. Larne?” + </p> + <p> + Confused, uncertain whether he had said something derogatory or + indiscreet, or something which added distinction to Phyllis, Bob Pillin + hesitated, then gave a nod. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor rose and extended his short legs before the fire. + </p> + <p> + “No, my boy,” he said. “No!” + </p> + <p> + Unaccustomed to flat contradiction, Bob Pillin reddened. + </p> + <p> + “I'll bet you a tenner. Ask Scrivens.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor ejaculated: + </p> + <p> + “Scrivens—-but they're not—” then, staring rather hard, he + added: “I won't bet. You may be right. Scrivens are your father's + solicitors too, aren't they? Always been sorry he didn't come to me. Shall + we join the ladies?” And to the drawing-room he preceded a young man more + uncertain in his mind than on his feet.... + </p> + <p> + Charles Ventnor was not one to let you see that more was going on within + than met the eye. But there was a good deal going on that evening, and + after his conversation with young Bob he had occasion more than once to + turn away and rub his hands together. When, after that second creditors' + meeting, he had walked down the stairway which led to the offices of “The + Island Navigation Company,” he had been deep in thought. Short, squarely + built, rather stout, with moustache and large mutton-chop whiskers of a + red brown, and a faint floridity in face and dress, he impressed at first + sight only by a certain truly British vulgarity. One felt that here was a + hail-fellow—well-met man who liked lunch and dinner, went to + Scarborough for his summer holidays, sat on his wife, took his daughters + out in a boat and was never sick. One felt that he went to church every + Sunday morning, looked upwards as he moved through life, disliked the + unsuccessful, and expanded with his second glass of wine. But then a clear + look into his well-clothed face and red-brown eyes would give the feeling: + 'There's something fulvous here; he might be a bit too foxy.' A third look + brought the thought: 'He's certainly a bully.' He was not a large creditor + of old Heythorp. With interest on the original, he calculated his claim at + three hundred pounds—unredeemed shares in that old Ecuador mine. But + he had waited for his money eight years, and could never imagine how it + came about that he had been induced to wait so long. There had been, of + course, for one who liked “big pots,” a certain glamour about the + personality of old Heythorp, still a bit of a swell in shipping circles, + and a bit of an aristocrat in Liverpool. But during the last year Charles + Ventnor had realised that the old chap's star had definitely set—when + that happens, of course, there is no more glamour, and the time has come + to get your money. Weakness in oneself and others is despicable! Besides, + he had food for thought, and descending the stairs he chewed it: He smelt + a rat—creatures for which both by nature and profession he had a + nose. Through Bob Pillin, on whom he sometimes dwelt in connection with + his younger daughter, he knew that old Pillin and old Heythorp had been + friends for thirty years and more. That, to an astute mind, suggested + something behind this sale. The thought had already occurred to him when + he read his copy of the report. A commission would be a breach of trust, + of course, but there were ways of doing things; the old chap was devilish + hard pressed, and human nature was human nature! His lawyerish mind + habitually put two and two together. The old fellow had deliberately + appointed to meet his creditors again just after the general meeting which + would decide the purchase—had said he might do something for them + then. Had that no significance? + </p> + <p> + In these circumstances Charles Ventnor had come to the meeting with eyes + wide open and mouth tight closed. And he had watched. It was certainly + remarkable that such an old and feeble man, with no neck at all, who + looked indeed as if he might go off with apoplexy any moment, should + actually say that he “stood or fell” by this purchase, knowing that if he + fell he would be a beggar. Why should the old chap be so keen on getting + it through? It would do him personally no good, unless—Exactly! He + had left the meeting, therefore, secretly confident that old Heythorp had + got something out of this transaction which would enable him to make a + substantial proposal to his creditors. So that when the old man had + declared that he was going to make none, something had turned sour in his + heart, and he had said to himself: “All right, you old rascal! You don't + know C. V.” The cavalier manner of that beggarly old rip, the defiant look + of his deep little eyes, had put a polish on the rancour of one who prided + himself on letting no man get the better of him. All that evening, seated + on one side of the fire, while Mrs. Ventnor sat on the other, and the + younger daughter played Gounod's Serenade on the violin—he + cogitated. And now and again he smiled, but not too much. He did not see + his way as yet, but had little doubt that before long he would. It would + not be hard to knock that chipped old idol off his perch. There was + already a healthy feeling among the shareholders that he was past work and + should be scrapped. The old chap should find that Charles V. was not to be + defied; that when he got his teeth into a thing, he did not let it go. By + hook or crook he would have the old man off his Boards, or his debt out of + him as the price of leaving him alone. His life or his money—and the + old fellow should determine which. With the memory of that defiance fresh + within him, he almost hoped it might come to be the first, and turning to + Mrs. Ventnor, he said abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Have a little dinner Friday week, and ask young Pillin and the curate.” + He specified the curate, a tee-totaller, because he had two daughters, and + males and females must be paired, but he intended to pack him off after + dinner to the drawing-room to discuss parish matters while he and Bob + Pillin sat over their wine. What he expected to get out of the young man + he did not as yet know. + </p> + <p> + On the day of the dinner, before departing for the office, he had gone to + his cellar. Would three bottles of Perrier Jouet do the trick, or must he + add one of the old Madeira? He decided to be on the safe side. A bottle or + so of champagne went very little way with him personally, and young Pillin + might be another. + </p> + <p> + The Madeira having done its work by turning the conversation into such an + admirable channel, he had cut it short for fear young Pillin might drink + the lot or get wind of the rat. And when his guests were gone, and his + family had retired, he stood staring into the fire, putting together the + pieces of the puzzle. Five or six thousand pounds—six would be ten + per cent. on sixty! Exactly! Scrivens—young Pillin had said! But + Crow & Donkin, not Scriven & Coles, were old Heythorp's + solicitors. What could that mean, save that the old man wanted to cover + the tracks of a secret commission, and had handled the matter through + solicitors who did not know the state of his affairs! But why Pillin's + solicitors? With this sale just going through, it must look deuced fishy + to them too. Was it all a mare's nest, after all? In such circumstances he + himself would have taken the matter to a London firm who knew nothing of + anybody. Puzzled, therefore, and rather disheartened, feeling too that + touch of liver which was wont to follow his old Madeira, he went up to bed + and woke his wife to ask her why the dickens they couldn't always have + soup like that! + </p> + <p> + Next day he continued to brood over his puzzle, and no fresh light came; + but having a matter on which his firm and Scrivens' were in touch, he + decided to go over in person, and see if he could surprise something out + of them. Feeling, from experience, that any really delicate matter would + only be entrusted to the most responsible member of the firm, he had asked + to see Scriven himself, and just as he had taken his hat to go, he said + casually: + </p> + <p> + “By the way, you do some business for old Mr. Heythorp, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + Scriven, raising his eyebrows a little, murmured: “Er—no,” in + exactly the tone Mr. Ventnor himself used when he wished to imply that + though he didn't as a fact do business, he probably soon would. He knew + therefore that the answer was a true one. And non-plussed, he hazarded: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I thought you did, in regard to a Mrs. Larne.” + </p> + <p> + This time he had certainly drawn blood of sorts, for down came Scriven's + eyebrows, and he said: + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Larne—we know a Mrs. Larne, but not in that connection. Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Young Pillin told me—” + </p> + <p> + “Young Pillin? Why, it's his—-!” A little pause, and then: “Old Mr. + Heythorp's solicitors are Crow & Donkin, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor held out his hand. “Yes, yes,” he said; “goodbye. Glad to have + got that matter settled up,” and out he went, and down the street, + important, smiling. By George! He had got it! “It's his father”—Scriven + had been going to say. What a plant! Exactly! Oh! neat! Old Pillin had + made the settlement direct; and the solicitors were in the dark; that + disposed of his difficulty about them. No money had passed between old + Pillin and old Heythorp not a penny. Oh! neat! But not neat enough for + Charles Ventnor, who had that nose for rats. Then his smile died, and with + a little chill he perceived that it was all based on supposition—not + quite good enough to go on! What then? Somehow he must see this Mrs. + Larne, or better—old Pillin himself. The point to ascertain was + whether she had any connection of her own with Pillin. Clearly young + Pillin didn't know of it; for, according to him, old Heythorp had made the + settlement. By Jove! That old rascal was deep—all the more + satisfaction in proving that he was not as deep as C. V. To unmask the old + cheat was already beginning to seem in the nature of a public service. But + on what pretext could he visit Pillin? A subscription to the Windeatt + almshouses! That would make him talk in self-defence and he would take + care not to press the request to the actual point of getting a + subscription. He caused himself to be driven to the Pillin residence in + Sefton Park. Ushered into a room on the ground floor, heated in American + fashion, Mr. Ventnor unbuttoned his coat. A man of sanguine constitution, + he found this hot-house atmosphere a little trying. And having + sympathetically obtained Joe Pillin's reluctant refusal—Quite so! + One could not indefinitely extend one's subscriptions even for the best of + causes!—he said gently: + </p> + <p> + “By the way, you know Mrs. Larne, don't you?” + </p> + <p> + The effect of that simple shot surpassed his highest hopes. Joe Pillin's + face, never highly coloured, turned a sort of grey; he opened his thin + lips, shut them quickly, as birds do, and something seemed to pass with + difficulty down his scraggy throat. The hollows, which nerve exhaustion + delves in the cheeks of men whose cheekbones are not high, increased + alarmingly. For a moment he looked deathly; then, moistening his lips, he + said: + </p> + <p> + “Larne—Larne? No, I don't seem—-” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor, who had taken care to be drawing on his gloves, murmured: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I thought—your son knows her; a relation of old Heythorp's,” + and he looked up. + </p> + <p> + Joe Pillin had his handkerchief to his mouth; he coughed feebly, then with + more and more vigour: + </p> + <p> + “I'm in very poor health,” he said, at last. “I'm getting abroad at once. + This cold's killing me. What name did you say?” And he remained with his + handkerchief against his teeth. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor repeated: + </p> + <p> + “Larne. Writes stories.” + </p> + <p> + Joe Pillin muttered into his handkerchief + </p> + <p> + “Ali! H'm! No—I—no! My son knows all sorts of people. I shall + have to try Mentone. Are you going? Good-bye! Good-bye! I'm sorry; ah! ha! + My cough—ah! ha h'h'.! Very distressing. Ye-hes! My cough-ah! ha + h'h'.! Most distressing. Ye-hes!” + </p> + <p> + Out in the drive Mr. Ventnor took a deep breath of the frosty air. Not + much doubt now! The two names had worked like charms. This weakly old + fellow would make a pretty witness, would simply crumple under + cross-examination. What a contrast to that hoary old sinner Heythorp, + whose brazenness nothing could affect. The rat was as large as life! And + the only point was how to make the best use of it. Then—for his + experience was wide—the possibility dawned on him, that after all, + this Mrs. Larne might only have been old Pillin's mistress—or be his + natural daughter, or have some other blackmailing hold on him. Any such + connection would account for his agitation, for his denying her, for his + son's ignorance. Only it wouldn't account for young Pillin's saying that + old Heythorp had made the settlement. He could only have got that from the + woman herself. Still, to make absolutely sure, he had better try and see + her. But how? It would never do to ask Bob Pillin for an introduction, + after this interview with his father. He would have to go on his own and + chance it. Wrote stories did she? Perhaps a newspaper would know her + address; or the Directory would give it—not a common name! And, hot + on the scent, he drove to a post office. Yes, there it was, right enough! + “Larne, Mrs. R., 23, Millicent Villas.” And thinking to himself: 'No time + like the present,' he turned in that direction. The job was delicate. He + must be careful not to do anything which might compromise his power of + making public use of his knowledge. Yes-ticklish! What he did now must + have a proper legal bottom. Still, anyway you looked at it, he had a right + to investigate a fraud on himself as a shareholder of “The Island + Navigation Company,” and a fraud on himself as a creditor of old Heythorp. + Quite! But suppose this Mrs. Larne was really entangled with old Pillin, + and the settlement a mere reward of virtue, easy or otherwise. Well! in + that case there'd be no secret commission to make public, and he needn't + go further. So that, in either event, he would be all right. Only—how + to introduce himself? He might pretend he was a newspaper man wanting a + story. No, that wouldn't do! He must not represent that he was what he was + not, in case he had afterwards to justify his actions publicly, always a + difficult thing, if you were not careful! At that moment there came into + his mind a question Bob Pillin had asked the other night. “By the way, you + can't borrow on a settlement, can you? Isn't there generally some clause + against it?” Had this woman been trying to borrow from him on that + settlement? But at this moment he reached the house, and got out of his + cab still undecided as to how he was going to work the oracle. Impudence, + constitutional and professional, sustained him in saying to the little + maid: + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Larne at home? Say Mr. Charles Ventnor, will you?” + </p> + <p> + His quick brown eyes took in the apparel of the passage which served for + hall—the deep blue paper on the walls, lilac-patterned curtains over + the doors, the well-known print of a nude young woman looking over her + shoulder, and he thought: 'H'm! Distinctly tasty!' They noted, too, a + small brown-and-white dog cowering in terror at the very end of the + passage, and he murmured affably: “Fluffy! Come here, Fluffy!” till + Carmen's teeth chattered in her head. + </p> + <p> + “Will you come in, sir?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor ran his hand over his whiskers, and, entering a room, was + impressed at once by its air of domesticity. On a sofa a handsome woman + and a pretty young girl were surrounded by sewing apparatus and some white + material. The girl looked up, but the elder lady rose. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor said easily + </p> + <p> + “You know my young friend, Mr. Robert Pillin, I think.” + </p> + <p> + The lady, whose bulk and bloom struck him to the point of admiration, + murmured in a full, sweet drawl: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Ye-es. Are you from Messrs. Scrivens?” + </p> + <p> + With the swift reflection: 'As I thought!' Mr. Ventnor answered: + </p> + <p> + “Er—not exactly. I am a solicitor though; came just to ask about a + certain settlement that Mr. Pillin tells me you're entitled under.” + </p> + <p> + “Phyllis dear!” + </p> + <p> + Seeing the girl about to rise from underneath the white stuff, Mr. Ventnor + said quickly: + </p> + <p> + “Pray don't disturb yourself—just a formality!” It had struck him at + once that the lady would have to speak the truth in the presence of this + third party, and he went on: “Quite recent, I think. This'll be your first + interest-on six thousand pounds? Is that right?” And at the limpid assent + of that rich, sweet voice, he thought: 'Fine woman; what eyes!' + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; that's quite enough. I can go to Scrivens for any detail. Nice + young fellow, Bob Pillin, isn't he?” He saw the girl's chin tilt, and Mrs. + Larne's full mouth curling in a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Delightful young man; we're very fond of him.” + </p> + <p> + And he proceeded: + </p> + <p> + “I'm quite an old friend of his; have you known him long?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! no. How long, Phyllis, since we met him at Guardy's? About a month. + But he's so unaffected—quite at home with us. A nice fellow.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor murmured: + </p> + <p> + “Very different from his father, isn't he?” + </p> + <p> + “Is he? We don't know his father; he's a shipowner, I think.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor rubbed his hands: “Ye-es,” he said, “just giving up—a + warm man. Young Pillin's a lucky fellow—only son. So you met him at + old Mr. Heythorp's. I know him too—relation of yours, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Our dear Guardy such a wonderful man.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor echoed: “Wonderful—regular old Roman.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! but he's so kind!” Mrs. Larne lifted the white stuff: “Look what he's + given this naughty gairl!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor murmured: “Charming! Charming! Bob Pillin said, I think, that + Mr. Heythorp was your settlor.” + </p> + <p> + One of those little clouds which visit the brows of women who have owed + money in their time passed swiftly athwart Mrs. Larne's eyes. For a moment + they seemed saying: 'Don't you want to know too much?' Then they slid from + under it. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you sit down?” she said. “You must forgive our being at work.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor, who had need of sorting his impressions, shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; I must be getting on. Then Messrs. Scriven can—a mere + formality! Goodbye! Good-bye, Miss Larne. I'm sure the dress will be most + becoming.” + </p> + <p> + And with memories of a too clear look from the girl's eyes, of a warm firm + pressure from the woman's hand, Mr. Ventnor backed towards the door and + passed away just in time to avoid hearing in two voices: + </p> + <p> + “What a nice lawyer!” + </p> + <p> + “What a horrid man!” + </p> + <p> + Back in his cab, he continued to rub his hands. No, she didn't know old + Pillin! That was certain; not from her words, but from her face. She + wanted to know him, or about him, anyway. She was trying to hook young Bob + for that sprig of a girl—it was clear as mud. H'm! it would astonish + his young friend to hear that he had called. Well, let it! And a curious + mixture of emotions beset Mr. Ventnor. He saw the whole thing now so + plainly, and really could not refrain from a certain admiration. The law + had been properly diddled! There was nothing to prevent a man from + settling money on a woman he had never seen; and so old Pillin's + settlement could probably not be upset. But old Heythorp could. It was + neat, though, oh! neat! And that was a fine woman—remarkably! He had + a sort of feeling that if only the settlement had been in danger, it might + have been worth while to have made a bargain—a woman like that could + have made it worth while! And he believed her quite capable of + entertaining the proposition! Her eye! Pity—quite a pity! Mrs. + Ventnor was not a wife who satisfied every aspiration. But alas! the + settlement was safe. This baulking of the sentiment of love, whipped up, + if anything, the longing for justice in Mr. Ventnor. That old chap should + feel his teeth now. As a piece of investigation it was not so bad—not + so bad at all! He had had a bit of luck, of course,—no, not luck—just + that knack of doing the right thing at the right moment which marks a real + genius for affairs. + </p> + <p> + But getting into his train to return to Mrs. Ventnor, he thought: 'A woman + like that would have been—!' And he sighed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 2 + </h2> + <p> + With a neatly written cheque for fifty pounds in his pocket Bob Pillin + turned in at 23, Millicent Villas on the afternoon after Mr. Ventnor's + visit. Chivalry had won the day. And he rang the bell with an elation + which astonished him, for he knew he was doing a soft thing. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Larne is out, sir; Miss Phyllis is at home.” + </p> + <p> + His heart leaped. + </p> + <p> + “Oh-h! I'm sorry. I wonder if she'd see me?” + </p> + <p> + The little maid answered + </p> + <p> + “I think she's been washin' 'er'air, sir, but it may be dry be now. I'll + see.” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin stood stock still beneath the young woman on the wall. He could + scarcely breathe. If her hair were not dry—how awful! Suddenly he + heard floating down a clear but smothered “Oh! Gefoozleme!” and other + words which he could not catch. The little maid came running down. + </p> + <p> + “Miss Phyllis says, sir, she'll be with you in a jiffy. And I was to tell + you that Master Jock is loose, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin answered “Tha-anks,” and passed into the drawing-room. He went + to the bureau, took an envelope, enclosed the cheque, and addressing it: + “Mrs. Larne,” replaced it in his pocket. Then he crossed over to the + mirror. Never till this last month had he really doubted his own face; but + now he wanted for it things he had never wanted. It had too much flesh and + colour. It did not reflect his passion. This was a handicap. With a narrow + white piping round his waistcoat opening, and a buttonhole of tuberoses, + he had tried to repair its deficiencies. But do what he would, he was + never easy about himself nowadays, never up to that pitch which could make + him confident in her presence. And until this month to lack confidence had + never been his wont. A clear, high, mocking voice said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh-h! Conceited young man!” + </p> + <p> + And spinning round he saw Phyllis in the doorway. Her light brown hair was + fluffed out on her shoulders, so that he felt a kind of fainting-sweet + sensation, and murmured inarticulately: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I say—how jolly!” + </p> + <p> + “Lawks! It's awful! Have you come to see mother?” + </p> + <p> + Balanced between fear and daring, conscious of a scent of hay and verbena + and camomile, Bob Pillin stammered: + </p> + <p> + “Ye-es. I—I'm glad she's not in, though.” + </p> + <p> + Her laugh seemed to him terribly unfeeling. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! oh! Don't be foolish. Sit down. Isn't washing one's head awful?” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin answered feebly: + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I haven't much experience.” + </p> + <p> + Her mouth opened. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! You are—aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + And he thought desperately: 'Dare I—oughtn't I—couldn't I + somehow take her hand or put my arm round her, or something?' Instead, he + sat very rigid at his end of the sofa, while she sat lax and lissom at the + other, and one of those crises of paralysis which beset would-be lovers + fixed him to the soul. + </p> + <p> + Sometimes during this last month memories of a past existence, when chaff + and even kisses came readily to the lips, and girls were fair game, would + make him think: 'Is she really such an innocent? Doesn't she really want + me to kiss her?' Alas! such intrusions lasted but a moment before a blast + of awe and chivalry withered them, and a strange and tragic delicacy—like + nothing he had ever known—resumed its sway. And suddenly he heard + her say: + </p> + <p> + “Why do you know such awful men?” + </p> + <p> + “What? I don't know any awful men.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, you do; one came here yesterday; he had whiskers, and he was + awful.” + </p> + <p> + “Whiskers?” His soul revolted in disclaimer. “I believe I only know one + man with whiskers—a lawyer.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—that was him; a perfectly horrid man. Mother didn't mind him, + but I thought he was a beast.” + </p> + <p> + “Ventnor! Came here? How d'you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “He did; about some business of yours, too.” Her face had clouded over. + Bob Pillin had of late been harassed by the still-born beginning of a + poem: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I rode upon my way and saw + A maid who watched me from the door.” + </pre> + <p> + It never grew longer, and was prompted by the feeling that her face was + like an April day. The cloud which came on it now was like an April cloud, + as if a bright shower of rain must follow. Brushing aside the two + distressful lines, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Miss Larne—Phyllis—look here!” + </p> + <p> + “All right, I'm looking!” + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean—how did he come? What did he say?” + </p> + <p> + She shook her head, and her hair quivered; the scent of camomile, verbena, + hay was wafted; then looking at her lap, she muttered: + </p> + <p> + “I wish you wouldn't—I wish mother wouldn't—I hate it. Oh! + Money! Beastly—beastly!” and a tearful sigh shivered itself into Bob + Pillin's reddening ears. + </p> + <p> + “I say—don't! And do tell me, because—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you know.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't—I don't know anything at all. I never—-” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis looked up at him. “Don't tell fibs; you know mother's borrowing + money from you, and it's hateful!” + </p> + <p> + A desire to lie roundly, a sense of the cheque in his pocket, a feeling of + injustice, the emotion of pity, and a confused and black astonishment + about Ventnor, caused Bob Pillin to stammer: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I'm d—-d!” and to miss the look which Phyllis gave him + through her lashes—a look saying: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that's better!” + </p> + <p> + “I am d—-d! Look here! D'you mean to say that Ventnor came here + about my lending money? I never said a word to him—-” + </p> + <p> + “There you see—you are lending!” + </p> + <p> + He clutched his hair. + </p> + <p> + “We've got to have this out,” he added. + </p> + <p> + “Not by the roots! Oh! you do look funny. I've never seen you with your + hair untidy. Oh! oh!” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin rose and paced the room. In the midst of his emotion he could + not help seeing himself sidelong in the mirror; and on pretext of holding + his head in both his hands, tried earnestly to restore his hair. Then + coming to a halt he said: + </p> + <p> + “Suppose I am lending money to your mother, what does it matter? It's only + till quarter-day. Anybody might want money.” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis did not raise her face. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you lending it?” + </p> + <p> + “Because—because—why shouldn't I?” and diving suddenly, he + seized her hands. + </p> + <p> + She wrenched them free; and with the emotion of despair, Bob Pillin took + out the envelope. + </p> + <p> + “If you like,” he said, “I'll tear this up. I don't want to lend it, if + you don't want me to; but I thought—I thought—” It was for her + alone he had been going to lend this money! + </p> + <p> + Phyllis murmured through her hair: + </p> + <p> + “Yes! You thought that I—that's what's so hateful!” + </p> + <p> + Apprehension pierced his mind. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I never—I swear I never—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you did; you thought I wanted you to lend it.” + </p> + <p> + She jumped up, and brushed past him into the window. + </p> + <p> + So she thought she was being used as a decoy! That was awful—especially + since it was true. He knew well enough that Mrs. Larne was working his + admiration for her daughter for all that it was worth. And he said with + simple fervour: + </p> + <p> + “What rot!” It produced no effect, and at his wits' end, he almost + shouted: “Look, Phyllis! If you don't want me to—here goes!” Phyllis + turned. Tearing the envelope across he threw the bits into the fire. + “There it is,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes grew round; she said in an awed voice: “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + In a sort of agony of honesty he said: + </p> + <p> + “It was only a cheque. Now you've got your way.” + </p> + <p> + Staring at the fire she answered slowly: + </p> + <p> + “I expect you'd better go before mother comes.” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin's mouth fell afar; he secretly agreed, but the idea of + sacrificing a moment alone with her was intolerable, and he said hardily: + </p> + <p> + “No, I shall stick it!” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis sneezed. + </p> + <p> + “My hair isn't a bit dry,” and she sat down on the fender with her back to + the fire. + </p> + <p> + A certain spirituality had come into Bob Pillin's face. If only he could + get that wheeze off: “Phyllis is my only joy!” or even: “Phyllis—do + you—won't you—mayn't I?” But nothing came—nothing. + </p> + <p> + And suddenly she said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! don't breathe so loud; it's awful!” + </p> + <p> + “Breathe? I wasn't!” + </p> + <p> + “You were; just like Carmen when she's dreaming.” + </p> + <p> + He had walked three steps towards the door, before he thought: 'What does + it matter? I can stand anything from her; and walked the three steps back + again. + </p> + <p> + She said softly: + </p> + <p> + “Poor young man!” + </p> + <p> + He answered gloomily: + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you realise that this may be the last time you'll see me?” + </p> + <p> + “Why? I thought you were going to take us to the theatre.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know whether your mother will—after—-” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis gave a little clear laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You don't know mother. Nothing makes any difference to her.” + </p> + <p> + And Bob Pillin muttered: + </p> + <p> + “I see.” He did not, but it was of no consequence. Then the thought of + Ventnor again ousted all others. What on earth-how on earth! He searched + his mind for what he could possibly have said the other night. Surely he + had not asked him to do anything; certainly not given him their address. + There was something very odd about it that had jolly well got to be + cleared up! And he said: + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure the name of that Johnny who came here yesterday was + Ventnor?” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis nodded. + </p> + <p> + “And he was short, and had whiskers?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; red, and red eyes.” + </p> + <p> + He murmured reluctantly: + </p> + <p> + “It must be him. Jolly good cheek; I simply can't understand. I shall go + and see him. How on earth did he know your address?” + </p> + <p> + “I expect you gave it him.” + </p> + <p> + “I did not. I won't have you thinking me a squirt.” + </p> + <p> + Phyllis jumped up. “Oh! Lawks! Here's mother!” Mrs. Larne was coming up + the garden. Bob Pillin made for the door. “Good-bye,” he said; “I'm + going.” But Mrs. Larne was already in the hall. Enveloping him in fur and + her rich personality, she drew him with her into the drawing-room, where + the back window was open and Phyllis gone. + </p> + <p> + “I hope,” she said, “those naughty children have been making you + comfortable. That nice lawyer of yours came yesterday. He seemed quite + satisfied.” + </p> + <p> + Very red above his collar, Bob Pillin stammered: + </p> + <p> + “I never told him to; he isn't my lawyer. I don't know what it means.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Larne smiled. “My dear boy, it's all right. You needn't be so + squeamish. I want it to be quite on a business footing.” + </p> + <p> + Restraining a fearful inclination to blurt out: “It's not going to be on + any footing!” Bob Pillin mumbled: “I must go; I'm late.” + </p> + <p> + “And when will you be able—-?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I'll—I'll send—I'll write. Good-bye!” And suddenly he + found that Mrs. Larne had him by the lapel of his coat. The scent of + violets and fur was overpowering, and the thought flashed through him: 'I + believe she only wanted to take money off old Joseph in the Bible. I can't + leave my coat in her hands! What shall I do?' + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Larne was murmuring: + </p> + <p> + “It would be so sweet of you if you could manage it today”; and her hand + slid over his chest. “Oh! You have brought your cheque-book—what a + nice boy!” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin took it out in desperation, and, sitting down at the bureau, + wrote a cheque similar to that which he had torn and burned. A warm kiss + lighted on his eyebrow, his head was pressed for a moment to a furry + bosom; a hand took the cheque; a voice said: “How delightful!” and a sigh + immersed him in a bath of perfume. Backing to the door, he gasped: + </p> + <p> + “Don't mention it; and—and don't tell Phyllis, please. Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + Once through the garden gate, he thought: 'By gum! I've done it now. That + Phyllis should know about it at all! That beast Ventnor!' + </p> + <p> + His face grew almost grim. He would go and see what that meant anyway! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 3 + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor had not left his office when his young friend's card was + brought to him. Tempted for a moment to deny his own presence, he thought: + 'No! What's the good? Bound to see him some time!' If he had not exactly + courage, he had that peculiar blend of self-confidence and insensibility + which must needs distinguish those who follow the law; nor did he ever + forget that he was in the right. + </p> + <p> + “Show him in!” he said. + </p> + <p> + He would be quite bland, but young Pillin might whistle for an + explanation; he was still tormented, too, by the memory of rich curves and + moving lips, and the possibilities of better acquaintanceship. + </p> + <p> + While shaking the young man's hand his quick and fulvous eye detected at + once the discomposure behind that mask of cheek and collar, and relapsing + into one of those swivel chairs which give one an advantage over men more + statically seated, he said: + </p> + <p> + “You look pretty bobbish. Anything I can do for you?” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin, in the fixed chair of the consultor, nursed his bowler on his + knee. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, there is. I've just been to see Mrs. Larne.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor did not flinch. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Nice woman; pretty daughter, too!” And into those words he put a + certain meaning. He never waited to be bullied. Bob Pillin felt the + pressure of his blood increasing. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Ventnor,” he said, “I want an explanation.” + </p> + <p> + “What of?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of your going there, and using my name, and God knows what.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor gave his chair two little twiddles before he said + </p> + <p> + “Well, you won't get it.” + </p> + <p> + Bob Pillin remained for a moment taken aback; then he muttered resolutely: + </p> + <p> + “It's not the conduct of a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + Every man has his illusions, and no man likes them disturbed. The gingery + tint underlying Mr. Ventnor's colouring overlaid it; even the whites of + his eyes grew red. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he said; “indeed! You mind your own business, will you?” + </p> + <p> + “It is my business—very much so. You made use of my name, and I + don't choose—-” + </p> + <p> + “The devil you don't! Now, I tell you what—-” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor leaned forward—“you'd better hold your tongue, and not + exasperate me. I'm a good-tempered man, but I won't stand your impudence.” + </p> + <p> + Clenching his bowler hat, and only kept in his seat by that sense of + something behind, Bob Pillin ejaculated: + </p> + <p> + “Impudence! That's good—after what you did! Look here, why did you? + It's so extraordinary!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor answered: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! is it? You wait a bit, my friend!” + </p> + <p> + Still more moved by the mystery of this affair, Bob Pillin could only + mutter: + </p> + <p> + “I never gave you their address; we were only talking about old Heythorp.” + </p> + <p> + And at the smile which spread between Mr. Ventnor's whiskers, he jumped + up, crying: + </p> + <p> + “It's not the thing, and you're not going to put me off. I insist on an + explanation.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor leaned back, crossing his stout legs, joining the tips of his + thick fingers. In this attitude he was always self-possessed. + </p> + <p> + “You do—do you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You must have had some reason.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor gazed up at him. + </p> + <p> + “I'll give you a piece of advice, young cock, and charge you nothing for + it, too: Ask no questions, and you'll be told no lies. And here's another: + Go away before you forget yourself again.” + </p> + <p> + The natural stolidity of Bob Pilings face was only just proof against this + speech. He said thickly: + </p> + <p> + “If you go there again and use my name, I'll Well, it's lucky for you + you're not my age. Anyway I'll relieve you of my acquaintanceship in + future. Good-evening!” and he went to the door. Mr. Ventnor had risen. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he said loudly. “Good riddance! You wait and see which boot + the leg is on!” + </p> + <p> + But Bob Pillin was gone, leaving the lawyer with a very red face, a very + angry heart, and a vague sense of disorder in his speech. Not only Bob + Pillin, but his tender aspirations had all left him; he no longer dallied + with the memory of Mrs. Larne, but like a man and a Briton thought only of + how to get his own back, and punish evildoers. The atrocious words of his + young friend, “It's not the conduct of a gentleman,” festered in the heart + of one who was made gentle not merely by nature but by Act of Parliament, + and he registered a solemn vow to wipe the insult out, if not with blood, + with verjuice. It was his duty, and they should d—-d well see him do + it! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + Sylvanus Heythorp seldom went to bed before one or rose before eleven. The + latter habit alone kept his valet from handing in the resignation which + the former habit prompted almost every night. + </p> + <p> + Propped on his pillows in a crimson dressing-gown, and freshly shaved, he + looked more Roman than he ever did, except in his bath. Having disposed of + coffee, he was wont to read his letters, and The Morning Post, for he had + always been a Tory, and could not stomach paying a halfpenny for his news. + Not that there were many letters—when a man has reached the age of + eighty, who should write to him, except to ask for money? + </p> + <p> + It was Valentine's Day. Through his bedroom window he could see the trees + of the park, where the birds were in song, though he could not hear them. + He had never been interested in Nature—full-blooded men with short + necks seldom are. + </p> + <p> + This morning indeed there were two letters, and he opened that which smelt + of something. Inside was a thing like a Christmas card, save that the + naked babe had in his hands a bow and arrow, and words coming out of his + mouth: “To be your Valentine.” There was also a little pink note with one + blue forget-me-not printed at the top. It ran: + </p> + <p> + “DEAREST GUARDY,—I'm sorry this is such a mangy little valentine; I + couldn't go out to get it because I've got a beastly cold, so I asked + Jock, and the pig bought this. The satin is simply scrumptious. If you + don't come and see me in it some time soon, I shall come and show it to + you. I wish I had a moustache, because my top lip feels just like a + matchbox, but it's rather ripping having breakfast in bed. Mr. Pillin's + taking us to the theatre the day after to-morrow evening. Isn't it nummy! + I'm going to have rum and honey for my cold. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, + </p> + <p> + “Your PHYLLIS.” + </p> + <p> + So this that quivered in his thick fingers, too insensitive to feel it, + was a valentine for him! + </p> + <p> + Forty years ago that young thing's grandmother had given him his last. It + made him out a very old chap! Forty years ago! Had that been himself + living then? And himself, who, as a youth came on the town in 'forty-five? + Not a thought, not a feeling the same! They said you changed your body + every seven years. The mind with it, too, perhaps! Well, he had come to + the last of his bodies, now! And that holy woman had been urging him to + take it to Bath, with her face as long as a tea-tray, and some gammon from + that doctor of his. Too full a habit—dock his port—no alcohol—might + go off in a coma any night! Knock off not he! Rather die any day than turn + tee-totaller! When a man had nothing left in life except his dinner, his + bottle, his cigar, and the dreams they gave him—these doctors + forsooth must want to cut them off! No, no! Carpe diem! while you lived, + get something out of it. And now that he had made all the provision he + could for those youngsters, his life was no good to any one but himself; + and the sooner he went off the better, if he ceased to enjoy what there + was left, or lost the power to say: “I'll do this and that, and you be + jiggered!” Keep a stiff lip until you crashed, and then go clean! He + sounded the bell beside him twice-for Molly, not his man. And when the + girl came in, and stood, pretty in her print frock, her fluffy over-fine + dark hair escaping from under her cap, he gazed at her in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sirr?” + </p> + <p> + “Want to look at you, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh I an' I'm not tidy, sirr.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. Had your valentine?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sirr; who would send me one, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't you a young man?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I might. But he's over in my country. + </p> + <p> + “What d'you think of this?” + </p> + <p> + He held out the little boy. + </p> + <p> + The girl took the card and scrutinised it reverently; she said in a + detached voice: + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, an' ut's pretty, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you like it?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh I if 'tis not taking ut from you.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp shook his head, and pointed to the dressing-table. + </p> + <p> + “Over there—you'll find a sovereign. Little present for a good + girl.” + </p> + <p> + She uttered a deep sigh. “Oh! sirr, 'tis too much; 'tis kingly.” + </p> + <p> + “Take it.” + </p> + <p> + She took it, and came back, her hands clasping the sovereign and the + valentine, in an attitude as of prayer. + </p> + <p> + The old man's gaze rested on her with satisfaction. + </p> + <p> + “I like pretty faces—can't bear sour ones. Tell Meller to get my + bath ready.” + </p> + <p> + When she had gone he took up the other letter—some lawyer's writing, + and opening it with the usual difficulty, read: + </p> + <p> + “February 13, 1905. + </p> + <p> + “SIR,—Certain facts having come to my knowledge, I deem it my duty + to call a special meeting of the shareholders of 'The Island Navigation + Coy.,' to consider circumstances in connection with the purchase of Mr. + Joseph Pillin's fleet. And I give you notice that at this meeting your + conduct will be called in question. + </p> + <p> + “I am, Sir, + </p> + <p> + “Yours faithfully, + </p> + <p> + “CHARLES VENTNOR. “SYLVANUS HEYTHORP,ESQ.” + </p> + <p> + Having read this missive, old Heythorp remained some minutes without + stirring. Ventnor! That solicitor chap who had made himself unpleasant at + the creditors' meetings! + </p> + <p> + There are men whom a really bad bit of news at once stampedes out of all + power of coherent thought and action, and men who at first simply do not + take it in. Old Heythorp took it in fast enough; coming from a lawyer it + was about as nasty as it could be. But, at once, with stoic wariness his + old brain began casting round. What did this fellow really know? And what + exactly could he do? One thing was certain; even if he knew everything, he + couldn't upset that settlement. The youngsters were all right. The old man + grasped the fact that only his own position was at stake. But this was + enough in all conscience; a name which had been before the public fifty + odd years—income, independence, more perhaps. It would take little, + seeing his age and feebleness, to make his Companies throw him over. But + what had the fellow got hold of? How decide whether or no to take notice; + to let him do his worst, or try and get into touch with him? And what was + the fellow's motive? He held ten shares! That would never make a man take + all this trouble, and over a purchase which was really first-rate business + for the Company. Yes! His conscience was quite clean. He had not betrayed + his Company—on the contrary, had done it a good turn, got them four + sound ships at a low price—against much opposition. That he might + have done the Company a better turn, and got the ships at fifty-four + thousand, did not trouble him—the six thousand was a deuced sight + better employed; and he had not pocketed a penny piece himself! But the + fellow's motive? Spite? Looked like it. Spite, because he had been + disappointed of his money, and defied into the bargain! H'm! If that were + so, he might still be got to blow cold again. His eyes lighted on the pink + note with the blue forget-me-not. It marked as it were the high water mark + of what was left to him of life; and this other letter in his hand-by + Jove! Low water mark! And with a deep and rumbling sigh he thought: 'No, + I'm not going to be beaten by this fellow.' + </p> + <p> + “Your bath is ready, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Crumpling the two letters into the pocket of his dressing-gown, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Help me up; and telephone to Mr. Farney to be good enough to come round.” + .... + </p> + <p> + An hour later, when the secretary entered, his chairman was sitting by the + fire perusing the articles of association. And, waiting for him to look + up, watching the articles shaking in that thick, feeble hand, the + secretary had one of those moments of philosophy not too frequent with his + kind. Some said the only happy time of life was when you had no passions, + nothing to hope and live for. But did you really ever reach such a stage? + The old chairman, for instance, still had his passion for getting his own + way, still had his prestige, and set a lot of store by it! And he said: + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, sir; I hope you're all right in this east wind. The + purchase is completed.” + </p> + <p> + “Best thing the company ever did. Have you heard from a shareholder called + Ventnor. You know the man I mean?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. I haven't.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! You may get a letter that'll make you open your eyes. An impudent + scoundrel! Just write at my dictation.” + </p> + <p> + “February 14th, 1905. + </p> + <p> + “CHARLES VENTNOR, Esq. + </p> + <p> + “SIR,—I have your letter of yesterday's date, the contents of which + I am at a loss to understand. My solicitors will be instructed to take the + necessary measures.” + </p> + <p> + 'Phew What's all this about?' the secretary thought. + </p> + <p> + “Yours truly....” + </p> + <p> + “I'll sign.” And the shaky letters closed the page: “SYLVANUS HEYTHORP.” + </p> + <p> + “Post that as you go.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything else I can do for you, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, except to let me know if you hear from this fellow.” + </p> + <p> + When the secretary had gone the old man thought: 'So! The ruffian hasn't + called the meeting yet. That'll bring him round here fast enough if it's + his money he wants-blackmailing scoundrel!' + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Pillin, sir; and will you wait lunch, or will you have it in the + dining-room?” + </p> + <p> + “In the dining-room.” + </p> + <p> + At sight of that death's-head of a fellow, old Heythorp felt a sort of + pity. He looked bad enough already—and this news would make him look + worse. Joe Pillin glanced round at the two closed doors. + </p> + <p> + “How are you, Sylvanus? I'm very poorly.” He came closer, and lowered his + voice: “Why did you get me to make that settlement? I must have been mad. + I've had a man called Ventnor—I didn't like his manner. He asked me + if I knew a Mrs. Larne.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! What did you say?” + </p> + <p> + “What could I say? I don't know her. But why did he ask?” + </p> + <p> + “Smells a rat.” + </p> + <p> + Joe Pillin grasped the edge of the table with both hands. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” he murmured. “Oh! don't say that!” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp held out to him the crumpled letter. + </p> + <p> + When he had read it Joe Pillin sat down abruptly before the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Pull yourself together, Joe; they can't touch you, and they can't upset + either the purchase or the settlement. They can upset me, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + Joe Pillin answered, with trembling lips: + </p> + <p> + “How you can sit there, and look the same as ever! Are you sure they can't + touch me?” + </p> + <p> + Old Heyworth nodded grimly. + </p> + <p> + “They talk of an Act, but they haven't passed it yet. They might prove a + breach of trust against me. But I'll diddle them. Keep your pecker up, and + get off abroad.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes. I must. I'm very bad. I was going to-morrow. But I don't know, + I'm sure, with this hanging over me. My son knowing her makes it worse. He + picks up with everybody. He knows this man Ventnor too. And I daren't say + anything to Bob. What are you thinking of, Sylvanus? You look very funny!” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp seemed to rouse himself from a sort of coma. + </p> + <p> + “I want my lunch,” he said. “Will you stop and have some?” + </p> + <p> + Joe Pillin stammered out: + </p> + <p> + “Lunch! I don't know when I shall eat again. What are you going to do, + Sylvanus?” + </p> + <p> + “Bluff the beggar out of it.” + </p> + <p> + “But suppose you can't?” + </p> + <p> + “Buy him off. He's one—of my creditors.” + </p> + <p> + Joe Pillin stared at him afresh. “You always had such nerve,” he said + yearningly. “Do you ever wake up between two and four? I do—and + everything's black.” + </p> + <p> + “Put a good stiff nightcap on, my boy, before going to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I sometimes wish I was less temperate. But I couldn't stand it. I'm + told your doctor forbids you alcohol.” + </p> + <p> + “He does. That's why I drink it.” + </p> + <p> + Joe Pillin, brooding over the fire, said: “This meeting—d'you think + they mean to have it? D'you think this man really knows? If my name gets + into the newspapers—” but encountering his old friend's deep little + eyes, he stopped. “So you advise me to get off to-morrow, then?” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Your lunch is served, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Joe Pillin started violently, and rose. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-bye, Sylvanus-good-bye! I don't suppose I shall be back till + the summer, if I ever come back!” He sank his voice: “I shall rely on you. + You won't let them, will you?” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp lifted his hand, and Joe Pillin put into that swollen shaking + paw his pale and spindly fingers. “I wish I had your pluck,” he said + sadly. “Good-bye, Sylvanus,” and turning, he passed out. + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp thought: 'Poor shaky chap. All to pieces at the first shot!' + And, going to his lunch, ate more heavily than usual. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 2 + </h2> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor, on reaching his office and opening his letters, found, as he + had anticipated, one from “that old rascal.” Its contents excited in him + the need to know his own mind. Fortunately this was not complicated by a + sense of dignity—he only had to consider the position with an eye on + not being made to look a fool. The point was simply whether he set more + store by his money than by his desire for—er—Justice. If not, + he had merely to convene the special meeting, and lay before it the plain + fact that Mr. Joseph Pillin, selling his ships for sixty thousand pounds, + had just made a settlement of six thousand pounds on a lady whom he did + not know, a daughter, ward, or what-not—of the purchasing company's + chairman, who had said, moreover, at the general meeting, that he stood or + fell by the transaction; he had merely to do this, and demand that an + explanation be required from the old man of such a startling coincidence. + Convinced that no explanation would hold water, he felt sure that his + action would be at once followed by the collapse, if nothing more, of that + old image, and the infliction of a nasty slur on old Pillin and his + hopeful son. On the other hand, three hundred pounds was money; and, if + old Heythorp were to say to him: “What do you want to make this fuss for—here's + what I owe you!” could a man of business and the world let his sense of + justice—however he might itch to have it satisfied—stand in + the way of what was after all also his sense of Justice?—for this + money had been owing to him for the deuce of along time. In this dilemma, + the words: + </p> + <p> + “My solicitors will be instructed” were of notable service in helping him + to form a decision, for he had a certain dislike of other solicitors, and + an intimate knowledge of the law of libel and slander; if by any remote + chance there should be a slip between the cup and the lip, Charles Ventnor + might be in the soup—a position which he deprecated both by nature + and profession. High thinking, therefore, decided him at last to answer + thus: + </p> + <p> + “February 19th, 1905. + </p> + <p> + “SIR,—I have received your note. I think it may be fair, before + taking further steps in this matter, to ask you for a personal explanation + of the circumstances to which I alluded. I therefore propose with your + permission to call on you at your private residence at five o'clock + to-morrow afternoon. + </p> + <p> + “Yours faithfully, “CHARLES VENTNOR. + </p> + <p> + “SYLVANUS HEYTHORP, Esq.” + </p> + <p> + Having sent this missive, and arranged in his mind the damning, if + circumstantial, evidence he had accumulated, he awaited the hour with + confidence, for his nature was not lacking in the cock-surety of a Briton. + All the same, he dressed himself particularly well that morning, putting + on a blue and white striped waistcoat which, with a cream-coloured tie, + set off his fulvous whiskers and full blue eyes; and he lunched, if + anything, more fully than his wont, eating a stronger cheese and taking a + glass of special Club ale. He took care to be late, too, to show the old + fellow that his coming at all was in the nature of an act of grace. A + strong scent of hyacinths greeted him in the hall; and Mr. Ventnor, who + was an amateur of flowers, stopped to put his nose into a fine bloom and + think uncontrollably of Mrs. Larne. Pity! The things one had to give up in + life—fine women—one thing and another. Pity! The thought + inspired in him a timely anger; and he followed the servant, intending to + stand no nonsense from this paralytic old rascal. + </p> + <p> + The room he entered was lighted by a bright fire, and a single electric + lamp with an orange shade on a table covered by a black satin cloth. There + were heavily gleaming oil paintings on the walls, a heavy old brass + chandelier without candles, heavy dark red curtains, and an indefinable + scent of burnt acorns, coffee, cigars, and old man. He became conscious of + a candescent spot on the far side of the hearth, where the light fell on + old Heythorp's thick white hair. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Ventnor, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The candescent spot moved. A voice said: “Sit down.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor sat in an armchair on the opposite side of the fire; and, + finding a kind of somnolence creeping over him, pinched himself. He wanted + all his wits about him. + </p> + <p> + The old man was speaking in that extinct voice of his, and Mr. Ventnor + said rather pettishly: + </p> + <p> + “Beg pardon, I don't get you.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp's voice swelled with sudden force: + </p> + <p> + “Your letters are Greek to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! indeed, I think we can soon make them into plain English!” + </p> + <p> + “Sooner the better.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor passed through a moment of indecision. Should he lay his cards + on the table? It was not his habit, and the proceeding was sometimes + attended with risk. The knowledge, however, that he could always take them + up again, seeing there was no third person here to testify that he had + laid them down, decided him, and he said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Mr. Heythorp, the long and short of the matter is this: Our friend + Mr. Pillin paid you a commission of ten per cent. on the sale of his + ships. Oh! yes. He settled the money, not on you, but on your relative + Mrs. Larne and her children. This, as you know, is a breach of trust on + your part.” + </p> + <p> + The old man's voice: “Where did you get hold of that cock-and-bull story?” + brought him to his feet before the fire. + </p> + <p> + “It won't do, Mr. Heythorp. My witnesses are Mr. Pillin, Mrs. Larne, and + Mr. Scriven.” + </p> + <p> + “What have you come here for, then—blackmail?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor straightened his waistcoat; a rush of conscious virtue had + dyed his face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you take that tone,” he said, “do you? You think you can ride + roughshod over everything? Well, you're very much mistaken. I advise you + to keep a civil tongue and consider your position, or I'll make a beggar + of you. I'm not sure this isn't a case for a prosecution!” + </p> + <p> + “Gammon!” + </p> + <p> + The choler in Charles Ventnor kept him silent for a moment; then he burst + out: + </p> + <p> + “Neither gammon nor spinach. You owe me three hundred pounds, you've owed + it me for years, and you have the impudence to take this attitude with me, + have you? Now, I never bluster; I say what I mean. You just listen to me. + Either you pay me what you owe me at once, or I call this meeting and make + what I know public. You'll very soon find out where you are. And a good + thing, too, for a more unscrupulous—unscrupulous—-” he paused + for breath. + </p> + <p> + Occupied with his own emotion, he had not observed the change in old + Heythorp's face. The imperial on that lower lip was bristling, the crimson + of those cheeks had spread to the roots of his white hair. He grasped the + arms of his chair, trying to rise; his swollen hands trembled; a little + saliva escaped one corner of his lips. And the words came out as if shaken + by his teeth: + </p> + <p> + “So-so-you-you bully me!” + </p> + <p> + Conscious that the interview had suddenly passed from the phase of + negotiation, Mr. Ventnor looked hard at his opponent. He saw nothing but a + decrepit, passionate, crimson-faced old man at bay, and all the instincts + of one with everything on his side boiled up in him. The miserable old + turkey-cock—the apoplectic image! And he said: + </p> + <p> + “And you'll do no good for yourself by getting into a passion. At your + age, and in your condition, I recommend a little prudence. Now just take + my terms quietly, or you know what'll happen. I'm not to be intimidated by + any of your airs.” And seeing that the old man's rage was such that he + simply could not speak, he took the opportunity of going on: “I don't care + two straws which you do—I'm out to show you who's master. If you + think in your dotage you can domineer any longer—well, you'll find + two can play at that game. Come, now, which are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + The old man had sunk back in his chair, and only his little deep-blue eyes + seemed living. Then he moved one hand, and Mr. Ventnor saw that he was + fumbling to reach the button of an electric bell at the end of a cord. + 'I'll show him,' he thought, and stepping forward, he put it out of reach. + </p> + <p> + Thus frustrated, the old man remained-motionless, staring up. The word + “blackmail” resumed its buzzing in Mr. Ventnor's ears. The impudence the + consummate impudence of it from this fraudulent old ruffian with one foot + in bankruptcy and one foot in the grave, if not in the dock. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “it's never too late to learn; and for once you've come up + against someone a leetle bit too much for you. Haven't you now? You'd + better cry 'Peccavi.'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + Then, in the deathly silence of the room, the moral force of his position, + and the collapse as it seemed of his opponent, awakening a faint + compunction, he took a turn over the Turkey carpet to readjust his mind. + </p> + <p> + “You're an old man, and I don't want to be too hard on you. I'm only + showing you that you can't play fast and loose as if you were God Almighty + any longer. You've had your own way too many years. And now you can't have + it, see!” Then, as the old man again moved forward in his chair, he added: + “Now, don't get into a passion again; calm yourself, because I warn you—this + is your last chance. I'm a man of my word; and what I say, I do.” + </p> + <p> + By a violent and unsuspected effort the old man jerked himself up and + reached the bell. Mr. Ventnor heard it ring, and said sharply: + </p> + <p> + “Mind you, it's nothing to me which you do. I came for your own good. + Please yourself. Well?” + </p> + <p> + He was answered by the click of the door and the old man's husky voice: + </p> + <p> + “Show this hound out! And then come back!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Ventnor had presence of mind enough not to shake his fist. Muttering: + “Very well, Mr. Heythorp! Ah! Very well!” he moved with dignity to the + door. The careful shepherding of the servant renewed the fire of his + anger. Hound! He had been called a hound! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 3 + </h2> + <p> + After seeing Mr. Ventnor off the premises the man Meller returned to his + master, whose face looked very odd—“all patchy-like,” as he put it + in the servants' hall, as though the blood driven to his head had mottled + for good the snowy whiteness of the forehead. He received the unexpected + order: + </p> + <p> + “Get me a hot bath ready, and put some pine stuff in it.” + </p> + <p> + When the old man was seated there, the valet asked: + </p> + <p> + “How long shall I give you, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “Very good, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Lying in that steaming brown fragrant liquid, old Heythorp heaved a + stertorous sigh. By losing his temper with that ill-conditioned cur he had + cooked his goose. It was done to a turn; and he was a ruined man. If only—oh! + if only he could have seized the fellow by the neck and pitched him out of + the room! To have lived to be so spoken to; to have been unable to lift + hand or foot, hardly even his voice—he would sooner have been dead! + Yes—sooner have been dead! A dumb and measureless commotion was + still at work in the recesses of that thick old body, silver-brown in the + dark water, whose steam he drew deep into his wheezing lungs, as though + for spiritual relief. To be beaten by a cur like that! To have that common + cad of a pettifogging lawyer drag him down and kick him about; tumble a + name which had stood high, in the dust! The fellow had the power to make + him a byword and a beggar! It was incredible! But it was a fact. And + to-morrow he would begin to do it—perhaps had begun already. His + tree had come down with a crash! Eighty years-eighty good years! He + regretted none of them-regretted nothing; least of all this breach of + trust which had provided for his grandchildren—one of the best + things he had ever done. The fellow was a cowardly hound, too! The way he + had snatched the bell-pull out of his reach-despicable cur! And a chap + like that was to put “paid” to the account of Sylvanus Heythorp, to + “scratch” him out of life—so near the end of everything, the very + end! His hand raised above the surface fell back on his stomach through + the dark water, and a bubble or two rose. Not so fast—not so fast! + He had but to slip down a foot, let the water close over his head, and + “Good-bye” to Master Ventnor's triumph Dead men could not be kicked off + the Boards of Companies. Dead men could not be beggared, deprived of their + independence. He smiled and stirred a little in the bath till the water + reached the white hairs on his lower lip. It smelt nice! And he took a + long sniff: He had had a good life, a good life! And with the thought that + he had it in his power at any moment to put Master Ventnor's nose out of + joint—to beat the beggar after all, a sense of assuagement and + well-being crept over him. His blood ran more evenly again. He closed his + eyes. They talked about an after-life—people like that holy woman. + Gammon! You went to sleep—a long sleep; no dreams. A nap after + dinner! Dinner! His tongue sought his palate! Yes! he could eat a good + dinner! That dog hadn't put him off his stroke! The best dinner he had + ever eaten was the one he gave to Jack Herring, Chichester, Thornworthy, + Nick Treffry and Jolyon Forsyte at Pole's. Good Lord! In 'sixty—yes—'sixty-five? + Just before he fell in love with Alice Larne—ten years before he + came to Liverpool. That was a dinner! Cost twenty-four pounds for the six + of them—and Forsyte an absurdly moderate fellow. Only Nick Treff'ry + and himself had been three-bottle men! Dead! Every jack man of them. And + suddenly he thought: 'My name's a good one—I was never down before—never + beaten!' + </p> + <p> + A voice above the steam said: + </p> + <p> + “The twenty minutes is up, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “All right; I'll get out. Evening clothes.” + </p> + <p> + And Meller, taking out dress suit and shirt, thought: 'Now, what does the + old bloomer want dressin' up again for; why can't he go to bed and have + his dinner there? When a man's like a baby, the cradle's the place for + him.'.... + </p> + <p> + An hour later, at the scene of his encounter with Mr. Ventnor, where the + table was already laid for dinner, old Heythorp stood and gazed. The + curtains had been drawn back, the window thrown open to air the room, and + he could see out there the shapes of the dark trees and a sky + grape-coloured, in the mild, moist night. It smelt good. A sensuous + feeling stirred in him, warm from his bath, clothed from head to foot in + fresh garments. Deuce of a time since he had dined in full fig! He would + have liked a woman dining opposite—but not the holy woman; no, by + George!—would have liked to see light falling on a woman's shoulders + once again, and a pair of bright eyes! He crossed, snail-like, towards the + fire. There that bullying fellow had stood with his back to it—confound + his impudence!—as if the place belonged to him. And suddenly he had + a vision of his three secretaries' faces—especially young Farney's + as they would look, when the pack got him by the throat and pulled him + down. His co-directors, too! Old Heythorp! How are the mighty fallen! And + that hound jubilant! + </p> + <p> + His valet passed across the room to shut the window and draw the curtains. + This chap too! The day he could no longer pay his wages, and had lost the + power to say “Shan't want your services any more”—when he could no + longer even pay his doctor for doing his best to kill him off! Power, + interest, independence, all—gone! To be dressed and undressed, given + pap, like a baby in arms, served as they chose to serve him, and wished + out of the way—broken, dishonoured! + </p> + <p> + By money alone an old man had his being! Meat, drink, movement, breath! + When all his money was gone the holy woman would let him know it fast + enough. They would all let him know it; or if they didn't, it would be out + of pity! He had never been pitied yet—thank God! And he said: + </p> + <p> + “Get me up a bottle of Perrier Jouet. What's the menu?” + </p> + <p> + “Germane soup, sir; filly de sole; sweetbread; cutlet soubees, rum + souffly.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell her to give me a hors d'oeuvre, and put on a savoury.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + When the man had gone, he thought: 'I should have liked an oyster—too + late now!' and going over to his bureau, he fumblingly pulled out the top + drawer. There was little in it—Just a few papers, business papers on + his Companies, and a schedule of his debts; not even a copy of his will—he + had not made one, nothing to leave! Letters he had never kept. Half a + dozen bills, a few receipts, and the little pink note with the blue + forget-me-not. That was the lot! An old tree gives up bearing leaves, and + its roots dry up, before it comes down in a wind; an old man's world + slowly falls away from him till he stands alone in the night. Looking at + the pink note, he thought: 'Suppose I'd married Alice—a man never + had a better mistress!' He fumbled the drawer to; but still he strayed + feebly about the room, with a curious shrinking from sitting down, legacy + from the quarter of an hour he had been compelled to sit while that hound + worried at his throat. He was opposite one of the pictures now. It + gleamed, dark and oily, limning a Scots Grey who had mounted a wounded + Russian on his horse, and was bringing him back prisoner from the + Balaclava charge. A very old friend—bought in 'fifty-nine. It had + hung in his chambers in the Albany—hung with him ever since. With + whom would it hang when he was gone? For that holy woman would scrap it, + to a certainty, and stick up some Crucifixion or other, some new-fangled + high art thing! She could even do that now if she liked—for she + owned it, owned every mortal stick in the room, to the very glass he would + drink his champagne from; all made over under the settlement fifteen years + ago, before his last big gamble went wrong. “De l'audace, toujours de + l'audace!” The gamble which had brought him down till his throat at last + was at the mercy of a bullying hound. The pitcher and the well! At the + mercy—-! The sound of a popping cork dragged him from reverie. He + moved to his seat, back to the window, and sat down to his dinner. By + George! They had got him an oyster! And he said: + </p> + <p> + “I've forgotten my teeth!” + </p> + <p> + While the man was gone for them, he swallowed the oysters, methodically + touching them one by one with cayenne, Chili vinegar, and lemon. Ummm! Not + quite what they used to be at Pimm's in the best days, but not bad—not + bad! Then seeing the little blue bowl lying before him, he looked up and + said: + </p> + <p> + “My compliments to cook on the oysters. Give me the champagne.” And he + lifted his trembling teeth. Thank God, he could still put 'em in for + himself! The creaming goldenish fluid from the napkined bottle slowly + reached the brim of his glass, which had a hollow stem; raising it to his + lips, very red between the white hairs above and below, he drank with a + gurgling noise, and put the glass down-empty. Nectar! And just cold + enough! + </p> + <p> + “I frapped it the least bit, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right. What's that smell of flowers?” + </p> + <p> + “It's from those 'yacinths on the sideboard, sir. They come from Mrs. + Larne, this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Put 'em on the table. Where's my daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “She's had dinner, sir; goin' to a ball, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “A ball!” + </p> + <p> + “Charity ball, I fancy, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Ummm! Give me a touch of the old sherry with the soup.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir. I shall have to open a bottle:” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then, do!” + </p> + <p> + On his way to the cellar the man confided to Molly, who was carrying the + soup: + </p> + <p> + “The Gov'nor's going it to-night! What he'll be like tomorrow I dunno.” + </p> + <p> + The girl answered softly: + </p> + <p> + “Poor old man, let um have his pleasure.” And, in the hall, with the soup + tureen against her bosom, she hummed above the steam, and thought of the + ribbons on her new chemises, bought out of the sovereign he had given her. + </p> + <p> + And old Heythorp, digesting his osyters, snuffed the scent of the + hyacinths, and thought of the St. Germain, his favourite soup. It would + n't be first-rate, at this time of year—should be made with little + young home-grown peas. Paris was the place for it. Ah! The French were the + fellows for eating, and—looking things in the face! Not hypocrites—not + ashamed of their reason or their senses! + </p> + <p> + The soup came in. He sipped it, bending forward as far as he could, his + napkin tucked in over his shirt-front like a bib. He got the bouquet of + that sherry to a T—his sense of smell was very keen to-night; rare + old stuff it was—more than a year since he had tasted it—but + no one drank sherry nowadays, hadn't the constitution for it! The fish + came up, and went down; and with the sweetbread he took his second glass + of champagne. Always the best, that second glass—the stomach well + warmed, and the palate not yet dulled. Umm! So that fellow thought he had + him beaten, did he? And he said suddenly: + </p> + <p> + “The fur coat in the wardrobe, I've no use for it. You can take it away + to-night.” + </p> + <p> + With tempered gratitude the valet answered: + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir; much obliged, I'm sure.” So the old buffer had found out + there was moth in it! + </p> + <p> + “Have I worried you much?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; not at all, sir—that is, no more than reason.” + </p> + <p> + “Afraid I have. Very sorry—can't help it. You'll find that, when you + get like me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; I've always admired your pluck, sir. + </p> + <p> + “Um! Very good of you to say so.” + </p> + <p> + “Always think of you keepin' the flag flying', sir.” + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp bent his body from the waist. + </p> + <p> + “Much obliged to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, sir. Cook's done a little spinach in cream with the soubees.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Tell her from me it's a capital dinner, so far.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Alone again, old Heythorp sat unmoving, his brain just narcotically + touched. “The flag flyin'—the flag flyin'.” He raised his glass and + sucked. He had an appetite now, and finished the three cutlets, and all + the sauce and spinach. Pity! he could have managed a snipe fresh shot! A + desire to delay, to lengthen dinner, was strong upon him; there were but + the souffle' and the savoury to come. He would have enjoyed, too, someone + to talk to. He had always been fond of good company—been good + company himself, or so they said—not that he had had a chance of + late. Even at the Boards they avoided talking to him, he had noticed for a + long time. Well! that wouldn't trouble him again—he had sat through + his last Board, no doubt. They shouldn't kick him off, though; he wouldn't + give them that pleasure—had seen the beggars hankering after his + chairman's shoes too long. The souffle was before him now, and lifting his + glass, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Fill up.” + </p> + <p> + “These are the special glasses, sir; only four to the bottle.” + </p> + <p> + “Fill up.” + </p> + <p> + The servant filled, screwing up his mouth. + </p> + <p> + Old Heythorp drank, and put the glass down empty with a sigh. He had been + faithful to his principles, finished the bottle before touching the sweet—a + good bottle—of a good brand! And now for the souffle! Delicious, + flipped down with the old sherry! So that holy woman was going to a ball, + was she! How deuced funny! Who would dance with a dry stick like that, all + eaten up with a piety which was just sexual disappointment? Ah! yes, lots + of women like that—had often noticed 'em—pitied 'em too, until + you had to do with them and they made you as unhappy as themselves, and + were tyrants into the bargain. And he asked: + </p> + <p> + “What's the savoury?” + </p> + <p> + “Cheese remmykin, sir.” + </p> + <p> + His favourite. + </p> + <p> + “I'll have my port with it—the 'sixty-eight.” The man stood gazing + with evident stupefaction. He had not expected this. The old man's face + was very flushed, but that might be the bath. He said feebly: + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure you ought, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but I'm going to.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you mind if I spoke to Miss Heythorp, Sir?” + </p> + <p> + “If you do, you can leave my service.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Sir, I don't accept the responsibility.” + </p> + <p> + “Who asked you to?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Sir....” + </p> + <p> + “Well, get it, then; and don't be an ass.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir.” If the old man were not humoured he would have a fit, perhaps! + </p> + <p> + And the old man sat quietly staring at the hyacinths. He felt happy, his + whole being lined and warmed and drowsed—and there was more to come! + What had the holy folk to give you compared with the comfort of a good + dinner? Could they make you dream, and see life rosy for a little? No, + they could only give you promissory notes which never would be cashed. A + man had nothing but his pluck—they only tried to undermine it, and + make him squeal for help. He could see his precious doctor throwing up his + hands: “Port after a bottle of champagne—you'll die of it!” And a + very good death too—none better. A sound broke the silence of the + closed-up room. Music? His daughter playing the piano overhead. Singing + too! What a trickle of a voice! Jenny Lind! The Swedish nightingale—he + had never missed the nights when she was singing—Jenny Lind! + </p> + <p> + “It's very hot, sir. Shall I take it out of the case?” + </p> + <p> + Ah! The ramequin! + </p> + <p> + “Touch of butter, and the cayenne!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + He ate it slowly, savouring each mouthful; had never tasted a better. With + cheese—port! He drank one glass, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Help me to my chair.” + </p> + <p> + And settled there before the fire with decanter and glass and hand-bell on + the little low table by his side, he murmured: + </p> + <p> + “Bring coffee, and my cigar, in twenty minutes.” + </p> + <p> + To-night he would do justice to his wine, not smoking till he had + finished. As old Horace said: + </p> + <p> + “Aequam memento rebus in arduis Servare mentem.” + </p> + <p> + And, raising his glass, he sipped slowly, spilling a drop or two, shutting + his eyes. + </p> + <p> + The faint silvery squealing of the holy woman in the room above, the scent + of hyacinths, the drowse of the fire, on which a cedar log had just been + laid, the feeling of the port soaking down into the crannies of his being, + made up a momentary Paradise. Then the music stopped; and no sound rose + but the tiny groans of the log trying to resist the fire. Dreamily he + thought: 'Life wears you out—wears you out. Logs on a fire!' And he + filled his glass again. That fellow had been careless; there were dregs at + the bottom of the decanter and he had got down to them! Then, as the last + drop from his tilted glass trickled into the white hairs on his chin, he + heard the coffee tray put down, and taking his cigar he put it to his ear, + rolling it in his thick fingers. In prime condition! And drawing a first + whiff, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Open that bottle of the old brandy in the sideboard.” + </p> + <p> + “Brandy, sir? I really daren't, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you my servant or not?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, but—-” + </p> + <p> + A minute of silence, then the man went hastily to the sideboard, took out + the bottle, and drew the cork. The tide of crimson in the old man's face + had frightened him. + </p> + <p> + “Leave it there.” + </p> + <p> + The unfortunate valet placed the bottle on the little table. 'I'll have to + tell her,' he thought; 'but if I take away the port decanter and the + glass, it won't look so bad.' And, carrying them, he left the room. + </p> + <p> + Slowly the old man drank his coffee, and the liqueur of brandy. The whole + gamut! And watching his cigar-smoke wreathing blue in the orange glow, he + smiled. The last night to call his soul his own, the last night of his + independence. Send in his resignations to-morrow—not wait to be + kicked off! Not give that fellow a chance! + </p> + <p> + A voice which seemed to come from far off, said: + </p> + <p> + “Father! You're drinking brandy! How can you—you know it's simple + poison to you!” A figure in white, scarcely actual, loomed up close. He + took the bottle to fill up his liqueur glass, in defiance; but a hand in a + long white glove, with another dangling from its wrist, pulled it away, + shook it at him, and replaced it in the sideboard. And, just as when Mr. + Ventnor stood there accusing him, a swelling and churning in his throat + prevented him from speech; his lips moved, but only a little froth came + forth. + </p> + <p> + His daughter had approached again. She stood quite close, in white satin, + thin-faced, sallow, with eyebrows raised, and her dark hair frizzed—yes! + frizzed—the holy woman! With all his might he tried to say: 'So you + bully me, do you—you bully me to-night!' but only the word “so” and + a sort of whispering came forth. He heard her speaking. “It's no good your + getting angry, Father. After champagne—it's wicked!” Then her form + receded in a sort of rustling white mist; she was gone; and he heard the + sputtering and growling of her taxi, bearing her to the ball. So! She + tyrannised and bullied, even before she had him at her mercy, did she? She + should see! Anger had brightened his eyes; the room came clear again. And + slowly raising himself he sounded the bell twice, for the girl, not for + that fellow Meller, who was in the plot. As soon as her pretty black and + white-aproned figure stood before him, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Help me up.” + </p> + <p> + Twice her soft pulling was not enough, and he sank back. The third time he + struggled to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you; that'll do.” Then, waiting till she was gone, he crossed the + room, fumbled open the sideboard door, and took out the bottle. Reaching + over the polished oak, he grasped a sherry glass; and holding the bottle + with both hands, tipped the liquor into it, put it to his lips and sucked. + Drop by drop it passed over his palate mild, very old, old as himself, + coloured like sunlight, fragrant. To the last drop he drank it, then + hugging the bottle to his shirt-front, he moved snail-like to his chair, + and fell back into its depths. For some minutes he remained there + motionless, the bottle clasped to his chest, thinking: 'This is not the + attitude of a gentleman. I must put it down on the table-on the table;' + but a thick cloud was between him and everything. It was with his hands he + would have to put the bottle on the table! But he could not find his + hands, could not feel them. His mind see-sawed in strophe and antistrophe: + “You can't move!”—“I will move!” “You're beaten”—“I'm not + beat.” “Give up”—“I won't.” That struggle to find his hands seemed + to last for ever—he must find them! After that—go down—all + standing—after that! Everything round him was red. Then the red + cloud cleared just a little, and he could hear the clock—“tick-tick-tick”; + a faint sensation spread from his shoulders down to his wrists, down his + palms; and yes—he could feel the bottle! He redoubled his struggle + to get forward in his chair; to get forward and put the bottle down. It + was not dignified like this! One arm he could move now; but he could not + grip the bottle nearly tight enough to put it down. Working his whole body + forward, inch by inch, he shifted himself up in the chair till he could + lean sideways, and the bottle, slipping down his chest, dropped slanting + to the edge of the low stool-table. Then with all his might he screwed his + trunk and arms an inch further, and the bottle stood. He had done it—done + it! His lips twitched into a smile; his body sagged back to its old + position. He had done it! And he closed his eyes .... + </p> + <p> + At half-past eleven the girl Molly, opening the door, looked at him and + said softly: “Sirr! there's some ladies, and a gentleman!” But he did not + answer. And, still holding the door, she whispered out into the hall: + </p> + <p> + “He's asleep, miss.” + </p> + <p> + A voice whispered back: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Just let me go in, I won't wake him unless he does. But I do want to + show him my dress.” + </p> + <p> + The girl moved aside; and on tiptoe Phyllis passed in. She walked to + where, between the lamp-glow and the fire-glow, she was lighted up. White + satin—her first low-cut dress—the flush of her first supper + party—a gardenia at her breast, another in her fingers! Oh! what a + pity he was asleep! How red he looked! How funnily old men breathed! And + mysteriously, as a child might, she whispered: + </p> + <p> + “Guardy!” + </p> + <p> + No answer! And pouting, she stood twiddling the gardenia. Then suddenly + she thought: 'I'll put it in his buttonhole! When he wakes up and sees it, + how he'll jump!' + </p> + <p> + And stealing close, she bent and slipped it in. Two faces looked at her + from round the door; she heard Bob Pillin's smothered chuckle; her + mother's rich and feathery laugh. Oh! How red his forehead was! She + touched it with her lips; skipped back, twirled round, danced silently a + second, blew a kiss, and like quicksilver was gone. + </p> + <p> + And the whispering, the chuckling, and one little out-pealing laugh rose + in the hall. + </p> + <p> + But the old man slept. Nor until Meller came at his usual hour of + half-past twelve, was it known that he would never wake. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE APPLE TREE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The Apple-tree, the singing and the gold.” + MURRAY'S “HIPPOLYTUS of EURIPIDES.” + </pre> + <p> + In their silver-wedding day Ashurst and his wife were motoring along the + outskirts of the moor, intending to crown the festival by stopping the + night at Torquay, where they had first met. This was the idea of Stella + Ashurst, whose character contained a streak of sentiment. If she had long + lost the blue-eyed, flower-like charm, the cool slim purity of face and + form, the apple-blossom colouring, which had so swiftly and so oddly + affected Ashurst twenty-six years ago, she was still at forty-three a + comely and faithful companion, whose cheeks were faintly mottled, and + whose grey-blue eyes had acquired a certain fullness. + </p> + <p> + It was she who had stopped the car where the common rose steeply to the + left, and a narrow strip of larch and beech, with here and there a pine, + stretched out towards the valley between the road and the first long high + hill of the full moor. She was looking for a place where they might lunch, + for Ashurst never looked for anything; and this, between the golden furze + and the feathery green larches smelling of lemons in the last sun of April—this, + with a view into the deep valley and up to the long moor heights, seemed + fitting to the decisive nature of one who sketched in water-colours, and + loved romantic spots. Grasping her paint box, she got out. + </p> + <p> + “Won't this do, Frank?” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst, rather like a bearded Schiller, grey in the wings, tall, + long-legged, with large remote grey eyes which sometimes filled with + meaning and became almost beautiful, with nose a little to one side, and + bearded lips just open—Ashurst, forty-eight, and silent, grasped the + luncheon basket, and got out too. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Look, Frank! A grave!” + </p> + <p> + By the side of the road, where the track from the top of the common + crossed it at right angles and ran through a gate past the narrow wood, + was a thin mound of turf, six feet by one, with a moorstone to the west, + and on it someone had thrown a blackthorn spray and a handful of + bluebells. Ashurst looked, and the poet in him moved. At cross-roads—a + suicide's grave! Poor mortals with their superstitions! Whoever lay there, + though, had the best of it, no clammy sepulchre among other hideous graves + carved with futilities—just a rough stone, the wide sky, and wayside + blessings! And, without comment, for he had learned not to be a + philosopher in the bosom of his family, he strode away up on to the + common, dropped the luncheon basket under a wall, spread a rug for his + wife to sit on—she would turn up from her sketching when she was + hungry—and took from his pocket Murray's translation of the + “Hippolytus.” He had soon finished reading of “The Cyprian” and her + revenge, and looked at the sky instead. And watching the white clouds so + bright against the intense blue, Ashurst, on his silver-wedding day, + longed for—he knew not what. Maladjusted to life—man's + organism! One's mode of life might be high and scrupulous, but there was + always an undercurrent of greediness, a hankering, and sense of waste. Did + women have it too? Who could tell? And yet, men who gave vent to their + appetites for novelty, their riotous longings for new adventures, new + risks, new pleasures, these suffered, no doubt, from the reverse side of + starvation, from surfeit. No getting out of it—a maladjusted animal, + civilised man! There could be no garden of his choosing, of “the + Apple-tree, the singing, and the gold,” in the words of that lovely Greek + chorus, no achievable elysium in life, or lasting haven of happiness for + any man with a sense of beauty—nothing which could compare with the + captured loveliness in a work of art, set down for ever, so that to look + on it or read was always to have the same precious sense of exaltation and + restful inebriety. Life no doubt had moments with that quality of beauty, + of unbidden flying rapture, but the trouble was, they lasted no longer + than the span of a cloud's flight over the sun; impossible to keep them + with you, as Art caught beauty and held it fast. They were fleeting as one + of the glimmering or golden visions one had of the soul in nature, + glimpses of its remote and brooding spirit. Here, with the sun hot on his + face, a cuckoo calling from a thorn tree, and in the air the honey savour + of gorse—here among the little fronds of the young fern, the starry + blackthorn, while the bright clouds drifted by high above the hills and + dreamy valleys here and now was such a glimpse. But in a moment it would + pass—as the face of Pan, which looks round the corner of a rock, + vanishes at your stare. And suddenly he sat up. Surely there was something + familiar about this view, this bit of common, that ribbon of road, the old + wall behind him. While they were driving he had not been taking notice—never + did; thinking of far things or of nothing—but now he saw! Twenty-six + years ago, just at this time of year, from the farmhouse within half a + mile of this very spot he had started for that day in Torquay whence it + might be said he had never returned. And a sudden ache beset his heart; he + had stumbled on just one of those past moments in his life, whose beauty + and rapture he had failed to arrest, whose wings had fluttered away into + the unknown; he had stumbled on a buried memory, a wild sweet time, + swiftly choked and ended. And, turning on his face, he rested his chin on + his hands, and stared at the short grass where the little blue milkwort + was growing.... + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <h3> + And this is what he remembered. + </h3> + <p> + On the first of May, after their last year together at college, Frank + Ashurst and his friend Robert Garton were on a tramp. They had walked that + day from Brent, intending to make Chagford, but Ashurst's football knee + had given out, and according to their map they had still some seven miles + to go. They were sitting on a bank beside the-road, where a track crossed + alongside a wood, resting the knee and talking of the universe, as young + men will. Both were over six feet, and thin as rails; Ashurst pale, + idealistic, full of absence; Garton queer, round-the-corner, knotted, + curly, like some primeval beast. Both had a literary bent; neither wore a + hat. + </p> + <p> + Ashurst's hair was smooth, pale, wavy, and had a way of rising on either + side of his brow, as if always being flung back; Carton's was a kind of + dark unfathomed mop. They had not met a soul for miles. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” Garton was saying, “pity's only an effect of + self-consciousness; it's a disease of the last five thousand years. The + world was happier without.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst, following the clouds with his eyes, answered: + </p> + <p> + “It's the pearl in the oyster, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear chap, all our modern unhappiness comes from pity. Look at + animals, and Red Indians, limited to feeling their own occasional + misfortunes; then look at ourselves—never free from feeling the + toothaches of others. Let's get back to feeling for nobody, and have a + better time.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll never practise that.” + </p> + <p> + Garton pensively stirred the hotch-potch of his hair. + </p> + <p> + “To attain full growth, one mustn't be squeamish. To starve oneself + emotionally's a mistake. All emotion is to the good—enriches life.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and when it runs up against chivalry?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! That's so English! If you speak of emotion the English always think + you want something physical, and are shocked. They're afraid of passion, + but not of lust—oh, no!—so long as they can keep it secret.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst did not answer; he had plucked a blue floweret, and was twiddling + it against the sky. A cuckoo began calling from a thorn tree. The sky, the + flowers, the songs of birds! Robert was talking through his hat! And he + said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, let's go on, and find some farm where we can put up.” In uttering + those words, he was conscious of a girl coming down from the common just + above them. She was outlined against the sky, carrying a basket, and you + could see that sky through the crook of her arm. And Ashurst, who saw + beauty without wondering how it could advantage him, thought: 'How + pretty!' The wind, blowing her dark frieze skirt against her legs, lifted + her battered peacock tam-o'-shanter; her greyish blouse was worn and old, + her shoes were split, her little hands rough and red, her neck browned. + Her dark hair waved untidy across her broad forehead, her face was short, + her upper lip short, showing a glint of teeth, her brows were straight and + dark, her lashes long and dark, her nose straight; but her grey eyes were + the wonder-dewy as if opened for the first time that day. She looked at + Ashurst—perhaps he struck her as strange, limping along without a + hat, with his large eyes on her, and his hair falling back. He could not + take off what was not on his head, but put up his hand in a salute, and + said: + </p> + <p> + “Can you tell us if there's a farm near here where we could stay the + night? I've gone lame.” + </p> + <p> + “There's only our farm near, sir.” She spoke without shyness, in a pretty + soft crisp voice. + </p> + <p> + “And where is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Down here, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Would you put us up?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I think we would.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you show us the way?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + He limped on, silent, and Garton took up the catechism. + </p> + <p> + “Are you a Devonshire girl?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What then?” + </p> + <p> + “From Wales.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I thought you were a Celt; so it's not your farm?” + </p> + <p> + “My aunt's, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And your uncle's?” + </p> + <p> + “He is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Who farms it, then?” + </p> + <p> + “My aunt, and my three cousins.” + </p> + <p> + “But your uncle was a Devonshire man?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you lived here long?” + </p> + <p> + “Seven years.” + </p> + <p> + “And how d'you like it after Wales?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose you don't remember?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! But it is different.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you!” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst broke in suddenly: “How old are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Seventeen, Sir.” + </p> + <p> + “And what's your name?” + </p> + <p> + “Megan David.” + </p> + <p> + “This is Robert Garton, and I am Frank Ashurst. We wanted to get on to + Chagford.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a pity your leg is hurting you.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst smiled, and when he smiled his face was rather beautiful. + </p> + <p> + Descending past the narrow wood, they came on the farm suddenly-a long, + low, stone-built dwelling with casement windows, in a farmyard where pigs + and fowls and an old mare were straying. A short steep-up grass hill + behind was crowned with a few Scotch firs, and in front, an old orchard of + apple trees, just breaking into flower, stretched down to a stream and a + long wild meadow. A little boy with oblique dark eyes was shepherding a + pig, and by the house door stood a woman, who came towards them. The girl + said: + </p> + <p> + “It is Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt.” + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Narracombe, my aunt,” had a quick, dark eye, like a mother + wild-duck's, and something of the same snaky turn about her neck. + </p> + <p> + “We met your niece on the road,” said Ashurst; “she thought you might + perhaps put us up for the night.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Narracombe, taking them in from head to heel, answered: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can, if you don't mind one room. Megan, get the spare room ready, + and a bowl of cream. You'll be wanting tea, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + Passing through a sort of porch made by two yew trees and some + flowering-currant bushes, the girl disappeared into the house, her peacock + tam-o'-shanter bright athwart that rosy-pink and the dark green of the + yews. + </p> + <p> + “Will you come into the parlour and rest your leg? You'll be from college, + perhaps?” + </p> + <p> + “We were, but we've gone down now.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Narracombe nodded sagely. + </p> + <p> + The parlour, brick-floored, with bare table and shiny chairs and sofa + stuffed with horsehair, seemed never to have been used, it was so terribly + clean. Ashurst sat down at once on the sofa, holding his lame knee between + his hands, and Mrs. Narracombe gazed at him. He was the only son of a late + professor of chemistry, but people found a certain lordliness in one who + was often so sublimely unconscious of them. + </p> + <p> + “Is there a stream where we could bathe?” + </p> + <p> + “There's the strame at the bottom of the orchard, but sittin' down you'll + not be covered!” + </p> + <p> + “How deep?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, 'tis about a foot and a half, maybe.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! That'll do fine. Which way?” + </p> + <p> + “Down the lane, through the second gate on the right, an' the pool's by + the big apple tree that stands by itself. There's trout there, if you can + tickle them.” + </p> + <p> + “They're more likely to tickle us!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Narracombe smiled. “There'll be the tea ready when you come back.” + </p> + <p> + The pool, formed by the damming of a rock, had a sandy bottom; and the big + apple tree, lowest in the orchard, grew so close that its boughs almost + overhung the water; it was in leaf, and all but in flower-its crimson buds + just bursting. There was not room for more than one at a time in that + narrow bath, and Ashurst waited his turn, rubbing his knee and gazing at + the wild meadow, all rocks and thorn trees and feld flowers, with a grove + of beeches beyond, raised up on a flat mound. Every bough was swinging in + the wind, every spring bird calling, and a slanting sunlight dappled the + grass. He thought of Theocritus, and the river Cherwell, of the moon, and + the maiden with the dewy eyes; of so many things that he seemed to think + of nothing; and he felt absurdly happy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 2 + </h2> + <p> + During a late and sumptuous tea with eggs to it, cream and jam, and thin, + fresh cakes touched with saffron, Garton descanted on the Celts. It was + about the period of the Celtic awakening, and the discovery that there was + Celtic blood about this family had excited one who believed that he was a + Celt himself. Sprawling on a horse hair chair, with a hand-made cigarette + dribbling from the corner of his curly lips, he had been plunging his cold + pin-points of eyes into Ashurst's and praising the refinement of the + Welsh. To come out of Wales into England was like the change from china to + earthenware! Frank, as a d—-d Englishman, had not of course + perceived the exquisite refinement and emotional capacity of that Welsh + girl! And, delicately stirring in the dark mat of his still wet hair, he + explained how exactly she illustrated the writings of the Welsh bard + Morgan-ap-Something in the twelfth century. + </p> + <p> + Ashurst, full length on the horsehair sofa, and jutting far beyond its + end, smoked a deeply-coloured pipe, and did not listen, thinking of the + girl's face when she brought in a relay of cakes. It had been exactly like + looking at a flower, or some other pretty sight in Nature-till, with a + funny little shiver, she had lowered her glance and gone out, quiet as a + mouse. + </p> + <p> + “Let's go to the kitchen,” said Garton, “and see some more of her.” + </p> + <p> + The kitchen was a white-washed room with rafters, to which were attached + smoked hams; there were flower-pots on the window-sill, and guns hanging + on nails, queer mugs, china and pewter, and portraits of Queen Victoria. A + long, narrow table of plain wood was set with bowls and spoons, under a + string of high-hung onions; two sheep-dogs and three cats lay here and + there. On one side of the recessed fireplace sat two small boys, idle, and + good as gold; on the other sat a stout, light-eyed, red-faced youth with + hair and lashes the colour of the tow he was running through the barrel of + a gun; between them Mrs. Narracombe dreamily stirred some savoury-scented + stew in a large pot. Two other youths, oblique-eyed, dark-haired, rather + sly-faced, like the two little boys, were talking together and lolling + against the wall; and a short, elderly, clean-shaven man in corduroys, + seated in the window, was conning a battered journal. The girl Megan + seemed the only active creature-drawing cider and passing with the jugs + from cask to table. Seeing them thus about to eat, Garton said: + </p> + <p> + “Ah! If you'll let us, we'll come back when supper's over,” and without + waiting for an answer they withdrew again to the parlour. But the colour + in the kitchen, the warmth, the scents, and all those faces, heightened + the bleakness of their shiny room, and they resumed their seats moodily. + </p> + <p> + “Regular gipsy type, those boys. There was only one Saxon—the fellow + cleaning the gun. That girl is a very subtle study psychologically.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst's lips twitched. Garton seemed to him an ass just then. Subtle + study! She was a wild flower. A creature it did you good to look at. + Study! + </p> + <p> + Garton went on: + </p> + <p> + “Emotionally she would be wonderful. She wants awakening.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to awaken her?” + </p> + <p> + Garton looked at him and smiled. 'How coarse and English you are!' that + curly smile seemed saying. + </p> + <p> + And Ashurst puffed his pipe. Awaken her! That fool had the best opinion of + himself! He threw up the window and leaned out. Dusk had gathered thick. + The farm buildings and the wheel-house were all dim and bluish, the apple + trees but a blurred wilderness; the air smelled of woodsmoke from the + kitchen fire. One bird going to bed later than the others was uttering a + half-hearted twitter, as though surprised at the darkness. From the stable + came the snuffle and stamp of a feeding horse. And away over there was the + loom of the moor, and away and away the shy stars which had not as yet + full light, pricking white through the deep blue heavens. A quavering owl + hooted. Ashurst drew a deep breath. What a night to wander out in! A + padding of unshod hoofs came up the lane, and three dim, dark shapes + passed—ponies on an evening march. Their heads, black and fuzzy, + showed above the gate. At the tap of his pipe, and a shower of little + sparks, they shied round and scampered. A bat went fluttering past, + uttering its almost inaudible “chip, chip.” Ashurst held out his hand; on + the upturned palm he could feel the dew. Suddenly from overhead he heard + little burring boys' voices, little thumps of boots thrown down, and + another voice, crisp and soft—the girl's putting them to bed, no + doubt; and nine clear words “No, Rick, you can't have the cat in bed”; + then came a skirmish of giggles and gurgles, a soft slap, a laugh so low + and pretty that it made him shiver a little. A blowing sound, and the glim + of the candle which was fingering the dusk above, went out; silence + reigned. Ashurst withdrew into the room and sat down; his knee pained him, + and his soul felt gloomy. + </p> + <p> + “You go to the kitchen,” he said; “I'm going to bed.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 3 + </h2> + <p> + For Ashurst the wheel of slumber was wont to turn noiseless and slick and + swift, but though he seemed sunk in sleep when his companion came up, he + was really wide awake; and long after Carton, smothered in the other bed + of that low-roofed room, was worshipping darkness with his upturned nose, + he heard the owls. Barring the discomfort of his knee, it was not + unpleasant—the cares of life did not loom large in night watches for + this young man. In fact he had none; just enrolled a barrister, with + literary aspirations, the world before him, no father or mother, and four + hundred a year of his own. Did it matter where he went, what he did, or + when he did it? His bed, too, was hard, and this preserved him from fever. + He lay, sniffing the scent of the night which drifted into the low room + through the open casement close to his head. Except for a definite + irritation with his friend, natural when you have tramped with a man for + three days, Ashurst's memories and visions that sleepless night were + kindly and wistful and exciting. One vision, specially clear and + unreasonable, for he had not even been conscious of noting it, was the + face of the youth cleaning the gun; its intent, stolid, yet startled + uplook at the kitchen doorway, quickly shifted to the girl carrying the + cider jug. This red, blue-eyed, light-lashed, tow-haired face stuck as + firmly in his memory as the girl's own face, so dewy and simple. But at + last, in the square of darkness through the uncurtained casement, he saw + day coming, and heard one hoarse and sleepy caw. Then followed silence, + dead as ever, till the song of a blackbird, not properly awake, adventured + into the hush. And, from staring at the framed brightening light, Ashurst + fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + Next day his knee was badly swollen; the walking tour was obviously over. + Garton, due back in London on the morrow, departed at midday with an + ironical smile which left a scar of irritation—healed the moment his + loping figure vanished round the corner of the steep lane. All day Ashurst + rested his knee, in a green-painted wooden chair on the patch of grass by + the yew-tree porch, where the sunlight distilled the scent of stocks and + gillyflowers, and a ghost of scent from the flowering-currant bushes. + Beatifically he smoked, dreamed, watched. + </p> + <p> + A farm in spring is all birth-young things coming out of bud and shell, + and human beings watching over the process with faint excitement feeding + and tending what has been born. So still the young man sat, that a + mother-goose, with stately cross-footed waddle, brought her six + yellow-necked grey-backed goslings to strop their little beaks against the + grass blades at his feet. Now and again Mrs. Narracombe or the girl Megan + would come and ask if he wanted anything, and he would smile and say: + “Nothing, thanks. It's splendid here.” Towards tea-time they came out + together, bearing a long poultice of some dark stuff in a bowl, and after + a long and solemn scrutiny of his swollen knee, bound it on. When they + were gone, he thought of the girl's soft “Oh!”—of her pitying eyes, + and the little wrinkle in her brow. And again he felt that unreasoning + irritation against his departed friend, who had talked such rot about her. + When she brought out his tea, he said: + </p> + <p> + “How did you like my friend, Megan?” + </p> + <p> + She forced down her upper lip, as if afraid that to smile was not polite. + “He was a funny gentleman; he made us laugh. I think he is very clever.” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say to make you laugh?” + </p> + <p> + “He said I was a daughter of the bards. What are they?” + </p> + <p> + “Welsh poets, who lived hundreds of years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Why am I their daughter, please?” + </p> + <p> + “He meant that you were the sort of girl they sang about.” + </p> + <p> + She wrinkled her brows. “I think he likes to joke. Am I?” + </p> + <p> + “Would you believe me, if I told you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think he was right.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled. + </p> + <p> + And Ashurst thought: 'You are a pretty thing!' + </p> + <p> + “He said, too, that Joe was a Saxon type. What would that be?” + </p> + <p> + “Which is Joe? With the blue eyes and red face?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. My uncle's nephew.” + </p> + <p> + “Not your cousin, then?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he meant that Joe was like the men who came over to England about + fourteen hundred years ago, and conquered it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I know about them; but is he?” + </p> + <p> + “Garton's crazy about that sort of thing; but I must say Joe does look a + bit Early Saxon.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + That “Yes” tickled Ashurst. It was so crisp and graceful, so conclusive, + and politely acquiescent in what was evidently. Greek to her. + </p> + <p> + “He said that all the other boys were regular gipsies. He should not have + said that. My aunt laughed, but she didn't like it, of course, and my + cousins were angry. Uncle was a farmer—farmers are not gipsies. It + is wrong to hurt people.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst wanted to take her hand and give it a squeeze, but he only + answered: + </p> + <p> + “Quite right, Megan. By the way, I heard you putting the little ones to + bed last night.” + </p> + <p> + She flushed a little. “Please to drink your tea—it is getting cold. + Shall I get you some fresh?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you ever have time to do anything for yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I've been watching, but I haven't seen it yet.” + </p> + <p> + She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown, and her colour deepened. + </p> + <p> + When she was gone, Ashurst thought: 'Did she think I was chaffing her? I + wouldn't for the world!' He was at that age when to some men “Beauty's a + flower,” as the poet says, and inspires in them the thoughts of chivalry. + Never very conscious of his surroundings, it was some time before he was + aware that the youth whom Garton had called “a Saxon type” was standing + outside the stable door; and a fine bit of colour he made in his soiled + brown velvet-cords, muddy gaiters, and blue shirt; red-armed, red-faced, + the sun turning his hair from tow to flax; immovably stolid, persistent, + unsmiling he stood. Then, seeing Ashurst looking at him, he crossed the + yard at that gait of the young countryman always ashamed not to be slow + and heavy-dwelling on each leg, and disappeared round the end of the house + towards the kitchen entrance. A chill came over Ashurst's mood. Clods? + With all the good will in the world, how impossible to get on terms with + them! And yet—see that girl! Her shoes were split, her hands rough; + but—what was it? Was it really her Celtic blood, as Garton had said?—she + was a lady born, a jewel, though probably she could do no more than just + read and write! + </p> + <p> + The elderly, clean-shaven man he had seen last night in the kitchen had + come into the yard with a dog, driving the cows to their milking. Ashurst + saw that he was lame. + </p> + <p> + “You've got some good ones there!” + </p> + <p> + The lame man's face brightened. He had the upward look in his eyes which + prolonged suffering often brings. + </p> + <p> + “Yeas; they'm praaper buties; gude milkers tu.” + </p> + <p> + “I bet they are.” + </p> + <p> + “'Ope as yure leg's better, zurr.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, it's getting on.” + </p> + <p> + The lame man touched his own: “I know what 'tes, meself; 'tes a main + worritin' thing, the knee. I've a-'.d mine bad this ten year.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst made the sound of sympathy which comes so readily from those who + have an independent income, and the lame man smiled again. + </p> + <p> + “Mustn't complain, though—they mighty near 'ad it off.” + </p> + <p> + “Ho!” + </p> + <p> + “Yeas; an' compared with what 'twas, 'tes almost so gude as nu.” + </p> + <p> + “They've put a bandage of splendid stuff on mine.” + </p> + <p> + “The maid she picks et. She'm a gude maid wi' the flowers. There's folks + zeem to know the healin' in things. My mother was a rare one for that. + 'Ope as yu'll zune be better, zurr. Goo ahn, therr!” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst smiled. “Wi' the flowers!” A flower herself! + </p> + <p> + That evening, after his supper of cold duck, junket, and cider, the girl + came in. + </p> + <p> + “Please, auntie says—will you try a piece of our Mayday cake?” + </p> + <p> + “If I may come to the kitchen for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! You'll be missing your friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Not I. But are you sure no one minds?” + </p> + <p> + “Who would mind? We shall be very pleased.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst rose too suddenly for his stiff knee, staggered, and subsided. The + girl gave a little gasp, and held out her hands. Ashurst took them, small, + rough, brown; checked his impulse to put them to his lips, and let her + pull him up. She came close beside him, offering her shoulder. And leaning + on her he walked across the room. That shoulder seemed quite the + pleasantest thing he had ever touched. But, he had presence of mind enough + to catch his stick out of the rack, and withdraw his hand before arriving + at the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + That night he slept like a top, and woke with his knee of almost normal + size. He again spent the morning in his chair on the grass patch, + scribbling down verses; but in the afternoon he wandered about with the + two little boys Nick and Rick. It was Saturday, so they were early home + from school; quick, shy, dark little rascals of seven and six, soon + talkative, for Ashurst had a way with children. By four o'clock they had + shown him all their methods of destroying life, except the tickling of + trout; and with breeches tucked up, lay on their stomachs over the trout + stream, pretending they had this accomplishment also. They tickled + nothing, of course, for their giggling and shouting scared every spotted + thing away. Ashurst, on a rock at the edge of the beech clump, watched + them, and listened to the cuckoos, till Nick, the elder and less + persevering, came up and stood beside him. + </p> + <p> + “The gipsy bogle zets on that stone,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “What gipsy bogie?” + </p> + <p> + “Dunno; never zeen 'e. Megan zays 'e zets there; an' old Jim zeed 'e once. + 'E was zettin' there naight afore our pony kicked—in father's 'ead. + 'E plays the viddle.” + </p> + <p> + “What tune does he play?” + </p> + <p> + “Dunno.” + </p> + <p> + “What's he like?” + </p> + <p> + “'E's black. Old Jim zays 'e's all over 'air. 'E's a praaper bogle. 'E + don' come only at naight.” The little boy's oblique dark eyes slid round. + “D'yu think 'e might want to take me away? Megan's feared of 'e.” + </p> + <p> + “Has she seen him?” + </p> + <p> + “No. She's not afeared o' yu.” + </p> + <p> + “I should think not. Why should she be?” + </p> + <p> + “She zays a prayer for yu.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you know that, you little rascal?” + </p> + <p> + “When I was asleep, she said: 'God bless us all, an' Mr. Ashes.' I yeard + 'er whisperin'.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a little ruffian to tell what you hear when you're not meant to + hear it!” + </p> + <p> + The little boy was silent. Then he said aggressively: + </p> + <p> + “I can skin rabbets. Megan, she can't bear skinnin' 'em. I like blood.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you do; you little monster!” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “A creature that likes hurting others.” + </p> + <p> + The little boy scowled. “They'm only dead rabbets, what us eats.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite right, Nick. I beg your pardon.” + </p> + <p> + “I can skin frogs, tu.” + </p> + <p> + But Ashurst had become absent. “God bless us all, and Mr. Ashes!” And + puzzled by that sudden inaccessibility, Nick ran back to the stream where + the giggling and shouts again uprose at once. + </p> + <p> + When Megan brought his tea, he said: + </p> + <p> + “What's the gipsy bogle, Megan?” + </p> + <p> + She looked up, startled. + </p> + <p> + “He brings bad things.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely you don't believe in ghosts?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope I will never see him.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course you won't. There aren't such things. What old Jim saw was a + pony.” + </p> + <p> + “No! There are bogies in the rocks; they are the men who lived long ago.” + </p> + <p> + “They aren't gipsies, anyway; those old men were dead long before gipsies + came.” + </p> + <p> + She said simply: “They are all bad.” + </p> + <p> + “Why? If there are any, they're only wild, like the rabbits. The flowers + aren't bad for being wild; the thorn trees were never planted—and + you don't mind them. I shall go down at night and look for your bogie, and + have a talk with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! Oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! I shall go and sit on his rock.” + </p> + <p> + She clasped her hands together: “Oh, please!” + </p> + <p> + “Why! What 'does it matter if anything happens to me?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer; and in a sort of pet he added: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I daresay I shan't see him, because I suppose I must be off soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Soon?” + </p> + <p> + “Your aunt won't want to keep me here.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! We always let lodgings in summer.” + </p> + <p> + Fixing his eyes on her face, he asked: + </p> + <p> + “Would you like me to stay?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to say a prayer for you to-night!” + </p> + <p> + She flushed crimson, frowned, and went out of the room. He sat, cursing + himself, till his tea was stewed. It was as if he had hacked with his + thick boots at a clump of bluebells. Why had he said such a silly thing? + Was he just a towny college ass like Robert Garton, as far from + understanding this girl? + </p> + <p> + Ashurst spent the next week confirming the restoration of his leg, by + exploration of the country within easy reach. Spring was a revelation to + him this year. In a kind of intoxication he would watch the pink-white + buds of some backward beech tree sprayed up in the sunlight against the + deep blue sky, or the trunks and limbs of the few Scotch firs, tawny in + violent light, or again, on the moor, the gale-bent larches which had such + a look of life when the wind streamed in their young green, above the + rusty black underboughs. Or he would lie on the banks, gazing at the + clusters of dog-violets, or up in the dead bracken, fingering the pink, + transparent buds of the dewberry, while the cuckoos called and yafes + laughed, or a lark, from very high, dripped its beads of song. It was + certainly different from any spring he had ever known, for spring was + within him, not without. In the daytime he hardly saw the family; and when + Megan brought in his meals she always seemed too busy in the house or + among the young things in the yard to stay talking long. But in the + evenings he installed himself in the window seat in the kitchen, smoking + and chatting with the lame man Jim, or Mrs. Narracombe, while the girl + sewed, or moved about, clearing the supper things away. And sometimes, + with the sensation a cat must feel when it purrs, he would become + conscious that Megan's eyes—those dew-grey eyes—were fixed on + him with a sort of lingering soft look which was strangely flattering. + </p> + <p> + It was on Sunday week in the evening, when he was lying in the orchard + listening to a blackbird and composing a love poem, that he heard the gate + swing to, and saw the girl come running among the trees, with the + red-cheeked, stolid Joe in swift pursuit. About twenty yards away the + chase ended, and the two stood fronting each other, not noticing the + stranger in the grass—the boy pressing on, the girl fending him off. + Ashurst could see her face, angry, disturbed; and the youth's—who + would have thought that red-faced yokel could look so distraught! And + painfully affected by that sight, he jumped up. They saw him then. Megan + dropped her hands, and shrank behind a tree trunk; the boy gave an angry + grunt, rushed at the bank, scrambled over and vanished. Ashurst went + slowly up to her. She was standing quite still, biting her lip-very + pretty, with her fine, dark hair blown loose about her face, and her eyes + cast down. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She gave him one upward look, from eyes much dilated; then, catching her + breath, turned away. Ashurst followed. + </p> + <p> + “Megan!” + </p> + <p> + But she went on; and taking hold of her arm, he turned her gently round to + him. + </p> + <p> + “Stop and speak to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you beg my pardon? It is not to me you should do that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, to Joe.” + </p> + <p> + “How dare he come after me?” + </p> + <p> + “In love with you, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + She stamped her foot. + </p> + <p> + Ashurst uttered a short laugh. “Would you like me to punch his head?” + </p> + <p> + She cried with sudden passion: + </p> + <p> + “You laugh at me-you laugh at us!” + </p> + <p> + He caught hold of her hands, but she shrank back, till her passionate + little face and loose dark hair were caught among the pink clusters of the + apple blossom. Ashurst raised one of her imprisoned hands and put his lips + to it. He felt how chivalrous he was, and superior to that clod Joe—just + brushing that small, rough hand with his mouth I Her shrinking ceased + suddenly; she seemed to tremble towards him. A sweet warmth overtook + Ashurst from top to toe. This slim maiden, so simple and fine and pretty, + was pleased, then, at the touch of his lips! And, yielding to a swift + impulse, he put his arms round her, pressed her to him, and kissed her + forehead. Then he was frightened—she went so pale, closing her eyes, + so that the long, dark lashes lay on her pale cheeks; her hands, too, lay + inert at her sides. The touch of her breast sent a shiver through him. + “Megan!” he sighed out, and let her go. In the utter silence a blackbird + shouted. Then the girl seized his hand, put it to her cheek, her heart, + her lips, kissed it passionately, and fled away among the mossy trunks of + the apple trees, till they hid her from him. + </p> + <p> + Ashurst sat down on a twisted old tree growing almost along the ground, + and, all throbbing and bewildered, gazed vacantly at the blossom which had + crowned her hair—those pink buds with one white open apple star. + What had he done? How had he let himself be thus stampeded by beauty—pity—or—just + the spring! He felt curiously happy, all the same; happy and triumphant, + with shivers running through his limbs, and a vague alarm. This was the + beginning of—what? The midges bit him, the dancing gnats tried to + fly into his mouth, and all the spring around him seemed to grow more + lovely and alive; the songs of the cuckoos and the blackbirds, the + laughter of the yaflies, the level-slanting sunlight, the apple blossom + which had crowned her head! He got up from the old trunk and strode out of + the orchard, wanting space, an open sky, to get on terms with these new + sensations. He made for the moor, and from an ash tree in the hedge a + magpie flew out to herald him. + </p> + <p> + Of man—at any age from five years on—who can say he has never + been in love? Ashurst had loved his partners at his dancing class; loved + his nursery governess; girls in school-holidays; perhaps never been quite + out of love, cherishing always some more or less remote admiration. But + this was different, not remote at all. Quite a new sensation; terribly + delightful, bringing a sense of completed manhood. To be holding in his + fingers such a wild flower, to be able to put it to his lips, and feel it + tremble with delight against them! What intoxication, and—embarrassment! + What to do with it—how meet her next time? His first caress had been + cool, pitiful; but the next could not be, now that, by her burning little + kiss on his hand, by her pressure of it to her heart, he knew that she + loved him. Some natures are coarsened by love bestowed on them; others, + like Ashurst's, are swayed and drawn, warmed and softened, almost exalted, + by what they feel to be a sort of miracle. + </p> + <p> + And up there among the tors he was racked between the passionate desire to + revel in this new sensation of spring fulfilled within him, and a vague + but very real uneasiness. At one moment he gave himself up completely to + his pride at having captured this pretty, trustful, dewy-eyed thing! At + the next he thought with factitious solemnity: 'Yes, my boy! But look out + what you're doing! You know what comes of it!' + </p> + <p> + Dusk dropped down without his noticing—dusk on the carved, + Assyrian-looking masses of the rocks. And the voice of Nature said: “This + is a new world for you!” As when a man gets up at four o'clock and goes + out into a summer morning, and beasts, birds, trees stare at him and he + feels as if all had been made new. + </p> + <p> + He stayed up there for hours, till it grew cold, then groped his way down + the stones and heather roots to the road, back into the lane, and came + again past the wild meadow to the orchard. There he struck a match and + looked at his watch. Nearly twelve! It was black and unstirring in there + now, very different from the lingering, bird-befriended brightness of six + hours ago! And suddenly he saw this idyll of his with the eyes of the + outer world—had mental vision of Mrs. Narracombe's snake-like neck + turned, her quick dark glance taking it all in, her shrewd face hardening; + saw the gipsy-like cousins coarsely mocking and distrustful; Joe stolid + and furious; only the lame man, Jim, with the suffering eyes, seemed + tolerable to his mind. And the village pub!—the gossiping matrons he + passed on his walks; and then—his own friends—Robert Carton's + smile when he went off that morning ten days ago; so ironical and knowing! + Disgusting! For a minute he literally hated this earthy, cynical world to + which one belonged, willy-nilly. The gate where he was leaning grew grey, + a sort of shimmer passed be fore him and spread into the bluish darkness. + The moon! He could just see it over the bank be hind; red, nearly round-a + strange moon! And turning away, he went up the lane which smelled of the + night and cowdung and young leaves. In the straw-yard he could see the + dark shapes of cattle, broken by the pale sickles of their horns, like so + many thin moons, fallen ends-up. He unlatched the farm gate stealthily. + All was dark in the house. Muffling his footsteps, he gained the porch, + and, blotted against one of the yew trees, looked up at Megan's window. It + was open. Was she sleeping, or lying awake perhaps, disturbed—unhappy + at his absence? An owl hooted while he stood there peering up, and the + sound seemed to fill the whole night, so quiet was all else, save for the + never-ending murmur of the stream running below the orchard. The cuckoos + by day, and now the owls—how wonderfully they voiced this troubled + ecstasy within him! And suddenly he saw her at her window, looking out. He + moved a little from the yew tree, and whispered: “Megan!” She drew back, + vanished, reappeared, leaning far down. He stole forward on the grass + patch, hit his shin against the green-painted chair, and held his breath + at the sound. The pale blur of her stretched-down arm and face did not + stir; he moved the chair, and noiselessly mounted it. By stretching up his + arm he could just reach. Her hand held the huge key of the front door, and + he clasped that burning hand with the cold key in it. He could just see + her face, the glint of teeth between her lips, her tumbled hair. She was + still dressed—poor child, sitting up for him, no doubt! “Pretty + Megan!” Her hot, roughened fingers clung to his; her face had a strange, + lost look. To have been able to reach it—even with his hand! The owl + hooted, a scent of sweetbriar crept into his nostrils. Then one of the + farm dogs barked; her grasp relaxed, she shrank back. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Megan!” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, sir!” She was gone! With a sigh he dropped back to earth, and + sitting on that chair, took off his boots. Nothing for it but to creep in + and go to bed; yet for a long while he sat unmoving, his feet chilly in + the dew, drunk on the memory of her lost, half-smiling face, and the + clinging grip of her burning fingers, pressing the cold key into his hand. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 5 + </h2> + <p> + He awoke feeling as if he had eaten heavily overnight, instead of having + eaten nothing. And far off, unreal, seemed yesterday's romance! Yet it was + a golden morning. Full spring had burst at last—in one night the + “goldie-cups,” as the little boys called them, seemed to have made the + field their own, and from his window he could see apple blossoms covering + the orchard as with a rose and white quilt. He went down almost dreading + to see Megan; and yet, when not she but Mrs. Narracombe brought in his + breakfast, he felt vexed and disappointed. The woman's quick eye and snaky + neck seemed to have a new alacrity this morning. Had she noticed? + </p> + <p> + “So you an' the moon went walkin' last night, Mr. Ashurst! Did ye have + your supper anywheres?” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “We kept it for you, but I suppose you was too busy in your brain to think + o' such a thing as that?” + </p> + <p> + Was she mocking him, in that voice of hers, which still kept some Welsh + crispness against the invading burr of the West Country? If she knew! And + at that moment he thought: 'No, no; I'll clear out. I won't put myself in + such a beastly false position.' + </p> + <p> + But, after breakfast, the longing to see Megan began and increased with + every minute, together with fear lest something should have been said to + her which had spoiled everything. Sinister that she had not appeared, not + given him even a glimpse of her! And the love poem, whose manufacture had + been so important and absorbing yesterday afternoon under the apple trees, + now seemed so paltry that he tore it up and rolled it into pipe spills. + What had he known of love, till she seized his hand and kissed it! And now—what + did he not know? But to write of it seemed mere insipidity! He went up to + his bedroom to get a book, and his heart began to beat violently, for she + was in there making the bed. He stood in the doorway watching; and + suddenly, with turbulent joy, he saw her stoop and kiss his pillow, just + at the hollow made by his head last night. + </p> + <p> + How let her know he had seen that pretty act of devotion? And yet, if she + heard him stealing away, it would be even worse. She took the pillow up, + holding it as if reluctant to shake out the impress of his cheek, dropped + it, and turned round. + </p> + <p> + “Megan!” + </p> + <p> + She put her hands up to her cheeks, but her eyes seemed to look right into + him. He had never before realised the depth and purity and touching + faithfulness in those dew-bright eyes, and he stammered: + </p> + <p> + “It was sweet of you to wait up for me last night.” + </p> + <p> + She still said nothing, and he stammered on: + </p> + <p> + “I was wandering about on the moor; it was such a jolly night. I—I've + just come up for a book.” + </p> + <p> + Then, the kiss he had seen her give the pillow afflicted him with sudden + headiness, and he went up to her. Touching her eyes with his lips, he + thought with queer excitement: 'I've done it! Yesterday all was sudden—anyhow; + but now—I've done it!' The girl let her forehead rest against his + lips, which moved downwards till they reached hers. That first real + lover's kiss-strange, wonderful, still almost innocent—in which + heart did it make the most disturbance? + </p> + <p> + “Come to the big apple tree to-night, after they've gone to bed. + Megan-promise!” + </p> + <p> + She whispered back: “I promise.” + </p> + <p> + Then, scared at her white face, scared at everything, he let her go, and + went downstairs again. Yes! He had done it now! Accepted her love, + declared his own! He went out to the green chair as devoid of a book as + ever; and there he sat staring vacantly before him, triumphant and + remorseful, while under his nose and behind his back the work of the farm + went on. How long he had been sitting in that curious state of vacancy he + had no notion when he saw Joe standing a little behind him to the right. + The youth had evidently come from hard work in the fields, and stood + shifting his feet, breathing loudly, his face coloured like a setting sun, + and his arms, below the rolled-up sleeves of his blue shirt, showing the + hue and furry sheen of ripe peaches. His red lips were open, his blue eyes + with their flaxen lashes stared fixedly at Ashurst, who said ironically: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Joe, anything I can do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yeas.” + </p> + <p> + “What, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Yu can goo away from yere. Us don' want yu.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst's face, never too humble, assumed its most lordly look. + </p> + <p> + “Very good of you, but, do you know, I prefer the others should speak for + themselves.” + </p> + <p> + The youth moved a pace or two nearer, and the scent of his honest heat + afflicted Ashurst's nostrils. + </p> + <p> + “What d'yu stay yere for?” + </p> + <p> + “Because it pleases me.” + </p> + <p> + “Twon't please yu when I've bashed yure head in!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! When would you like to begin that?” + </p> + <p> + Joe answered only with the loudness of his breathing, but his eyes looked + like those of a young and angry bull. Then a sort of spasm seemed to + convulse his face. + </p> + <p> + “Megan don' want yu.” + </p> + <p> + A rush of jealousy, of contempt, and anger with this thick, loud-breathing + rustic got the better of Ashurst's self-possession; he jumped up, and + pushed back his chair. + </p> + <p> + “You can go to the devil!” + </p> + <p> + And as he said those simple words, he saw Megan in the doorway with a tiny + brown spaniel puppy in her arms. She came up to him quickly: + </p> + <p> + “Its eyes are blue!” she said. + </p> + <p> + Joe turned away; the back of his neck was literally crimson. + </p> + <p> + Ashurst put his finger to the mouth of the little brown bullfrog of a + creature in her arms. How cosy it looked against her! + </p> + <p> + “It's fond of you already. Ah I Megan, everything is fond of you.” + </p> + <p> + “What was Joe saying to you, please?” + </p> + <p> + “Telling me to go away, because you didn't want me here.” + </p> + <p> + She stamped her foot; then looked up at Ashurst. At that adoring look he + felt his nerves quiver, just as if he had seen a moth scorching its wings. + </p> + <p> + “To-night!” he said. “Don't forget!” + </p> + <p> + “No.” And smothering her face against the puppy's little fat, brown body, + she slipped back into the house. + </p> + <p> + Ashurst wandered down the lane. At the gate of the wild meadow he came on + the lame man and his cows. + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful day, Jim!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! 'Tes brave weather for the grass. The ashes be later than th' oaks + this year. 'When th' oak before th' ash—-'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + Ashurst said idly: “Where were you standing when you saw the gipsy bogie, + Jim?” + </p> + <p> + “It might be under that big apple tree, as you might say.” + </p> + <p> + “And you really do think it was there?” + </p> + <p> + The lame man answered cautiously: + </p> + <p> + “I shouldn't like to say rightly that 't was there. 'Twas in my mind as + 'twas there.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you make of it?” + </p> + <p> + The lame man lowered his voice. + </p> + <p> + “They du zay old master, Mist' Narracombe come o' gipsy stock. But that's + tellin'. They'm a wonderful people, yu know, for claimin' their own. Maybe + they knu 'e was goin', and sent this feller along for company. That's what + I've a-thought about it.” + </p> + <p> + “What was he like?” + </p> + <p> + “'E 'ad 'air all over 'is face, an' goin' like this, he was, zame as if 'e + 'ad a viddle. They zay there's no such thing as bogies, but I've a-zeen + the 'air on this dog standin' up of a dark naight, when I couldn' zee + nothin', meself.” + </p> + <p> + “Was there a moon?” + </p> + <p> + “Yeas, very near full, but 'twas on'y just risen, gold-like be'ind them + trees.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think a ghost means trouble, do you?” + </p> + <p> + The lame man pushed his hat up; his aspiring eyes looked at Ashurst more + earnestly than ever. + </p> + <p> + “'Tes not for me to zay that but 'tes they bein' so unrestin'like. There's + things us don' understand, that's zartin, for zure. There's people that + zee things, tu, an' others that don't never zee nothin'. Now, our Joe—yu + might putt anything under'is eyes an e'd never zee it; and them other + boys, tu, they'm rattlin' fellers. But yu take an' putt our Megan where + there's suthin', she'll zee it, an' more tu, or I'm mistaken.” + </p> + <p> + “She's sensitive, that's why.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean, she feels everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! She'm very lovin'-'.arted.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst, who felt colour coming into his cheeks, held out his tobacco + pouch. + </p> + <p> + “Have a fill, Jim?” + </p> + <p> + “Thank 'ee, sir. She'm one in an 'underd, I think.” + </p> + <p> + “I expect so,” said Ashurst shortly, and folding up his pouch, walked on. + </p> + <p> + “Lovin'-hearted!” Yes! And what was he doing? What were his intentions—as + they say towards this loving-hearted girl? The thought dogged him, + wandering through fields bright with buttercups, where the little red + calves were feeding, and the swallows flying high. Yes, the oaks were + before the ashes, brown-gold already; every tree in different stage and + hue. The cuckoos and a thousand birds were singing; the little streams + were very bright. The ancients believed in a golden age, in the garden of + the Hesperides!... A queen wasp settled on his sleeve. Each queen wasp + killed meant two thousand fewer wasps to thieve the apples which would + grow from that blossom in the orchard; but who, with love in his heart, + could kill anything on a day like this? He entered a field where a young + red bull was feeding. It seemed to Ashurst that he looked like Joe. But + the young bull took no notice of this visitor, a little drunk himself, + perhaps, on the singing and the glamour of the golden pasture, under his + short legs. Ashurst crossed out unchallenged to the hillside above the + stream. From that slope a for mounted to its crown of rocks. The ground + there was covered with a mist of bluebells, and nearly a score of + crab-apple trees were in full bloom. He threw himself down on the grass. + The change from the buttercup glory and oak-goldened glamour of the fields + to this ethereal beauty under the grey for filled him with a sort of + wonder; nothing the same, save the sound of running water and the songs of + the cuckoos. He lay there a long time, watching the sunlight wheel till + the crab-trees threw shadows over the bluebells, his only companions a few + wild bees. He was not quite sane, thinking of that morning's kiss, and of + to-night under the apple tree. In such a spot as this, fauns and dryads + surely lived; nymphs, white as the crab-apple blossom, retired within + those trees; fauns, brown as the dead bracken, with pointed ears, lay in + wait for them. The cuckoos were still calling when he woke, there was the + sound of running water; but the sun had couched behind the tor, the + hillside was cool, and some rabbits had come out. 'Tonight!' he thought. + Just as from the earth everything was pushing up, unfolding under the soft + insistent fingers of an unseen hand, so were his heart and senses being + pushed, unfolded. He got up and broke off a spray from a crab-apple tree. + The buds were like Megan—shell-like, rose-pink, wild, and fresh; and + so, too, the opening flowers, white, and wild; and touching. He put the + spray into his coat. And all the rush of the spring within him escaped in + a triumphant sigh. But the rabbits scurried away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 6 + </h2> + <p> + It was nearly eleven that night when Ashurst put down the pocket “Odyssey” + which for half an hour he had held in his hands without reading, and + slipped through the yard down to the orchard. The moon had just risen, + very golden, over the hill, and like a bright, powerful, watching spirit + peered through the bars of an ash tree's half-naked boughs. In among the + apple trees it was still dark, and he stood making sure of his direction, + feeling the rough grass with his feet. A black mass close behind him + stirred with a heavy grunting sound, and three large pigs settled down + again close to each other, under the wall. He listened. There was no wind, + but the stream's burbling whispering chuckle had gained twice its daytime + strength. One bird, he could not tell what, cried “Pippip,” “Pip-pip,” + with perfect monotony; he could hear a night-Jar spinning very far off; an + owl hooting. Ashurst moved a step or two, and again halted, aware of a dim + living whiteness all round his head. On the dark unstirring trees + innumerable flowers and buds all soft and blurred were being bewitched to + life by the creeping moonlight. He had the oddest feeling of actual + companionship, as if a million white moths or spirits had floated in and + settled between dark sky and darker ground, and were opening and shutting + their wings on a level with his eyes. In the bewildering, still, scentless + beauty of that moment he almost lost memory of why he had come to the + orchard. The flying glamour which had clothed the earth all day had not + gone now that night had fallen, but only changed into this new form. He + moved on through the thicket of stems and boughs covered with that live + powdering whiteness, till he reached the big apple tree. No mistaking + that, even in the dark, nearly twice the height and size of any other, and + leaning out towards the open meadows and the stream. Under the thick + branches he stood still again, to listen. The same sounds exactly, and a + faint grunting from the sleepy pigs. He put his hands on the dry, almost + warm tree trunk, whose rough mossy surface gave forth a peaty scent at his + touch. Would she come—would she? And among these quivering, haunted, + moon-witched trees he was seized with doubts of everything! All was + unearthly here, fit for no earthly lovers; fit only for god and goddess, + faun and nymph not for him and this little country girl. Would it not be + almost a relief if she did not come? But all the time he was listening. + And still that unknown bird went “Pip-pip,” “Pip-pip,” and there rose the + busy chatter of the little trout stream, whereon the moon was flinging + glances through the bars of her tree-prison. The blossom on a level with + his eyes seemed to grow more living every moment, seemed with its + mysterious white beauty more and more a part of his suspense. He plucked a + fragment and held it close—three blossoms. Sacrilege to pluck + fruit-tree blossom—soft, sacred, young blossom—and throw it + away! Then suddenly he heard the gate close, the pigs stirring again and + grunting; and leaning against the trunk, he pressed his hands to its mossy + sides behind him, and held his breath. She might have been a spirit + threading the trees, for all the noise she made! Then he saw her quite + close—her dark form part of a little tree, her white face part of + its blossom; so still, and peering towards him. He whispered: “Megan!” and + held out his hands. She ran forward, straight to his breast. When he felt + her heart beating against him, Ashurst knew to the full the sensations of + chivalry and passion. Because she was not of his world, because she was so + simple and young and headlong, adoring and defenceless, how could he be + other than her protector, in the dark! Because she was all simple Nature + and beauty, as much a part of this spring night as was the living blossom, + how should he not take all that she would give him how not fulfil the + spring in her heart and his! And torn between these two emotions he + clasped her close, and kissed her hair. How long they stood there without + speaking he knew not. The stream went on chattering, the owls hooting, the + moon kept stealing up and growing whiter; the blossom all round them and + above brightened in suspense of living beauty. Their lips had sought each + other's, and they did not speak. The moment speech began all would be + unreal! Spring has no speech, nothing but rustling and whispering. Spring + has so much more than speech in its unfolding flowers and leaves, and the + coursing of its streams, and in its sweet restless seeking! And sometimes + spring will come alive, and, like a mysterious Presence stand, encircling + lovers with its arms, laying on them the fingers of enchantment, so that, + standing lips to lips, they forget everything but just a kiss. While her + heart beat against him, and her lips quivered on his, Ashurst felt nothing + but simple rapture—Destiny meant her for his arms, Love could not be + flouted! But when their lips parted for breath, division began again at + once. Only, passion now was so much the stronger, and he sighed: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Megan! Why did you come?” She looked up, hurt, amazed. + </p> + <p> + “Sir, you asked me to.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't call me 'sir,' my pretty sweet.” + </p> + <p> + “What should I be callin' you?” + </p> + <p> + “Frank.” + </p> + <p> + “I could not. Oh, no!” + </p> + <p> + “But you love me—don't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I could not help lovin' you. I want to be with you—that's all.” + </p> + <p> + “All!” + </p> + <p> + So faint that he hardly heard, she whispered: “I shall die if I can't be + with you.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst took a mighty breath. + </p> + <p> + “Come and be with me, then!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + Intoxicated by the awe and rapture in that “Oh!” he went on, whispering: + </p> + <p> + “We'll go to London. I'll show you the world. + </p> + <p> + “And I will take care of you, I promise, Megan. I'll never be a brute to + you!” + </p> + <p> + “If I can be with you—that is all.” + </p> + <p> + He stroked her hair, and whispered on: + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow I'll go to Torquay and get some money, and get you some clothes + that won't be noticed, and then we'll steal away. And when we get to + London, soon perhaps, if you love me well enough, we'll be married.” + </p> + <p> + He could feel her hair shiver with the shake of her head. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! I could not. I only want to be with you!” + </p> + <p> + Drunk on his own chivalry, Ashurst went on murmuring, “It's I who am not + good enough for you. Oh! Megan, when did you begin to love me?” + </p> + <p> + “When I saw you in the road, and you looked at me. The first night I loved + you; but I never thought you would want me.” + </p> + <p> + She slipped down suddenly to her knees, trying to kiss his feet. + </p> + <p> + A shiver of horror went through Ashurst; he lifted her up bodily and held + her fast—too upset to speak. + </p> + <p> + She whispered: “Why won't you let me?” + </p> + <p> + “It's I who will kiss your feet!” + </p> + <p> + Her smile brought tears into his eyes. The whiteness of her moonlit face + so close to his, the faint pink of her opened lips, had the living + unearthly beauty of the apple blossom. + </p> + <p> + And then, suddenly, her eyes widened and stared past him painfully; she + writhed out of his arms, and whispered: “Look!” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst saw nothing but the brightened stream, the furze faintly gilded, + the beech trees glistening, and behind them all the wide loom of the + moonlit hill. Behind him came her frozen whisper: “The gipsy bogie!” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “There—by the stone—under the trees!” + </p> + <p> + Exasperated, he leaped the stream, and strode towards the beech clump. + Prank of the moonlight! Nothing! In and out of the boulders and thorn + trees, muttering and cursing, yet with a kind of terror, he rushed and + stumbled. Absurd! Silly! Then he went back to the apple tree. But she was + gone; he could hear a rustle, the grunting of the pigs, the sound of a + gate closing. Instead of her, only this old apple tree! He flung his arms + round the trunk. What a substitute for her soft body; the rough moss + against his face—what a substitute for her soft cheek; only the + scent, as of the woods, a little the same! And above him, and around, the + blossoms, more living, more moonlit than ever, seemed to glow and breathe. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + 7 + </h2> + <p> + Descending from the train at Torquay station, Ashurst wandered uncertainly + along the front, for he did not know this particular queen of English + watering places. Having little sense of what he had on, he was quite + unconscious of being remarkable among its inhabitants, and strode along in + his rough Norfolk jacket, dusty boots, and battered hat, without observing + that people gazed at him rather blankly. He was seeking a branch of his + London bank, and having found one, found also the first obstacle to his + mood. Did he know anyone in Torquay? No. In that case, if he would wire to + his bank in London, they would be happy to oblige him on receipt of the + reply. That suspicious breath from the matter-of-fact world somewhat + tarnished the brightness of his visions. But he sent the telegram. + </p> + <p> + Nearly opposite to the post office he saw a shop full of ladies' garments, + and examined the window with strange sensations. To have to undertake the + clothing of his rustic love was more than a little disturbing. He went in. + A young woman came forward; she had blue eyes and a faintly puzzled + forehead. Ashurst stared at her in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “I want a dress for a young lady.” + </p> + <p> + The young woman smiled. Ashurst frowned the peculiarity of his request + struck him with sudden force. + </p> + <p> + The young woman added hastily: + </p> + <p> + “What style would you like—something modish?” + </p> + <p> + “No. Simple.” + </p> + <p> + “What figure would the young lady be?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know; about two inches shorter than you, I should say.” + </p> + <p> + “Could you give me her waist measurement?” + </p> + <p> + Megan's waist! + </p> + <p> + “Oh! anything usual!” + </p> + <p> + “Quite!” + </p> + <p> + While she was gone he stood disconsolately eyeing the models in the + window, and suddenly it seemed to him incredible that Megan—his + Megan could ever be dressed save in the rough tweed skirt, coarse blouse, + and tam-o'-shanter cap he was wont to see her in. The young woman had come + back with several dresses in her arms, and Ashurst eyed her laying them + against her own modish figure. There was one whose colour he liked, a + dove-grey, but to imagine Megan clothed in it was beyond him. The young + woman went away, and brought some more. But on Ashurst there had now come + a feeling of paralysis. How choose? She would want a hat too, and shoes, + and gloves; and, suppose, when he had got them all, they commonised her, + as Sunday clothes always commonised village folk! Why should she not + travel as she was? Ah! But conspicuousness would matter; this was a + serious elopement. And, staring at the young woman, he thought: 'I wonder + if she guesses, and thinks me a blackguard?' + </p> + <p> + “Do you mind putting aside that grey one for me?” he said desperately at + last. “I can't decide now; I'll come in again this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + The young woman sighed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! certainly. It's a very tasteful costume. I don't think you'll get + anything that will suit your purpose better.” + </p> + <p> + “I expect not,” Ashurst murmured, and went out. + </p> + <p> + Freed again from the suspicious matter-of-factness of the world, he took a + long breath, and went back to visions. In fancy he saw the trustful, + pretty creature who was going to join her life to his; saw himself and her + stealing forth at night, walking over the moor under the moon, he with his + arm round her, and carrying her new garments, till, in some far-off wood, + when dawn was coming, she would slip off her old things and put on these, + and an early train at a distant station would bear them away on their + honeymoon journey, till London swallowed them up, and the dreams of love + came true. + </p> + <p> + “Frank Ashurst! Haven't seen you since Rugby, old chap!” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst's frown dissolved; the face, close to his own, was blue-eyed, + suffused with sun—one of those faces where sun from within and + without join in a sort of lustre. And he answered: + </p> + <p> + “Phil Halliday, by Jove!” + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! nothing. Just looking round, and getting some money. I'm staying on + the moor.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you lunching anywhere? Come and lunch with us; I'm here with my young + sisters. They've had measles.” + </p> + <p> + Hooked in by that friendly arm Ashurst went along, up a hill, down a hill, + away out of the town, while the voice of Halliday, redolent of optimism as + his face was of sun, explained how “in this mouldy place the only decent + things were the bathing and boating,” and so on, till presently they came + to a crescent of houses a little above and back from the sea, and into the + centre one an hotel—made their way. + </p> + <p> + “Come up to my room and have a wash. Lunch'll be ready in a jiffy.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst contemplated his visage in a looking-glass. After his farmhouse + bedroom, the comb and one spare shirt regime of the last fortnight, this + room littered with clothes and brushes was a sort of Capua; and he + thought: 'Queer—one doesn't realise But what—he did not quite + know. + </p> + <p> + When he followed Halliday into the sitting room for lunch, three faces, + very fair and blue-eyed, were turned suddenly at the words: “This is Frank + Ashurst my young sisters.” + </p> + <p> + Two were indeed young, about eleven and ten. The third was perhaps + seventeen, tall and fair-haired too, with pink-and-white cheeks just + touched by the sun, and eyebrows, rather darker than the hair, running a + little upwards from her nose to their outer points. The voices of all + three were like Halliday's, high and cheerful; they stood up straight, + shook hands with a quick movement, looked at Ashurst critically, away + again at once, and began to talk of what they were going to do in the + afternoon. A regular Diana and attendant nymphs! After the farm this + crisp, slangy, eager talk, this cool, clean, off-hand refinement, was + queer at first, and then so natural that what he had come from became + suddenly remote. The names of the two little ones seemed to be Sabina and + Freda; of the eldest, Stella. + </p> + <p> + Presently the one called Sabina turned to him and said: + </p> + <p> + “I say, will you come shrimping with us?—it's awful fun!” + </p> + <p> + Surprised by this unexpected friendliness, Ashurst murmured: + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid I've got to get back this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Can't you put it off?” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst turned to the new speaker, Stella, shook his head, and smiled. She + was very pretty! Sabina said regretfully: “You might!” Then the talk + switched off to caves and swimming. + </p> + <p> + “Can you swim far?” + </p> + <p> + “About two miles.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” + </p> + <p> + “I say!” + </p> + <p> + “How jolly!” + </p> + <p> + The three pairs of blue eyes, fixed on him, made him conscious of his new + importance—The sensation was agreeable. Halliday said: + </p> + <p> + “I say, you simply must stop and have a bathe. You'd better stay the + night.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, do!”' + </p> + <p> + But again Ashurst smiled and shook his head. Then suddenly he found + himself being catechised about his physical achievements. He had rowed—it + seemed—in his college boat, played in his college football team, won + his college mile; and he rose from table a sort of hero. The two little + girls insisted that he must see “their” cave, and they set forth + chattering like magpies, Ashurst between them, Stella and her brother a + little behind. In the cave, damp and darkish like any other cave, the + great feature was a pool with possibility of creatures which might be + caught and put into bottles. Sabina and Freda, who wore no stockings on + their shapely brown legs, exhorted Ashurst to join them in the middle of + it, and help sieve the water. He too was soon bootless and sockless. Time + goes fast for one who has a sense of beauty, when there are pretty + children in a pool and a young Diana on the edge, to receive with wonder + anything you can catch! Ashurst never had much sense of time. It was a + shock when, pulling out his watch, he saw it was well past three. No + cashing his cheque to-day-the bank would be closed before he could get + there. Watching his expression, the little girls cried out at once: + </p> + <p> + “Hurrah! Now you'll have to stay!” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst did not answer. He was seeing again Megan's face, when at + breakfast time he had whispered: “I'm going to Torquay, darling, to get + everything; I shall be back this evening. If it's fine we can go to-night. + Be ready.” He was seeing again how she quivered and hung on his words. + What would she think? Then he pulled himself together, conscious suddenly + of the calm scrutiny of this other young girl, so tall and fair and + Diana-like, at the edge of the pool, of her wondering blue eyes under + those brows which slanted up a little. If they knew what was in his mind—if + they knew that this very night he had meant! Well, there would be a little + sound of disgust, and he would be alone in the cave. And with a curious + mixture of anger, chagrin, and shame, he put his watch back into his + pocket and said abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I'm dished for to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Hurrah! Now you can bathe with us.” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible not to succumb a little to the contentment of these + pretty children, to the smile on Stella's lips, to Halliday's “Ripping, + old chap! I can lend you things for the night!” But again a spasm of + longing and remorse throbbed through Ashurst, and he said moodily: + </p> + <p> + “I must send a wire!” + </p> + <p> + The attractions of the pool palling, they went back to the hotel. Ashurst + sent his wire, addressing it to Mrs. Narracombe: “Sorry, detained for the + night, back to-morrow.” Surely Megan would understand that he had too much + to do; and his heart grew lighter. It was a lovely afternoon, warm, the + sea calm and blue, and swimming his great passion; the favour of these + pretty children flattered him, the pleasure of looking at them, at Stella, + at Halliday's sunny face; the slight unreality, yet extreme naturalness of + it all—as of a last peep at normality before he took this plunge + with Megan! He got his borrowed bathing dress, and they all set forth. + Halliday and he undressed behind one rock, the three girls behind another. + He was first into the sea, and at once swam out with the bravado of + justifying his self-given reputation. When he turned he could see Halliday + swimming along shore, and the girls flopping and dipping, and riding the + little waves, in the way he was accustomed to despise, but now thought + pretty and sensible, since it gave him the distinction of the only + deep-water fish. But drawing near, he wondered if they would like him, a + stranger, to come into their splashing group; he felt shy, approaching + that slim nymph. Then Sabina summoned him to teach her to float, and + between them the little girls kept him so busy that he had no time even to + notice whether Stella was accustomed to his presence, till suddenly he + heard a startled sound from her: She was standing submerged to the waist, + leaning a little forward, her slim white arms stretched out and pointing, + her wet face puckered by the sun and an expression of fear. + </p> + <p> + “Look at Phil! Is he all right? Oh, look!” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst saw at once that Phil was not all right. He was splashing and + struggling out of his depth, perhaps a hundred yards away; suddenly he + gave a cry, threw up his arms, and went down. Ashurst saw the girl launch + herself towards him, and crying out: “Go back, Stella! Go back!” he dashed + out. He had never swum so fast, and reached Halliday just as he was coming + up a second time. It was a case of cramp, but to get him in was not + difficult, for he did not struggle. The girl, who had stopped where + Ashurst told her to, helped as soon as he was in his depth, and once on + the beach they sat down one on each side of him to rub his limbs, while + the little ones stood by with scared faces. Halliday was soon smiling. It + was—he said—rotten of him, absolutely rotten! If Frank would + give him an arm, he could get to his clothes all right now. Ashurst gave + him the arm, and as he did so caught sight of Stella's face, wet and + flushed and tearful, all broken up out of its calm; and he thought: 'I + called her Stella! Wonder if she minded?' + </p> + <p> + While they were dressing, Halliday said quietly, “You saved my life, old + chap!” + </p> + <p> + “Rot!” + </p> + <p> + Clothed, but not quite in their right minds, they went up all together to + the hotel and sat down to tea, except Halliday, who was lying down in his + room. After some slices of bread and jam, Sabina said: + </p> + <p> + “I say, you know, you are a brick!” And Freda chimed in: + </p> + <p> + “Rather!” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst saw Stella looking down; he got up in confusion, and went to the + window. From there he heard Sabina mutter: “I say, let's swear blood bond. + Where's your knife, Freda?” and out of the corner of his eye could see + each of them solemnly prick herself, squeeze out a drop of blood and + dabble on a bit of paper. He turned and made for the door. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be a stoat! Come back!” His arms were seized; imprisoned between + the little girls he was brought back to the table. On it lay a piece of + paper with an effigy drawn in blood, and the three names Stella Halliday, + Sabina Halliday, Freda Halliday—also in blood, running towards it + like the rays of a star. Sabina said: + </p> + <p> + “That's you. We shall have to kiss you, you know.” + </p> + <p> + And Freda echoed: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Blow—Yes!” + </p> + <p> + Before Ashurst could escape, some wettish hair dangled against his face, + something like a bite descended on his nose, he felt his left arm pinched, + and other teeth softly searching his cheek. Then he was released, and + Freda said: + </p> + <p> + “Now, Stella.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst, red and rigid, looked across the table at a red and rigid Stella. + Sabina giggled; Freda cried: + </p> + <p> + “Buck up—it spoils everything!” + </p> + <p> + A queer, ashamed eagerness shot through Ashurst: then he said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “Shut up, you little demons!” + </p> + <p> + Again Sabina giggled. + </p> + <p> + “Well, then, she can kiss her hand, and you can put it against your nose. + It is on one side!” + </p> + <p> + To his amazement the girl did kiss her hand and stretch it out. Solemnly + he took that cool, slim hand and laid it to his cheek. The two little + girls broke into clapping, and Freda said: + </p> + <p> + “Now, then, we shall have to save your life at any time; that's settled. + Can I have another cup, Stella, not so beastly weak?” Tea was resumed, and + Ashurst, folding up the paper, put it in his pocket. The talk turned on + the advantages of measles, tangerine oranges, honey in a spoon, no + lessons, and so forth. Ashurst listened, silent, exchanging friendly looks + with Stella, whose face was again of its normal sun-touched pink and + white. It was soothing to be so taken to the heart of this jolly family, + fascinating to watch their faces. And after tea, while the two little + girls pressed seaweed, he talked to Stella in the window seat and looked + at her water-colour sketches. The whole thing was like a pleasurable + dream; time and incident hung up, importance and reality suspended. + Tomorrow he would go back to Megan, with nothing of all this left save the + paper with the blood of these children, in his pocket. Children! Stella + was not quite that—as old as Megan! Her talk—quick, rather + hard and shy, yet friendly—seemed to flourish on his silences, and + about her there was something cool and virginal—a maiden in a bower. + At dinner, to which Halliday, who had swallowed too much sea-water, did + not come, Sabina said: + </p> + <p> + “I'm going to call you Frank.” + </p> + <p> + Freda echoed: + </p> + <p> + “Frank, Frank, Franky.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst grinned and bowed. + </p> + <p> + “Every time Stella calls you Mr. Ashurst, she's got to pay a forfeit. It's + ridiculous.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst looked at Stella, who grew slowly red. Sabina giggled; Freda + cried: + </p> + <p> + “She's 'smoking'—'smoking!'—Yah!” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst reached out to right and left, and grasped some fair hair in each + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” he said, “you two! Leave Stella alone, or I'll tie you + together!” + </p> + <p> + Freda gurgled: + </p> + <p> + “Ouch! You are a beast!” + </p> + <p> + Sabina murmured cautiously: + </p> + <p> + “You call her Stella, you see!” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn't I? It's a jolly name!” + </p> + <p> + “All right; we give you leave to!” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst released the hair. Stella! What would she call him—after + this? But she called him nothing; till at bedtime he said, deliberately: + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Stella!” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Mr.——Good-night, Frank! It was jolly of you, you + know!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh-that! Bosh!” + </p> + <p> + Her quick, straight handshake tightened suddenly, and as suddenly became + slack. + </p> + <p> + Ashurst stood motionless in the empty sitting-room. Only last night, under + the apple tree and the living blossom, he had held Megan to him, kissing + her eyes and lips. And he gasped, swept by that rush of remembrance. + To-night it should have begun-his life with her who only wanted to be with + him! And now, twenty-four hours and more must pass, because-of not looking + at his watch! Why had he made friends with this family of innocents just + when he was saying good-bye to innocence, and all the rest of it? 'But I + mean to marry her,' he thought; 'I told her so!' + </p> + <p> + He took a candle, lighted it, and went to his bedroom, which was next to + Halliday's. His friend's voice called, as he was passing: + </p> + <p> + “Is that you, old chap? I say, come in.” + </p> + <p> + He was sitting up in bed, smoking a pipe and reading. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down a bit.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst sat down by the open window. + </p> + <p> + “I've been thinking about this afternoon, you know,” said Halliday rather + suddenly. “They say you go through all your past. I didn't. I suppose I + wasn't far enough gone.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you think of?” + </p> + <p> + Halliday was silent for a little, then said quietly + </p> + <p> + “Well, I did think of one thing—rather odd—of a girl at + Cambridge that I might have—you know; I was glad I hadn't got her on + my mind. Anyhow, old chap, I owe it to you that I'm here; I should have + been in the big dark by now. No more bed, or baccy; no more anything. I + say, what d'you suppose happens to us?” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst murmured: + </p> + <p> + “Go out like flames, I expect.” + </p> + <p> + “Phew!” + </p> + <p> + “We may flicker, and cling about a bit, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “H'm! I think that's rather gloomy. I say, I hope my young sisters have + been decent to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Awfully decent.” + </p> + <p> + Halliday put his pipe down, crossed his hands behind his neck, and turned + his face towards the window. + </p> + <p> + “They're not bad kids!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Watching his friend, lying there, with that smile, and the candle-light on + his face, Ashurst shuddered. Quite true! He might have been lying there + with no smile, with all that sunny look gone out for ever! He might not + have been lying there at all, but “sanded” at the bottom of the sea, + waiting for resurrection on the ninth day, was it? And that smile of + Halliday's seemed to him suddenly something wonderful, as if in it were + all the difference between life and death—the little flame—the + all! He got up, and said softly: + </p> + <p> + “Well, you ought to sleep, I expect. Shall I blow out?” + </p> + <p> + Halliday caught his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I can't say it, you know; but it must be rotten to be dead. Good-night, + old boy!” + </p> + <p> + Stirred and moved, Ashurst squeezed the hand, and went downstairs. The + hall door was still open, and he passed out on to the lawn before the + Crescent. The stars were bright in a very dark blue sky, and by their + light some lilacs had that mysterious colour of flowers by night which no + one can describe. Ashurst pressed his face against a spray; and before his + closed eyes Megan started up, with the tiny brown spaniel pup against her + breast. “I thought of a girl that I might have you know. I was glad I + hadn't got her on my mind!” He jerked his head away from the lilac, and + began pacing up and down over the grass, a grey phantom coming to + substance for a moment in the light from the lamp at either end. He was + with her again under the living, breathing white ness of the blossom, the + stream chattering by, the moon glinting steel-blue on the bathing-pool; + back in the rapture of his kisses on her upturned face of innocence and + humble passion, back in the suspense and beauty of that pagan night. He + stood still once more in the shadow of the lilacs. Here the sea, not the + stream, was Night's voice; the sea with its sigh and rustle; no little + bird, no owl, no night-Jar called or spun; but a piano tinkled, and the + white houses cut the sky with solid curve, and the scent from the lilacs + filled the air. A window of the hotel, high up, was lighted; he saw a + shadow move across the blind. And most queer sensations stirred within + him, a sort of churning, and twining, and turning of a single emotion on + itself, as though spring and love, bewildered and confused, seeking the + way, were baffled. This girl, who had called him Frank, whose hand had + given his that sudden little clutch, this girl so cool and pure—what + would she think of such wild, unlawful loving? He sank down on the grass, + sitting there cross-legged, with his back to the house, motionless as some + carved Buddha. Was he really going to break through innocence, and steal? + Sniff the scent out of a wild flower, and—perhaps—throw it + away? “Of a girl at Cambridge that I might have—you know!” He put + his hands to the grass, one on each side, palms downwards, and pressed; it + was just warm still—the grass, barely moist, soft and firm and + friendly. 'What am I going to do?' he thought. Perhaps Megan was at her + window, looking out at the blossom, thinking of him! Poor little Megan! + 'Why not?' he thought. 'I love her! But do I really love her? or do I only + want her because she is so pretty, and loves me? What am I going to do?' + The piano tinkled on, the stars winked; and Ashurst gazed out before him + at the dark sea, as if spell-bound. He got up at last, cramped and rather + chilly. There was no longer light in any window. And he went in to bed. + </p> + <p> + Out of a deep and dreamless sleep he was awakened by the sound of thumping + on the door. A shrill voice called: + </p> + <p> + “Hi! Breakfast's ready.” + </p> + <p> + He jumped up. Where was he—? Ah! + </p> + <p> + He found them already eating marmalade, and sat down in the empty place + between Stella and Sabina, who, after watching him a little, said: + </p> + <p> + “I say, do buck up; we're going to start at half-past nine.” + </p> + <p> + “We're going to Berry Head, old chap; you must come!” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst thought: 'Come! Impossible. I shall be getting things and going + back.' He looked at Stella. She said quickly: + </p> + <p> + “Do come!” + </p> + <p> + Sabina chimed in: + </p> + <p> + “It'll be no fun without you.” + </p> + <p> + Freda got up and stood behind his chair. + </p> + <p> + “You've got to come, or else I'll pull your hair!” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst thought: 'Well—one day more—to think it over! One day + more!' And he said: + </p> + <p> + “All right! You needn't tweak my mane!” + </p> + <p> + “Hurrah!” + </p> + <p> + At the station he wrote a second telegram to the farm, and then tore it + up; he could not have explained why. From Brixham they drove in a very + little wagonette. There, squeezed between Sabina and Freda, with his knees + touching Stella's, they played “Up, Jenkins “; and the gloom he was + feeling gave way to frolic. In this one day more to think it over, he did + not want to think! They ran races, wrestled, paddled—for to-day + nobody wanted to bathe—they sang catches, played games, and ate all + they had brought. The little girls fell asleep against him on the way + back, and his knees still touched Stella's in the narrow wagonette. It + seemed incredible that thirty hours ago he had never set eyes on any of + those three flaxen heads. In the train he talked to Stella of poetry, + discovering her favourites, and telling her his own with a pleasing sense + of superiority; till suddenly she said, rather low: + </p> + <p> + “Phil says you don't believe in a future life, Frank. I think that's + dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + Disconcerted, Ashurst muttered: + </p> + <p> + “I don't either believe or not believe—I simply don't know.” + </p> + <p> + She said quickly: + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't bear that. What would be the use of living?” + </p> + <p> + Watching the frown of those pretty oblique brows, Ashurst answered: + </p> + <p> + “I don't believe in believing things because a one wants to.” + </p> + <p> + “But why should one wish to live again, if one isn't going to?” + </p> + <p> + And she looked full at him. + </p> + <p> + He did not want to hurt her, but an itch to dominate pushed him on to say: + </p> + <p> + “While one's alive one naturally wants to go on living for ever; that's + part of being alive. But it probably isn't anything more.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you believe in the Bible at all, then?” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst thought: 'Now I shall really hurt her!' + </p> + <p> + “I believe in the Sermon on the Mount, because it's beautiful and good for + all time.” + </p> + <p> + “But don't you believe Christ was divine?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. + </p> + <p> + She turned her face quickly to the window, and there sprang into his mind + Megan's prayer, repeated by little Nick: “God bless us all, and Mr. + Ashes!” Who else would ever say a prayer for him, like her who at this + moment must be waiting—waiting to see him come down the lane? And he + thought suddenly: 'What a scoundrel I am!' + </p> + <p> + All that evening this thought kept coming back; but, as is not unusual, + each time with less poignancy, till it seemed almost a matter of course to + be a scoundrel. And—strange!—he did not know whether he was a + scoundrel if he meant to go back to Megan, or if he did not mean to go + back to her. + </p> + <p> + They played cards till the children were sent off to bed; then Stella went + to the piano. From over on the window seat, where it was nearly dark, + Ashurst watched her between the candles—that fair head on the long, + white neck bending to the movement of her hands. She played fluently, + without much expression; but what a Picture she made, the faint golden + radiance, a sort of angelic atmosphere hovering about her! Who could have + passionate thoughts or wild desires in the presence of that swaying, + white-clothed girl with the seraphic head? She played a thing of + Schumann's called “Warum?” Then Halliday brought out a flute, and the + spell was broken. After this they made Ashurst sing, Stella playing him + accompaniments from a book of Schumann songs, till, in the middle of “Ich + grolle nicht,” two small figures clad in blue dressing-gowns crept in and + tried to conceal themselves beneath the piano. The evening broke up in + confusion, and what Sabina called “a splendid rag.” + </p> + <p> + That night Ashurst hardly slept at all. He was thinking, tossing and + turning. The intense domestic intimacy of these last two days, the + strength of this Halliday atmosphere, seemed to ring him round, and make + the farm and Megan—even Megan—seem unreal. Had he really made + love to her—really promised to take her away to live with him? He + must have been bewitched by the spring, the night, the apple blossom! This + May madness could but destroy them both! The notion that he was going to + make her his mistress—that simple child not yet eighteen—now + filled him with a sort of horror, even while it still stung and whipped + his blood. He muttered to himself: “It's awful, what I've done—awful!” + And the sound of Schumann's music throbbed and mingled with his fevered + thoughts, and he saw again Stella's cool, white, fair-haired figure and + bending neck, the queer, angelic radiance about her. 'I must have been—I + must be-mad!' he thought. 'What came into me? Poor little Megan!' “God + bless us all, and Mr. Ashes! I want to be with you—only to be with + you!” And burying his face in his pillow, he smothered down a fit of + sobbing. Not to go back was awful! To go back—more awful still! + </p> + <p> + Emotion, when you are young, and give real vent to it, loses its power of + torture. And he fell asleep, thinking: 'What was it—a few kisses—all + forgotten in a month!' + </p> + <p> + Next morning he got his cheque cashed, but avoided the shop of the + dove-grey dress like the plague; and, instead, bought himself some + necessaries. He spent the whole day in a queer mood, cherishing a kind of + sullenness against himself. Instead of the hankering of the last two days, + he felt nothing but a blank—all passionate longing gone, as if + quenched in that outburst of tears. After tea Stella put a book down + beside him, and said shyly: + </p> + <p> + “Have you read that, Frank?” + </p> + <p> + It was Farrar's “Life of Christ.” Ashurst smiled. Her anxiety about his + beliefs seemed to him comic, but touching. Infectious too, perhaps, for he + began to have an itch to justify himself, if not to convert her. And in + the evening, when the children and Halliday were mending their shrimping + nets, he said: + </p> + <p> + “At the back of orthodox religion, so far as I can see, there's always the + idea of reward—what you can get for being good; a kind of begging + for favours. I think it all starts in fear.” + </p> + <p> + She was sitting on the sofa making reefer knots with a bit of string. She + looked up quickly: + </p> + <p> + “I think it's much deeper than that.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst felt again that wish to dominate. + </p> + <p> + “You think so,” he said; “but wanting the 'quid pro quo' is about the + deepest thing in all of us! It's jolly hard to get to the bottom of it!” + </p> + <p> + She wrinkled her brows in a puzzled frown. + </p> + <p> + “I don't think I understand.” + </p> + <p> + He went on obstinately: + </p> + <p> + “Well, think, and see if the most religious people aren't those who feel + that this life doesn't give them all they want. I believe in being good + because to be good is good in itself.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you do believe in being good?” + </p> + <p> + How pretty she looked now—it was easy to be good with her! And he + nodded and said: + </p> + <p> + “I say, show me how to make that knot!” + </p> + <p> + With her fingers touching his, in manoeuvring the bit of string, he felt + soothed and happy. And when he went to bed he wilfully kept his thoughts + on her, wrapping himself in her fair, cool sisterly radiance, as in some + garment of protection. + </p> + <p> + Next day he found they had arranged to go by train to Totnes, and picnic + at Berry Pomeroy Castle. Still in that resolute oblivion of the past, he + took his place with them in the landau beside Halliday, back to the + horses. And, then, along the sea front, nearly at the turning to the + railway station, his heart almost leaped into his mouth. Megan—Megan + herself!—was walking on the far pathway, in her old skirt and jacket + and her tam-o'-shanter, looking up into the faces of the passers-by. + Instinctively he threw his hand up for cover, then made a feint of + clearing dust out of his eyes; but between his fingers he could see her + still, moving, not with her free country step, but wavering, lost-looking, + pitiful-like some little dog which has missed its master and does not know + whether to run on, to run back—where to run. How had she come like + this?—what excuse had she found to get away?—what did she hope + for? But with every turn of the wheels bearing him away from her, his + heart revolted and cried to him to stop them, to get out, and go to her! + When the landau turned the corner to the station he could stand it no + more, and opening the carriage door, muttered: “I've forgotten something! + Go on—don't wait for me! I'll join you at the castle by the next + train!” He jumped, stumbled, spun round, recovered his balance, and walked + forward, while the carriage with the astonished Hallidays rolled on. + </p> + <p> + From the corner he could only just see Megan, a long way ahead now. He ran + a few steps, checked himself, and dropped into a walk. With each step + nearer to her, further from the Hallidays, he walked more and more slowly. + How did it alter anything—this sight of her? How make the going to + her, and that which must come of it, less ugly? For there was no hiding it—since + he had met the Hallidays he had become gradually sure that he would not + marry Megan. It would only be a wild love-time, a troubled, remorseful, + difficult time—and then—well, then he would get tired, just + because she gave him everything, was so simple, and so trustful, so dewy. + And dew—wears off! The little spot of faded colour, her + tam-o'-shanter cap, wavered on far in front of him; she was looking up + into every face, and at the house windows. Had any man ever such a cruel + moment to go through? Whatever he did, he felt he would be a beast. And he + uttered a groan which made a nursemaid turn and stare. He saw Megan stop + and lean against the sea-wall, looking at the sea; and he too stopped. + Quite likely she had never seen the sea before, and even in her distress + could not resist that sight. 'Yes-she's seen nothing,' he thought; + 'everything's before her. And just for a few weeks' passion, I shall be + cutting her life to ribbons. I'd better go and hang myself rather than do + it!' And suddenly he seemed to see Stella's calm eyes looking into his, + the wave of fluffy hair on her forehead stirred by the wind. Ah! it would + be madness, would mean giving up all that he respected, and his own + self-respect. He turned and walked quickly back towards the station. But + memory of that poor, bewildered little figure, those anxious eyes + searching the passers-by, smote him too hard again, and once more he + turned towards the sea. + </p> + <p> + The cap was no longer visible; that little spot of colour had vanished in + the stream of the noon promenaders. And impelled by the passion of + longing, the dearth which comes on one when life seems to be whirling + something out of reach, he hurried forward. She was nowhere to be seen; + for half an hour he looked for her; then on the beach flung himself face + downward in the sand. To find her again he knew he had only to go to the + station and wait till she returned from her fruitless quest, to take her + train home; or to take train himself and go back to the farm, so that she + found him there when she returned. But he lay inert in the sand, among the + indifferent groups of children with their spades and buckets. Pity at her + little figure wandering, seeking, was well-nigh merged in the + spring-running of his blood; for it was all wild feeling now—the + chivalrous part, what there had been of it, was gone. He wanted her again, + wanted her kisses, her soft, little body, her abandonment, all her quick, + warm, pagan emotion; wanted the wonderful feeling of that night under the + moonlit apple boughs; wanted it all with a horrible intensity, as the faun + wants the nymph. The quick chatter of the little bright trout-stream, the + dazzle of the buttercups, the rocks of the old “wild men”; the calling of + the cuckoos and yaffles, the hooting of the owls; and the red moon peeping + out of the velvet dark at the living whiteness of the blossom; and her + face just out of reach at the window, lost in its love-look; and her heart + against his, her lips answering his, under the apple tree—all this + besieged him. Yet he lay inert. What was it which struggled against pity + and this feverish longing, and kept him there paralysed in the warm sand? + Three flaxen heads—a fair face with friendly blue—grey eyes, a + slim hand pressing his, a quick voice speaking his name—“So you do + believe in being good?” Yes, and a sort of atmosphere as of some old + walled-in English garden, with pinks, and cornflowers, and roses, and + scents of lavender and lilaccool and fair, untouched, almost holy—all + that he had been brought up to feel was clean and good. And suddenly he + thought: 'She might come along the front again and see me!' and he got up + and made his way to the rock at the far end of the beach. There, with the + spray biting into his face, he could think more coolly. To go back to the + farm and love Megan out in the woods, among the rocks, with everything + around wild and fitting—that, he knew, was impossible, utterly. To + transplant her to a great town, to keep, in some little flat or rooms, one + who belonged so wholly to Nature—the poet in him shrank from it. His + passion would be a mere sensuous revel, soon gone; in London, her very + simplicity, her lack of all intellectual quality, would make her his + secret plaything—nothing else. The longer he sat on the rock, with + his feet dangling over a greenish pool from which the sea was ebbing, the + more clearly he saw this; but it was as if her arms and all of her were + slipping slowly, slowly down from him, into the pool, to be carried away + out to sea; and her face looking up, her lost face with beseeching eyes, + and dark, wet hair-possessed, haunted, tortured him! He got up at last, + scaled the low rock-cliff, and made his way down into a sheltered cove. + Perhaps in the sea he could get back his control—lose this fever! + And stripping off his clothes, he swam out. He wanted to tire himself so + that nothing mattered and swam recklessly, fast and far; then suddenly, + for no reason, felt afraid. Suppose he could not reach shore again—suppose + the current set him out—or he got cramp, like Halliday! He turned to + swim in. The red cliffs looked a long way off. If he were drowned they + would find his clothes. The Hallidays would know; but Megan perhaps never—they + took no newspaper at the farm. And Phil Halliday's words came back to him + again: “A girl at Cambridge I might have Glad I haven't got her on my + mind!” And in that moment of unreasoning fear he vowed he would not have + her on his mind. Then his fear left him; he swam in easily enough, dried + himself in the sun, and put on his clothes. His heart felt sore, but no + longer ached; his body cool and refreshed. + </p> + <p> + When one is as young as Ashurst, pity is not a violent emotion. And, back + in the Hallidays' sitting-room, eating a ravenous tea, he felt much like a + man recovered from fever. Everything seemed new and clear; the tea, the + buttered toast and jam tasted absurdly good; tobacco had never smelt so + nice. And walking up and down the empty room, he stopped here and there to + touch or look. He took up Stella's work-basket, fingered the cotton reels + and a gaily-coloured plait of sewing silks, smelt at the little bag filled + with woodroffe she kept among them. He sat down at the piano, playing + tunes with one finger, thinking: 'To-night she'll play; I shall watch her + while she's playing; it does me good to watch her.' He took up the book, + which still lay where she had placed it beside him, and tried to read. But + Megan's little, sad figure began to come back at once, and he got up and + leaned in the window, listening to the thrushes in the Crescent gardens, + gazing at the sea, dreamy and blue below the trees. A servant came in and + cleared the tea away, and he still stood, inhaling the evening air, trying + not to think. Then he saw the Hallidays coming through the gate of the + Crescent, Stella a little in front of Phil and the children, with their + baskets, and instinctively he drew back. His heart, too sore and + discomfited, shrank from this encounter, yet wanted its friendly solace—bore + a grudge against this influence, yet craved its cool innocence, and the + pleasure of watching Stella's face. From against the wall behind the piano + he saw her come in and stand looking a little blank as though + disappointed; then she saw him and smiled, a swift, brilliant smile which + warmed yet irritated Ashurst. + </p> + <p> + “You never came after us, Frank.” + </p> + <p> + “No; I found I couldn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Look! We picked such lovely late violets!” She held out a bunch. Ashurst + put his nose to them, and there stirred within him vague longings, chilled + instantly by a vision of Megan's anxious face lifted to the faces of the + passers-by. + </p> + <p> + He said shortly: “How jolly!” and turned away. He went up to his room, + and, avoiding the children, who were coming up the stairs, threw himself + on his bed, and lay there with his arms crossed over his face. Now that he + felt the die really cast, and Megan given up, he hated himself, and almost + hated the Hallidays and their atmosphere of healthy, happy English homes. + </p> + <p> + Why should they have chanced here, to drive away first love—to show + him that he was going to be no better than a common seducer? What right + had Stella, with her fair, shy beauty, to make him know for certain that + he would never marry Megan; and, tarnishing it all, bring him such + bitterness of regretful longing and such pity? Megan would be back by now, + worn out by her miserable seeking—poor little thing!—expecting, + perhaps, to find him there when she reached home. Ashurst bit at his + sleeve, to stifle a groan of remorseful longing. He went to dinner glum + and silent, and his mood threw a dinge even over the children. It was a + melancholy, rather ill tempered evening, for they were all tired; several + times he caught Stella looking at him with a hurt, puzzled expression, and + this pleased his evil mood. He slept miserably; got up quite early, and + wandered out. He went down to the beach. Alone there with the serene, the + blue, the sunlit sea, his heart relaxed a little. Conceited fool—to + think that Megan would take it so hard! In a week or two she would almost + have forgotten! And he well, he would have the reward of virtue! A good + young man! If Stella knew, she would give him her blessing for resisting + that devil she believed in; and he uttered a hard laugh. But slowly the + peace and beauty of sea and sky, the flight of the lonely seagulls, made + him feel ashamed. He bathed, and turned homewards. + </p> + <p> + In the Crescent gardens Stella herself was sitting on a camp stool, + sketching. He stole up close behind. How fair and pretty she was, bent + diligently, holding up her brush, measuring, wrinkling her brows. + </p> + <p> + He said gently: + </p> + <p> + “Sorry I was such a beast last night, Stella.” + </p> + <p> + She turned round, startled, flushed very pink, and said in her quick way: + </p> + <p> + “It's all right. I knew there was something. Between friends it doesn't + matter, does it?” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst answered: + </p> + <p> + “Between friends—and we are, aren't we?” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him, nodded vehemently, and her upper teeth gleamed again + in that swift, brilliant smile. + </p> + <p> + Three days later he went back to London, travelling with the Hallidays. He + had not written to the farm. What was there he could say? + </p> + <p> + On the last day of April in the following year he and Stella were + married.... + </p> + <p> + Such were Ashurst's memories, sitting against the wall among the gorse, on + his silver-wedding day. At this very spot, where he had laid out the + lunch, Megan must have stood outlined against the sky when he had first + caught sight of her. Of all queer coincidences! And there moved in him a + longing to go down and see again the farm and the orchard, and the meadow + of the gipsy bogle. It would not take long; Stella would be an hour yet, + perhaps. + </p> + <p> + How well he remembered it all—the little crowning group of pine + trees, the steep-up grass hill behind! He paused at the farm gate. The low + stone house, the yew-tree porch, the flowering currants—not changed + a bit; even the old green chair was out there on the grass under the + window, where he had reached up to her that night to take the key. Then he + turned down the lane, and stood leaning on the orchard gate-grey skeleton + of a gate, as then. A black pig even was wandering in there among the + trees. Was it true that twenty-six years had passed, or had he dreamed and + awakened to find Megan waiting for him by the big apple tree? + Unconsciously he put up his hand to his grizzled beard and brought himself + back to reality. Opening the gate, he made his way down through the docks + and nettles till he came to the edge, and the old apple tree itself. + Unchanged! A little more of the greygreen lichen, a dead branch or two, + and for the rest it might have been only last night that he had embraced + that mossy trunk after Megan's flight and inhaled its woody savour, while + above his head the moonlit blossom had seemed to breathe and live. In that + early spring a few buds were showing already; the blackbirds shouting + their songs, a cuckoo calling, the sunlight bright and warm. Incredibly + the same-the chattering trout-stream, the narrow pool he had lain in every + morning, splashing the water over his flanks and chest; and out there in + the wild meadow the beech clump and the stone where the gipsy bogie was + supposed to sit. And an ache for lost youth, a hankering, a sense of + wasted love and sweetness, gripped Ashurst by the throat. Surely, on this + earth of such wild beauty, one was meant to hold rapture to one's heart, + as this earth and sky held it! And yet, one could not! + </p> + <p> + He went to the edge of the stream, and looking down at the little pool, + thought: 'Youth and spring! What has become of them all, I wonder?' + </p> + <p> + And then, in sudden fear of having this memory jarred by human encounter, + he went back to the lane, and pensively retraced his steps to the + crossroads. + </p> + <p> + Beside the car an old, grey-bearded labourer was leaning on a stick, + talking to the chauffeur. He broke off at once, as though guilty of + disrespect, and touching his hat, prepared to limp on down the lane. + </p> + <p> + Ashurst pointed to the narrow green mound. “Can you tell me what this is?” + </p> + <p> + The old fellow stopped; on his face had come a look as though he were + thinking: 'You've come to the right shop, mister!' + </p> + <p> + “'Tes a grave,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “But why out here?” + </p> + <p> + The old man smiled. “That's a tale, as yu may say. An' not the first time + as I've a-told et—there's plenty folks asks 'bout that bit o' turf. + 'Maid's Grave' us calls et, 'ereabouts.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst held out his pouch. “Have a fill?” + </p> + <p> + The old man touched his hat again, and slowly filled an old clay pipe. His + eyes, looking upward out of a mass of wrinkles and hair, were still quite + bright. + </p> + <p> + “If yu don' mind, zurr, I'll zet down my leg's 'urtin' a bit today.” And + he sat down on the mound of turf. + </p> + <p> + “There's always a flower on this grave. An' 'tain't so very lonesome, + neither; brave lot o' folks goes by now, in they new motor cars an' things—not + as 'twas in th' old days. She've a got company up 'ere. 'Twas a poor soul + killed 'erself.” + </p> + <p> + “I see!” said Ashurst. “Cross-roads burial. I didn't know that custom was + kept up.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! but 'twas a main long time ago. Us 'ad a parson as was very + God-fearin' then. Let me see, I've a 'ad my pension six year come + Michaelmas, an' I were just on fifty when t'appened. There's none livin' + knows more about et than what I du. She belonged close 'ere; same farm as + where I used to work along o' Mrs. Narracombe 'tes Nick Narracombe's now; + I dus a bit for 'im still, odd times.” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst, who was leaning against the gate, lighting his pipe, left his + curved hands before his face for long after the flame of the match had + gone out. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” he said, and to himself his voice sounded hoarse and queer. + </p> + <p> + “She was one in an 'underd, poor maid! I putts a flower 'ere every time I + passes. Pretty maid an' gude maid she was, though they wouldn't burry 'er + up to th' church, nor where she wanted to be burried neither.” The old + labourer paused, and put his hairy, twisted hand flat down on the turf + beside the bluebells. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Ashurst. + </p> + <p> + “In a manner of speakin',” the old man went on, “I think as 'twas a + love-story—though there's no one never knu for zartin. Yu can't tell + what's in a maid's 'ead but that's wot I think about it.” He drew his hand + along the turf. “I was fond o' that maid—don' know as there was + anyone as wasn' fond of 'er. But she was to lovin'-'.arted—that's + where 'twas, I think.” He looked up. And Ashurst, whose lips were + trembling in the cover of his beard, murmured again: “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “'Twas in the spring, 'bout now as 't might be, or a little later—blossom + time—an' we 'ad one o' they young college gentlemen stayin' at the + farm-nice feller tu, with 'is 'ead in the air. I liked 'e very well, an' I + never see nothin' between 'em, but to my thinkin' 'e turned the maid's + fancy.” The old man took the pipe out of his mouth, spat, and went on: + </p> + <p> + “Yu see, 'e went away sudden one day, an' never come back. They got 'is + knapsack and bits o' things down there still. That's what stuck in my mind—'is + never sendin' for 'em. 'Is name was Ashes, or somethen' like that.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Ashurst once more. + </p> + <p> + The old man licked his lips. + </p> + <p> + “'Er never said nothin', but from that day 'er went kind of dazed lukin'. + didn'seem rightly therr at all. I never knu a'uman creature so changed in + me life—never. There was another young feller at the farm—Joe + Biddaford 'is name wer', that was praaperly sweet on 'er, tu; I guess 'e + used to plague 'er wi 'is attentions. She got to luke quite wild. I'd zee + her sometimes of an avenin' when I was bringin' up the calves; ther' she'd + stand in th' orchard, under the big apple tree, lukin' straight before + 'er. 'Well,' I used t'think, 'I dunno what 'tes that's the matter wi' yu, + but yu'm lukin' pittiful, that yu be!'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + The old man refit his pipe, and sucked at it reflectively. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Ashurst. + </p> + <p> + “I remembers one day I said to 'er: 'What's the matter, Megan?'—'er + name was Megan David, she come from Wales same as 'er aunt, ol' Missis + Narracombe. 'Yu'm frettin' about somethin'. I says. 'No, Jim,' she says, + 'I'm not frettin'.' 'Yes, yu be!' I says. 'No,' she says, and to tears + cam' rollin' out. 'Yu'm cryin'—what's that, then?' I says. She putts + 'er 'and over 'er 'eart: 'It 'urts me,' she says; 'but 'twill sune be + better,' she says. 'But if anything shude 'appen to me, Jim, I wants to be + burried under this 'ere apple tree.' I laughed. 'What's goin' to 'appen to + yu?' I says; 'don't 'ee be fulish.' 'No,' she says, 'I won't be fulish.' + Well, I know what maids are, an' I never thought no more about et, till + two days arter that, 'bout six in the avenin' I was comin' up wi' the + calves, when I see somethin' dark lyin' in the strame, close to that big + apple tree. I says to meself: 'Is that a pig-funny place for a pig to get + to!' an' I goes up to et, an' I see what 'twas.” + </p> + <p> + The old man stopped; his eyes, turned upward, had a bright, suffering + look. + </p> + <p> + “'Twas the maid, in a little narrer pool ther' that's made by the stoppin' + of a rock—where I see the young gentleman bathin' once or twice. 'Er + was lyin' on 'er face in the watter. There was a plant o' goldie-cups + growin' out o' the stone just above 'er'ead. An' when I come to luke at + 'er face, 'twas luvly, butiful, so calm's a baby's—wonderful butiful + et was. When the doctor saw 'er, 'e said: 'Er culdn' never a-done it in + that little bit o' watter ef' er 'adn't a-been in an extarsy.' Ah! an' + judgin' from 'er face, that was just 'ow she was. Et made me cry + praaper-butiful et was! 'Twas June then, but she'd afound a little bit of + apple-blossom left over somewheres, and stuck et in 'er 'air. That's why I + thinks 'er must abeen in an extarsy, to go to et gay, like that. Why! + there wasn't more than a fute and 'arf o' watter. But I tell 'ee one thing—that + meadder's 'arnted; I knu et, an' she knu et; an' no one'll persuade me as + 'tesn't. I told 'em what she said to me 'bout bein' burried under th' + apple tree. But I think that turned 'em—made et luke to much 's ef + she'd 'ad it in 'er mind deliberate; an' so they burried 'er up 'ere. + Parson we 'ad then was very particular, 'e was.” + </p> + <p> + Again the old man drew his hand over the turf. + </p> + <p> + “'Tes wonderful, et seems,” he added slowly, “what maids 'll du for love. + She 'ad a lovin-'.art; I guess 'twas broken. But us never knu nothin'.” + </p> + <p> + He looked up as if for approval of his story, but Ashurst had walked past + him as if he were not there. + </p> + <p> + Up on the top of the hill, beyond where he had spread the lunch, over, out + of sight, he lay down on his face. So had his virtue been rewarded, and + “the Cyprian,” goddess of love, taken her revenge! And before his eyes, + dim with tears, came Megan's face with the sprig of apple blossom in her + dark, wet hair. 'What did I do that was wrong?' he thought. 'What did I + do?' But he could not answer. Spring, with its rush of passion, its + flowers and song-the spring in his heart and Megan's! Was it just Love + seeking a victim! The Greek was right, then—the words of the + “Hippolytus” as true to-day! + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “For mad is the heart of Love, + And gold the gleam of his wing; + And all to the spell thereof + Bend when he makes his spring. + All life that is wild and young + In mountain and wave and stream + All that of earth is sprung, + Or breathes in the red sunbeam; + Yea, and Mankind. O'er all a royal throne, + Cyprian, Cyprian, is thine alone!” + </pre> + <p> + The Greek was right! Megan! Poor little Megan—coming over the hill! + Megan under the old apple tree waiting and looking! Megan dead, with + beauty printed on her! + </p> + <p> + A voice said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh, there you are! Look!” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst rose, took his wife's sketch, and stared at it in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Is the foreground right, Frank?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “But there's something wanting, isn't there?” + </p> + <p> + Ashurst nodded. Wanting? The apple tree, the singing, and the gold! + </p> + <p> + And solemnly he put his lips to her forehead. It was his silver-wedding + day. 1916 + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE JURYMAN + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Don't you see, brother, I was reading yesterday the Gospel + about Christ, the little Father; how He suffered, how He walked + on the earth. I suppose you have heard about it?” + + “Indeed, I have,” replied Stepanuitch; “but we are people in + darkness; we can't read.”—TOLSTOI. +</pre> + <p> + Mr. Henry Bosengate, of the London Stock Exchange, seated himself in his + car that morning during the great war with a sense of injury. Major in a + Volunteer Corps; member of all the local committees; lending this very car + to the neighbouring hospital, at times even driving it himself for their + benefit; subscribing to funds, so far as his diminished income permitted—he + was conscious of being an asset to the country, and one whose time could + not be wasted with impunity. To be summoned to sit on a jury at the local + assizes, and not even the grand jury at that! It was in the nature of an + outrage. + </p> + <p> + Strong and upright, with hazel eyes and dark eyebrows, pinkish-brown + cheeks, a forehead white, well-shaped, and getting high, with greyish hair + glossy and well-brushed, and a trim moustache, he might have been taken + for that colonel of Volunteers which indeed he was in a fair way of + becoming. + </p> + <p> + His wife had followed him out under the porch, and stood bracing her + supple body clothed in lilac linen. Red rambler roses formed a sort of + crown to her dark head; her ivory-coloured face had in it just a + suggestion of the Japanese. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bosengate spoke through the whirr of the engine: + </p> + <p> + “I don't expect to be late, dear. This business is ridiculous. There + oughtn't to be any crime in these days.” + </p> + <p> + His wife—her name was Kathleen—smiled. She looked very pretty + and cool, Mr. Bosengate thought. To him bound on this dull and stuffy + business everything he owned seemed pleasant—the geranium beds + beside the gravel drive, his long, red-brick house mellowing decorously in + its creepers and ivy, the little clock-tower over stables now converted to + a garage, the dovecote, masking at the other end the conservatory which + adjoined the billiard-room. Close to the red-brick lodge his two children, + Kate and Harry, ran out from under the acacia trees, and waved to him, + scrambling bare-legged on to the low, red, ivy-covered wall which guarded + his domain of eleven acres. Mr. Bosengate waved back, thinking: 'Jolly + couple—by Jove, they are!' Above their heads, through the trees, he + could see right away to some Downs, faint in the July heat haze. And he + thought: 'Pretty a spot as one could have got, so close to Town!' + </p> + <p> + Despite the war he had enjoyed these last two years more than any of the + ten since he built “Charmleigh” and settled down to semi-rural domesticity + with his young wife. There had been a certain piquancy, a savour added to + existence, by the country's peril, and all the public service and + sacrifice it demanded. His chauffeur was gone, and one gardener did the + work of three. He enjoyed-positively enjoyed, his committee work; even the + serious decline of business and increase of taxation had not much worried + one continually conscious of the national crisis and his own part therein. + The country had wanted waking up, wanted a lesson in effort and economy; + and the feeling that he had not spared himself in these strenuous times, + had given a zest to those quiet pleasures of bed and board which, at his + age, even the most patriotic could retain with a good conscience. He had + denied himself many things—new clothes, presents for Kathleen and + the children, travel, and that pine-apple house which he had been on the + point of building when the war broke out; new wine, too, and cigars, and + membership of the two Clubs which he had never used in the old days. The + hours had seemed fuller and longer, sleep better earned—wonderful, + the things one could do without when put to it! He turned the car into the + high road, driving dreamily for he was in plenty of time. The war was + going pretty well now; he was no fool optimist, but now that conscription + was in force, one might reasonably hope for its end within a year. Then + there would be a boom, and one might let oneself go a little. Visions of + theatres and supper with his wife at the Savoy afterwards, and cosy night + drives back into the sweet-smelling country behind your own chauffeur once + more teased a fancy which even now did not soar beyond the confines of + domestic pleasures. He pictured his wife in new dresses by Jay—she + was fifteen years younger than himself, and “paid for dressing” as they + said. He had always delighted—as men older than their wives will—in + the admiration she excited from others not privileged to enjoy her charms. + Her rather queer and ironical beauty, her cool irreproachable wifeliness, + was a constant balm to him. They would give dinner parties again, have + their friends down from town, and he would once more enjoy sitting at the + foot of the dinner table while Kathleen sat at the head, with the light + soft on her ivory shoulders, behind flowers she had arranged in that + original way of hers, and fruit which he had grown in his hot-houses; once + more he would take legitimate interest in the wine he offered to his + guests—once more stock that Chinese cabinet wherein he kept cigars. + Yes—there was a certain satisfaction in these days of privation, if + only from the anticipation they created. + </p> + <p> + The sprinkling of villas had become continuous on either side of the high + road; and women going out to shop, tradesmen's boys delivering victuals, + young men in khaki, began to abound. Now and then a limping or bandaged + form would pass—some bit of human wreckage; and Mr. Bosengate would + think mechanically: 'Another of those poor devils! Wonder if we've had his + case before us!' + </p> + <p> + Running his car into the best hotel garage of the little town, he made his + way leisurely over to the court. It stood back from the market-place, and + was already lapped by a sea of persons having, as in the outer ring at + race meetings, an air of business at which one must not be caught out, + together with a soaked or flushed appearance. Mr. Bosengate could not + resist putting his handkerchief to his nose. He had carefully drenched it + with lavender water, and to this fact owed, perhaps, his immunity from the + post of foreman on the jury—for, say what you will about the + English, they have a deep instinct for affairs. + </p> + <p> + He found himself second in the front row of the jury box, and through the + odour of “Sanitas” gazed at the judge's face expressionless up there, for + all the world like a bewigged bust. His fellows in the box had that + appearance of falling between two classes characteristic of jurymen. Mr. + Bosengate was not impressed. On one side of him the foreman sat, a + prominent upholsterer, known in the town as “Gentleman Fox.” His dark and + beautifully brushed and oiled hair and moustache, his radiant linen, gold + watch and chain, the white piping to his waistcoat, and a habit of never + saying “Sir” had long marked him out from commoner men; he undertook to + bury people too, to save them trouble; and was altogether superior. On the + other side Mr. Bosengate had one of those men, who, except when they sit + on juries, are never seen without a little brown bag, and the appearance + of having been interrupted in a drink. Pale and shiny, with large loose + eyes shifting from side to side, he had an underdone voice and uneasy + flabby hands. Mr. Bosengate disliked sitting next to him. Beyond this + commercial traveller sat a dark pale young man with spectacles; beyond him + again, a short old man with grey moustache, mutton chops, and innumerable + wrinkles; and the front row was completed by a chemist. The three + immediately behind, Mr. Bosengate did not thoroughly master; but the three + at the end of the second row he learned in their order of an oldish man in + a grey suit, given to winking; an inanimate person with the mouth of a + moustachioed codfish, over whose long bald crown three wisps of damp hair + were carefully arranged; and a dried, dapperish, clean-shorn man, whose + mouth seemed terrified lest it should be surprised without a smile. Their + first and second verdicts were recorded without the necessity for + withdrawal, and Mr. Bosengate was already sleepy when the third case was + called. The sight of khaki revived his drooping attention. But what a + weedy-looking specimen! This prisoner had a truly nerveless pitiable + dejected air. If he had ever had a military bearing it had shrunk into him + during his confinement. His ill-shaped brown tunic, whose little brass + buttons seemed trying to keep smiling, struck Mr. Bosengate as + ridiculously short, used though he was to such things. 'Absurd,' he + thought—'Lumbago! Just where they ought to be covered!' Then the + officer and gentleman stirred in him, and he added to himself: 'Still, + there must be some distinction made!' The little soldier's visage had once + perhaps been tanned, but was now the colour of dark dough; his large brown + eyes with white showing below the iris, as so often in the eyes of very + nervous people—wandered from face to face, of judge, counsel, jury, + and public. There were hollows in his cheeks, his dark hair looked damp; + around his neck he wore a bandage. The commercial traveller on Mr. + Bosengate's left turned, and whispered: “Felo de se! My hat! what a guy!” + Mr. Bosengate pretended not to hear—he could not bear that fellow!—and + slowly wrote on a bit of paper: “Owen Lewis.” Welsh! Well, he looked it—not + at all an English face. Attempted suicide—not at all an English + crime! Suicide implied surrender, a putting-up of hands to Fate—to + say nothing of the religious aspect of the matter. And suicide in khaki + seemed to Mr. Bosengate particularly abhorrent; like turning tail in face + of the enemy; almost meriting the fate of a deserter. He looked at the + prisoner, trying not to give way to this prejudice. And the prisoner + seemed to look at him, though this, perhaps, was fancy. + </p> + <p> + The Counsel for the prosecution, a little, alert, grey, decided man, above + military age, began detailing the circumstances of the crime. Mr. + Bosengate, though not particularly sensitive to atmosphere, could perceive + a sort of current running through the Court. It was as if jury and public + were thinking rhythmically in obedience to the same unexpressed prejudice + of which he himself was conscious. Even the Caesar-like pale face up + there, presiding, seemed in its ironic serenity responding to that + current. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen of the jury, before I call my evidence, I direct your attention + to the bandage the accused is still wearing. He gave himself this wound + with his Army razor, adding, if I may say so, insult to the injury he was + inflicting on his country. He pleads not guilty; and before the + magistrates he said that absence from his wife was preying on his mind”—the + advocate's close lips widened—“Well, gentlemen, if such an excuse is + to weigh with us in these days, I'm sure I don't know what's to happen to + the Empire.” + </p> + <p> + 'No, by George!' thought Mr. Bosengate. + </p> + <p> + The evidence of the first witness, a room-mate who had caught the + prisoner's hand, and of the sergeant, who had at once been summoned, was + conclusive and he began to cherish a hope that they would get through + without withdrawing, and he would be home before five. But then a hitch + occurred. The regimental doctor failed to respond when his name was + called; and the judge having for the first time that day showed himself + capable of human emotion, intimated that he would adjourn until the + morrow. + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bosengate received the announcement with equanimity. He would be home + even earlier! And gathering up the sheets of paper he had scribbled on, he + put them in his pocket and got up. The would-be suicide was being taken + out of the court—a shambling drab figure with shoulders hunched. + What good were men like that in these days! What good! The prisoner looked + up. Mr. Bosengate encountered in full the gaze of those large brown eyes, + with the white showing underneath. What a suffering, wretched, pitiful + face! A man had no business to give you a look like that! The prisoner + passed on down the stairs, and vanished. Mr. Bosengate went out and across + the market place to the garage of the hotel where he had left his car. The + sun shone fiercely and he thought: 'I must do some watering in the + garden.' He brought the car out, and was about to start the engine, when + someone passing said: “Good evenin'. Seedy-lookin' beggar that last + prisoner, ain't he? We don't want men of that stamp.” It was his neighbour + on the jury, the commercial traveller, in a straw hat, with a little brown + bag already in his hand and the froth of an interrupted drink on his + moustache. Answering curtly: “Good evening!” and thinking: 'Nor of yours, + my friend!' Mr. Bosengate started the car with unnecessary clamour. But as + if brought back to life by the commercial traveller's remark, the + prisoner's figure seemed to speed along too, turning up at Mr. Bosengate + his pitifully unhappy eyes. Want of his wife!—queer excuse that for + trying to put it out of his power ever to see her again! Why! Half a loaf, + even a slice, was better than no bread. Not many of that neurotic type in + the Army—thank Heaven! The lugubrious figure vanished, and Mr. + Bosengate pictured instead the form of his own wife bending over her + “Gloire de Dijon roses” in the rosery, where she generally worked a little + before tea now that they were short of gardeners. He saw her, as often he + had seen her, raise herself and stand, head to one side, a gloved hand on + her slender hip, gazing as it were ironically from under drooped lids at + buds which did not come out fast enough. And the word 'Caline,' for he was + something of a French scholar, shot through his mind: 'Kathleen—Caline!' + If he found her there when he got in, he would steal up on the grass and—ah! + but with great care not to crease her dress or disturb her hair! 'If only + she weren't quite so self-contained,' he thought; 'It's like a cat you + can't get near, not really near!' + </p> + <p> + The car, returning faster than it had come down that morning, had already + passed the outskirt villas, and was breasting the hill to where, among + fields and the old trees, Charmleigh lay apart from commoner life. Turning + into his drive, Mr. Bosengate thought with a certain surprise: 'I wonder + what she does think of! I wonder!' He put his gloves and hat down in the + outer hall and went into the lavatory, to dip his face in cool water and + wash it with sweet-smelling soap—delicious revenge on the unclean + atmosphere in which he had been stewing so many hours. He came out again + into the hall dazed by soap and the mellowed light, and a voice from + half-way up the stairs said: “Daddy! Look!” His little daughter was + standing up there with one hand on the banisters. She scrambled on to them + and came sliding down, her frock up to her eyes, and her holland knickers + to her middle. Mr. Bosengate said mildly: + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's elegant!” + </p> + <p> + “Tea's in the summer-house. Mummy's waiting. Come on!” + </p> + <p> + With her hand in his, Mr. Bosengate went on, through the drawing-room, + long and cool, with sun-blinds down, through the billiard-room, high and + cool, through the conservatory, green and sweet-smelling, out on to the + terrace and the upper lawn. He had never felt such sheer exhilarated joy + in his home surroundings, so cool, glistening and green under the July + sun; and he said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Kit, what have you all been doing?” + </p> + <p> + “I've fed my rabbits and Harry's; and we've been in the attic; Harry got + his leg through the skylight.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bosengate drew in his breath with a hiss. + </p> + <p> + “It's all right, Daddy; we got it out again, it's only grazed the skin. + And we've been making swabs—I made seventeen, Mummy made + thirty-three, and then she went to the hospital. Did you put many men in + prison?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bosengate cleared his throat. The question seemed to him untimely. + </p> + <p> + “Only two.” + </p> + <p> + “What's it like in prison, Daddy?” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bosengate, who had no more knowledge than his little daughter, replied + in an absent voice: + </p> + <p> + “Not very nice.” + </p> + <p> + They were passing under a young oak tree, where the path wound round to + the rosery and summer-house. Something shot down and clawed Mr. + Bosengate's neck. His little daughter began to hop and suffocate with + laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Daddy! Aren't you caught! I led you on purpose!” + </p> + <p> + Looking up, Mr. Bosengate saw his small son lying along a low branch above + him—like the leopard he was declaring himself to be (for fear of + error), and thought blithely: 'What an active little chap it is!' “Let me + drop on your shoulders, Daddy—like they do on the deer.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! Do be a deer, Daddy!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bosengate did not see being a deer; his hair had just been brushed. + But he entered the rosery buoyantly between his offspring. His wife was + standing precisely as he had imagined her, in a pale blue frock open at + the neck, with a narrow black band round the waist, and little accordion + pleats below. She looked her coolest. Her smile, when she turned her head, + hardly seemed to take Mr. Bosengate seriously enough. He placed his lips + below one of her half-drooped eyelids. She even smelled of roses. His + children began to dance round their mother, and Mr. Bosengate,—firmly + held between them, was also compelled to do this, until she said: + </p> + <p> + “When you've quite done, let's have tea!” + </p> + <p> + It was not the greeting he had imagined coming along in the car. Earwigs + were plentiful in the summer-house—used perhaps twice a year, but + indispensable to every country residence—and Mr. Bosengate was not + sorry for the excuse to get out again. Though all was so pleasant, he felt + oddly restless, rather suffocated; and lighting his pipe, began to move + about among the roses, blowing tobacco at the greenfly; in war-time one + was never quite idle! And suddenly he said: + </p> + <p> + “We're trying a wretched Tommy at the assizes.” + </p> + <p> + His wife looked up from a rose. + </p> + <p> + “What for?” + </p> + <p> + “Attempted suicide.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did he?” + </p> + <p> + “Can't stand the separation from his wife.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him, gave a low laugh, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bosengate was puzzled. Why did she laugh? He looked round, saw that + the children were gone, took his pipe from his mouth, and approached her. + </p> + <p> + “You look very pretty,” he said. “Give me a kiss!” + </p> + <p> + His wife bent her body forward from the waist, and pushed her lips out + till they touched his moustache. Mr. Bosengate felt a sensation as if he + had arisen from breakfast, without having eaten marmalade. He mastered it, + and said: + </p> + <p> + “That jury are a rum lot.” + </p> + <p> + His wife's eyelids flickered. “I wish women sat on juries.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “It would be an experience.” + </p> + <p> + Not the first time she had used that curious expression! Yet her life was + far from dull, so far as he could see; with the new interests created by + the war, and the constant calls on her time made by the perfection of + their home life, she had a useful and busy existence. Again the random + thought passed through him: 'But she never tells me anything!' And + suddenly that lugubrious khaki-clad figure started up among the rose + bushes. “We've got a lot to be thankful for!” he said abruptly. “I must go + to work!” His wife, raising one eyebrow, smiled. “And I to weep!” Mr. + Bosengate laughed—she had a pretty wit! And stroking his comely + moustache where it had been kissed, he moved out into the sunshine. All + the evening, throughout his labours, not inconsiderable, for this jury + business had put him behind time, he was afflicted by that restless + pleasure in his surroundings; would break off in mowing the lower lawn to + look at the house through the trees; would leave his study and committee + papers, to cross into the drawing-room and sniff its dainty fragrance; + paid a special good-night visit to the children having supper in the + schoolroom; pottered in and out from his dressing room to admire his wife + while she was changing for dinner; dined with his mind perpetually on the + next course; talked volubly of the war; and in the billiard room + afterwards, smoking the pipe which had taken the place of his cigar, could + not keep still, but roamed about, now in conservatory, now in the + drawing-room, where his wife and the governess were still making swabs. It + seemed to him that he could not have enough of anything. About eleven + o'clock he strolled out beautiful night, only just dark enough—under + the new arrangement with Time—and went down to the little round + fountain below the terrace. His wife was playing the piano. Mr. Bosengate + looked at the water and the flat dark water lily leaves which floated + there; looked up at the house, where only narrow chinks of light showed, + because of the Lighting Order. The dreamy music drifted out; there was a + scent of heliotrope. He moved a few steps back, and sat in the children's + swing under an old lime tree. Jolly—blissful—in the warm, + bloomy dark! Of all hours of the day, this before going to bed was perhaps + the pleasantest. He saw the light go up in his wife's bed room, unscreened + for a full minute, and thought: 'Aha! If I did my duty as a special, I + should “strafe” her for that.' She came to the window, her figure lighted, + hands up to the back of her head, so that her bare arms gleamed. Mr. + Bosengate wafted her a kiss, knowing he could not be seen. 'Lucky chap!' + he mused; 'she's a great joy!' Up went her arm, down came the blind the + house was dark again. He drew a long breath. 'Another ten minutes,' he + thought, 'then I'll go in and shut up. By Jove! The limes are beginning to + smell already!' And, the better to take in that acme of his well-being, he + tilted the swing, lifted his feet from the ground, and swung himself + toward the scented blossoms. He wanted to whelm his senses in their + perfume, and closed his eyes. But instead of the domestic vision he + expected, the face of the little Welsh soldier, hare-eyed, shadowy, + pinched and dark and pitiful, started up with such disturbing vividness + that he opened his eyes again at once. Curse! The fellow almost haunted + one! Where would he be now poor little devil!—lying in his cell, + thinking—thinking of his wife! Feeling suddenly morbid, Mr. + Bosengate arrested the swing and stood up. Absurd!—all his + well-being and mood of warm anticipation had deserted him! 'A d—-d + world!' he thought. 'Such a lot of misery! Why should I have to sit in + judgment on that poor beggar, and condemn him?' He moved up on to the + terrace and walked briskly, to rid himself of this disturbance before + going in. 'That commercial traveller chap,' he thought, 'the rest of those + fellows—they see nothing!' And, abruptly turning up the three stone + steps, he entered the conservatory, locked it, passed into the billiard + room, and drank his barley water. One of the pictures was hanging crooked; + he went up to put it straight. Still life. Grapes and apples, and—lobsters! + They struck him as odd for the first time. Why lobsters? The whole picture + seemed dead and oily. He turned off the light, and went upstairs, passed + his wife's door, into his own room, and undressed. Clothed in his pyjamas + he opened the door between the rooms. By the light coming from his own he + could see her dark head on the pillow. Was she asleep? No—not + asleep, certainly. The moment of fruition had come; the crowning of his + pride and pleasure in his home. But he continued to stand there. He had + suddenly no pride, no pleasure, no desire; nothing but a sort of dull + resentment against everything. He turned back; shut the door, and slipping + between the heavy curtains and his open window, stood looking out at the + night. 'Full of misery!' he thought. 'Full of d—-d misery!' + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + Filing into the jury box next morning, Mr. Bosengate collided slightly + with a short juryman, whose square figure and square head of stiff + yellow-red hair he had only vaguely noticed the day before. The man looked + angry, and Mr. Bosengate thought: 'An ill-bred dog, that!' + </p> + <p> + He sat down quickly, and, to avoid further recognition of his fellows, + gazed in front of him. His appearance on Saturdays was always military, by + reason of the route march of his Volunteer Corps in the afternoon. + Gentleman Fox, who belonged to the corps too, was also looking square; but + that commercial traveller on his other side seemed more louche, and as if + surprised in immorality, than ever; only the proximity of Gentleman Fox on + the other side kept Mr. Bosengate from shrinking. Then he saw the prisoner + being brought in, shadowy and dark behind the brightness of his buttons, + and he experienced a sort of shock, this figure was so exactly that which + had several times started up in his mind. Somehow he had expected a fresh + sight of the fellow to dispel and disprove what had been haunting him, had + expected to find him just an outside phenomenon, not, as it were, a part + of his own life. And he gazed at the carven immobility of the judge's + face, trying to steady himself, as a drunken man will, by looking at a + light. The regimental doctor, unabashed by the judge's comment on his + absence the day before, gave his evidence like a man who had better things + to do, and the case for the prosecution was forthwith rounded in by a + little speech from counsel. The matter—he said—was clear as + daylight. Those who wore His Majesty's uniform, charged with the + responsibility and privilege of defending their country, were no more + entitled to desert their regiments by taking their own lives than they + were entitled to desert in any other way. He asked for a conviction. Mr. + Bosengate felt a sympathetic shuffle passing through all feet; the judge + was speaking: + </p> + <p> + “Prisoner, you can either go into the witness box and make your statement + on oath, in which case you may be cross-examined on it; or you can make + your statement there from the dock, in which case you will not be + cross-examined. Which do you elect to do?” + </p> + <p> + “From here, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + Seeing him now full face, and, as it might be, come to life in the effort + to convey his feelings, Mr. Bosengate had suddenly a quite different + impression of the fellow. It was as if his khaki had fallen off, and he + had stepped out of his own shadow, a live and quivering creature. His + pinched clean-shaven face seemed to have an irregular, wilder, hairier + look, his large nervous brown eyes darkened and glowed; he jerked his + shoulders, his arms, his whole body, like a man suddenly freed from cramp + or a suit of armour. + </p> + <p> + He spoke, too, in a quick, crisp, rather high voice, pinching his + consonants a little, sharpening his vowels, like a true Welshman. + </p> + <p> + “My lord and misters the jury,” he said: “I was a hairdresser when the + call came on me to join the army. I had a little home and a wife. I never + thought what it would be like to be away from them, I surely never did; + and I'm ashamed to be speaking it out like this—how it can squeeze + and squeeze a man, how it can prey on your mind, when you're nervous like + I am. 'Tis not everyone that cares for his home—there's lots o' them + never wants to see their wives again. But for me 'tis like being shut up + in a cage, it is!” Mr. Bosengate saw daylight between the skinny fingers + of the man's hand thrown out with a jerk. “I cannot bear it shut up away + from wife and home like what you are in the army. So when I took my razor + that morning I was wild—an' I wouldn't be here now but for that man + catching my hand. There was no reason in it, I'm willing to confess. It + was foolish; but wait till you get feeling like what I was, and see how it + draws you. Misters the jury, don't send me back to prison; it is worse + still there. If you have wives you will know what it is like for lots of + us; only some is more nervous than others. I swear to you, sirs, I could + not help it—-?” Again the little man flung out his hand, his whole + thin body shook and Mr. Bosengate felt the same sensation as when he drove + his car over a dog—“Misters the jury, I hope you may never in your + lives feel as I've been feeling.” + </p> + <p> + The little man ceased, his eyes shrank back into their sockets, his figure + back into its mask of shadowy brown and gleaming buttons, and Mr. + Bosengate was conscious that the judge was making a series of remarks; + and, very soon, of being seated at a mahogany table in the jury's + withdrawing room, hearing the voice of the man with hair like an Irish + terrier's saying: “Didn't he talk through his hat, that little blighter!” + Conscious, too, of the commercial traveller, still on his left—always + on his left!—mopping his brow, and muttering: “Phew! It's hot in + there to-day!” while an effluvium, as of an inside accustomed to whisky + came from him. Then the man with the underlip and the three plastered + wisps of hair said: + </p> + <p> + “Don't know why we withdrew, Mr. Foreman!” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bosengate looked round to where, at the head of the table, Gentleman + Fox sat, in defensive gentility and the little white piping to his + waistcoat saying blandly: + </p> + <p> + “I shall be happy to take the sense of the jury.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short silence, then the chemist murmured: + </p> + <p> + “I should say he must have what they call claustrophobia.” + </p> + <p> + “Clauster fiddlesticks! The feller's a shirker, that's all. Missed his + wife—pretty excuse! Indecent, I call it!” + </p> + <p> + The speaker was the little wire-haired man; and emotion, deep and angry, + stirred in Mr. Bosengate. That ill-bred little cur! He gripped the edge of + the table with both hands. + </p> + <p> + “I think it's d——-d natural!” he muttered. But almost before + the words had left his lips he felt dismay. What had he said—he, + nearly a colonel of volunteers—endorsing such a want of patriotism! + And hearing the commercial traveller murmuring: “'Ear, 'ear!” he reddened + violently. + </p> + <p> + The wire-headed man said roughly: + </p> + <p> + “There's too many of these blighted shirkers, and too much pampering of + them.” + </p> + <p> + The turmoil in Mr. Bosengate increased; he remarked in an icy voice: + </p> + <p> + “I agree to no verdict that'll send the man back to prison.” + </p> + <p> + At this a real tremor seemed to go round the table, as if they all saw + themselves sitting there through lunch time. Then the large grey-haired + man given to winking, said: + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Come, sir—after what the judge said! Come, sir! What do you + say, Mr. Foreman?” + </p> + <p> + Gentleman Fox—as who should say 'This is excellent value, but I + don't wish to press it on you!'—answered: + </p> + <p> + “We are only concerned with the facts. Did he or did he not try to shorten + his life?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course he did—said so himself,” Mr. Bosengate heard the + wire-haired man snap out, and from the following murmur of assent he alone + abstained. Guilty! Well—yes! There was no way out of admitting that, + but his feelings revolted against handing “that poor little beggar” over + to the tender mercy of his country's law. His whole soul rose in arms + against agreeing with that ill-bred little cur, and the rest of this + job-lot. He had an impulse to get up and walk out, saying: “Settle it your + own way. Good morning.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems, sir,” Gentleman Fox was saying, “that we're all agreed to + guilty, except yourself. If you will allow me, I don't see how you can go + behind what the prisoner himself admitted.” + </p> + <p> + Thus brought up to the very guns, Mr. Bosengate, red in the face, thrust + his hands deep into the side pockets of his tunic, and, staring straight + before him, said: + </p> + <p> + “Very well; on condition we recommend him to mercy.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you say, gentlemen; shall we recommend him to mercy?” + </p> + <p> + “'Ear, 'ear!” burst from the commercial traveller, and from the chemist + came the murmur: + </p> + <p> + “No harm in that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I think there is. They shoot deserters at the front, and we let + this fellow off. I'd hang the cur.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Bosengate stared at that little wire-haired brute. “Haven't you any + feeling for others?” he wanted to say. “Can't you see that this poor devil + suffers tortures?” But the sheer impossibility of doing this before ten + other men brought a slight sweat out on his face and hands; and in + agitation he smote the table a blow with his fist. The effect was + instantaneous. Everybody looked at the wire-haired man, as if saying: + “Yes, you've gone a bit too far there!” The “little brute” stood it for a + moment, then muttered surlily: + </p> + <p> + “Well, commend 'im to mercy if you like; I don't care.” + </p> + <p> + “That's right; they never pay any attention to it,” said the grey-haired + man, winking heartily. And Mr. Bosengate filed back with the others into + court. + </p> + <p> + But when from the jury box his eyes fell once more on the hare-eyed figure + in the dock, he had his worst moment yet. Why should this poor wretch + suffer so—for no fault, no fault; while he, and these others, and + that snapping counsel, and the Caesar-like judge up there, went off to + their women and their homes, blithe as bees, and probably never thought of + him again? And suddenly he was conscious of the judge's voice: + </p> + <p> + “You will go back to your regiment, and endeavour to serve your country + with better spirit. You may thank the jury that you are not sent to + prison, and your good fortune that you were not at the front when you + tried to commit this cowardly act. You are lucky to be alive.” + </p> + <p> + A policeman pulled the little soldier by the arm; his drab figure with + eyes fixed and lustreless, passed down and away. From his very soul Mr. + Bosengate wanted to lean out and say: “Cheer up, cheer up! I understand.” + </p> + <p> + It was nearly ten o'clock that evening before he reached home, motoring + back from the route march. His physical tiredness was abated, for he had + partaken of a snack and a whisky and soda at the hotel; but mentally he + was in a curious mood. His body felt appeased, his spirit hungry. Tonight + he had a yearning, not for his wife's kisses, but for her understanding. + He wanted to go to her and say: “I've learnt a lot to-day-found out things + I never thought of. Life's a wonderful thing, Kate, a thing one can't live + all to oneself; a thing one shares with everybody, so that when another + suffers, one suffers too. It's come to me that what one has doesn't matter + a bit—it's what one does, and how one sympathises with other people. + It came to me in the most extraordinary vivid way, when I was on that + jury, watching that poor little rat of a soldier in his trap; it's the + first time I've ever felt—the—the spirit of Christ, you know. + It's a wonderful thing, Kate—wonderful! We haven't been close—really + close, you and I, so that we each understand what the other is feeling. + It's all in that, you know; understanding—sympathy—it's + priceless. When I saw that poor little devil taken down and sent back to + his regiment to begin his sorrows all over again—wanting his wife, + thinking and thinking of her just as you know I would be thinking and + wanting you, I felt what an awful outside sort of life we lead, never + telling each other what we really think and feel, never being really + close. I daresay that little chap and his wife keep nothing from each + other—live each other's lives. That's what we ought to do. Let's get + to feeling that what really matters is—understanding and loving, and + not only just saying it as we all do, those fellows on the jury, and even + that poor devil of a judge—what an awful life judging one's + fellow-creatures. + </p> + <p> + “When I left that poor little Tommy this morning, and ever since, I've + longed to get back here quietly to you and tell you about it, and make a + beginning. There's something wonderful in this, and I want you to feel it + as I do, because you mean such a lot to me.” + </p> + <p> + This was what he wanted to say to his wife, not touching, or kissing her, + just looking into her eyes, watching them soften and glow as they surely + must, catching the infection of his new ardour. And he felt unsteady, + fearfully unsteady with the desire to say it all as it should be said: + swiftly, quietly, with the truth and fervour of his feeling. + </p> + <p> + The hall was not lit up, for daylight still lingered under the new + arrangement. He went towards the drawing-room, but from the very door + shied off to his study and stood irresolute under the picture of a “Man + catching a flea” (Dutch school), which had come down to him from his + father. The governess would be in there with his wife! He must wait. + Essential to go straight to Kathleen and pour it all out, or he would + never do it. He felt as nervous as an undergraduate going up for his viva' + voce. This thing was so big, so astoundingly and unexpectedly important. + He was suddenly afraid of his wife, afraid of her coolness and her grace, + and that something Japanese about her—of all those attributes he had + been accustomed to admire most; afraid, as it were, of her attraction. He + felt young to-night, almost boyish; would she see that he was not really + fifteen years older than herself, and she not really a part of his + collection, of all the admirable appointments of his home; but a companion + spirit to one who wanted a companion badly. In this agitation of his soul + he could keep still no more than he could last night in the agitation of + his senses; and he wandered into the dining-room. A dainty supper was set + out there, sandwiches, and cake, whisky and the cigarettes—even an + early peach. Mr. Bosengate looked at this peach with sorrow rather than + disgust. The perfection of it was of a piece with all that had gone before + this new and sudden feeling. Its delicious bloom seemed to heighten his + perception of the hedge around him, that hedge of the things he so + enjoyed, carefully planted and tended these many years. He passed it by + uneaten, and went to the window. Out there all was darkening, the + fountain, the lime tree, the flower-beds, and the fields below, with the + Jersey cows who would come to your call; darkening slowly, losing form, + blurring into soft blackness, vanishing, but there none the less—all + there—the hedge of his possessions. He heard the door of the + drawing-room open, the voices of his wife and the governess in the hall, + going up to bed. If only they didn't look in here! If only! The voices + ceased. He was safe now—had but to follow in a few minutes, to make + sure of Kathleen alone. He turned round and stared down the length of the + dark dining-room, over the rosewood table, to where in the mirror above + the sideboard at the far end, his figure bathed, a stain, a mere blurred + shadow; he made his way down to it along the table edge, and stood before + himself as close as he could get. His throat and the roof of his mouth + felt dry with nervousness; he put out his finger and touched his face in + the glass. 'You're an ass!' he thought. 'Pull yourself together, and get + it over. She will see; of course she will!' He swallowed, smoothed his + moustache, and walked out. Going up the stairs, his heart beat painfully; + but he was in for it now, and marched straight into her room. Dressed only + in a loose blue wrapper, she was brushing her dark hair before the glass. + Mr. Bosengate went up to her and stood there silent, looking down. The + words he had thought of were like a swarm of bees buzzing in his head, yet + not one would fly from between his lips. His wife went on brushing her + hair under the light which shone on her polished elbows. She looked up at + him from beneath one lifted eyebrow. + </p> + <p> + “Well, dear—tired?” + </p> + <p> + With a sort of vehemence the single word “No” passed out. A faint, a + quizzical smile flitted over her face; she shrugged her shoulders ever so + gently. That gesture—he had seen it before! And in desperate desire + to make her understand, he put his hand on her lifted arm. + </p> + <p> + “Kathleen, stop—listen to me!” His fingers tightened in his + agitation and eagerness to make his great discovery known. But before he + could get out a word he became conscious of that cool round arm, conscious + of her eyes half-closed, sliding round at him, of her half-smiling lips, + of her neck under the wrapper. And he stammered: + </p> + <p> + “I want—I must—Kathleen, I—-” + </p> + <p> + She lifted her shoulders again in that little shrug. “Yes—I know; + all right!” + </p> + <p> + A wave of heat and shame, and of God knows what came over Mr. Bosengate; + he fell on his knees and pressed his forehead to her arm; and he was + silent, more silent than the grave. Nothing—nothing came from him + but two long sighs. Suddenly he felt her hand stroke his cheek—compassionately, + it seemed to him. She made a little movement towards him; her lips met + his, and he remembered nothing but that.... + </p> + <p> + In his own room Mr. Bosengate sat at his wide open window, smoking a + cigarette; there was no light. Moths went past, the moon was creeping up. + He sat very calm, puffing the smoke out in to the night air. Curious + thing-life! Curious world! Curious forces in it—making one do the + opposite of what one wished; always—always making one do the + opposite, it seemed! The furtive light from that creeping moon was getting + hold of things down there, stealing in among the boughs of the trees. + 'There's something ironical,' he thought, 'which walks about. Things don't + come off as you think they will. I meant, I tried but one doesn't change + like that all of a sudden, it seems. Fact is, life's too big a thing for + one! All the same, I'm not the man I was yesterday—not quite!' He + closed his eyes, and in one of those flashes of vision which come when the + senses are at rest, he saw himself as it were far down below—down on + the floor of a street narrow as a grave, high as a mountain, a deep dark + slit of a street walking down there, a black midget of a fellow, among + other black midgets—his wife, and the little soldier, the judge, and + those jury chaps—fantoches straight up on their tiny feet, wandering + down there in that dark, infinitely tall, and narrow street. 'Too much for + one!' he thought; 'Too high for one—no getting on top of it. We've + got to be kind, and help one another, and not expect too much, and not + think too much. That's—all!' And, squeezing out his cigarette, he + took six deep breaths of the night air, and got into bed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + INDIAN SUMMER OF A FORSYTE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And Summer's lease hath all + too short a date.” + —Shakespeare +</pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I + </h2> + <p> + In the last day of May in the early 'nineties, about six o'clock of the + evening, old Jolyon Forsyte sat under the oak tree below the terrace of + his house at Robin Hill. He was waiting for the midges to bite him, before + abandoning the glory of the afternoon. His thin brown hand, where blue + veins stood out, held the end of a cigar in its tapering, long-nailed + fingers—a pointed polished nail had survived with him from those + earlier Victorian days when to touch nothing, even with the tips of the + fingers, had been so distinguished. His domed forehead, great white + moustache, lean cheeks, and long lean jaw were covered from the westering + sunshine by an old brown Panama hat. His legs were crossed; in all his + attitude was serenity and a kind of elegance, as of an old man who every + morning put eau de Cologne upon his silk handkerchief. At his feet lay a + woolly brown-and-white dog trying to be a Pomeranian—the dog + Balthasar between whom and old Jolyon primal aversion had changed into + attachment with the years. Close to his chair was a swing, and on the + swing was seated one of Holly's dolls—called 'Duffer Alice'—with + her body fallen over her legs and her doleful nose buried in a black + petticoat. She was never out of disgrace, so it did not matter to her how + she sat. Below the oak tree the lawn dipped down a bank, stretched to the + fernery, and, beyond that refinement, became fields, dropping to the pond, + the coppice, and the prospect—'Fine, remarkable'—at which + Swithin Forsyte, from under this very tree, had stared five years ago when + he drove down with Irene to look at the house. Old Jolyon had heard of his + brother's exploit—that drive which had become quite celebrated on + Forsyte 'Change. Swithin! And the fellow had gone and died, last November, + at the age of only seventy-nine, renewing the doubt whether Forsytes could + live for ever, which had first arisen when Aunt Ann passed away. Died! and + left only Jolyon and James, Roger and Nicholas and Timothy, Julia, Hester, + Susan! And old Jolyon thought: 'Eighty-five! I don't feel it—except + when I get that pain.' + </p> + <p> + His memory went searching. He had not felt his age since he had bought his + nephew Soames' ill-starred house and settled into it here at Robin Hill + over three years ago. It was as if he had been getting younger every + spring, living in the country with his son and his grandchildren—June, + and the little ones of the second marriage, Jolly and Holly; living down + here out of the racket of London and the cackle of Forsyte 'Change,' free + of his boards, in a delicious atmosphere of no work and all play, with + plenty of occupation in the perfecting and mellowing of the house and its + twenty acres, and in ministering to the whims of Holly and Jolly. All the + knots and crankiness, which had gathered in his heart during that long and + tragic business of June, Soames, Irene his wife, and poor young Bosinney, + had been smoothed out. Even June had thrown off her melancholy at last—witness + this travel in Spain she was taking now with her father and her + stepmother. Curiously perfect peace was left by their departure; blissful, + yet blank, because his son was not there. Jo was never anything but a + comfort and a pleasure to him nowadays—an amiable chap; but women, + somehow—even the best—got a little on one's nerves, unless of + course one admired them. + </p> + <p> + Far-off a cuckoo called; a wood-pigeon was cooing from the first elm-tree + in the field, and how the daisies and buttercups had sprung up after the + last mowing! The wind had got into the sou' west, too—a delicious + air, sappy! He pushed his hat back and let the sun fall on his chin and + cheek. Somehow, to-day, he wanted company—wanted a pretty face to + look at. People treated the old as if they wanted nothing. And with the + un-Forsytean philosophy which ever intruded on his soul, he thought: + 'One's never had enough. With a foot in the grave one'll want something, I + shouldn't be surprised!' Down here—away from the exigencies of + affairs—his grandchildren, and the flowers, trees, birds of his + little domain, to say nothing of sun and moon and stars above them, said, + 'Open, sesame,' to him day and night. And sesame had opened—how + much, perhaps, he did not know. He had always been responsive to what they + had begun to call 'Nature,' genuinely, almost religiously responsive, + though he had never lost his habit of calling a sunset a sunset and a view + a view, however deeply they might move him. But nowadays Nature actually + made him ache, he appreciated it so. Every one of these calm, bright, + lengthening days, with Holly's hand in his, and the dog Balthasar in front + looking studiously for what he never found, he would stroll, watching the + roses open, fruit budding on the walls, sunlight brightening the oak + leaves and saplings in the coppice, watching the water-lily leaves unfold + and glisten, and the silvery young corn of the one wheat field; listening + to the starlings and skylarks, and the Alderney cows chewing the cud, + flicking slow their tufted tails; and every one of these fine days he + ached a little from sheer love of it all, feeling perhaps, deep down, that + he had not very much longer to enjoy it. The thought that some day—perhaps + not ten years hence, perhaps not five—all this world would be taken + away from him, before he had exhausted his powers of loving it, seemed to + him in the nature of an injustice brooding over his horizon. If anything + came after this life, it wouldn't be what he wanted; not Robin Hill, and + flowers and birds and pretty faces—too few, even now, of those about + him! With the years his dislike of humbug had increased; the orthodoxy he + had worn in the 'sixties, as he had worn side-whiskers out of sheer + exuberance, had long dropped off, leaving him reverent before three things + alone—beauty, upright conduct, and the sense of property; and the + greatest of these now was beauty. He had always had wide interests, and, + indeed could still read The Times, but he was liable at any moment to put + it down if he heard a blackbird sing. Upright conduct, property—somehow, + they were tiring; the blackbirds and the sunsets never tired him, only + gave him an uneasy feeling that he could not get enough of them. Staring + into the stilly radiance of the early evening and at the little gold and + white flowers on the lawn, a thought came to him: This weather was like + the music of 'Orfeo,' which he had recently heard at Covent Garden. A + beautiful opera, not like Meyerbeer, nor even quite Mozart, but, in its + way, perhaps even more lovely; something classical and of the Golden Age + about it, chaste and mellow, and the Ravogli 'almost worthy of the old + days'—highest praise he could bestow. The yearning of Orpheus for + the beauty he was losing, for his love going down to Hades, as in life + love and beauty did go—the yearning which sang and throbbed through + the golden music, stirred also in the lingering beauty of the world that + evening. And with the tip of his cork-soled, elastic-sided boot he + involuntarily stirred the ribs of the dog Balthasar, causing the animal to + wake and attack his fleas; for though he was supposed to have none, + nothing could persuade him of the fact. When he had finished he rubbed the + place he had been scratching against his master's calf, and settled down + again with his chin over the instep of the disturbing boot. And into old + Jolyon's mind came a sudden recollection—a face he had seen at that + opera three weeks ago—Irene, the wife of his precious nephew Soames, + that man of property! Though he had not met her since the day of the 'At + Home' in his old house at Stanhope Gate, which celebrated his + granddaughter June's ill-starred engagement to young Bosinney, he had + remembered her at once, for he had always admired her—a very pretty + creature. After the death of young Bosinney, whose mistress she had so + reprehensibly become, he had heard that she had left Soames at once. + Goodness only knew what she had been doing since. That sight of her face—a + side view—in the row in front, had been literally the only reminder + these three years that she was still alive. No one ever spoke of her. And + yet Jo had told him something once—something which had upset him + completely. The boy had got it from George Forsyte, he believed, who had + seen Bosinney in the fog the day he was run over—something which + explained the young fellow's distress—an act of Soames towards his + wife—a shocking act. Jo had seen her, too, that afternoon, after the + news was out, seen her for a moment, and his description had always + lingered in old Jolyon's mind—'wild and lost' he had called her. And + next day June had gone there—bottled up her feelings and gone there, + and the maid had cried and told her how her mistress had slipped out in + the night and vanished. A tragic business altogether! One thing was + certain—Soames had never been able to lay hands on her again. And he + was living at Brighton, and journeying up and down—a fitting fate, + the man of property! For when he once took a dislike to anyone—as he + had to his nephew—old Jolyon never got over it. He remembered still + the sense of relief with which he had heard the news of Irene's + disappearance. It had been shocking to think of her a prisoner in that + house to which she must have wandered back, when Jo saw her, wandered back + for a moment—like a wounded animal to its hole after seeing that + news, 'Tragic death of an Architect,' in the street. Her face had struck + him very much the other night—more beautiful than he had remembered, + but like a mask, with something going on beneath it. A young woman still—twenty-eight + perhaps. Ah, well! Very likely she had another lover by now. But at this + subversive thought—for married women should never love: once, even, + had been too much—his instep rose, and with it the dog Balthasar's + head. The sagacious animal stood up and looked into old Jolyon's face. + 'Walk?' he seemed to say; and old Jolyon answered: “Come on, old chap!” + </p> + <p> + Slowly, as was their wont, they crossed among the constellations of + buttercups and daisies, and entered the fernery. This feature, where very + little grew as yet, had been judiciously dropped below the level of the + lawn so that it might come up again on the level of the other lawn and + give the impression of irregularity, so important in horticulture. Its + rocks and earth were beloved of the dog Balthasar, who sometimes found a + mole there. Old Jolyon made a point of passing through it because, though + it was not beautiful, he intended that it should be, some day, and he + would think: 'I must get Varr to come down and look at it; he's better + than Beech.' For plants, like houses and human complaints, required the + best expert consideration. It was inhabited by snails, and if accompanied + by his grandchildren, he would point to one and tell them the story of the + little boy who said: 'Have plummers got leggers, Mother? 'No, sonny.' + 'Then darned if I haven't been and swallowed a snileybob.' And when they + skipped and clutched his hand, thinking of the snileybob going down the + little boy's 'red lane,' his eyes would twinkle. Emerging from the + fernery, he opened the wicket gate, which just there led into the first + field, a large and park-like area, out of which, within brick walls, the + vegetable garden had been carved. Old Jolyon avoided this, which did not + suit his mood, and made down the hill towards the pond. Balthasar, who + knew a water-rat or two, gambolled in front, at the gait which marks an + oldish dog who takes the same walk every day. Arrived at the edge, old + Jolyon stood, noting another water-lily opened since yesterday; he would + show it to Holly to-morrow, when 'his little sweet' had got over the upset + which had followed on her eating a tomato at lunch—her little + arrangements were very delicate. Now that Jolly had gone to school—his + first term—Holly was with him nearly all day long, and he missed her + badly. He felt that pain too, which often bothered him now, a little + dragging at his left side. He looked back up the hill. Really, poor young + Bosinney had made an uncommonly good job of the house; he would have done + very well for himself if he had lived! And where was he now? Perhaps, + still haunting this, the site of his last work, of his tragic love affair. + Or was Philip Bosinney's spirit diffused in the general? Who could say? + That dog was getting his legs muddy! And he moved towards the coppice. + There had been the most delightful lot of bluebells, and he knew where + some still lingered like little patches of sky fallen in between the + trees, away out of the sun. He passed the cow-houses and the hen-houses + there installed, and pursued a path into the thick of the saplings, making + for one of the bluebell plots. Balthasar, preceding him once more, uttered + a low growl. Old Jolyon stirred him with his foot, but the dog remained + motionless, just where there was no room to pass, and the hair rose slowly + along the centre of his woolly back. Whether from the growl and the look + of the dog's stivered hair, or from the sensation which a man feels in a + wood, old Jolyon also felt something move along his spine. And then the + path turned, and there was an old mossy log, and on it a woman sitting. + Her face was turned away, and he had just time to think: 'She's + trespassing—I must have a board put up!' before she turned. Powers + above! The face he had seen at the opera—the very woman he had just + been thinking of! In that confused moment he saw things blurred, as if a + spirit—queer effect—the slant of sunlight perhaps on her + violet-grey frock! And then she rose and stood smiling, her head a little + to one side. Old Jolyon thought: 'How pretty she is!' She did not speak, + neither did he; and he realized why with a certain admiration. She was + here no doubt because of some memory, and did not mean to try and get out + of it by vulgar explanation. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let that dog touch your frock,” he said; “he's got wet feet. Come + here, you!” + </p> + <p> + But the dog Balthasar went on towards the visitor, who put her hand down + and stroked his head. Old Jolyon said quickly: + </p> + <p> + “I saw you at the opera the other night; you didn't notice me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes! I did.” + </p> + <p> + He felt a subtle flattery in that, as though she had added: 'Do you think + one could miss seeing you?' + </p> + <p> + “They're all in Spain,” he remarked abruptly. “I'm alone; I drove up for + the opera. The Ravogli's good. Have you seen the cow-houses?” + </p> + <p> + In a situation so charged with mystery and something very like emotion he + moved instinctively towards that bit of property, and she moved beside + him. Her figure swayed faintly, like the best kind of French figures; her + dress, too, was a sort of French grey. He noticed two or three silver + threads in her amber-coloured hair, strange hair with those dark eyes of + hers, and that creamy-pale face. A sudden sidelong look from the velvety + brown eyes disturbed him. It seemed to come from deep and far, from + another world almost, or at all events from some one not living very much + in this. And he said mechanically: + </p> + <p> + “Where are you living now?” + </p> + <p> + “I have a little flat in Chelsea.” + </p> + <p> + He did not want to hear what she was doing, did not want to hear anything; + but the perverse word came out: + </p> + <p> + “Alone?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded. It was a relief to know that. And it came into his mind that, + but for a twist of fate, she would have been mistress of this coppice, + showing these cow-houses to him, a visitor. + </p> + <p> + “All Alderneys,” he muttered; “they give the best milk. This one's a + pretty creature. Woa, Myrtle!” + </p> + <p> + The fawn-coloured cow, with eyes as soft and brown as Irene's own, was + standing absolutely still, not having long been milked. She looked round + at them out of the corner of those lustrous, mild, cynical eyes, and from + her grey lips a little dribble of saliva threaded its way towards the + straw. The scent of hay and vanilla and ammonia rose in the dim light of + the cool cow-house; and old Jolyon said: + </p> + <p> + “You must come up and have some dinner with me. I'll send you home in the + carriage.” + </p> + <p> + He perceived a struggle going on within her; natural, no doubt, with her + memories. But he wanted her company; a pretty face, a charming figure, + beauty! He had been alone all the afternoon. Perhaps his eyes were + wistful, for she answered: “Thank you, Uncle Jolyon. I should like to.” + </p> + <p> + He rubbed his hands, and said: + </p> + <p> + “Capital! Let's go up, then!” And, preceded by the dog Balthasar, they + ascended through the field. The sun was almost level in their faces now, + and he could see, not only those silver threads, but little lines, just + deep enough to stamp her beauty with a coin-like fineness—the + special look of life unshared with others. “I'll take her in by the + terrace,” he thought: “I won't make a common visitor of her.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you do all day?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Teach music; I have another interest, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Work!” said old Jolyon, picking up the doll from off the swing, and + smoothing its black petticoat. “Nothing like it, is there? I don't do any + now. I'm getting on. What interest is that?” + </p> + <p> + “Trying to help women who've come to grief.” Old Jolyon did not quite + understand. “To grief?” he repeated; then realised with a shock that she + meant exactly what he would have meant himself if he had used that + expression. Assisting the Magdalenes of London! What a weird and + terrifying interest! And, curiosity overcoming his natural shrinking, he + asked: + </p> + <p> + “Why? What do you do for them?” + </p> + <p> + “Not much. I've no money to spare. I can only give sympathy and food + sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + Involuntarily old Jolyon's hand sought his purse. He said hastily: “How + d'you get hold of them?” + </p> + <p> + “I go to a hospital.” + </p> + <p> + “A hospital! Phew!” + </p> + <p> + “What hurts me most is that once they nearly all had some sort of beauty.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon straightened the doll. “Beauty!” he ejaculated: “Ha! Yes! A sad + business!” and he moved towards the house. Through a French window, under + sun-blinds not yet drawn up, he preceded her into the room where he was + wont to study The Times and the sheets of an agricultural magazine, with + huge illustrations of mangold wurzels, and the like, which provided Holly + with material for her paint brush. + </p> + <p> + “Dinner's in half an hour. You'd like to wash your hands! I'll take you to + June's room.” + </p> + <p> + He saw her looking round eagerly; what changes since she had last visited + this house with her husband, or her lover, or both perhaps—he did + not know, could not say! All that was dark, and he wished to leave it so. + But what changes! And in the hall he said: + </p> + <p> + “My boy Jo's a painter, you know. He's got a lot of taste. It isn't mine, + of course, but I've let him have his way.” + </p> + <p> + She was standing very still, her eyes roaming through the hall and music + room, as it now was—all thrown into one, under the great skylight. + Old Jolyon had an odd impression of her. Was she trying to conjure + somebody from the shades of that space where the colouring was all + pearl-grey and silver? He would have had gold himself; more lively and + solid. But Jo had French tastes, and it had come out shadowy like that, + with an effect as of the fume of cigarettes the chap was always smoking, + broken here and there by a little blaze of blue or crimson colour. It was + not his dream! Mentally he had hung this space with those gold-framed + masterpieces of still and stiller life which he had bought in days when + quantity was precious. And now where were they? Sold for a song! That + something which made him, alone among Forsytes, move with the times had + warned him against the struggle to retain them. But in his study he still + had 'Dutch Fishing Boats at Sunset.' + </p> + <p> + He began to mount the stairs with her, slowly, for he felt his side. + </p> + <p> + “These are the bathrooms,” he said, “and other arrangements. I've had them + tiled. The nurseries are along there. And this is Jo's and his wife's. + They all communicate. But you remember, I expect.” + </p> + <p> + Irene nodded. They passed on, up the gallery and entered a large room with + a small bed, and several windows. + </p> + <p> + “This is mine,” he said. The walls were covered with the photographs of + children and watercolour sketches, and he added doubtfully: + </p> + <p> + “These are Jo's. The view's first-rate. You can see the Grand Stand at + Epsom in clear weather.” + </p> + <p> + The sun was down now, behind the house, and over the 'prospect' a luminous + haze had settled, emanation of the long and prosperous day. Few houses + showed, but fields and trees faintly glistened, away to a loom of downs. + </p> + <p> + “The country's changing,” he said abruptly, “but there it'll be when we're + all gone. Look at those thrushes—the birds are sweet here in the + mornings. I'm glad to have washed my hands of London.” + </p> + <p> + Her face was close to the window pane, and he was struck by its mournful + look. 'Wish I could make her look happy!' he thought. 'A pretty face, but + sad!' And taking up his can of hot water he went out into the gallery. + </p> + <p> + “This is June's room,” he said, opening the next door and putting the can + down; “I think you'll find everything.” And closing the door behind her he + went back to his own room. Brushing his hair with his great ebony brushes, + and dabbing his forehead with eau de Cologne, he mused. She had come so + strangely—a sort of visitation; mysterious, even romantic, as if his + desire for company, for beauty, had been fulfilled by whatever it was + which fulfilled that sort of thing. And before the mirror he straightened + his still upright figure, passed the brushes over his great white + moustache, touched up his eyebrows with eau de Cologne, and rang the bell. + </p> + <p> + “I forgot to let them know that I have a lady to dinner with me. Let cook + do something extra, and tell Beacon to have the landau and pair at + half-past ten to drive her back to Town to-night. Is Miss Holly asleep?” + </p> + <p> + The maid thought not. And old Jolyon, passing down the gallery, stole on + tiptoe towards the nursery, and opened the door whose hinges he kept + specially oiled that he might slip in and out in the evenings without + being heard. + </p> + <p> + But Holly was asleep, and lay like a miniature Madonna, of that type which + the old painters could not tell from Venus, when they had completed her. + Her long dark lashes clung to her cheeks; on her face was perfect peace—her + little arrangements were evidently all right again. And old Jolyon, in the + twilight of the room, stood adoring her! It was so charming, solemn, and + loving—that little face. He had more than his share of the blessed + capacity of living again in the young. They were to him his future life—all + of a future life that his fundamental pagan sanity perhaps admitted. There + she was with everything before her, and his blood—some of it—in + her tiny veins. There she was, his little companion, to be made as happy + as ever he could make her, so that she knew nothing but love. His heart + swelled, and he went out, stilling the sound of his patent-leather boots. + In the corridor an eccentric notion attacked him: To think that children + should come to that which Irene had told him she was helping! Women who + were all, once, little things like this one sleeping there! 'I must give + her a cheque!' he mused; 'Can't bear to think of them!' They had never + borne reflecting on, those poor outcasts; wounding too deeply the core of + true refinement hidden under layers of conformity to the sense of property—wounding + too grievously the deepest thing in him—a love of beauty which could + give him, even now, a flutter of the heart, thinking of his evening in the + society of a pretty woman. And he went downstairs, through the swinging + doors, to the back regions. There, in the wine-cellar, was a hock worth at + least two pounds a bottle, a Steinberg Cabinet, better than any + Johannisberg that ever went down throat; a wine of perfect bouquet, sweet + as a nectarine—nectar indeed! He got a bottle out, handling it like + a baby, and holding it level to the light, to look. Enshrined in its coat + of dust, that mellow coloured, slender-necked bottle gave him deep + pleasure. Three years to settle down again since the move from Town—ought + to be in prime condition! Thirty-five years ago he had bought it—thank + God he had kept his palate, and earned the right to drink it. She would + appreciate this; not a spice of acidity in a dozen. He wiped the bottle, + drew the cork with his own hands, put his nose down, inhaled its perfume, + and went back to the music room. + </p> + <p> + Irene was standing by the piano; she had taken off her hat and a lace + scarf she had been wearing, so that her gold-coloured hair was visible, + and the pallor of her neck. In her grey frock she made a pretty picture + for old Jolyon, against the rosewood of the piano. + </p> + <p> + He gave her his arm, and solemnly they went. The room, which had been + designed to enable twenty-four people to dine in comfort, held now but a + little round table. In his present solitude the big dining-table oppressed + old Jolyon; he had caused it to be removed till his son came back. Here in + the company of two really good copies of Raphael Madonnas he was wont to + dine alone. It was the only disconsolate hour of his day, this summer + weather. He had never been a large eater, like that great chap Swithin, or + Sylvanus Heythorp, or Anthony Thornworthy, those cronies of past times; + and to dine alone, overlooked by the Madonnas, was to him but a sorrowful + occupation, which he got through quickly, that he might come to the more + spiritual enjoyment of his coffee and cigar. But this evening was a + different matter! His eyes twinkled at her across the little table and he + spoke of Italy and Switzerland, telling her stories of his travels there, + and other experiences which he could no longer recount to his son and + grand-daughter because they knew them. This fresh audience was precious to + him; he had never become one of those old men who ramble round and round + the fields of reminiscence. Himself quickly fatigued by the insensitive, + he instinctively avoided fatiguing others, and his natural flirtatiousness + towards beauty guarded him specially in his relations with a woman. He + would have liked to draw her out, but though she murmured and smiled and + seemed to be enjoying what he told her, he remained conscious of that + mysterious remoteness which constituted half her fascination. He could not + bear women who threw their shoulders and eyes at you, and chattered away; + or hard-mouthed women who laid down the law and knew more than you did. + There was only one quality in a woman that appealed to him—charm; + and the quieter it was, the more he liked it. And this one had charm, + shadowy as afternoon sunlight on those Italian hills and valleys he had + loved. The feeling, too, that she was, as it were, apart, cloistered, made + her seem nearer to himself, a strangely desirable companion. When a man is + very old and quite out of the running, he loves to feel secure from the + rivalries of youth, for he would still be first in the heart of beauty. + And he drank his hock, and watched her lips, and felt nearly young. But + the dog Balthasar lay watching her lips too, and despising in his heart + the interruptions of their talk, and the tilting of those greenish glasses + full of a golden fluid which was distasteful to him. + </p> + <p> + The light was just failing when they went back into the music-room. And, + cigar in mouth, old Jolyon said: + </p> + <p> + “Play me some Chopin.” + </p> + <p> + By the cigars they smoke, and the composers they love, ye shall know the + texture of men's souls. Old Jolyon could not bear a strong cigar or + Wagner's music. He loved Beethoven and Mozart, Handel and Gluck, and + Schumann, and, for some occult reason, the operas of Meyerbeer; but of + late years he had been seduced by Chopin, just as in painting he had + succumbed to Botticelli. In yielding to these tastes he had been conscious + of divergence from the standard of the Golden Age. Their poetry was not + that of Milton and Byron and Tennyson; of Raphael and Titian; Mozart and + Beethoven. It was, as it were, behind a veil; their poetry hit no one in + the face, but slipped its fingers under the ribs and turned and twisted, + and melted up the heart. And, never certain that this was healthy, he did + not care a rap so long as he could see the pictures of the one or hear the + music of the other. + </p> + <p> + Irene sat down at the piano under the electric lamp festooned with + pearl-grey, and old Jolyon, in an armchair, whence he could see her, + crossed his legs and drew slowly at his cigar. She sat a few moments with + her hands on the keys, evidently searching her mind for what to give him. + Then she began and within old Jolyon there arose a sorrowful pleasure, not + quite like anything else in the world. He fell slowly into a trance, + interrupted only by the movements of taking the cigar out of his mouth at + long intervals, and replacing it. She was there, and the hock within him, + and the scent of tobacco; but there, too, was a world of sunshine + lingering into moonlight, and pools with storks upon them, and bluish + trees above, glowing with blurs of wine-red roses, and fields of lavender + where milk-white cows were grazing, and a woman all shadowy, with dark + eyes and a white neck, smiled, holding out her arms; and through air which + was like music a star dropped and was caught on a cow's horn. He opened + his eyes. Beautiful piece; she played well—the touch of an angel! + And he closed them again. He felt miraculously sad and happy, as one does, + standing under a lime-tree in full honey flower. Not live one's own life + again, but just stand there and bask in the smile of a woman's eyes, and + enjoy the bouquet! And he jerked his hand; the dog Balthasar had reached + up and licked it. + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful!” He said: “Go on—more Chopin!” + </p> + <p> + She began to play again. This time the resemblance between her and + 'Chopin' struck him. The swaying he had noticed in her walk was in her + playing too, and the Nocturne she had chosen and the soft darkness of her + eyes, the light on her hair, as of moonlight from a golden moon. + Seductive, yes; but nothing of Delilah in her or in that music. A long + blue spiral from his cigar ascended and dispersed. 'So we go out!' he + thought. 'No more beauty! Nothing?' + </p> + <p> + Again Irene stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like some Gluck? He used to write his music in a sunlit garden, + with a bottle of Rhine wine beside him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! yes. Let's have 'Orfeo.'.rdquo; Round about him now were fields of gold and + silver flowers, white forms swaying in the sunlight, bright birds flying + to and fro. All was summer. Lingering waves of sweetness and regret + flooded his soul. Some cigar ash dropped, and taking out a silk + handkerchief to brush it off, he inhaled a mingled scent as of snuff and + eau de Cologne. 'Ah!' he thought, 'Indian summer—that's all!' and he + said: “You haven't played me 'Che faro.'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + She did not answer; did not move. He was conscious of something—some + strange upset. Suddenly he saw her rise and turn away, and a pang of + remorse shot through him. What a clumsy chap! Like Orpheus, she of course—she + too was looking for her lost one in the hall of memory! And disturbed to + the heart, he got up from his chair. She had gone to the great window at + the far end. Gingerly he followed. Her hands were folded over her breast; + he could just see her cheek, very white. And, quite emotionalized, he + said: + </p> + <p> + “There, there, my love!” The words had escaped him mechanically, for they + were those he used to Holly when she had a pain, but their effect was + instantaneously distressing. She raised her arms, covered her face with + them, and wept. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon stood gazing at her with eyes very deep from age. The + passionate shame she seemed feeling at her abandonment, so unlike the + control and quietude of her whole presence was as if she had never before + broken down in the presence of another being. + </p> + <p> + “There, there—there, there!” he murmured, and putting his hand out + reverently, touched her. She turned, and leaned the arms which covered her + face against him. Old Jolyon stood very still, keeping one thin hand on + her shoulder. Let her cry her heart out—it would do her good. + </p> + <p> + And the dog Balthasar, puzzled, sat down on his stern to examine them. + </p> + <p> + The window was still open, the curtains had not been drawn, the last of + daylight from without mingled with faint intrusion from the lamp within; + there was a scent of new-mown grass. With the wisdom of a long life old + Jolyon did not speak. Even grief sobbed itself out in time; only Time was + good for sorrow—Time who saw the passing of each mood, each emotion + in turn; Time the layer-to-rest. There came into his mind the words: 'As + panteth the hart after cooling streams'—but they were of no use to + him. Then, conscious of a scent of violets, he knew she was drying her + eyes. He put his chin forward, pressed his moustache against her forehead, + and felt her shake with a quivering of her whole body, as of a tree which + shakes itself free of raindrops. She put his hand to her lips, as if + saying: “All over now! Forgive me!” + </p> + <p> + The kiss filled him with a strange comfort; he led her back to where she + had been so upset. And the dog Balthasar, following, laid the bone of one + of the cutlets they had eaten at their feet. + </p> + <p> + Anxious to obliterate the memory of that emotion, he could think of + nothing better than china; and moving with her slowly from cabinet to + cabinet, he kept taking up bits of Dresden and Lowestoft and Chelsea, + turning them round and round with his thin, veined hands, whose skin, + faintly freckled, had such an aged look. + </p> + <p> + “I bought this at Jobson's,” he would say; “cost me thirty pounds. It's + very old. That dog leaves his bones all over the place. This old + 'ship-bowl' I picked up at the sale when that precious rip, the Marquis, + came to grief. But you don't remember. Here's a nice piece of Chelsea. + Now, what would you say this was?” And he was comforted, feeling that, + with her taste, she was taking a real interest in these things; for, after + all, nothing better composes the nerves than a doubtful piece of china. + </p> + <p> + When the crunch of the carriage wheels was heard at last, he said: + </p> + <p> + “You must come again; you must come to lunch, then I can show you these by + daylight, and my little sweet—she's a dear little thing. This dog + seems to have taken a fancy to you.” + </p> + <p> + For Balthasar, feeling that she was about to leave, was rubbing his side + against her leg. Going out under the porch with her, he said: + </p> + <p> + “He'll get you up in an hour and a quarter. Take this for your protegees,” + and he slipped a cheque for fifty pounds into her hand. He saw her + brightened eyes, and heard her murmur: “Oh! Uncle Jolyon!” and a real + throb of pleasure went through him. That meant one or two poor creatures + helped a little, and it meant that she would come again. He put his hand + in at the window and grasped hers once more. The carriage rolled away. He + stood looking at the moon and the shadows of the trees, and thought: 'A + sweet night! She...!' + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II + </h2> + <p> + Two days of rain, and summer set in bland and sunny. Old Jolyon walked and + talked with Holly. At first he felt taller and full of a new vigour; then + he felt restless. Almost every afternoon they would enter the coppice, and + walk as far as the log. 'Well, she's not there!' he would think, 'of + course not!' And he would feel a little shorter, and drag his feet walking + up the hill home, with his hand clapped to his left side. Now and then the + thought would move in him: 'Did she come—or did I dream it?' and he + would stare at space, while the dog Balthasar stared at him. Of course she + would not come again! He opened the letters from Spain with less + excitement. They were not returning till July; he felt, oddly, that he + could bear it. Every day at dinner he screwed up his eyes and looked at + where she had sat. She was not there, so he unscrewed his eyes again. + </p> + <p> + On the seventh afternoon he thought: 'I must go up and get some boots.' He + ordered Beacon, and set out. Passing from Putney towards Hyde Park he + reflected: 'I might as well go to Chelsea and see her.' And he called out: + “Just drive me to where you took that lady the other night.” The coachman + turned his broad red face, and his juicy lips answered: “The lady in grey, + sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the lady in grey.” What other ladies were there! Stodgy chap! + </p> + <p> + The carriage stopped before a small three-storied block of flats, standing + a little back from the river. With a practised eye old Jolyon saw that + they were cheap. 'I should think about sixty pound a year,' he mused; and + entering, he looked at the name-board. The name 'Forsyte' was not on it, + but against 'First Floor, Flat C' were the words: 'Mrs. Irene Heron.' Ah! + She had taken her maiden name again! And somehow this pleased him. He went + upstairs slowly, feeling his side a little. He stood a moment, before + ringing, to lose the feeling of drag and fluttering there. She would not + be in! And then—Boots! The thought was black. What did he want with + boots at his age? He could not wear out all those he had. + </p> + <p> + “Your mistress at home?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Say Mr. Jolyon Forsyte.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir, will you come this way?” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon followed a very little maid—not more than sixteen one + would say—into a very small drawing-room where the sun-blinds were + drawn. It held a cottage piano and little else save a vague fragrance and + good taste. He stood in the middle, with his top hat in his hand, and + thought: 'I expect she's very badly off!' There was a mirror above the + fireplace, and he saw himself reflected. An old-looking chap! He heard a + rustle, and turned round. She was so close that his moustache almost + brushed her forehead, just under her hair. + </p> + <p> + “I was driving up,” he said. “Thought I'd look in on you, and ask you how + you got up the other night.” + </p> + <p> + And, seeing her smile, he felt suddenly relieved. She was really glad to + see him, perhaps. + </p> + <p> + “Would you like to put on your hat and come for a drive in the Park?” + </p> + <p> + But while she was gone to put her hat on, he frowned. The Park! James and + Emily! Mrs. Nicholas, or some other member of his precious family would be + there very likely, prancing up and down. And they would go and wag their + tongues about having seen him with her, afterwards. Better not! He did not + wish to revive the echoes of the past on Forsyte 'Change. He removed a + white hair from the lapel of his closely-buttoned-up frock coat, and + passed his hand over his cheeks, moustache, and square chin. It felt very + hollow there under the cheekbones. He had not been eating much lately—he + had better get that little whippersnapper who attended Holly to give him a + tonic. But she had come back and when they were in the carriage, he said: + </p> + <p> + “Suppose we go and sit in Kensington Gardens instead?” and added with a + twinkle: “No prancing up and down there,” as if she had been in the secret + of his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Leaving the carriage, they entered those select precincts, and strolled + towards the water. + </p> + <p> + “You've gone back to your maiden name, I see,” he said: “I'm not sorry.” + </p> + <p> + She slipped her hand under his arm: “Has June forgiven me, Uncle Jolyon?” + </p> + <p> + He answered gently: “Yes—yes; of course, why not?” + </p> + <p> + “And have you?” + </p> + <p> + “I? I forgave you as soon as I saw how the land really lay.” And perhaps + he had; his instinct had always been to forgive the beautiful. + </p> + <p> + She drew a deep breath. “I never regretted—I couldn't. Did you ever + love very deeply, Uncle Jolyon?” + </p> + <p> + At that strange question old Jolyon stared before him. Had he? He did not + seem to remember that he ever had. But he did not like to say this to the + young woman whose hand was touching his arm, whose life was suspended, as + it were, by memory of a tragic love. And he thought: 'If I had met you + when I was young I—I might have made a fool of myself, perhaps.' And + a longing to escape in generalities beset him. + </p> + <p> + “Love's a queer thing,” he said, “fatal thing often. It was the Greeks—wasn't + it?—made love into a goddess; they were right, I dare say, but then + they lived in the Golden Age.” + </p> + <p> + “Phil adored them.” + </p> + <p> + Phil! The word jarred him, for suddenly—with his power to see all + round a thing, he perceived why she was putting up with him like this. She + wanted to talk about her lover! Well! If it was any pleasure to her! And + he said: “Ah! There was a bit of the sculptor in him, I fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He loved balance and symmetry; he loved the whole-hearted way the + Greeks gave themselves to art.” + </p> + <p> + Balance! The chap had no balance at all, if he remembered; as for symmetry—clean-built + enough he was, no doubt; but those queer eyes of his, and high cheek-bones—Symmetry? + </p> + <p> + “You're of the Golden Age, too, Uncle Jolyon.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon looked round at her. Was she chaffing him? No, her eyes were + soft as velvet. Was she flattering him? But if so, why? There was nothing + to be had out of an old chap like him. + </p> + <p> + “Phil thought so. He used to say: 'But I can never tell him that I admire + him.'.rdquo; + </p> + <p> + Ah! There it was again. Her dead lover; her desire to talk of him! And he + pressed her arm, half resentful of those memories, half grateful, as if he + recognised what a link they were between herself and him. + </p> + <p> + “He was a very talented young fellow,” he murmured. “It's hot; I feel the + heat nowadays. Let's sit down.” + </p> + <p> + They took two chairs beneath a chestnut tree whose broad leaves covered + them from the peaceful glory of the afternoon. A pleasure to sit there and + watch her, and feel that she liked to be with him. And the wish to + increase that liking, if he could, made him go on: + </p> + <p> + “I expect he showed you a side of him I never saw. He'd be at his best + with you. His ideas of art were a little new—to me “—he had + stiffed the word 'fangled.' + </p> + <p> + “Yes: but he used to say you had a real sense of beauty.” Old Jolyon + thought: 'The devil he did!' but answered with a twinkle: “Well, I have, + or I shouldn't be sitting here with you.” She was fascinating when she + smiled with her eyes, like that! + </p> + <p> + “He thought you had one of those hearts that never grow old. Phil had real + insight.” + </p> + <p> + He was not taken in by this flattery spoken out of the past, out of a + longing to talk of her dead lover—not a bit; and yet it was precious + to hear, because she pleased his eyes and heart which—quite true!—had + never grown old. Was that because—unlike her and her dead lover, he + had never loved to desperation, had always kept his balance, his sense of + symmetry. Well! It had left him power, at eighty-four, to admire beauty. + And he thought, 'If I were a painter or a sculptor! But I'm an old chap. + Make hay while the sun shines.' + </p> + <p> + A couple with arms entwined crossed on the grass before them, at the edge + of the shadow from their tree. The sunlight fell cruelly on their pale, + squashed, unkempt young faces. “We're an ugly lot!” said old Jolyon + suddenly. “It amazes me to see how—love triumphs over that.” + </p> + <p> + “Love triumphs over everything!” + </p> + <p> + “The young think so,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “Love has no age, no limit, and no death.” + </p> + <p> + With that glow in her pale face, her breast heaving, her eyes so large and + dark and soft, she looked like Venus come to life! But this extravagance + brought instant reaction, and, twinkling, he said: “Well, if it had + limits, we shouldn't be born; for by George! it's got a lot to put up + with.” + </p> + <p> + Then, removing his top hat, he brushed it round with a cuff. The great + clumsy thing heated his forehead; in these days he often got a rush of + blood to the head—his circulation was not what it had been. + </p> + <p> + She still sat gazing straight before her, and suddenly she murmured: + </p> + <p> + “It's strange enough that I'm alive.” + </p> + <p> + Those words of Jo's 'Wild and lost' came back to him. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” he said: “my son saw you for a moment—that day.” + </p> + <p> + “Was it your son? I heard a voice in the hall; I thought for a second it + was—Phil.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon saw her lips tremble. She put her hand over them, took it away + again, and went on calmly: “That night I went to the Embankment; a woman + caught me by the dress. She told me about herself. When one knows that + others suffer, one's ashamed.” + </p> + <p> + “One of those?” + </p> + <p> + She nodded, and horror stirred within old Jolyon, the horror of one who + has never known a struggle with desperation. Almost against his will he + muttered: “Tell me, won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “I didn't care whether I lived or died. When you're like that, Fate ceases + to want to kill you. She took care of me three days—she never left + me. I had no money. That's why I do what I can for them, now.” + </p> + <p> + But old Jolyon was thinking: 'No money!' What fate could compare with + that? Every other was involved in it. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you had come to me,” he said. “Why didn't you?” But Irene did not + answer. + </p> + <p> + “Because my name was Forsyte, I suppose? Or was it June who kept you away? + How are you getting on now?” His eyes involuntarily swept her body. + Perhaps even now she was—! And yet she wasn't thin—not really! + </p> + <p> + “Oh! with my fifty pounds a year, I make just enough.” The answer did not + reassure him; he had lost confidence. And that fellow Soames! But his + sense of justice stifled condemnation. No, she would certainly have died + rather than take another penny from him. Soft as she looked, there must be + strength in her somewhere—strength and fidelity. But what business + had young Bosinney to have got run over and left her stranded like this! + </p> + <p> + “Well, you must come to me now,” he said, “for anything you want, or I + shall be quite cut up.” And putting on his hat, he rose. “Let's go and get + some tea. I told that lazy chap to put the horses up for an hour, and come + for me at your place. We'll take a cab presently; I can't walk as I used + to.” + </p> + <p> + He enjoyed that stroll to the Kensington end of the gardens—the + sound of her voice, the glancing of her eyes, the subtle beauty of a + charming form moving beside him. He enjoyed their tea at Ruffel's in the + High Street, and came out thence with a great box of chocolates swung on + his little finger. He enjoyed the drive back to Chelsea in a hansom, + smoking his cigar. She had promised to come down next Sunday and play to + him again, and already in thought he was plucking carnations and early + roses for her to carry back to town. It was a pleasure to give her a + little pleasure, if it WERE pleasure from an old chap like him! The + carriage was already there when they arrived. Just like that fellow, who + was always late when he was wanted! Old Jolyon went in for a minute to say + good-bye. The little dark hall of the flat was impregnated with a + disagreeable odour of patchouli, and on a bench against the wall—its + only furniture—he saw a figure sitting. He heard Irene say softly: + “Just one minute.” In the little drawing-room when the door was shut, he + asked gravely: “One of your protegees?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Now thanks to you, I can do something for her.” + </p> + <p> + He stood, staring, and stroking that chin whose strength had frightened so + many in its time. The idea of her thus actually in contact with this + outcast grieved and frightened him. What could she do for them? Nothing. + Only soil and make trouble for herself, perhaps. And he said: “Take care, + my dear! The world puts the worst construction on everything.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that.” + </p> + <p> + He was abashed by her quiet smile. “Well then—Sunday,” he murmured: + “Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + She put her cheek forward for him to kiss. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye,” he said again; “take care of yourself.” And he went out, not + looking towards the figure on the bench. He drove home by way of + Hammersmith; that he might stop at a place he knew of and tell them to + send her in two dozen of their best Burgundy. She must want picking-up + sometimes! Only in Richmond Park did he remember that he had gone up to + order himself some boots, and was surprised that he could have had so + paltry an idea. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III + </h2> + <p> + The little spirits of the past which throng an old man's days had never + pushed their faces up to his so seldom as in the seventy hours elapsing + before Sunday came. The spirit of the future, with the charm of the + unknown, put up her lips instead. Old Jolyon was not restless now, and + paid no visits to the log, because she was coming to lunch. There is + wonderful finality about a meal; it removes a world of doubts, for no one + misses meals except for reasons beyond control. He played many games with + Holly on the lawn, pitching them up to her who was batting so as to be + ready to bowl to Jolly in the holidays. For she was not a Forsyte, but + Jolly was—and Forsytes always bat, until they have resigned and + reached the age of eighty-five. The dog Balthasar, in attendance, lay on + the ball as often as he could, and the page-boy fielded, till his face was + like the harvest moon. And because the time was getting shorter, each day + was longer and more golden than the last. On Friday night he took a liver + pill, his side hurt him rather, and though it was not the liver side, + there is no remedy like that. Anyone telling him that he had found a new + excitement in life and that excitement was not good for him, would have + been met by one of those steady and rather defiant looks of his deep-set + iron-grey eyes, which seemed to say: 'I know my own business best.' He + always had and always would. + </p> + <p> + On Sunday morning, when Holly had gone with her governess to church, he + visited the strawberry beds. There, accompanied by the dog Balthasar, he + examined the plants narrowly and succeeded in finding at least two dozen + berries which were really ripe. Stooping was not good for him, and he + became very dizzy and red in the forehead. Having placed the strawberries + in a dish on the dining-table, he washed his hands and bathed his forehead + with eau de Cologne. There, before the mirror, it occurred to him that he + was thinner. What a 'threadpaper' he had been when he was young! It was + nice to be slim—he could not bear a fat chap; and yet perhaps his + cheeks were too thin! She was to arrive by train at half-past twelve and + walk up, entering from the road past Drage's farm at the far end of the + coppice. And, having looked into June's room to see that there was hot + water ready, he set forth to meet her, leisurely, for his heart was + beating. The air smelled sweet, larks sang, and the Grand Stand at Epsom + was visible. A perfect day! On just such a one, no doubt, six years ago, + Soames had brought young Bosinney down with him to look at the site before + they began to build. It was Bosinney who had pitched on the exact spot for + the house—as June had often told him. In these days he was thinking + much about that young fellow, as if his spirit were really haunting the + field of his last work, on the chance of seeing—her. Bosinney—the + one man who had possessed her heart, to whom she had given her whole self + with rapture! At his age one could not, of course, imagine such things, + but there stirred in him a queer vague aching—as it were the ghost + of an impersonal jealousy; and a feeling, too, more generous, of pity for + that love so early lost. All over in a few poor months! Well, well! He + looked at his watch before entering the coppice—only a quarter past, + twenty-five minutes to wait! And then, turning the corner of the path, he + saw her exactly where he had seen her the first time, on the log; and + realised that she must have come by the earlier train to sit there alone + for a couple of hours at least. Two hours of her society missed! What + memory could make that log so dear to her? His face showed what he was + thinking, for she said at once: + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, Uncle Jolyon; it was here that I first knew.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; there it is for you whenever you like. You're looking a little + Londony; you're giving too many lessons.” + </p> + <p> + That she should have to give lessons worried him. Lessons to a parcel of + young girls thumping out scales with their thick fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you go to give them?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “They're mostly Jewish families, luckily.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon stared; to all Forsytes Jews seem strange and doubtful. + </p> + <p> + “They love music, and they're very kind.” + </p> + <p> + “They had better be, by George!” He took her arm—his side always + hurt him a little going uphill—and said: + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever see anything like those buttercups? They came like that in a + night.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes seemed really to fly over the field, like bees after the flowers + and the honey. “I wanted you to see them—wouldn't let them turn the + cows in yet.” Then, remembering that she had come to talk about Bosinney, + he pointed to the clock-tower over the stables: + </p> + <p> + “I expect he wouldn't have let me put that there—had no notion of + time, if I remember.” + </p> + <p> + But, pressing his arm to her, she talked of flowers instead, and he knew + it was done that he might not feel she came because of her dead lover. + </p> + <p> + “The best flower I can show you,” he said, with a sort of triumph, “is my + little sweet. She'll be back from Church directly. There's something about + her which reminds me a little of you,” and it did not seem to him peculiar + that he had put it thus, instead of saying: “There's something about you + which reminds me a little of her.” Ah! And here she was! + </p> + <p> + Holly, followed closely by her elderly French governess, whose digestion + had been ruined twenty-two years ago in the siege of Strasbourg, came + rushing towards them from under the oak tree. She stopped about a dozen + yards away, to pat Balthasar and pretend that this was all she had in her + mind. Old Jolyon, who knew better, said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, my darling, here's the lady in grey I promised you.” + </p> + <p> + Holly raised herself and looked up. He watched the two of them with a + twinkle, Irene smiling, Holly beginning with grave inquiry, passing into a + shy smile too, and then to something deeper. She had a sense of beauty, + that child—knew what was what! He enjoyed the sight of the kiss + between them. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Heron, Mam'zelle Beauce. Well, Mam'zelle—good sermon?” + </p> + <p> + For, now that he had not much more time before him, the only part of the + service connected with this world absorbed what interest in church + remained to him. Mam'zelle Beauce stretched out a spidery hand clad in a + black kid glove—she had been in the best families—and the + rather sad eyes of her lean yellowish face seemed to ask: “Are you + well-brrred?” Whenever Holly or Jolly did anything unpleasing to her—a + not uncommon occurrence—she would say to them: “The little Tayleurs + never did that—they were such well-brrred little children.” Jolly + hated the little Tayleurs; Holly wondered dreadfully how it was she fell + so short of them. 'A thin rum little soul,' old Jolyon thought her—Mam'zelle + Beauce. + </p> + <p> + Luncheon was a successful meal, the mushrooms which he himself had picked + in the mushroom house, his chosen strawberries, and another bottle of the + Steinberg cabinet filled him with a certain aromatic spirituality, and a + conviction that he would have a touch of eczema to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + After lunch they sat under the oak tree drinking Turkish coffee. It was no + matter of grief to him when Mademoiselle Beauce withdrew to write her + Sunday letter to her sister, whose future had been endangered in the past + by swallowing a pin—an event held up daily in warning to the + children to eat slowly and digest what they had eaten. At the foot of the + bank, on a carriage rug, Holly and the dog Balthasar teased and loved each + other, and in the shade old Jolyon with his legs crossed and his cigar + luxuriously savoured, gazed at Irene sitting in the swing. A light, + vaguely swaying, grey figure with a fleck of sunlight here and there upon + it, lips just opened, eyes dark and soft under lids a little drooped. She + looked content; surely it did her good to come and see him! The + selfishness of age had not set its proper grip on him, for he could still + feel pleasure in the pleasure of others, realising that what he wanted, + though much, was not quite all that mattered. + </p> + <p> + “It's quiet here,” he said; “you mustn't come down if you find it dull. + But it's a pleasure to see you. My little sweet is the only face which + gives me any pleasure, except yours.” + </p> + <p> + From her smile he knew that she was not beyond liking to be appreciated, + and this reassured him. “That's not humbug,” he said. “I never told a + woman I admired her when I didn't. In fact I don't know when I've told a + woman I admired her, except my wife in the old days; and wives are funny.” + He was silent, but resumed abruptly: + </p> + <p> + “She used to expect me to say it more often than I felt it, and there we + were.” Her face looked mysteriously troubled, and, afraid that he had said + something painful, he hurried on: “When my little sweet marries, I hope + she'll find someone who knows what women feel. I shan't be here to see it, + but there's too much topsy-turvydom in marriage; I don't want her to pitch + up against that.” And, aware that he had made bad worse, he added: “That + dog will scratch.” + </p> + <p> + A silence followed. Of what was she thinking, this pretty creature whose + life was spoiled; who had done with love, and yet was made for love? Some + day when he was gone, perhaps, she would find another mate—not so + disorderly as that young fellow who had got himself run over. Ah! but her + husband? + </p> + <p> + “Does Soames never trouble you?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She shook her head. Her face had closed up suddenly. For all her softness + there was something irreconcilable about her. And a glimpse of light on + the inexorable nature of sex antipathies strayed into a brain which, + belonging to early Victorian civilisation—so much older than this of + his old age—had never thought about such primitive things. + </p> + <p> + “That's a comfort,” he said. “You can see the Grand Stand to-day. Shall we + take a turn round?” + </p> + <p> + Through the flower and fruit garden, against whose high outer walls peach + trees and nectarines were trained to the sun, through the stables, the + vinery, the mushroom house, the asparagus beds, the rosery, the + summer-house, he conducted her—even into the kitchen garden to see + the tiny green peas which Holly loved to scoop out of their pods with her + finger, and lick up from the palm of her little brown hand. Many + delightful things he showed her, while Holly and the dog Balthasar danced + ahead, or came to them at intervals for attention. It was one of the + happiest afternoons he had ever spent, but it tired him and he was glad to + sit down in the music room and let her give him tea. A special little + friend of Holly's had come in—a fair child with short hair like a + boy's. And the two sported in the distance, under the stairs, on the + stairs, and up in the gallery. Old Jolyon begged for Chopin. She played + studies, mazurkas, waltzes, till the two children, creeping near, stood at + the foot of the piano their dark and golden heads bent forward, listening. + Old Jolyon watched. + </p> + <p> + “Let's see you dance, you two!” + </p> + <p> + Shyly, with a false start, they began. Bobbing and circling, earnest, not + very adroit, they went past and past his chair to the strains of that + waltz. He watched them and the face of her who was playing turned smiling + towards those little dancers thinking: + </p> + <p> + 'Sweetest picture I've seen for ages.' + </p> + <p> + A voice said: + </p> + <p> + “Hollee! Mais enfin—qu'est-ce que tu fais la—danser, le + dimanche! Viens, donc!” + </p> + <p> + But the children came close to old Jolyon, knowing that he would save + them, and gazed into a face which was decidedly 'caught out.' + </p> + <p> + “Better the day, better the deed, Mam'zelle. It's all my doing. Trot + along, chicks, and have your tea.” + </p> + <p> + And, when they were gone, followed by the dog Balthasar, who took every + meal, he looked at Irene with a twinkle and said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, there we are! Aren't they sweet? Have you any little ones among + your pupils?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, three—two of them darlings.” + </p> + <p> + “Pretty?” + </p> + <p> + “Lovely!” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon sighed; he had an insatiable appetite for the very young. “My + little sweet,” he said, “is devoted to music; she'll be a musician some + day. You wouldn't give me your opinion of her playing, I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I will.” + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't like—” but he stifled the words “to give her lessons.” + The idea that she gave lessons was unpleasant to him; yet it would mean + that he would see her regularly. She left the piano and came over to his + chair. + </p> + <p> + “I would like, very much; but there is—June. When are they coming + back?” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon frowned. “Not till the middle of next month. What does that + matter?” + </p> + <p> + “You said June had forgiven me; but she could never forget, Uncle Jolyon.” + </p> + <p> + Forget! She must forget, if he wanted her to. + </p> + <p> + But as if answering, Irene shook her head. “You know she couldn't; one + doesn't forget.” + </p> + <p> + Always that wretched past! And he said with a sort of vexed finality: + </p> + <p> + “Well, we shall see.” + </p> + <p> + He talked to her an hour or more, of the children, and a hundred little + things, till the carriage came round to take her home. And when she had + gone he went back to his chair, and sat there smoothing his face and chin, + dreaming over the day. + </p> + <p> + That evening after dinner he went to his study and took a sheet of paper. + He stayed for some minutes without writing, then rose and stood under the + masterpiece 'Dutch Fishing Boats at Sunset.' He was not thinking of that + picture, but of his life. He was going to leave her something in his Will; + nothing could so have stirred the stilly deeps of thought and memory. He + was going to leave her a portion of his wealth, of his aspirations, deeds, + qualities, work—all that had made that wealth; going to leave her, + too, a part of all he had missed in life, by his sane and steady pursuit + of wealth. All! What had he missed? 'Dutch Fishing Boats' responded + blankly; he crossed to the French window, and drawing the curtain aside, + opened it. A wind had got up, and one of last year's oak leaves which had + somehow survived the gardener's brooms, was dragging itself with a tiny + clicking rustle along the stone terrace in the twilight. Except for that + it was very quiet out there, and he could smell the heliotrope watered not + long since. A bat went by. A bird uttered its last 'cheep.' And right + above the oak tree the first star shone. Faust in the opera had bartered + his soul for some fresh years of youth. Morbid notion! No such bargain was + possible, that was real tragedy! No making oneself new again for love or + life or anything. Nothing left to do but enjoy beauty from afar off while + you could, and leave it something in your Will. But how much? And, as if + he could not make that calculation looking out into the mild freedom of + the country night, he turned back and went up to the chimney-piece. There + were his pet bronzes—a Cleopatra with the asp at her breast; a + Socrates; a greyhound playing with her puppy; a strong man reining in some + horses. 'They last!' he thought, and a pang went through his heart. They + had a thousand years of life before them! + </p> + <p> + 'How much?' Well! enough at all events to save her getting old before her + time, to keep the lines out of her face as long as possible, and grey from + soiling that bright hair. He might live another five years. She would be + well over thirty by then. 'How much?' She had none of his blood in her! In + loyalty to the tenor of his life for forty years and more, ever since he + married and founded that mysterious thing, a family, came this warning + thought—None of his blood, no right to anything! It was a luxury + then, this notion. An extravagance, a petting of an old man's whim, one of + those things done in dotage. His real future was vested in those who had + his blood, in whom he would live on when he was gone. He turned away from + the bronzes and stood looking at the old leather chair in which he had sat + and smoked so many hundreds of cigars. And suddenly he seemed to see her + sitting there in her grey dress, fragrant, soft, dark-eyed, graceful, + looking up at him. Why! She cared nothing for him, really; all she cared + for was that lost lover of hers. But she was there, whether she would or + no, giving him pleasure with her beauty and grace. One had no right to + inflict an old man's company, no right to ask her down to play to him and + let him look at her—for no reward! Pleasure must be paid for in this + world. 'How much?' After all, there was plenty; his son and his three + grandchildren would never miss that little lump. He had made it himself, + nearly every penny; he could leave it where he liked, allow himself this + little pleasure. He went back to the bureau. 'Well, I'm going to,' he + thought, 'let them think what they like. I'm going to!' And he sat down. + </p> + <p> + 'How much?' Ten thousand, twenty thousand—how much? If only with his + money he could buy one year, one month of youth. And startled by that + thought, he wrote quickly: + </p> + <p> + 'DEAR HERRING,—Draw me a codicil to this effect: “I leave to my + niece Irene Forsyte, born Irene Heron, by which name she now goes, fifteen + thousand pounds free of legacy duty.” 'Yours faithfully, 'JOLYON FORSYTE.' + </p> + <p> + When he had sealed and stamped the envelope, he went back to the window + and drew in a long breath. It was dark, but many stars shone now. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV + </h2> + <p> + He woke at half-past two, an hour which long experience had taught him + brings panic intensity to all awkward thoughts. Experience had also taught + him that a further waking at the proper hour of eight showed the folly of + such panic. On this particular morning the thought which gathered rapid + momentum was that if he became ill, at his age not improbable, he would + not see her. From this it was but a step to realisation that he would be + cut off, too, when his son and June returned from Spain. How could he + justify desire for the company of one who had stolen—early morning + does not mince words—June's lover? That lover was dead; but June was + a stubborn little thing; warm-hearted, but stubborn as wood, and—quite + true—not one who forgot! By the middle of next month they would be + back. He had barely five weeks left to enjoy the new interest which had + come into what remained of his life. Darkness showed up to him absurdly + clear the nature of his feeling. Admiration for beauty—a craving to + see that which delighted his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Preposterous, at his age! And yet—what other reason was there for + asking June to undergo such painful reminder, and how prevent his son and + his son's wife from thinking him very queer? He would be reduced to + sneaking up to London, which tired him; and the least indisposition would + cut him off even from that. He lay with eyes open, setting his jaw against + the prospect, and calling himself an old fool, while his heart beat + loudly, and then seemed to stop beating altogether. He had seen the dawn + lighting the window chinks, heard the birds chirp and twitter, and the + cocks crow, before he fell asleep again, and awoke tired but sane. Five + weeks before he need bother, at his age an eternity! But that early + morning panic had left its mark, had slightly fevered the will of one who + had always had his own way. He would see her as often as he wished! Why + not go up to town and make that codicil at his solicitor's instead of + writing about it; she might like to go to the opera! But, by train, for he + would not have that fat chap Beacon grinning behind his back. Servants + were such fools; and, as likely as not, they had known all the past + history of Irene and young Bosinney—servants knew everything, and + suspected the rest. He wrote to her that morning: + </p> + <p> + “MY DEAR IRENE,—I have to be up in town to-morrow. If you would like + to have a look in at the opera, come and dine with me quietly ....” + </p> + <p> + But where? It was decades since he had dined anywhere in London save at + his Club or at a private house. Ah! that new-fangled place close to Covent + Garden.... + </p> + <p> + “Let me have a line to-morrow morning to the Piedmont Hotel whether to + expect you there at 7 o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Yours affectionately, + </p> + <p> + “JOLYON FORSYTE.” + </p> + <p> + She would understand that he just wanted to give her a little pleasure; + for the idea that she should guess he had this itch to see her was + instinctively unpleasant to him; it was not seemly that one so old should + go out of his way to see beauty, especially in a woman. + </p> + <p> + The journey next day, short though it was, and the visit to his lawyer's, + tired him. It was hot too, and after dressing for dinner he lay down on + the sofa in his bedroom to rest a little. He must have had a sort of + fainting fit, for he came to himself feeling very queer; and with some + difficulty rose and rang the bell. Why! it was past seven! And there he + was and she would be waiting. But suddenly the dizziness came on again, + and he was obliged to relapse on the sofa. He heard the maid's voice say: + </p> + <p> + “Did you ring, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, come here”; he could not see her clearly, for the cloud in front of + his eyes. “I'm not well, I want some sal volatile.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir.” Her voice sounded frightened. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon made an effort. + </p> + <p> + “Don't go. Take this message to my niece—a lady waiting in the hall—a + lady in grey. Say Mr. Forsyte is not well—the heat. He is very + sorry; if he is not down directly, she is not to wait dinner.” + </p> + <p> + When she was gone, he thought feebly: 'Why did I say a lady in grey—she + may be in anything. Sal volatile!' He did not go off again, yet was not + conscious of how Irene came to be standing beside him, holding smelling + salts to his nose, and pushing a pillow up behind his head. He heard her + say anxiously: “Dear Uncle Jolyon, what is it?” was dimly conscious of the + soft pressure of her lips on his hand; then drew a long breath of smelling + salts, suddenly discovered strength in them, and sneezed. + </p> + <p> + “Ha!” he said, “it's nothing. How did you get here? Go down and dine—the + tickets are on the dressing-table. I shall be all right in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + He felt her cool hand on his forehead, smelled violets, and sat divided + between a sort of pleasure and a determination to be all right. + </p> + <p> + “Why! You are in grey!” he said. “Help me up.” Once on his feet he gave + himself a shake. + </p> + <p> + “What business had I to go off like that!” And he moved very slowly to the + glass. What a cadaverous chap! Her voice, behind him, murmured: + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't come down, Uncle; you must rest.” + </p> + <p> + “Fiddlesticks! A glass of champagne'll soon set me to rights. I can't have + you missing the opera.” + </p> + <p> + But the journey down the corridor was troublesome. What carpets they had + in these newfangled places, so thick that you tripped up in them at every + step! In the lift he noticed how concerned she looked, and said with the + ghost of a twinkle: + </p> + <p> + “I'm a pretty host.” + </p> + <p> + When the lift stopped he had to hold firmly to the seat to prevent its + slipping under him; but after soup and a glass of champagne he felt much + better, and began to enjoy an infirmity which had brought such solicitude + into her manner towards him. + </p> + <p> + “I should have liked you for a daughter,” he said suddenly; and watching + the smile in her eyes, went on: + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't get wrapped up in the past at your time of life; plenty of + that when you get to my age. That's a nice dress—I like the style.” + </p> + <p> + “I made it myself.” + </p> + <p> + Ah! A woman who could make herself a pretty frock had not lost her + interest in life. + </p> + <p> + “Make hay while the sun shines,” he said; “and drink that up. I want to + see some colour in your cheeks. We mustn't waste life; it doesn't do. + There's a new Marguerite to-night; let's hope she won't be fat. And + Mephisto—anything more dreadful than a fat chap playing the Devil I + can't imagine.” + </p> + <p> + But they did not go to the opera after all, for in getting up from dinner + the dizziness came over him again, and she insisted on his staying quiet + and going to bed early. When he parted from her at the door of the hotel, + having paid the cabman to drive her to Chelsea, he sat down again for a + moment to enjoy the memory of her words: “You are such a darling to me, + Uncle Jolyon!” Why! Who wouldn't be! He would have liked to stay up + another day and take her to the Zoo, but two days running of him would + bore her to death. No, he must wait till next Sunday; she had promised to + come then. They would settle those lessons for Holly, if only for a month. + It would be something. That little Mam'zelle Beauce wouldn't like it, but + she would have to lump it. And crushing his old opera hat against his + chest he sought the lift. + </p> + <p> + He drove to Waterloo next morning, struggling with a desire to say: 'Drive + me to Chelsea.' But his sense of proportion was too strong. Besides, he + still felt shaky, and did not want to risk another aberration like that of + last night, away from home. Holly, too, was expecting him, and what he had + in his bag for her. Not that there was any cupboard love in his little + sweet—she was a bundle of affection. Then, with the rather bitter + cynicism of the old, he wondered for a second whether it was not cupboard + love which made Irene put up with him. No, she was not that sort either. + She had, if anything, too little notion of how to butter her bread, no + sense of property, poor thing! Besides, he had not breathed a word about + that codicil, nor should he—sufficient unto the day was the good + thereof. + </p> + <p> + In the victoria which met him at the station Holly was restraining the dog + Balthasar, and their caresses made 'jubey' his drive home. All the rest of + that fine hot day and most of the next he was content and peaceful, + reposing in the shade, while the long lingering sunshine showered gold on + the lawns and the flowers. But on Thursday evening at his lonely dinner he + began to count the hours; sixty-five till he would go down to meet her + again in the little coppice, and walk up through the fields at her side. + He had intended to consult the doctor about his fainting fit, but the + fellow would be sure to insist on quiet, no excitement and all that; and + he did not mean to be tied by the leg, did not want to be told of an + infirmity—if there were one, could not afford to hear of it at his + time of life, now that this new interest had come. And he carefully + avoided making any mention of it in a letter to his son. It would only + bring them back with a run! How far this silence was due to consideration + for their pleasure, how far to regard for his own, he did not pause to + consider. + </p> + <p> + That night in his study he had just finished his cigar and was dozing off, + when he heard the rustle of a gown, and was conscious of a scent of + violets. Opening his eyes he saw her, dressed in grey, standing by the + fireplace, holding out her arms. The odd thing was that, though those arms + seemed to hold nothing, they were curved as if round someone's neck, and + her own neck was bent back, her lips open, her eyes closed. She vanished + at once, and there were the mantelpiece and his bronzes. But those bronzes + and the mantelpiece had not been there when she was, only the fireplace + and the wall! Shaken and troubled, he got up. 'I must take medicine,' he + thought; 'I can't be well.' His heart beat too fast, he had an asthmatic + feeling in the chest; and going to the window, he opened it to get some + air. A dog was barking far away, one of the dogs at Gage's farm no doubt, + beyond the coppice. A beautiful still night, but dark. 'I dropped off,' he + mused, 'that's it! And yet I'll swear my eyes were open!' A sound like a + sigh seemed to answer. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” he said sharply, “who's there?” + </p> + <p> + Putting his hand to his side to still the beating of his heart, he stepped + out on the terrace. Something soft scurried by in the dark. “Shoo!” It was + that great grey cat. 'Young Bosinney was like a great cat!' he thought. + 'It was him in there, that she—that she was—He's got her + still!' He walked to the edge of the terrace, and looked down into the + darkness; he could just see the powdering of the daisies on the unmown + lawn. Here to-day and gone to-morrow! And there came the moon, who saw + all, young and old, alive and dead, and didn't care a dump! His own turn + soon. For a single day of youth he would give what was left! And he turned + again towards the house. He could see the windows of the night nursery up + there. His little sweet would be asleep. 'Hope that dog won't wake her!' + he thought. 'What is it makes us love, and makes us die! I must go to + bed.' + </p> + <p> + And across the terrace stones, growing grey in the moonlight, he passed + back within. + </p> + <p> + How should an old man live his days if not in dreaming of his well-spent + past? In that, at all events, there is no agitating warmth, only pale + winter sunshine. The shell can withstand the gentle beating of the dynamos + of memory. The present he should distrust; the future shun. From beneath + thick shade he should watch the sunlight creeping at his toes. If there be + sun of summer, let him not go out into it, mistaking it for the + Indian-summer sun! Thus peradventure he shall decline softly, slowly, + imperceptibly, until impatient Nature clutches his wind-pipe and he gasps + away to death some early morning before the world is aired, and they put + on his tombstone: 'In the fulness of years!' yea! If he preserve his + principles in perfect order, a Forsyte may live on long after he is dead. + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon was conscious of all this, and yet there was in him that which + transcended Forsyteism. For it is written that a Forsyte shall not love + beauty more than reason; nor his own way more than his own health. And + something beat within him in these days that with each throb fretted at + the thinning shell. His sagacity knew this, but it knew too that he could + not stop that beating, nor would if he could. And yet, if you had told him + he was living on his capital, he would have stared you down. No, no; a man + did not live on his capital; it was not done! The shibboleths of the past + are ever more real than the actualities of the present. And he, to whom + living on one's capital had always been anathema, could not have borne to + have applied so gross a phrase to his own case. Pleasure is healthful; + beauty good to see; to live again in the youth of the young—and what + else on earth was he doing! + </p> + <p> + Methodically, as had been the way of his whole life, he now arranged his + time. On Tuesdays he journeyed up to town by train; Irene came and dined + with him. And they went to the opera. On Thursdays he drove to town, and, + putting that fat chap and his horses up, met her in Kensington Gardens, + picking up the carriage after he had left her, and driving home again in + time for dinner. He threw out the casual formula that he had business in + London on those two days. On Wednesdays and Saturdays she came down to + give Holly music lessons. The greater the pleasure he took in her society, + the more scrupulously fastidious he became, just a matter-of-fact and + friendly uncle. Not even in feeling, really, was he more—for, after + all, there was his age. And yet, if she were late he fidgeted himself to + death. If she missed coming, which happened twice, his eyes grew sad as an + old dog's, and he failed to sleep. + </p> + <p> + And so a month went by—a month of summer in the fields, and in his + heart, with summer's heat and the fatigue thereof. Who could have believed + a few weeks back that he would have looked forward to his son's and his + grand-daughter's return with something like dread! There was such a + delicious freedom, such recovery of that independence a man enjoys before + he founds a family, about these weeks of lovely weather, and this new + companionship with one who demanded nothing, and remained always a little + unknown, retaining the fascination of mystery. It was like a draught of + wine to him who has been drinking water for so long that he has almost + forgotten the stir wine brings to his blood, the narcotic to his brain. + The flowers were coloured brighter, scents and music and the sunlight had + a living value—were no longer mere reminders of past enjoyment. + There was something now to live for which stirred him continually to + anticipation. He lived in that, not in retrospection; the difference is + considerable to any so old as he. The pleasures of the table, never of + much consequence to one naturally abstemious, had lost all value. He ate + little, without knowing what he ate; and every day grew thinner and more + worn to look at. He was again a 'threadpaper'. and to this thinned form + his massive forehead, with hollows at the temples, gave more dignity than + ever. He was very well aware that he ought to see the doctor, but liberty + was too sweet. He could not afford to pet his frequent shortness of breath + and the pain in his side at the expense of liberty. Return to the + vegetable existence he had led among the agricultural journals with the + life-size mangold wurzels, before this new attraction came into his life—no! + He exceeded his allowance of cigars. Two a day had always been his rule. + Now he smoked three and sometimes four—a man will when he is filled + with the creative spirit. But very often he thought: 'I must give up + smoking, and coffee; I must give up rattling up to town.' But he did not; + there was no one in any sort of authority to notice him, and this was a + priceless boon. + </p> + <p> + The servants perhaps wondered, but they were, naturally, dumb. Mam'zelle + Beauce was too concerned with her own digestion, and too 'wellbrrred' to + make personal allusions. Holly had not as yet an eye for the relative + appearance of him who was her plaything and her god. It was left for Irene + herself to beg him to eat more, to rest in the hot part of the day, to + take a tonic, and so forth. But she did not tell him that she was the a + cause of his thinness—for one cannot see the havoc oneself is + working. A man of eighty-five has no passions, but the Beauty which + produces passion works on in the old way, till death closes the eyes which + crave the sight of Her. + </p> + <p> + On the first day of the second week in July he received a letter from his + son in Paris to say that they would all be back on Friday. This had always + been more sure than Fate; but, with the pathetic improvidence given to the + old, that they may endure to the end, he had never quite admitted it. Now + he did, and something would have to be done. He had ceased to be able to + imagine life without this new interest, but that which is not imagined + sometimes exists, as Forsytes are perpetually finding to their cost. He + sat in his old leather chair, doubling up the letter, and mumbling with + his lips the end of an unlighted cigar. After to-morrow his Tuesday + expeditions to town would have to be abandoned. He could still drive up, + perhaps, once a week, on the pretext of seeing his man of business. But + even that would be dependent on his health, for now they would begin to + fuss about him. The lessons! The lessons must go on! She must swallow down + her scruples, and June must put her feelings in her pocket. She had done + so once, on the day after the news of Bosinney's death; what she had done + then, she could surely do again now. Four years since that injury was + inflicted on her—not Christian to keep the memory of old sores + alive. June's will was strong, but his was stronger, for his sands were + running out. Irene was soft, surely she would do this for him, subdue her + natural shrinking, sooner than give him pain! The lessons must continue; + for if they did, he was secure. And lighting his cigar at last, he began + trying to shape out how to put it to them all, and explain this strange + intimacy; how to veil and wrap it away from the naked truth—that he + could not bear to be deprived of the sight of beauty. Ah! Holly! Holly was + fond of her, Holly liked her lessons. She would save him—his little + sweet! And with that happy thought he became serene, and wondered what he + had been worrying about so fearfully. He must not worry, it left him + always curiously weak, and as if but half present in his own body. + </p> + <p> + That evening after dinner he had a return of the dizziness, though he did + not faint. He would not ring the bell, because he knew it would mean a + fuss, and make his going up on the morrow more conspicuous. When one grew + old, the whole world was in conspiracy to limit freedom, and for what + reason?—just to keep the breath in him a little longer. He did not + want it at such cost. Only the dog Balthasar saw his lonely recovery from + that weakness; anxiously watched his master go to the sideboard and drink + some brandy, instead of giving him a biscuit. When at last old Jolyon felt + able to tackle the stairs he went up to bed. And, though still shaky next + morning, the thought of the evening sustained and strengthened him. It was + always such a pleasure to give her a good dinner—he suspected her of + undereating when she was alone; and, at the opera to watch her eyes glow + and brighten, the unconscious smiling of her lips. She hadn't much + pleasure, and this was the last time he would be able to give her that + treat. But when he was packing his bag he caught himself wishing that he + had not the fatigue of dressing for dinner before him, and the exertion, + too, of telling her about June's return. + </p> + <p> + The opera that evening was 'Carmen,' and he chose the last entr'acte to + break the news, instinctively putting it off till the latest moment. + </p> + <p> + She took it quietly, queerly; in fact, he did not know how she had taken + it before the wayward music lifted up again and silence became necessary. + The mask was down over her face, that mask behind which so much went on + that he could not see. She wanted time to think it over, no doubt! He + would not press her, for she would be coming to give her lesson to-morrow + afternoon, and he should see her then when she had got used to the idea. + In the cab he talked only of the Carmen; he had seen better in the old + days, but this one was not bad at all. When he took her hand to say + good-night, she bent quickly forward and kissed his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, dear Uncle Jolyon, you have been so sweet to me.” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow then,” he said. “Good-night. Sleep well.” She echoed softly: + “Sleep well” and from the cab window, already moving away, he saw her face + screwed round towards him, and her hand put out in a gesture which seemed + to linger. + </p> + <p> + He sought his room slowly. They never gave him the same, and he could not + get used to these 'spick-and-spandy' bedrooms with new furniture and + grey-green carpets sprinkled all over with pink roses. He was wakeful and + that wretched Habanera kept throbbing in his head. + </p> + <p> + His French had never been equal to its words, but its sense he knew, if it + had any sense, a gipsy thing—wild and unaccountable. Well, there was + in life something which upset all your care and plans—something + which made men and women dance to its pipes. And he lay staring from + deep-sunk eyes into the darkness where the unaccountable held sway. You + thought you had hold of life, but it slipped away behind you, took you by + the scruff of the neck, forced you here and forced you there, and then, + likely as not, squeezed life out of you! It took the very stars like that, + he shouldn't wonder, rubbed their noses together and flung them apart; it + had never done playing its pranks. Five million people in this great + blunderbuss of a town, and all of them at the mercy of that Life-Force, + like a lot of little dried peas hopping about on a board when you struck + your fist on it. Ah, well! Himself would not hop much longer—a good + long sleep would do him good! + </p> + <p> + How hot it was up here!—how noisy! His forehead burned; she had + kissed it just where he always worried; just there—as if she had + known the very place and wanted to kiss it all away for him. But, instead, + her lips left a patch of grievous uneasiness. She had never spoken in + quite that voice, had never before made that lingering gesture or looked + back at him as she drove away. + </p> + <p> + He got out of bed and pulled the curtains aside; his room faced down over + the river. There was little air, but the sight of that breadth of water + flowing by, calm, eternal, soothed him. 'The great thing,' he thought 'is + not to make myself a nuisance. I'll think of my little sweet, and go to + sleep.' But it was long before the heat and throbbing of the London night + died out into the short slumber of the summer morning. And old Jolyon had + but forty winks. + </p> + <p> + When he reached home next day he went out to the flower garden, and with + the help of Holly, who was very delicate with flowers, gathered a great + bunch of carnations. They were, he told her, for 'the lady in grey'—a + name still bandied between them; and he put them in a bowl in his study + where he meant to tackle Irene the moment she came, on the subject of June + and future lessons. Their fragrance and colour would help. After lunch he + lay down, for he felt very tired, and the carriage would not bring her + from the station till four o'clock. But as the hour approached he grew + restless, and sought the schoolroom, which overlooked the drive. The + sun-blinds were down, and Holly was there with Mademoiselle Beauce, + sheltered from the heat of a stifling July day, attending to their + silkworms. Old Jolyon had a natural antipathy to these methodical + creatures, whose heads and colour reminded him of elephants; who nibbled + such quantities of holes in nice green leaves; and smelled, as he thought, + horrid. He sat down on a chintz-covered windowseat whence he could see the + drive, and get what air there was; and the dog Balthasar who appreciated + chintz on hot days, jumped up beside him. Over the cottage piano a violet + dust-sheet, faded almost to grey, was spread, and on it the first + lavender, whose scent filled the room. In spite of the coolness here, + perhaps because of that coolness the beat of life vehemently impressed his + ebbed-down senses. Each sunbeam which came through the chinks had annoying + brilliance; that dog smelled very strong; the lavender perfume was + overpowering; those silkworms heaving up their grey-green backs seemed + horribly alive; and Holly's dark head bent over them had a wonderfully + silky sheen. A marvellous cruelly strong thing was life when you were old + and weak; it seemed to mock you with its multitude of forms and its + beating vitality. He had never, till those last few weeks, had this + curious feeling of being with one half of him eagerly borne along in the + stream of life, and with the other half left on the bank, watching that + helpless progress. Only when Irene was with him did he lose this double + consciousness. + </p> + <p> + Holly turned her head, pointed with her little brown fist to the piano—for + to point with a finger was not 'well-brrred'—and said slyly: + </p> + <p> + “Look at the 'lady in grey,' Gran; isn't she pretty to-day?” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon's heart gave a flutter, and for a second the room was clouded; + then it cleared, and he said with a twinkle: + </p> + <p> + “Who's been dressing her up?” + </p> + <p> + “Mam'zelle.” + </p> + <p> + “Hollee! Don't be foolish!” + </p> + <p> + That prim little Frenchwoman! She hadn't yet got over the music lessons + being taken away from her. That wouldn't help. His little sweet was the + only friend they had. Well, they were her lessons. And he shouldn't budge + shouldn't budge for anything. He stroked the warm wool on Balthasar's + head, and heard Holly say: “When mother's home, there won't be any + changes, will there? She doesn't like strangers, you know.” + </p> + <p> + The child's words seemed to bring the chilly atmosphere of opposition + about old Jolyon, and disclose all the menace to his new-found freedom. + Ah! He would have to resign himself to being an old man at the mercy of + care and love, or fight to keep this new and prized companionship; and to + fight tired him to death. But his thin, worn face hardened into resolution + till it appeared all Jaw. This was his house, and his affair; he should + not budge! He looked at his watch, old and thin like himself; he had owned + it fifty years. Past four already! And kissing the top of Holly's head in + passing, he went down to the hall. He wanted to get hold of her before she + went up to give her lesson. At the first sound of wheels he stepped out + into the porch, and saw at once that the victoria was empty. + </p> + <p> + “The train's in, sir; but the lady 'asn't come.” + </p> + <p> + Old Jolyon gave him a sharp upward look, his eyes seemed to push away that + fat chap's curiosity, and defy him to see the bitter disappointment he was + feeling. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” he said, and turned back into the house. He went to his study + and sat down, quivering like a leaf. What did this mean? She might have + lost her train, but he knew well enough she hadn't. 'Good-bye, dear Uncle + Jolyon.' Why 'Good-bye' and not 'Good-night'. And that hand of hers + lingering in the air. And her kiss. What did it mean? Vehement alarm and + irritation took possession of him. He got up and began to pace the Turkey + carpet, between window and wall. She was going to give him up! He felt it + for certain—and he defenceless. An old man wanting to look on + beauty! It was ridiculous! Age closed his mouth, paralysed his power to + fight. He had no right to what was warm and living, no right to anything + but memories and sorrow. He could not plead with her; even an old man has + his dignity. Defenceless! For an hour, lost to bodily fatigue, he paced up + and down, past the bowl of carnations he had plucked, which mocked him + with its scent. Of all things hard to bear, the prostration of will-power + is hardest, for one who has always had his way. Nature had got him in its + net, and like an unhappy fish he turned and swam at the meshes, here and + there, found no hole, no breaking point. They brought him tea at five + o'clock, and a letter. For a moment hope beat up in him. He cut the + envelope with the butter knife, and read: + </p> + <p> + “DEAREST UNCLE JOLYON,—I can't bear to write anything that may + disappoint you, but I was too cowardly to tell you last night. I feel I + can't come down and give Holly any more lessons, now that June is coming + back. Some things go too deep to be forgotten. It has been such a joy to + see you and Holly. Perhaps I shall still see you sometimes when you come + up, though I'm sure it's not good for you; I can see you are tiring + yourself too much. I believe you ought to rest quite quietly all this hot + weather, and now you have your son and June coming back you will be so + happy. Thank you a million times for all your sweetness to me. + </p> + <p> + “Lovingly your IRENE.” + </p> + <p> + So, there it was! Not good for him to have pleasure and what he chiefly + cared about; to try and put off feeling the inevitable end of all things, + the approach of death with its stealthy, rustling footsteps. Not good for + him! Not even she could see how she was his new lease of interest in life, + the incarnation of all the beauty he felt slipping from him. + </p> + <p> + His tea grew cold, his cigar remained unlit; and up and down he paced, + torn between his dignity and his hold on life. Intolerable to be squeezed + out slowly, without a say of your own, to live on when your will was in + the hands of others bent on weighing you to the ground with care and love. + Intolerable! He would see what telling her the truth would do—the + truth that he wanted the sight of her more than just a lingering on. He + sat down at his old bureau and took a pen. But he could not write. There + was something revolting in having to plead like this; plead that she + should warm his eyes with her beauty. It was tantamount to confessing + dotage. He simply could not. And instead, he wrote: + </p> + <p> + “I had hoped that the memory of old sores would not be allowed to stand in + the way of what is a pleasure and a profit to me and my little + grand-daughter. But old men learn to forego their whims; they are obliged + to, even the whim to live must be foregone sooner or later; and perhaps + the sooner the better. + </p> + <p> + “My love to you, + </p> + <p> + “JOLYON FORSYTE.” + </p> + <p> + 'Bitter,' he thought, 'but I can't help it. I'm tired.' He sealed and + dropped it into the box for the evening post, and hearing it fall to the + bottom, thought: 'There goes all I've looked forward to!' + </p> + <p> + That evening after dinner which he scarcely touched, after his cigar which + he left half-smoked for it made him feel faint, he went very slowly + upstairs and stole into the night-nursery. He sat down on the window-seat. + A night-light was burning, and he could just see Holly's face, with one + hand underneath the cheek. An early cockchafer buzzed in the Japanese + paper with which they had filled the grate, and one of the horses in the + stable stamped restlessly. To sleep like that child! He pressed apart two + rungs of the venetian blind and looked out. The moon was rising, + blood-red. He had never seen so red a moon. The woods and fields out there + were dropping to sleep too, in the last glimmer of the summer light. And + beauty, like a spirit, walked. 'I've had a long life,' he thought, 'the + best of nearly everything. I'm an ungrateful chap; I've seen a lot of + beauty in my time. Poor young Bosinney said I had a sense of beauty. + There's a man in the moon to-night!' A moth went by, another, another. + 'Ladies in grey!' He closed his eyes. A feeling that he would never open + them again beset him; he let it grow, let himself sink; then, with a + shiver, dragged the lids up. There was something wrong with him, no doubt, + deeply wrong; he would have to have the doctor after all. It didn't much + matter now! Into that coppice the moon-light would have crept; there would + be shadows, and those shadows would be the only things awake. No birds, + beasts, flowers, insects; Just the shadows—moving; 'Ladies in grey!' + Over that log they would climb; would whisper together. She and Bosinney! + Funny thought! And the frogs and little things would whisper too! How the + clock ticked, in here! It was all eerie—out there in the light of + that red moon; in here with the little steady night-light and, the ticking + clock and the nurse's dressing-gown hanging from the edge of the screen, + tall, like a woman's figure. 'Lady in grey!' And a very odd thought beset + him: Did she exist? Had she ever come at all? Or was she but the emanation + of all the beauty he had loved and must leave so soon? The violet-grey + spirit with the dark eyes and the crown of amber hair, who walks the dawn + and the moonlight, and at blue-bell time? What was she, who was she, did + she exist? He rose and stood a moment clutching the window-sill, to give + him a sense of reality again; then began tiptoeing towards the door. He + stopped at the foot of the bed; and Holly, as if conscious of his eyes + fixed on her, stirred, sighed, and curled up closer in defence. He tiptoed + on and passed out into the dark passage; reached his room, undressed at + once, and stood before a mirror in his night-shirt. What a scarecrow—with + temples fallen in, and thin legs! His eyes resisted his own image, and a + look of pride came on his face. All was in league to pull him down, even + his reflection in the glass, but he was not down—yet! He got into + bed, and lay a long time without sleeping, trying to reach resignation, + only too well aware that fretting and disappointment were very bad for + him. + </p> + <p> + He woke in the morning so unrefreshed and strengthless that he sent for + the doctor. After sounding him, the fellow pulled a face as long as your + arm, and ordered him to stay in bed and give up smoking. That was no + hardship; there was nothing to get up for, and when he felt ill, tobacco + always lost its savour. He spent the morning languidly with the sun-blinds + down, turning and re-turning The Times, not reading much, the dog + Balthasar lying beside his bed. With his lunch they brought him a + telegram, running thus: + </p> + <p> + 'Your letter received coming down this afternoon will be with you at + four-thirty. Irene.' + </p> + <p> + Coming down! After all! Then she did exist—and he was not deserted. + Coming down! A glow ran through his limbs; his cheeks and forehead felt + hot. He drank his soup, and pushed the tray-table away, lying very quiet + until they had removed lunch and left him alone; but every now and then + his eyes twinkled. Coming down! His heart beat fast, and then did not seem + to beat at all. At three o'clock he got up and dressed deliberately, + noiselessly. Holly and Mam'zelle would be in the schoolroom, and the + servants asleep after their dinner, he shouldn't wonder. He opened his + door cautiously, and went downstairs. In the hall the dog Balthasar lay + solitary, and, followed by him, old Jolyon passed into his study and out + into the burning afternoon. He meant to go down and meet her in the + coppice, but felt at once he could not manage that in this heat. He sat + down instead under the oak tree by the swing, and the dog Balthasar, who + also felt the heat, lay down beside him. He sat there smiling. What a + revel of bright minutes! What a hum of insects, and cooing of pigeons! It + was the quintessence of a summer day. Lovely! And he was happy—happy + as a sand-boy, whatever that might be. She was coming; she had not given + him up! He had everything in life he wanted—except a little more + breath, and less weight—just here! He would see her when she emerged + from the fernery, come swaying just a little, a violet-grey figure passing + over the daisies and dandelions and 'soldiers' on the lawn—the + soldiers with their flowery crowns. He would not move, but she would come + up to him and say: 'Dear Uncle Jolyon, I am sorry!' and sit in the swing + and let him look at her and tell her that he had not been very well but + was all right now; and that dog would lick her hand. That dog knew his + master was fond of her; that dog was a good dog. + </p> + <p> + It was quite shady under the tree; the sun could not get at him, only make + the rest of the world bright so that he could see the Grand Stand at Epsom + away out there, very far, and the cows cropping the clover in the field + and swishing at the flies with their tails. He smelled the scent of limes, + and lavender. Ah! that was why there was such a racket of bees. They were + excited—busy, as his heart was busy and excited. Drowsy, too, drowsy + and drugged on honey and happiness; as his heart was drugged and drowsy. + Summer—summer—they seemed saying; great bees and little bees, + and the flies too! + </p> + <p> + The stable clock struck four; in half an hour she would be here. He would + have just one tiny nap, because he had had so little sleep of late; and + then he would be fresh for her, fresh for youth and beauty, coming towards + him across the sunlit lawn—lady in grey! And settling back in his + chair he closed his eyes. Some thistle-down came on what little air there + was, and pitched on his moustache more white than itself. He did not know; + but his breathing stirred it, caught there. A ray of sunlight struck + through and lodged on his boot. A bumble-bee alighted and strolled on the + crown of his Panama hat. And the delicious surge of slumber reached the + brain beneath that hat, and the head swayed forward and rested on his + breast. Summer—summer! So went the hum. + </p> + <p> + The stable clock struck the quarter past. The dog Balthasar stretched and + looked up at his master. The thistledown no longer moved. The dog placed + his chin over the sunlit foot. It did not stir. The dog withdrew his chin + quickly, rose, and leaped on old Jolyon's lap, looked in his face, whined; + then, leaping down, sat on his haunches, gazing up. And suddenly he + uttered a long, long howl. + </p> + <p> + But the thistledown was still as death, and the face of his old master. + </p> + <p> + Summer—summer—summer! The soundless footsteps on the grass! + </p> + <p> + 1917 <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Five Tales, by John Galsworthy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FIVE TALES *** + +***** This file should be named 2684-h.htm or 2684-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/8/2684/ + +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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