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diff --git a/28309-h/28309-h.htm b/28309-h/28309-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..811296f --- /dev/null +++ b/28309-h/28309-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14300 @@ +<!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"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker, by Marguerite Bryant</title> +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + hr.mini {width:2em; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid black;} + hr.tb {width: 30%; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both; margin: 1em auto;} + ins.trnote {text-decoration: none; border-bottom: 1px dashed #66CC66;} + h1 {text-align:center; font-weight:bold; font-size: 1.6em;} + h1.pg {text-align:center; font-weight:bold; font-size: 190%;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size: 1.4em;} + + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + .center {text-align: center; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} +</style> +</head> +<body> +<h1 class="pg">The Project Gutenberg eBook of Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker, by +Marguerite Bryant</h1> +<pre> +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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker</p> +<p>Author: Marguerite Bryant</p> +<p>Release Date: March 11, 2009 [eBook #28309]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTOPHER HIBBAULT, ROADMAKER***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3 class="center">E-text prepared by Roger Frank, Darleen Dove,<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<table summary="transcriber notes" style='margin:3em auto 0 auto; width:35em; border:1px solid; color:#778899; padding:5px;'> + +<tr><td> +<p style='font-size:small; color:#303030; text-align:left;'>Transcriber’s Note: <br /><br /> + +Spelling and punctuation have been preserved as printed except as indicated in the text by a dashed line under the change. Hover the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins class="trnote" title="like this">appear</ins>. A list of these changes can be found <a href="#ATN">here.</a> +<br /><br /> + +Pages 134, 135, and 136 were intentionally omitted in the original text.<br /><br /> + +The following words were found in variable forms in the original text and both versions have been retained: bookcase (book-case); commonsense (common-sense); downland (down-land); hairs-breadth (hair’s-breadth); highroad (high-road); milestone (mile-stone); roadside (road-side); teapot (tea-pot); unbiased (unbiassed).<br /><br /></p> +</td></tr> +</table> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<table style='margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; border: black 1px solid;' summary="title page"> + <tr><td> + + <table style='width:24em; padding:20px 10px; margin: 4px; border: black 1px solid;' summary=""> + + <tr> + <td align="center"> + <span style='font-size:2em;'>Christopher Hibbault,</span><br /> + <span style='font-size:1.5em; font-style:italic; letter-spacing:0.1em;'>Roadmaker</span><br /><br /><br /> + </td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td style='text-align:center; font-size:1.1em;'> BY<br />MARGUERITE BRYANT<br /><br /><br /> + </td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td style='text-align:center; height: 8em;'><img src="images/roadmaker-emb.png" alt='emblem' /> + </td> + </tr> + + <tr> + <td style='text-align: center;'><br /><br /><br /><br /><span style='letter-spacing:0.1em; font-size:1.1em;'>NEW YORK</span><br /><span style='letter-spacing:0.3em; font-size:1.3em;'>GROSSETT & DUNLAP</span><br /><span style='letter-spacing:0.1em; font-size:0.9em;'>PUBLISHERS</span></td> + </tr> + </table> + + </td></tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='text-align:center'><span style='font-size:80%; font-variant:small-caps'>Copyright, 1908, By</span><br /> +<span style='font-size:90%'>DUFFIELD AND COMPANY</span><br /></p> + +<hr class='mini' /> + +<p style='text-align:center'><span style='font-size:80%'> +Set up and electrotyped; published January, 1909<br /> +Reprinted March, August, October, December, 1909<br /> +May, August, October, 1910</span></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='text-align:center; font-style:italic; margin-left: 3em; width:12em;'>To V. B. and M. B.<br /> +this Book<br /> +with my love<br /> +1906-1908<br /></p> +<table style='margin: auto' summary=''><tr><td> +<p style='margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0;'> +<i>Your paths were two when<br /> + first the tale began<br /> +And now are one, and still<br /> + with every year<br /> +Love, the Divine Roadmaker,<br /> + works His will.<br /> +And of these paths he makes<br /> + one perfect Road<br /> +Which those who follow after<br /> + shall find smooth<br /> +And with more easy steps<br /> + shall seek the Dawn.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span></div> +<h1>Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker</h1> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I' id='CHAPTER_I'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +</div> +<p>It was a hot July day, set in a sky of unruffled blue, +with sharp shadows across road and field, and a wind +that had little coolness in it playing languidly over +the downland. The long white dusty road kept its +undeviating course eastward over hill and dale, through +hamlet and town, till it was swallowed up in the mesh-work +of ways round London, sixty-three miles away +according to the mile-stone by which a certain small +boy clad in workhouse garb was loitering. He had +read the inscription many times and parcelled out the +sixty-three miles into various days’ journeys, but never +succeeded in bringing it within divisionable distance +of the few pennies which found their way into his +pockets. His precocious little head carried within it +too bitter memories of hungry days, and too many +impressions of the shifts and contrivances by which +fortune’s votaries bamboozle from that fickle Goddess +a meagre living, to adventure on the journey unprepared. +Moreover, Mr. and Mrs. Moss of the Whitmansworth +Union were not unkind, and meals were +regular, so he did not run away from the house that +had opened its doors to him and an exhausted mother +six months ago. But he still dreamt of London as +the desideratum of his fondest hopes, and that, in +spite of a black terror crouching there and carefully +nurtured by the poor mother in the days of their wanderings. +He saw it all through a haze of people and +experiences, of friends and foes, and it was the Place +of Liberty.</p> +<p>Therefore, when escape was possible from the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +somewhat easy rule of the Union, he hurried away to +the mile-stone on the “Great Road,” as it was called +about here. The stone with its clear distinct black +lettering, seemed to bring him nearer London, and he +would spend his time contentedly flinging pebbles +into the river of dust at his feet, or planning out in +his active little mind what he would do when old +Granny Jane’s prophecy came true.</p> +<p>There was a wide strip of turf on each side of the +road bejewelled with poppies and daisies, matted with +yellow and white bedstraws, carpeted with clovers, +and over all lay a coating of fine chalky dust, legacy +of passing cart and carriage.</p> +<p>The boy was very hot and very dusty, and a little +sleepy. He lay on his back drumming his heels on +the turf and watching an exuberant lark tower up +into the sky above him. He was not unmindful of the +lark’s song, but he vaguely wondered if a well-thrown +stone could travel as far as the dark mounting speck.</p> +<p>“It’s a year ago I am sure since that old woman +told me my fortune,” he said, suddenly sitting up. “I +wonder if it will come true. Mother said it was nonsense.”</p> +<p>It was a lonely stretch of road. The mile-stone +was on the summit of a rise and the ground sloped +away on his right to a reach of green water-meadow +through which a chalky trout-stream wandered, and +the red roof of an old mill showed through a group +of silvery poplars and willows. On the other side of +the road were undulating fields that dwindled from +sparse cultivation to bare down-land. There was no +sign of any house except the distant mill, but directly +over the summit of the hill, happily hidden, an ugly +little red-brick mushroom of a town asserted itself, +overgrowing in its unbeautiful growth the older picturesque +village of Whitmansworth.</p> +<p>The faint sharp click of horses’ hoofs stepping +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +swiftly and regularly swept up the road towards the +boy. He stood up the better to see the approaching +vehicle which was coming from out of the east towards +him. Two horses, he judged, listening intently. +Presently a distant dark spot on the road evolved itself +into a carriage—a phaeton and a pair of iron grey +horses. It was long before the days of motors, when +fine horses and good drivers were common enough in +England, but even the small boy recognised that these +animals were exceptional and were stepping out at a +pace that spoke of good blood, good training and good +hands on the reins.</p> +<p>He watched them trot full pace down the opposite +hill and breast the steep rise after without a break in +the easy rhythm of their movements. It was a matter +of their driver’s will rather than their pleasure that +made them slacken pace as they neared the mile-stone.</p> +<p>The lonely little figure standing there was clearly +visible to the travellers in the phaeton. The man who +was driving looked at him casually, looked again with +sudden sharp scrutiny, and abruptly pulled up his +horses. He thrust the reins into his companion’s +hands, and was off the box before the groom from +behind could reach the horses’ heads.</p> +<p>The owner of the phaeton came straight towards +the small boy who was watching the horses with interest, +pleased at the halt and oblivious of his own +connection with it. The traveller was a man who +looked forty-eight despite his frosted hair, and was in +reality ten years older. He was tall, well beyond average +height, thin, well-fashioned, with a keen kindly +face, clean shaven. His mouth was humorous, and +there was a certain serenity of expression and bearing +that invited confidence. The boy, casting a hasty +glance at him as he approached, thought him a very +fine gentleman indeed: as in fact he was, in every possible +meaning of the word. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span></p> +<p>“Is this Whitmansworth?” demanded the owner +of the phaeton. His tone was not aggressive. The +boy gave him as straight a look of judgment as he +himself received.</p> +<p>“Down there it is,” with a nod of his head in the +direction of the distant townlet.</p> +<p>“And not up here?”</p> +<p>“Dunno, they calls it the Great Road.”</p> +<p>The stranger still stood looking down at him +fixedly.</p> +<p>“Is your name James Christopher Hibbault?”</p> +<p>Without warning, without time for the canny little +morsel of humanity to weigh the wisdom of an answer, +the question was shot at him and he was left gasping +and speechless after an incriminating “Yes,” forced +from him by the suddenness of the onslaught, and the +truth-compelling power of those keen eyes. “Least +it’s Hibbault,” he added unwillingly. “Jim, they calls +me.”</p> +<p>“I think it is Christopher as well, and I prefer +Christopher. And what are you doing on the Great +Road at this hour in the afternoon, Christopher?”</p> +<p>And Jim—or Christopher,—trained and renowned +for a useful evasiveness of retort in those far-off London +days, answered mechanically: “Waiting for the +fortune to come true.”</p> +<p>Then the hot blood rushed to his face from sheer +shame at his own betrayal of the darling secret of his +small existence.</p> +<p>“Your fortune?” echoed the other slowly. “Fortunes +do not come for waiting. What do you mean?”</p> +<p>“It was the old woman said so—mother didn’t +believe it. She said as how my fortune would come +to me on the Great Road. There wer’n’t no Great +Road there, so when I heard as how they called this +the Great Road, I just stuck to it.”</p> +<p>It was a long speech. The boy had none of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +half-stupid stolidity of the country-bred, and yet lacked +something of the garrulity of the cute street lad. +His voice too was a surprise. The broad vowels +seemed acquired and uncertain and jarred on the +hearer with a sense of misfit.</p> +<p>“Do you live at Whitmansworth Union?”</p> +<p>There was a faint tinge of resentment in the short +“Yes.”</p> +<p>How did the gentleman know it, and, anyhow, why +should he tell him? Jim felt irritated.</p> +<p>The owner of the phaeton stood still a moment +with one hand on the dusty little shoulder, and then +looked round at the water-meadows, the distant copses, +the more distant shimmering downs. Then he laughed, +saying something the boy did not understand, and +looked down at the sharp inquiring little face again.</p> +<p>“Which means, Christopher, hide-and-seek is an +easy game when it’s over,” he explained. “Come +and show me where you live.”</p> +<p>They walked back towards the carriage together. +The elderly gentleman holding the reins was looking +back at them; so was the groom. The elderly +gentleman cast a puzzled, inquiring glance from the +boy to his companion as they came near.</p> +<p>“Fortune meets us on the road-side, Stapleton,” +said the owner of the phaeton. “Let me introduce +you to Christopher Hibbault. Get up, child.”</p> +<p>Get up? Mount that quietly magnificent carriage, +ride behind those beautiful animals with their pawing +feet and arched necks? The small boy stood still a +moment to appreciate the greatness of the event.</p> +<p>“Are you afraid, Christopher?”</p> +<p>Resentment sprang to life. Yet it was almost well +so transcendent a moment should have its pin prick +of annoyance. With a “No” of ineffable scorn, Jim—or +Christopher—the name was immaterial to him—clambered +up into the high carriage and wedged +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +himself between the elderly gentleman and the inquisitive +driver, who had regained his seat and the +reins.</p> +<p>Christopher’s experiences of driving were of a very +limited nature, and certainly they did not embrace +anything like this. He had no recollection of ever +having travelled by train, and it was the question of +pace that fascinated him, the rapid, easy swinging +movement through the air, the fresh breeze rushing +by, the distancing of humbler wayfarers, all gave him +a strange sense of exhilaration. Years afterward, +when flesh and blood were all too slow for him and he +was one of the best motorists in England, if not in +Europe, he used to recall the rapturous pleasure of +that first drive of his, that first introduction to the +mad, tense joy of speed that ever after held him in +thrall.</p> +<p>The owner of the phaeton and the elderly gentleman +whom he had called Stapleton exchanged no remarks, +but they both cast curious, thoughtful glances +at their small companion from time to time. They +had to rouse him from his rhapsody to ask the way at +last. He answered concisely and shortly with no +touch of the local burr.</p> +<p>“How came you to be so far away?” demanded +Jim’s fine gentleman as they were passing through the +market-place.</p> +<p>Jim was engaged in superciliously ignoring the +amazed stares of the town boys who were apt to look +down on the “workhouse kid,” though he attended +the Whitmansworth school. Once past them he answered +the question vaguely.</p> +<p>“The master was out: I hadn’t to do anything.”</p> +<p>“And you had permission to wander where you +liked?”</p> +<p>To this Jim did not reply. He had <i>not</i> permission, +but he counted on the good nature of Mrs. Moss, with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +whom he was a favourite, to plead his cause with her +husband.</p> +<p>“Had you permission?” demanded his questioner +again, bending down suddenly to look in the boy’s +face with his disconcerting eyes.</p> +<p>It would have seemed to Jim on reflection a great +deal more prudent and quite as easy to have said +“yes” as “no,” but the “no” slipped out, and the +questioner smiled, not ill-pleased.</p> +<p>At last they came to a standstill before the door of +the Whitmansworth Union. Jim, with a prodigious +sigh, prepared to descend. The glorious adventure +was over. Also he prepared to slip away to a more +lowly entrance, but was stopped by a retaining hand.</p> +<p>The porter, no friend of Jim’s, stared with dull +amazement at the apparition of the fine turn-out, and +the still finer gentleman waiting on the doorstep with +that little “varmint” of a Hibbault. He signed to +the boy angrily to begone, as he ushered the visitor in.</p> +<p>“The boy will stay with me,” said the owner of the +phaeton quietly, and they were accordingly shown into +that solemn sanctum, the Board Room. It was a +cheerful room with flowers in the window and a long +green-covered table with comfortable chairs on each +side, but it struck a cold note of discomfort in Jim’s +heart. The first time he had entered it, about six +months ago, the chairs had been occupied by ten more +or less portly gentlemen who informed him that his +mother, now being dead (she had died two days previously), +they had decided to give him a home +for the present, and would educate him and teach him +a trade, and that he should be very grateful and must +be a good boy.</p> +<p>Jim had said tearfully he would rather go back to +London and Mrs. Sartin, which appeared to surprise +them very much, and they were at some pains to point +out the advantages of a country life, which did not appeal +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +to him at all. Then one of them, who had not +spoken before, said abruptly, “his mother had wished +him to stay there, and there was an end of it.”</p> +<p>That was six months ago. Jim remembered it all +very distinctly as he waited with his companion in +the Board Room.</p> +<p>Mr. Moss bustled in: he was a stout, cheerful man +of hasty temper, but withal a man one could deal with—through +his wife—in Jim’s estimation.</p> +<p>He held the card the visitor had sent in between +his fingers and looked flurried and surprised. Jim +noticed he bowed to the stranger, but did not offer to +shake hands as he did with the doctor and parson and +the few rare visitors the boy had observed. So Jim +concluded <i>his</i> gentleman was a very great gentleman +indeed, as he had all along suspected.</p> +<p>“My name is Aston—Charles Aston”—said the +owner of the phaeton in his pleasant voice. “I have +driven down from London to make inquiries about a +small boy I have reason to believe came under your +care about seven months ago: Hibbault by name.”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir,—Mr. Aston,” said Mr. Moss, assuming +an air of importance, “and that is the boy himself.”</p> +<p>“A good boy, I hope?” He bestowed on him one +of those keen, sharp glances Jim was beginning not to +resent.</p> +<p>“Not bad as boys go,” Mr. Moss answered dubiously, +scratching his chin, “but his bringing up has +been against him. London, sir,—and then tramping +about the country for a year.”</p> +<p>Jim regarded Mr. Aston anxiously to see how this +somewhat negative character struck him, but he was +still looking at Jim and seemed to pay small heed to +Mr. Moss’s words.</p> +<p>“We passed him on the road,” he said; “I was +struck by the likeness to someone I knew, and I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +thought there could not be two boys so like in Whitmansworth. +You were master here when he was admitted?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, Mr. Aston. It was in November last, on +a Thursday night, I remember, because service was +on. The mother was clean exhausted, and was taken +to the infirmary at once and––”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston interposed.</p> +<p>“Christopher, go out and stay by the carriage till +I call you, and ask the gentleman—Mr. Stapleton—to +come in here.”</p> +<p>And James Christopher Hibbault obeyed without +so much as a glance for permission at Mr. Moss.</p> +<p>He delivered his message and then interviewed the +groom, who seemed used to waiting. The tea bell +rang, but Jim, though hungry, never thought of disobeying +his orders. The hall porter came out and +went off on his bicycle and presently returned with +Mr. Page, one of the Board gentlemen.</p> +<p>The groom eventually grew communicative and +told Jim the horses’ names were Castor and Pollux, +and there wasn’t their match in the country, no more +in all London, though to be sure Mr. Aston had some +fine horses at Marden Court.</p> +<p>“Is that where he lives?” inquired Jim.</p> +<p>It appeared he lived there sometimes, but Mr. Nevil,—Jim +did not know who that was—lived there mostly. +Mr. Aston spent most of his time in London with Mr. +Aymer. They had left London the previous day, Jim +learnt, and had been driving to queer out-of-the-way +places, always stopping at Unions.</p> +<p>At which point the door opened and Mr. Aston +came out, and with him Mr. Page and Mr. and Mrs. +Moss and Mr. Stapleton with a bundle of papers in +his hand, and all these people looked at Jim in a perplexed +way, except Mr. Aston, who appeared quite +happy and unconcerned. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span></p> +<p>“Say good-bye to Mrs. Moss, Christopher,” he said +authoritatively. “You are coming with me.”</p> +<p>“Where to?” demanded the boy with a sudden +access of caution.</p> +<p>“To London.”</p> +<p>Christopher began to scramble up into the carriage +and was unceremoniously hauled down.</p> +<p>“Manners, Christopher. Mrs. Moss is waiting to +say good-bye.”</p> +<p>Now, Mrs. Moss had been very kind to the little +waif and taken him to her motherly childless heart, +and in spite of her excitement over this wonderful +event, or because of it, she could not refrain from a +few tears. Jim was not indifferent to the fact—any +more than he had been to the lark’s song, but he +secretly thought it very inconsiderate of her to cloud +this extraordinary adventure with anything so depressing +as tears. He was the more aggrieved as +against his will, against all reason and all tradition +of manliness, he found objectionable salt drops brimming +up in his own eyes. A culminating point was +reached, however, when Mrs. Moss fairly embraced +him. It should be stated that on occasions and in private +Jim had no sort of objection to being cuddled +by Mrs. Moss, who was a comfortable, pillowy sort +of person.</p> +<p>The ordeal was over at last and he was clambering +up into the carriage when Mrs. Moss bethought her +he had had no tea.</p> +<p>Mr. Aston protested they were going to stop at +Basingstoke, but the good woman insisted on provisioning +the boy with a wedge of cake and tucking +a clean handkerchief of her own into his pocket.</p> +<p>“We shall sleep at Basingstoke, and I’ll send back +his clothes by post,” said Mr. Aston. “No doubt we +can get him some sort of temporary outfit there.”</p> +<p>Jim, who had been secretly afraid he would be relegated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +to the back seat with the groom, breathed a +sigh of relief as Mr. Aston mounted to his place. +That gentleman apparently understood the innermost +soul of the boy, for he gravely asked Mr. Stapleton +to find room for a companion, and then with a toss +of their proud heads Castor and Pollux moved off. +Mr. Aston raised his hat courteously to Mrs. Moss, +and Jim, observing, made an attempt to remove his +own dingy little cap, a performance everyone took as +a matter of course untill he had gone, when Mrs. Moss +remembered it and exclaimed to her husband: “Didn’t +I always say, Joseph, he wasn’t like the rest of +them?”</p> +<p>But Joseph only said “Umph,” and went in doors.</p> +<p>“We will telegraph to Aymer from Basingstoke,” +said Mr. Aston as they started, and after that there +was silence.</p> +<p>The monotonous click-clack of the horses’ feet +lulled the tired child into blissful drowsiness. He +had had too many ups and downs in his eleven years +of life to be alarmed at this unexpected turn of fortune, +and he was still too young to grasp how great a +change had been wrought in that life since the hot +hour he had spent lying by the mile-stone on the +Great Road.</p> +<p>As they clattered through the narrow streets of the +country town in the light of the long July evening +Christopher sat up and rubbed his eyes.</p> +<p>“I’ve been here before,” he volunteered.</p> +<p>Mr. Aston effected a skilful pass between a donkey +cart and two perambulators.</p> +<p>“Yes, quite right, you have. What do you remember +about it, Christopher?”</p> +<p>The boy looked dubious and a little distressed, but +just then they passed a chemist’s shop.</p> +<p>“We went there,” he cried. “Mother got something +for her cough, so she couldn’t have any supper. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +We stayed at a horrid old woman’s, a nasty, cross +thing.”</p> +<p>“You did not go to the Union, then?”</p> +<p>“No, we had some money, a whole shilling and +some pennies.”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston said something under his breath and +Mr. Stapleton murmured “tut-tut-tut.”</p> +<p>“That’s how we first missed the trail, Stapleton,” +he said, and then as they walked up a steep hill he +spoke to the boy.</p> +<p>“Christopher, I want you to tell me anything you +remember about your mother and the old days if you +wish it, but you must not talk about that to Aymer. +It would make him unhappy.”</p> +<p>“Who is Aymer?” asked Christopher, not unreasonably.</p> +<p>“Aymer is my son, my eldest son. You are going +to live with him.”</p> +<p>“Is he a boy like me?”</p> +<p>“No, he is quite big, grown up, but he can’t get +about as you can, he is—a cripple.”</p> +<p>He said the words with a sort of forced jerk and +half under his breath, but Christopher heard them and +shivered.</p> +<p>“Do you live there, too?” he asked, pressing a little +nearer the man who was no longer a stranger.</p> +<p>“Live where?”</p> +<p>“With the—your son.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I live there too. My boy couldn’t get on +without me—and here’s the White Elephant, which +means supper and bed for a tired young man. Jump +down, Christopher.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II' id='CHAPTER_II'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +</div> +<p>The spirit of waning July hung heavily over London. +In mean streets and alleys it was inexpressibly +dreary: the fagged inhabitants lacked even energy to +quarrel.</p> +<p>But on the high ground westward of the Park, +where big houses demand elbow-room and breathing +space and even occasionally exclusive gardens, a little +breeze sprang up at sundown and lingered on till dusk.</p> +<p>In this region lies one of the most beautiful houses +in London, the country seat of some fine gentleman +in Queen Anne’s day. It hid its beauties, however, +from the public gaze, lying modestly back in a garden +whose size had no claim to modesty at all. All one +could see from the road, through the iron gates, was +a glimpse of a wide portico, and a long row of windows. +It stood high and in its ample garden the +breeze ran riot, shaking the scent from orange and +myrtle trees, from jasmine and roses, and wafting it +in at the wide open windows of a room which, projecting +from the house, seemed to take command of +the garden.</p> +<p>It was a large room and the windows went from +ceiling to floor. It was also a very beautiful room. +In the gathering dusk the restful harmonies of its colours +melted into soft, hazy blue, making it appear +vaster than it really was. Also, it was unencumbered +by much furniture and what there was so essentially +fitted its place that it was <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: added a period after unobtrusive">unobtrusive.</ins> Three big +canvases occupied the walls, indiscernible in the dim +light, but masterpieces of world fame, heirlooms +known all over Europe. There was a curious dearth +of small objects and unessentials, nothing in all the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +great space that could fatigue the eye or perplex the +brain of the occupant.</p> +<p>The owner of the room was lying on a big sofa +near one of the open windows. Within reach was a +low bookcase, a table with an electric reading lamp, +and a little row of electric bells, some scattered papers +and an open telegram.</p> +<p>The man on the sofa lay quite still looking into the +garden as it sunk from sight under the slowly falling +veil of purple night.</p> +<p>He was evidently a tall man, with the head and +shoulders of an athlete, and a face of such precise and +unusual beauty that one’s instinct called out, “Here, +then, God has planned a man.”</p> +<p>Aymer Aston, indeed, was not unlike his father, +but far more regular in feature, more carefully hewn, +and the serenity of the older face was lacking. Here +was the face of a fighter, alive with the strong passions +held in by a stronger will. There was almost +riotous vitality expressed in his colouring, coppery-coloured +hair and dark brows, eyes of surprising blueness +and a tanned skin, for he spent hours lying in +the sun, hatless and unshaded, with the avowed intention +of “browning”; and he “browned” well except +for a queer white triangled scar almost in the +centre of his forehead, an ugly mark that showed up +with fresh distinctness when any emotion brought the +quick blood to his face. There was indeed nothing in +his appearance to suggest a cripple or an invalid.</p> +<p>Nevertheless, Aymer Aston, aged thirty-five, the +best polo-player, the best fencer, the best athlete of his +day at College, possessing more than his share of the +vigour of youth and glory of life, had, for over ten +years, never moved without help from the sofa on +which he lay, and the strange scar and a certain weakness +in the left hand and arm were the only visible +signs of the catastrophe that had broken his life. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span></p> +<p>A thin, angular man entered, and crossed the room +with an apologetic cough.</p> +<p>“Is that you, Vespasian?” demanded his master +without moving. “Have they come?”</p> +<p>“No, sir, but there is a message from the House. I +believe Mr. Aston is wanted particularly.”</p> +<p>“What a nuisance. Why can’t they let him alone? +He might as well be in office.”</p> +<p>The man, without asking permission, rearranged +his master’s cushions with a practised hand.</p> +<p>“The young gentleman had better have some supper +upstairs, sir, as it’s so late,” he suggested. “I’ll +see to it myself.”</p> +<p>“Send him in to me directly they come, Vespasian.”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>He withdrew as quietly as he had entered and Aymer +continued to look out at the dark, and think over +the change he, of his own will, was about to make in +his monotonous existence. He was so lost in thought +he did not hear the door open again or realise the +“change” was actually an accomplished fact till a +half-frightened gasp of “Oh!” caught his ear. He +turned as well as he could, unaided.</p> +<p>“Is that you, Christopher?”</p> +<p>The voice was so singularly like Mr. Aston’s that +Christopher felt reassured. The dim vastness of the +room had frightened him, also he had thought it +empty.</p> +<p>“Come over here to me,” said Aymer, holding out +his hand, “I can’t come to you.”</p> +<p>Christopher nervously advanced. The brightness +of the corridor outside left his eyes confused in this +dim light. Aymer suddenly remembered this and +turned on a switch. The vague shadowy space was +flooded with soft radiance. It was like magic to the +small boy.</p> +<p>He was first aware of a gorgeous glint of colouring +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +in a rug flung across the sofa, and then of a man +lying on a pile of dull-tinted pillows, a man with red +hair and blue eyes, watching him eagerly.</p> +<p>Children as a rule are not susceptible to physical +beauty, turning with undeviating instinct to the inner +soul of things, with a fine disregard for externals, but +Christopher, in this, was rather abnormal. He was +very actively alive to outward form.</p> +<p>Since Mr. Aston had told him Aymer was a cripple +Christopher had been consumed with unspeakable +dread. His idea of a cripple was derived from a distorted, +evil-faced old man who had lived in the same +house that had once sheltered his mother and him. +The mere thought of it made him sick with horror. +And when the tall gentleman in black, who had met +them in the entrance hall and escorted him here, had +opened the door and put him inside, he had much ado +not to rush out again. He conquered his fear with +unrecognised heroism, and this was his reward.</p> +<p>He stood staring, with all his worshipful admiration +writ large on his little tired white face. Aymer +Aston saw it and laughed. He was quite aware of his +own good looks and perfectly unaffected thereby, +though he took some pains to preserve them. But his +vanity had centred itself on one thing in his earlier +life, and that, his great strength, and it died when that +was no more.</p> +<p>“Little Christopher,” he said, “come and sit down +by me: you must be tired to death.”</p> +<p>“Are you Mr. Aymer?” demanded Christopher, +still staring.</p> +<p>“Yes, only you mustn’t call me that, I think. I +wonder what you will call me?”</p> +<p>Christopher offered no solution to the problem.</p> +<p>“Would you like to live here with me?”</p> +<p>He looked round. A dim sense of alarm crept +back. The room looked so empty and unreal, so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +“alone.” Without knowing why, Christopher, who +had never had a real home to pine for, felt miserably +homesick.</p> +<p>Aymer watched him closely and did not press the +question. Instead, he asked him in a matter-of-fact +way to shut the window for him.</p> +<p>The boy did so without blundering. The window-fastening +was new to him, and Aymer noticed he +looked at it curiously and shut it twice to see how it +went. Then he sat down again and continued to gaze +at Aymer.</p> +<p>“I forgot, I was to tell you something,” he said +suddenly, his face wrinkling with distress. “The +other one—the gentleman who brought me––”</p> +<p>“My father?”</p> +<p>Christopher nodded. “I oughtn’t to have forgotten. +He said he had to go to the House, but he’d be +back quite soon, he hoped.”</p> +<p>“He’s had no dinner, I suppose,” grumbled Aymer.</p> +<p>“Yes, we had dinner at—I forget the name of the +place—and tea. And yesterday we had dinner too.”</p> +<p>“That was wise,” said Aymer gravely. “Where’s +Mr. Stapleton?”</p> +<p>“He went home by train this morning. I sat in his +place all the time, not at the back.”</p> +<p>He paused thoughtfully. An idea that had been +dimly forming in his brain, took alarming shape. A +small companion at the Union had lately been sent +out as a page to a kindly family. Christopher wondered +if that was the meaning of all these strange adventures +for him. At the same time he was conscious +of so vast a sense of disappointment that he was compelled +to put his Fate to the test at once. He jerked +out the inquiry with breathless abruptness.</p> +<p>“Am I going to be your page?”</p> +<p>“Page?” Aymer Aston echoed the words with +consternation; then held out his hand to the child. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span></p> +<p>“Didn’t my father tell you?” he asked.</p> +<p>A kind of nervous exasperation seized on Christopher. +He was tired, overwrought, puzzled and baffled.</p> +<p>“No one tells me anything,” he said petulantly, +blinking hard to keep back the tears; “they just took +me.”</p> +<p>“Do you want to be a page boy?”</p> +<p>“No.” It was emphatic to the point of rudeness.</p> +<p>Aymer put his arm round him and drew him near, +laughing.</p> +<p>“You are not going to be a page,” he said, “you +are going to be”—he hesitated—“to be my own boy—just +as if you were my son. I’ve adopted you.”</p> +<p>“Why?”</p> +<p>Christopher’s dark eyes were fixed on the blue ones +and then he saw the scar for the first time. It interested +him so much he hardly heard Aymer’s slow answer +when it came.</p> +<p>“I have a great deal of time on my hands, and I +should have liked a son of my own. As I can’t have +that I’ve adopted you. Don’t you think you can +like me?”</p> +<p>Christopher looked round the room and back at the +sofa. The voice was kind and the arm that was round +him gripped him firmly; also, Mr. Aston had said he +lived here too. That was reassuring. He was not +quite certain how he felt towards this strangely fascinating +man, but he was quite sure of his sentiments +towards Mr. Aston.</p> +<p>“Mr. Aston lives here, doesn’t he?”</p> +<p>“Yes; do you like him best?”</p> +<p>“I like him very much,” said Christopher truthfully, +and added considerately, “You see, I’ve known +him longer, haven’t I?”</p> +<p>“You must like me too.”</p> +<p>Christopher was too young to read the passionate +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +hunger in the voice and the look. It was gone in a +moment.</p> +<p>Aymer released him, laughing.</p> +<p>“Is there anyone else?” asked the boy, looking +vaguely round.</p> +<p>“Anyone else living here? Only the servants.”</p> +<p>“I don’t mean that.” A puzzled look came into his +face. “I mean—there was Mrs. Moss and Grannie +Jane, and Mrs. Sartin and Jessy and mother.” Then +he recollected Mr. Aston’s prohibition and got red and +embarrassed.</p> +<p>“You mean—a woman,” said Aymer in a strangely +quiet voice.</p> +<p>Christopher noticed the scar again, clear and distinct. +Aymer took out a cigarette and lit it carefully. +Christopher watched dumbly. He wanted to cry: for +no reason that he could discover. Presently Aymer +turned to him as he sat on a low chair by the side of +the wide sofa and put his arm round him again.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry, little Christopher,” he said rather huskily, +perhaps because he was smoking, “but I’m afraid +I can’t give you that, old chap. We only—remember +them here.”</p> +<p>The tired child yielded to the slight pressure of the +arm—his head dropped against his new friend—the +room was very quiet—only Mr. Aymer must have +been mistaken. It seemed to Christopher a thin black-clad +woman was in the room—somewhere—she was +looking at Aymer and would not see him at first—then +she turned her head—he called “Mother,” and +opened his eyes to find Mr. Aymer bending over him.</p> +<p>When Mr. Aston had returned and found Aymer +smoking composedly with one arm round the sleeping +boy, he had pointed out with great care the enormity +of a small child being out of bed at eleven o’clock.</p> +<p>Aymer put down his cigarette and looked at his +charge. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span></p> +<p>“Vespasian did come for him,” he confessed; “I +thought it a pity to wake him till you came. It’s just +as I feared,” he added with assumed pathos, “you +have had first innings and I shall have to take a second +place.”</p> +<p>“It’s only just that he got used to me: I hardly +talked to him at all,” pleaded Mr. Aston humbly, and +Aymer laughed. Whereupon Christopher woke up, +rubbing his eyes, and smiled sleepily at Mr. Aston.</p> +<p>“I gave him the message, not just at once, but +almost.”</p> +<p>His first friend sat down and drew him to his knee.</p> +<p>“Well, what do you think of my big boy?” asked +Mr. Aston. “I’ve been scolding him for not sending +you to bed.”</p> +<p>Christopher looked from one to the other with solemn +eyes, blinking in the light.</p> +<p>“Scolding him? Isn’t he too big to be scolded?”</p> +<p>The men laughed and involuntarily glanced at each +other in a curiously conscious manner.</p> +<p>“He does not think anyone too big to scold,” sighed +Aymer resignedly. “Father, about the name: I’d +rather tell him to-night.” His voice was a little hurried. +Mr. Aston glanced at him questioningly.</p> +<p>“As you like, Aymer—if he’s not too sleepy to +listen. Are you, Christopher?”</p> +<p>“I’m not tired,” answered Christopher, valiantly +blinking sleep out of his eyes.</p> +<p>It was Aymer who spoke, slowly and directly. Mr. +Aston kept his eyes on the boy and tried not to see his +son.</p> +<p>“What is your real name, Christopher, do you +know?”</p> +<p>“James Christopher Hibbault, but they calls me +Jim, except him.”</p> +<p>In his sleepiness and agitation the boy had dropped +back into country dialect. Aymer winced. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span></p> +<p>“That is the only name you know? Well, Christopher, +it’s a good name, but all the same I want you +to forget it at present. I want you to call yourself +always, Christopher Aston. Do you think you can remember?”</p> +<p>The newly-named one stood silent, puzzling out +something in his mind.</p> +<p>“Will it make me not belong to mother?” he said +at last.</p> +<p>There was a faint movement on the sofa. It was +Mr. Aston who answered, putting his hand gently +on the boy’s head.</p> +<p>“No, little Christopher, nothing will make you +cease to belong to her; we do not wish that. But it +will be more easy for you to have our name. We +want Christopher Aston to have a better time than +poor little Jim Hibbault. Only, Christopher, remember +Aston is my name, and I am only lending it to +you, and you must take very great care of it.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t it his name too?” The child edged a little +nearer his friend, and looked at Aymer.</p> +<p>“Yes, it’s Aymer’s name too. And, Christopher, if +we were both to give you everything we possess we +could not give you anything we value more than the +name we lend you, so you must be very good to it. +Now, Aymer, I insist on your ringing for Vespasian: +the child should have been in bed hours ago. I must +really buy you a book of nursery rules.”</p> +<p>Vespasian was apparently of the same mind as Mr. +Aston. Disapproval was plainly expressed on his usually +impassive face when he entered.</p> +<p>“Is that Vespasian?” demanded Christopher.</p> +<p>“Yes, and you will have to do just what he tells +you, Christopher, just as I have to,” said Aymer severely.</p> +<p>Christopher regarded him doubtfully: he was not +quite sure if he were serious or not. He did not look +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +as if people would tell him to do things, yet the grave +man in black did not smile.</p> +<p>“It’s a funny name,” he said at last, not meaning +to be rude.</p> +<p>“Vespasian was a great general,” remarked Aymer, +and then added hastily, seeing the boy’s bewilderment +increased, “Not this one, the General’s dead, +but this is a good second.”</p> +<p>“Aymer, you are incorrigible,” expostulated Mr. +Aston. “Good-night, little Christopher.”</p> +<p>He kissed him and Christopher’s eyes grew large +with wonder. He did not know men did kiss little +boys, and he ventured slyly to rub his cheek against +the black sleeve.</p> +<p>“Good-night, Christopher.” Aymer held out his +hand, and then suddenly, half shyly, and half ashamed, +kissed him also, and Vespasian bore him off to bed.</p> +<p>The two men sat silently smoking, avoiding for the +moment the subject nearest their hearts, Aymer, because +he was fighting hard to get some mastering +emotion under control, and he loathed showing his +feelings even to his father; Mr. Aston, because he was +aware of this and wanted Aymer to have time.</p> +<p>All that day he had been secretly dreading to-night, +shrinking like a coward from a situation which must +arouse in his son memories better forgotten. He was +not a man given to shirking unpleasing experiences to +save his own heart a pang, but he was a veritable child +in the way that he studied to preserve his eldest son +from the like.</p> +<p>It was Aymer who first spoke in his usual matter-of-fact +tone.</p> +<p>“Had you any difficulties?”</p> +<p>“None whatever,” answered his father, crossing +his legs and preparing to be communicative. “Stapleton +had been all over the ground before and knew +every point. We went first to Surbiton Workhouse, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +since she told Felton she stayed there. They found +the entry for us. Then we went on to Hartley, which is +quite a small village and off the main road. We stayed +the night there, and went to the cottage where Felton +had seen her. It was quite true, all he said. The old +woman remembered distinctly a tramp-looking man +stopping and calling to her over the gate. They sat +in the garden and talked together for some time. +She and the boy had been there a month, but they went +the day after Felton’s visit—seemed frightened, the old +lady said. Apparently they meant to go to Southampton, +for she had asked the way there. Basingstoke +must have been the next stop, but we did not know +where until the boy told us. They were in funds, so +did not go to the House. We got to Whitmansworth +the next afternoon. Then a strange thing happened, +one of those chance coincidences that put to rout all +our schemes. There is a hill going into Whitmansworth +with a milestone on the top. I drove slowly, as +I wanted to see if it really were the place, and by the +stone was a small boy. The likeness was so absurd +that it might have been ...” he stopped abruptly +and examined his cigar, “had I not been seeking +him I should have seen it. I found out his name, +and that I was right, and took him up and drove to +the Union. They raised no objections—it was only +a matter of form. The master and his wife seem +to be good people, and to have been kind to the +boy.”</p> +<p>He came to a pause again. Aymer still waited. Mr. +Aston walked to the window and looked out at the +night, and then went on without turning:</p> +<p>“She had never left the slightest clue or given any +hint whatever as to her identity. She was going to +Southampton, she said. But she was dying of exhaustion +then. They could do nothing for her. She asked +them to keep the boy. The Mosses took a fancy to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +him, and it was managed. She would not say where +she came from.”</p> +<p>Aymer lay very still, his face set and immovable.</p> +<p>“The strength of her purpose: think of it, in a +woman!” said Mr. Aston a little unsteadily; “the boy +should have grit in him, Aymer.”</p> +<p>“What did they say of the boy?”</p> +<p>“Ah.” Mr. Aston resumed his seat with a sigh.</p> +<p>“Well, what’s your own impression, Aymer?”</p> +<p>“I am satisfied.”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston leant forward with a wealth of affection +in his kind eyes, and straightened the edge of the gorgeous +sofa cover. “Aymer, old chap, you are too +sensible, I know, to imagine it is going to run easily +and smoothly from the first. The boy will come out +all right: he is young enough to shape, and worth +shaping. But he has had everything against him except +one thing. It means many troubles and disappointments +for you, but I believe it will have its +compensations. It will help fill your life, at least.”</p> +<p>“I understand,” said Aymer, steadily. “I should +like to tell you just how I feel about it, father. Putting +aside entirely the question of it being—Christopher—. That +was a stroke of Providence, shall we +say? I had you and Nevil, and the children. Life +was not altogether empty, sir. But I felt I had learnt +something from life,—from myself,—mostly from +you,—that might be useful to a man. Not to pass +this on,” the steady voice lost its main quality for a +moment, “seemed a waste. I told you all this when I +first spoke of adopting someone; and at that precise +moment the clue which led us to Christopher was put +into our hands. There was no choice then. I say +this again because I want you to remember that the +idea that first started my plan is still the main one. +Christopher, being Christopher, does not alter it. +There is only this thing certain,” he raised himself a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +very little on his right arm and laid down his cigarette +deliberately, “I’ve taken the boy and I mean to do my +best by him, but he is mine now. If the fate that—she +died to save him from—comes to him, it must come. +I will not stand in his way, but I will have no hand +in bringing it to pass, I will raise no finger to summon +it, nor will I call him from it, if it come. Until, and +unless it comes, he is mine. I think even she would +let me have him on those conditions.” He lay back +again, his flushed face still witnessing to the force of +his feeling.</p> +<p>“On any conditions,” said his father, “if she knew +you now. Only you must bear the chance in mind in +dealing with him. And it’s only fair to tell you the +Union Master’s report on him.”</p> +<p>“Let’s have it.”</p> +<p>“Fairly docile, but inclined to argue the point. +Truthful,—I discovered that myself—but either +through lack of training or—according to the Master—through +bad training in London, he is—” Mr. Aston +stumbled over a word, half laughed, and then said, +“well, he has a habit of acquisitiveness, shall we call +it? When you think of her history it seems at once +natural and strange. They had not known him to actually +take things—money, that is,—but if he found +any—and he appears to have luck in finding things—he +was not particular to discover the real owner. It +may be a difficulty, Aymer.”</p> +<p>“Hereditary instinct,” said Aymer a little shortly.</p> +<p>“Well, my own theory is that acquisitiveness is generosity +inverted,” concluded Mr. Aston thoughtfully, +“and that heredity is merely a danger signal, though +it may mean fighting. I believe you can do it, my dear +boy, but it is a big job.”</p> +<p>“I hope so, I was a born fighter, you know.”</p> +<p>“You have not done badly that way, son Aymer,” +returned his father quietly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span></p> +<p>“You mean you have not. You are very gracious +to a vanquished man, sir.”</p> +<p>It was one of his rare confessions of his indebtedness +to his father, and perhaps Mr. Aston was more +embarrassed at receiving it than Aymer in confessing +it. For the indebtedness was undeniable. The Aymer +Aston of the present day was not the Aymer Aston of +the first bitter years of his imprisonment. The fight +had been a long one: but whether the love, the patience, +the forbearance of the elder man had regenerated the +fierce nature, or whether he had only assisted the true +Aymer to work out his own salvation was an open +question. Certainly those dark years had left their +mark on Mr. Aston, but, for a certainty they were +honourable scars, and he, the richer for his spent +strength. He had sacrificed much for him, but the reward +reaped for his devotion was the knowledge that +of their friendship was woven a curtain of infinite +beauty that helped to shut away the tragedy of Aymer’s +life.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III' id='CHAPTER_III'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +</div> +<p>The question that chiefly occupied Mr. Aston’s mind +during the first days of Christopher’s advent was +whether Aymer had gathered in those ten long years +of captivity sufficient strength of purpose to set aside +once and for all the sharp emotions and memories the +boy’s presence must inevitably awake.</p> +<p>When Aymer had first approached him on the subject +of adopting a boy he had consented willingly +enough, but when, coincident with this, Fate—or Providence—had +pointed out to them the person of Christopher +Hibbault, he, Mr. Aston, though he agreed it +was impossible to disregard the amazing chance, had +sighed to himself and trembled lest the carefully +erected edifice of control and endurance that hedged +in his son should be unequal to the strain.</p> +<p>But after the first evening Aymer Aston betrayed +by no sign whatever that the past had any power to +harm him through the medium of little Christopher, +and his father grew daily more satisfied and content +over the wisdom of their joint action. They stayed +in town all that summer. Mr. Aston was acting as +Secretary to a rather important Commission and even +when it was not sitting he was employed in gathering +in information which could only be obtained in London. +Nothing would induce Aymer to go away without +his father. He hated the publicity of a railway +journey even after ten years of helplessness, and the +long drive to Marden Court could not be undertaken +lightly. So they stayed where they were, a proceeding +which seemed less strange to Christopher than to +such part of the outside world who chose to interest +itself in Mr. Aston’s doings. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span></p> +<p>The August sun dealt gently with the beautiful garden, +and not a few hardworking men, tied, like Mr. +Aston, to town, congratulated themselves on his presence, +when they shared its restful beauty in the hot +summer evenings.</p> +<p>Christopher meanwhile adapted himself to his new +life with amazing ease. He accepted his surroundings +without question, but with quiet appreciation, and if +certain customs, such as a perpetual changing of +clothes and washing of hands were irksome, he took +the good with the bad, and accommodated himself to +the ways of his new friends resignedly. But he was +haunted with the idea that the present state of things +would not and could not last, and it was hardly worth +while to do more than superficially conform to the +regulations of the somewhat monotonous existence.</p> +<p>Most of the ten years of his life had been spent +under the dominant influence of a devoted woman. +All that he had learnt from mankind had been a cunning +dishonesty that had nearly ruined his own small +existence and indirectly caused his mother’s death. +Women, indeed, had always been near him, and there +were times when he thought regretfully of Mrs. Moss. +There were none but menservants at Aston house, and +the only glimpse of femininity was afforded by the +flying visits of Constantia, Mr. Aston’s married daughter. +She would at times invade Aymer’s room, a vision +of delicate colourings and marvellous gowns. +She was a tall, dark, lovely woman who carried on the +traditional family beauty with no poverty of detail. +She seemed to Christopher to be ever going on somewhere +or returning from somewhere. He liked to sit +and watch her when she flashed into the quiet room, +and spent perhaps half an hour making her brother +laugh with her witty accounts of people and matters +strange to Christopher. She was kind to the boy, when +she remembered him, lavish with her smiles and nonsense +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +and presents, but it was like entertaining a rainbow, +an elusive, shadowy thing of beauty. She could +not be said to denote the Woman in the House. Christopher, +as he wandered about the big silent rooms and +long corridors, was perforce obliged to take with him +for company a more shadowy presence, an imaginary +vision of another woman, also tall and dark, but without +Constantia Wyatt’s irresponsible gaiety and dazzling +smile. He would escort this phantom Woman +through his favourite rooms, pointing out the treasures +to her. He even apportioned her a room for herself, +behind a closed door at the end of the wing opposite +to which Aymer Aston lived. For it was here he had +first discovered with what ease the image of his dead +mother fitted into the surroundings he had never shared +with her. It was rather an uncanny, eerie idea, and +had Christopher been at all morbid or of a dreamy +disposition it might have been a very injudicious fancy: +but he was the personification of good health and robust +spirits. His vivid imagination flitted as naturally +and easily round the memory of his dead mother +as it rejoiced in the adventures of the Robinson family, +or thrilled over the history of John Silver. It was +just a deliberate fancy that he indulged in at will, and +the only really fantastical thing about it was that he +invariably started his tour with the imaginary Woman +from the door of the closed room. At the end of October, +when he had fairly settled into the regular routine +of Aston House, a tutor was procured for him. +School, for more reasons than one, was out of the +question. Christopher’s previous existence would +hardly have stood the inquisition of the playground, +and Aymer, moreover, wanted to keep him under his +own eye. The boy’s education had been of a somewhat +desultory nature. He could read and write, and +possessed a curious store of out-of-the-way knowledge +that would upset the most carefully prepared plan of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +his puzzled tutor. That poor gentleman was alternately +scandalised by the boy’s ignorance and amazed +at his appetite for knowledge. He showed an astonishing +aptitude for figures while he evinced a shameful +contempt for history and languages. Indeed, he could +only be made to struggle with Latin Grammar by Aymer’s +stories of Roman heroes in the evening and the +ultimate reward of reading them for himself some +day.</p> +<p>The year wore on, ran out, with the glories of pantomime +and various holiday joys with Mr. Aston. +Christopher by this time had accepted his surroundings +as permanent, with regard to Mr. Aston and Aymer, +though he still, in his heart of hearts, had no belief +that so far as he was concerned they might not any +day vanish away and leave him again prey to a world +of privations, wants and disagreeables generally.</p> +<p>He was forever trying to make provision against +that possible day, and laid up a secret hoard of treasure +he deemed might be useful on emergency. With the +same idea he made really valiant attempts to put aside +a portion of his ample pocket-money for the same purpose, +but it generally dwindled to an inconsiderable +sum by Saturday. Aymer kept him well supplied and +encouraged him to spend freely. He was told again and +again the money was given him to spend and not to +keep, and that the day of need would not come to him. +He would listen half convinced, until the vision of +some street arabs racing for pennies would remind +him of positive facts that had been and therefore might +be again, and cold prudence had her say. But this +trait was the result of experience and not of nature, +for he was generous enough. Not infrequently the +whole treasury went to the relief of already existing +needs outside the garden railings, and he could be +wildly extravagant. Aymer never questioned him. +He sometimes laughed at him when he had wasted a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +whole week’s money on some childish folly, and told +him he was a silly baby, which Christopher did not +like. However, he found he had to buy his own experiences, +and he soon learnt that no folly however +childish annoyed “Cæsar” so much as accumulated +wealth for no particular object but a possible future +need.</p> +<p>Christopher had christened Aymer “Cæsar” shortly +after his introduction to the literary remains of one, +Julius, from some fanciful resemblance, and the name +stuck and solved a difficulty.</p> +<p>In the same manner he bestowed the distinctive +title of St. Michael on Mr. Aston, from his likeness to +a famous picture of that great saint in a stained glass +window he had seen, and it also was generally +adopted.</p> +<p>No one made any further attempt to explain his introduction +into the family, or the general history of +that family. He was just “grafted in,” and left to +discover what he could for himself, and he certainly +gathered some fragmentary disconnected facts together.</p> +<p>“What is a Secletary?” demanded Christopher one +day from the hearth-rug, where he lay turning over old +volumes of the <i>Illustrated London News</i>.</p> +<p>“A Secretary, I suppose you mean. A Secretary +is a man who writes letters for someone else.”</p> +<p>“Who does St. Michael write letters for?”</p> +<p>“He used to write letters for the Queen, or rather +on the Queen’s business. What book have you got +there?”</p> +<p>Christopher explained.</p> +<p>“There is a picture of him. Only he hasn’t got +grey hair: and underneath Perma n-e-n-t, Permanent +Undersecretary of State for Foreign Affairs. What +does it mean, Cæsar?”</p> +<p>Cæsar, otherwise Aymer, considered a moment. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span></p> +<p>“Permanent means lasting, going on. You ought +to know that, Christopher.”</p> +<p>“But he isn’t going on.”</p> +<p>“He could have done so.”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t he? Didn’t he like it?”</p> +<p>“Yes, very much. He was trained for that kind of +thing.”</p> +<p>“Did he get tired of writing letters, then?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>Aymer was apt to become monosyllabic when a certain +train of thought was forced on him. Also a short +deep line of frown appeared under the white scar: but +Christopher had not yet learnt to pay full heed to +these signs: also he had a predilection for getting at +the root of any matter he had once begun to investigate, +so he began again:</p> +<p>“Why didn’t he go on being permanent, then?”</p> +<p>“He thought he had something else he ought to do.”</p> +<p>“Was the Queen angry?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“What was it?”</p> +<p>Aymer cut the leaves of the book he was trying to +read rather viciously.</p> +<p>“Taking care of me,” he said shortly.</p> +<p>Christopher got up on his knees and stared.</p> +<p>“Hadn’t you got Vespasian then?”</p> +<p>“Good heavens, Christopher, are you a walking inquisition? +My father gave up his appointment—if +you must know, because of my––” he stopped, and +went on doggedly, “of my accident. I wasn’t particularly +happy when I found I had to stay on a sofa +all the rest of my life, and he had to teach me not to +make an idiot of myself. Now you know all about it +and need not bother anyone else with questions.”</p> +<p>Christopher thought he knew very little about it, +but he had learnt what he set out to know and was +moreover now aware that the subject was distasteful +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +to Aymer, so he politely changed it. “Robert’s brother +has got some very nice guinea-pigs,” he said thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“Who is Robert?”</p> +<p>“Robert is the under footman. I forgot you don’t +know him.”</p> +<p>Christopher recollected with momentary embarrassment +Aymer’s inaccessibility to the general domestic +staff.</p> +<p>“He wants to find a home for them,” he added +hastily; “he doesn’t mind where, so long as it’s a happy +home.”</p> +<p>Aymer guarded a smile. Christopher was already +notorious for ingenious methods of getting what he +wanted.</p> +<p>“It would be a pity for them to be ill-treated, of +course,” he agreed gravely.</p> +<p>Christopher shuffled across the floor to the side of +the big sofa.</p> +<p>“It’s rather a happy home here, you know,” he remarked +suggestively, touching Aymer’s arm tentatively +with one finger.</p> +<p>“I am glad you think so. Do you consider the +atmosphere equally suitable for guinea-pigs?”</p> +<p>“I should like them.” He rubbed his cheek caressingly +on Aymer’s hand. “May I, Cæsar?”</p> +<p>“Not to keep in your bedroom as you did the bantam.”</p> +<p>“But in the garden—or yard. <i>Please</i>, dear Cæsar.”</p> +<p>“You ridiculous baby, yes. If you make a house +for them yourself.”</p> +<p>Christopher flew off in a transport of joy to consult +with Vespasian, who, from mere tolerance of his +beloved master’s last “fad,” had become the most +ardent if unemotional partisan of the same “fad.”</p> +<p>It was Vespasian who had provided Christopher +with more clothes than he deemed it possible for one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +mortal boy to wear, who taught him how to put them +on, and struggled with him figuratively and literally +over the collar question. Vespasian’s taste running +to a wide margin of immaculate white closely fastened, +while Christopher had a predilection for a free and +open expanse of neck.</p> +<p>“Look at Mr. Aymer,” pointed out the great general’s +successor sternly. “You never see him with +even a turn-down collar, and he lying on his back all +the time, when most gentlemen would consider their +own comfort.”</p> +<p>Christopher, hot, angry and uncomfortable, wondered +if Vespasian had insisted on the wearing of +those instruments of torture, or if Cæsar really preferred +it.</p> +<p>But in spite of small differences of opinion, Vespasian +and he were good friends, and he received much instruction +from the mouth of that inestimable man. It +was he who drilled him in Mr. Aymer’s little ways, +warned him how he hated to be reminded of his +helplessness, and could not endure anyone but Vespasian +himself to move him from sofa to chair, and +that only in the strictest privacy. How he disliked +meeting anyone when wheeled from his own room to +the dining-room for dinner, which was the only meal +he took in public, and that only in company with his +father or very intimate friends. How he avoided asking +anyone to hand him things though he did not +object to unsolicited help, which Christopher soon +learnt to render as unostentatiously as Vespasian himself. +Also it was Vespasian who explained to him +woodenly, in answer to his direct question, that the +scar on Mr. Aymer’s forehead was the result of a +shooting accident. His revolver had gone off as he +was cleaning it, said Vespasian, had nearly killed him, +had left him paralysed on one side, so he’d never be +better. He added, Mr. Aymer didn’t like it talked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +about. All this and more did the boy learn from this +discreet man, but never did Vespasian hint at those +dark years when to serve poor Aymer Aston was a +work for which no money could pay, when the patient +father and much-tried man had secretly wondered +whether that fight for mere life that had followed on +the ghastly accident had indeed been worth the winning. +There was no word of this in Vespasian’s revelations. +He only impressed on Christopher the necessity +of avoiding any expression of pity or commiseration +with the paralysed man, and a warning that a +somewhat casual manner towards the world, and his +entirely undemonstrative way, was no true index of +Mr. Aymer’s real feelings.</p> +<p>Christopher was himself warm-hearted and given to +expressing his joyous feelings with engaging frankness. +It could hardly have been otherwise, brought +up as he had been by a woman of ardent nature and +passionate love for him, but in contradiction to this +he had learnt to be very silent over the disagreeables +of life and to keep his own small troubles to himself, +so that he readily entered into Aymer’s attitude towards +his own misfortune, and the relationship between +the two passed from admiration on Christopher’s +part to passionate devotion, and from the region of +experimental interest on Aymer’s part to personal uncalculated +affection, and to an easing of a sharp heartache +he had tried valiantly to hide from his father. +Aymer never questioned him on the past, never even +alluded to it. Partly because he hoped the memory of +it would dwindle from the boy’s mind, and partly for +his own sake. But Christopher did not forget. There +were few days when he did not contrast the old times +with the new, and gaze for a moment across the big +gulf that separated Christopher Aston from little Jim +Hibbault and the quiet woman absorbed in a struggle +for existence in an unfriendly world. He occasionally +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +spoke of his mother to Mr. Aston when they were out +together, but he kept his implied promise faithfully +with regard to Aymer and made no mention of his +former experiences, or of his mother, until one day +an event occurred which recalled the black terror under +whose shadow they had left London, and necessitated +an elucidation of knotty points.</p> +<p>There was in one corner of the garden far away +from the house a gap in the high belt of shrubs that +jealously guarded the grounds from the curious passerby. +In fact the gap had once meant a gateway, but +it had been disused so long that it had forgotten it +was a gate and merely pretended it was part of the +big railings; only it had not got a little wall to stand +on. Christopher was fond of viewing life from this +sequestered corner. The road that ran by was a main +thoroughfare—an ever-varying picture of moving +shapes. One morning as he stood there counting the +omnibuses—he had nearly made a record count—his +attention was attracted by a small boy about his own +age or possibly older, who was dawdling along, hands +in pockets, with a dejected air. He appeared to be +whistling, but if he were, without doubt it was also a +dejected air. His was a shabby tidiness that spoke of +a Woman and little means. He had sandy hair and +light eyes and—but Christopher did not know this—an +uncommonly shrewd little face and a good square +head, and as he passed by the boundaries of Aston +House he glanced at the small fellow-citizen gazing +through the railings—rather compassionately, be it +said—for he knew for certain the boy inside was longing +to get through the gate. That one glance carried +him beyond the gate, but he suddenly spun round on +his heel, collided with an indignant lady laden with +parcels, and stared hard at Christopher. Christopher +stared hard at him. Then the boy outside went on his +way. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span></p> +<p>“Jolly like Jim,” he ruminated, “but a swell toff, +I reckon. Poor little kid.”</p> +<p>Christopher, after one shout as the boy went on, tore +back through the garden towards the entrance gate, +meaning to intercept him there. Such at least was his +laudable intention, but half way there his pace slackened; +he stood irresolute, kicking a loose stone in the +gravel path, and finally strolled off to the stable yard +to feed his guinea-pigs.</p> +<p>He was preoccupied and thoughtful for the rest of +that day. Mr. Aston was absent, and when evening +came and Christopher was still a prey to harassing +ideas he decided he must appeal to Cæsar even at the +cost of disregarding Mr. Aston’s prohibition. He +came to this decision as he lay in his usual position on +the hearth-rug and was goaded thereto by the approach +of bed time.</p> +<p>“Cæsar, could anyone be taken to prison for something +he had done ever so long ago—I mean for—for +stealing, and things like that?”</p> +<p>“Yes, if he had not been already tried for it. Why +do you ask?”</p> +<p>“And if anyone met the person suddenly who had +done something would they have to give him up?” +persisted Christopher.</p> +<p>Aymer regarded him curiously. He had an unreasonable +impulse to check the coming revelation, as +he might the unguarded confidence of a weak man, +but common-sense prevailed.</p> +<p>“It would depend on circumstances entirely, and the +relationship of the two. Are you wanted, Christopher?” +he asked in a matter-of-fact tone.</p> +<p>“I was,” returned Christopher slowly. “That’s +why we left London, you know. It was Marley Sartin. +He took me out with him. You see,” he broke off +parenthetically, “I stayed with Martha, that’s Mrs. +Sartin, all the day while mother took care of a gentleman’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +house, and sometimes Marley was there, and +he taught me things.”</p> +<p>“What things?”</p> +<p>Christopher shifted his position a bit, and tossed a +piece of wood into the fire.</p> +<p>“Oh, lots of things,” he repeated at last, “tricks, +and how not to answer, and how to avoid coppers and +how to get money. Mother said it was stealing.”</p> +<p>The scar on Aymer’s forehead was very visible. He +took up a paper-knife and ran his fingers along the +edge slowly.</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>The boy looked round, suddenly aware of where he +was, of the beauty and comfort around him, of Cæsar’s +personality, and the incongruity of his admission. +However, so it was: facts were facts: it was imperative +he should know his own position, even if it was +an unpleasing subject. So he went on hastily. “Oh, +well, one day he took me out with him for a walk. +We went into a big sort of shop with lots of people +buying things and he knocked up ‘accidental like’ +(this was evidently a reminiscence of a phrase often +used), against a lady and she dropped her parcels and +purse and things, and I pretended to pick them up, and +if there were only parcels or pennies I really did, but +if the money spilt and it was gold I put my foot on +it and picked it up for Marley when I could. We made +a lot that way. Of course mother didn’t know,” he +added hurriedly, “or Martha. Then one day there +was a row and Marley was caught, and I ran away. +You see I was pretty small, and could slip in anywhere. +I got back and told Martha, and she cried and told +mother, and said as how I should be sure to be took +too. So we went away from London that night. I +don’t know what happened to Martha, but mother said +I mustn’t go back to London or I’d be taken too.”</p> +<p>The grim tragedy of it all, the miserable fate from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +which the woman had fought so hard to save her child, +and the same child’s dim appreciation of it struck +Aymer with the sharpness of physical pain.</p> +<p>“Marley told me it was only keeping what one +found, but mother said it was just stealing, and that +Marley was bad. He was good to me anyhow. +Martha—Mrs. Sartin—you know—used often to cry +about Marley’s ways. <i>She</i> was always very respectable; +her father kept a linen-draper’s shop, and she +meant to put Sam into a shop. Sam didn’t like his +father. I saw Sam go by to-day—he’s bigger, but it +was him and he knew me—and I asked about the being +taken up because I thought it wouldn’t be safe for me +to go about perhaps.”</p> +<p>So level and even was his voice that Aymer did not +guess the agony of apprehension and fear the boy was +holding back behind his almost abnormal self-control, +but he did his best to reassure him.</p> +<p>“They would not know you, Christopher, and if +they did they would not take you away from me. You +were a very little boy then. I could let them know +how it happened, and how it could never happen +again.”</p> +<p>Christopher hid his face in his arms and the room +became very silent. The fire crackled cheerfully and +strange shadows lived uncertain lives on the ceiling. +Aymer put the paper-knife down at last and looked at +his charge. He was aware it was a critical moment +for them both: also he was quite suddenly aware he +was more fond of the child than he had previously +imagined. But mostly in his mind was the sickening +appreciation of what hours of torture that solitary +silent woman must have endured.</p> +<p>“Christopher, old boy, come here,” he said quietly.</p> +<p>The boy got up. His face was flushed, hot with +his efforts to control himself.</p> +<p>“Do you want the light, Cæsar?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span></p> +<p>“No, I want you.”</p> +<p>He came unwillingly and sat down on the edge of +the sofa, playing with a piece of string.</p> +<p>“You need not be frightened at all,” said Aymer. +“It is all utterly impossible now, we both of us know +that.”</p> +<p>“I suppose so.”</p> +<p>“You know it. You only did what Marley told +you to do. You didn’t steal because you wanted money +yourself.”</p> +<p>But Christopher was doggedly truthful.</p> +<p>“Marley used to give me some for myself, Cæsar, +and I liked it and I didn’t think it was stealing. It was +just keeping what one found.”</p> +<p>“But you knew to whom it belonged.”</p> +<p>“Not certain sure, Marley said.”</p> +<p>“What did your mother say?”</p> +<p>“Just that it was stealing. She said, too, lots of +people in the world were thieves who didn’t know, +and Marley was no worse than many rich men, who +just knocked people down to get the best of them. +What did she mean, Cæsar?”</p> +<p>“She thought it was as wrong for a rich man to +take advantage of a poor man, as for a strong man +to attack a weak one, or a cunning man to cheat a +simpleton.”</p> +<p>Christopher was conscious he had heard something +like this before. He nodded his small head sagely. +Aymer went on.</p> +<p>“It really means you must never get money at someone +else’s expense. If you can give them something +in return, something equal, it’s all right, but it must be +equal. That is what your mother believed, and I do +too—now.”</p> +<p>Christopher regarded Cæsar thoughtfully. He was +speculating what he did in return for the golden sovereigns +that seemed so plentiful with him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span></p> +<p>“We try to give fair exchange,” explained Cæsar, +answering his thoughts. “The money comes to us out +of the big world. And my father gives the world good +service in return. You will know how good, some-day.”</p> +<p>“Does everybody do things?” sighed his listener, +much perplexed.</p> +<p>“Everyone should. You are wondering what I do. +My money comes to me before I earn it, from houses—land—I +have to see the people who live in my houses +have all that is fair and necessary, that the land is in +order. Then sometimes we lend other people our +money, and they find work for many others, and make +more of it. Money is a very difficult thing to explain, +Christopher. What I want you to remember now is +that you must never take money from other people +without giving something in return, because it’s stealing.”</p> +<p>Christopher, with his usual disconcerting shrewdness, +found an unsatisfactory point.</p> +<p>“I don’t do anything for the money you give me +every week, Cæsar.”</p> +<p>Aymer was fairly caught, and wanted desperately to +laugh, only the boy’s face was so grave and concerned +he did not dare. He thought for a moment to find +a way out of the difficulty without upsetting the somewhat +vague theories he had just crystallised into +words.</p> +<p>“But I owe something to the world, and you are a +small atom of the world, Christopher, so I choose to +pay a mite of my debt that way. Besides, it is a part +of your education to learn how to spend money, as +much a part as Latin grammar.”</p> +<p>Christopher thought it a much pleasanter part and +looked relieved.</p> +<p>“I am glad you aren’t paying me,” he said slowly; +“of course it’s just my good luck that it happened to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +be me you pay your debts to. Lots of people aren’t +lucky like that.”</p> +<p>Which was a truth that remained very deeply indented +in Christopher’s mind. Aymer ordered him +to bed, but when he said good-night he kept grip of +his hand.</p> +<p>“Why wouldn’t you like me to pay you?” he demanded, +almost roughly.</p> +<p>The boy got red and embarrassed, but Aymer waited +remorselessly.</p> +<p>“I can’t do anything,” he said, “and if I did I’d +hate you to pay me like that. Some day I’ll have to +pay you, won’t I?”</p> +<p>“I should hate that worse than you would,” returned +Aymer shortly. “There’s no question of +money between us. I get all I want out of you. Go +to bed.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV' id='CHAPTER_IV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +</div> +<p>Marden Court lay bathed in the mellow October sunshine. +Late Michaelmas daisies, fuchsias, and milky +anemones stood smiling bravely in the borders under +the red brick walls, trails of crimson creepers flung a +glowing glory round grey stone pillar and coping, and +in the neighbouring woods the trees seemed to hold +their breath under the weight of the rich robes they +wore. Marden looked its best in late autumn. The +ripeness of the air, the wealth of colour, and the harmonious +dignity of the season seemed a fit setting to +the old Tudor mansion, with its reposeful beauty just +touched with renaissance grace. The glory of the +world passes, but it is none the less a glory worth +observing.</p> +<p>The Astons regarded Marden as the metropolis of +their affections. It was “Home” and any member of +the family wanting to go “Home” did so regardless +of who might be in immediate possession. Nevil +Aston, his wife and two small children and his young +sister-in-law lived there permanently, but their position +was that of fortunate caretakers, and both the elder +Aston and the Wyatts went to and fro at their will.</p> +<p>Nevil Aston was at thirty-two a brilliant essayist +and rising historian, and there was a magnificent library +at Marden which he professed to find useful in +his work. He also was wont to say “Marden was an +excellent place in which to work, but a far better place +in which to play.” He himself did both in turn. A +few weeks of furious energy and copious achievement +would be followed by weeks of serene idleness from +which little Renata, his wife, would arouse him by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +sheer bullying, as he himself expressed it, driving him +by main force of will to the library, setting pen and +paper to hand and then placidly consenting to weeks +of irregular meals, of absent-minded vagaries, a seeming +indifference to her presence, in place of the wholly +dependent lovable boyish Nevil of the days of indolence.</p> +<p>It was not till the second autumn after Christopher’s +introduction to the ménage that the senior +Astons decided to desert London for a few months and +go “Home.” Mr. Aston had been to and fro not infrequently +and Nevil Aston had made a few brief visits to +town, when Constantia Wyatt had made it her business +to see that her gifted brother did not hide his +light under a bushel, but little Christopher failed to +connect either Nevil or his beautiful sister very closely +with his own particular Astons. They were a part of +an outside existence with which he was unacquainted, +and Marden Court was to him but a name, an unreal +place that got photographed occasionally and that Mr. +Aston seemed to like. The Astons, probably quite unconsciously, +pursued their usual course of leaving +Christopher to drift into the stream of their existence +without any explanation or attempt to make that existence +a clear cut and dried affair to him. He was +pleased enough with the idea of the change, once he +had ascertained his guinea-pigs might accompany him, +and was still more pleased when he was told he would +at all events for a time have no lessons to do.</p> +<p>“You’ll have plenty to learn though,” Aymer had +remarked drily when he made the announcement. +Christopher refrained from asking for an explanation +with difficulty.</p> +<p>Towards the middle of October Nevil Aston, just +in the midst of a period of blissful laziness, sauntered +down the long walks of the south garden in Renata’s +wake, occasionally stopping to pick up one or other of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +the two fat babies who struggled along after their +mother, interrupting more or less effectually the business +on which she was engaged. A pathetic-eyed yard +or so of brown dachshund and a tortoise-shell kitten +completed the party. Renata Aston was small and +dark, gentle and deliberate of movement, and possessing +an elf-like trick of shrinking her entrancing personality +into comparative invisibility that bereft one +of further vision. She moved from border to border +choosing her flowers with care, and looking even +smaller than she was in the proximity of her lanky +husband, and the plump little babies toddling after.</p> +<p>Presently she came to a stop. All her satellites +stopped too. She regarded her trophies critically.</p> +<p>“This is very good for the end of October, you +know.” She remarked to all the assembled court. +“I only want some violets now. Nevil, I wish you’d +stop Charlotte picking the heads off the fuchsias: there +are no more to come out.”</p> +<p>Nevil hoisted his small daughter on his shoulder as +the safest way to avoid an altercation and humbly asked +if he must pick violets, “they grow so low down.”</p> +<p>“You grow so far up,” she retorted scornfully. +“Max can help me. You can watch with Charlotte. +You are very good at watching people work.”</p> +<p>“It is not a common virtue,” pleaded Nevil, +“watchers generally tell the workers how to do it. I +never do. Why don’t you tell a gardener to pick them, +Renata?”</p> +<p>“A gardener! For Aymer?”</p> +<p>“All this trouble for Aymer?”</p> +<p>“It is a pleasure.”</p> +<p>“I know just how it will be,” he complained mournfully, +“the moment Aymer is here you will hound me +off to work and I shall see nothing of you at all. You +won’t even give me new pens. Charlotte, I should look +horrid if I had no hair: be merciful.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span></p> +<p>Renata smiled and shook her head. “I shall get +no more work out of you this side of Christmas, sir. +I have no such impossible dreams. Perhaps Aymer +won’t want either of us now he has got Christopher.”</p> +<p>“I wonder now,” remarked Nevil, depositing Miss +Charlotte on a seat while he took out his cigarette +case, “I wonder if you are jealous, Renata.”</p> +<p>She flushed indignantly and denied the fact with +most unnecessary emphasis, so her husband told her +in his gentle teasing way. He turned her face up +to his and professed to look stern, which he never +could do.</p> +<p>“Confess now,” he insisted. “Just a little jealous +of Christopher?”</p> +<p>“Well,” she admitted, laughing and still pink, +“Aymer has never stayed away from us for so long +before. I don’t know what was the use of his having +those rooms done up for himself if he never means to +use them.”</p> +<p>Renata continued to pick violets, and Max to decapitate +those he could find. The dachshund and kitten +continued to watch with absorbing interest, and +Nevil continued to smoke and to let Charlotte investigate +his cigarette case till her mother turned round +and saw her.</p> +<p>“You dreadful child!” she cried, “Nevil, just look. +Charlotte is sucking the ends of your horrid cigarettes! +How can you let her?”</p> +<p>Charlotte was rescued from the cigarettes, or the +cigarettes from Charlotte, with considerable difficulty +and at the cost of many tears. Indeed her protestations +were so loud that nurse appeared and bore her +and Max away and silence again reigned in the warm +garden between the sunny borders.</p> +<p>The dachshund gave a sigh and flopped down on the +path, and the kitten began a toilet for want of better +employment. Renata, who had stood aside during the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +small domestic storm, gazed at her violets gravely as +if she were counting them.</p> +<p>Nevil watched her contentedly and did not observe +the trouble in her face.</p> +<p>“Nevil,” she said at last, “about Charlotte I wonder—do +you think––” she stopped and edged a little +nearer her husband and slipped her hand in his.</p> +<p>“Well, dear?”</p> +<p>“You don’t think, do you, Nevil, that Charlotte is—is +getting like Patricia?”</p> +<p>He put his arm round her and drew her down on +the seat.</p> +<p>“You dear silly child, no,” he said, kissing her.</p> +<p>She seemed only half assured and leant her head +against him, sighing.</p> +<p>“It is quite, quite different,” he insisted. “Charlotte’s +temper is just like anyone else’s, yours or mine, +or anyone’s.”</p> +<p>“Yours—you haven’t got one,” she returned with +pretended contempt and then lapsed back into her +troubled mien, “but I feel so frightened sometimes.”</p> +<p>“My dear, be reasonable. Patricia’s temper isn’t a +temper at all. It’s—it’s a possession—a wretched family +inheritance. She can’t help it, poor child, any more +than she could help a squint or a crooked nose, and +she doesn’t inherit it from <i>your</i> mother but only from +your step-father, so why on earth you should imagine +it likely to crop up in our family I can’t conceive. It’s +absurd.”</p> +<p>He tilted her pretty face up to his again and kissed +her. Nevil would like to have killed all his wife’s +cares with a caress. It is not always a successful +method, but it is more efficacious than the world believes.</p> +<p>“Of course I know all that, though Patricia always +seems quite like my own sister. I do hope Christopher +won’t tease her.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span></p> +<p>“Aymer will see to that.”</p> +<p>“Not unless he is reminded. You know he rather +loves teasing the poor darling himself.”</p> +<p>“Here is the poor darling, herself. Storm over, +I suppose, sky serene.”</p> +<p>The little girl coming down the path to them was +barely twelve, but she looked older. The features were +too set, if anything, too regular for her to be called +pretty as yet, but an observer must have been very +blind to beauty not to see the possibilities shadowed +in her face. She had quantities of smooth gold hair, +one plait of which, for convenience’s sake, was twisted +round her little head that was at present too small for +its rich burden. Her great dark grey eyes and long +lashes had a curiously expectant look as if ever on the +watch for some joy or pain to come. In the clearness +of her complexion and the good modelling of her little +white hands, she did resemble her half-sister, but it +was the only likeness between them. She came to them +not running, as a child should, but slowly and deliberately.</p> +<p>“Patricia, do come and hear what this dreadful +Nevil has let Charlotte do,” cried Renata, still under +shelter of her husband’s long arm. For some reason +she seemed anxious to let the child know she was seen +and wanted. Nevil smiled and made room on the seat +for her to sit by his side.</p> +<p>Patricia stood in front of them, her great pathetic +eyes looking from one to the other. She finally addressed +herself to Nevil.</p> +<p>“I’m ever so sorry, Nevil,” she said with a dejected +sigh.</p> +<p>“Of course, of course, it’s all right, child,” he answered +hastily, “come and hear my short-comings. +I’m in deep disgrace.”</p> +<p>She sat down obediently and the dachshund immediately +shifted its quarters and wedged itself in between +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +her feet. She leant forward with her elbows +on her knees and gazed absently at the brown +head.</p> +<p>“What have you been doing, Nevil, darling?”</p> +<p>“I? Not I, but Charlotte. Don’t you know by +this time, Patricia, I’m only a scapegoat for the autocrat +of the nursery.”</p> +<p>“He let Charlotte nibble a cigarette,” explained +Renata.</p> +<p>“One of my very best.”</p> +<p>“It might have been one of his worst, Rennie,” +suggested Patricia consolingly.</p> +<p>“They are all ‘worst’ for Charlotte,” cried Renata +springing up. “I must go and put up my flowers +or they’ll be here before I’m ready.”</p> +<p>She flitted away in the direction of the house. Her +husband looked after her with mute sorrow at his +own incapacity to melt from vision in that intangible +manner—from situations that were too difficult.</p> +<p>He glanced at his little companion, who was making +attempts to tie the dachshund’s ears round his own +neck.</p> +<p>“You won’t be able to treat Christopher that way, +Patricia,” he said contemplatively, “but it will be +jolly for you to have a companion of your own age, +won’t it?”</p> +<p>“Perhaps he won’t like me.”</p> +<p>“He is quite likely to like you.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, at first, because I’ll make him,” she returned +with engaging candour, but then her mouth +drooped a little, “but when he knows what I’m really +like, he won’t.”</p> +<p>Nevil examined another cigarette carefully to see it +had not been nibbled. He was really very fond of his +little sister-in-law though occasionally at a loss how +to deal with her strange moods.</p> +<p>“Well, we are all very fond of you, anyway, child,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +he said easily; “as for the temper, you can’t really +help it, you know, and you’ll grow out of it. I’m +sure you try to, my dear.”</p> +<p>“But I don’t try,” cried poor Patricia wildly, “I +haven’t time, I don’t know anything about it till it’s +there and then it’s too late. I might just as well have +flung that plate at Charlotte as at you to-day. I wonder +Renata lets me go in the nursery.”</p> +<p>“No, no. You wouldn’t be angry with a baby.”</p> +<p>She turned to him with a sort of exasperated patience. +“That’s just it. You don’t any of you understand. +It does not make any difference, why, who or +where. It just comes. I <i>can’t</i> help it.” She kicked +her heel on the gravel fiercely.</p> +<p>“Poor little Patricia,” said Nevil gently. “I can +only say we all love you just the same, and I believe +you’ll grow out of it.” She changed suddenly and +flung herself into his arms in a wild transport of tears +and childish abandonment. He was in no wise taken +aback and soothed her with adroitness born of practice. +When she was calm again he sat with his arm +round her talking of indifferent things till a clock +somewhere near struck three.</p> +<p>“They should be here directly,” he said, but made +no effort to rise.</p> +<p>“Would Aymer really mind being met?” she +questioned.</p> +<p>“He’d rather be left to Vespasian and Tollens.”</p> +<p>Tollens was the old butler.</p> +<p>“Won’t he ever get used to it?”</p> +<p>“He is afraid of becoming an invalid if he gets +hardened to it.”</p> +<p>“But he is, isn’t he?”</p> +<p>“Not a bit of it. He has perfectly wonderful +health. He has massage and all sorts of things to keep +him up to the mark. Aymer’s as vain as a girl.”</p> +<p>“I don’t call it vanity. I call it pluck.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span></p> +<p>Nevil groaned, “Oh, you women, old and young! +But you are right—and there are my father and Christopher +himself.”</p> +<p>Christopher to his great joy had been allowed to +drive down with Aymer and Mr. Aston, and had +found the journey not one mile too long. Indeed towards +the end his early curiosity as to the termination +had evaporated and the mile-stones had come in sight +and vanished all too quickly. It had been reassuring +to find Vespasian awaiting them at the door with the +old butler to whom he was formally introduced as Mr. +Aymer’s ward. Then having inquired of Tollens of +the family’s whereabouts, Mr. Aston bore off Christopher +for further introductions.</p> +<p>At the entrance to the garden on the long terrace +and by the gate leading to the south garden he had +paused and looked round with the slow comprehensive +glance of one acquainted with every detail. He spoke +nothing of his thoughts to Christopher, but the boy +was quite acutely aware that Mr. Aston loved this +place and was happy to see it again, while he calmly +discussed the possibilities of fishing in the lake that lay +below like a silver mirror in the clear sunlight.</p> +<p>And in the south garden Nevil and Patricia met +them. Patricia, still white and shaken with the past +storm, greeted Mr. Aston shyly, but had no qualms +about greeting Christopher. He, for his part, was far +too shy and too unused to girls’ society to notice her +mien. He did, however, remember afterwards that +she was standing by a great clump of purple starlike +flowers and that he thought her the most beautiful +thing he had ever seen, excepting, of course, Constantia +Wyatt. He made that mental reservation as they +walked along together in front of their elders, and +then glancing sideways at the wonderful hair again, +decided he liked fair hair best. Constantia’s was dark. +They soon outdistanced the two men who followed at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +a leisurely pace. Mr. Aston looked after them and +said kindly:</p> +<p>“The little girl still gives trouble, I see.”</p> +<p>“Occasionally.” Nevil made the admission with +reluctance. “There was a scene this morning. I +don’t know what started it. Perhaps I teased her. +She flung a plate at me. I don’t believe she <i>can</i> help +it, poor child.”</p> +<p>“You mustn’t tell her so, Nevil.”</p> +<p>“You’d tell her anything you could if you saw her +after. She’ll grow out of it.”</p> +<p>“I hope so.”</p> +<p>They fell to talking of the estate, which Nevil was +supposed to look after. He did, when he remembered +it, but that was not often, and not of late. His father, +half exasperated, half laughing, told him he would defer +his lecture till later on. Nevil penitently agreed it +was only fitting to do so, and slipping his arm through +his father’s, began to explain to him the rights of a +controversy just started in the <i>Historical Review</i>. No +one was ever angry with Nevil long. His unchangeable +sweet temper and gentle judgment of mankind, +his entire lack of vanity and the very real ability that +was concealed under his elusive personality outweighed +the exasperation his irresponsibility and indolence +sometimes awoke. He had no enemies among +those who knew him, and the bitterest controversy +with pen and ink could be brought to a close in an interview. +It must, however, be confessed that with pen +in hand Nevil was more dangerous than the unwary +might imagine. He knew his power with that weapon +and when he chose to use it, did so to good purpose +with a polished finish to his scathing periods, that made +men twenty years his senior hate with fierce passion +Aston the writer, as surely as they would end by appreciation +of Aston the man after a personal encounter.</p> +<p>Patricia and Christopher having outdistanced their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +elders proceeded to make friends in their own way. +The girl began operations by asking if he would like +to see the stables and found it aroused no enthusiasm +in him, which was a point to the bad. But he was +polite enough to say he would like to go if she wished +it, which nearly equalised matters again. She confessed +it might be nice to have someone to play with, +which Christopher thought very friendly of her, and +told her of his guinea-pigs, which would arrive in the +evening with Robert and the luggage. That was distinctly +a point to the good; they both waxed eloquent +over the special qualities of guinea-pigs. Christopher’s +original two had already increased alarmingly +in numbers. He hinted some might even be left at +Marden—in a good home. Also he told her he had +christened the family by the names of great painters.</p> +<p>“Cæsar taught me the names,” he explained, +“there is Velasquez—he painted the Don Carlos in +Cæsar’s room, you know—he’s brown all over except +for one spot—<i>my</i> Velasquez, I mean—and there’s +Watteau—an awful frisky little beast—and Sir Joshua, +who sleeps in my pocket. You’ll like Sir Joshua, he’s +awfully good tempered.”</p> +<p>“I know,” nodded Patricia wisely, “and he painted +Nevil’s great grandmother. It’s in the drawing-room. +Why do you call Aymer ‘Cæsar’?”</p> +<p>“Because he always does what he means to do, or +gets it done; besides he is—just Cæsar.”</p> +<p>“It isn’t bad,” she said condescendingly, “perhaps +I shall call him so myself. I do hope we are going to +have tea in his room. It’s such a lovely, lovely room.”</p> +<p>“So it is in London. The beautifulest room I’ve +seen.”</p> +<p>“It’s just as nice here,” she maintained stoutly, “he +planned how it was to be done, and Nevil saw to it. +I like this best.”</p> +<p>Christopher was too polite or too shy to insist, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +he felt doubtful and became impatient to see for himself, +so they went indoors to find Patricia’s hopes were +justified. Tea was served in “Mr. Aymer’s” room.</p> +<p>And Christopher was obliged to allow that Patricia +had some ground for her statement. It was +a smaller room than the one in London, and singularly +like it, only the prevailing note was lighter and gayer +in tone. Aymer was there, lying on a similar sofa +to his usual one, with the familiar cover across his +feet.</p> +<p>Renata was making tea, and making Cæsar laugh +also. Christopher was uncomfortably conscious it +was all new to him and the familiarity only superficial, +while it was a well-recognised phase in Cæsar’s +life. Even Nevil Aston seemed a different person in +his easy country dress, and Christopher failed at first +to connect the dark little lady at the tea table with him, +and only noted she took Aymer his tea, which was his, +Christopher’s, special privilege, and treated him with +a friendly familiarity that nearly bordered on contempt +in Christopher’s eyes.</p> +<p>Aymer saw the children and called to them. Patricia +greeted him with the air of a young princess +and drew herself up when he said she had grown, and +would soon be a child instead of a baby. Then he +faced Christopher round towards Renata, who had +suddenly become grave and shy.</p> +<p>“Here is Christopher, so you can approve or condemn +Nevil by your own judgment, Renata. Christopher, +shake hands with Mrs. Aston.”</p> +<p>Christopher did as he was told, but he realised they +had been speaking of him and felt on the defensive. +However, he sat down as near to Cæsar as he could. +They talked of all manner of people and things of +which he knew nothing, traditional jokes cropped up, +and Aymer’s propensity for teasing asserted itself in +a prominent manner. Renata never failed to respond +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +and never failed to claim Nevil’s protection and to look +delightfully shy and dignified and feminine. Presently +the children were sent for. To Christopher’s indignant +amazement they were plumped down on Aymer +and allowed to treat him much as if he was a +new species of giant plaything. Charlotte, in her efforts +to burrow under Aymer’s arm, rolled off the edge +of the sofa and was deftly caught by Christopher, who +deposited her on the floor. She immediately tried to +clamber up again, but Aymer could not second her +efforts with his left arm.</p> +<p>“Put her up again, Christopher,” he said.</p> +<p>But Christopher apparently did not hear, and Mr. +Aston, who had been watching, came to the rescue. +Christopher slipped away to the window.</p> +<p>“A question of a third baby, I think,” said Mr. +Aston softly as he rearranged Charlotte, and Aymer, +looking sharply at Christopher, laughed.</p> +<p>When Christopher went to bid him good-night, he +found Cæsar alone, looking tired and doing nothing, +not even reading.</p> +<p>Christopher said good-night gravely.</p> +<p>“It’s not very late,” remarked Aymer. “Stay +with me a bit.”</p> +<p>He patted the chair beside him. Christopher with +rather a hot face obeyed.</p> +<p>“How do you like Marden?”</p> +<p>“I—I don’t know yet. There seems to be a lot of +people here.”</p> +<p>“It’s home, you see. We all come home when we +want to see each other and have people round.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I suppose everyone wants to see their people +sometimes.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you like seeing people?”</p> +<p>“I haven’t any of my own,” said Christopher, without +looking at him.</p> +<p>“That’s unkind. You have us.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></p> +<p>Christopher changed the subject.</p> +<p>“Do those—those little children live here?”</p> +<p>“Yes. It’s their home. They are rather jolly little +kids. What’s the matter, Christopher?”</p> +<p>Christopher assured him nothing was the matter.</p> +<p>Aymer continued in his most matter-of-fact voice.</p> +<p>“I’m fond of those babies. To begin with they are +Nevil’s and they are the only youngsters I am likely +to know well. But I’m a greedy person. I had Nevil, +Renata, the kiddies—and that delightfully odd Patricia, +and it wasn’t enough for me. They were all as +good as could be to me, but I wanted to be more than +an extra in someone’s life, so I must needs encumber +myself with a troublesome little boy who’s even more +greedy than myself, apparently.”</p> +<p>Christopher sat with his curly head on his hands +trying not to give in to the smile that was struggling +to express some undefined sense of content which had +sprung to life.</p> +<p>“You are a bad, silly boy to be jealous,” said Aymer, +watching him, half laughing, half affectionately, +“you ought to have known for yourself, if they had +been enough for me, you wouldn’t be here at all.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V' id='CHAPTER_V'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +</div> +<p>Two events wrote themselves indelibly on Christopher’s +memory in connection with this first visit to +Marden, while the one great matter that began there +and influenced his whole after life merged itself into a +general hazy sense of happiness and companionship. +For it is given to few of us even when we have reached +years of discretion to recognise those moments in our +lives which are of real, supreme, and eternal importance: +moments when the great doors of experience +open slowly on silent hinges and we pass in, unconscious +even that we have crossed the threshold. But +all that happens to our familiar selves, that touches +our well-known emotions, and rubs or eases the worn +grooves of existence, is heavily underscored in our +recollection, and not infrequently we take for mile-stones +on the way what were but pebbles on the road.</p> +<p>The two events which Christopher carried in his +memory were, however, not unimportant, for both +bore on his relationship with the man who was moulding +his life. The one episode turned Vespasian’s bald +statements into real emotional facts, and the other was +the first serious collision between the far-off disastrous +tutelage of Marley Sartin and the new laws of existence +as propounded by Aymer Aston.</p> +<p>Christopher’s education made vast strides during +that winter. The season proved an unusually mild +one. He was out the greater part of each day with +Patricia, enduring with remarkable fortitude her alternate +contempt and despair over his ignorance of such +everyday matters as horses, guns, dogs, desert island +games, and such like. When she laughed at him for +not being able to ride he shut his teeth hard not to +remind her he’d never possessed a shetland pony from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +birth as she had, also he rose at an unconscionable +early hour and rode in the cold winter’s dawn round +and round the exercising yard with the young grooms, +while Patricia was warm and fast asleep in bed. But +he had his reward when Mr. Aston, who had heard of +his doings from the stud-groom, took him out with +him on one of his rounds of inspection to outlying +farms.</p> +<p>“The boy’s got a good seat, and pluck, Aymer,” +reported Mr. Aston. “It’s more creditable to him +because he has had to learn. It’s not second nature +to him.”</p> +<p>It took him less trouble to learn how to handle a +gun, and when “off duty” to Patricia, spent a vast +amount of time in the electric plant house, learning +the A B C of a big dynamo.</p> +<p>Aymer knew all this and made no mention of lessons, +for Christopher was backward in more matters +than booklearning and the life on a big estate, the infinite +variety of interests was all good food for the +boy’s hungry brain and soul.</p> +<p>He grew apace. Mr. Aston declared he was a +changeling and not the thin little urchin he had first +encountered by the mile-stone on the Great Road. +They never alluded to his life before that, though they +all knew of it, and made their own private comparisons +and observations.</p> +<p>Christopher became quite attached to the babies so +long as they did not intrude on his own particular +hours with Cæsar, but he did not get over a certain +shy reserve towards Renata.</p> +<p>“She slips into empty places,” he said to Cæsar +once, and Cæsar laughed at him and told Renata, who +coloured and wrinkled her little forehead.</p> +<p>“He is a nice boy,” she said, “and I love him for +being so good to Patricia. There hasn’t been a storm +since he came.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span></p> +<p>One day, when it was too wet for even Christopher +to be out, the two children amused themselves by turning +out a cupboard in a disused room. It was a perfect +stronghold of treasures. Old riding whips, Badminton +Magazines (marked Aymer Aston, Christopher +noticed), tennis balls, cricket pads, a pair of fencing +foils and mask and gloves, a host of sporting trophies +from a hare’s pad to a wolf’s ear labelled “Kronigratz,” +and last of all a box full of photographs.</p> +<p>Patricia was called away before they could investigate +this last treasure trove, and Christopher, not to +be alone in the glory of discovery, carried it off to +Cæsar’s room and lay on the hearth-rug enjoying it till +Cæsar, busy working out estate accounts for his father, +was at liberty to look too. They were interesting +photographs,—to a boy. Mostly of horses ridden, +led, alone, jumping, horses galloping, horses trotting, +and over and over again a picture of one horse, and +rider, who never seemed to wear a hat and had a thick +head of hair that looked as if it might be the same colour +as Cæsar’s. At last he came to a bigger, more +distinct photo of the same man and horse. The horse +was evidently a polo-pony and was galloping and the +man on it in white riding things, with his shirt open +at the neck and was swinging a polo stick in his hand. +There was no mistaking it this time: it was undoubtedly +Cæsar. Christopher gave a little gasp. +Cæsar like that, vigorous, active, panting,—Christopher +could feel it so—with life and excitement. He +scrambled to his knees with the picture in his hand.</p> +<p>“Cæsar, dear Cæsar, look what I’ve found.”</p> +<p>Aymer looked round, saw the scattered photographs, +and held out his hand.</p> +<p>“Is it you really? May I have it for myself?”</p> +<p>Cæsar took the card and as he gave it up, Christopher +knew he had made a mistake, and got +scarlet. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span></p> +<p>“Where did you find it?” demanded Aymer +sharply.</p> +<p>“In the cupboard in the little red room. We were +turning it out.”</p> +<p>“Yes, it’s I. Why shouldn’t it be? I wasn’t always +a cripple, you know.”</p> +<p>He tossed the picture back on the rug. The scar +stood out white and distinct, and his face was strangely +hard and set. A book slipped down on the left side +and he tried to catch it with the left hand and failed, +and it fell with a bang on the floor.</p> +<p>“May I have it?” asked Christopher meekly from +the rug.</p> +<p>“What for? You don’t know the horse and you +don’t know the man. Put it in the fire.”</p> +<p>“No, I won’t,” exclaimed Christopher indignantly. +“Cæsar, don’t be so horrid, it’s—it’s—exactly like +you.”</p> +<p>Cæsar ignored his own command and asked another +question instead. “Where did you say you found +it?”</p> +<p>“In a cupboard in the little red room. It’s such a +jolly little room. It isn’t used now and there’s hardly +anything in it, but the cupboards are full of things—lovely +things. Patricia and I just explored.”</p> +<p>“It used to be my room and the things are all mine. +Why haven’t they burnt them?” he muttered.</p> +<p>Christopher gathered up the unlucky photographs +and put them back in the box. He was dimly conscious +he did not want Mr. Aston to come and see +them.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry, Cæsar, I didn’t know we shouldn’t have +done it.”</p> +<p>“You haven’t done any harm, I—I had no business +to be cross, old fellow. Come and show me the pictures +again, I’ll tell you about them.”</p> +<p>Christopher sat down on the sofa with the box in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +his hand. He really did want to know about them if +Cæsar wasn’t going to be angry. He took out a photo +at random.</p> +<p>“That was my first race-horse,” said Cæsar. “Her +name was Loadstar. She didn’t win much, but I +thought a lot of her. And that—oh, that’s a mastiff +I had: he was magnificent, but such a brute I had to +kill him. He went for one of the stable boys and I +hardly got him off in time. I’ve got the marks now +of his claws: he never bit me. We used to wrestle +together.”</p> +<p>“Wrestle with a dog?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I used to be fairly strong, you know, Christopher. +It was good training throwing him—sometimes +it was the other way. But he had to die, poor old +Brutus.”</p> +<p>“How did you kill him?”</p> +<p>“I shot him,” said Cæsar shortly, “don’t ask for +morbid particulars. Where is another picture?”</p> +<p>“This?”</p> +<p>This was a photo of a horse standing alone in a +field and beneath was written, “Jessica waiting to be +tamed.” Aymer offered no explanation,—if Christopher +had looked he would have seen the scar show up +again sharply over a frown.</p> +<p>The next was rather a wicked snap-shot of Aymer +cover shooting, with what looked suspiciously like a +dead fox curled up at his feet.</p> +<p>“It was a wretched little cub I had tamed,” he explained, +“the little beast used to follow me everywhere. +It’s really tied up to a tree, but it always lay +out as if dead when it heard a gun. I took it out +with me to try and get it used to the sound.”</p> +<p>There was a picture of Aymer and Nevil riding and +coming over a big water jump side by side.</p> +<p>Aymer told him it was at the Central Horse Show +and related the triumphs and honours of the day. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span></p> +<p>But when the polo photograph turned up again +Aymer appeared tired of the amusement, and sent +Christopher off to meet his father in the brougham at +Maidley station, four miles distant. “If someone +doesn’t go he’ll be reading reports and working out +figures till he arrives at the door,” said Aymer. “It’s +disgraceful not to know how to take a holiday properly. +It’s only small boys who ought to work like +that,” he added severely.</p> +<p>“You haven’t given me any work to do, Cæsar,” +protested Christopher, but Cæsar only laughed.</p> +<p>When the boy had gone, however, Aymer continued +to turn over the photographs. It was an extremely +unwise proceeding, for each of them called him with +irresistible voice back to the past from which he had +sworn he would turn his eyes. It was always there +with its whispering, mocking echo, but like a good +fighter he had learnt to withstand its insidious temptations, +and hold fast to the quiet, secure present +where all he could know of joy or fulfilment was centred.</p> +<p>But there it was, the great gulf that lay between +him and the past, in which were swallowed up the +hopes, ambitions, expectations of his vigorous youth, +and all the possibilities of a man’s life. He had fathomed +it to its blackest depth, and seen no hope of +escape or rescue. And yet he had escaped, through +the devotion and courage of his father. And it was +the ever-living recollection of that devotion that helped +him to keep his face turned from the other side of the +gulf. Only on rare occasions did his strength of purpose +fail him, and by some momentary carelessness he +found himself caught back into a black hour of bitterness +and helpless anger.</p> +<p>There was no one to blame but himself, no power +to accuse but his own headlong passion, and the imperious +impatience that would take no gift from life +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +but that of his own choosing. There had been a +woman and a tangle of events, and his passion-blinded +eyes could see no way of disentangling it, and yet how +trivial and easy the unravelling appeared now. The +quick—not resolve—but impulse that caught him on +the crest of his uncontrolled, wild temper, and +prompted the shot that missed its intention by a hairs-breadth: +the whole so instantaneous, so brief a hurricane +of madness, succeeded by the long pulseless stillness +of this life of his now.</p> +<p>To do, and not to be able to undo, to hunger and +thirst and ache to take back only a short minute of +life, to feel sick and blind before the irretrievableness +of his own deed, that was still his punishment in these +rare hours of darkness.</p> +<p>He had fought for life at first with all that virile +strength of his and won this limited existence which, +when he first understood its cruelly narrow horizon, +he had as ardently longed and sought to lose again, +but the life principle that had been so roughly handled +was marvellously tenacious, and refused to be +ousted from its tenement. Slowly and painfully Aymer +had groped his way from desolate despair to something +higher than mere placid resignation, to a brave +tolerance of himself and an open heart to what life +might still offer him.</p> +<p>There was, however, little toleration in his heart +at this hour as he lay staring at the photograph, and +then suddenly looked round the room he had made so +beautiful for himself. It was just as usual, every detail +complete, satisfactory, balanced, redeemed too +from its own beauty by its strange freedom from detail +and its emptiness.</p> +<p>It pleased him well as a rule, but this evening that +same emptiness seemed to emphasise his own isolation. +He was suddenly conscious of a sense of incompleteness, +of some detail left out that should be there—a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +want he could not measure or define. It was a +sort of culminating point in his own grey thoughts. +In a gust of his old imperious temper he caught up +the photograph and tore it in half, and flung it from +him: tried to fling into the fire and failed even in that. +The box of photographs fell and scattered on the floor. +He turned his head sharply and hid his face in the +cushions.</p> +<p>It was very quiet in the room, the fire burnt steadily, +and outside the dusk had already fallen. There +was a very little knock at the door, but he did not +hear it; the door opened with a breath of fresh cold +air and a faint scent of violets as Renata entered.</p> +<p>She saw she was unobserved, saw his attitude, and +her whole being seemed to melt into an expression +of longing compassion. Nevil or his father would +have gone away unseen in respect for his known +weakness, but Renata for all her shyness had the +courage of her instincts.</p> +<p>“May I come and warm myself, Aymer? You +always have the best fire in the house.”</p> +<p>He did not move for a moment.</p> +<p>Renata knelt by the fire with her back to him and +took off her long soft gloves, her bracelets making a +little jangling sound. Then she saw the torn picture +and picked it up and shook her head disapprovingly. +The overturned box lay nearer the sofa. She picked +that up too, and began replacing its contents in a +matter-of-fact way.</p> +<p>“You can’t possibly see things in this light,” she +remarked. “It is getting quite dark. Do you want +a light, Aymer?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Aymer abruptly, turning so that he +could see her.</p> +<p>She sat down in a big chair the other side of the +hearth and began chatting of the very serious At +Home she had just attended in Winchester. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span></p> +<p>The black mood slipped from him, and with it the +sense of need and incompleteness. It had melted as +snow before a fire the moment he had heard the swish +of her dress across the floor, and the breath of violets +reached him. He forgot even to be ashamed of his +own passing weakness as he watched her. She was +all in brown with strange beautiful gold work shining +here and there. She had flung back her furs and +there was a big bunch of violets in her dress. He +watched her little white fingers unfasten them as she +talked.</p> +<p>“If they would not think they were amusing themselves, +I could endure it,” she said, “but they solemnly +pretend it’s amusement and frivolous at that. +One old lady told me gravely, she hardly thought it +seemly that the Dean should so lend himself to the +pleasures of the world. There, the violets are not +spoilt at all. The Dean gave them to me: it’s the one +thing he can do—grow violets. You shall have them +all to yourself.” She fetched a silver cup and began +arranging them. Aymer ceased to be tired, ceased to +be anything but supremely content as his eyes followed +her. She went on relating her experience until +she had made him laugh, and then she came and sat +on a little stool near him.</p> +<p>“May I have the babies down?”</p> +<p>Aymer pretended to grumble.</p> +<p>“You’ll go to them if I say no,” he complained, +“so I have no option.”</p> +<p>The bell was rung and the babies ordered to +descend.</p> +<p>“Before they come, Cæsar, I’m going to ask you +a favour,” she said coaxingly, “now you are in a good +temper again.”</p> +<p>“Was I in a bad one?”</p> +<p>“Dreadful. It mustn’t reoccur. It is such a bad +example for the children.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span></p> +<p>“The favour, please; bother the children.”</p> +<p>“Cæsar, I’m ashamed of you. Bless them, you +meant to say. Well, the favour. Aymer, I am going +to start a crêche in Winchester near the big clothing +factory. I’ve talked to the Bishop and he quite approves. +I know just the house, but I shall have to +buy it, and I haven’t enough money for that. I can +run it easily if I can only get the premises. What +will you subscribe?”</p> +<p>“I haven’t any money at all,” he replied gravely. +“Vespasian takes it all and I don’t think he’d approve +of crêches, not being a family man.”</p> +<p>“Vespasian, indeed.” She tilted her chin in the +air as Aymer meant her to do, a trifle too much, and +the effect was spoilt, but he was well practised in obtaining +the exact tilt he admired.</p> +<p>“You can ask him, of course.”</p> +<p>“Very likely I will: in the meantime what will you +give me?”</p> +<p>“Half a crown. No; five whole shillings, if I have +it,” he said teasingly.</p> +<p>She considered the matter gravely. “I am not +quite sure. I should not like to inconvenience you. +Shall we say four and six?”</p> +<p>“No, I will be generous. I’ll do this. If you will +take the risk of being accused of burglary by Vespasian, +I happen to know there is some money in the +right hand drawer of the table over there. I don’t +know how much. Fivepence, perhaps, but you shall +have whatever it is.”</p> +<p>Renata walked with great dignity across the room +and opened the drawer. A little smile hovered about +her lips. She picked up a handful of gold and silver +and sat down by him to count it.</p> +<p>“It looks an awful lot,” he remarked anxiously. +“Won’t you let me off? Vespasian is always complaining +of my extravagance.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span></p> +<p>“Sh––Sh––” she held up one finger, “ten, +eleven, twelve, and two and six, that’s thirteen,—no, +fourteen and sixpence.”</p> +<p>“Leave me the sixpence,” he urged plaintively, but +she continued counting.</p> +<p>“Seven pounds, four shillings and sixpence. Count +it yourself, Aymer.”</p> +<p>Aymer counted and gravely pronounced her arithmetic +to be correct.</p> +<p>“Thank you, you are a dear.” She piled the coins +up neatly in little piles on the table by her side. He +told her she had better put it in her pocket.</p> +<p>“I haven’t one,” she sighed.</p> +<p>“You will be sure to forget it, and then Vespasian +will get it again.”</p> +<p>“Is it likely I would forget seven pounds, four shillings +and sixpence?”</p> +<p>But she did. The children arrived and rioted over +Aymer. Master Max bumped his head and had to be +consoled with his uncle’s watch, while Charlotte wandered +off on a voyage of exploration alone, and finally +sat on the floor by the window with her fat legs +straight out in front of her, making a doll of one arm +by wrapping it up in her dress, and singing to herself.</p> +<p>“She has quite an idea of time already: listen to her, +Aymer.”</p> +<p>But Aymer only scoffed at his niece’s accomplishments, +and then Nevil came in and went down +on his knees to kiss his wife, who was much too occupied +with her son and heir to move for him. For a +moment all three heads were on a level, and it was +only when the long Nevil stood up and Renata was +reaching up on tip-toe to put some of the violets in +his coat that Aymer’s sense of completeness vanished. +Finally the children were carried off and he was alone +again. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span></p> +<p>“It’s a lucky thing for me,” he said to himself +steadily, “that Nevil married Renata: he might just +as easily have married someone I couldn’t endure.”</p> +<p>When Christopher and Mr. Aston returned they +found Aymer whistling and drawing ridiculous caricatures +of the family on the back of the <i>Times</i>, and he +was so outrageously flippant and witty that his father +glanced at him suspiciously from time to time.</p> +<p>“Why haven’t you let Vespasian light up?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid to call Vespasian. Renata has been +raiding and I shall get a lecture. She’s left her booty, +as I told her she would. Christopher, when you have +quite finished pretending it’s your duty to draw the +curtains, you might run up with this money to her. +Put it in that box.”</p> +<p>Christopher came forward rather slowly. He swept +the money into the box indicated.</p> +<p>“What a lot,” he commented.</p> +<p>“Seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence, and I +am now penniless. I shan’t even get credit with +Heaven. She’ll appropriate that.”</p> +<p>Christopher ran off with it and meeting Nevil on +the stairs gave it into his hand. Renata had gone to +dress, and Nevil sauntered in to his wife with her +“spoils” at once.</p> +<p>“Seven pounds, four and sixpence,” she said gleefully. +“For the crêche fund. It was nice of Aymer. +I had not meant to worry him to-day, but he wanted +distraction.”</p> +<p>“I thought Vespasian kept his money. Six pounds +four and sixpence, Renata,” Nevil remarked, counting +the money carelessly. She came over to him, brush +in hand.</p> +<p>“You can’t even do addition. Nothing but dates! +I counted it most carefully, so did Aymer.”</p> +<p>“Then he’s defrauded you of a pound since.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span></p> +<p>“Nonsense.”</p> +<p>They counted it together, but no amount of reckoning +would make seven sovereigns out of six. The +silver was correct.</p> +<p>“It must have fallen down,” said Renata at last +and put it away carefully in her desk.</p> +<p>They were late for dinner, and Mr. Aston pretended +to upbraid them and told Renata to take her soup +and leave her correspondence alone, for there was a +big envelope lying by her plate. It was her father-in-law’s +contribution to the crêche scheme, Aymer having +forestalled her request, and joined forces with +his father in a really adequate sum.</p> +<p>Renata got pink with pleasure as she looked at the +cheque. She was, however, far too shy to express her +real gratitude in words before them all. She smiled +at the donor and remarked she would give him a big +photograph in a beautiful frame of the first baby admitted +to the crêche, to hang in his room as a slight +token of her appreciation of his gift.</p> +<p>“It shall take the place of Charlotte,” he assured +her gravely.</p> +<p>Aymer looked aggrieved.</p> +<p>“May I ask the precise sum, Renata?” he inquired +pointedly, “that earns so gracious a reward.”</p> +<p>“It’s three figures,” she answered, regarding the +precious slip of paper affectionately before replacing +it in its imposing envelope.</p> +<p>“Ninety-two pounds, fifteen and sixpence more,” +he groaned; “it’s a lot for a photograph of a mere +baby, but I can’t be left out in the cold.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps I can let you have one without a frame +for less, only father’s must be the best.”</p> +<p>“Nevil,” remarked Aymer severely, “I would call +your attention to the fact that your wife is beginning +to weigh men’s merits by their means.”</p> +<p>Nevil only laughed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span></p> +<p>“I hear she has raided you of all you possess. Six +pounds odd.”</p> +<p>“Seven pounds four and sixpence,” corrected Aymer. +“I should like the correct sum printed in good +plain figures on your list, Renata. Being my all, it +is a superior present to more pretentious donations.”</p> +<p>“Six pounds four and sixpence, however,” persisted +Nevil.</p> +<p>Aymer looked up quickly.</p> +<p>“Did you count it?”</p> +<p>Nevil nodded.</p> +<p>“It must have dropped,” said Aymer slowly. “I’ll +send it you with the interest, Renata.”</p> +<p>But he knew it had not been dropped.</p> +<p>Mr. Aston began telling them of a deputation from +the Friends of the Canine Race he had received that +day, and no more was said on the other matter.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI' id='CHAPTER_VI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +</div> +<p>Although Christopher’s habit of acquisitiveness had +given Aymer some uneasy moments, yet there had +been so far no very serious conflict of the question +of meum and tuum. Aymer had sought rather to +overwrite the rude scrawl of Marley Sartin than to +erase it. The most serious aspect that had shown +itself hitherto was Christopher’s readiness to accept +tips from over-generous callers and even to put himself +to ingenious trouble to invite them. Constantia +Wyatt was a great offender in this and brought down +a severe scolding on her own head from her brother +when he at last learnt of Christopher’s propensity.</p> +<p>“He does it so neatly and with such a charming, +innocent face,” pleaded Constantia, half laughing; “it’s +no harm, Aymer. All boys like tips: I know my boy +does.”</p> +<p>But she rather libelled Master Basil Wyatt, who, +though not averse to a donation, would have scorned +to solicit it. Aymer had told Christopher that gentlemen +did not do these things and had taken care to +keep the boy out of the way of departing visitors. +But this had been before his first lecture on the obligations +of money, and Christopher had taken that +lesson to heart and quite outgrown his childish and +perfectly innocent habit of inviting tips.</p> +<p>Aymer was furiously angry with himself for the +quick suspicion which connected the boy with the missing +sovereign. He tried honestly to put it away from +himself as unwarrantable and dangerous. But there +it was, a wretched little poisonous thought, tugging +at his heart, unreasonably coupled with a recollection +of a conversation between Patricia and Christopher +that he had overheard one afternoon at tea-time, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +anent the construction of an amateur brickwork bridge +across an inconvenient stream. Patricia had said +they could buy bricks at the brick-yard, and Christopher +had said he had no money left; it would cost lots +and lots and they must wait till pay-day.</p> +<p>He mentioned the loss of the sovereign to Christopher +and asked if he had dropped the money on the +stairs, and Christopher had composedly answered in +the negative, and had volunteered the remark that if +it had been dropped in the room it could not have +rolled far on the thick carpet. Aymer had been for +the moment convinced of the injustice of his own suspicion. +He made no attempt to discover any other +solution to the problem; rather he evaded what might +prove a difficult task, and contented himself with solemnly +sending Renata a cheque for the remainder +“with interest,” and neither Renata nor Nevil spoke +of the matter again, at least to him. Nevil may have +had his own opinions about it, and if he had they +were quite certainly communicated to his wife. The +worrying uncertainty, however, proved too much for +Aymer, and the following evening when he was alone +with his father he told him the story, half hoping to +be scolded for harbouring uncharitable suspicions. +Now, Mr. Aston had been scrupulous to a fault in +avoiding the offer of any suggestions or advice on +Christopher’s upbringing. He desired above all things +to leave Aymer free in his chosen task, but he realised +at once this was a point where Aymer was quite as +likely to hurt himself as Christopher, and, therefore, +that he, Aymer’s father, must make an exception to his +rule and he did not like it. He began drawing vague +lines on his shirtcuff with a pencil, an evil habit of +his when uneasy in mind. Aymer watched him with +disapproval.</p> +<p>“After all our efforts,” he sighed gravely, “you +still persist in your old bad ways, sir. How often +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +have I entreated you to remember a poor valet’s feelings, +and how often has Nevil begged you to recollect +the sorrows of the washerwoman?”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston laughed and put away his pencil.</p> +<p>“Nevil once indited an ode to me entitled ‘The +Lament of the Laundress.’ I fear I’m incorrigible.”</p> +<p>“What displeases you, sir?” demanded his son after +a little pause; “it’s no use pretending there’s +nothing wrong; you only do that when you want to +say something you think won’t be acceptable.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, Aymer, I say this: Christopher is +your concern. I don’t doubt your power to manage +him, but I can speak of yourself, and I tell you it’s a +very bad thing to live with an unsatisfied suspicion; +particularly bad for you. If you don’t clear this up +you will never feel quite at ease with the boy. It is +so already, is it not?”</p> +<p>Aymer admitted reluctantly that it was indeed the +case.</p> +<p>“Don’t let anything stand between you, Aymer. I +am thinking of you, of course,” he added hastily.</p> +<p>“Are you sure you are not thinking of yourself?” +returned his son, half laughing, half ruefully; and his +father flushed a little.</p> +<p>“Perhaps I was,” he said humbly. “It would +worry me if you were not happy with him.”</p> +<p>Aymer laughed outright at that and assured him +he knew how to make allowances for his well-known +selfishness. But he took his advice and grappled with +the difficulty next afternoon. Christopher was mending +a rod, seated on the floor as usual.</p> +<p>“We’ve not found that sovereign,” said Cæsar +abruptly.</p> +<p>Christopher looked up quickly, and then went on +with his work after a brief “Oh!”</p> +<p>“Did you take it, Christopher?”</p> +<p>He asked the question quite slowly and looked at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +the boy, who got scarlet but went on tying his rod +and appeared to be considering the question carefully, +weighing it in his mind as it were, and when he answered, +it was as deliberately as Aymer had questioned +him.</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>Aymer felt a sudden sense of relief, for lying had +not been one of Christopher’s faults. Then almost +immediately he found himself wondering first, why +the boy was not angry, and secondly, why it had taken +so much thought to answer at all. However, he let +the matter drop and told himself he was satisfied. +Christopher finished mending his rod and then sat +still considering deeply. Presently he took out a +penny from his pocket and began rolling it on the +thick carpet, and, as he had remarked to Cæsar, it +did not roll far, try as he would. At last he jumped +up with a satisfied mien and went out. Cæsar heard +him whistling as he went down the passage and felt +easier in his mind. Renata and the babies paid their +usual visit after tea, and Miss Charlotte, after a brief +conversation with her uncle, slid off the sofa and +trotted away to the end window, where she appeared +to be diligently playing hide-and-seek with herself. +Suddenly her elders were startled with a prolonged +cry of anguish and Renata flew to the rescue.</p> +<p>“I tan’t find it; naughty mousie taken my booful +golden penny,” sobbed Charlotte in her mother’s +arms. Renata could make nothing of her grief and +persisted in thinking that she was hurt, and cuddling +her. Aymer, listening attentively, said suddenly to +Renata in his imperious way:</p> +<p>“Give Charlotte to me, Renata, and take baby +away.”</p> +<p>Renata obeyed meekly. People had a weak way of +obeying Aymer on occasions, even against their will.</p> +<p>“Now, Miss Charlotte,” said Aymer, when the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +young lady was safely deposited by him, “tell me +about it. What golden penny was it?”</p> +<p>But Charlotte got suddenly red and stopped crying.</p> +<p>“Were you playing with it yesterday in the window?” +asked her uncle.</p> +<p>Charlotte nodded.</p> +<p>“Was it your penny or mine?”</p> +<p>“Wasn’t nobody’s, only mummy’s. You <i>said they</i> +were for her. Charlotte wasn’t naughty.”</p> +<p>“Did you find it on the floor?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Where then?”</p> +<p>“Dey was all in nice itty rows on the table. I +only taken one pitty goldy penny. Mummy gives me +goldy pennies always.”</p> +<p>“Sovereigns for playthings, Renata. That’s very +immoral.”</p> +<p>“No, only new halfpennies. Charlotte didn’t know +any better, Aymer.”</p> +<p>“And you played with it in the window there and +left it there.”</p> +<p>“Is I naughty?”</p> +<p>“Not very naughty—if you tell me. Did you leave +it there?”</p> +<p>Charlotte’s lip trembled. “I putted it to bed in the +curtain by a mousehole, and it’s all gone, naughty +mousie.”</p> +<p>“Go and see, Renata, if there’s a hole there.”</p> +<p>“Please,” said Charlotte gravely.</p> +<p>“Please what?”</p> +<p>“Please go and see.”</p> +<p>Aymer laughed. “I beg your pardon, Renata. +Please will you mind looking for the mousehole?”</p> +<p>“I tan’t see the mousehole,” put in Charlotte, “I +only ’tend it.”</p> +<p>But Renata looked all the same. There was no +mousehole and no golden penny. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span></p> +<p>“It is all right,” explained Aymer in answer to his +sister-in-law’s troubled look. “I know all about it. +Don’t worry your little head. We will give Charlotte +another golden penny, or a silver one. Only,” he +added, regarding his small niece severely, “Charlotte +must not touch anyone’s pennies again, not mummy’s +or Uncle Aymer’s, or anyone’s. It is not dreadfully +naughty this time, but it would be next time—<i>dreadfully</i> +naughty.”</p> +<p>Charlotte opened her eyes very wide.</p> +<p>“Would you be dreffly angry?”</p> +<p>“Yes, and very unhappy. I shouldn’t let you come +to see me any more.”</p> +<p>At that Miss Charlotte flung her arms round his +neck, protesting she wasn’t naughty and Uncle Aymer +must love her. Peace was at last restored and +Aymer drew pictures of innumerable mice carrying +off golden pennies and only sent the children away +when Christopher came in.</p> +<p>He gave no hint to Christopher that he had solved +the problem of the lost money and discovered the boy’s +own compromise between truth and dishonesty. He +was anxious to see whether Christopher’s moral +standard was really satisfied with the same compromise +or not. So he treated him as far as he could in +his natural manner during the next few days, but +found it a little difficult. Fond of Christopher as he +was, this was just one of those points where the enormous +difference between the child of one’s own self,—of +self plus the unknown—and the adopted child of +others, became visible. The fault was so inexplicable +to Aymer, so utterly foreign to his whole understanding, +that he had nothing but contempt for it, whereas, +had Christopher been his own son, love would have +overridden contempt with fear.</p> +<p>Christopher, with his uncanny, quick intuition of +Aymer’s innermost mind, was not deceived by his ordinary +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +casual manner, and became, to Aymer’s secret +satisfaction, a little suppressed and thoughtful.</p> +<p>It was at this point the boy had his first introduction +to poor little Patricia’s temper.</p> +<p>The two children had been riding and returned +home by way of the brook over which their ambitious +dreams had already built a bridge. Patricia, who was +in rather a petulant mood, reproached Christopher +rather sharply for having got rid of his last month’s +pocket money so prematurely. “Just like a boy,” she +said, wrinkling her nose contemptuously. She had +five whole shillings left of her money and when Christopher +could double that they were to go to the brick-yard +and bargain.</p> +<p>“Haven’t you any at all?” she questioned impatiently.</p> +<p>Christopher, who was examining the proposed site, +did not answer at once, and she repeated her question.</p> +<p>“I have some,” he confessed unwillingly.</p> +<p>“Well, can’t we start with that. You said you +hadn’t any on Monday. How much is it?”</p> +<p>But Christopher declined to answer.</p> +<p>Patricia persisted in her point. If Christopher had +<i>any money</i> they could begin the bridge next day. +Christopher said he’d see about it.</p> +<p>Patricia, much exasperated, said she should go +home, and her companion proposed to make the ponies +jump the brook. She was too angry to answer him, +but she set her pony at it, and the pony, instead of +rising to the jump on command, very cautiously +stepped into the stream and splashed across. It is to +be feared Christopher laughed. Patricia cantered on, +having seen, with much satisfaction, the other pony +behave in precisely the same way. But the end was +not the same. Christopher wheeled the pony round +and tried again, tried eight times and failed and succeeded +at the ninth. It was characteristic of him that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +he did not lose his temper, but had kept on with a +sort of dull, monotonous persistence that must have +been very boring to the equine mind.</p> +<p>Then he galloped after Patricia, and catching her +up at the lodge gates retailed his triumph gleefully. +Perhaps he was a shade too triumphant, for he was +still in disgrace, and she had not spoken. At all +events by the time they had dismounted and were returning +to the house through the garden, she was in +a fever of irritation, and Christopher, blissfully ignorant +of the fact, was just a tiny bit inclined for +private reasons of his own, to emphasise his own good +spirits. He never noticed the clenching and unclenching +of her small hands or saw the whiteness of her +tense averted face, and he began teasing her about +her pony and her weight. “Nevil must buy you a +brand new one, up to your weight,” he suggested, +“you’ve broken Folly’s spirit evidently.”</p> +<p>He was standing on the steps, just one step below +her, and he looked back laughing. On a sudden, with +no word or sound of warning, she turned and cut at +him with her riding whip, her little form quivering +with the grip of the possessing demon. The lash +caught him across the face and he fell back against +the wall gasping, with his hand up. Luckily it was +but a light whip and a girl’s hand, but the sting of it +blanched him for an instant. The flaming colour died +from Patricia’s face as suddenly as it had come, and +with it the momentary fury. She stood gazing at her +companion a moment, and when he looked up half +terrified, half angry, she turned quickly and ran down +a grass path, dropping her whip as she went.</p> +<p>Christopher stood still, rubbing his smarting cheek +gingerly, wondering vaguely what he would say if it +showed. He had heard from others as well as from +Patricia herself, of the child’s fearful paroxysms of +rage and had rather scoffed at it—to her. But at this +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +moment he was far nearer crying, very near it, indeed, +to be strictly truthful. He was really concerned for +Patricia, and also he was a little—unnecessarily—ashamed +of his own collapse under the sudden attack. +Probably she thought it worse than it was. He +walked slowly down the grass path between the yew +hedges and picked up the whip as he went. Patricia +was not on the tennis court nor in the summer-house, +nor in the rose-garden, so he turned his steps to the +wilderness, as the rough wooded slopes on the northern +side of the garden were called. He knew her +favourite spots here and presently came on her huddled +up on an old moss-grown stone seat, her head in +her arms. She was quite still, she was not even crying, +and Christopher felt a little frightened. What if +she were still angry like that? However, the chances +were against it, so he went up and sat down by her.</p> +<p>“Patricia, don’t be silly,” he commanded. “What +did you run off like that for? You didn’t hurt—not +much,” he added truthfully—he had taken to being +very exact about the truth of late.</p> +<p>“Go away,” said Patricia. “I don’t want you. I +don’t want anyone. You don’t understand.”</p> +<p>“Well, someone’s got to understand,” persisted the +boy in a high-handed way. “You aren’t going to be +let get in tempers with me and then sulk about it afterwards. +Don’t be silly. Sit up.” Patricia’s golden +hair lay about her like a veil. He pushed it aside and +tried to pull her hands away from her face, for he +was getting really a little frightened at her manner. +Some instinct taught him that her misery was as exaggerated +and bad for her as her temper, and he was +dimly afraid of leaving her alone, as was the custom +of her little world after one of her outbreaks.</p> +<p>Patricia suddenly sat up. There were black rims +round her great sad eyes already and her face was red +and white in patches from the pressure of her hands. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span></p> +<p>“You said I hadn’t hurt you,” she gasped, gazing +at the dull red mark of which <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: Chirstopher in original text">Christopher</ins> was already +almost unaware.</p> +<p>“Does it show? What a beastly nuisance. I said +it didn’t hurt much, Patricia. Not at all now. I’m +sorry I was such a baby.” He put his arm round her +and she leant her head against him too exhausted to +care whether he thought her a baby or not.</p> +<p>“It must be jolly exciting having a temper like +that,” he said, thoughtfully. “It wouldn’t be half so +bad if you meant it.”</p> +<p>She sat bolt upright and stared at him.</p> +<p>“Why?” she demanded breathlessly.</p> +<p>“Because if you meant it you could take care <i>not</i> +to mean it, silly. You’d look out. But you don’t +mean it. You didn’t mean to hurt me then till you +did it. It’s much worse for you.”</p> +<p>She drew a long breath.</p> +<p>“Oh, Christopher dear, how clever you are. No-one +ever understood that before. They all say, ‘well, +anyhow, you don’t mean it,’ as if that made it better.”</p> +<p>“Stupid, of course it’s harder to help what you +don’t mean than what you do.”</p> +<p>“But I can’t help it.”</p> +<p>Christopher gave her a little shake. “Don’t be +silly. You will have to help it, only it’s harder. You +can’t go on like that when you are big—ladies don’t—none +I’ve seen. It’s only––” he stopped.</p> +<p>“Only what?”</p> +<p>“Women in the street. At least—some, I’ve seen +them. They fight and scream and get black eyes and +get drunk.”</p> +<p>“Christopher, you are hateful!” She flared up with +hot cheeks and put her hand over his mouth. “I’m +not like that, you horrid boy. Say I’m not.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t say you were,” said Christopher with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +faint exasperation. “I said it reminded me—your +temper. Come along in.”</p> +<p>She followed very unwillingly, more conscious than +he was of his disfigured face.</p> +<p>And Renata met them in the hall and saw it and +got pink, but said nothing till Patricia had gone upstairs. +Christopher was slipping away too—he never +found much to say to Mrs. Aston—and of late less than +ever. However, she stopped him.</p> +<p>“Have you been quarrelling, Christopher?” she +asked deprecatingly with a little tremor in her voice.</p> +<p>Christopher assured her not.</p> +<p>“You have hurt your face.”</p> +<p>“The branch of a tree,” he began shamefacedly, +and stopped lamely.</p> +<p>“I’m so sorry.”</p> +<p>No more was said. Renata was conscious of her +own failure to get on with Christopher, but she put +it down entirely to her own shyness, which interfered +now in preventing her overriding his very transparent +fib in Patricia’s defence. She went away rather +troubled and unhappy. But Christopher, a great deal +more troubled and unhappy, looked out of the hall window +with a gloomy frown. His own words to Patricia +that she had so sharply resented, about the +women he had seen fighting in the street, had called up +other pictures of the older life, pictures in which Marley +Sartin figured only too distinctly. He felt uncomfortably +near these shifting scenes. Like Patricia, he +wanted to deny the connection between himself and the +small boy following in the wake of the big man +through crowded streets and long vistas of shops. He +did not wish to recognise the bond between little Jim +Hibbault and Christopher Aston. But the pictures +were very insistent and the likeness uncomfortably +clear. At last, with no more show of emotion or will +than if he were going on an ordinary errand, he walked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +slowly down the corridor to Cæsar’s room. He had +entirely forgotten about Patricia now and was taken +aback by Cæsar’s abrupt inquiry about the mark or +his face.</p> +<p>“It was an accident,” he said hurriedly, and then +plunged straight into his own affairs.</p> +<p>“Cæsar, I have something to give you.”</p> +<p>He held out his hand with a sovereign in it.</p> +<p>Cæsar took it and, after glancing at it casually, put +it on the table, looking hard at Christopher, who got +red and then white.</p> +<p>“It couldn’t have been the sovereign you lost,” he +said earnestly. “I didn’t take any of that money, +really, Cæsar. I found this on the floor by the window. +It couldn’t have rolled all that long way from +here. It must be another.”</p> +<p>He was pleading with himself as much as with +Cæsar, desiring greatly to keep faith with his own +integrity, though something in Cæsar’s face was driving +him from his last stronghold.</p> +<p>“You didn’t ask me if I’d found a sovereign,” he +pleaded desperately, “you asked me if I had taken one +of Mrs. Aston’s sovereigns, and I hadn’t, because how +could it have got to the window from here?”</p> +<p>Cæsar’s face flushed a dusky red. He spoke in a +hard, constrained voice.</p> +<p>“Charlotte took one of the sovereigns as a plaything +when we were not looking and hid it under the +curtain in the window. To her it was only a toy, but +to you––”</p> +<p>He made a last effort to keep control of his temper +and failed. The storm broke.</p> +<p>“But to you––” he repeated with a curiously +stinging quality in his voice as if the words were +whipped to white heat by inward wrath—“to you a +sovereign is no toy, but a useful commodity, and your +code of honour—do you call it that?—is doubtless a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +very convenient one. It is far too subtle a code for +my poor intellect, but since you appear able to justify +it to yourself it is no concern of mine.”</p> +<p>Christopher stood still and white under this ruthless +attack: all his energies concentrated in keeping +that stillness, but at the back of his mind was born a +dull pain and sharp wonder, a consciousness of the +Law of Consequence by which he must abide, and +henceforth accept as a principle of life. There was too +great confusion in his mind for him to weigh his +instinctive action and subsequent behaviour against +what, to Aymer, was the one and only possible code of +honour. For the present it was enough that in Aymer’s +eyes that action was mean, despicable and contemptible. +The Law of Consequence he dimly realised +worked from the centre of Aymer’s being and not +from the ill-trained centre of his, Christopher’s, individuality.</p> +<p>“In future,” went on Aymer, still too furiously +angry to weigh his words or remember they were addressed +to a child, “if I have occasion to make any +inquiries of you we will have a distinct understanding +as to whether we are speaking with the same code or +not. You can go.”</p> +<p>Christopher turned blindly away, and was stopped +at the door. “As for the sovereign, which must be +very precious to you, considering the price you were +ready to pay for it, I will have it pierced and put on +a chain, so you can wear it round your neck. It +would be a pity to lose anything so valuable.”</p> +<p>Christopher turned with indignant protest in every +line. However Aymer might talk of their separate +codes of honour, he was, nevertheless, dealing out a +punishment adequate to the infringement of his own +code, and to Christopher it appeared unjust and cruel. +For the moment it was in him to remonstrate fiercely, +but the words died away, for such a protest must of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +necessity be based on an acceptance of this divided +code, and to that he would not stoop. It was some +poor consolation to pay the penalty of a higher law +than he was supposed to understand. He turned +again to the door and got away before a storm of tears +swamped his brave control.</p> +<p>When Charles Aston returned that night he found +Aymer in a very irritable mood. Nevil, in his gentle, +patient way, had been doing his best to soothe him, +but in vain. When Aymer was not irritated, he was +bitter and sarcastic, even his greeting to his father +was short and cold. It was clear some event in the +day had upset his mental equilibrium, and Christopher’s +absence (he did not even appear to say “good-night”) +gave Mr. Aston a clue to the situation.</p> +<p>Nevil was wading through a book on farm management, +which bored him considerably. His part +was to read long extracts which Aymer was comparing +with some letters in the “Field.” They continued +their employment and Mr. Aston sat down to write a +letter. From time to time he paused and heard Aymer’s +sharp, unreasonable remarks to his brother. A +memory of the old bad days came so forcibly to Mr. +Aston that he laid aside his pen at last and sat listening +with an aching heart. He knew those quick flashes +of temper were a sign of irritation brought to a white +heat. Presently, after one remark more unjustifiable +than ever, Nevil looked across at his father with a +little rueful grimace, and seeing how grave was Mr. +Aston’s expression he made another valiant effort to +keep peace and ignore the abuse, and went on reading. +The subject under discussion was the draining of a +piece of waste land, and when the long article came to +an end, Nevil in his dreamy way summed up the matter +by saying it was a very picturesque corner of the +estate and a pity to spoil it.</p> +<p>Aymer flung the papers down violently. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span></p> +<p>“That’s all you care for, or are likely to care for,” +he said brutally. “I know I might as well let the estate +go to the dogs as try and improve it. Once my +father and I are dead, you’ll turn it into a damned +garden for your own use.”</p> +<p>For one second Nevil’s face was a study in suppression. +He got up and walked across the room, his +hands shaking.</p> +<p>Mr. Aston spoke sharply and suddenly.</p> +<p>“Aymer, pull yourself together. You are taking +advantage of your position. What circumstances do +you imagine give you the right to trample on other +people’s feelings like this, whenever something or +other has put you out? It’s outrageous! Keep your +temper better in hand, man.”</p> +<p>It was so obviously deserved, so terribly direct, and +at the same time so calculated to hurt, that Nevil +turned on his father with reproachful eyes, and then +perceiving his face, said no more.</p> +<p>Aymer became suddenly rigid, and lay still with +waves of colour rising to and dying from his face, +and his hands clenched.</p> +<p>Mr. Aston waited a moment and then said apologetically +and hurriedly, “I’m awfully sorry, Aymer.”</p> +<p>“Oh, it had to be done,” responded Aymer, turning +his face to him with a rueful smile. “I’m a brute. +Nevil, old fellow, you ought to give him a V. C. or +something; he is positively heroic.”</p> +<p>“Don’t be an idiot,” retorted his father, blushing +for all his fifty-eight years, because of a grain of truth +in his son’s words. For indeed it sometimes requires +more courage to be brutal to those we love than to be +kind to those we hate.</p> +<p>“Go away, Nevil,” continued Mr. Aston good humouredly, +“I’ll look after Aymer.”</p> +<p>Nevil departed, with secret relief, the atmosphere +was a little too electrical for his liking. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span></p> +<p>When he had gone, Mr. Aston went over to his +elder son and sat on the edge of the sofa.</p> +<p>“What’s really the matter, old chap?” he asked +gently.</p> +<p>Aymer related the whole history of the sovereign, +Christopher’s confession and the subsequent events.</p> +<p>“I dare say he was quite honest about his point of +view,” he concluded petulantly, “but because I could +not see it I lost my temper with him.”</p> +<p>His father sat thoughtfully considering the carpet.</p> +<p>“It will be a little hard on Christopher,” he said at +length, very slowly and without looking up, “if every +time he has the misfortune to remind you of his father +you lose your temper with him.”</p> +<p>Aymer turned sharply.</p> +<p>“What do you mean, sir?”</p> +<p>“I think,” went on the elder man steadily, “I think, +Aymer, it was not only Christopher’s hazy ideas of +honour and honesty that angered you, but he forced +on your notice the fact that he was his father’s son, +that he had in him the germs of that quality which +has made his father what he is—a successful man. +Isn’t it so?”</p> +<p>Aymer did not answer. It was true, he knew, however +great his wish to disown it. Something of the +self-dissatisfaction that had numbed poor little Christopher +fell to his share. He felt his father was a little +hard on him—he could not really understand his relationship +to the boy.</p> +<p>“It is not quite fair on Christopher, is it?” said +Mr. Aston very gently, “at least that is how it strikes +me. I do not want to interfere between you, but I do +want you to do yourself full justice in dealing with +him.”</p> +<p>Aymer looked suddenly up at his father and laughed. +“It is evidently not only Christopher who is in disgrace +to-day,” he said ruefully. “I wish I could in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +turn upbraid you with unfairness, but Christopher has +the pull over me there.”</p> +<p>He held out his hand. It was a great concession in +Aymer to show even this much demonstration of feeling +unasked, and it was appreciated.</p> +<p>“You might say good-night to Christopher when +you go upstairs,” Aymer said casually a little later, +and his father nodded assent, by no means deceived +by the indifferent tone. Both Aymer and Christopher +slept the better for his ministrations that night.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII' id='CHAPTER_VII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +</div> +<p>At the end of February the elder Astons returned to +town and Marden Court was no longer mere vague +locality to Christopher, but the “home” of those he +loved, the centre piece of their lives, and he had a +share in it himself.</p> +<p>Still he was very happy to find himself back at Aston +House. Its many deserted rooms, the long, silent +corridors and its strange spacious emptiness lent themselves +to his robust imagination more easily than the +living friendly warmth of the old house, brimful of +actualities. He re-explored every corner of house and +garden in the first days of return, interviewed the staff +collectively and individually, from Warren the butler, +to the new scullery boy. He rearranged his books and +hunted up half-forgotten treasures, slid down the shiny +banisters fifty times a day and dispelled the silent +lurking shadows with a merry whistle and a laugh that +woke an echo in quiet rooms. But he regretted +Patricia. It would have been very pleasant to take +his turn at showing her round—Patricia had only been +in London once,—and there would have been plenty +to show her. Lessons, however, recommenced almost +at once and Christopher was left with little time for +regrets. Life fell back into its old grooves with the +solitary difference that those grooves seemed deeper +worn and more familiar than he had imagined. The +months no longer only presented possible problems; +he could consult his memory as to what had previously +been at such a time or in like conditions.</p> +<p>He was also given much greater liberty now and +encouraged to go out by himself, and to do errands +for Mr. Aston or Aymer. It was a proud day for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +him when Aymer first sent him to The House with a +letter for Mr. Aston, who was acting secretary on a +Committee at the time. Christopher had had to wait +and had sat outside a Committee room door and +watched men go to and fro, men whose faces were +dimly familiar to a student of illustrated papers, and +men who were strange, but all men doing something +in return for the good things the world had given +them. Such at least was Christopher’s innocent belief. +Aymer did not disillusion him.</p> +<p>He used to recount his small adventures to Cæsar +in the evenings and was encouraged to form his own +conclusions from what he had noticed and to confirm +existing ideas from actual life. Such conclusions and +ideas were naturally often childish and illogical, but +Cæsar never appeared to find them laughable and +would give careful and illuminating consideration to +the most chaotic theories.</p> +<p>The everlasting problem of riches and poverty, happiness +and misery often came uppermost, and on this +point Christopher was assuredly, but quite unconsciously, +as illuminating to Aymer as Aymer was to +him. There were certain points of view, certain lines +of thought with regard to the attitude of these “under-world” +people, which Christopher knew without +knowing how, and which, flashing out unexpectedly, +would dissolve philanthropic theories wholesale. Aymer +would retell them to his father afterwards, who +in turn would bring them out in his quiet, unexpected +way in one of those wonderfully eloquent speeches of +his that made the whole list of “Societies” court him +as a dinner guest and speaker, and political coteries +sigh with pained surprise at his refusal to stand for +Parliament.</p> +<p>Christopher, indeed, possessed to a full degree the +power of absorbing the mental atmosphere in which he +lived and of becoming a sort of visible incarnation of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +it. Places and people who had thus once found expression +in him could always bring to the surface +again that particular phase of existence they had originally +stamped on his mind. The Christopher who +wandered amongst the wharfs and warehouses in that +vague region across the river, remembered and was +concerned over quite different matters to the happy +boy who rode every morning in the Row with Mr. +Aston.</p> +<p>There were many people to and fro to Aston House: +Men who were a power in the world; men who would +be so, and men who had been, as well as many of no +note at all. They came to consult Charles Aston on +every conceivable thing under the sun, from questions +of high politics to the management of a refractory +son. They did not always take his advice, nor did he +always offer it, but they invariably came away with +a more definite sense of their own meaning and aims, +and somehow such aims were generally a little more +just, a shade more honest, or a little higher than +they had imagined when they started out. Charles +Aston was still alluded to by men of high repute as +“the man who might have been,” yet many there were +who, had they considered it carefully, might have said +to themselves that “might have been” was less well +than “has been.” Very occasionally he entertained +and Constantia came to play hostess for him. On these +occasions Aymer rarely appeared at dinner, but a few +privileged guests visited him afterwards and kept alive +the tradition that Charles Aston’s son, that poor fellow +Aymer, was an even more brilliant conversationalist +and keener wit than his father. But as a rule +very few from the outside penetrated as far as the +Garden Wing of Aston House, and Aymer and Christopher +continued to lead a peaceful and uninterrupted +existence there.</p> +<p>Christopher continued to occupy his leisure with a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +prodigious number of pets and the construction of +mechanical contrivances for their convenience, in +which he showed no little ingenuity. There were occasionally +tragedies in connection with the pets which +were turned to good account by the master of their +fate even at the expense of his own feelings—and fingers—as +on the occasion when he cremated a puppy-dog +who had come to an untimely end. Cæsar objected +to this experiment, and when the next catastrophe +occurred, which was to a guinea-pig, a more commonplace +funeral had to be organised.</p> +<p>But this tragedy became curiously enough linked +with a new memory in Christopher’s mind, of more +lasting importance than the demise of “Sir Joshua +Reynolds” of the brown spots.</p> +<p>It happened this-wise. Sir Joshua having stolen a +joyous but unsafe hour of liberty fell a victim to the +cunning of the feline race. Christopher rescued the +corpse and heaped tearful threats of vengeance on the +murderess, and then tore into Cæsar’s room to find +sympathy and comfort. He tumbled in at the window +with Sir Joshua in his arms, and flung himself on +Cæsar before he had observed the presence of a visitor—a +stranger, too. He was a big, florid man, with a +good-natured face and great square chin, and he was +standing with his back to the fire, looking very much +at home. He gave a slight start as Christopher tumbled +in, and a queer little cynical smile dawned on his +face as he watched the two.</p> +<p>“Hallo, Aymer, I didn’t know you had––”</p> +<p>“Go and get ready for tea, Christopher,” interrupted +Aymer peremptorily, “and take out that animal. +Don’t you see I have a visitor?”</p> +<p>Christopher, who had just perceived the stranger, +hardly disguised his lack of appreciation of so inopportune +a caller, and went out to see what consolation +could be got out of Vespasian. When he returned, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +tidy and clean, even to Vespasian’s satisfaction, he +found the two men talking hard and slipped quietly +into his seat behind the little tea-table hoping to be unobserved; +but Cæsar called him out of it.</p> +<p>“Peter,” he said, “let me present my adopted son +to you. Christopher, shake hands with Mr. Masters.”</p> +<p>The big man and the small boy looked at each other +gravely, and then Christopher extended his hand. +Aymer looked out of the window and apparently took +no notice of them.</p> +<p>“How do you do, sir?”</p> +<p>“What’s your name besides Christopher?” demanded +the visitor. He had queer, light blue, piercing +eyes that were curiously unexpressive and looked +through one to the back of one’s head, but, unlike Mr. +Aston’s kind, steady gaze, that invited one to open +one’s soul to it, the immediate impulse here was to +pull down the blinds of one’s individuality in hasty +self-defence, and realise, even in doing it, that it was +too late.</p> +<p>“Aston,” said Christopher, rather hastily, escaping +to the tea-table.</p> +<p>Peter Masters looked from him to Aymer with the +same queer smile.</p> +<p>“Good-looking boy, Aymer,” he said carelessly. +“You call him Aston?”</p> +<p>“We’ve given him our own name,” said Aymer +steadily, “because it saves complications and explanations.”</p> +<p>“A very wise precaution. What are you going to +do with him eventually?”</p> +<p>“I hardly know yet. What were you saying about +the strike?”</p> +<p>They fell to discussing a recent labour trouble in the +Midlands, and Christopher gathered a hazy notion +that their visitor employed vast numbers of men who +were not particularly fond of him, and for whom he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +had not only no affection, but no sort of feeling whatever, +except as instruments of his will.</p> +<p>Christopher was very glad he was not one of them; +he felt rather hostile to the big, careless, opulent man +who spoke to Aymer with a familiarity that Christopher +resented and had already apparently forgotten his +own small existence.</p> +<p>The forget was but apparent, however, for presently +he turned sharply to the boy and asked him if he +had ever been down a coal mine. Christopher, putting +control on his own hot curiosity to explore the +subject, answered that he had not, and gave Mr. Masters +his second cup of tea without any sugar to emphasise +his own indifference to the questioner, who unfortunately +never noticed the omission, but drank his tea +with equal satisfaction.</p> +<p>“Ever been over an iron foundry?” persisted Mr. +Masters, with the same scrutinising gaze.</p> +<p>Cæsar was playing with his favourite long tortoise-shell +paper-knife; he seemed unusually indifferent to +Christopher’s manners, nor did he intervene to save +him from the string of sharp questions that ensued.</p> +<p>Christopher made effort to answer the questioner +with ordinary politeness, but he was not communicative, +and Mr. Masters presently leant back in his chair +and laughed.</p> +<p>“Young man, you’ll get on in the world,” he said +approvingly, “for you’ve learnt the great secret of +keeping your own counsel. I prophesy you’ll be a successful +man some day.”</p> +<p>Christopher was not at all elated at the prospect. +He was wondering why Aymer drank no tea, also +wondering how long the visitor meant to stay. There +seemed no sign of departing in him, so Christopher +asked if he might go and bury the guinea-pig with +Vespasian’s help. Aymer nodded permission without +speaking. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></p> +<p>“A cute lad,” remarked Mr. Masters; “what are +you going to do with him?”</p> +<p>“I do not know yet.”</p> +<p>“Put him in the iron trade. ’Prentice him to me. +There’s something in him. Did you say you didn’t +know who his father was?” He shot one of his quick +glances at Aymer.</p> +<p>The tortoise-shell paper-knife snapped in two. +Aymer fitted the ends together neatly.</p> +<p>“No, I didn’t,” he answered very deliberately. “I +told you he was my adopted son. I adopted him in +order to have something to do.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes. Of course, of course.” A slow smile +spread over his big face. “Think of Aymer Aston +of all men in the world playing at being a family +man!”</p> +<p>He leant back in his chair and laughed out his +great hearty laugh whose boyish ring, coupled with the +laugher’s easy careless manners, had snared so many +fish into the financial net.</p> +<p>“They’d like to make a family man of me again—do +their dear little best—but I’m not such a fool as they +think me. Men with brains and ambitions don’t want +a wife. You miss less than you think, old chap,” +he went on with the colossal tactlessness habitual to +him when his own interests were not at stake; “a wife +plays the devil with one’s business. I <i>know</i>.” He +nodded gloomily, the smile lost under a heavy frown.</p> +<p>Aymer put down very carefully the broken toy he +had been playing with. Peter’s elephantine tread was +so great that it had almost overstepped its victim. At +all events Aymer gave no outward sign that he felt it +except in his deepened colour and a faint straightening +of the lips.</p> +<p>“What on earth do you do with yourself?” went +on Peter thoughtfully; “the care of a kid like that +doesn’t absorb all your brains, I know.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span></p> +<p>“What would you recommend me to do?” asked +Aymer quietly.</p> +<p>“With your head for figures and your leisure you +should take to the Market. Have a machine and +tapes fitted up in reach, and, by Jove! in a quiet spot +like this, out of the way of other men’s panics and +nonsense, you could rule the world.”</p> +<p>“The Market, I think you said.”</p> +<p>“Same thing. Think of it, Aymer,” he went on +eagerly and genuinely interested in his proposition, +whether spontaneous or not. He began walking up +and down the room, working out his idea with that +grasp of detail that had made him the millionaire he +was.</p> +<p>“You could have the instruments and a private wire +fixed up along the wall there, and your sofa by them. +A clerk over there: it would be a sort of companion. +You’ve plenty of capital to start with, and wouldn’t +have to lose your head at the first wrong deal. Of +course you’d want someone the other end, a figurehead +and mouthpiece, and someone to show you the +lines, start you off; I’d be pleased to do it. We could +make a partnership concern of it, if you liked.”</p> +<p>There was a quick sidelong glint in his eyes towards +Aymer as he came to a stand near the sofa.</p> +<p>“What particular results would you expect?” inquired +Aymer, knowing the only plan to keep the enthusiast +at bay was to humour him.</p> +<p>“Why, man, you might be the greatest power in the +world—you—the unseen, unknown, mysterious Brain—you +would have time—you would escape the crazy +influences that ruin half the men ‘on ’Change’—and +you’ve got the head for it. Calculation, nerve, everything. +It would be just the thing for you. You’d +forget all about not being able to walk in a week. I +wonder why none of us have thought of it before.”</p> +<p>“I’m getting used to it after twelve years,” said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +Aymer, with shut teeth; “the objection to your scheme +is that I do not happen to want money.”</p> +<p>“Power, power, man,” cried the other impatiently. +“Money is just metal, its value lies in the grip it gives +you over other men, and if you don’t even care for +that, there’s the joy of chancing it. And you were a +born gambler, Aymer, you can’t deny that,” he laughed +heartily, but also again came the quick sidelong glint +of his eyes. “Think of it, old fellow,” he said carelessly, +dropping his enthusiastic tone, “it would be a +good deal better for you than doing nothing. It’s such +wicked waste.”</p> +<p>For the first time Aymer winced.</p> +<p>“I’ll think of it, and let you know if it’s likely to +be entertained. I have the boy, you know; that gives +me something to do.”</p> +<p>“Poof! Let him bring himself up if you want to +make a successful man of him. The more he educates +himself, the better he’ll get on. If you do it, you’ll +make him soft. <i>I</i> know! Public School: University: +Examinations, and £200 a year if he’s lucky. +That’s your education! All very well if you are born +with a golden spoon in your mouth and can afford to +be a fool. If you can’t, better learn to rough-and-tumble +it in the world. Education doesn’t make successful +men.”</p> +<p>“You were not exactly uneducated, Peter,” said +Aymer drily.</p> +<p>Peter grinned.</p> +<p>“Ah, but I was a genius. I couldn’t help it. It +would have been the same had I been born in the gutter. +No, I believe in the rough-and-tumble school to +make hard-headed men.”</p> +<p>“Well, for all you know, Christopher may be a +genius, or be born with a golden spoon in his mouth.”</p> +<p>The other looked up sharply.</p> +<p>“Nevil has a boy of his own, hasn’t he?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></p> +<p>“Don’t be a fool if you can help it, Peter. Other +people have golden spoons besides the gilded Aston +family.”</p> +<p>Peter shrugged his shoulders. “It’s no business of +mine, of course, but the boy looks sharp. Pity to spoil +him. Ha, Ha. I don’t spoil mine.”</p> +<p>He got up yawning and sauntered over to the fireplace +and so did not see Aymer’s rigid face go white +and then red.</p> +<p>“I’ve got a boy—I think it’s a boy—somewhere. +Daresay you’ve forgotten. You weren’t very sociable, +poor old chap, when it happened. About a year after +your accident. He’s about somewhere or other. Oh, +I back my own theories! I don’t suppose he’s a genius, +so the rough-and-tumble school for <i>him</i>.”</p> +<p>“You know the school?”</p> +<p>“I can put my hand on him when I want to—that’s +not yet. The world can educate him till I’m ready to +step in.”</p> +<p>“If he’ll have you.”</p> +<p>Peter chuckled. “He won’t be a fool—even if he’s +not a genius. Well, you think of my proposition, I’ll +go halves.”</p> +<p>“How you have disappointed me, Peter. I thought +you called from a disinterested desire to see me after +all these years.”</p> +<p>“Twelve years, isn’t it? Well, you look better than +you did then. I didn’t think you would come through—didn’t +think you meant to. I’m sorry to miss Cousin +Charles. He doesn’t approve of me, but he’s too +polite to say so, even in a letter. How does he wear?”</p> +<p>“Well, on the whole. He works too hard.”</p> +<p>The other spread out his hands.</p> +<p>“Works. And to what end? I’m glad to have seen +you again. It’s like old times, if you weren’t on that +beastly sofa, poor old chap.”</p> +<p>“Perhaps you will call again when father is in,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +said Aymer steadily, with a mute wonder if a square +inch of him was left unbruised.</p> +<p>“To tell the truth, I’m rarely in London. I work +from Birmingham and New York, and calling is an +expensive amusement to a busy man.”</p> +<p>“Produces nothing?”</p> +<p>“Yes, a good deal of pleasure. It’s worth it occasionally.”</p> +<p>He stood over his cousin, looking down at him with +quite genuine concern and liking in his eyes. His size, +his aggressiveness, his blundering disregard of decency +towards trouble, everything about him was on such a +gigantic scale that one could not weigh him by any +accepted standard. Aymer knew it, and notwithstanding +Peter’s unique powers of hurting him to the soul, +he made no attempt to scale him, but met him on his +own ground and ignored the torture.</p> +<p>“What has it cost you exactly, this visit?”</p> +<p>Peter considered quite gravely.</p> +<p>“Let me see. I was to have seen Tomlands. He’s +ceding his rights in the Lodal Valley Affair and his +figure goes up each day.” He considered again. +“Three thousand,” he answered with a wide grin.</p> +<p>“I am abashed at my value,” said Aymer gravely. +“I daren’t ask you to come again now.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’ll have an extravagant fit again, some day. +Where’s the boy?” His hand was in his pocket and +Aymer heard the chink of coin.</p> +<p>“At work, or should be. Don’t tip him, please, +Peter. He has as much as he needs.”</p> +<p>“How do you know? A boy needs as much as he +can get. Well, don’t forget my advice. Don’t educate +him.”</p> +<p>He was gone at last. Presumably to gather in the +Lodal Rights before their value further increased.</p> +<p>Charles Aston did not betray any particular sorrow +at missing the visitor. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span></p> +<p>“It’s rather odd his turning up again now after forgetting +our existence so long,” he remarked, frowning. +“Of course we’ve had correspondence—not very +agreeable either.”</p> +<p>“I can hardly wonder at his not coming to see me, +at all events. It’s nearly twelve years since we met, +and I wasn’t very polite to him that time,” said Aymer +wearily.</p> +<p>“There was a reasonable excuse for you.”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid I did not consider reason much in those +days, sir. If he’d been a saint in disguise I should +have behaved like a brute just the same.”</p> +<p>Charles Aston came and stood looking down with +a kind, quiet, satisfied smile. The attitude was the +same as Peter Masters’ and Aymer, remembering it, +smiled too.</p> +<p>“What did he really want, Aymer? He never came +for nothing.”</p> +<p>“To induce me to go on the Stock-Exchange in +partnership with him, I think. Thought it would be +less boring than lying here all day with nothing to +do.”</p> +<p>Charles Aston opened his mouth to protest and shut +it resolutely, turned and walked down the room ruffling +his hair, so that when he went back to Aymer, his +iron-grey thatch was more picturesque than neat.</p> +<p>Aymer laughed.</p> +<p>“Who’s lost his temper now?” he demanded.</p> +<p>His father looked in a glass and, perceiving the devastation, +attempted to remedy it.</p> +<p>“I’m awfully sorry,” he said with much contrition, +“but I can’t keep my temper over Peter. Has he improved?”</p> +<p>“Not a bit. He doesn’t hurt, father, he’s too big,” +he paused a moment, “he saw Christopher.”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston gave Aymer a scrutinising glance.</p> +<p>“It was unavoidable, I suppose.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span></p> +<p>“I did not try to stop it.”</p> +<p>“And the result?”</p> +<p>“There was no result except he appeared impressed +with his mental capacity.”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston ruffled his hair again in a perturbed manner.</p> +<p>“Didn’t he see his likeness to his mother, Aymer?”</p> +<p>“Apparently not. It’s not so strong as it was. He +offered me advice on his upbringing.”</p> +<p>“Did he?” with an indignant shake of the head.</p> +<p>“All in good faith,” said Aymer steadily, “he said +he didn’t approve of education; as a proof of his sincerity, +he cited the line he was taking with his own +boy.”</p> +<p>There was a silence.</p> +<p>“He said he could put his hand on him when he +liked.” Aymer’s voice was quite level and inexpressive, +but his father leant forward and put his hand on +his, saying hastily.</p> +<p>“He always says that. He believes it just a matter +of money. It was his one answer to all my remonstrances. +When he wanted him he could find him—not +before. Aymer, I wish I’d been at home. Why +did you see him?”</p> +<p>“I could hardly refuse; it would have been churlish—unpolitic. +I did not know why he came. He was +evidently struck with Christopher.”</p> +<p>He laughed a little unsteadily, but his father smothered +a sigh and watched him with curious solicitude. +The unwritten law that Christopher had learnt so well +had been very heavily infringed, and Charles Aston +had no liking for the man who had infringed it, though +he was his first cousin.</p> +<p>He was weighing in his mind what his son must +have suffered in that interview, and trying to see if it +could have been foreseen and prevented.</p> +<p>Peter and Aymer, who was only five years his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +junior, had been great friends in the far-off days before +the tragedy, but the former was too nearly, +though half unconsciously, connected with that to be +a possible intimate for Aymer now. The possibility +of his turning up in this casual manner, ignoring with +ruthless amiability all that had passed, had really never +occurred to either father or son, and they were both +unprepared for a narrowly escaped crisis. But Aymer +was evidently not going to own frankly how great +had been the strain and how badly he had suffered +under it. He set his pride to heal his bruised feelings, +however, applauding himself secretly for not betraying +to his cousin the torture to which he had unintentionally +put him. But he could not, having done this, +altogether put it from him, and the subject of Peter +Masters cropped up next morning when Christopher +was sitting on the edge of Cæsar’s bed.</p> +<p>Aymer asked him abruptly what he thought of the +visitor of the previous day.</p> +<p>“I don’t like him at all. I think he’s beastly,” was +Master Christopher’s emphatic verdict.</p> +<p>“He is my second cousin, his mother was an Aston, +and he is one of the richest men in England, if not +quite the richest. He is thought rich even in +America.”</p> +<p>“And horrid, too, just the same: only perhaps I +oughtn’t to say so as he is your cousin,” added the +boy with sudden confusion.</p> +<p>Aymer regarded him with an introspective air.</p> +<p>“He is a strange man, though many people don’t +like him. We were great friends once.”</p> +<p>Christopher opened his eyes very wide.</p> +<p>“<i>You</i>—and Mr. Masters?”</p> +<p>“Yes—when I was a young man like others. We +quarrelled—or rather I quarrelled—he came to see me +when I was first—ill,” he jerked the word out awkwardly, +but never took his eyes from Christopher’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +face. “I was perfectly brutal to him. That’s twelve +years ago. Most men would never have spoken to me +again, but he doesn’t bear malice.”</p> +<p>“He wouldn’t mind what anyone said to him,” persisted +Christopher; “fancy your being friends!”</p> +<p>“You like me best then?”</p> +<p>Master Christopher caught up a pillow and hurled +it at him, and then made a violent effort to smother +him under it.</p> +<p>“I think you’re almost as nasty—when you say +things like that, Cæsar.”</p> +<p>“Then retreat from my company and tell Vespasian +his baby is waiting to be dressed.”</p> +<p>Vespasian found his master in one of his rare inconsequent +moods, talking nonsense with provoking +persistence and exercising his wits in teasing everyone +who came in his way.</p> +<p>Vespasian smiled indulgently and spent his leisure +that day in assisting Christopher to construct a man-of-war +out of empty biscuit boxes and cotton reels, for +he was dimly possessed of the idea that the boy was +in some way connected with his master’s unusually +good spirits.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII' id='CHAPTER_VIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +</div> +<p>It was not until Christopher had passed his fourteenth +birthday that he came face to face once more with the +distant past. He had crossed Westminster Bridge to +watch the trams on the other side, and from there, +being in an adventurous mood, he had wandered out +into vague regions lying beyond, regions of vast warehouses, +of narrow, dirty streets and squalid houses, of +sudden palaces of commerce towering over the low +tide of mean roofs. Suddenly turning a corner, he had +come on a block of “model dwellings,” and an inrush +of memories brought him to a standstill before the +giant ugly pile.</p> +<p>There, on the topmost floor of the east corner of +Block D, had lived Martha Sartin, and Marley Sartin, +packer at one of the big warehouses near, also +Jessie Sartin and numerous other Sartins, including +Sam, who was about Christopher’s age; there in the +dull asphalt court Sam and Christopher had played, +and up that steep stairway had climbed in obedience +to husky shouts from over the iron railings of the top +landing.</p> +<p>It was all so vivid, so unaltered, so sharply set in +Christopher’s mind that he had to look down at his +own immaculate blue suit and unpatched boots to reassure +himself he was not waiting for Martha’s shrill +order to “come up out of the dirt.” But assured once +more of his own present personality he could not resist +exploring further, and went right up to the foot +of the iron staircase and looked up. It was all just +as sordid and dirty and unlovely as ever, though he +had not known before the measure of its undesirableness. +Leaning over the railing of the top landing was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +an untidy-looking woman in a brown skirt and half-fastened +blouse. She looked over into the yard and +shouted in a voice that made Christopher jump.</p> +<p>“Jim, come up out of the dirt, you little varmint!”</p> +<p>And Christopher, erstwhile Jim, leant against the +wall and felt his head was whirling round. Then he +inspected himself again, but at that moment a shock-headed +dirty mite of four years brushed past him and +began to clamber up the stairs, pushing his way +through the horde of small babies on each landing and +squealing shrilly, “I’m coming, Mammie.”</p> +<p>Christopher went too. He could not possibly have +resisted the impulse, for assuredly it was Martha’s +voice that called—called him back willy nilly to the +past that after all was not so far past except in a boy’s +measure of time.</p> +<p>A dark-eyed, decent-looking woman passed him on +the stair and looked at him curiously; further on a +man, smoking a pipe, took the trouble to follow him +to the next floor in a loafing fashion. The small Jim, +out of breath and panting with the exertion of the +climb, was being roughly dusted by an undoubted +Martha when Christopher reached the topmost landing. +She was stouter than of yore, and her hair was +no longer done up in iron curlers as of old, also a baby, +younger than Jim, was crawling out of the room on +the right. But it was Martha Sartin, and Christopher +advanced a friendly hand.</p> +<p>Mrs. Sartin gazed at the apparition with blank +amazement. She could connect the tall, pleasant-faced +boy in his spotless suit and straw hat with nothing +in her memory. He did not look as if he could +belong to the theatre at which she was a dresser, but +it seemed the only solution.</p> +<p>“Are you come from Miss Vassour?” she asked +doubtfully.</p> +<p>“Don’t you know me, Mrs. Sartin?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span></p> +<p>“Know ye? No. How should I?”</p> +<p>“I’m Jim Hibbault.”</p> +<p>“Garn!”</p> +<p>“Yes, I am really.” Poor Christopher began to +feel embarrassed and a little disappointed.</p> +<p>He <i>was</i> Jim Hibbault at that moment and he felt +queerly lonely and stranded.</p> +<p>Martha pulled down her sleeves and went to the +inner door.</p> +<p>“Jessie, come out ’ere,” she screamed.</p> +<p>Christopher felt his heart go thump. He had almost +forgotten Jessie, yet Jessie had been more to +him than Martha in other days. It was Jessie who had +taken him for walks, carried him up the steep stairs +on her back, shared sweets with him, cuffed her +brother Sam when they fought, and had finally taken +little Jim Hibbault back to his mother when the great +clock in the distance struck six,—Jessie, who at eleven +had been a complete little mother and was at sixteen +a tall, lanky, untidy girl who had inherited the curling +pins of her mother and whose good-natured, not ill-looking +face was not improved thereby.</p> +<p>She came to the doorway and stood looking over her +mother’s arm at Christopher.</p> +<p>“Ever seed ’im afore?” demanded Mrs. Sartin.</p> +<p>“Well I never, if it ain’t Jimmy!” cried Jessie, +beaming, and Christopher could have embraced her if +it were in accordance with the custom of his years, and +he felt less inclined to bolt down the stairs out of +reach of his adventure.</p> +<p>Neither of the two women expressed any pleasure +at his appearance. Mrs. Sartin accepted her daughter’s +recognition of their visitor as sufficient evidence +it was not a hoax, and asked Christopher in.</p> +<p>The room, though the window was open, smelt just +as stuffy as of old, and a familiar litter of toys and +odds and ends strewed the floor. Christopher missed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +the big tea-tray and Britannia metal teapot, but the +sofa with broken springs was still there, covered as it +had ever been with the greater part of the family wardrobe.</p> +<p>Christopher sat in the armchair, and Mrs. Sartin, +having plumped the baby into its chair, sat down by +the door. The small Jimmy pulled at her apron. +Jessie leant against the wall and giggled. No one said +anything. Christopher began to wish he had not come.</p> +<p>“I never could remember the name of this place,” +he began at last, desperately. “I just came on it by +accident to-day, and remembered everything all at +once.”</p> +<p>“Shilla Buildings, that’s what it’s called,” said Mrs. +Sartin nodding her head. “Block 7, C. Door.”</p> +<p>Silence again. A strict sense of etiquette prevented +either of the feminine side of the company from uttering +the question burning on their tongues.</p> +<p>“I did see Sam once, a long time ago,” Christopher +struggled on, “but I could not catch him.” He +got red and embarrassed again.</p> +<p>“’Ows your Ma?” asked Mrs. Sartin at last.</p> +<p>“She’s dead,” explained Christopher very gravely, +“five years ago now—more.”</p> +<p>“Lor’. To think of it. I never thought she was +one to live long. And she went back to her friends +after all, I suppose.”</p> +<p>It was not a question: it was only a statement to be +confirmed or contradicted or ignored as the hearer +liked.</p> +<p>“She died in the Union at Whitmansworth,” said +Christopher bluntly. “I lived there afterwards and +then someone adopted me. Mr. Aymer Aston, son of +Mr. Aston. Perhaps you know the name.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Sartin appeared to consult an imaginary visiting +list.</p> +<p>“No, I can’t say as I do. Do you, Jessie?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span></p> +<p>Jessie shook her head. She had ceased to look at +their visitor; instead, she looked at his boots, and her +cheeks grew red.</p> +<p>“I thought I would like to see if you were still +here.”</p> +<p>“Very good of you, I’m sure.” It was not meant +ironically, it was solely addressed to the blue suit and +brown boots, but it nearly reduced the wearer of these +awe-inspiring clothes to tears.</p> +<p>For the moment, in the clutch of the past, with associations +laying gripping hands on him and with his +curious faculty of responding to the outward call, +Aston House and the Astons became suddenly a faint +blurred impression to Christopher, less real and tangible +than these worn, sordid surroundings. Had anyone +just then demanded his name he would undoubtedly +have responded “Hibbault.” He felt confused +and wretched, alive to the fact that little Jim +Hibbault had neither people nor home nor relations in +the world, if these once kindly women had no welcome +for him.</p> +<p>“I heard you call Jim,” he hazarded at last, in an +extremity of disconcerted shyness.</p> +<p>Mrs. Sartin eyed the four-year-old nestling in her +apron and pulled him from cover.</p> +<p>“Yes, that be Jim. We called ’im Jim arter you. +He was born arter you an’ your ma went away.”</p> +<p>He longed to ask after Marley of unhappy memory, +but the possibilities were too apparent for him to venture, +so silence again fell over them.</p> +<p>At this precise juncture of affairs a shrill whistle +was heard ascending the stairway, growing momentarily +louder and louder till it became earsplitting in +intensity as it arrived on landing No. 6. The author +of it pulled open the door and the whistle tailed off +into a faint “phew” at sight of the embarrassed group. +The new-comer was a thin-faced lad with light sandy +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +hair cropped close to his square head. He had light, +undetermined eyes that were keen and lively. Christopher +had beaten him in the matter of size, but there +were latent possibilities in his ill-developed form.</p> +<p>Christopher sprang up and rushed forward, then +suddenly stopped.</p> +<p>“Ullo, mother, didn’t know as ’ow you ’ad swell +company this arternoon. I’d ’ave put on my best suit +and topper,” he grinned affably as he deposited on the +floor a big basket he carried.</p> +<p>“Oh, I say, Sam—don’t you know me either?” +began poor Christopher.</p> +<p>He wheeled round, stared hard, and a broad smile +of recognition spread over his face.</p> +<p>“Why, if it ain’t Jim,” he cried and seized his hand +with a fervour that set Christopher aglowing and +strangely enough set him free from the clinging +shadow of his lost identity. <i>This</i> was tangible flesh +and blood and of the real authentic present.</p> +<p>“Well, I’m blowed,” ejaculated Sam, stepping back +to look at his erstwhile companion, “to think of you +turning up again such a toff. No need to ask what +sort of luck came <i>your</i> way. My. Ain’t ’e a swell, +just.”</p> +<p>But unlike the women, he was unabashed by externals. +He demanded “tea” of his mother that very +moment, “cos ’e ’adn’t no time for dinner and ’is +bloke ’ad sent ’im round to get a bit o’ somethink +now,” at a slack hour.</p> +<p>“Greengrocer business, Clare Street,” he explained. +“Seven shillings a week. Not a bad old cove. What +d’yer say about yourself?”</p> +<p>He had the whole history out of Christopher in five +minutes.</p> +<p>The women listened and flung in “Well, I never’s,” +and “Who’d ’ave thought it’s” from time to time and +thawed into ordinary human beings under Sam’s convivial +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +example. In the end Sam offered sincere if +oddly-expressed congratulations, and disappeared into +the back kitchen to wash his hands. Jessie, too, vanished +mysteriously, eventually returning minus the +curling pins and plus a row of impossible curls and a +bright blue blouse bedecked with cheap lace. Mrs. +Sartin meanwhile tidied up by kicking the scattered +toys under the sofa.</p> +<p>“Them sisters what looks arter the poor is always +givin’ broken rubbish to the children,” she exclaimed. +“Not but what they mean it kindly, but it makes +a heap of muck to clear up.”</p> +<p>Christopher nodded his head comprehendingly, by +no means so hurt at her ingratitude as a real Christopher +Aston might have been.</p> +<p>The good woman bustled about, and eventually the +family drew up round the tea table. The cloth might +have been cleaner, the cups and saucers have borne a +longer acquaintance with water, and there was a spoon +short, though no one was so ill-mannered as to allude +to it. Jessie unobtrusively shared hers with her +mother under cover of the big tea-pot. There was +bread and a yellow compound politely alluded to as +butter, and a big pot of jam. The younger Sartins +gorged silently on this, all unreproved by a preoccupied +mother. Mrs. Sartin, indeed, became quite voluble +and told Christopher how she was now first dresser at +the Kings Theatre and how Jessie was just taken on +in the wardrobe room.</p> +<p>“Which is uncertain <i>hours</i>,” Mrs. Sartin explained, +“but it’s nice to be together in the same ’ouse, and +one couldn’t want a kinder gentleman than Mr. X. to +do with. I’ve been there ten years and never ’ad a +cross word with ’im. And ’e was that good when Marley +was took, and never turned me off as some of ’em +do.” She stopped suddenly under the stress of Sam’s +lowering countenance. Jessie hastily passed her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +bread, “which I thanks you for, but will say what I +was a-goin’ to, for all Sam’s kicks under the table,” +continued the hostess, defiantly regarding her confused +offspring.</p> +<p>The confusion spread to Christopher, who looked at +his plate and got red. Sam pushed back his chair; +there was a very ugly scowl on his face. His undaunted +mother addressed herself to their guest.</p> +<p>“No woman ever ’ad a better ’usband than Marley, +though I ses it, but Sam here ’s that ’ard ’e won’t let +me speak of my own man if ’e can ’elp ’it. ’Is own +father, too. Ah, if ’e ’ad ’ad a bad father, Sam would +’ave know what to be thankful for.”</p> +<p>“I’m thankful ’e’s gone,” burst out Sam, with sudden +anger. “I asks you, ’ow’s a cove to get on when +he’s ’itched up to a father wot’s done time? Why, old +Greenum gave me a shillin’ a week less than ’e ought, +cos why, ’e knew I couldn’t ’old out with a father like +that,” and he eyed his mother wrathfully.</p> +<p>“A better ’usband no woman ’ad,” sobbed Mrs. +Sartin. “When ’e came out ’e didn’t seem to get no +chance and so....”</p> +<p>“Is he in London?” asked Christopher, nervously +gulping down some tea.</p> +<p>“No—sloped,” said Sam, shortly, “cribbed some +other chap’s papers I guess—went abroad—we don’t +know—don’t want to, either.”</p> +<p>The fierce hostility and resentment in the boy’s +voice made it clear to Christopher this was evidently +a subject better dropped. He seized the chance of +directing Jessie’s attention to Master Jim Sartin, who +was brandishing the bread-knife, and plunged hastily +into a description of the doings of Charlotte and Max. +Mrs. Sartin accepted the diversion, but kept an anxious +eye on Sam, who ate hard and seemed to recover +some of his ordinary composure with each mouthful, +much to Christopher’s amazement. By the time tea was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +finished he was himself again. There was no lingering +then. He went back to work. Christopher said +he must go too, and bade the family good-bye. The +farewell was as cordial as the welcome had been cold +and he clattered downstairs after Sam with many +promises to come again.</p> +<p>The two boys talked freely of the passing world as +they went through the streets, in the purely impersonal +way of their age, and it was with great diffidence +and much hesitation Christopher managed to hint he’d +like to buy something for the kiddies.</p> +<p>Sam grinned.</p> +<p>“Sweets,” he suggested. “They eat ’em up and +leave no mess about.”</p> +<p>Christopher turned out his pockets. There was an +unbroken ten shillings, three shillings and some +coppers.</p> +<p>They walked on a while gravely and came to a stand +before a confectioner’s window.</p> +<p>“Cake,” suggested Sam, with one eye on his companion +and one on the show of food within.</p> +<p>“A sugar one?”</p> +<p>“They cost a lot,” said Sam shaking his head, but +he followed Christopher inside. Christopher boldly +demanded the price of a small wedding cake elaborately +iced. It was five shillings.</p> +<p>He put down the money with a lofty air and desired +them to send it without loss of time to Mrs. Sartin’s +address.</p> +<p>The woman stared a little at the oddly assorted couple, +but the money rang true and the order was booked.</p> +<p>As they hurried towards Clare Street, Christopher +diffidently asked if there was anything Mrs. Sartin +would like, and Sam’s sharp wits seized the occasion +to please his mother and Christopher and serve himself +at the same time.</p> +<p>“Come on to my place and send her some lettuce,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +he suggested. “Mother’s main fond of lettuce. We’ve +got some good ’uns in this morning.”</p> +<p>It was strictly true; it was also true that Master Sam +had outstayed his meal-time and a new customer might +help to avert the probable storm awaiting him, as indeed +it did.</p> +<p>Mr. Gruner, greengrocer, was standing at the door +of his shop looking both ways down the street at once, +owing to a remarkable squint, and his reception of +Sam was unfriendly, but quickly checked at the sight +of his companion, whose extraordinary terms of intimacy +with his errand boy rendered the good man +nearly speechless. The young gent, however, ordered +lettuces and green peas with a free hand and earned +Sam’s pardon, as anticipated by that far-sighted youth.</p> +<p>The two boys said good-bye and Sam made no hint +as to the possibilities of a future meeting, neither did +Christopher, embarrassed by the presence of the greengrocer. +He also would be late and hurried off, hoping +he might still be in time to give Aymer tea and relate +his adventures. He had no misgivings at all as to +Cæsar’s approval of his doings.</p> +<p>As he came out into a main thoroughfare again he +passed a big cheap drapery establishment and something +in the gaudy, crude colouring there displayed +brought him to a standstill. Jessie was still unprovided +with a present. The two had exchanged very +few words, but she by no means loomed in the background +of the picture. He stood staring at the window +and fingering the remaining coins in his pocket. +One section of the shop front was hung with gaily-coloured +feather boas. He was dimly conscious he had +seen Mrs. Wyatt wear something of the sort in soft +grey. There was a blue one that was the colour of +Jessie’s blouse, or so Christopher thought, hanging +high up. He did not admire it at all, but it suggested +Jessie to him and after a moment’s consideration he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +boldly pushed through the swinging doors and +marched up the shop.</p> +<p>“I want one of those feather things in the window,” +he announced to the shop-walker’s assiduous attentions.</p> +<p>He was delivered over to the care of an amused +young woman, who proceeded to show him feather +boas of all descriptions and qualities. Christopher was +adamant.</p> +<p>“I want a blue thing that’s hanging up in the window, +last but one on the top row,” he insisted, disdaining +to look at the fluffy abominations spread around +him. He was sure they were not like the thing Constantia +wore now, but it was too late to retreat.</p> +<p>The young woman showed him one she declared was +identical.</p> +<p>“I want the one in the window,” he persisted doggedly.</p> +<p>In the end he got it, paid for it, saw it packed up +and addressed, and quenching sundry misgivings in +his heart, marched out of the shop and treated himself +to a bus homeward.</p> +<p>It is perhaps not out of place to mention here that +Jessie had no misgivings as to the real beauty of the +present. She had sighed long for such a possession, +and having never seen Mrs. Wyatt’s delicate costly +wrap, was perfectly content with her own and applauded +Christopher’s taste loudly.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX' id='CHAPTER_IX'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +</div> +<p>Christopher continued to visit the Sartins and to +find considerable pleasure in Sam’s companionship, +who on his few holidays was only too glad to explore +the grey river and its innumerable wharfs with Christopher. +Sam was already a fair waterman; he at least +spent all his scant leisure and scantier pennies in learning +that arduous profession.</p> +<p>Once Mr. Aston visited Block D. with Christopher, +and lingered behind gossiping to Mrs. Sartin while +the boy went to meet Sam, expected home to tea. Sam +got nothing out of his mother anent that conversation +except the information that Mr. Aston was “a +real Christian gentleman, who knew what trouble was, +and don’t you make any mistake, but as ’ow Mr. Christopher +was a lucky young gentleman.”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston also found time to visit Sam’s master, +though on this occasion he was not accompanied by +Christopher, who, indeed, chanced to be on the river +with Sam Sartin that afternoon.</p> +<p>It must not be imagined that Christopher had no +other friends than the humble Sartins. Besides the +Wyatt household, half a dozen families with boys of +his age welcomed him gladly enough, but though he +was on good terms with these and though not one of +the boys could afford to despise him as an antagonist +in any sport, yet none of them contrived to have more +than a very superficial idea of Christopher Aston. +They took to him at once, but he remained just the +good-natured, jolly acquaintance of the first day, never +more, if never less. Christopher, indeed, though he +confessed it to no one, not even to Aymer, felt a little +cut off from this pleasant clan, who held the same traditions, +the same experiences, and who went through +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +the same training at their various schools, who led indeed +a life that differed essentially from Christopher.</p> +<p>He was never conscious of any lack of company. +The Astons, old and young, were companions who +answered to every need of his energetic mind. He +made giant strides in his studies in these days and +passed beyond the average into the class of those of +real ability. All his well-earned holidays were spent +at Marden, where there was always Patricia as a most +admirable playfellow.</p> +<p>It was when Christopher was a little over fifteen and +Patricia about the same age that the first definite result +of their companionship came about.</p> +<p>On the other side of the lake at Marden Court the +high road, sunk between a low wall on one side and +the upsloping land on the other, ran directly eastward +and westward, joining eventually a second Great Road +of historic importance to Christopher Aston. The +rough ground beyond the road was covered with low +scrub, and dwarf twisted hawthorns, with a plentiful +show of molehills. Here and there were groups of +Scotch firs, and the crest of the hill was wooded with +oaks and beeches and a fringe of larches, with here and +there a silvery black poplar.</p> +<p>Christopher and Patricia were fond of this rough +land that lay beyond the actual park. In early days it +had made a glorious stage for “desert islanders,” with +the isle-studded lake to bound it, whose further shore +for the nonce melted into vague mistiness. Later on, +when desert islands were out of fashion, it was still +good ground to explore, and through the woods away +over the hill one came to a delectable wide-spread +country, where uncultivated down mingled with cornfields +and stretches of clover, a country bounded by +long, spacious curving lines of hill and dale, tree-capped +ridges and bare contours, with here and there +the gash of a chalk pit gleaming white. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></p> +<p>Just at a point where a stretch of down-land ran into +a little copse, was a small barrow. A round green +mound, memento of a forgotten history that was real +and visible enough in its own day, as real as the two +children of “the Now,” with whom the spot was a +favourite camping ground.</p> +<p>Patricia, who knew all about barrows from Nevil, +used to invent wonderful stories of this one, to which +Christopher lent a critical attention, adding here and +there a practical touch.</p> +<p>It was he who first suggested exploring the mound, +and one day they dragged heavy spades thither and +worked hard for an hour or two without great result, +when suddenly Patricia began shovelling back her pile +of brown earth with feverish haste.</p> +<p>“I don’t like it. It is horrid,” she panted in +return to Christopher’s protests. The idea of desecration +was so strong on her that when her companion +still indignantly protested, the black passion leapt up +to life and she flung round at him.</p> +<p>It was then that Christopher made his discovery. +He saw the mad flare in her face and flung his strong +arms round her from behind, and held her against him +with her hands in his gripped fast to her breast.</p> +<p>“Steady on, Patricia,” he said sharply, “don’t get +frightened. You aren’t going to get wild this time.”</p> +<p>There was no alarm or anger in his voice and a +queer, new note of firmness and force. She struggled +ineffectually a moment and then came the dangerous +quietness that waited a chance.</p> +<p>He could feel her muscles strained and rigid still.</p> +<p>“Patricia,” he said quite loudly, “drop it. I won’t +have it, do you hear? You <i>can</i> stop if you like now, +and you’ve got to.”</p> +<p>She bent back her head and looked at him, her child +face old and worn and disfigured with her still burning +fury. She looked right in his eyes: his met hers steady +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +and hard as flints, and through the blind passion of her +look he saw her soul leap up, appealing, piteous, and +by heaven-taught instinct, he answered that.</p> +<p>“It’s all right, Patricia, you are safe enough. I’m +not going to let you make a fool of yourself, my dear; +don’t be afraid. Stop thinking. Look at the dark +shadows over there—on the cornfield. They’ll cut that +next week.”</p> +<p>Little by little he loosed his grasp on her as he felt +the tension slacken, and presently she stood free, still +dazed and bewildered. Christopher picked up a spade +and whistled.</p> +<p>“All the same, you are right, Patricia,” he said +thoughtfully, “it does seem a shame to disturb the old +Johnny, and creepy too. I’ll fill up.”</p> +<p>He continued to work hard, watching her out of the +corner of his eye, but talking cheerfully. Presently +she took up her spade and made a poor pretence of +helping him, but she said nothing till they had done +and he suggested a return.</p> +<p>“Do you mind resting a bit, first?”</p> +<p>Her subdued voice called for a scrutinising glance. +Then he dropped his spade and flung himself on the +grass by her side. A little wind swept up the downland +to them, making the brown benets nod in a friendly +fashion. The purple scabious, too, nodded cheerfully. +Patricia picked one and began stroking it with her fingers. +Christopher lay on his back and whistled again +softly, watching a lark, as he had watched one five +years ago, when a small boy, by the side of the Great +Road.</p> +<p>“Christopher, how did you do it?” demanded Patricia +abruptly.</p> +<p>“Do what?”</p> +<p>“Stop me.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t. You stopped yourself.”</p> +<p>“I never have before.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span></p> +<p>“Then you ought to have. You see you can, if you +only will think.”</p> +<p>“I <i>can’t</i> think.”</p> +<p>“But you did,” he insisted, with some reason.</p> +<p>“Because you made me. I’d have been much angrier +with anyone else—it was like—like—holding +on to a rock, when the water was sucking one away.”</p> +<p>“Bosh,” said Christopher, sitting upright suddenly.</p> +<p>“Look here, Patricia, it was only that I made you +take time to think: no one, even you (he put in rudely +enough), could be silly enough to make such a little +idiot of yourself if you <i>thought</i> a moment. Everyone +seems to take it for granted you’ll go on being—stupid—or +else they are afraid to stop you, and I—well +I won’t have it, Patricia, that’s all. You must +jolly well learn to stop.”</p> +<p>His boyish words were rougher than his voice, just +as his real feeling in the matter was deeper than his +expression of it, and secretly he was a little proud of +his achievement and felt a subtle proprietorship over +his companion that was not displeasing.</p> +<p>Patricia slipped her arm in his and leant her golden +head against him.</p> +<p>“Christopher, I want to tell you all I can remember +about it. I don’t know what anyone else has told +you.”</p> +<p>“All right, fire away,” returned Christopher resignedly.</p> +<p>“The only thing I can remember at all about my +father is seeing him get into rages like that with my +mother. I can remember him quite well, at all sorts of +times; he was very big and fair, and splendid, but always +everything I remember ends in that. And I can +remember getting in a rage when I was quite little and +seeing my mother turn white, and she jumped up and +ran out of the room crying out to Renata. My father +was killed hunting when I was six years old and mother +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +died when I was nine years old. Renata was married +then, you know, so I came to live with her and Nevil. +But always I remembered when I was naughty like +that, my mother used to look frightened and go away +and our old nurse used to come and scold me and +watch me till I could have killed her. Renata, darling +Renata, used to talk to me after and make me promise +to try and be good, but she, too, was really afraid when +I was bad. I suppose they had both had so bad a time +with father.” She stopped, gazing out at a misty half-understood +tragedy, whose very dimness woke a faint +echo of terror in her heart, for she was as surely the +daughter of the woman who had suffered as of the man +who had caused the suffering.</p> +<p>“That’s all,” said Patricia, with a sudden movement, +“everyone always takes it as part of me. Nevil +says I’ll outgrow it. I don’t—and Renata cries.”</p> +<p>“And I scold you. Anyhow, it isn’t part of you in +my eyes, but just a beastly sort of thing which you let +get hold of you, and then it isn’t you at all. It’s all +rot inheriting things, though of course, if you <i>think</i> +so––” this young philosopher on the much-debated +subject shrugged his shoulders.</p> +<p>“But I don’t think so, I don’t want to think so,” +cried poor Patricia; “it’s just because you don’t think +it that you made me feel I can stop it. Oh, Christopher, +go on believing I can help it, please.”</p> +<p>“But I do. Of course I do. It’s a beastly shame +anyone ever suggested anything else to you. Come +along home, Patricia, it will be tea-time.”</p> +<p>This was the establishing of a covenant between the +two. Whether it was from the suggestion or the dominant +will of the boy himself, or both causes combined, +Patricia began to gather strength against her terrible +inheritance and, at all events in Christopher’s presence, +actually did gain some show of control over her fits of +passion. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span></p> +<p>The first of these times, about six months after the +covenant on the barrow, Nevil was present. Renata +and one of the children had been there also, but Renata +had seen the queer pallor creep up in her sister’s +face before even Christopher had guessed and had +straightway hurried off with Master Max, a proceeding +which usually precipitated events.</p> +<p>Then Christopher flung down his work and caught +her clenched hand in his.</p> +<p>“Stop it, Patricia,” he said imperiously.</p> +<p>Nevil held his breath. It was a tradition in the +Connell family that interference invariably led to a +catastrophe. In his indolent way he had taken this +belief on trust, the “laissez faire” policy being well +in accordance with his easy nature.</p> +<p>However, tradition was clearly wrong, for after one +ineffectual struggle, Patricia stood still and presently +said something to Christopher that Nevil did not +catch, but he saw the boy free her and Patricia remained +silently looking out of the window. Christopher +turned to pick up his book, and for the first time +remembered Nevil was present and grew rather red. +Nevil had watched them both with a speculative eye, +for the moment an historian of the future rather than +of the past. He said nothing, however, but having +discoursed a while on the possibility of skating next +day, sauntered away.</p> +<p>He came to anchor eventually in Aymer’s room, and +sat smoking by the fire, his long legs crossed and the +contemplative mood in the ascendency. His brother +knew from experience that Nevil had something to +say, and would say it in his own inimitable way if +left alone.</p> +<p>“Christopher’s a remarkable youth,” he said presently.</p> +<p>“Have you just discovered it?” said Aymer drily.</p> +<p>“He is no respecter of persons,” pursued Nevil +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +quietly; “by the way, has it ever struck you, Aymer, +that he’ll marry some day?”</p> +<p>“There’s time before us, yet. I hope. He isn’t +quite sixteen, Nevil.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but there it is,” he waved his hand vaguely. +“I think of it for myself when I look at Max sometimes.”</p> +<p>Aymer wanted to laugh out loud, which would have +reduced his brother’s communicative mood to mere +frivolity, and he wished to get at what lay behind, so +he remained grave.</p> +<p>“There’s Patricia, too,” went on Nevil in the same +vague way. “She, too, will do it some day. It’s lamentable, +but unavoidable. And talking of Patricia +brings me back to Christopher’s remarkableness.”</p> +<p>He related the little scene he had just witnessed in +his slow, clear way, made no comment thereon, but +poked the fire meditatively, when he had finished.</p> +<p>Aymer, too, was silent.</p> +<p>“You are her sole guardian, are you not?” he +asked presently.</p> +<p>“With Renata. I wonder, Aymer, if anyone could +have controlled that unhappy Connell?”</p> +<p>Aymer ignored the irrelevant remark.</p> +<p>“Renata does not count. Nevil, would you have +any objections—as her guardian?”</p> +<p>Nevil strolled across to his brother and sat on the +edge of his couch. He took up a sandy kitten, descendant +of one of Christopher’s early pets, and began +playing with it, attempting to wrap it up in his +handkerchief.</p> +<p>“If you would mind, we will guard against the remote +contingency at which you hint, by keeping Christopher +away when he is a bit older,” said Aymer +steadily.</p> +<p>“My dear Cæsar, it’s not I who might object—it’s +you. You know what Patricia is, poor child. I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +thought it might not fit in with your plans. She hasn’t +a penny of her own, though, of course, Renata and I +will see to that.” He knotted the handkerchief at the +four corners and swung it to and fro to the astonishment +of the imprisoned kitten.</p> +<p>“Christopher has nothing either,” said Aymer almost +sharply, “and I shall see to that, with your permission, +Nevil. That unfortunate kitten!”</p> +<p>Nevil released it. It scampered over the floor, hid +under a chair and then rushed back at him and scrambled +up his leg.</p> +<p>“Indeed, if things turn out as I hope, I shall have +to provide for him,” went on Aymer steadily, “indeed +I wish to do so anyway. It will mean less for Max, +but––”</p> +<p>“What a beastly ugly kitten,” remarked Nevil suddenly +with great emphasis, placing the animal very +gently on the floor again.</p> +<p>“Don’t swear, Nevil,” retorted Aymer with a little +ghost of a smile.</p> +<p>“Very well,” answered his brother meekly, “but +it is. Aymer, don’t be an ass, old fellow—Max won’t +want anything.”</p> +<p>He lounged out presently before Aymer could +make up his mind to vex him further with the question +of Max’s inheritance.</p> +<p>The property set aside for the use of the son and +heir of the Astons provided a very handsome income, +the original capital of which could not be touched. +In early days Aymer had found the income barely sufficient +for his wants. He spent it freely now—the +Astons were no misers, but his father and he managed +to nearly double the original capital and this was Aymer’s +to do with as he would. Apparently he meant +it for Christopher. It was one of Nevil’s little weaknesses +that he could not endure any reminder of the +fact that to him and his small son would the line descend, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +and that his brother’s was but a life interest, +and his position as his father’s heir a merely formal +matter of no actual value. Poor Nevil, who was the +least self-seeking of men, could not endure any reminder +of his elder brother’s real condition of life.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_X' id='CHAPTER_X'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +</div> +<p>There was a certain princely building in Birmingham +where all the business connected with the name +of Peter Masters was transacted. On each floor were +long rooms full of clerks bending over rows of desks, +carrying on with automatic regularity the affairs of +each separate concern. Thus on the ground floor the +Lack Vale Coal Company worked out its grimy history, +on the second floor the Brunt Rubber Company +had command, on the fifth the great Steel Axle Company, +the richest and most important of all, lodged +royally. But on the very topmost floor of all were +the offices devoted to the personal affairs of Peter +Masters, and through them, shut in by a watchful +guard of head clerks, was the innermost sanctum, +the nest of the great spider whose intricate web +stretched over so great a circumference, the central +point from which radiated the vast circle of concerns, +and to which they ultimately returned materialised +into precious metal—the private office, in short, of +Peter Masters.</p> +<p>The heads of each separate floor were picked men—great +men away from the golden glamour of the +master mind—each involved in the success or failure +of his own concern, all partners in their respective +firms, but partners who accepted the share allotted to +them without question, who served faithfully or disappeared +from the ken of their fellow-workers, who +were nominally accountable to their respective “company,” +but actually dependent on the word and will +of the great man up above them. None but these men +and his own special clerks ever approached him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +Some junior clerk or obscure worker might pass him +occasionally in a passage, or await the service of the +lift at his pleasure; they might receive a sharp glance, +a demand for name and department, but they knew +no more of this controller of their humble destinies.</p> +<p>It was a marvellous organisation, a perfected system, +a machine whose parts were composed of living +men.</p> +<p>The owner of the machine cared much for the +whole and nothing for the parts. When some screw +or nut failed to answer its purpose, it was cast aside +and another substituted. There was no question, no +appeal. Nuts and screws are cheap. The various +parts were well cared for, well oiled, just so long as +they fulfilled their purpose; if they failed in that—well, +the running of the machine was not endangered +for sentiment.</p> +<p>Apart from this business, however, Peter Masters +was a man of sentiment, though the workers in Masters’s +Building would have scorned the idea. He had +expended this sentiment on two people, one, his wife, +who had died in Whitmansworth Union, the other +Aymer Aston, his cousin, who on the moment of his +declared union with Elizabeth Hibbault, had fallen +victim to so grim a tragedy. His “sentiment” had +never spread beyond these two people, certainly never +to the person of his unseen child, whom, however, +he was prepared to “discover” in his own good +time.</p> +<p>His wife had left him within a year of his marriage, +and whatever investigations he may have privately +made, they were sub rosa, and he had persistently refused +to make public ones. She would come back, he +believed, with an almost childish simplicity in the lure +of his great fortune,—if she needed money,—or him. +That she should suffer real poverty or hardship, lack +the bare necessities of life, never for a moment occurred +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +to him. Why should she, when his whole fortune +was at her disposal—for her personal needs?</p> +<p>People who knew him a little said he had resented +the slight to his money more than the scandal to himself +when Mrs. Masters disappeared. They were in +the wrong. Peter’s pride had been very cruelly hurt: +she had not only scorned his gold, but spurned his +affection, which was quite genuine and deep so far +as it went, but since he had never taken the world into +his confidence in the matter of his having any affection +to bestow, he as carefully kept his own counsel as to +the amount it had been hurt, and continued his life as +if the coming and going of Mrs. Masters was a matter +of as little concern as the coming or going of any +other of the immortal souls and human bodies who +got caught in the toils of the great Machine.</p> +<p>As for the expected child, let her educate it after +her own foolish, pretty fancy. When it was of an age +to understand matters, the man of Power would slip +in and claim his own, and he never doubted but that +the dazzle of his gold would outshine the vapid illusions +of the mother, and procure for him the homage +of his offspring. Such was the mingled simplicity +and cuteness of the man that he never for one moment +allowed to himself there was any other possible +reverse to this picture, this, the only thought of revenge +he harboured, its very sting to be drawn by his +own good-natured laugh at her “fancies.” So he +worked on in keen enjoyment, and the dazzle of the +gold grew brighter as the years passed away unnoticed.</p> +<p>Peter Masters sat in the innermost sanctuary of the +Temple of Mammon. It was a big corner room with +six windows facing south and east, with low projecting +balustrades outside which hid the street far down +below. The room had not a severely business-like aspect, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +it rather suggested to the observer the word business +was translatable into other meanings than work. +Thus the necessary carpet was more than a carpet in +that it was a work of Eastern art. The curtains were +more than mere hangings to exclude light or draught, +but fabrics to delight the eye. The plainness of the +walls was but a luxury to set off the admirable collection +of original sketches and clever caricatures that +adorned them. One end of the room was curtained +off to serve as a dining-room on necessity. No sybarite +could have complained of the comfort of the +chairs or the arrangement of the light. The great table +at which Peter Masters sat, was not only of the +most solid mahogany, but it was put together by an +artist in joinery—a skilful, silent servant to its owner, +offering him with a small degree of friction every possible +convenience a busy man could need. The only +other furniture in the room was a gigantic safe, or +rather a series of little safes cased in mahogany which +filled one wall like a row of school lockers, each labelled +clearly with a letter.</p> +<p>Peter Masters leant back in his chair and gazed +straight before him for one moment—just that much +space of time he allowed before the next problem of +the day came before him—then he rang one of the +row of electric bells suspended overhead.</p> +<p>Its short, imperious summons resounded directly in +the room occupied by the head clerk of the Lack Vale +Coal Company, and that worthy, without waiting to +finish the word he begun writing, slipped from his +stool and hurried to the office door of his chief, where +he knocked softly and entered in obedience to a curt +order. The room was a simplified edition of the room +on the top floor; everything was there, but in a less +luxurious degree, and the result was insignificant. +The manager of the Lack Vale Coal Company, who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +sat at the table, was a hard-featured, thin-lipped man +of forty-five, with thin hair already turning grey, and +pince-nez dangling from his button hole.</p> +<p>“Mr. Masters’s bell, sir,” said the clerk apologetically.</p> +<p>Mr. Foilet nodded and his thin lips tightened. He +gathered up a sheaf of carefully arranged papers and +went out by a private door to the central lift.</p> +<p>Peter greeted him affably and waved his hand to +the opposite chair.</p> +<p>“You have Bennin’s report at last?”</p> +<p>“Yes. He apologised for the delay, but thought +it useless to send it until he had investigated the gallery +itself.”</p> +<p>“That’s the business of his engineers. If he is not +satisfied with them he should get others.”</p> +<p>Mr. Foilet bowed, selected a paper from the sheaf +he carried and handed it over. Peter Masters perused +it with precisely the same kindly smiling countenance +he wore when studying a paper or deciphering a +friendly epistle. It was not a friendly letter at all, it +was a curt, bald statement that a certain rich gallery +in a certain mine was unsafe for working, though the +opinion of two specialists differed on the point. The +two reports were enclosed, and when all three reports +were read Peter asked for the wage sheet of the mine. +There was no cause of complaint there.</p> +<p>“The articles of the last settlement between the firm +and the men have been rigorously adhered to?” questioned +Masters, flinging down the paper.</p> +<p>“Rigorously. I will say they have taken no advantage +of their success.”</p> +<p>Peter smiled. “It is for us to do that. Mr. Weirs +pronounces the gallery fit for working. The seam is +one of the richest we have. What improvements can +be done to the ventilation and propping before Monday +are to be done, but the gallery is to be worked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +then, until the new shaft is completed. Then we will +reconsider it.”</p> +<p>Again Mr. Foilet bowed, but his hand fingered his +glasses nervously.</p> +<p>“And if the men refuse?” he questioned in a low +voice, with averted eyes.</p> +<p>Peter Masters waved his hand.</p> +<p>“There are others. Men who receive wages like +that must expect to have a certain amount of danger +to face. Danger is the spice of life.” He leant back +in his chair, humming a little tune and watched Mr. +Foilet with smiling eyes. Mr. Foilet was wondering +whether his chief was personally fond of spice, but +he knew better than to say more. He left the room +with a vague uneasy feeling at his heart. “A nice +concern it will be if anything happens before the New +Shaft’s ready,” he muttered; “if it wasn’t for his +wonderful luck, I’d have refused.”</p> +<p>So he thought: but in reality he would have done +no such thing.</p> +<p>The manager of the Stormby Foundry, which was +a private property of Mr. Masters’s, and no company, +was the next visitor. He was a tall lank Scotchman +with a hardy countenance and a soft heart when not +fretted by the roll of the Machine. The question he +brought was concerning the selling of some land in +the neighbourhood of the works, for the erection of +cottages.</p> +<p>“Surely you need no instructions on that point, +Mr. Murray,” said Peter a little more curtly than he +had spoken to Mr. Foilet.</p> +<p>“There are two offers,” said the Scotchman quietly. +“Tennant will give £150 and Fortman £200.”</p> +<p>“Then there is no question.”</p> +<p>“Tennant will build decent cottages of good material and with proper foundations, and Fortman—well, +you know what Fortman’s hovels are like.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span></p> +<p>“No, I don’t,” said Peter drily. “He has never +been my landlord.”</p> +<p>Mr. Murray appeared to swallow something, probably +a wish, with difficulty.</p> +<p>“They are mere hovels pretending to be villas.”</p> +<p>“No one’s obliged to live in them.”</p> +<p>“There are no others,” persisted Mr. Murray desperately, +imperilling his own safety for the cause.</p> +<p>Masters frowned ominously.</p> +<p>“Mr. Murray,” he said, “as I have before remarked, +you are too far-sighted. Your work is to sell the +ground for the benefit of the company, which, I may +remind you, is for your benefit also. You have not +to build the cottages or live in them. If the people +don’t like them they needn’t take them. I do not profess +to house the people. I pay them accordingly. +They can afford to live in decent houses if they like.”</p> +<p>“If they can get them,” remarked the heroic Mr. +Murray.</p> +<p>Peter smiled, his anger apparently having melted +away.</p> +<p>“Let them arrange it with Fortman, and keep your +obstinacy for more profitable business, Murray, and +you’ll be as rich as I am some day.”</p> +<p>There was nothing apparently offensive in the +words, yet the speaker seemed a singularly unlovable +person as he spoke them, and Murray did not smile at +the compliment, but went out with a grave air.</p> +<p>Neither he nor his business lingered on Peter’s +mind once the door had closed behind him. Peter got +up and lounged to the window. He stood a while +looking down into the street below with its crowd of +strangely foreshortened figures. On the opposite side +of the wide street was a shop where mechanical toys +were sold, a paradise for boys. As Peter watched, a +chubby-faced, stout little man with a tall, lanky boy at +his side came to a stand before the windows. Peter +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +knew the man to be one of the hardest-headed, shrewdest +men in the iron trade, and he guessed the boy was +his son. Both figures disappeared within the shop, the +elder with evident reluctance, the younger with assured +expectation. Peter waited a long time—a longer +period than he would have supposed he had to spare, +had he thought of it. They emerged at last in company +with a big parcel, hailed a hansom and drove +away. Peter looked at the clock and chuckled. “To +think Coblan is that sort of fool. Well, that youngster +will add little to the fortunes of Coblan and Company. +Toys!” He turned away from the window, +and, seated again at his desk, began to scribble down +some dates on a scrap of paper. Then he leant back in +his chair thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“Hibbault says that boy has just got a rise in that +berth of his in Liverpool. I’ll let him have a year or +so more to prove his grit. I suppose Hibbault’s to +be trusted, but I might write to the firm and ask how +he gets on! However, Aymer’s boy shall have the +vacancy!”</p> +<p>Therefore he took up his pen again and wrote the +following brief letter:</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:2.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 0.5em;'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Princes Building</span>, Birmingham, April 10.</span><br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:2.0em; text-align:left'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Dear Aymer</span>:—<br /></p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:2.0em; '>Are you going to ’prentice that boy of yours to me +or not? I’ve an opening now in the Steel Axle Company, +if you like to take it.</p> +<p style='margin-left:2.0em; margin-right:2.0em; text-align:right'><span style='margin-right: 11.5em;'>Yours, </span><br /> +<span style='margin-right: 0.5em;'><span style='font-variant: small-caps'>Peter Masters</span>.</span><br /></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h1>Christopher Hibbault, Roadmaker</h1> +<h2>PART II</h2> +<hr class='pb' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI' id='CHAPTER_XI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +</div> +<p>Despite his honest intention never to stand between +Christopher and any fate that might serve to draw +him into connection with his father, Aymer had a +hard fight to master his keen desire to put Peter’s letter +in the fire and say nothing about it. Surely, after +all, he had the best right to say what his adopted +charge’s future should be. It was he who had rescued +him from obscurity, who had lavished on him the love +and care his selfish, erratic father, for his own ambitious +ends, denied him. Aymer believed, moreover, +that a career under Peter’s influence would mean +either the blunting if not the utter destruction of every +generous and admirable quality in the boy, or a rapid +unbalanced development of those socialistic tendencies, +the seeds of which were sown by his mother and nurtured +in the hard experience of his early days. Besides +this, Peter’s interest in the boy was probably a +mere freak, or at the best, sprang from a desire to +serve his cousin, unless by any remote chance he had +stumbled on a clue to Christopher’s identity.</p> +<p>This last suspicion wove itself like a black thread +into the grey woof of Aymer’s existence. His whole +being by now had become concentrated in the boy’s +life. It was a renewal of youth, hopes, ambitions, +again possible in the person of this child, and for the +second time a fierce, restless jealousy of his cousin began +to stir in the inner depths of Aymer’s being, as +fire which may yet break into life beneath the grey, +piled-up ashes which conceal it.</p> +<p>He sought help and advice from none and fought +hard alone for his own salvation through the long +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +watches of a black night—fought against the jealousy +that prompted him to hedge Christopher about with +precautions and restrictions which, however desirable +they might seem to his finite wisdom, yet were, he +knew, only the outcome of his smouldering jealousy, +and might well grow to formidable barriers for Christopher +to climb in later years. Aymer fought, too, for +that sense of larger faith that in the midst of careful +action yet leaves room for the hand of God and does +not confound the little ideas of the builder with the +vast plan of the Great Architect.</p> +<p>So the letter—the little fact which stood for such +great possibilities—was shown to Christopher, to +whom it was a mere nothing, to be tossed aside with +scorn.</p> +<p>“I don’t want to be under him,” he commented indignantly, +“I don’t care about his old axles,” and +then because Cæsar was silent and he felt himself in +the wrong, he apologised.</p> +<p>“All the same, I don’t want to go to him unless you +particularly wish it, Cæsar,” he insisted.</p> +<p>But Cæsar did not answer directly.</p> +<p>“You are certain you want to be an engineer?” he +asked at length.</p> +<p>“Certain,—only—” Christopher stopped, went over +to the window and looked out.</p> +<p>They were in London and it was an evening in +early spring. There was a faint primrose glow in the +sky and a blackbird was whistling at the end of the +garden. The hum of the great town was as part of +the silence of the room.</p> +<p>Now at last must come the moment when Christopher +must speak plainly of his darling purpose that +had been striving for expression these many months, +that purpose which had grown out of a childish fancy +in the long ago days when his mother and he toiled +along the muddy wearisome roads, or wended painfully +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +through choking white dust under a blazing +sun––</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“Mother, how does roads get made here in the +country, are they made like in London?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Jim, they were made somewhere by men, not +over well, I think, for walkers such as we are.”</p> +<p>“I’ll make roads when I’m big,” announced Jim, +“real good ones that you can walk on easily.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>So Christopher broke his purpose to Cæsar abruptly.</p> +<p>“I want to be a Road Engineer.”</p> +<p>“A what?”</p> +<p>“A Roadmaker. To make high roads,—not in +towns, but across countries. Roads that will be easy +to travel on and will last.” Again he stopped, embarrassed, +for the vision before him which he only half +saw, made him hot and confused. Yet it was a good +vision, perhaps that was why—a picture of countless +toiling human beings travelling on his roads all down +the coming ages, knowing them for good roads, and +praising the maker. But he was a boy and was +abashed at the vision and hoped Cæsar did not guess +at it. Cæsar, however, saw it all more clearly than +Christopher himself and was not abashed but well +content.</p> +<p>The boy went back to Cæsar’s side. The thing was +done, spoken of, made alive, and now he could plead +for it, work to gain his end,—also there was a glow +in his face and a new eagerness in his manner.</p> +<p>“Oh, Cæsar, do say it’s possible. I always wanted +to do it, even when I was a little chap, and watched +men breaking stones on the road.”</p> +<p>“It’s quite possible, only it will want working out. +You must go abroad—France—Germany—I must see +where to place you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span></p> +<p>“Yes, I must learn how they are made everywhere, +and then—then there must be roads to be made somewhere—in +new countries if not here.”</p> +<p>They talked it out earnestly; Cæsar himself caught +the boy’s enthusiasm, and the moment Mr. Aston +came in he too was drawn into the discussion and offered +good advice.</p> +<p>Thus Christopher’s future was decided upon as +something to be worked out quite independent of +Peter Masters and his millions. Perhaps because he +had seen the vision which covered Christopher with +shy confusion, Aymer became very prosaic and practical +over the details, and Mr. Aston was the only one +of the trio who gave any more thought to the boy’s +dream on its sentimental side. He used to sit in the +evenings watching the two poring over maps, letters +and guidebooks, thinking far thoughts for them both, +occasionally uttering them.</p> +<p>“I wonder,” he remarked one night, “if you know +what a lucky young man you are, Master Christopher, +not only in having a real wish concerning your own +future—which is none too common a lot—but in being +free to follow it.”</p> +<p>Christopher looked up from the map he was studying.</p> +<p>“Yes, I know I’m lucky, St. Michael. It must be +perfectly horrible to have to be something one does not +want to be. I suppose that’s why lots of people never +get on in the world. It seems beastly unfair.”</p> +<p>“Yet I’ve known men to succeed at work for which +they had no original aptitude,” returned Mr. Aston +quietly.</p> +<p>“Mightn’t they have succeeded better at what they +did like?”</p> +<p>“That is beside the mark, so that they did not fail +altogether. I knew a soldier once,” he went on +dreamily, “just a private. A good chap. He was a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +soldier because he was born and bred in the midst of +a regiment, but his one passion was music. He taught +himself a little instead of learning his drill. In the +end he deserted and joined a German band. That +argues nothing for his musical taste, you say. He +just thought it a stepping-stone, but it was a tombstone. +He was quite a smart soldier, too.”</p> +<p>“Well, I think it was jolly hard lines on him to +have to be a soldier at all, if he didn’t like it. He +wanted a Cæsar to help him out. I think all fellows +ought to have a chance, there should be someone or +something to say, ‘what do you want to be?’”</p> +<p>“You’d be surprised how few could answer. Prove +your point yourself anyway, my dear boy. Succeed.”</p> +<p>“I mean to,” said Christopher with shut teeth and +an intonation that reminded both men of Peter Masters +himself.</p> +<p>“We are all of us Roadmakers of one kind or +another,” went on Mr. Aston meditatively, “making +the way rougher or smoother for those who come after +us. Happy if we only succeed in rolling in a few +of the stones that hurt our own feet.”</p> +<p>“You <i>are</i> rather like a steam roller,” remarked +Aymer quietly, “it hadn’t struck me before.”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston rumpled his hair distractedly and Christopher +giggled.</p> +<p>“I wasn’t talking of myself at all,” said Mr. Aston +hastily. “I was merely thinking of you making things +smooth for Christopher. You are much more +like a steam roller than I am. You are bigger.”</p> +<p>Christopher began to laugh helplessly, and Aymer +protested rather indignantly.</p> +<p>“I deny the likeness. But if rolling has to be done, +it is better to do it heavily, I suppose. Whose roads +shall we roll, Christopher?”</p> +<p>Christopher looked up, suddenly grave. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span></p> +<p>“What do you mean, Cæsar?”</p> +<p>“You say everyone should have a chance and my +father insists we are bound by some unknown Board +of Guardians to level our neighbours’ roads, so where +will you start?”</p> +<p>“On Sam Sartin!”</p> +<p>He sat upright, his face glowing, looking straight +at Cæsar. Cæsar’s tone might be flippant, but if he +meant what Christopher supposed him to mean, he +must not let the golden opportunity slip.</p> +<p>“I thought Sam was in a greengrocer’s shop,” said +Cæsar in a drawling, indifferent manner.</p> +<p>“So he is. But would anyone be in a greengrocer’s +shop if they could be in anything else? When we +were kids, he and I, we used to plan we’d be Lord +Mayors—A greengrocer!”</p> +<p>“An honest and respectable calling, if a little dirty,” +murmured Mr. Aston. “The greengrocers, I mean +not the Lord Mayors.”</p> +<p>“Sam’s got a head on his shoulders. He’s really +awfully sharp. He could be anything he liked,” urged +Christopher. “Could you help him, Cæsar?”</p> +<p>“You might if you liked.”</p> +<p>“Make what I like of him?”</p> +<p>“No. Most emphatically, no. Make what he likes +of himself. A crossing sweeper, if he fancies that. +Buy him a crossing and a broom, you know.”</p> +<p>“But really, what he likes; not joking?”</p> +<p>“Sober earnest. I’ll see to-morrow, and tell you. +Now, will you kindly find that place you were looking +for when we were so inopportunely interrupted with +irrelevant moralisings.”</p> +<p>“I won’t do it again,” said his father deprecatingly. +“I apologise.”</p> +<p>Aymer gravely bowed his head and the subject was +dropped. But when they were alone that evening, +Mr. Aston reverted to it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span></p> +<p>“What are you going to do with Sam Sartin?” he +asked, “and why are you doing it?”</p> +<p>“Sam must settle the first question himself,” said +Aymer, idly drawing appalling pictures of steamrollers +on the fly-leaf of a book, “as to the second—” +he paused in his drawing, put the book down and +turned to his father.</p> +<p>“Christopher’s got the makings of a rabid socialist +in him. If he’s not given good data to go on he will +be a full disciple when he’s twenty-one, all theories +and dreams, caught in a mesh of words. I don’t want +that. It’s natural too, for, after all, Christopher is +not of the People, any more than—than his mother +was.” He examined his pencil critically. “She always +credited them with the fine aspirations and pure +passions of her own soul, instead of allowing them +the very reasonable and just aspirations and ambitions +that they have and should be able to reach. Sam may +be an exception, but I don’t think he is. I’m quite +ready to give Christopher a free hand to help him, provided +he knows what he wants himself.”</p> +<p>“To provide an object lesson for Christopher?”</p> +<p>“Yes, precisely.”</p> +<p>“Is it quite fair on Sam?”</p> +<p>Aymer looked up quickly.</p> +<p>“He benefits anyway.”</p> +<p>“Possibly; but you do not care about that.”</p> +<p>“Christopher <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: changed single quote mark to a double quote mark">does.”</ins></p> +<p>“Ah, yes. Christopher does. That is worth considering. +Otherwise––”</p> +<p>“Otherwise?”</p> +<p>“How far are we justified in experimenting with +our fellow-creatures, I wonder?”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII' id='CHAPTER_XII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +</div> +<p>It was a day of expectancy—and promise—of blackthorn +breaking into snowy showers, and of meadows +richly green, blue sky and white cloud—and a sense +of racing, headlong life joyously tremulous over the +earth.</p> +<p>The boys had met at Paddington Station, Sam Sartin +by no means abashed at his own appearance in +an old suit of Christopher’s, and wearing, in deference +to his friend’s outspoken wishes, a decorous dark-blue +tie and unobtrusive shirt. He looked what he was—a +good, solid, respectable working lad out for a holiday. +Excitement, if he felt it, was well suppressed, surprise +at the new world of luxury—they travelled down first—was +equally carefully concealed. The code of manners +in which he was reared was stringent in this +particular.</p> +<p>Christopher, on the contrary, was in high spirits. +Sam had watched him come down the platform, out +of the corner of his eye, with a queer sense of proud +possession. He would have liked to proclaim to the +world that the young master there, who walked like +a prince, was his own particular pal. Yet he pretended +not to see him till Christopher clapped him on the +shoulder with a warm greeting.</p> +<p>“I’ve got the tickets. Come on,” said the giver of +the treat. “I say, what a day, Sammie—if it’s good +in London what will it be in the country?”</p> +<p>“Cold, I shouldn’t wonder. What’s the matter +with London?” said the cockney sarcastically.</p> +<p>“Old Bricks and Mortar,” retorted Christopher +gaily. “You’ll know what’s the matter with it when +you come back. It’s too jolly small.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span></p> +<p>“Big enough for me. But the country’s well +enough to play in. I say, Mr. Christopher, I’ve been +thinking, we may not find any boats. It’s early.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’ve seen to that,” said Christopher with the +faintest suspicion of lordliness in his voice. “I wrote +to the man I know at Maidenhead to have a boat ready—a +good one.”</p> +<p>Sam grinned. “My, what a head-piece we’ve got, +to be sure.”</p> +<p>The other flushed a little. “It was really Cæsar +who suggested it,” he owned.</p> +<p>Sam had never been down that line before, so Christopher +pointed out the matters of interest. They +found their boat ready at Maidenhead, bestowed their +coats in the bow and settled themselves. Christopher +insisted on Sam’s rowing stroke. Sam thought politeness +obliged him to refuse, but he ultimately gave +in. He retrieved the little error in manners by handling +his oar in a masterly way. “Stroke shaping +well,” Christopher heard the boatman say as they +went off.</p> +<p>The wind on the river was cold enough and, in +spite of the bright sun, cut through them. But half +an hour’s steady pulling brought them into a glow +and mood to enjoy themselves. Christopher called +for a rest. Sam looked over his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Tired?”</p> +<p>“No,” responded the other, laughing, “but we +didn’t come down just to row ‘eyes in boat’; I want +to look at the world.”</p> +<p>“Nothing but green fields and trees and cows.”</p> +<p>“I like cows.”</p> +<p>“I don’t.”</p> +<p>Nevertheless he desisted from work, and they +drifted on. Christopher was bubbling over with a +great secret that was to be the crowning episode of +the day. It would be fatal to divulge it too early, so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +he plunged into friendly discussions and they rowed +on happy in the physical exertion, the clean, fresh air +and the smiling earth.</p> +<p>It was not till after lunch that Christopher decided +the great matter must be broached, to allow time to +discuss it in full detail. They had changed places and +he was stroke now. He pulled with a slower swing +but greater power than Sam and for some time bent to +his work in silence, thinking over what he was going +to say. He took a rapid mental survey of Sam’s present +life and future, of what it held and more especially +of what it did not hold; the limitations, the lack of +opportunity, the struggle for existence that left no +room for ambitions or hopes. And he, with Cæsar’s +help, was going to change all that, and open the gates +of the world wide for him. If the thought were exhilarating, +it had also a serious side. He was not +afraid, he was too young for that, but he had sense +enough to know it was a big thing to uproot a life +and plant it in a new spot more congenial to growth.</p> +<p>Mr. Aston’s words to him that morning came back +with puzzling insistence. “Remember,” he had said +in his kindly way, “no two people see life through +the same glasses. Don’t be surprised if Sam’s make +you squint.” What did he mean? It was just because +he, Christopher, was not sure of Sam’s real ambition +that he was to be given the choice. He amused +himself while cogitating over it, tasting like an epicure +the flavour of the good wine to be drunk presently. +Sam complained he was a bad stroke, and they +changed again. This better suited his plans. He +could see the town boy’s thin sloping shoulders bend +evenly before him. Sam was no athlete in build, but +his passion for rowing had stood him in good stead +and developed muscle and endurance.</p> +<p>“He’ll choose something in boats,” thought Christopher, +mentally picturing Sam as captain of a great +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +liner and then as an alternative, as an admiral of the +Fleet, and so came the crucial point.</p> +<p>“Sam, if you had your choice, what would you +be?”</p> +<p>“Dunno.”</p> +<p>“But think. I want to know. A greengrocer like +Mr. Gruner? Ho, ho!” he shouted out wholesome +laughter.</p> +<p>Sam grinned. He was less ready to laugh. Life +had taken toll of that birthright already.</p> +<p>“I hate vegetables. Beastly, dirty things,” he said +prosaically. “No, I wouldn’t be a <i>green</i>-grocer.”</p> +<p>“Well what? An engineer? A doctor, lawyer, +parson?”</p> +<p>“Why not a king now?” scoffed Sam.</p> +<p>“Not enough situations vacant. I mean it, really. +What would you be if you were as free to choose as +I am?”</p> +<p>“If I were you, you mean.”</p> +<p>“No, not that. If you could choose for yourself +as I have.”</p> +<p>Sam rowed on stolidly. “Dunno that it’s much +use bothering,” he said indifferently. “I’m doing all +right, though it’s not what I’d choose.”</p> +<p>It had seemed an easy, insignificant task to break +the news five minutes ago, but either Christopher had +taken the wrong approach or it was a stiffer job than +he had fancied. He became uneasily conscious his +own part in it could not be overlooked, that he was +doing something that evilly-disposed persons might +even call magnanimous or philanthropic. His face +grew red at the thought.</p> +<p>“Sam,” he said as naturally as he could, “it happens +you can choose, you see. Choose anything you +like. Cæsar’s given me a free hand. We are both +to start life just as we like. What shall it be? I’ve +told you my choice.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span></p> +<p>The narrow form in front never slackened its +stroke, but pulled on mechanically, and at last spoke +a little gruffly.</p> +<p>“Say. You’re kidding me, you know.”</p> +<p>“I’m not. Dead earnest.”</p> +<p>Again the boat shot on, but Christopher stopped +rowing. Sam looked back over his shoulder.</p> +<p>“You’re lazy. Why don’t you pull?”</p> +<p>Christopher obeyed mechanically. He knew he +could afford to be patient now.</p> +<p>“Easy,” said the stroke at last.</p> +<p>There was a smooth reach of water before them. +Low meadows with reddish muddy banks lay on either +side, no house or any living soul was in sight. Sam +rubbed his hands on his trousers, looked back at his +friend and away again.</p> +<p>“You mean you’ll start me in any trade I like? +’Prentice me?”</p> +<p>“Any trade or profession.”</p> +<p>“What do you do it for, anyhow?”</p> +<p>“Cæsar suggested it. He said I might if I liked.”</p> +<p>“Well, why do you do it?”</p> +<p>“Does it matter?”</p> +<p>“I want to know certain.”</p> +<p>Christopher looked embarrassed. “Weren’t we +kids together? Besides, it seems to me every chap +ought to have a chance of working on the job he likes +best. It’s only fair. It’s jolly rough on a fellow to +have to do just what comes along whether he’s fit for +it or not.”</p> +<p>“Seems to me,” said Sam meditatively, “a good +many jobs would want doing if everyone did what +they liked.”</p> +<p>“Oh, science would step in and equalise that,” returned +Christopher, hastily quoting from some handbook +and went on to further expound his creed.</p> +<p>Sam concluded he had been listening to spouters in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +the Park, but he was sharp enough to recognise beneath +the crude boyish creed the kindly generous nature +that prompted it.</p> +<p>“So Cæsar says you’ve just to choose. We’ll see +you through.”</p> +<p>“He must be jolly rich.”</p> +<p>“Well, that’s why he’s rich, isn’t it, to be able to +do things.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see what he gets out of it anyhow.”</p> +<p>“He doesn’t want anything, you silly.”</p> +<p>“I want to think this out,” said Sam, “there is +something I’ve always wanted since I was a kiddy, but +I want to think. Row on.”</p> +<p>This was intelligible and encouraging. Christopher’s +sense of flatness gave way a little. He pulled +steadily, trying to make out what had so dashed him +in Sam’s reception of the great news. He had not +yet learnt how exceptional is the mind that can accept +a favour graciously.</p> +<p>After nearly ten minutes’ silence Sam spoke again. +“Well, then, I’d like to be a grocer,” and straightway +pulled furiously.</p> +<p>“What?” gasped Christopher, feeling the bottom +story of his card house tottering to a fall.</p> +<p>“It’s like this. I don’t mind telling you—much—though +I’ve never told nobody before. When I was +a bit of a chap, mother, she used to take me out shopping +in the evenings. We went to pokey little shops, +but we used to pass a fine, big shop—four glass windows—it +has six now—and great lights and mahogany +counters and little rails, and balls for change, +tiled floor, no sawdust. Every time I saw it I says to +myself, ‘When I’m a man I’ll have a place like that.’ +I tried to get a job there, but I couldn’t—they made +too many family inquiries, you see,” he added bitterly; +“well, if I could get ’prenticed to a place like that +... might be head man some day....” He began +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +whistling with forced indifference, queerly conscious +that the whole of his life seemed packed in that little +boat—waiting. The boat had drifted into a side +eddy. Christopher sat with his head on his hands, +wondering with his surface consciousness if the planks +at his feet were three or four inches wide, but at last +he brushed aside the last card of his demolished palace +and recalled his promise to Cæsar to leave Sam +as free and unbiased in choice as he had been +himself.</p> +<p>“That would be quite easy to manage,” he said with +assumed heartiness, “it’s—only too easy. Only you +must be a partner or something. Oh, oh. A white +apron. I’ll buy my tea and bacon of you when I’ve +a house of my own!”</p> +<p>“All right,” grinned Sam. “I’ll have great rows +of red and gold canisters and—and brass fittings +everywhere—not your plated stuff for me—solid brass +and marble-topped counters. But it won’t come off,” +he added dejectedly, “things like that never do.”</p> +<p>“But it will,” persisted Christopher impatiently, +“just as my going to Dusseldorf is coming off.”</p> +<p>“You don’t get ’prenticed for nothing,” was the +faithless rejoinder.</p> +<p>Christopher joggled the boat and shouted: “You +sinner, if you won’t take my word for it I’ll smash +you.”</p> +<p>“All right—keep cool, I’m only having you on, +Chris. Oughtn’t we to turn now?”</p> +<p>They expended their excitement and emotion in +rowing furiously, and landed again at Maidenhead in +time for tea. Then Christopher broke the further +news to Sam that he was to return with him to Aston +House and see Cæsar. He overcame with difficulty +Sam’s reiterated objections, and they walked from +Paddington, Christopher keeping a strict guard over +Sam lest he should escape. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span></p> +<p>But Sam’s objections were more “code” than genuine. +He was really anxious to hear the wonderful +news confirmed by more responsible lips than Christopher’s—not +that he disbelieved his intentions, but +he still doubted his powers. He grew very silent, +however, as they turned in at the beautiful iron gates +of Aston House. He had never managed to really +connect his old friend with this wonderful dignified +residence that he knew vaguely by sight. He had +had dim visions of Christopher slipping in by a side +entrance avoiding the eyes of plush-breeched lords-in-waiting. +But here was that young gentleman marching +calmly in at the big front doors nodding cheerfully +to the sober-clad man waiting in the hall who +called Christopher “Sir.”</p> +<p>Sam successfully concealed under an expression of +solid matter-of-factness the interest and curiosity that +consumed him. He looked straight before him and +yet saw all round. He accepted the whole calmly, but +he wanted to sit down and stare.</p> +<p>Christopher explained that they were to have dinner +together in his own sitting-room as soon as they had +seen Aymer.</p> +<p>They went through the swing doors down the long +corridor leading to Aymer’s room, and Christopher +stopped for a moment near a window.</p> +<p>“I never come down here in this sort of light,” he +said with a little catch in his voice, “without thinking +of the first evening I came. How big it all seemed +and how quiet.”</p> +<p>“It is quiet,” said Sam in a subdued whisper.</p> +<p>In another moment they were in Aymer’s room.</p> +<p>“Hullo, Cæsar. Here we are, turned up like bad +pennies.”</p> +<p>Christopher pulled Sam across the room to the sofa. +Sam would have been not a little surprised had he +known that it cost Aymer Aston a great deal more +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span> +effort to see a new face than it cost him to look at +this Cæsar of whom he had heard so much.</p> +<p>The “code” slipped from his mental horizon and +left him red and embarrassed, watching Christopher +furtively to see what he would do.</p> +<p>“Here’s Sam, Cæsar. I’ve told you all about him +and he may just have heard your name mentioned—possibly—” laughed +Christopher seating himself on +the sofa and indicating a chair to his friend.</p> +<p>Aymer held out his hand.</p> +<p>“Yes, I’ve heard of you, Sam. Sit down, won’t +you?”</p> +<p>Sam sat down, his hands on his knees, and tried to +find a safe spot on which to focus his eyes.</p> +<p>“Now, isn’t it a jolly room,” began Christopher +triumphantly, “didn’t I tell you?”</p> +<p>“It’s big,” said Sam cautiously.</p> +<p>“Christopher, behave yourself. Don’t mind his +bad manners, Sam. It’s sheer nervousness on his +part, he can’t help it.”</p> +<p>A newspaper was flung dexterously across his face.</p> +<p>“Which gives point to my remark,” continued Aymer, +calmly folding it. “Well, have you enjoyed your +day? Madness, I call it, the river in March!”</p> +<p>Christopher plunged into an account of their jaunt +to which his companion listened in complete bewilderment, +hardly recognising the simple pleasures of their +holiday in their dress of finished detail and humour.</p> +<p>“Is that a true account?” asked Aymer, catching +the tail of a broad grin.</p> +<p>“I didn’t see the water-rat dressing himself, or the +girl with the red shoes,” said Sam slowly. “My, +what a chap you are, Christopher, to spin a yarn. +Wish I could reel it off to mother and the kids like +that.”</p> +<p>He found himself in a few minutes discoursing with +Aymer on the variety and history of his family. It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +was not for some minutes or so that the great subject +was approached.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” said Aymer at last, “I need not ask +if you and Christopher have been discussing his little +plan for your future. What do you think of it, Sam?”</p> +<p>Christopher got up and walked to the window. +Minute by minute a sense of overwhelming disappointment +and shame obliterated the once plausible +idea. It was not only an opportunity missed, it was +wasted, thrown away. What glory or distinctions, +what ambitions could be fulfilled in the narrow confines +of a grocer’s shop—a nightmare vision of an +interminable vista of red canisters, mahogany counters, +biscuit boxes and marble slabs, swam before his +eyes. It was no use denying it. It was a cruel disappointment ... and +what would Cæsar think?</p> +<p>Meanwhile Sam, in answer to Aymer’s questions, +had stumbled out the statement he thought it a rattling +fine thing for him and was very much obliged.</p> +<p>“And you know your own mind on the point?” demanded +Aymer, watching him closely.</p> +<p>Sam coughed nervously. “Yes, I always knew +what I wanted to be. I told him,” with a backward +jerk of his head towards Christopher.</p> +<p>This was better than Aymer had expected. A boy +with an ambition and a mind of his own was worth +assisting.</p> +<p>“Well, what is it. Will you tell me too?”</p> +<p>Sam looked at him out of the corner of his shrewd +eyes. “It’s you as is really doing it, sir?”</p> +<p>“What is it?”</p> +<p>“It’s like this,” began Sam, hesitating; “it costs +money,—my top ambition; but it’s a paying thing and +if anyone would be kind enough to start me on it I’d +work off the money in time. I know I could.”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid Christopher hasn’t quite explained,” +said Aymer quietly; “it’s not a question of investing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +money on your industry. I don’t expect him to pay +back the cost of starting him in life. You are to start +on precisely the same ground.”</p> +<p>Sam got red. “He—he belongs to you—it’s different,” +he began.</p> +<p>“What is your ambition?”</p> +<p>“Grocery business. I’ve told him. Ever since I +was a bit of a chap that high I’ve wanted it. I never +could get a job in a shop, but if I was regularly apprenticed +now—if that wasn’t too much?”</p> +<p>Aymer’s glance meandered thoughtfully to the distant +Christopher, still staring out of the window; a +shadow of a smile rose to his lips.</p> +<p>“Yes, that would not be difficult to manage, Sam. +How old are you?”</p> +<p>“Over sixteen, sir. There’s money in grocery, sir. +I could pay it back. I’m sure I could.”</p> +<p>Aymer lay still, thinking. “What sort of schooling +have you had? Not much? Passed the fifth +standard young?”</p> +<p>“But it takes a long time for a ’prentice to work +up,” said Sam, watching him eagerly.</p> +<p>“I’m thinking of another way,” said Aymer slowly. +“Christopher.”</p> +<p>He rejoined them, standing by the grate and kicking +the logs into place. He did not look at Aymer.</p> +<p>“Sam has been telling me of his wishes,” said Aymer. +“I think them quite excellent, but I’ve not +quite decided on the best way to carry them out. Go +away and get your dinner and come back to me afterwards.”</p> +<p>The boys departed, and once in Christopher’s den, +the host turned to his guest questioningly.</p> +<p>“Well, what do you think of Cæsar?”</p> +<p>“He’s a stunner, a jolly sight more sensible than +you, Chris. But I say,” he added in a grumpy, husky +voice, “is he always like that?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span></p> +<p>“Like what?”</p> +<p>“On a sofa. Lying down.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Christopher shortly. He had become +almost as sensitive on that point as Aymer himself.</p> +<p>“He must get a bit tired of it. Didn’t he ever +walk?”</p> +<p>“Yes, of course. It was a shooting accident. Shut +up, Sam, we all hate talking of it.”</p> +<p>The dinner that was served immediately somehow +impressed Sam more than any other event of the day. +He had occasionally had a meal in a restaurant with +Christopher, and once had been in a dining-room at +an hotel, but it all seemed different to this intimate, +comfortable dinner. The white napery, the shining +silver and delicate glass and china, the serving of the +simple meal was a revelation of his friend’s life, for +Christopher took it all as a matter of course and was +unabashed by the presence of the second footman who +waited on them.</p> +<p>There was soup, and cutlets in little paper dresses, +tomatoes and potatoes that bore no resemblance to +the grimy vegetables Sam dispensed daily. Then +came strange bird-shaped things, about the size of +sparrows which Christopher called chicken and which +had no bones in them, cherry tart, with innumerable +trifles with it, afterwards something that looked like +a solid browny-yellow cake, which gave way to nothing +when cut, and tasted of cheese. Finally there was +fruit, that was a crowning point, for Sam knew what +pears cost that time of year, and said so.</p> +<p>Christopher laughed. “These come from Marden,” +he explained. “Marden’s noted for pears; they have +storages of different temperatures and keep them back +or ripen them as wanted. The fire’s jolly after all, +isn’t it?”</p> +<p>He stretched out his long legs to the fender, a very +contented young Sybarite for the moment. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span></p> +<p>“I say, Chris,” said Sam abruptly, “I must tell +you though you’ll think it pretty low of me. But after +you came and told us you were living here with +Mr. Aston I used to ask people about him. One day +I came round here and ... somehow I never took +it in. I knew in a way you lived here, but I didn’t +know it was like this....” He stumbled over his +words in an embarrassed fashion.</p> +<p>“Like what?” demanded Christopher shortly.</p> +<p>“Well, I thought you was here like a sort of servant—not +with them exactly—I see now, I never took +it in before—you with your own rooms and walking +in at the front door and ordering dinner and +them blokes in the hall saying ‘sir’ to you—oh, +lor’.”</p> +<p>“I told you they had adopted me,” said the other, +frowning and rather red.</p> +<p>“I ought to have taken it in, but I didn’t,” continued +Sam humbly, “and then you ask me here—and +are going to give me a chance—Oh, lor’,—what’s +it all for, I want to know? What does it mean?”</p> +<p>Christopher got up and walked away. Had Sam +but known it, his chance in life was in dire peril at +that moment. Seldom had Christopher felt so angry +and never had he felt so out of touch with his companion. +Why on earth couldn’t Sam take his luck +without wanting reasons. It was so preposterous, in +Christopher’s eyes, to want any. In the old days Sam +had been ready to share his scant pennies and toys +with his small friend. The offer of a ride in a van +from the warehouse where Sartin senior worked +would have included both of them or neither. What +was the difference? What was the use of having +plenty if not to share it with a friend?</p> +<p>To his credit he did not allow Sam to guess his irritation, +but suggested a return to Cæsar’s room. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span></p> +<p>“Didn’t it take you an awful long time to get used +to all this?” inquired Sam, as he followed him.</p> +<p>“I forget. No, I don’t though. I hated it rather +at first, the clothes and collars and having to change +and be tidy, and all that, but I soon got used to it. +Here we are.”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston was there too now. Sam was duly introduced +and behaved with great discretion. He was far +less abashed by Mr. Aston than by Aymer, whose +physical condition produced a shyness not inherent in +the youth.</p> +<p>Mr. Aston talked to him in a friendly gossiping way, +then looked across at Aymer with a faint nod.</p> +<p>Aymer unfolded his scheme of carrying out Sam’s +ambitions to a fruitful end. He was to go for a year +to a commercial school, and after that to be put +into a good firm as pupil or ’prentice with a chance of +becoming a junior partner with a small capital if he +did well.</p> +<p>“If you don’t do well, of course it’s off,” concluded +Aymer, rather wearily, “the future is in your hands, +not ours: we only supply an opportunity.”</p> +<p>Sam said stolidly he quite understood that: that he +was much obliged, and he’d do his best.</p> +<p>“It will be a race between you,” remarked Mr. Aston, +looking from one boy to the other, “as to whether +you become a full-fledged grocer first or Christopher +a full-fledged engineer.”</p> +<p>But late that night when Mr. Aston was bidding +Aymer good-night, he remarked as he stood looking +down at him:</p> +<p>“You have done a good piece of road-making to-day, +old man.”</p> +<p>“No, I haven’t,” retorted Aymer, rather crossly. +“I’ve only supplied material for someone else to use +if they like.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></p> +<p>“Just to please Christopher?”</p> +<p>But Aymer did not answer that. Mr. Aston really +needed no answer, for he knew that long ago Sam’s +mother had made smooth a very rough piece of road +for another woman’s feet, and that woman was Christopher’s +mother.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIII' id='CHAPTER_XIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +</div> +<p>A thin, sickly-looking woman in a dingy black dress +sat by the roadside with a basket of bootlaces and buttons +at her feet. She rested her elbows on her knees +and gazed with unseeing eyes at the meadowland +below.</p> +<p>The burst shoe, the ragged gown, and unkempt head +proclaimed her a Follower of the Road, and the sordid +wretchedness that reached its lowest depth in lack of +desire for better things, was a sight to force Philanthropist +or Socialist to sink differences in one energetic +struggle to eradicate the type. If she thought at all it +was in the dumb, incoherent manner of her class: at +the actual moment a vision of a hat with red flowers +she had seen in a shop window flickered across her +mind, chased away by a hazy wonder as to how much +supper threepence halfpenny would provide. That +thought, too, fell away before a sudden, shrewd calculation +as to the possible harvest to be gleaned from +the two people just coming over the brow of the hill.</p> +<p>These two, a boy and a young man, were walking +with the swinging step and assurance of those who +have never bent before grim need.</p> +<p>“Young toffs,” she decided, and wondered if it +were worth while getting up or not.</p> +<p>The young man was listening eagerly to the equally +eager chatter of his companion, and they walked +quickly as those who were in haste to reach a goal until +they were level with the tramp woman, who watched +them with speculative eyes. The boy, who was about +twelve years old, was as good a specimen of a well-trained, +well-nurtured boy as one might find in the +country, the product of generations of careful selection +and high ideals, active, brimming over with vitality +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +and joyousness, with clear-cut features perhaps a trifle +too pronounced for his age. But the elder of the two, +who was twenty-one and might by appearance have +been some few years older, was a far stronger type. +There was a certain steady strength in the set of his +square head, in the straight look of his dark eyes. It +was a face that might in time be over-stern if the +kindly humorous lines of the mouth should fade. The +tramp woman saw nothing of this. She only observed +their absorption in each other and abandoned hope of +adding to her meagre fortune.</p> +<p>Max Aston’s quick blue eyes saw her and were +averted instantly, for she was not a pleasing object. +But at sight of her the shadow of some dominant +thought drove every expression from his companion’s +face but pity: and the pity of the strong for the weak +lies near to reverence.</p> +<p>He crossed the road abruptly, his hand in his pocket. +Max dawdled after him. The woman looked up with +awakened interest.</p> +<p>“It’s a long road, kind sir, and poor weather,” she +began in a professional drawl, and then stopped. The +young face looking down on her had something in its +expression to which she was not accustomed. It was +as if he checked her begging for very shame. She +noticed dully, he held his cap in his hand.</p> +<p>He said nothing at all, but dropped a coin in her +hand and went on, followed by Max, who was a little +puzzled.</p> +<p>The woman looked after them and forgot she had +not thanked him. She wished the moment would repeat +itself and the young gentleman stand before her +again. She had not taken it all in—taken <i>what</i> in, she +hardly knew.</p> +<p>She looked at the coin and it gleamed yellow in her +hand. It was half a sovereign. Oh, what luck, what +luck! It was a mistake of course—he had thought it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +was a sixpence no doubt, but he had gone, and she +had it.</p> +<p>A vista of unlikely comforts opened before her, even +the hat with red flowers was possible. It was careless +of him though.</p> +<p>She got up suddenly and looked down the hill. The +two were still in sight—the boy had stopped to tie his +boot-lace.</p> +<p>She looked at the half-sovereign again, and then set +off at a shuffling slipshod trot after them. They had +resumed their walk before she reached them, but the +boy looking back, saw her, and told the other, who +wheeled round sharply, frowning a little.</p> +<p>“’Ere, please sir, I wants to see yer,” she gasped, +out of breath, choking a little with unwonted exertion. +Christopher went back to her and waited gravely. +She opened her hand and the half-sovereign glinted +again in the light.</p> +<p>“Expect yer made a mistake, didn’t yer, sir?” she +asked in a hoarse whisper, and saw a wave of hot colour +under his brown skin.</p> +<p>“No,” he said awkwardly, “I hadn’t anything else. +It was good of you to trouble to come though. Go and +get some new boots and a good supper. It’s bad going +on the roads in autumn. I <i>know</i>, I’ve done it.”</p> +<p>She gasped at him bewildered, her hand still open.</p> +<p>“Yer a gentleman, yer are,”—her tone hesitated as +it were between the statement of a plain fact and doubt +of his last words.</p> +<p>“Winchester is three miles on. You can get decent +lodgings out by the Station Road to the left as you go +under the arch. Good-bye.” He raised his hat again +and turned away. The woman looked after him, gave +a prolonged sniff and limped back up the hill.</p> +<p>Max looked at Christopher out of the corner of his +eye, a little doubtfully. He had not come near, fastidiousness +outweighing curiosity. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span></p> +<p>“What did she want—and why did you take your +hat off?”</p> +<p>Christopher grew hot again.</p> +<p>“Oh, she’s a woman, and my mother and I tramped, +you know.”</p> +<p>Max did not know, and intimated that Christopher +was talking rot.</p> +<p>Christopher decapitated a thistle and explained +briefly, “Cæsar adopted me straight out of a workhouse. +My mother and I were tramping from London +to Southampton, and she got ill at Whitmansworth, the +other side of Winchester, and died there. The Union +kept me till Mr. Aston took me away. I thought +everyone knew.”</p> +<p>Embarrassment and curiosity struggled for the mastery +in the young aristocrat by his side.</p> +<p>“And you really did tramp?” he ventured at length.</p> +<p>“Yes, for a time, but we were not like that. My +mother was—was a lady, educated, and all that, I +think, only quite poor. She understood poor people +and tramps. We used to walk with them, talk to them. +They were kind.”</p> +<p>“And if Cæsar hadn’t adopted you?”</p> +<p>“I should be a workhouse porter by now, perhaps,” +laughed Christopher lightly and then was silent. A picture +of the possible or rather of the inevitable swam +before his eyes; a picture of a hungry, needy soul compassed +by wants, by fierce desires, with the dominant +will to fulfil them and no means, and the world against +him. He did not reason it out to a logical conclusion, +but he saw it clearly.</p> +<p>Max concluded the subject was not to be discussed +and went on with an explanation of why Christopher +had not been met in state after four years’ +absence.</p> +<p>“The motor was to come for you, but it’s gone +wrong, and Aymer said you’d rather walk than drive, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +and we were not quite certain of the train. Do you +really hate driving, Christopher?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I always think the horses will run away. +Aymer knows that. Is it really four years since I was +here, Max?”</p> +<p>“Yes, at Christmas. You never came down when +you were in town two years ago. It was a beastly +shame of you.”</p> +<p>“I’d only two months and Cæsar wanted me. That +was before I went to Switzerland, wasn’t it? They +know something about road-making there, Max, but +I’ve learnt more in France.”</p> +<p>“And all about motors, too?” questioned Max +eagerly. “Can you really drive one?”</p> +<p>Christopher laughed. “I’ve won a race or two, and +I’ve got a certificate. Perhaps it won’t pass in England.”</p> +<p>“Will you teach me to drive? I just long to: but +St. Michael says no—though he doesn’t mind Geoffry +Leverson teaching me to shoot. He’s home now, you +know, and comes over most days, and when Patricia +won’t play golf, he takes me shooting.”</p> +<p>“Patricia’s taken to golf then?”</p> +<p>“Yes. Geoffry says she’s splendid, but I expect +that’s just to make her play up.”</p> +<p>They had turned off the highroad now and were in +the fields following a path on the side of the sloping +meadows. The mist that hung over the river did not +reach up to them and Christopher could see the thick +foliage of the woods opposite, splashed with gold and +russet, heavy with moisture. The warm damp smell +of autumn was in the air. He took a long breath and +squared his shoulders.</p> +<p>“It’s good to be back. To think of its being four +whole years.”</p> +<p>“And two since you’ve seen any of us. Are you +going away again, Christopher?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span></p> +<p>“In the spring. There’s St. Michael.”</p> +<p>He was waiting by a stile leading into a wood that +gave quicker access to Marden Court, and he came +forward to meet them with undisguised pleasure.</p> +<p>Charles Aston had rendered but small homage to +time. He was as erect and thin as ever, hair perhaps +a little white, but the kind eyes had lost nothing +of their penetrating quality.</p> +<p>Christopher’s welcome could not have been warmer +had it been his own father. Max went ahead to find +Charlotte and left the two to come on together.</p> +<p>“How is Cæsar?” demanded Christopher, the moment +they were alone.</p> +<p>“Can’t you wait for his own report?”</p> +<p>“I want yours.” There was an urgent insistence in +his voice, and Mr. Aston looked at him sharply.</p> +<p>“Well, he is decidedly better since he came down +here, and I want him to stay, Christopher, to give up +London in the end perhaps altogether.”</p> +<p>“He has not been well then?”</p> +<p>“I have not thought so: but what made you suspicious, +my dear boy?”</p> +<p>“His letters have been over-witty and deliberately +satirical. Just the sort of things he says when something +is wrong.”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston nodded.</p> +<p>“Yes, I felt that. There seemed nothing physically +wrong, but I felt he must have more people round +him.”</p> +<p>“And you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I stay here too, and go up and down when +needs must.”</p> +<p>“And the Colonial Commission? How will it get +on without you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, they easily found a better man. As I explained +to Cæsar, I was only asked as a compliment,” +he answered simply. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span></p> +<p>Christopher kept to himself his dissent from this, +and was silent a moment, thinking how this man’s life +was spent to one end; and desirable as he felt that end +to be, he was of age now to feel a tinge of regret for +all that had been and still was sacrificed to it. An infinitesimal +sacrifice of personal feeling and convenience +was demanded of him now, if he were to second St. +Michael’s attempt to keep Aymer from Aston House +and teach him to permanently regard Marden Court +as home, for dearly as Christopher loved Marden it +was only there he was awake to the apparently indisputable +truth that he was not one of that dear family +who had done their best to make him forget once and +for all that obnoxious fact. His sense of proprietorship +in Aymer and of Aymer’s in him was undeniably +stronger in town than in the country, and this not entirely +because Nevil was to all intents master of Marden, +but rather that there Aymer himself was less isolated, +merged more into the general family life, and +became again part of the usages and traditions of his +own race.</p> +<p>Mr. Aston, without actually speaking the words, had +conveyed to Christopher his own dread lest some day +Aymer might be left alone, stranded mentally and +physically in the great silent London house that was +their home by force of dear companionship. Christopher +saw it in a flash, saw it so clearly that he involuntarily +glanced at his companion to assure himself of +the remoteness of that dread chance. Hard on this +thought pressed the knowledge that neither of these +two men who had done so much for him made the +least claim on his life or asked ought of him but success +in his chosen line—and that knowledge was both +sweet and bitter to him.</p> +<p>“Cæsar will be far better satisfied when you are actually +started at work,” Mr. Aston went on. “He +lives in your future, Christopher, he is more impatient +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +for this training period to be over than you yourself.”</p> +<p>“Because I am training and have no time to think. +The first real step is coming. I have a good chance, +only I must tell him first.”</p> +<p>He quickened his steps insensibly, for the thought +of Cæsar waiting was like a spur even to physical effort, +and even so his mind outraced his feet, till it +came full tilt against a girl coming directly from its +goal and momentarily obliterating it by her very +presence.</p> +<p>“Oh, Christopher, Christopher,” Patricia cried, +holding out both hands. “How long you have been! +I began to think you never would come again!”</p> +<p>Christopher, taking her hands, felt it was a long two +years since they parted and that time had made fair +road here meanwhile. His thoughts outpaced his feet +no longer, but kept decent step with the light footfall +beside him.</p> +<p>Mr. Aston, following, noted it all, and first smiled +and then sighed a little. The smile was for them and +the little sigh for Aymer waiting within.</p> +<p>He found, however, little reason to repeat his sigh +during the next few weeks, for Christopher was in +constant attendance on Aymer, and gave but the residue +of his time to the rest of the little world. His +suspicions as to Aymer’s well-being vanished away, for +the latter betrayed by no outward sign the sleepless +nights and long days spent in wrestling with intangible +dread of impending evil and the return of almost +forgotten black hours. Indeed, Christopher’s steady +dependable strength and vigorous energy seemed to +renew belief and confidence in the man with whom +life had broken faith. He was jealously greedy of +Christopher’s company, though he sought to hide this +under a mask of indifference, and he made a deliberate +attempt to keep him near him by the exercise of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span> +every personal and social gift he possessed. It was +not enough for him to hold his adopted son’s affection +by the bond of the past, it was not enough to be +loved by force of custom, his present individuality +struggled for recognition and won it. Deliberately, +skilfully and successfully he bound Christopher to +him by force of personality, by reason of being what +he was as apart from all he had done.</p> +<p>None of the household grudged him his triumph or +resented their own dismissal from attendance in the +West Room. The women-kind once more superfluous +to Cæsar’s well-being, resumed their wonted routine +with generous content.</p> +<p>Patricia’s routine appeared to consist very largely +of golf in which she and Geoffry Leverson could undoubtedly +give Christopher long odds. Christopher, +however, was undaunted, and the few hours he did +not spend in Aymer’s company, he spent toiling round +the links points behind Patricia, play she never so +badly. Geoffry complained bitterly to Patricia in private +that she was spoiling her game, but she, indifferent +to her handicap, continued to play with Christopher +and to ignore promised matches with Geoffry +whenever her old playmate chose to set foot on the +green.</p> +<p>At length Geoffry could stand it no longer and protested +loudly when Christopher challenged her, that +it was the third time she had put off a return match. +Christopher withdrew his challenge at once and declared +he would infinitely rather watch a match. Patricia +demurred and pouted, whereupon he sternly insisted +that promises must be kept.</p> +<p>She played Geoffry and beat him by one point, secured +by a rather vicious putt, then lightly requesting +him to take her clubs back to the Club House with +his, she summoned Christopher to take her home. +Geoffry had not protested again. He took early opportunity +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +to challenge Christopher instead and reaped +a small revenge of easy victories, half embittered, +half enhanced by Patricia’s plainly expressed annoyance +with the vanquished one. He knew she would +have condoled with him had he lost.</p> +<p>So the weeks slipped by unnoticed and autumn +merged into winter. Christmas came and went—with +festivities in which both Patricia and Christopher took +active part.</p> +<p>Christopher read and studied, but did nothing definite, +and the New Year slipped along with rapid, silent +foot. It was Cæsar who at length broke up the pleasant +drifting interlude and he did it as deliberately as +he did everything else, urged by his haunting desire +to see Christopher finally committed to the future he +had chosen.</p> +<p>“Why don’t you go and see those road experiments +they are trying in Kent?” Aymer asked one day.</p> +<p>“Frost-proof roads? They are no good. It was +tried in Germany. What I would like is to run down +to Cornwall and see how the Atlantic Road stands the +winter, only it’s such a beastly way down by train.”</p> +<p>“It would certainly interfere with golf?” returned +Cæsar drily.</p> +<p>“I’m beginning to play. Leverson says if I work +really hard I may do something in a few years. Patricia +says I shan’t even if I live to be as old as Methuselah; +so I must stick to it to prove her wrong.”</p> +<p>“That’s highly desirable, of course. All the same +she might leave you a little leisure to play round with +your hobby. You mustn’t work too hard or Sam will +beat you yet.”</p> +<p>“How is Sam?”</p> +<p>“He came to see me before I left town. He is doing +well. They will take him in as junior partner in +a year or two. I always said he’d do better than you.” +He sighed profoundly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span></p> +<p>“What a pity you didn’t adopt him instead of me,” +retorted Christopher teasingly. “Is it too late to exchange? +Buy him a senior partnership and leave me +a free lance.”</p> +<p>And because Aymer did not reply at once to his +familiar nonsense, he turned quickly and surprised a +strange look in the blue eyes, a fleeting, shadowy love, +passionate, fierce, jealous. It lost itself almost as he +caught it and Aymer drawled out in his indifferent +tone:</p> +<p>“It really might be worth considering. For then +I could go back to London and he could come home +every night. Besides, Sam really appreciates me.”</p> +<p>But it was Christopher who had no answer ready +this time.</p> +<p>The look he had surprised gripped his heart. It +revealed something hitherto unguessed by him. He +came and sat on the edge of the sofa, and though he +spoke lightly as was his manner, his voice and eyes +belied his words.</p> +<p>“On the contrary, Sam does not appreciate you at +all. He regards you as an erratic philanthropist with +a crank for assisting deserving boys.”</p> +<p>“A just estimate.”</p> +<p>“Not at all. It is wrong in every particular.”</p> +<p>“Prove it.”</p> +<p>“You are not erratic; you are methodical to a fault. +You are not a crank; therefore not a philanthropist. +And you show a lamentable disregard to the moral +qualities of those to whom you extend a helping hand.”</p> +<p>“Jealousy.”</p> +<p>“Jealousy of whom, please?”</p> +<p>“Of Sam.”</p> +<p>Christopher considered thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“I believe you are right,” he returned at last in a +tone of naïve surprise. “How stupid of me not to +have guessed before. I had always tried to think you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +helped him to gratify me. It was a great strain on +my credulity. Now I understand.”</p> +<p>“It had nothing to do with you at all,” retorted +Cæsar irritably, shifting his position a little, whereby +a cushion fell to the ground. With a gust of petulance +he pitched another after it, and then in rather a shamed +way, told Christopher to ring for Vespasian to put +the confounded things right.</p> +<p>But Christopher did no such thing. He put his +strong arm round Cæsar, raised him, and rearranged +the refractory cushions, talking the while to divert attention +from this unheard-of proceeding.</p> +<p>“I shall go to London to-morrow and study Sam +in order to oust him from your fickle affections,” he +announced. “Seriously, Cæsar. I ought to be running +round seeing things a bit.”</p> +<p>And Cæsar, having brought him to the conclusion +he wished, signified his entire approval.</p> +<p>The following morning when Christopher came in +to bid Cæsar good-bye, he found Mr. Aston also there, +standing by the fire with a humorous smile on his face +in evident appreciation of some joke.</p> +<p>“Christopher,” said Aymer severely, “I have +something important to say to you.”</p> +<p>Christopher drew himself up to attention as he had +learnt to do when under rebuke as a boy.</p> +<p>“If you are going to make a habit of running up +and down to town and the ends of the earth on ridiculous +business and worrying everyone’s life out with +time-tables (it was notorious Christopher never consulted +anyone about his comings and goings), you +must understand you cannot use Renata’s carriage and +pair for your station work. Max’s pony is not up to +your weight, neither is the station fly. I find on inquiry +my father occasionally requires his motor for his +own use; anyhow, it is not supposed to get muddy. So +you had better buy one for yourself.”</p> +<p>He held out a blank signed cheque. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span></p> +<p>Christopher looked from one to the other. It was +the dream of his life to possess a motor, but this free +gift of one was overwhelming.</p> +<p>“Of course,” went on Cæsar hastily, “I shan’t give +you a birthday present too. It’s to get out of that, you +understand. You are twenty-one, aren’t you? And +it’s only half mine, the other half is from St. Michael. +I don’t know where your manners are, Christopher; +I thought I had brought you up to be polite. Go and +thank the gentleman nicely.”</p> +<p>Christopher turned to Mr. Aston, but he was beyond +words. He could only look his overwhelming gratitude.</p> +<p>“It’s not I,” said that gentleman, hastily. “I only +told Cæsar I’d like to go shares—the lamps or bells or +something. Get a good horn with a good rich tone.”</p> +<p>Christopher took the cheque with shaking fingers.</p> +<p>“I can’t thank you, Cæsar, it’s too big. Why didn’t +you let me earn it?”</p> +<p>“I wanted to prove to you the justice of Sam’s +opinion of me. Hurry up; you’ll miss your train if +there is one at this hour at all.”</p> +<p>“You’ve not filled up the cheque.”</p> +<p>“Not I. From what I know of your business +methods you’ll get what you want at half the price I +should. I’m not going to let St. Michael fling away +good money.”</p> +<p>In his excitement Christopher forgot to wait for +Patricia, who had promised to walk to the station with +him. (Cæsar’s complaint anent the horse vehicles +was even more unfounded than his grievance over the +time-table.) But seeing him start, she ran after him +and made some candid and sisterly remarks on his behaviour +and was only mollified by a full explanation +of his unwonted state of elation. The rest of the walk +was spent in discussing the merits of various species +of motors.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIV' id='CHAPTER_XIV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +</div> +<p>Christopher spent the whole of the day inspecting +possible motors, perfectly aware all the time of the +one he meant to purchase, but in no wise prepared to +forego the pleasures of inspection. Sam was not free +that evening, so he dined with Constantia Wyatt, +whose elusive personality continued to remove her in +his eyes far from relationship with ordinary women. +She was going to a “first night” at His Majesty’s +Theatre as a preliminary to her evening’s amusement, +and her husband, honestly engrossed in work, seized +on Christopher at once as an adequate substitute for +his own personal escort. He would meet her with the +carriage after and go with her to the Duchess of +Z––, but it would be a great help to him to have +a few early evening hours for his book; so he explained +with elaborate care.</p> +<p>“Basil is so deliciously mediæval and quaint,” Constantia +confided to her young cavalier as the carriage +drove off; “he quite seriously believes women cannot +go to a theatre or anywhere without an escort, even in +our enlightened age. I assure you it is quite remarkable +the number of parties we attend together; people +are beginning to talk about it. If it’s impossible for +him to come himself he always seems to have hosts +of cousins or relations ready to take his place. Oh, +charming people; but quite a family corps, a sort of +‘Guard of Honour,’ as if I were Royalty—and really, +at my time of life.”</p> +<p>She turned her radiantly beautiful face to Christopher. +She was indeed one of those beloved of time and +it seemed to Christopher as he saw her in the crude +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +flashing glare from the streets without, that the past +ten years which had made of him a man had left her +a girl still, but since he was as yet no adept at pretty +speeches he kept the thought to himself and said shyly:</p> +<p>“It is not a question of age at all.”</p> +<p>“You, too, think me incompetent to look after myself?”</p> +<p>“It is not a matter of competence either, is it? I +mean, one can easily understand that Mr. Wyatt is +proud of being your....” He stopped lamely.</p> +<p>“Finish your sentence, you tantalising boy.”</p> +<p>“Your caretaker, then,” he concluded defiantly.</p> +<p>“Delicious,” she clapped her hands softly. “I +thought you were going to say ‘proprietor.’”</p> +<p>“It is you who are the proprietor of the caretaker, +isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“The new cadet is worthy his commission,” she +pronounced with mock gravity.</p> +<p>“It is a great honour, especially since I am not one +of the family.”</p> +<p>He never forgot this in her presence. It was as if +an overscrupulous remembrance of hard days forced +him to disclaim kinship with anything so finely feminine +as Constantia Wyatt; as if he found no right of +way from his own world of concrete fact into that +delicate gracious world of illusions in which he placed +her. Such barriers did not exist for her, however, +and thence it came that it was to Constantia that Christopher +spoke most easily of his relationship to the +Aston family.</p> +<p>She put aside his disclaimer now, almost indignantly.</p> +<p>“You belong to Aymer. How can you say you do +not belong to us, when you have been so good for +him?”</p> +<p>His main claim on them all lay in that, that he was +and had been good <i>for</i> the idolised Aymer Aston. He +recognised it as she spoke and was content, for the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +proud generosity of his nature was built on a humility +that had no underprops of petty pride.</p> +<p>“That was quite unpremeditated on my part,” he +protested whimsically; “you are all far too good to +me. I can never explain it to myself, but I accept it, +and realise I am a real millionaire.”</p> +<p>Constantia Wyatt started slightly. Christopher +noticed the diamonds on her hair sparkle as she leant +forward.</p> +<p>“How did you discover that?” she asked in a low +voice.</p> +<p>“My fortune? I was only ten when I came to +Cæsar, but I must have been a very dense child indeed +if I had not known even then that the luck of the gods +was mine—if I had not been sensible of the kindness––”</p> +<p>His voice was low also and he fell into his old bad +habit of leaving his sentence unfinished—hardly knowing +he had expressed so much.</p> +<p>Constantia gave a sigh of relief, and Christopher +again was only aware of the twinkling diamonds, of +melting lines of soft velvet and fur, a presence friendly +but unanalysable. They passed at that moment a +mansion of a prince of the world of money, and she +indicated it with a wave of her fan.</p> +<p>“Supposing, Christopher, you could realise some +of your imaginary fortune for <i>his</i>?”</p> +<p>“Heaven forbid. Think how it was made.”</p> +<p>“The world forgets that.”</p> +<p>“You do not forget,” he answered quickly; “besides +it’s much nicer to be adopted than to fight other +people for fortune.”</p> +<p>“I thought all boys liked fighting.”</p> +<p>“Not if there’s anything better to be done. A +Punch and Judy show or a funeral will stop the most +violent set-to. I’ve seen it times, when I was a boy in +the street. Sam and I raised a cry one day of ‘soldiers’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +to stop a chum being knocked down. Then we +ran.”</p> +<p>“Oh. Christopher, Christopher, can’t you forget +it?”</p> +<p>He shook his head.</p> +<p>“I don’t want to. It wouldn’t be fair to Cæsar. +Also I couldn’t.”</p> +<p>“Some day you will marry, and perhaps she will +rather you should forget.”</p> +<p>“No, she won’t, she is far too fond of Cæsar.”</p> +<p>He stopped abruptly. For one brief moment the +great voice of the streets and the yellow glare died +away; he was blinded by a bewildering white light that +broke down barriers undreamed of within his soul. +Then the actual comparative darkness of the carriage +obscured it and he found himself again conscious of +the scent of roses, the sheen of satin and soft velvet, +and his heart was beating madly. He had stumbled +over the unsuspected threshold, surprised the hidden +temple of his own heart, and this, inopportunely, prematurely, +and, to his everlasting confusion, in the +presence of another.</p> +<p>He clanged to the gates of his inner consciousness +in breathless haste and set curb on his momentary +shame and amazement. The break was so short his +companion had barely time to identify the image disclosed +when his voice went on with quiet deliberation.</p> +<p>“Or will be when she appears. A case of ‘if she +be not fair to “he,” what care I how fair she be.’”</p> +<p>Constantia with rare generosity offered no hindrance +to the closing of the door and discreetly pretended +she had not been aware it had opened. Yet +she smiled to herself and decided it was quite a desirable +image and very advantageous to Aymer. Also, +she reflected with pleasure, she had predicted the result +from Patricia’s and Christopher’s intimacy, to her +father years ago. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span></p> +<p>The piece at the theatre was a modern comedy which +did not greatly interest him, indeed, he was more concerned +in keeping his attention from that newly-discovered +temple within than in unravelling the mysteries +of the rather thread-bare plot of the play. Being, +however, quite unaccustomed to dealing with this dual +condition of mind it is to be feared he was a little “distrait” +and mechanical of speech. Constantia allowed +him the first act to play out his mood and then with +charming imperiousness claimed his full attention, +gained it, and with it, his gratitude for timely distraction.</p> +<p>Half way through the play he remembered this was +the theatre at which Mrs. Sartin and Jessie were employed. +He mentioned the fact to Mrs. Wyatt, who +remarked gravely their names were not on the programme. +Christopher equally gravely explained quite +briefly. If he found nothing surprising in his own +interest in these friends of the past, he never made +the error of imagining they would be of interest to +newer friends. There was a certain independence in +his attitude towards all affairs that touched him +nearly, which even at this early age made him a free +citizen of the world in which he chanced to move. This +attitude of mind was more in evidence to-night than +he had imagined. Personally, he quite appreciated the +fact he was sitting in a box with one of the loveliest +women in London, and that she was everything that +was charming and nice to him, but it never occurred +to him that half the men in the theatre would have +given a big share of their worth to be in his place; +he was almost childishly unconscious of the envious +glances he earned. Constantia was not: neither was +she blind to his attitude of personal content and impersonal +oblivion. It amused her vastly, and she compiled +an exceedingly entertaining letter to Aymer on +the strength of it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></p> +<p>“He handed me over to Basil in the vestibule afterwards,” +she concluded, “with the most engaging air +of having been allowed a special treat and fully appreciating +it, and departed straightway to conduct +Mrs. Sartin, dresser at the theatre, to her house in the +wilds of Lambeth. He owned it in the most ingenuous +way, seeing nothing whatever of pathos in it. +Does he lack sense of humour?”</p> +<p>Aymer, ignoring the rest of the letter, refuted this +query with pages of vigorous sarcasm, to the complete +delight and triumph of his sister.</p> +<p>Christopher, having ascertained from a suspicious +doorkeeper that Mrs. Sartin would not be free for +twenty minutes, cooled his heels in a dark, draughty +passage with what patience he could.</p> +<p>He seized on Mrs. Sartin as she came unsuspectingly +down a winding stair, and bore her off breathless, +remonstrating, but fluttering with pride, in a hansom.</p> +<p>“I’m only up for a few days,” he explained. “Sam +dines with me to-morrow and I want you to come out +somewhere in the afternoon. Crystal Palace, or +wherever Jessie likes.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Sartin’s face and Mrs. Sartin’s person had expanded +in the last few years and her powers of expressing +emotion seemed to have expanded with her +person. Disappointment was writ large on her ample +countenance.</p> +<p>“Well, now, if that isn’t a shame and a contrariwise +of purpose. I’ve taken a job, Mr. Christopher, +for that blessed afternoon. I’ve promised to dress +Miss Asty, who is making a debût at a matiny at the +Court. Eliza Lowden, she was goin’ to dress her, but +she can’t set a wig as I can.”</p> +<p>“What a nuisance. But, anyhow, Jessie isn’t engaged, +is she?”</p> +<p>For an instant he had a glimpse of Mrs. Sartin’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +full face, dubious, questioning, even hostile, but to +him it was merely the result of flickering light and +conveyed nothing.</p> +<p>“I don’t rightly know,” she said slowly, “maybe +she doesn’t care much for gadding about.”</p> +<p>“Rubbish,” he retorted contemptuously, “if you +can’t come, Jessie must anyway.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Sartin held firmly to the carriage door and the +oscillation of the cab caused her to nod violently, but +it was not in assent to Christopher’s proposition. She +appeared to be turning something over in her slow +mind.</p> +<p>“I don’t know but what I could arrange with +Eliza,” she remarked.</p> +<p>“Of course you can, like a good woman; and you +and Jessie come up to Aston House at one o’clock and +say where you’d like to go, and we’ll go.”</p> +<p>Martha demurred. “Mr. Aston won’t like it.”</p> +<p>“Won’t like what?”</p> +<p>“Our comin’ to ’is ’ouse, like as if we ’ad any claim +on you.”</p> +<p>“Do I or you know Mr. Aston best?” he demanded +imperiously. “Claim indeed. Martha, you dear old +stupid, where would I be now, if you hadn’t taken my +mother in?”</p> +<p>“That were just a chance, Mr. Christopher, because +I ’appened to be comin’ ’ome late and your pore ma +was took bad on the bridge as I crossed, and bein’ a +woman what ’ad a family, I saw what was the +matter.”</p> +<p>“What was it more than a chance that Cæsar in +looking for a boy to adopt stumbled on the son of +someone he used to know?”</p> +<p>Again the oscillation made Mrs. Sartin nod vigorously. +She bestowed on her companion another of +those shrewd, dubious glances, began a sentence and +stopped. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span></p> +<p>“Yes. What were you saying?” asked Christopher +absently.</p> +<p>“You’ve come quite far enough, Mr. Christopher,” +she announced, with the air of a woman come to a +decision, “you just tell that man on the top to stop +and let me out. Thanking you all the same, but I +don’t care to be seen driving ’ome this time of night +and settin’ folks a-talking. You set me down, there’s +a dear Mr. Christopher.”</p> +<p>She got her way in the matter of dismissing the cab, +but not in dismissing Christopher, her primary desire, +lest an indiscreet tongue should prompt her to say more +than was “rightful,” as she explained to Jessie.</p> +<p>“For if the dear innocent don’t see ’ow the land +lays, it isn’t for me to show ’im, and Mr. Aymer so +good to Sam.”</p> +<p>“Maybe you are all wrong,” said Jessie shortly.</p> +<p>Mrs. Sartin sniffed contemptuously.</p> +<p>The Sartins no longer inhabited Primrose Buildings, +but were proud inhabitants of a decent little +house in a phenomenally dull street, sufficiently near +the big “Store” to suit Sam’s convenience. Sam +himself came to the door and, late as it was, insisted +on walking back with Christopher into the region of +cabs, and, becoming engrossed in conversation, naturally +walked far beyond it.</p> +<p>“This partnership business,” began Sam at once, +“I do wish, Chris, you’d get Mr. Aymer to make it a +loan business. I’d be a sight better pleased.”</p> +<p>“I can’t for the life of me see why,” Christopher +objected with a frown. “It’s only a matter of a few +hundred pounds, and if Cæsar chooses to spend it on +you instead of buying a picture or enamel, or that sort +of toy, why should you object. It’s not charity.”</p> +<p>“Then what is it?” demanded Sam, “because I’m +not a toy. Don’t fly out at me, Chris, be reasonable. +I’m as grateful to him as I can be, and I mean to use +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +the chance he’s given me all I can. But this partnership +business beats me. It’s all very well for him to +do things for you. Of course he couldn’t do less; but +how do I come in?”</p> +<p>A drunken man reeled out of a house and lurched +against Christopher, who put out his hand to steady +him without a word of comment, and when the drinker +had found his balance, he turned again to Sam with +sharp indignation.</p> +<p>“He could do a jolly sight less for me and still be +more generous than most people’s fathers. There’s no +‘of course’ about it.”</p> +<p>Sam stared stolidly in front of him.</p> +<p>“That’s just it. It’s one thing to do it for someone +belonging to one, and another thing to do it for a +stranger,” he persisted.</p> +<p>“Well, that’s just how I feel, only I don’t make a +fuss. It’s Cæsar’s way, and a precious good way for +us.”</p> +<p>They parted at last with no better understanding +on the vexed subject, and Christopher, once back at +Aston House, sat frowning over the fire instead of going +to bed. Why all of a sudden had this question of +his amazing indebtedness to Aymer been so persistently +thrust on him. Hitherto he had accepted it with +generous gratitude, without question, had recognised +no room for speculation, allowed no play to whispers +of curiosity. It was Cæsar’s will. Now he was suddenly +aware, however he might close his mind, others +speculated; however guard his soul from inquisitiveness, +others questioned, and it angered him for +Cæsar’s sake. His mother had never spoken to him +of the past, never opened her lips as to the strange +sacrifice she had made for her unborn child, except +once when they were hurriedly leaving London by +stealth, after the episode with Martha Sartin’s rascally +husband. Mrs. Hibbault had remarked wearily: “I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +wonder, Jim, shall I spend my life taking you out of +the way of bad men?”</p> +<p>When he asked her if she had done it before she +answered: “I took you from your father.” It was +the only time he remembered her mentioning that unknown +father; he recollected still how her face had +changed and she had hurried her steps, as if haunted +by a new suspicion.</p> +<p>It gave him quite unreasonable annoyance that these +thoughts intruded themselves to-night, when he +wanted to give his full attention to the wonder and +glory of the discovery he had made in Constantia +Wyatt’s company. That was, indeed, a matter of real +moment. How had he contrived to be blind to it so +long? He had not reached the age of twenty-one without +entertaining vague theories concerning love, and +having definitely decided that it had nothing to do +with the travesty of its name which had confronted +him on his wanderings. Neither taste nor training, +nor the absorbing passion for his work had left him +time or wish to explore this field which roused only an +impatient contempt when thrust on his notice. Of +Love itself, as before stated, he held vague theories: +regarding it rather as a far-off event which would +meet him in future years and land him eventually at +Hymen’s feet. And here he found all such theories +suddenly reversed. The first moment the idea of marriage +was presented to his notice the vision of the only +possible bride for him stood out with quite definite +distinctness. Instead of Love being a prelude to the +thought of Marriage, that thought had been the crashing +chords that had opened his mind to Love. But +the Love had been already there, unrecognised. He +found he could no way now imagine himself as apart +from Patricia. To eliminate her presence from his +heart was to lose part of his individuality; to separate +his practical life from her was as if he wantonly destroyed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +a limb. Away from her actual presence and +before this dual conception of themselves he was of +assured courage, thankfulness and strange joy, but the +moment his thoughts flew to her in concrete form, to +Patricia Connell at Marden Court, he experienced a +reversion: his confidence was gone, the assured vision +became a very far-away possibility, a glory which he +might hardly hope to attain.</p> +<p>Very slowly this latter aspect blotted out the first +triumphant joy of his discovery. Mundane things, +such as Renata Aston’s wishes, Cæsar’s consent, and +even the person of Geoffry Leverson interposed between +Patricia and him. This mood had its sway and +in turn succumbed to an awakening of his dormant +will and every fighting instinct. Patricia must be his, +was his potentially, but he recognised she was not his +for the asking. He would have to acquire the right to +say to Cæsar, “I want to marry Mrs. Aston’s sister.” +Aymer might easily make the way smooth for him, if +he would. He had no reason then for believing he +would oppose the idea. Yet Christopher knew that in +the gamut of possible needs and desires the one thing +he could not freely accept from Cæsar’s hands was +his wife. His life was before him, before Patricia +too. When he reached this point in his deliberation +he made a sudden movement. The fire had gone out +and it was very cold. Christopher decided it was time +to go to bed.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XV' id='CHAPTER_XV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +</div> +<p>Jessie proved by no means averse to “gadding +about,” as her mother expressed it. She and Mrs. Sartin +turned up punctually at Aston House, though +laden with an air of desperate resolve. On their way +they had both cheerfully concealed some tremulous +qualms and neither had ventured to express a dormant +wish that Mr. Christopher had chosen some other spot +for lunch than the lordly, sombre, half-opened house. +It was not until they stood beneath the great portico +that their vague discomfort got the upper hand, and +Mrs. Sartin agreed without demur to Jessie’s suggestion +that they should seek a smaller entrance. As they +were turning away the great door swung open and +Christopher came out.</p> +<p>“How jolly of you to be so punctual,” he cried, +greeting them warmly. “Where were you off to? +Did you think I wasn’t at home because the blinds +were down? They don’t open all the house for me,” +he added, leading the way through the great hall. “I +live on the garden side.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Sartin had no mind to hurry: she wanted to +take in the solid beauties as she passed. Jessie plucked +her nervously by the sleeve seeing Christopher was +outpacing them, and terrified of being left in that +labyrinth of corridor without a guide. However, once +within the sunny little room with its homely comforts +and Christopher’s kindly self for host, they regained +their wonted composure.</p> +<p>The smallness of the staff left in charge at Aston +House gave Christopher an excuse for dispensing with +the services of Burton, the footman, and the meal was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +a great success. It never occurred to the host to think +these good kind friends of his in any way out of place +here. His sense of humour was quite unruffled, nay, +he was even genuinely pleased to see the good, ample +Martha, the strings of her black bonnet untied, her +face wreathed in smiles, vigorously clearing out a +tart dish, and Jessie’s homely features lit up with passive +enjoyment, her brown eyes shining beneath the +ridiculous curls.</p> +<p>They had chosen the Hippodrome for their afternoon’s +amusement, and there was plenty of time after +lunch to show them some of the glories of Aston +House. Christopher led them through the shrouded +rooms, but the treasures he displayed to view were +not so much those of artistic merit as those which had +pleased his own boyish fancy years before. Passing +down a corridor he stopped by a remote closed door. +Jessie was examining some Wedgewood plaques a +little way off. Christopher looked at Mrs. Sartin with +a queer little smile.</p> +<p>“When I was a kid,” he said rather shamefacedly, +“I used to play that my mother was going about the +place with me. You see there were no women-folk, +and the pretence seemed to help things. I used to +make it seem more real by always starting here, and +pretending that was her room. It was the only door +that was always locked.”</p> +<p>“Lor’, what a queer idea!” ejaculated Mrs. Sartin, +gazing suspiciously at the closed door.</p> +<p>Christopher laughed. “Oh, I’ve been in since; +there’s nothing there but newspapers, quite a dull little +room. But it was an odd fancy. My feeling was so +strong I used to take her round and show her things +I’ve shown you to-day. I always wanted to show them +to someone instead of the real treasures, which are +rather dull, you know.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Sartin said again it was very queer. She followed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +Jessie and Christopher reluctantly with backward +glances towards the door, full of puzzled suspicion. +When they were again in the hall it was time +to start for the Hippodrome, and there was a great +deal of patting of hats and tying of strings before a +Venetian mirror.</p> +<p>But Aymer Aston’s room, with its world-famed +pictures, was unvisited.</p> +<p>When the Hippodrome performance was over and +he had seen his guests safely homeward, Christopher +called on Constantia Wyatt and found her in. She +seemed in no wise surprised to see him, but asked him +promptly when he was going down to Marden.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” he said slowly, his eyes on the fire, +“I don’t think I shall go back yet.”</p> +<p>Constantia rang the bell and told the footman she +was not at home, and then drew her chair up to the +fire and made Christopher some fresh tea.</p> +<p>“Is London proving so very attractive?” she inquired.</p> +<p>“I shan’t stay in town. I think I shall go abroad +again. I want to think.”</p> +<p>“Dear, dear. Is Marden such a bad atmosphere +for the intelligence?”</p> +<p>He coloured up boy-like and then laughed.</p> +<p>“There are too many clever people to help one +think there. Also there is a man in Belgium trying +some private road experiments. I want to help him.”</p> +<p>“What will Aymer say to it?”</p> +<p>“He thinks I’ve been idle long enough.”</p> +<p>“And the man in Belgium will help you to think?”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid that’s my own job.”</p> +<p>Constantia rose and wandered round the room, +vaguely touching a flower here and there and presently +came to stand behind her visitor’s chair. She was +thinking how young he was, and how strong, and that +Patricia was a fortunate girl. Her eyes were very +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +soft and kind as she bent over his chair and touched +his shoulder with her fingers.</p> +<p>“Christopher, you are in love!”</p> +<p>Very young indeed, was her inward comment on his +startled wondering face turned to her.</p> +<p>“How do you know?” he asked, making no denial +of the fact. Denial would have savoured of disloyalty +to his new kingdom.</p> +<p>She laughed gently. “Don’t you even know that? +What a lot I could teach you if Aymer would hand +you over. Listen, Master Christopher, love is the only +thing men want to think about alone, just as it’s the +only thing a woman never wants to keep to herself. +You could think to much better advantage at Marden +but it’s no use telling you so. You won’t believe +it.”</p> +<p>“I do believe it, only it’s not a question of <i>my</i> advantage, +you see.”</p> +<p>“There spoke Aymer’s pupil. Remember roads +take a good deal of making and short cuts were made +for—lovers.”</p> +<p>She returned to the fire and stood there looking at +him with an interest that surprised herself: a tall, +gracious presence whose knowledge of his secret hurt +not one bit, so clearly did it lie within the realms +wherein all gracious, tender women reign.</p> +<p>Then she changed the subject quite abruptly, thrust +it back into those hazy regions of speculation from +which Christopher had so hardly and impatiently +dragged it the previous night.</p> +<p>“I wonder if your mother were alive, if she would +be satisfied with you, Christopher, and if she would +still want to make a socialist of you.”</p> +<p>“My mother?” he echoed dully.</p> +<p>For a while he struggled with a strange inability to +lay hold on the shadowy form he knew so well. He +looked round the beautiful room that was but a setting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +to a lovely woman and then back at her. Why had +she spoken of his mother? He again attempted to +crystallise the thought of the dearly loved, defeated +woman in the presence of her to whom the world denied +nothing.</p> +<p>“I can’t do it,” he said aloud with a quick breath.</p> +<p>“Do what?” she queried swiftly, but got no answer.</p> +<p>“Was my mother a socialist?” he asked presently +with difficulty.</p> +<p>“So I have always understood.”</p> +<p>“Who told you so?”</p> +<p>“My father. I thought you knew that, Christopher, +or I should not have mentioned it. All I know +is, she chose to be poor rather than expose you to the +dangers of wealth. I know nothing else.”</p> +<p>Christopher stood up. “Thank you,” he said, “I +believe I did know that, but I have never been reminded +of it. I do not know her story: I suppose she +did not wish me to know it, but I do know whatever +she chose, whatever she did, it was chosen and done +because it seemed to her the right course and therefore +the only one she could take.”</p> +<p>Constantia nodded, still gazing at the fire.</p> +<p>“Aymer’s training on the top of that,” she mused, +“I suppose you are accounted for.”</p> +<p>He grew red and looked a boy again. “I should +have much to account for if I failed them.”</p> +<p>“Them?” She swung round.</p> +<p>“Cæsar and my mother.”</p> +<p>There was a pause.</p> +<p>“And so you will go to Belgium and think?” she +said lightly.</p> +<p>“No, I shall go to Belgium and work.”</p> +<p>“You said <i>think</i>,” she insisted.</p> +<p>“I have thought here. I was not sure when I came, +but I am now.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span></p> +<p>“May I know what you have thought?”</p> +<p>For a moment the strangeness of speaking to her +like this held him dumb. How did it happen she +should know so much and must know more, she who +had been barely a real individual to him before? It +bewildered and confused him. He did not understand +that the unspoken passionate claim he made on one +woman had broken the barriers between him and +woman-kind, that because he loved Patricia Connell +he could speak to Constantia Wyatt, for they stood +together on holy ground.</p> +<p>“You have every right. You helped me after all,” +he said doubtfully, but smiling “I ought not to have +hesitated. Cæsar is waiting for me to make roads, +not to take short cuts.”</p> +<p>“You think love can better afford to wait than +Cæsar?”</p> +<p>“I have my life before me.”</p> +<p>“And if you lose her?”</p> +<p>“It is settled,” he said simply.</p> +<p>She drew in her breath. By every law of man he +was right, and yet all the woman in her cried out +against this decision as falseness to some other law +imperfectly understood, but clamorous for recognition. +Nevertheless how her heart went out to him +for the quiet finality of that refusal to yield to a law +not of his own making! She was proud he was so +much the handiwork of Aymer, while she recognised +the very weakness of his strength.</p> +<p>“He will lose her,” she mused as she sat alone when +he had gone, “and it would break Aymer’s heart if +he knew, but he won’t know. He has succeeded in +making a man of him, but, oh, what a nice boy he +would have been!”</p> +<p>So Christopher turned his back on the great discovery +and went to Belgium. Whereupon Patricia +complained bitterly, but her golf improved, and Geoffry +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +Leverson, who knew nothing of road-making, +started on a very short cut indeed.</p> +<p>The Roadmaker remained in Belgium longer than +he expected and in the laboratory of a great man +stumbled on the key of the discovery that in a few +years was to make him famous from one end of +Europe to the other.</p> +<p>When the apple blossoms were again blushing pink +across the land and the blue sky was piled high with +dreams of love castles, Christopher remembered the +short cut and abruptly announced his intention of returning +home. He sent no warning of his coming, +but arrived one day at Aston House with his beloved +car. It was in his heart to continue his journey +straight away, but thinking what pleasure it would +give Aymer to watch the practical working of his experiment, +he put aside the dictates of his desires and +spent the day purchasing materials. Also he called on +Constantia and found himself incomprehensibly making +excuses for the delay. “I shall go down early +to-morrow,” he said; “it can make no difference, since +they do not know I am in England.”</p> +<p>“No, I don’t suppose it can,” said Constantia +thoughtfully.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVI' id='CHAPTER_XVI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +</div> +<p>Christopher flecked an imaginary speck of dust from +the burnished metal of his car. He was all ready to +start, but seeing a postman coming up the drive, +waited to take down the latest delivery of letters, and +as he waited a hansom drove up, and since his car +occupied the portico, stopped at the side. A big form +emerged with a jovial red face and wide shoulders. +It was six years since Christopher had seen the man, +but his name and personality and, above all, the antipathy +with which he had formerly inspired him flashed +with lightning vividness to his mind. Peter Masters +glanced at Christopher with a momentary puzzled look +and turned to ring the bell.</p> +<p>“If you want to see Mr. Aston, Mr. Masters, he +is at Marden, and Aymer also. I’m just going down.”</p> +<p>“Ah.” The keen eyes searched him up and down. +“I’ve seen you before; can’t place you, though; you +aren’t Nevil’s boy.”</p> +<p>“No, I’m––” Christopher hardly knew why he +changed the form of his answer, or that he had. “I’m +the boy Aymer adopted. You saw me about six years +ago.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I remember. Christopher Aston, they call +you. You did not like me. What have you done with +that clever head of yours, eh?”</p> +<p>Christopher carefully examined a nut on the car.</p> +<p>“Well, never mind. When will Cousin Charles +be back?”</p> +<p>“Not until May if he can help it.”</p> +<p>“Not well?”</p> +<p>“Quite well, thank you.”</p> +<p>Peter Masters stood biting his lip and considering. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +The footman brought out some letters which Christopher +put in his pocket and then mounted.</p> +<p>“Can I take any message for you?” he asked +politely.</p> +<p>“Are you going straight to Marden now?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Alone?”</p> +<p>Christopher devoutly hoped he was, but a sudden +fear assailed him: he would not make the momentous +journey in solitude. He answered somewhat indistinctly.</p> +<p>“You might run me down; I must see Cousin +Charles.”</p> +<p>“I should warn you it is a new road to me and +I’ve had my car nearly a year; it’s due to go wrong +somehow, and I drive rather fast.”</p> +<p>“I expect you set sufficient value on your own life +to insure mine.”</p> +<p>“It will be cold. You can’t ride in that thin coat.”</p> +<p>“You pass the Carlton; I’m staying there. It +won’t delay us two minutes. What luck.”</p> +<p>He walked round and got into the car, oblivious of +the trifling fact its owner had neither acquiesced nor +expressed an enthusiasm over the luck.</p> +<p>“I hope he is nervous,” thought Christopher vindictively, +“though there’s not much chance of it. He +hasn’t much hair to stand on end, but I’ll do my best +to make it.”</p> +<p>Peter Masters rolled himself contentedly in the +spare rug. “Ready,” he said cheerfully.</p> +<p>Christopher, however, made no attempt to start. He +beckoned to the footman.</p> +<p>“Fetch me the blue paper-covered book you’ll find +on the second left-hand shelf of the low book-case in +my room, Burton.”</p> +<p>He waited immovable while the man went on the +errand, being quite determined to start unprompted by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +Mr. Masters if he started at all. The old butler came +out and acknowledged Mr. Masters’s presence with +a deferential bow. He addressed himself to Christopher.</p> +<p>“Mr. Christopher, will you tell Mr. Aymer we’ve +raised the Raphael in his room, as he said, four inches, +but the paper is a little faded and it shows. What +will he like us to do?”</p> +<p>Christopher nodded. “All right, I’ll tell him. I +shall probably be up again next week.”</p> +<p>“We shall be glad to see you again, sir.”</p> +<p>Burton returned in indecorous hurry with the book. +Christopher bade them good-bye in a friendly way and +the car glided quietly down the drive out into the busy +thoroughfare.</p> +<p>“You are quite at home there,” remarked Mr. Masters +affably.</p> +<p>“It happens to be my home.”</p> +<p>It was a very busy hour and the driver of the car +might reasonably be excused if he were silent. At all +events if Mr. Masters spoke, Christopher did not hear +him. They slipped in and out of the traffic, glided +round corners, slid with smooth swiftness along free +stretches of road, crept gingerly across a maze of +cross-ways and drew up at the Carlton.</p> +<p>Peter Masters, who appreciated the situation and +found humour in it, plunged into that Palace of Travellers +and reappeared in an incredibly short time, +coated for the occasion.</p> +<p>“Now,” he said cheerily, “we are ready for the +fray—when you are ready, Master Christopher,” he +added with a twinkle in his eye.</p> +<p>But Christopher’s ill-temper had evaporated with +the short wait. After all, the man was Aymer’s cousin, +and he couldn’t help being a brute, and if he really +wanted to see St. Michael perhaps it was a piece of +luck for him that the postman was late. So he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +laughed and said a little shyly he hoped Mr. Masters +would not mind his not talking till they were out of +the streets.</p> +<p>“I shall expect conversation with compound interest,” +returned the other good-humouredly.</p> +<p>He was, however, quite quiet until Christopher +turned into a narrow back street.</p> +<p>“That’s not your best way,” said Peter Masters +sharply.</p> +<p>“I’m going to call on a friend,” replied the driver +without apology.</p> +<p>They threaded their way through a maze of small +ill-looking streets, slowly enough, for there were children +all over the road; not infrequently a big dray +forced them to proceed backwards. Masters noted +that Christopher never expected the legitimate traffic +should give way to him. They emerged at last on a +crowded thoroughfare of South London, where small +shops elbowed big ones and windows blazed with preposterous +advertisements. There were trams too, and +scarcely room for the big car between rail and pavement. +Presently they stopped before a prosperous-looking +grocery store. A white-aproned man rushed +out with undisguised complacency to wait on the fine +equipage.</p> +<p>“I want to see Mr. Sartin if he’s free,” said Christopher, +and waited quietly.</p> +<p>In a minute Sam was with them, white-aproned, +pencil behind ear. To Masters’s amusement his companion +greeted the young grocer with the familiarity +of long friendship.</p> +<p>“I heard from Jessie the other day,” said Christopher +when he had explained his appearance; “what +about this man Cladsley? Is she going to marry +him?”</p> +<p>Sam looked down the street, a little frown on his +face. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></p> +<p>“Jessie’d no business to write you. Cladsley’s all +right. Don’t you worry about Jessie.”</p> +<p>“I’m not worrying,” laughed the other, “I only +wanted to be sure it was suitable and all that.”</p> +<p>“I’ll look after Jessie.” The words were ungracious, +but Sam looked worried and uncertain. “You’ve +done enough for us.”</p> +<p>“You old dog in the manger,” persisted Christopher +good-temperedly, “you’ll never let me do anything +for Jessie, and, after all, it was she who used to take +my part when you fought me, Master Sam, and +wouldn’t let you bully me.”</p> +<p>Sam grinned. “Yes, it was always Jim that was +in the right then. Don’t you bother. Cladsley’s a +good sort if she would only make up her mind.”</p> +<p>“I gathered his job would be up soon and I thought +I might find another for him if it’s all straight with +them. That’s why I came to see you.”</p> +<p>Sam appeared still reluctant.</p> +<p>“It’s all beastly stuck-up pride on your part,” concluded +Christopher after more argument. “I expect +you’ll cut me next; you are getting too prosperous, +Mr. Sartin.”</p> +<p>But they parted good friends, and the car re-threaded +its way through the crowded streets out into +a meaner, more deserted neighbourhood, till at length +they emerged on a long empty straight road with +small yellow brick houses on either side, as yet uninhabited.</p> +<p>“What’s the engaging young grocer’s name?” +asked Masters abruptly.</p> +<p>“Sartin—Sam Sartin.”</p> +<p>“Known him long?”</p> +<p>“We were children together.”</p> +<p>“Relations, perhaps?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Why did he call you Jim?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span></p> +<p>“I used to be Jim.”</p> +<p>“James Aston?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“What then?”</p> +<p>“I’ve forgotten,” said Christopher very deliberately.</p> +<p>Mr. Masters laughed genially. “I like a good liar. +You don’t want to tell me anything about yourself. +Very likely you are wise, but all the same I am very +curious to know all about you—who you are, and +how you came to the Astons, and who was your +mother, and when and where Aymer met her. You +see,” he added confidentially, “I used to be about with +Aymer a good bit and I thought I knew all––” He +stopped abruptly. If he were being purposely tactless +he realised he had gone far enough.</p> +<p>“I do not think Aymer ever met my mother. I am +certain you haven’t. Mr. Aston used to know her, +and suggested Aymer’s adopting me when he heard +I was left stranded in a workhouse. I was just a +workhouse boy. Now, are you satisfied as to my private +history, sir?”</p> +<p>“No,” retorted the inquisitor good-humouredly as +ever, “you must have had a father, you know.”</p> +<p>“It seems possible. I do not remember him.”</p> +<p>He began to resign himself to fate and this Juggernaut +of a man who rolled other people’s feelings +flat with no more compunction than a traction engine.</p> +<p>“Fathers are useful. You may want to remember, +some-day.”</p> +<p>“I’m quite satisfied at present.”</p> +<p>“I’m not suggesting you have anything to complain +of. Aymer doesn’t do things by halves. Christopher +is as much a family name as Aston, for example.”</p> +<p>Something in his tone caught Christopher’s attention +and he looked at him sharply. Peter Masters +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +was gazing straight before him with that same cynical +smile on his face it had worn when Christopher was +first introduced to him six years ago.</p> +<p>“I wonder why on earth they did that?” ruminated +the Juggernaut. “Cousin Charles is capable of any +unworldly folly, but Aymer was a man of the world +once. It looks like colossal bluff.”</p> +<p>And then the meaning of all this swept over Christopher’s +mind like a wave of fire, scorching his soul, +desecrating and humiliating the very mainspring of +his life.</p> +<p>Aymer’s son! He knew Masters believed it as +surely as if he had blurted it out in his own unbearable +way, and it was not to save him, it was from no sense +of decency Masters had not said it audibly. Christopher +longed to fling the unspoken lie back to him, to +refuse the collaboration of detail that the passing +minutes crowded on his notice. He put on speed; +tried to outstrip the evil thought of it, to think only +of Cæsar, the dear companion of his days, the steady +friend, the unobtrusive mentor and guide. But a +thought he could not outstrip slipped into his mind +so insidiously and stealthily, he could not tell how or +whence it came.</p> +<p>“You only know Cæsar; you never knew Aymer +Aston of the silent past.”</p> +<p>Faster and faster rushed the car in futile attempt +to outpace the whispered treason. The speed indicator +stood at 40 and still mounted.</p> +<p>“I should like to remark,” said Peter Masters +thoughtfully, “that I have not yet made my will and +it would cause some inconvenience to a vast number +of people to have several millions left masterless.”</p> +<p>“It’s an open road,” returned Christopher, “I know +what I’m at. I expect I enjoy life as much as you do.”</p> +<p>He slowed down suddenly, however, to about +twenty miles an hour to pass an old woman in a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +donkey cart, and the hateful thought swept on in advance +apparently, for he overtook it again when their +speed ran up ten points.</p> +<p>Christopher had chosen a rather circuitous route +which offered fewer villages than the general high-road. +It was a glorious day, the banks were starry +with primroses, and all the hedgerows, just bursting +into green rosettes, were hunting ground for birds +innumerable.</p> +<p>Green emerald grass in water-meadows, fresh green +growth on the hillside, and red bud and green promise +hung from every tree. The crisp air whispered warnings +of frosts still to come, but braced the nerve and +gladdened the heart nevertheless, and called imperiously +to youth to seek its kingdom. Christopher was +at no pains to spare the nerves of the master of millions, +and though he invariably crept through villages +and towns sedately and drove with an eye for crossroads +and distant specks on the white track before +him, they swept through the open country with a +breathless rush.</p> +<p>How good it would have gone alone, Christopher +thought savagely, and resentment rose high in his +heart. He was going to meet Patricia for the first +time with understanding eyes. In the past months +his love had grown with steady insistence until the +imperious voice of spring, singing in concord with it, +had overridden the decision of his stubborn will, demanding +surrender, clamorous for recognition, and +now having allowed the claim he was again forced +back on the unsolved question of his own history. It +was as if some imp of mischief had coupled his love +to the Past, and had left him without knowledge to +loose the secret knot. The silence became intolerable +for fear of the next words that might break it from +his companion. It would be better to take control himself—so +he slackened speed a little and had the satisfaction +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +of hearing Peter Masters heave a relieved +sigh.</p> +<p>“The roads here need re-making,” as they proceeded +bumpily over a rather bad piece of ground.</p> +<p>“For motors?”</p> +<p>“For everything. A road should be easy going for +motors, horses, and foot-passengers. Easy and safe.”</p> +<p>“How would you do it?”</p> +<p>“A raised causeway for walkers; a road for carriages, +and a track for motors. It only means so many +yards more and there is plenty of land. Look at that +turf—four yards of it. Might as well be road.”</p> +<p>“What are you going to make your roads of?”</p> +<p>Christopher took a deep breath; the pace of the car +increased a little.</p> +<p>“That has to be found—will be found. It is a +question of time.”</p> +<p>“And you mean to find it?”</p> +<p>“A good many people mean to find it.”</p> +<p>Masters shook his head.</p> +<p>“It won’t pay you so well as iron, Master Christopher. +My offer is still open.”</p> +<p>Christopher was so surprised that he nearly swerved +into an unfenced pond they were passing.</p> +<p>“It was very kind of you to make it again,” Christopher +managed to stammer out, adding with a bluntness +worthy of Masters himself, “I never could understand +why you made it at all.”</p> +<p>“Neither do I,” returned Peter Masters with a +laugh, “and I generally know what I’m at. Perhaps +I thought it would please Aymer. As I told you just +now, we were friends before his accident. I suppose +you’ve heard all about that?”</p> +<p>For a brief moment Christopher felt temptation +grip him. He was convinced the man beside him knew +the untold story, and at this juncture in his life he +would give much to understand all those things he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +had never questioned or ventured to consider. Then +recognising disloyalty in the very thought, he hastened +to escape the pitfall. It was no use to take +half measures with this man, however, so he lied again +boldly.</p> +<p>“Of course I know,” and went back again to safer +ground. “Whatever your reasons, it was good of +you to think of me and kinder still to renew your offer. +I expect you will think me a silly fool of a boy to refuse +it again.”</p> +<p>“Not exactly; but a boy brought up by an Aymer +Aston the second.”</p> +<p>“That is sufficient luck for one boy to grab out of +life.”</p> +<p>Peter Masters chuckled. “I take it, young man, +you’d rather be fathered by Aymer than by me, eh?”</p> +<p>Christopher muttered a very fervent affirmative between +clenched teeth, which did not appear to reach his +hearer’s ears, for as Masters finished his own sentence +he shot a sudden, sharp, puzzled look at Christopher, +and his teeth shut together with a click. He spoke no +more and when Christopher hazarded a remark he got +no answer.</p> +<p>The glory of the day was at its height when Marden +came in sight; the whole world seemed to have +joined in a peon of thanksgiving which for the moment +drowned the unwonted echoes in Christopher’s +heart that Peter Masters’s hard voice had awoken.</p> +<p>Youth was his, Love was his, and Patricia was to +be his, and he was going to see her. He covered the +distance from the lodge gates to the house in a time +that taxed his companion’s nerve to the uttermost and +bid fair to outpace even the throbbing, rushing pulse +of spring that filled the land.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVII' id='CHAPTER_XVII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +</div> +<p>Patricia was in the orchard, and not only in the +orchard, but of it, for she was comfortably perched on +a low bough of an ancient hoary apple tree. She had +a volume of Robert Bridges’s poems in her hand and +a thirst was on her to be at the edge of a cliff and +look over into blue space below. The secluded orchard +with its early crown of pink blushes, the serene shut-in +valley screened from cold winds and cradled between +the chalky highlands, weighed on her. She looked upwards +through the dainty tracery of soft green and +pink to the sky above, delicately blue with white clouds +racing over it. There was air up there, free and untrammelled. +Patricia sighed and then laughed at herself, +for it was good, even here in the narrow orchard, +life with its coming possibilities, its increasing riches. +She was glad to be alone at that moment if only to +share a thought with the poet who at this period held +sway over her mind.</p> +<p>The previous evening had been one of great moment +to her and she was joyfully thankful to find that +it obscured and clouded no particle of the daily simple +joy of her existence. She had claimed this day to +herself, free from all new issues to prove this point, +and her heart sang with content for what had been, +was, and would be.</p> +<p>The orchard gate clicked, and looking through the +intervening boughs and leaflets, she saw Christopher +coming across the grass towards her with his even, +swinging step.</p> +<p>In her rough grey dress she was as part of the +rough tree herself. Her golden head and the delicate +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +lovely colouring of her face rivalled the tree’s darling +blossoms, so Christopher thought when he reached her. +He came straight to her through the maze of old and +young trees and had the exquisite joy of seeing her +flush with surprise and pleasure at sight of him. Here +indeed she felt was the one addition to her day that +she needed. She did not descend from her perch, and +it was his hand which steadied her there when excitement +imperilled her throne.</p> +<p>“To come down on us without warning like this!” +she expostulated, smiling down at him. “Why, we +might have had no leisure to see you or luncheon to +give you! When did you actually come?”</p> +<p>“Half an hour and five minutes ago. I’ve seen +Cæsar and St. Michael, and I’ve had luncheon.”</p> +<p>“And have you come to stay?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know yet.” He leant his arm on the +bough where she sat, which was of exactly convenient +height.</p> +<p>“The amount of leisure you seem to have on hand,” +said Patricia severely, “is outrageous, considering +how hard the rest of the family work.”</p> +<p>“Especially Nevil,” laughed Christopher.</p> +<p>“Especially Nevil. We have not sat down to a +meal with him for three weeks. He nearly walked +on Max’s puppy last week and he has forgotten Charlotte’s +existence except as a penwiper—she went in +to him one morning with a message and came out +with an ink smudge on her red dress—she <i>said</i> it was +his pen—the dress is the same colour as the penwiper, +so she may be right. He paid no attention to the +message.”</p> +<p>“Well, at present, if you take the trouble to go into +the Rosery you will find Nevil lying by the fountain +catching goldfish with Max. I do not think he remembered +I’d been away.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I am glad,” cried Patricia, clapping her hands; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +“of course it’s very nice of him to be so clever and +write so beautifully, but it’s much nicer when he’s just +a dear silly thing—and catches goldfish. But tell me +about yourself now. Are you well? And have you +been working hard? Why aren’t you in Belgium, +why have you come, and what are you going to do, +and when are you going back?”</p> +<p>“Stop, I can’t keep more than five questions in my +head at once and I’ve answered several of yours already. +The first is trivial; you have eyes. I have +been working as usual; it’s no use to explain how, you +have no conception of work at all. I am not in Belgium +because I am here in a better place. I am going +to enjoy myself, I hope, and I shall go away when it +pleases me.”</p> +<p>“Indeed, Your Highness. You have not explained +why you came.”</p> +<p>“I think,” said Christopher, considering hard and +speaking with slow deliberation, “I <i>think</i>, only it is +so preposterously silly, that I came to see you, or perhaps +it was Cæsar or Nevil if it were not Max.”</p> +<p>Patricia laughed deliciously and leant forward, +making pretence to box his ears. Christopher shook +the bough in revenge till she cried pax, and peace +supervened.</p> +<p>“Since you have evidently no business of your own +to see to,” she said severely, “it shall be my business +to teach you to appreciate Robert Bridges.”</p> +<p>“I don’t like his name; who is he?” Christopher +grumbled.</p> +<p>“He is a genius and you must sit at his feet and +listen.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t it respectful to stand?”</p> +<p>She regarded him gravely with her head on one +side. “True humility sits ill on you, I fear. You +may stand if you take off your hat.”</p> +<p>He flung it on the grass obediently. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span></p> +<p>“The Cliff Edge.” “The Cliff Edge has a carpet ... of purple, +gold, and green.”</p> +<p>She read the little poem all through, her sweet, appreciative +voice making music of the lines already +melodious. Christopher wondered if the writer ever +knew how beautiful his words could be made.</p> +<p>“Is that not lovely?” she asked when she finished, +leaning forward so that her hand and the book rested +for a moment on his arm.</p> +<p>Christopher nodded without moving.</p> +<p>“It makes me thirsty for the sea,” she went on, +“for sky, for space to move and breathe. Oh, Christopher, +things here are either old or small. All the +great and beautiful things are old, the glory of it, the +house, the life, the very trees, old, old, old. And the +rest is small, protected and shut in. I want to feel +things that are young and free and great, as the sky +and sea and the wind. I am thirsty sometimes to +stand on the edge of the cliff and taste the free, free +air from off the sea that has no one else’s thoughts +in it. Do you understand that?—the longing for +something that does not belong to any part, to any +one?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I understand. I feel it too, sometimes.”</p> +<p>“I knew you did. You see, it’s because neither of +us belong here—to Marden—really. Oh, I don’t +mean it horridly. It’s the dearest place and they are +all the dearest people; but the life, the big thought +of it all, isn’t ours. <i>Our</i> people didn’t help make it.”</p> +<p>Christopher made no answer. He was idly flinging +bits of bark into his hat. If he were but certain—oh, +if he could but be certain she were right! He looked +up at her at last.</p> +<p>There could be no room for the grey shadows of +doubt any longer. She <i>was</i> right. He felt it as he +looked and as the thought she suggested sank deeper +into his mind. Was not he truly one with her in it? +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +He, too, had been conscious of a Life and History +here at Marden not his own, that exacted no obligations +from him, but rather silently insisted on the freedom. +Such freedom, mated to hers, was the last great +boon he asked of life that had already given him so +much. Still he hesitated for very fear of losing the +joy of the hour that would be his and hers for eternity +when he sealed it with the passionate words in his +heart.</p> +<p>“I know just what you mean,” he said, “it is no +disloyalty to them to feel it—only loyalty to ourselves. +As for the sea and all that, I will motor you +down to Milford whenever you like.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Christopher!” She clasped her hands with +joy like a child. “Have you brought the new motor? +What is it like?”</p> +<p>“It’s a perfect love, Patricia. I drove it down +from town to-day. Such a road, stones, ruts—and +it behaved like an angel although weighted with an +extra sixteen stone of colossal brutality—Peter Masters, +Esquire, millionaire.”</p> +<p>“Oh, why on earth did you bring him down here?”</p> +<p>“He did not ask permission. He just came—wanted +to see St. Michael. Don’t let’s talk about +him. Let’s talk about ourselves. We are much more +interesting.”</p> +<p>“Egoist!”</p> +<p>“Doesn’t the plural number cancel the egoism? +But I really have something to tell you about myself. +Two things, indeed, if you’ll kindly listen.”</p> +<p>“I will try to be polite. Proceed.” She ensconced +herself comfortably against the trunk of the tree, +folded her hands in her lap and smiled down at him +under her half-shut lids. He also moved his position +a very little so that he could see her better.</p> +<p>“First, then, Patricia, I have actually done something +in Belgium. The roads of which I have dreamed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +are not quite such fantastic fancies now as they were +a year ago.”</p> +<p>She sat erect at once, alert and brimming over with +interest.</p> +<p>“Oh, Christopher!”</p> +<p>“It is not done yet,” he went on slowly, “but it +is on the way to be done. It means that all the roads +here, and the roads all over the world, will one day be +made easy to travel upon. It means that mud, dirt +and noise will be evils of the past, and they will be +roads that will last down the ages.” He stopped with +a little catch in his breath and looked at her half +ashamed, half pleadingly.</p> +<p>But Patricia was gazing past him through a gap +in the trees at a white flinty road that struggled up +to the distant downs. “Yes,” she said very softly, as +if fearing to quench a vision she saw there, “yes, +that is a great and a good thing, and like you.”</p> +<p>“Thank you,” he answered laughing—the spell of +their mutual earnestness pressed him too sorely.</p> +<p>“Don’t laugh,” she returned swiftly with a frown; +“it is not the goodness that’s like you. It’s a sort of +strongness about it—something to hold on to for all +time.” She stopped abruptly, looking at him gravely.</p> +<p>This time he did not laugh, but he put one hand on +hers, and his was shaking.</p> +<p>“Christopher,” she said coaxingly, “will you really +take me down to the sea when I like?”</p> +<p>“Whenever you like.”</p> +<p>“Then do it this afternoon. Now, at once,” she +cried pleadingly, and seeing his face of amazement, +added, “you promised, Christopher.”</p> +<p>“Of course. I’ll do it; but why not to-morrow, +when we can have a long day?”</p> +<p>“Because—because to-day is all my own,” she said +softly, “and to-morrow isn’t. Christopher, I did not +mean to tell anyone to-day, but I must tell you, I am +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +going to marry Geoffry,”—she flushed rosy red, but +he did not see it—“it was last night—he wanted to +see Nevil at once, but I wouldn’t let him. I wanted +this day to myself. It was nice of you to come and +make it complete.”</p> +<p>His hand still held hers, but it was still and motionless +now. She stroked it softly. Christopher drew +it gently away.</p> +<p>“You ought to wish me happiness or something, +ought you not?” she said.</p> +<p>“I do, Patricia,” he said, looking up at her.</p> +<p>He wanted to say more; self-preservation demanded +it, and again demanded silence. Their voices seemed +to him far away, speaking in some fairy orchard +where he was not. He could barely hear them.</p> +<p>“You’ll pretend not to know anything about it till +to-morrow, won’t you?” she pleaded. “Don’t spoil +my day. It isn’t that it won’t be perfectly lovely to +be engaged, but the past has been, lovely too, and I +want to keep it a tiny bit longer. You’ll help me, +won’t you?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’ll help you.”</p> +<p>If he could but keep to-day forever shut in his heart +with her, though life crumbled to ruins about them! +But the invincible hours were ranged against him, and +would claim it their own.</p> +<p>“And you’ll take me to the sea?”</p> +<p>“Yes, if you come at once.”</p> +<p>She descended from her perch with his help. She +did not know his hands felt numb and dead as he held +and released her.</p> +<p>“You haven’t told me the second thing about yourself,” +she remarked, brushing the bark and lichen from +her dress.</p> +<p>“It will keep,” he said quietly.</p> +<p>And they went out of the orchard.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVIII' id='CHAPTER_XVIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +</div> +<p>Whatever may have been the pressing business that +caused Peter Masters to seek his cousin’s company in +so speedy a manner, the immediate necessity of it +seemed to have evaporated on the journey. He sat +talking of various things to Aymer and Charles Aston, +but uttered nothing as to the reason of his visit, +and Mr. Aston, with his eye on Aymer, chafed a little +and found it hard to maintain his usual serenity. Aymer, +on the contrary, seemed more deliberate and +placid than usual; there was a slowness in his speech, +and an unusual willingness to leave the conversation +in his visitor’s hands as if he mistrusted his own +powers to keep it in desirable channels. He appeared +to have suddenly abdicated his position on the objective +positive side of life and to have become a mere +passive instrument of the hour, subjective and unresisting.</p> +<p>It was his father who was ready, armed against +fate, alert, watchful to ward off all that might harm +or distress his eldest son. Peter spoke of their exodus +from London, their sojourn in the country, told them +anecdotes of big deals, and was, in his big, burly, +shrewd way, amusing and less ruthlessly tactless than +usual. He had long ago given up all hope of interesting +Aymer in a financial career, but he nevertheless +retained a curiously respectful belief in his cousin’s +mental powers.</p> +<p>“By the way,” he said presently, “I’ve not bought +a car yet. That boy of yours seems to know something +about them. Do you think he could be trusted +to choose one for me?”</p> +<p>“Perfectly.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span></p> +<p>Aymer’s tone was completely impartial, and Peter +ruminated over his next remark a moment.</p> +<p>“You still mean him to stick to his Road Engineering?”</p> +<p>“He is perfectly free to do as he likes.”</p> +<p>Charles Aston put in a word.</p> +<p>“He is twenty-two now, and he knows his own +mind a good deal better than most boys of that age. +He seems bent on carrying out his Road scheme, and +there seems no reason why he should not.” He +pushed over a box of cigars to his visitor.</p> +<p>“No, exactly. No reason at all.” Peter selected +a cigar carefully. “I expect you find it very interesting +watching how he turns out, don’t you, Aymer?”</p> +<p>“It is not uninteresting.”</p> +<p>“You’ve not seen Nevil yet,” suggested Mr. Aston. +“He is just out of a spell of work; come out in +the garden and find him while you smoke.”</p> +<p>“Well, perhaps we might, if you don’t mind being +left, Aymer?” Peter’s voice was full of kindly interest. +To him the great catastrophe was ever a new +and awful thing, and Aymer an invalid to be considered +and treated with such attention as he knew how.</p> +<p>“Not in the least,” said Aymer politely, marvelling +how exactly his father had gauged the limits of his +endurance. When the heavy curtained door had shut +out voices and footsteps and only the stillness of the +room was with him the forced passivity slipped from +Aymer like a mask, and his was again the face of a +fighter, of one still fighting against fearful odds.</p> +<p>He lay with clenched hands and rigid face, and +great beads of perspiration stood on his forehead, for +that passive indifference towards what had become a +matter of life and death to him was the fruit of a victory +that had to be won again and again each time his +perilous position was assailed by the appearance of +Peter Masters. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></p> +<p>His very existence had become so bound up in the +life of the boy he had taken as his own that the smallest +fraying of the cord which bound them together +was a thought of new pain. The passionate, fiercely +jealous nature that had lain dormant so long had +gathered strength from silence and clamoured with +imperious insistence on its right, to love, to whole allegiance, +to undisputed sway over Christopher.</p> +<p>What right could this man, Christopher’s father +though he were, in the flesh, show beside his, Aymer +Aston’s? Every instinct rose in indignant rebellion +against the fiat of his own conscience.</p> +<p>For before his deep love was awake to confuse his +judgment he had declared that if he might only be +permitted to bring Elizabeth Masters’s son through +the perilous passage of boyhood, he would never +stand between Christopher and what, after all, was his +right due, and in the eyes of the world, his wonderful +fortune. Elizabeth of the brave heart and uncompromising +creed had thought otherwise of this fortune, +as did Charles Aston and Aymer himself. The +first had imperilled her beloved child’s bodily welfare +to save him from what she thought an evil thing, and +the Astons, father and son, had bid defiance to their +hitherto straightforward policy and followed expediency +instead of open dealing, but there Aymer +stopped.</p> +<p>The decision he had made must be adhered to at +all costs. It mattered nothing he had not been in a +position to count the cost ten years ago. He at least +could not discount his own word. If Fate drew Christopher +to the side of his unknown father, Aymer must +put out no hand to intervene.</p> +<p>But the cost of it—the cost!—He put his shaking +hands over his face, trying to consider the position +reasonably.</p> +<p>Even if Peter Masters learnt the truth and claimed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span></p> +<p>Christopher, Christopher was of age and must act for +himself, and Aymer could not doubt his action. His +misery lay in no suspicion of Christopher’s loyal love, +but in his own unconquerable, wildly jealous desire to +stand alone in the post of honour, of true fatherhood +to the son of the woman he had loved to such disastrous +end. And behind that lay the bitter, unquenchable +resentment that, pretend as he would, Christopher +was not his son, not even of unknown parentage, but +in actual fact the son of the man who had unknowingly +robbed him of love, and whom he had all his life +alternately hated and despised.</p> +<p>It was some subtle knowledge of what was passing +in that still room that made Charles Aston a shade less +kindly, a little more alert than usual to hidden meanings, +and it was the sight of Aymer’s apparent passivity +in the face of all that threatened him, that +brought him to the mind to fight every inch of ground +before he put into the hands of Peter Masters the tangled +clue of the story that he alone knew in all its completeness.</p> +<p>The suspicion that had gripped Peter Masters on +the journey down was slowly stiffening into a certainty, +but he was still undecided in his mind as to +the line of action he would take. If these people with +their ultra-heroic code of honour had fooled him, and +forestalled him in this matter of his son with deliberate +intent to frustrate any advances he might make, it +would go hard with them in the end, cousins or no +cousins. Such was his first thought; but he had yet +to prove they were not simply waiting for a sign to +deliver back his son to him, in which case Peter was +not unprepared to be grateful, for his heart—and he +had one—had gone out to the plucky, determined +young man who had lied so bravely. Peter determined, +therefore, he would give Charles Aston a chance and +see what happened. In a blindly, inarticulate way he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +felt it was impossible to play with Aymer, he was even +conscious it was a matter of great moment to him, +though he could not in any manner see why it was so.</p> +<p>“Nevil will survive if we put him off a little longer,” +said Peter as they crossed the hall, “I want to see you +on a private matter, Cousin Charles.”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston led the way without a word to his own +room. He made no doubt as to what the matter was. +Perhaps the shadow of the expected interview had lain +too heavily on him of late to leave room for suspicion +of other affairs.</p> +<p>It was a long, cheerful room, lined with books, and +the furniture was solid and shabby with long service. +There was an indefinite atmosphere of peace and repose +about it, of leisured days haunted by no grey +thoughts, very typical of the owner. The window +stood open, though a fire burned clearly on the plain +brick hearth, beneath a big hooded chimney-piece.</p> +<p>Mr. Aston indicated a big easy chair to his visitor +and seated himself at his writing table, from whence +he could see, behind Peter, on the far wall, a portrait +of Aymer painted in the pride of his life and youth, +so wonderfully like even now in its strong colour and +forcible power, and so full of subtle differences and +fine distinctions.</p> +<p>“I don’t know even if you’ll listen to me,” began +Peter, who knew very well Charles Aston would refuse +to listen to no man; “fifteen years ago you told +me you’d said your last word on the subject.”</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon, Peter, it was you who said the +subject was closed between us.”</p> +<p>“Ah, yes. So I did. May I reopen it?”</p> +<p>“If it can serve any good purpose, but you know +my opinions.”</p> +<p>“I thought perhaps they might have altered with +the changing years,” said Peter blandly.</p> +<p>“Not one bit, I assure you.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span></p> +<p>“Really. It never strikes you that I was justified +in attending to Elizabeth’s very plainly expressed +wishes, or that it might be a happy thing for the boy +that I did so.”</p> +<p>“The question between us,” said his cousin gently, +“was whether you were justified in abandoning them, +not whether it was advantageous to them or not.”</p> +<p>“I would point out in passing, Cousin Charles, that +Elizabeth abandoned me, but we will let that be. My +reason for opening the subject at all is not a question +of justification.” He puffed away slowly at his cigar +for a minute and then went on in an even, unemotional +voice. “The fact is something rather strange +has happened. For twenty years I have believed I +knew the exact whereabouts of Elizabeth and my son. +I had a good reason for the belief. One man only +shared this supposititious knowledge with me.” His +hearer seemed about to speak, but desisted and looked +away from Peter out of the window. Not a movement, +a sign, a breath, escaped those hard blue eyes, +and Charles Aston knew it. It did not render him +nervous or even indignant, but he was a trifle more +dignified, more obviously determined to be courteous +at any cost.</p> +<p>“That boy and his mother were living at Liverpool,” +went on Peter calmly. “He was employed in +a big shipping firm in a very minor capacity. He was +killed in the great explosion in the dock last week.”</p> +<p>He spoke as calmly as if he were saying his supposed +son had lost his post or had gone for a holiday.</p> +<p>Charles Aston gave a sudden movement and turned +a shocked face towards the speaker.</p> +<p>“Terrible!” he said, “I wonder how the shareholders +in that company feel? Did you see the verdict?”</p> +<p>Peter waved his hand. ”Yes, yes. Juries lose their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +heads in these cases. But to continue. I went down +to Liverpool at once before the funeral, you understand.” +He paused. “I was naturally much disturbed +and horrified, and then—well, the boy wasn’t +my son, after all.”</p> +<p>“Not your son?” echoed Charles Aston slowly.</p> +<p>“No, not my son.” There was a tinge of impatience +in his voice. “I should not have known, but +the mother was there. She went in as I came out.”</p> +<p>“His mother was alive?”</p> +<p>“Yes. She was not Elizabeth.”</p> +<p>His cousin turned to him, indignation blazing in +his eyes. “For twenty years, Peter, you believed you +knew your wife’s whereabouts, you knew she was in +more or less a state of poverty, and you made no attempt +to see her face to face? You accepted the story +of another with no attempt to personally prove the +truth yourself?”</p> +<p>“I had good reason to believe it,” returned Peter +sulkily. “She would have let me know if she were +in want. I had told her she could come back when +she had had enough of it.”</p> +<p>“And this poor woman, whose son was killed. +What of her?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know anything about her except she wasn’t +Elizabeth.”</p> +<p>“You had believed her so for twenty years.”</p> +<p>“I had made a mistake. She knew nothing about +that. I took good care she should not. There was +no doubt about her being the boy’s mother, and no +doubt she was not Elizabeth. She had no claim on +me.”</p> +<p>“No claim!” Charles Aston stood up and faced +him, “not even the claim of the widow—her one son +dead. No claim, when for all those years those two +items of humanity represented in your perverse mind +the two people nearest—I won’t say dearest—to you. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +No claim!” He stopped and walked away to the +window.</p> +<p>Peter smiled tolerantly. He enjoyed making this +kind, generous man flash out with indignation. It +was all very high-flown and impossible, but it suited +Charles Aston. To-day, however, he was too engrossed +in his own affairs to get much satisfaction +from it.</p> +<p>“Well, well, don’t let us argue about it. We don’t +think alike in these matters. The point I want to consult +you about is not my susceptibility to sentiment, +but the chances of my picking up a clue twenty years +old.”</p> +<p>“I should say they were hardly worth considering.” +He spoke deliberately, turning from the window to +resume his place by the table. The fight had begun; +they had crossed blades at last.</p> +<p>“There is a very good detective called Chance and +a better one called Luck.”</p> +<p>“You have secured their services?”</p> +<p>“I am not certain yet. Can you help me?”</p> +<p>He made the appeal with calculated directness, +knowing his man and his aversion to evasion, but if +he expected him to hesitate he was disappointed.</p> +<p>“No, I can do nothing. I tried for five years to +bring you to some sense of your responsibility in this +matter. You were not frank with me then, it seems. +I can do nothing now.”</p> +<p>“And have lost all interest in it, I suppose?”</p> +<p>“No. It is your interest that rises and falls with +the occasion, but I decline to have anything to do with +it. If—as I do not believe—Elizabeth is still alive +she and your son have done without your help for +twenty years and can do without it still.”</p> +<p>“They have doubtless plenty of friends.”</p> +<p>“Let us hope so. What was the name of the Liverpool +woman?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span></p> +<p>“Priestly. What does it matter? The question is, +I must find my son somehow, for I must have an +heir.”</p> +<p>“Adopt one.”</p> +<p>“As did Aymer?” He shot a questioning glance +at him. “It’s such a risk. I might not be so lucky. +Sons like Christopher are not to be had for nothing.”</p> +<p>“No, they are not,” said Charles Aston drily. +“They are the result of years of love and patience, of +generous tolerance, of unquenchable courage. They +bring days of joy which must be paid for with hours +of anxiety and nights of pain. Were you prepared to +give your son this, even if you had taken him to you +as a boy?”</p> +<p>Peter waved his big hand again. “I quite admit +all that is needed to produce men of your pattern, +Cousin Charles, and I have the profoundest admiration +for the result; but I am not ambitious; I should +be content to produce the ordinary successful man.”</p> +<p>“I think Christopher will score a success.”</p> +<p>“Yes, in spite of you both, by reason of his practical, +determined, hard-headed nature which he probably +inherits from his father, eh?”</p> +<p>“You are probably right. I am not in a position +to say.”</p> +<p>“You did not know his parents?”</p> +<p>Charles Aston pushed back his chair and looked beyond +Peter to the portrait of Aymer. They must +come to close quarters or he would give out, and suddenly +it came to him that he must adhere to his universal +rule, must give the better side of the man’s nature +a chance before he openly defied him. The decision +was made quite quickly. Peter only recognised +a slight pause. “You seem interested in Christopher,” +Mr. Aston said slowly. “I will tell you what there +is to know. About eleven years ago Aymer became +possessed of a passionate desire to have a boy to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +bring up, since he might not have one of his own. In +hunting for a suitable one I stumbled on the son of +someone I had known who had fallen on very evil +days.” He stopped a moment. Peter took out another +cigar and lit it. “On very evil days,” repeated the +other. “The boy was left at a country workhouse in +this county as it happened. I knew enough of his paternity +to know that he was a suitable subject for Aymer +to father. I have never regretted what I did. The +boy has become the mainspring of Aymer’s life; he +lives again in him. All that has been denied him, he +finds in Christopher’s career; all he cannot give the +world he has given to this boy, this son of his heart +and soul. No father could love more, could suffer +more. And Christopher is repaying him. He has +known no father but Aymer, no authority but his, no +conflicting claim. I pray God daily that neither now +nor in the future shall any shadow fall between these +two to cancel by one solitary item Christopher’s obligation +to his adopted father. Perhaps I am selfish +over it, but anyway, Aymer is my son, and I understand +how it is with him.”</p> +<p>There was a silence in the room. Peter puffed +vehemently and the clouds of blue-grey smoke circling +round him obscured the heavy features from his +cousin when his eyes left the picture to look at him.</p> +<p>“Yes, yes, I see. Quite so,” said a voice from the +smoke at last, and slowly the strong, bland expressionless +face emerged clearly from the halo, “but I am no +further on my way towards my son. And who’s to +have the money if I don’t find him? Will you?”</p> +<p>“Heaven forbid!—and Nature! Peter, I’m sixty +and you are fifty-four.”</p> +<p>“Will Nevil’s boy?”</p> +<p>“We have enough. We should count it a misfortune. +Leave it in charities.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span></p> +<p>“And suppose he discovers some day who he is, and +wanted it?”</p> +<p>“Hardly likely after so long.”</p> +<p>“Quite likely. Shall I leave it to Christopher?”</p> +<p>It was the last thrust, and it told. There was quite +a long silence. Charles longed passionately to refuse, +but even he dared not. The issue was too great. +“I cannot dictate to you in the matter,” he said at +length, “but I do not think Christopher would appreciate +it.”</p> +<p>“Then I must hope to find a Christopher of my +own,” returned Peter, rising; “let us meanwhile find +Nevil.”</p> +<p>The duel was over and apparently the result was as +undetermined as ever. The only satisfaction poor +Charles Aston derived was from the fact that Peter +was unusually gentle and tactful to Aymer that afternoon. +He seemed in no hurry to go, urged as excuse +he wanted to consult Christopher about a motor, but +when they sent to find that young gentleman, they +discovered he and Patricia and the motor were +missing.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIX' id='CHAPTER_XIX'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +</div> +<p>It seemed to Christopher as he overhauled his long-suffering +motor preparatory to the new run, that a +great gap of innumerable grey days stretched between +him and the moment he brought the car to a standstill +before the doors of the house, that had appeared +to him to be a Temple of Promise. It was in fact barely +an hour and a half and the greater part of that time +had been occupied with lunch and a hasty interview +with Aymer. That shorter interlude in the orchard +just over, had already blotted out a golden landscape +with a driving mist that obscured all true proportion +of time or space. He longed greatly, with a sense of +strange fatigue, to be sitting at Cæsar’s side and to +find the restless discomfort evaporate as they talked, +even as his boyish troubles had melted in that companionship. +That must come later: for the present +Fate—or Patricia—made a demand on him to which +he was bound to answer. Where a weaker nature +would have said “impossible,” he simply found an +ordinary action rendered difficult by his own private +view of it, therefore it behooved him to close the shutters +on that outlook if he could, and ignore the difficulty.</p> +<p>Renata, who came out with Patricia, protested a +little indignantly at the latter’s exaction.</p> +<p>“It is so inconsiderate of Patricia, just as you have +had such a journey. Why do you give in to her, +Christopher?”</p> +<p>“To-day is as good as any day,” he answered her, +“perhaps the visitor will have gone when we return.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I hope so,” said Renata fervently, and then +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +blushed at her own inhospitality. “I mean, Cæsar +would rather have you to himself, I am sure.”</p> +<p>“And I would rather have Cæsar unaccompanied. +So there is some use in Patricia’s fancy.”</p> +<p>“Of course,” put in that young lady, “there always +is. Please do not waste precious time talking. Tell +me where I am to sit, Christopher.”</p> +<p>“I’ll take every care of her,” said Christopher, +looking at Renata, “we’ll be back in time for dinner. +Be kind and get rid of Mr. Masters by then.”</p> +<p>“Like a dear little angel,” concluded Patricia, kissing +her; “think how he bores Nevil, and don’t be +hospitable.”</p> +<p>Christopher settled her in the seat beside him, +tucked her in with rugs, put up the front screen and +started.</p> +<p>For a few short minutes the joy of having her +there beside him, his sole charge for some golden hours +to come, his to carry in a mad rush if he would to +the ends of the earth, obliterated for a moment the +bewildering mist.</p> +<p>He drove for some way in silence. Patricia was +too much absorbed in the pleasures of swift motion to +talk. Her first words, however, shut down the mists +on him again.</p> +<p>“Geoffry must have a car,” she declared. “He +must get one just like this.”</p> +<p>“I thought Geoffry was to be left behind this afternoon?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I suppose he was. I don’t believe you are a +bit pleased about it really, Christopher.”</p> +<p>He clutched at the truth as a plank of safety.</p> +<p>“Well, you can’t expect me to be glad to lose your +company, can you? I shall never make a golfer +now.”</p> +<p>She laughed at that and recommended a course at +St. Andrew’s under a professional, which proposal +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +he treated with scorn, but after a short silence he said +in a different voice:</p> +<p>“Don’t think I’m not glad at anything that makes +you happy, Patricia. Geoffry’s a real good sort and—here’s +a town—you must not speak to the man at +the wheel.”</p> +<p>Patricia was obedient. She sank into a reverie in +which, despite her own determination, Geoffry played +a long part. It was characteristic of her exact attitude +towards her accepted lover that it was the immediate +future in which he figured most clearly. Her +thoughts hovered round the pleasant summer to come +with the distant excitement of a wedding to crown +it. She never considered, or only in the most cursory +way, the long years ahead, the daily companionship +with the man she had chosen. She was honestly +attached to Geoffry. She believed she was in love +with him, whereas, as is far more often the case than +the young suppose, she was in love with the love that +had come to her in the glory of the spring, offered by +familiar hands that were dear because of what they +held for her.</p> +<p>So they drove through the glowing afternoon, and +the line of white road before them appeared to Christopher +as a track dividing past and future, the thin +edge of the passing minutes. They spoke no more, +however, on the forbidden subject. Christopher presently +explained to her the visible mechanism of the +car and on a stretch of clear road let her put her hands +on the wheel beneath his own and feel the joy of +fictitious control. Before the sun quenched itself in +the sea they stood on the Cliff Edge and looked out +across the shining waters into the great space, where +a thought-laden air renews itself, reforming, cancelling +and creating in the crucible of Life. They clambered +down from the lip of the cliff on to a jutting-out +shelf of rock, screened with gorse, where the few +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +feet of gravel bank behind them shut out all signs of +habitation.</p> +<p>Patricia sat with her hands clasped round her knees +drawing slow, deep draughts of the cool air, her eyes +on the immense free space, and she spoke not at all +with her lips, yet Christopher, lying at her feet, caught +her thoughts as they came and went with strange certainty +and stranger heartache. He picked a handful +of golden gorse petals and pressed the sweet blossoms +to his face: ever after their scent was to mean for him +that place and rapture of that hour, in which was +borne to him the certainty of his right to her, and the +knowledge of the surrender he was making in each +silent minute. For she was his now, if he told her, if +he broke faith, if he claimed the right that was his.</p> +<p>Now in this golden hour he would win if he spoke, +sweeping aside the shadowy intervening form of the +other with the relentless persistent truth of the faith +that was in him, a faith that had no ground in personal +vanity or individual pride, but was only the +recognition of a great Fact that lay outside and beyond +them both, that named Patricia forever his in a world +where the Real is disentangled from the Appearance.</p> +<p>Was life to consist, for him, in a relinquishing of +his own rights in conformity to the Law of Appearance? +Was it but a cowardly fear of convention that +held him back from claiming her now on the verge of +the world? Or was it a deeper, half-understood trust +of the Great Realities of Life, a knowledge that faith, +integrity, and honour are no conventions, but belong +to Real World of Truth, and that he could snatch no +joy of life over their trampled forms? He tried dimly +to understand these things, to gauge the nature of the +forces that controlled him, but he never doubted what +force would claim his obedience. It was already habitual +to him by reason of training and instinct to set +such Laws of Life as he recognised before his own +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +will. But that will was very clamorous this evening +as he pressed the hot yellow whin-flowers to his face +drinking their fragrance into his thirsty soul.</p> +<p>When he raised his eyes he looked out at sea and +sky and avoided the dear sweet face above him. She +still sat smiling out into the serene space, watching as +it were the random thoughts of her subconscious self +floating in those ethereal realms. It was almost too +great a happiness for peace, the fair world, the comprehending +companion, who understood without the +clumsy medium of words, and the love awaiting her on +the morrow. She did not wish for Geoffry’s presence +now, she was perfectly content that he stood in the +beautiful morrow, that he was bringing her a good and +precious crown to the golden days of her youth.</p> +<p>She sighed out of pure joy and so broke the spell +of the golden and blue-cloaked silence which had +reigned. Without moving she gathered a handful of +whin blooms and scattered them over the brown head +at her feet, a baptism of golden fire. He shook them +off and looked up at her, laughing.</p> +<p>“Asleep, I believe, Christopher, you lazy person. +What were you dreaming about?”</p> +<p>“Bees, heather and honey,” he murmured, surreptitiously +gathering up a handful of the golden rain she +had tossed him. “Have you had your breath of freedom, +Patricia—are you ready for tea and buttered +toast?”</p> +<p>“And honey, you provoking materialist,” she insisted.</p> +<p>“Honey is stolen property—I always feel a consort +of thieves when I eat it.”</p> +<p>“Then I’ll eat it and you can shut your eyes. Christopher, +suppose the car goes wrong on the way +home?”</p> +<p>He scoffed at that, but while she ate her honey he +made an exhaustive inspection of it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span></p> +<p>When the sun dropped out of sight a shivering wind +sprang up and the blue sky drew a grey cloak over +itself. Christopher wrapped his companion in a fur +coat and tucked her in anxiously.</p> +<p>She had become restless and dissatisfied as if the +sun had taken her joy to rest with him, or as if the +thoughts gathered from space found an unready lodgment +in her mind. Christopher made some effort to +talk on indifferent subjects, but she answered with +strange brevity or not at all, once with such impatience +that he glanced quickly at her hands and saw they were +hidden by the long sleeves of his big coat she wore.</p> +<p>Presently she said abruptly:</p> +<p>“We ought not to have stayed so long. Why did +you go to sleep?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t,” he retorted, amazed at the accusation.</p> +<p>“Then you ought to have talked.”</p> +<p>“I thought we were superior to such conventions.”</p> +<p>“That is an excuse for sheer laziness on your part. +And even if you are superior,” she added, inconsequently, +“I am not. What were you thinking +about?”</p> +<p>“Shall I tell you of what you were thinking?”</p> +<p>“You can’t.”</p> +<p>“Out in the great space you saw all the future days +weaving for you a dress of blue and gold, of hopes +and fulfilment. You saw how they smiled at you, you +were glad of the love they bore you, the good they +were bringing you. You felt in your own soul how +you belonged to them, you were a part of all this dear +living world.”</p> +<p>“Don’t, don’t,” she cried, half under her breath.</p> +<p>“Isn’t it true?” he insisted.</p> +<p>“You have no business, no right to know. Christopher, +how dare you.” Her face flushed with inward +emotion, with some fierce resentment that laid hold of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +her senses without reason and dragged fear in its +wake.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” he said humbly. “I’ve often done it +before and you never minded.”</p> +<p>“It’s quite different now. It’s unbearable. I don’t +like it any more, I hate it. Do you hear, Christopher?”</p> +<p>“Yes. It was unpardonable. I am sorry, Patricia, +I won’t do it again.”</p> +<p>“You won’t try to understand me like that? +Promise,” she urged.</p> +<p>“I didn’t try then. I only knew. I promise I won’t +tell you again.”</p> +<p>“That’s not enough,” she persisted, twisting her +fingers under cover of the long sleeves. “You mustn’t +know. You must not be able to do it. I won’t bear +it. Do you understand?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Then promise.”</p> +<p>“I’ve promised all I can. I certainly won’t try to +know. I can’t help it involuntarily.”</p> +<p>“You must. I insist—Christopher, quick.”</p> +<p>They were running at a great pace along a straight +level piece of road with high banks on either side, and +by the roadside at regular intervals were piles of +broken granite. Christopher’s attention was fixed on +a distant speck that might be a danger-signal and he +did not answer her or notice the nearer signal of danger +in her white face.</p> +<p>She was in the grip of her old wild passion again, +on fire with her need of assurance, and in a gust of +anger she caught at the wheel that seemed to claim his +mind. The car swerved violently, jolted up on to the +turf, bumped madly along at a dangerous tilt, swerved +back into the road two feet clear of a grey pile of +stone. Only then did Christopher know her fingers +were gripped between his hands and the steel wheel. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +He brought the car to a standstill and her released +hand fell white and numb to her side. She neither +spoke nor moved, but gazed before her, oblivious even +of her crushed fingers.</p> +<p>There was a running brook the other side of the +hedge and a convenient gate. He soaked his handkerchief +in it, came back to her and put the numbed hand +on the cool linen. His grip had been like iron and the +averted disaster so near as to be hardly passed from +his senses, yet he felt sick and ashamed at this almost +trifling price they had to pay. He felt each bruised +finger carefully and bound them up as best he could, +and only then did he speak.</p> +<p>“I’m fearfully sorry, Patricia, I didn’t know.”</p> +<p>She looked vaguely at the white bound hand.</p> +<p>“My fingers? Oh, I’m glad. You shouldn’t have +tied them up.”</p> +<p>He paid no heed, but having examined the car, +climbed back to his place.</p> +<p>“We must go on,” he remarked, “so it’s no use +asking you if you are too frightened, Patricia.”</p> +<p>“You might put me out on the roadside,” she suggested +dully.</p> +<p>To that, too, he paid no heed and they started again.</p> +<p>The miles slipped by in unbroken silence. It was +not till they were nearly home that Christopher spoke.</p> +<p>“I thought that was all quite gone, Patricia.”</p> +<p>“So did I,” she returned wearily. “It’s ages since +I was so stupid. It’s generally all right if you are +there.”</p> +<p>“But I’m not always there anyhow.”</p> +<p>“I don’t mean there really. I just shut my eyes +and pretend you are and hold on. But just now I +waited for you to do something. I forgot you were +driving.”</p> +<p>“You mustn’t rely on me to stop you now,” he insisted, +with new gravity. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span></p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I do. It’s always you if I stop in time; +either you actually, or thinking of you. Don’t talk +about it, Christopher dear, it was too horrible.”</p> +<p>She did not explain if she meant the danger or the +cause, but he obeyed and said no more. A terrible +fear clamoured at his heart. Did Geoffry Leverson +know or did he not? and if he knew, would he even +understand? He tried to tell himself that if he could +manage her, then another, and that her acknowledged +lover, could do so too, but he knew this was false +reasoning. Such power as he had over her lay in his +recognition that the irresistible inheritance was not +an integral part of Patricia, but was an exotic growth, +foisted upon her by the ill-understood laws of paternity, +and finding no natural soil in her pure self—something +indeed, of a lower nature, that she must and +could override. He could have curbed it in the brief +flash just over, he knew, had his attention been free. +It had died as it had come and the penalty of the +crushed fingers hurt him as unwarrantable, combined +with the peril they had run.</p> +<p>It was a fresh addition of cloud to the dimmed day +to find Peter Masters had not departed, but was staying +the night.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XX' id='CHAPTER_XX'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +</div> +<p>Aymer gazed out of the open window at Christopher +and Peter Masters as they walked to and fro on the +terrace. He knew the subject they were discussing, +and he was already sure how it would end. But what +were the real issues involved he could not determine, +and he was impotent, by reason of his vow and will, +to influence them. He could only lie still and watch, +tortured by jealous fear and the physical helplessness +that forbade him the one relief of movement for which +his soul craved. The patience the long years had +schooled him into was slipping away, and the elementary +forces of his nature reigned in its stead.</p> +<p>Under the overmastering impulse towards action he +made a futile effort to sit up that he might better follow +the movements of the two outside. It was a pathetic +failure, and he swore fiercely as he fell back and +found his father’s arms round him.</p> +<p>“Aymer, if you are going to be so childish, I shall +tell Christopher not to go.”</p> +<p>“No. I’m a fool, but I won’t have him know it. +He must go if he will.”</p> +<p>“There is nothing to fear if he does. What is +wrong with you?”</p> +<p>“I want to go back to town, I’m tired of this.”</p> +<p>“You are far better here than in town,” said his +father uneasily.</p> +<p>“I’m well enough anywhere.”</p> +<p>“I shall have to tell Christopher not to go.”</p> +<p>“No.” The tone was sharply negative again, and +after a moment’s silence Aymer said in a low, grudging +voice, “You’ve always helped before; are you going +to desert me now?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span></p> +<p>For answer his father got up and pushed the big +sliding sofa away from the window.</p> +<p>“Very well, then behave yourself better, Aymer, +and don’t ford a stream before you come to it. You’ve +got to listen to Penruddock’s speech.” He folded back +the <i>Times</i> and began to read.</p> +<p>When Christopher came back a little later he saw +no sign of the trouble. Perhaps he was a little too +much engrossed in his own perplexities to be as observant +as usual.</p> +<p>“Cæsar, do you think it’s a shabby thing to stay +with a man you don’t like?”</p> +<p>“Are you going?”</p> +<p>“I think so. I want to see how he does it.”</p> +<p>“Does what?”</p> +<p>“Makes his money. Does it seem shabby to you?”</p> +<p>“You can’t know if you like him or not. You +know nothing about him.”</p> +<p>“I shall be back at the end of the week. You don’t +mind my going, Cæsar? I’d rather go before I settle +down.”</p> +<p>“Another week’s peace,” returned Cæsar, indifferently. +“The truth is, you’re in a scrape and putting +off confession, young man.”</p> +<p>Christopher laughed at him.</p> +<p>They were to leave early next morning, so Peter +Masters bade Aymer good-bye that night. He apologised +clumsily for taking Christopher away so soon +after his long absence.</p> +<p>“It’s the only free week I’ve got for months, and +I want to study your handiwork, Aymer.”</p> +<p>“Christopher has points. I don’t know how many +score to me,” returned his cousin with steadily forced +indifference.</p> +<p>“Well, you’ve taken more trouble over him than +most fathers would do.”</p> +<p>“Are you an expert?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span></p> +<p>Peter laughed grimly and stood looking at Aymer +with his chin in his hand, a curiously characteristic +attitude of doubt with him.</p> +<p>“You won’t be overpleased when he wants to +marry, which he is sure to do just when he’s become +useful to you.”</p> +<p>For the first time in his life Peter Masters recognised +the harassed soul of a man as it leapt to sight, +and saw the shadow of pain conquer a fierce will. +The revelation struck him dumb, for incongruously and +unreasonably there flashed before his mind a memory +of this face with twenty years wiped out. He went +slowly away carrying with him a vivid impression and +new knowledge.</p> +<p>It was a new experience to him. He knew something +of men’s minds, but of their emotions and the +passions of their souls he was no judge. He puzzled +over the meaning of what he had seen as he faced +Christopher in the train next day, studying him with +a disconcerting gaze. Could Aymer possibly love the +boy to the verge of jealousy? It seemed so incredible +and absurd. Yet what other interpretation could he +place on that look he had surprised? Charles Aston’s +words, which had not been without effect, paled before +this self-revelation. It annoyed him greatly that the +disturbing vision should intrude itself between him +and the decision he was endeavouring to make, for +the better termination of which he was carrying Christopher +northward with him.</p> +<p>Christopher, on his part, was chiefly occupied in +considering the distracting fact of his own yielding +to the wishes of a man he disliked as sincerely as he +did Mr. Aston’s cousin. Peter Masters was taking +him with him in precisely the same manner he had +made Christopher convey him to Marden. It was +quite useless to pretend he was going of his own will; +refusal had, in an unaccountable way, seemed impossible. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +To save his pride he tried to believe he was +influenced by a desire to get away from Marden +until the first excitement over Patricia’s engagement +had died away, yet in his heart he knew that though +that and other considerations had joined forces with +the millionaire’s mandate, yet in any case he would +have had to bow to the will of the man who admitted +no possibility of refusal. He had been unprepared +and unready twice over: in the matter of the journey +from London and in the stranger matter of this present +journey. Christopher determined the third time +he would be on guard, that in all events, reason should +have her say in the case.</p> +<p>They were going direct to Stormly, which was midway +between Birmingham and the Stormly mines, +from which the fortunes of the family had first been +dug. Stormly Park was Peter’s only permanent residence, +though much of his time was spent in hotels +and travelling. The house, begun by his father, had +expanded with the fortunes of the son. It stood remote +from town or village. It was neither a palace +nor a glorified villa, but just a substantial house, with +an unprepossessing exterior, and all the marvels of +modern luxury within. The short private railway by +which it was approaching ran through an ugly tract of +country terminating beneath a high belt of trees that +shut off the western sun and were flanked by granite +walls.</p> +<p>On the platform of the minute station two porters +in private uniform received them.</p> +<p>“I generally walk up if I’m not in a hurry,” said +Peter Masters abruptly.</p> +<p>He had not spoken since they left Birmingham, +where a packet of letters had been brought him, to +which he gave his undivided attention. With a curt +nod to the men, with whom he exchanged no word at +all, he led the way from the siding across a black, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +gritty road and unlocking a door in the wall ushered +Christopher into Stormly Park.</p> +<p>The belt of trees was planted on a ridge of ground +that sloped towards the road and formed a second +barrier between the world without and the world +within. When they had crossed the ridge and looked +down on the Park itself Christopher gave a gasp of +astonishment. It stretched out before him in the sunset +light a wide expanse of green land, with stately +clumps of trees and long vistas of avenues that led +nowhere. It was like some jewel in the wide circling +belt of trees. It was so strange a contrast to the sordid +country without, that the effect was amazing. +Christopher looked round involuntarily to see by what +passage he had passed from that unpleasing world to +this sunkissed land of beauty.</p> +<p>Peter Masters saw the effect produced and his lips +twitched with a little smile of pleasure.</p> +<p>“My grandfather planted the place,” he said. “He +understood those things. I don’t. But it’s pretty. +My mother, Evelyn Aston, you know, used to always +travel by night if she could, she disliked the country +round so much.”</p> +<p>“It is rather a striking contrast,” Christopher +agreed.</p> +<p>They passed through a clump of chestnuts just +breaking into leaf.</p> +<p>“There is coal here,” said Peter. “It will all have +to go some day. I make no additions now.”</p> +<p>They came suddenly on the house, which was built +of grey pointed stone, its low-angle slate roof hidden +behind a high balustrading. The centre part was evidently +the original house and long curved wings had +been extended on either side. There was no sign of +life about the place, nor did it carry the placid sense +of repose that haunts old houses. Stormly Park had +an air of waiting; a certain grim expectation lurked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +behind the over-mantled windows and closed doors. +It was as if it watched for the fate foreshadowed in +its owner’s words. Even the glorious sunlight pouring +over it failed to give it a sense of warm living +life.</p> +<p>It filled Christopher with curiosity and a desire to +explore the grey fastness and trim level lawns beyond. +Some living eyes watched, however, for the front door +swung open as they approached and two footmen came +out. Christopher again noted Peter Masters did not +speak to them or appear to notice their presence. On +the steps he paused, and stood aside.</p> +<p>“Go in,” he said when his visitor hesitated.</p> +<p>Christopher obeyed.</p> +<p>The interior was almost as great a contrast to the +exterior as the Park was to the surrounding country. +It was rich with colour and warmth and comfort.</p> +<p>They were met by a thin, straightened-looking individual, +who murmured a greeting to which Peter +Masters paid no attention.</p> +<p>He turned to Christopher.</p> +<p>“This is Mr. Dreket, my secretary. Dreket, show +Mr. ––” for an imperceptible moment he paused—“Mr. +Aston his room and explain the ways of the +place to him. I’ve some letters to see to.”</p> +<p>He turned aside down a long corridor. Christopher +and the secretary looked at each other.</p> +<p>“I shan’t be sorry for a wash and brush up,” said +Christopher, smiling.</p> +<p>The other gave a little sigh, expressive more of relief +than fatigue, and led the way upstairs. As they +went up the wide marble steps Mr. Masters reappeared +and stood for a moment in the shadow of an arch +watching the dark, erect young head till it was out of +sight, then he retraced his steps and disappeared in his +own room.</p> +<p>Christopher did not see him again till dinner-time. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +The two dined together at a small table that was an +oasis in a desert of space. The room was hung with +modern pictures set in unpolished wood panelling. +Peter vaguely apologised for them to one accustomed +to the company of the masterpieces of the dead.</p> +<p>“I’m no judge. I should be taken in if I bought +old ones,” he said. “So I buy new, provided they +are by possible men. They may be worth something, +some day, eh?”</p> +<p>“They are very good to look at now,” Christopher +answered, a little shyly, looking at a vast sea-scape +which seemed to cool the room with a fresh breeze.</p> +<p>“You Astons would have beaten me anyhow,” pursued +Peter. “I’ve got nothing old: but the new’s the +best of its kind.”</p> +<p>Christopher found this was true. Everything in the +house was modern. There was no reproduction, no +imitation. It was all solidly and emphatically modern: +glass, china, furniture, books, pictures, the silk hangings, +the white statuary in the orangery: all modern. +There was nothing poor or mean or artistically +bad, but the whole gave an impression of life yet to +be lived, an incompleteness that was baffling in its obscurity.</p> +<p>Peter Masters talked much of events, of material +things, of himself, but never of mankind in general. +He spoke of no friends, or neighbours: he appeared +to be served by machines, to stand alone in life, unconscious +of his isolation. They played billiards in the +evening and the host had an easy victory, and gave +Christopher a practical lesson in the one game he had +found time to master.</p> +<p>“I’ve work to do. Breakfast to-morrow at 8 sharp. +You are going to Birmingham with me.”</p> +<p>No question about it or pretence of asking his visitor’s +wishes. Christopher did not resent that, but he +resented his growing inability to resist. He flung +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +open the windows of his room and looked out. Eastward +there was a glow in the sky over the great sleepless +city: northward a still nearer glow from a foundry, +he thought, but westward the parkland was silvered +with moonlight and black with shadows, which +under the groups of chestnuts seemed like moving +shapes.</p> +<p>He leant out far and the cold night air shivered by. +That was familiar and good to feel, but the glare +northward caught his eyes again, and held him fascinated. +It rose and fell, now blushing softly against +a velvet sky, now flaring angrily to heaven. It seemed +to quiver with voices that were harsh and threatening. +It filled Christopher’s heart with unreasonable horror +against which he struggled in vain, as with the dim +terror of a stranger. At last he closed the window +and shut it out.</p> +<p>“I don’t like it,” said Christopher half aloud. “It’s +all right, it’s only a foundry, but I hate it.”</p> +<p>With that he went to bed and in the dark the dance +of the fires flickered before his eyes.</p> +<p>The next few days were spent in gathering fresh +impressions and disentangling bewildering experiences, +and in small encounters with the unanswerable +will of his host.</p> +<p>He was taken to the great offices in Birmingham, +and the wonderful system by which each vast machine +was worked was explained to him. He was even +privileged to sit with the great man in the inner sanctum +and copy letters for him, though he was summarily +turned out to see the sights of the great city +when a visitor was announced. He explored the +depths of the coal mines and finally spent a long morning +at the foundry whose nightly glare still haunted +his dreams. It was the latter sight that Peter Masters +evidently expected would interest him most, for +here were employed the most marvellous and most +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +complicated modern machinery, colossal innovations +and ingenious labour-saving inventions in vast orderly +buildings; the complex whole obedient to an organisation +that left no item of power incomplete or wasted. +But Christopher gave but half his mind to all he was +shown, the other half was on those still stranger machines, +the grimy, brutal-looking workmen toiling in +the hot heart of the place, the white-faced stooping +forms on the outskirts. They eyed him aslant as they +worked, for visitors were rare occurrences. He asked +questions concerning them and received vague answers, +and a new machine was offered for inspection.</p> +<p>Fulner, the young engineer who had been told off +to show him round, understood what was expected of +him and did his duty. Masters himself, though he +accompanied them, apparently put himself also in Fulner’s +hands; he took no particular interest in the work, +but his eye followed every movement of Christopher’s +and his ear strained to his questions. Christopher +noticed that none but heads of departments paid any +attention to the owner’s presence, and he would have +thought him unknown but for a word or two he +caught as he lingered for a last look at a particularly +fascinating electric lathe.</p> +<p>“Thinks he’s master,” grinned one man, with a +shrug, towards the retreating form.</p> +<p>“Thinks we’re part of his blasted machinery,” +growled his fellow worker.</p> +<p>Christopher passed on and forgot the lathe.</p> +<p>“Where do these people live?” he asked in the +comparative quiet of a store yard.</p> +<p>“In the—the villages round, and as near as they +can,” said the engineer quietly and looked back. Mr. +Masters had gone off to the store-keeper’s office and +was out of hearing. Fulner looked at Christopher +again and apparently came to a decision. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span></p> +<p>“It is difficult, sometimes, this housing question,” +he said swiftly, “are you really interested?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I want to know what contrast they get to +this. It’s overpowering, this place.”</p> +<p>“If there was time––” began the other, and +stopped, seeing Mr. Masters was approaching. He +was followed by a harassed-face sub-manager, who +waited uneasily a few yards off.</p> +<p>“Christopher, I shall have to stay here an hour or +two. You had better go back. You can catch the +12.40 at the station. Fulner will see you there.”</p> +<p>He nodded to the engineer and strode off towards +the main offices.</p> +<p>The sub-manager exchanged a look of consternation +with Fulner before he followed.</p> +<p>“We’ll go this way,” said Fulner, leading Christopher +to a new corner of the great enclosure, “that is, +if you don’t mind walking.”</p> +<p>He did not speak again until they were outside the +high walls that surrounded the works, then he looked +quizzically at Christopher.</p> +<p>“You shall see where they live if you wish to,” he +said, “the contrast is not striking—only there is no +organisation outside.”</p> +<p>They went down a black cindery road between high +walls and presently the guide said quietly, “Are you +coming here to us, Mr. Aston?”</p> +<p>“No.” Christopher’s voice was fervent with +thankfulness.</p> +<p>The other looked disappointed and stopped.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” he said. “We thought you were. +There were rumours”—he hesitated, “if you are not +coming perhaps it is no good showing you. It makes +a difference.”</p> +<p>“I want to see where the people live,” insisted +Christopher, looking him squarely in the face.</p> +<p>The other nodded and they went on and came to a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +narrow street of mean, two-storied houses, with +cracked walls and warped door-posts, blackened with +smoke, begrimed with dirt. As much of the spring +sunshine as struggled through the haze overshadowing +the place served but to emphasise the hideous +squalor of it. Children, for the most part sturdy-limbed +and well-developed, swarmed in the road, +women in a more or less dishevelled condition stared +out of open doors at them as they passed.</p> +<p>To the secret surprise of Fulner his companion made +no remark, betrayed no sign of disgust or distaste. +He looked at it all; his face was grave and impassive +and Fulner was again disappointed.</p> +<p>They passed a glaring new public house, the only +spot in the neighbourhood where the sun could find +anything to reflect his clouded brightness.</p> +<p>“We wanted that corner for a club,” said Fulner +bitterly, “but the brewer outbid us.”</p> +<p>“Who’s the landlord?” demanded Christopher +sharply.</p> +<p>Fulner paused a moment before he answered.</p> +<p>“You are a cousin of Mr. Masters, aren’t you?”</p> +<p>“No relation at all. Is he the landlord?”</p> +<p>“The land here is all his. Not what is on it.”</p> +<p>A woman was coming down the road, a woman in a +bright green dress with a dirty lace blouse fastened +with a gold brooch. She had turquoise earrings in +her ears and rings on her fingers.</p> +<p>She stopped Fulner.</p> +<p>“Mr. Fulner,” she said in a quavering voice, “they +say the master’s at the works and that Scott’s given +Jim away to save his own skin. It isn’t true, is it?”</p> +<p>Fulner looked at her with pity. Christopher liked +him better than ever.</p> +<p>“I’m afraid it’s true, Mrs. Lawrie, but Scott +couldn’t help himself. Mr. Masters spotted the game +when we were in the big engine-room. You go down +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +to the main gate and wait for Jim. Perhaps you’ll +get him home safe if you take him the short cut, not +this way.” He nodded his head towards the public +house they had passed.</p> +<p>“It’s a shame,” broke out the woman wildly, but +her sentences were overlaid with unwomanly words, +“they all does it. I ask now, how’s we to get coal at +all if we don’t get the leavings. Jim only does what +they all does. What’s ’arf a pail of coal to ’im? I’d +like to talk to ’un, I would. Jim will go mad again, +and I’ve three of ’un now to think of, the brats.” She +flung up her arms with a superbly helpless gesture +and stumbled off down the road.</p> +<p>Christopher looked after her with a white face.</p> +<p>“What does it mean?” he asked.</p> +<p>“The men have a way of appropriating the remains +of the last measure of coal they put on before going +off duty. It’s wrong of course: it’s been going on for +ages. I warned Scott—he’s the foreman. They’ve +been complaining about the coal supply at headquarters. +Mr. Masters caught Jim Lawrie at it to-day as +we left the big engine-room.”</p> +<p>“Is it a first offence?”</p> +<p>“There’s no first offence here,” returned Fulner +grimly. “There’s one only. There’s the club room. +We have to pay £20 a year rent for the ground and +then to keep it going.”</p> +<p>“But surely, Mr. Masters––” began Christopher +and stopped.</p> +<p>“Mr. Masters has nothing to do with the place +outside the works. It is not part of the System. He +pays 6d. a head more than any other employer and +that frees him. There’s the station.”</p> +<p>He paused as if he would leave his companion to +make his way on alone. He was obviously dissatisfied +and uneasy.</p> +<p>“Won’t you come to the station with me?” Christopher +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +asked, and as they walked he began to speak +slowly and hesitatingly, as one who must choose from +words that were on the verge of overflowing. “I +was brought up in Lambeth, Mr. Fulner. I am used +to poverty and bad sights. Don’t go on thinking I +don’t care. These people earn fortunes beside those +I have known, but in all London I’ve never seen anything +so horrible as this, nothing so hideous, sordid—” he +stopped with a gasp, “the women—the children—the +lost desire—the ugliness.”</p> +<p>They walked on silently. Presently he spoke again.</p> +<p>“You are a plucky man, Mr. Fulner. I couldn’t +face it.”</p> +<p>“I’ve no choice. I don’t know why I showed you +it, except I thought you were coming and I wanted +your help.”</p> +<p>“Are there many who care?”</p> +<p>“No. It’s too precarious. Mr. Masters doesn’t +approve of fools. Mind you, the men have no grievances +inside the works. The unions have no chance +now. It’s fair to remember that.”</p> +<p>“Is it the same everywhere?”</p> +<p>“The System’s the same. I know nothing about +the other works but that. There’s the train: we must +hurry.”</p> +<p>“What do you want for your club?” Christopher +asked as he entered his carriage.</p> +<p>“A billiard table, gym fittings, books. We’ve a +license. We sell beer to members,” his eyes were +eager: the man’s heart was in his hopeless self-imposed +work.</p> +<p>Christopher nodded. “I shall not forget.”</p> +<p>So they parted: each wondering over the other—would +have wondered still more if they had known in +what relationship they would stand to each other when +they next met.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXI' id='CHAPTER_XXI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +</div> +<p>Christopher stood for a moment inside the great +hall at Stormly Park and looked round. It was quite +beautiful. Peter Masters, having chosen the best man +in England for his purpose, had had the sense to let +him alone. There was no discordant note anywhere +and Christopher was quite alive to its perfections. But +coming straight from Stormly Town the contrast was +too glaring and too crude. It was not that Peter +Masters was rich and his people were poor. Poverty +and riches have run hand in hand down the generations +of men, but here, the people were poor in all +things, in morals, in desire, in beauty, in all that lifted +them in the scale of humanity, in order that he, Peter +Masters, should be superfluously rich, outrageously +so!</p> +<p>Christopher struggled hard to be just: he knew it +was not the superfluous money that was grudged, it +was the more precious time and thought saved with +a greed that was worse than the hunger of a miser—for +no purpose but to add to over-filled stores. +He knew all Peter Masters’ arguments in defence +of his System already: That he compelled no man to +serve him, that none did so except on a clear understanding +of the terms; that for the hours they toiled +for him he paid highly, and his responsibility ceased +when those hours were over. If Peter Masters was +no philanthropist at least he was no humbug. He said +openly he worked his System because it paid him. If +he could have made more by being philanthropical he +would have been so, but he would not have called it +philanthropy: it would have been a financial method.</p> +<p>The grim selfishness of it all crushed Christopher as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +an intolerable burden that was none of his, and yet, +because he was here accepting a part of its results, he +could not clear himself of its shadow. So, twenty-two +years ago, had his mother thought until the terror +of that shadow outweighed all dread of further evil, +and she had fled from its shade into a world where +sun and shadow were checkered and evil and good a +twisted rope by which to hold.</p> +<p>Some dim note from that long struggle and momentous +decision had its influence with her son now. +Without knowing it he was hastening to the same +conclusions she had reached.</p> +<p>He lunched alone and then to escape the persistence +of his thoughts decided to explore the west wing of +the house which he had hardly entered.</p> +<p>At the end of a long corridor a square of yellow +sunlight fell across the purple carpet from an open +door and he stopped to look in.</p> +<p>It was a pretty room with three windows opening +on to a terrace and a door communicating with a room +beyond. The walls were panelled with pale blue silk +and the chairs and luxurious couches covered with the +same. There were several pictures of great value, +on a French writing table lay an open blotter, but the +blotting paper was crumbling and dry and the ink in +the carved brass inkstand was dry also.</p> +<p>In the middle of the room surrounded by a pile of +Holland covers and hangings stood Mrs. Eliot, the +housekeeper. Christopher had seen her once or twice +and she was the only servant, except the butler, with +whom he had heard Peter Masters exchange a word. +“Lor’, sir, how you made me jump!” she cried at +sight of him in the doorway. “It isn’t often one +hears a footfall down here, they girls keep away or +I’d be about ’em as they know very well.”</p> +<p>“May I come in?” asked Christopher. “What a +pretty room.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span></p> +<p>The woman glanced round hesitatingly. “Well, +now, you’re here. Yes. It’s pretty enough, sir.”</p> +<p>“Are you getting ready for visitors?”</p> +<p>He had no intention of being curious, he was only +thankful to find some distraction from his own +thoughts, and there seemed no reason why he should +not chat to the kindly portly lady in charge.</p> +<p>“No visitors here, sir. We don’t have much company. +Just a gentleman now and then, as may be +yourself.”</p> +<p>She pulled a light pair of steps to the window and +mounted them cautiously one step at a time, dragging +a long Holland curtain in her hand.</p> +<p>“Do you want to hang that up?” asked Christopher, +watching her with idle interest. “Do let me +do it, Mrs. Eliot, you’ll fall off those steps if you go +higher. I can’t promise to catch you, but I can +promise to hang curtains much better than you can.” +Mrs. Eliot, who was already panting with exertion +and the fatigue of stretching up her ample figure to +unaccustomed heights, looked down at him doubtfully.</p> +<p>“Whatever would Mr. Masters say, sir?”</p> +<p>“He would be quite pleased his visitor found so +harmless an amusement. You come down, Mrs. +Eliot. Curtain-hanging is a passion with me, but +what a shame to cover up those pretty curtains with +dingy Holland!”</p> +<p>“They wouldn’t be pretty curtains now, sir,” said +Mrs. Eliot, descending with elaborate care, “if they +hadn’t been covered up these twenty years and more.”</p> +<p>“What a waste,” ejaculated Christopher now on +the steps, “isn’t the room ever used?”</p> +<p>“Never since Mrs. Masters went out of +<ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: removed extra double quote mark">it.</ins> +‘Eliot,’ says the master—I was first housemaid then—‘keep +Mrs. Masters’ rooms just as they are, ready +for use. She will want them again some day.’ So +I did.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span></p> +<p>Christopher shifted the steps and hung another +curtain.</p> +<p>“I didn’t know there had been a Mrs. Masters.”</p> +<p>“Most folk have forgotten it, I think, sir.”</p> +<p>“This was her boudoir, I suppose.”</p> +<p>“Yes. And I think he’s never been in here since +she went, but once, and that was five years after. +The boudoir bell rang and I came, all of a tremble, +to hear it for the first time after so long. He was +standing as it may be there. ‘That cushion’s faded, +Eliot,’ he said, ‘get another made like it. You are +to replace everything that gets torn or faded or worn +without troubling me. Keep the rooms just as they +are.’ He had a pile of photographs in his hand and +a little picture, and he locked them up in that cabinet, +and I don’t suppose it’s been opened since. He never +made any fuss about it from the first. No, nor altered +his ways either.” She drew a cover over a chair and +tied the strings viciously. “It’s for all the world as if +he’d never had a wife at all.”</p> +<p>Christopher had hung the three sets of curtains +now and he sat on the top step and looked +round the room curiously. It was less oppressively +modern that the rest of the house and he had an idea +the master of Stormly was not responsible for that. +He felt a vivid interest in the late Mrs. Masters, +Why had she gone and why had neither Aymer nor +St. Michael mentioned her existence? He longed to +override his own sense of etiquette and question Mrs. +Eliot, who continued to ramble on in her own way.</p> +<p>“I takes off the coverings every two months, and +brushes it all down myself,” she explained, “and I’ve +never had anyone to help me before. If I were to +let them girls in they’d break every vase in the place +with their frills and their ‘didn’t see’s.’”</p> +<p>“Do those sheets hang over the panels?”</p> +<p>“I couldn’t think of troubling you! But if you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +will, sir, why then, that’s the sheet for there. They +are all numbered.”</p> +<p>Christopher covered up the dainty walls regretfully. +Why had she left it? Had she and Peter +quarrelled? It seemed to Christopher, in his present +mood towards Mr. Masters, they might well have +done so.</p> +<p>“Do you remember Mrs. Masters?” he was +tempted to ask presently.</p> +<p>“Indeed I do, seeing I was here when he brought +her home. Tall, thin, and like a queen the way she +walked, a great lady, for all she was simple enough +by birth, they say. But she went, and where she went +none of us know to this day, and some say the Master +doesn’t either, but I don’t think it myself.”</p> +<p>Christopher straightened a pen and ink sketch of a +workman on the wall. It was a clever piece of work, +life-like and sympathetic.</p> +<p>“She did that,” said Mrs. Eliot with a proprietor’s +pride. “She was considered clever that way, I’ve +been told. That’s another of hers on the easel over +there.”</p> +<p>Christopher examined it and gave a gasp. It was +a bold sketch of two men playing cards at a table with +a lamp behind them. The expression on the players’ +faces was defined and forcible, but it was not their +artistic merit that startled him, but their identity. +One—the tolerant winner—was Peter himself—the +other—the easy loser—was Aymer Aston.</p> +<p>So Aymer did know of Mrs. Masters’ existence, +knew her well enough for her to make this intimate +likeness of him.</p> +<p>“Was it done here?” he asked slowly.</p> +<p>“No, she brought it with her. I don’t know who +the other gentleman is, but it’s a beautiful picture of +the master, isn’t it? so life-like.”</p> +<p>“Yes.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span></p> +<p>He looked again round the room, fighting again +with his desire to search for more traces of its late +owner, and then grew hot with shame at his curiosity. +He left Mrs. Eliot rather abruptly and wandered out +of the house, but the unknown mistress of the place +haunted him, glided before him across the smooth +lawns, he could almost hear the rustle of her dress on +the gravel, and then recollected with relief it was +only the memory of the old game he used to play at +Aston House with his dead mother, transferred by +some mental suggestion to Stormly Park. Presently +he saw the bulky form of Peter Masters on the steps +and joined him reluctantly.</p> +<p>“I want to see you, Christopher,” said Peter as +he approached. “Come into my room. I shan’t be +able to go to London this week to buy the car, +so you must stay until Monday and go up +with me then,” he announced, and without waiting +for assent or protest plunged into his subject with +calculated abruptness.</p> +<p>“This road business of yours, is there money +in it?”</p> +<p>“I think so. It is not done yet.”</p> +<p>“How long will it take you to perfect it?”</p> +<p>“How can I tell? It may mean weeks, it may +mean months.”</p> +<p>“What are you going to do when you’ve found +it?”</p> +<p>“Get someone to take it up, I suppose.”</p> +<p>Christopher was answering against his will, but +the swift sharp questions left him no time to fence.</p> +<p>“I’ll take it up now. Fit you up a laboratory and +experimenting ground and give you two years to perfect +it—and a partnership when it’s started.”</p> +<p>Christopher looked up with incredulous amazement.</p> +<p>“But it’s a purely scientific speculation at present. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +There are just about half a dozen people on the track. +We are all racing each other.”</p> +<p>“Well, you’ve got to win, and I’ll back you. You +shall have every assistance you want—money shan’t +count. You can live here and have the North Park +for trials, as many men as you want and no interruption.”</p> +<p>“But it’s impossible. It’s not a certainty even.”</p> +<p>“No speculation is a certainty. If you bring it off +it will mean a fortune, properly managed. I can +do that for you far better than Aymer. We should +share profits, of course, and I should have to risk +money. It’s a fancy thing, but it pleases me.”</p> +<p>Christopher got up and went to the open window. +The tussle between them had come. It would need +all his strength to keep himself free from this man’s +toils. However generous in appearance, Christopher +knew they were toils for him, and must be avoided.</p> +<p>“Aymer’s done well enough for you so far,” pursued +Peter Masters from the depths of his chair. +“We will grant him all credit, but this is the affair +of a business man: it requires capital: it requires +business knowledge: and it requires faith. You will +have to go to someone if you don’t come to me, and +I’m making you a better offer than you’ll get elsewhere. +I’ll do more. We’ll buy up the other men if +they are dangerous. You can have their experience, +too. It’s only a question of investing enough +money.”</p> +<p>As he stood there in the window Christopher realised +it all: how near his darling project lay to his +heart, how great and harassing would be the difficulties +of launching it on the world; how sure success +would be under this man’s guidance, and yet how with +all his heart and soul and unreasoning mind he hated +the thought of it, and would have found life itself +dear at the purchase of his freedom. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span></p> +<p>His hands shook a little as he turned, but his voice +was quiet and steady.</p> +<p>“It is very generous of you, sir, but I could not +possibly pledge myself to you or any man.”</p> +<p>“I’m asking no pledge. I’m only asking you to +complete your own invention, and when it’s completed +I’ll help you to use it.”</p> +<p>“I must be free.”</p> +<p>“You own you can’t use any discovery by yourself, +you’d have to go to someone. I come to you. +The credit will be yours. I only find the means and +share the return—fair interest on capital.”</p> +<p>“It’s not that.”</p> +<p>“Then what? Do you doubt my financial ability +or financial soundness?”</p> +<p>The meshes of the net were very narrow. Christopher +sat with his head on his hands. He could +waste no force in inventing reasons, neither could +he explain the intangible truth. It was a fight of +wills solely.</p> +<p>“I can’t do it,” said Christopher doggedly.</p> +<p>“You are only a boy, but I credit you with more +common-sense and a better eye for business than +many young men double your age. What displeases +you in my offer? Where do you want it altered?”</p> +<p>“I don’t want it at all, Mr. Masters. I won’t +accept it. I don’t think my reason matters at all. +I know I shall never do so well, but I refuse.”</p> +<p>“There are others who would take it. Suppose +you are forestalled?”</p> +<p>Christopher looked him straight in the eyes.</p> +<p>“It’s a fair fight so far.”</p> +<p>“A fight is always fair to the winner,” returned +Masters grimly. There was a silence. The next +thrust reached the heart of the matter.</p> +<p>“What is your objection to dealing with me?”</p> +<p>Peter Masters leant forward as he spoke and put a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +finger on the other’s knee; his hard, keen eyes sought +the far recesses of his son’s mind, but they did not +sink deep enough to read his soul. Christopher struggled +with the impetuous words, the direct bare truth +that sought for utterance. Truth was too pure and +subtle a thing to give back here. When he answered +it was in his old deliberate manner, as he had answered +Fulner—as he would invariably answer when +he mistrusted his own judgment.</p> +<p>“If I told you my objections you would not care +for them or understand them. You would think +them folly. I won’t defend them. I won’t offer +them. It is just impossible, but I thank you.”</p> +<p>He rose and Masters did the same with a curious +look of admiration and disappointment in his eyes.</p> +<p>“I thought you a better business man, Christopher. +Will you refer the matter to your—guardian?”</p> +<p>“No. It is quite my own. Even Aymer can’t +help me.”</p> +<p>Peter’s lips straightened ominously.</p> +<p>“You will come to me yet. My terms will not be so +good again.”</p> +<p>“Then I am at least warned.”</p> +<p>“As you will. You are a fool, Christopher, perhaps +I am well quit of you.”</p> +<p>“I think that is quite likely,” returned Christopher +gravely, with a faint twinkle of amusement in his +eyes. He went away despondently, however, and +stopped at the door.</p> +<p>“When would you like me to go?”</p> +<p>“I told you: we go up to London on Monday,” +said the millionaire sharply. “I engaged you to buy +a car and you must buy it.”</p> +<p>“I am quite ready to do so.”</p> +<p>He left the room with an appalling sense of defeat +and humiliation on him. He could hardly credit a +victory that left him so bruised and spiritless. It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +was in his mind to run away and avoid his engagement +in London. He might even have done so but +for Peter’s remark. He walked across the hall with +downcast eyes and nearly fell against a tall thin form.</p> +<p>“Nevil!” cried Christopher.</p> +<p>“Yes, Nevil. Christopher, could I be had up for +libel if I wrote the life of a railway train?”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXII' id='CHAPTER_XXII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +</div> +<p>Christopher led the way into the nearest room and +turned to Nevil with an anxious face.</p> +<p>“What is wrong? Is it Cæsar?” He stopped +abruptly.</p> +<p>“There’s nothing wrong. Mayn’t anyone leave +Marden but you, you young autocrat?”</p> +<p>Nevil deposited his lanky self in a comfortable +chair and smiled in his slow way. Then he looked +round the room with a critical, disapproving eye.</p> +<p>“Is Peter at home?” he asked, “and do you think +he could put me up for a night? I suppose I ought +to see him.”</p> +<p>Christopher did not offer to move.</p> +<p>“You shan’t see him till you tell me what brings +you here, Nevil,” he said firmly.</p> +<p>The other shook his head. “That’s a bad argument, +Christopher. However, I’ll pretend it’s effectual. +There’s a man at Leamington who has some +records he considers priceless, but which I think are +frauds. I thought if I came up to-day I could travel +down with you to-morrow.”</p> +<p>It sounded plausible—too plausible when Christopher +considered the difficulty it was to rouse Nevil +even to go to London. There might be a man in +Leamington, but he didn’t believe Nevil had come +to see him.</p> +<p>“You are growing very energetic, Nevil,” he +said slowly, “all this trouble over some fraudulent +records.”</p> +<p>“They might be genuine, and really important,” +Nevil suggested cautiously. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span></p> +<p>“At all events I was not returning till Saturday, +and Mr. Masters wants me to stay till Monday now, +and go to London with him then.”</p> +<p>Nevil crossed and uncrossed his long legs, gazing +abstractedly at a modern picture of mediæval warfare.</p> +<p>“Those helmets are fifteen years too late for that +battle,” he volunteered, “and the pikes are German, +not French. What a rotten picture. Don’t you think +you could come back with me? I hate travelling +alone. I always believe I shall get mislaid and be +taken to the Lost Property Office. Porters are so +careless.”</p> +<p>He did not look round, but continued to examine +the details of the offending picture.</p> +<p>Christopher leant over his chair and put his hands +on Nevil’s shoulders.</p> +<p>“Nevil, I can’t stand any more. Tell me why I +am to come back.”</p> +<p>The other looked up at him with a rueful little +smile, singularly like his father’s.</p> +<p>“You were not always so dense, Christopher. I +hoped you wouldn’t ask questions that are too difficult +to answer. To begin with, neither my father nor +Aymer know I’ve come. They think I’m in town. +You see, Cæsar misses you, though he wouldn’t have +you think so for the world, in case it added to your +natural conceit, but it makes him—cross, yes, rather +particularly cross and that upsets the house. I can’t +write at all, so I thought you had better come back. +The fact is,” he added with a burst of confidence, +“I’ve promised an article on the Masterpieces of +Freedom for August. I seldom promise, but I like +to keep my word if I do, and it’s impossible to +write now. If you’re enjoying yourself it’s horribly +selfish—but you see the importance of it, don’t +you?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span></p> +<p>“Yes,” allowed Christopher with the ghost of a +smile, “it’s lamentably selfish of you, but I realise +the importance. Shall we go by rail to-night?”</p> +<p>“But Leamington?”</p> +<p>“Will the man run away?”</p> +<p>“My father might have been interested to see the +papers.”</p> +<p>“You dear old fraud,” said Christopher with an +odd little catch in his voice, “do you suppose St. +Michael won’t see through you? Is it like you to +travel this distance to see doubtful records when you +won’t go to London to see genuine ones? Why did +not St. Michael write to me?”</p> +<p>“Cæsar would not let him.”</p> +<p>“He must be ill.”</p> +<p>“He is not, on my word, Christopher. He is just +worried to the verge of distraction by your being here. +It seems ridiculous, but so it is.”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you write yourself?”</p> +<p>Nevil considered the question gravely.</p> +<p>“Why didn’t I write? Oh, I know. I only +thought of it this morning and it seemed quicker to +come.”</p> +<p>“Or wire?” persisted Christopher.</p> +<p>“It would have cost such a lot to explain,” he answered +candidly. “I did think of that and started +to send one. Then I found I had only twopence in +my pocket. If I had sent anyone else to the office +everyone would have known I was sending for you +and Cæsar would have been more annoyed than +ever.”</p> +<p>“I quite see. What did Mrs. Aston say?”</p> +<p>“I think she said you’d be sure to come.”</p> +<p>Christopher nodded. “Yes, I’ll go by mail to-night.” +Then he shut his teeth sharply and looked +out of the window with a frown, thinking of the +renewed battle of wills to come, and at last said he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +would go and find Mr. Masters, since no one appeared +to have told him of Nevil’s arrival.</p> +<p>He went straight down the corridor to Peter Masters’ +room. The owner was still seated as he had +left him, smoking placidly.</p> +<p>“Changed your mind already?” he asked as his +guest entered.</p> +<p>“No, not that, but Nevil Aston has come and I +must go back with him by the mail to-night.”</p> +<p>“What’s up?” The big man sprang to his feet. +“Is Aymer ill?”</p> +<p>“No, no. I don’t think so. It may be Nevil’s +fancy. He thinks Aymer wants me back. Of course +it sounds absurd, but Nevil, who won’t stir beyond +the garden on his own account, has come all this way +to fetch me to Cæsar.”</p> +<p>Peter Masters was half-way to the door and tossed +a question over his shoulder curtly.</p> +<p>“Where is he?”</p> +<p>“In the little reception-room.”</p> +<p>Christopher followed him down the passage puzzling +over this unexpected behaviour.</p> +<p>Nevil was re-exploring the inaccurate picture with +patient sorrow and despair. He hardly turned as +they entered.</p> +<p>“How do you do, Peter,” he said unenthusiastically, +“why do you buy pictures like that by men +who don’t even know the subject they are painting?”</p> +<p>“I’ll burn it to-morrow. What’s the matter with +Aymer, Nevil?”</p> +<p>Nevil looked reproachfully at Christopher.</p> +<p>“Nothing is the matter, as I told Christopher, +only I’d a man to see at Leamington and thought I +could get a fellow victim here for the journey home.”</p> +<p>“I’ll meet you in London on Monday,” put in the +fellow victim quietly to Mr. Masters.</p> +<p>Peter looked from one to the other, lastly he looked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +long at Christopher and Christopher looked at him. +Nothing short of the revelation Peter was as yet unprepared +to make would stop Christopher from going +to Aymer Aston that night he knew, and if he let the +boy go back with the truth untold, it would be forever +untold—by <i>him</i>. That it <i>was</i> the Truth was a +conviction now. There was no space left for a shadow +of mistrust in his mind.</p> +<p>“If you go by the mail we’d better dine at eight +sharp,” he said abruptly. “I want to see you, Christopher, +before you go, in my room.” He turned towards +the door, adding as an afterthought, “You +must look after Nevil till I am free.”</p> +<p>Nevil gave a gentle sigh of satisfaction as the door +closed.</p> +<p>Christopher laughed. The relief was so unexpected, +so astounding. “We’ll have some tea in the +orangery,” he said after a moment’s consideration. +“You may not like the statuary, but the orange trees +at least offer no anachronisms.”</p> +<p>Peter Masters shut the door of his room with a +bang and going to an ever-ready tray, helped himself +to a whiskey and soda with a free hand. Then he +carefully selected a cigar of a brand he kept for the +Smoke of Great Decisions, and lit it. All this he did +mechanically, by force of habit, but after it was done, +habit found no path for itself, for Peter Masters was +treading new roads, wandering in unaccustomed +regions, and found no solution to his problem in the +ancient ways.</p> +<p>Was he, who for thirty-five years of life—from full +manhood till now—had never consulted any will or +pleasure but his own—was he now going to make a supreme +denial to himself for no better reason than +the easing of a stricken man’s burden?</p> +<p>The man once had been his friend, but the boy +was his. And he wanted him. He clenched his fist +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +on the thought. He was perfectly aware of his own +will in this matter.</p> +<p>Even from the material or business point of view +his need of a son and heir had grown great of late. +He had never contemplated the non-existence of one, +just as he had never contemplated the non-existence +of Elizabeth. He had counted, it is true, on overpowering +the alert senses of one who had known the +pinch of poverty with superabundant evidence of the +fortune that was his. He had noted the havoc +wrought to great fortunes by children brought up +to regard great wealth as the natural standard of +life; he meant to avoid that error, and in the unnatural +neglect of the boy he had believed to be his, +there was less callous indifference than Charles Aston +thought: it was more the outcome of a crooked reasoning +which placed the ultimate good of his fortune +above the immediate well-being of his child. The terrible +event in Liverpool that had shattered his almost +childish belief in his wife’s existence had also wiped +away her fading image from his mind. The whole +force of his energetic nature was focussed on the +possible personality of his son. This Christopher of +Aymer Aston’s upbringing, entirely different from +all he had purposed to find in his heir, called to him +across forgotten waters. His very obstinacy and will +power were matters in which Peter rejoiced—they +were qualities no Aston had implanted. He was +proud of his son and his pride clamoured to possess +in entirety what was his by right of man.</p> +<p>What could prevent him? He sat biting his fingertips +and frowning into the gathering twilight without—at +that persistent vision of Aymer Aston’s face.</p> +<p>There were plenty of men in the world who would +have shrugged their shoulders over the question of +Peter Masters’ honesty, some who would have accredited +his lightest word and yet would have preferred +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +a legal buffer between them and the bargain +he drove: many who considered him a model of financial +honesty. It was a matter of the personal standpoint: +perhaps none of them would have troubled to +measure the millionaire by any measure than their +own. Peter’s own measure was of primitive simplicity—he +never took something for nothing, and if +he placed his own value on what he bought and what +he paid, he at least believed in his own scale of prices. +Had he picked up a banknote in the street he would +have lodged it with the police unless he considered +the amount only equalised his trouble in stopping to +rescue it. Had his son dragged himself up the toilsome +ladder to manhood (he ignored the possibility +of woman’s aid), he would have taken him as he was, +good or bad, without compunction, but he recognised +that Christopher was not the outcome of his own +efforts only, that Aymer having expended the unpriceable +capital of time, patience and love, might, +with all reason, according to Peter Masters’ code of +life, look for the full return of sole possession in the +result. Was he, then, in the face of his own standard +of honest dealing, going to rob Aymer of the fruit of +his labours, to take so great a something for nothing?</p> +<p>Let it be to Peter’s everlasting credit that he knew +his millions to be as inadequate to offer a return as +any beggar’s pocket. He had no quarrel with himself +over his past conduct, he repudiated nothing and regretted +nothing, he merely viewed the question from +the immediate standpoint of the present. Was he going +to violate the one rule of his life or not? He +made no pretence about it. If he claimed his son he +would claim him entirely. Christopher would refuse, +would resist the claim at first—of that Peter was assured. +But it would be Aymer himself who would +fight with time on his side and insist on Peter’s rights, +he was equally assured of that. But still Christopher +would refuse. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span></p> +<p>Peter Masters got up and began to walk up and +down and parcelled out bribes.</p> +<p>“He shall have the Foundry to play with—a garden +city for them if he likes. His own affair run on +his own silly lines.” So he thought, ready to sweep +to oblivion rule and system for the possession of this +son of his.</p> +<p>But there remained Aymer.</p> +<p>Whether he gained Christopher in the end or not +the very making of the claim would make a break +between Aymer and his adopted son,—a gulf over +which they would stretch out hands and never meet.</p> +<p>Aymer loved him. Aymer of the maimed life, the +shattered hopes, whose destiny filled Peter with sick +pity even now, so that he stretched out his great arms +and moved sharply with a dumb thankfulness to something +that he could move.</p> +<p>He might as well rob a child—or a beggar—better: +he could give them a possible equivalent.</p> +<p>He went slowly to the side table and had a second +whiskey and soda, mechanically as he had done at first, +then he rang the bell.</p> +<p>When Christopher sought him shortly before dinner-time +he was told curtly he could go to London at +his leisure and purchase a car where and how he liked, +so it were a good one.</p> +<p>“I shall want a chauffeur with it,” he added, “English, +mind. You can charge your expenses with your +commission, whatever that is.”</p> +<p>Christopher said gravely he would consider the matter.</p> +<p>“You can send me word how Aymer is,” concluded +Masters shortly. “I suppose he’s ill. The whole lot +of you spoil him outrageously.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIII' id='CHAPTER_XXIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +</div> +<p>Perhaps they did spoil Aymer Aston, these good people, +who loved him so greatly, setting so high a store +upon his happiness that their own well-being was +merged therein.</p> +<p>While it was quite true that neither Nevil nor any +other could have worked peacefully in the electrical +atmosphere of the house after Christopher left with +Peter Masters, it is also true that no temporary personal +inconvenience would have driven Nevil to undertake +the long and tiresome journey, if his brother’s +welfare had not been involved.</p> +<p>The need had been great. Aymer’s restless misery +increased every day of Christopher’s absence. He refused +to see any of the household but his father and +Vespasian, and though at first he made desperate efforts +to control himself, in the end he gave up, and +long hours of sullen brooding silence were interposed +with passionate flashes of temper. It was the old days +over again, and all those near him realised to the full +how great was the victory that had been won and how +terrible life might have been for them all without it. +Therefore they were very patient and tolerant, though +Mr. Aston began to consider seriously if he would not +be justified in breaking his given word to Aymer and +summoning Christopher back at once.</p> +<p>He looked very worn and tired when he joined +<ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: Renate in original text">Renata</ins> at dinner on the Thursday night.</p> +<p>“Nevil does not mean to be away long, does he?” +he inquired anxiously.</p> +<p>“No, I think not. Why, St. Michael? Does Cæsar +want him?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span></p> +<p>“He asked for him this evening.”</p> +<p>“What a pity.”</p> +<p>She went on with her soup, with a little rose of +colour on her face, thinking of the secret her husband +had of course confided to her. Presently observing +St. Michael hardly touched his dinner and seemed too +weary to talk, she suggested nervously that she should +sit with Aymer that evening. He conjured up a kind +smile of thanks, but refused in his gentle, courteous +way, saying that Aymer seemed disinclined to talk.</p> +<p>When Mr. Aston went back to the West Room a +little later, that disinclination seemed to have evaporated. +He heard Cæsar’s furious voice pouring a cascade +of biting words on someone as he opened the +door. Vespasian was the unfortunate occasion and +the unwilling victim; Vespasian, who was older by +twenty years than in the days when he stood unmoved +before continuous and worse storms. His usually impassive +face was rather red and he now and then uttered +a dignified protest and finally bent to pick up the +shattered glass that lay between them and was the +original cause of the trouble. Aymer, with renewed +invective, clutched a book to hurl at the unfortunate +man, but before he could fling it, Mr. Aston leant +over the head of the sofa and seized his wrists. The +left would have been powerless in a child’s grasp and +the elder man’s position made him master of the still +strong right arm.</p> +<p>At a faint sign from Mr. Aston, Vespasian vanished.</p> +<p>Aymer made one unavailing attempt to free himself +as his father drew his hands up level with his head. +He tried not to look at the face leaning over him.</p> +<p>“Aymer,” said his father, with great tenderness, +“do you remember what I used to do with you when +you were a little boy and lost your temper?”</p> +<p>Aymer gave a short, uneasy laugh. “Tie my hands +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +to a chair or a bed head. It was all right then, it is +taking a mean advantage now.” He ended with a +choking laugh again, and Mr. Aston felt his hands +tremble under his careful grasp.</p> +<p>“Aymer, my dear old fellow, if you must turn on +someone, then turn on me. I understand how it is. +Vespasian doesn’t. That’s not fair. It’s the way of a +fractious invalid, not of a sane man. Where’s your +pride?”</p> +<p>Aymer bit his lip. He was helpless and humiliated, +but after all it was his father. He looked up at him +at last with a crooked smile.</p> +<p>“I’ve none—in your power like this, sir. Let me +go, I’ll be a good boy.”</p> +<p>They both laughed, and Mr. Aston released him. +The colour burned on Aymer’s face. Grown man as +he was, the sudden subjection to authority so exerted +was hard to bear even in the half-joking aspect with +which his father covered it.</p> +<p>Mr. Aston knew it. He had deliberately used the +very helplessness that was his son’s best excuse for his +outbreak, to check the same, and however thankful for +his success, the means were bitter to him also, only he +was not going to let Aymer see it or get off without +further word.</p> +<p>“I shall have to send you to school again,” he said, +picking up the broken glass. “I can’t have Nevil’s +property treated like this. He’ll be adding ‘breakages’ +to the weekly bill.”</p> +<p>“I’ll pay,” pleaded Aymer, contritely, “if you +won’t tell him. Where is he?”</p> +<p>“Gone to London, of all the preposterous things; so +Renata says. She expects him back to-morrow, I +suppose Bowden will look after him, but I should have +wired to them had I known he was going.”</p> +<p>He seemed really a little worried, and Aymer +laughed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span></p> +<p>“What a family, St. Michael! Nevil can look after +himself a good deal better than you think. He puts +it on to get more attention.”</p> +<p>“Do you think he is jealous?”</p> +<p>“Not an ounce of it in him. I have the monopoly +of that,” he added, with a sharp sigh, and then, without +any warning, he caught his father’s arm and pulled +him near.</p> +<p>“Father,” his voice was hoarse and unsteady, “if +Peter tells Christopher, what will happen? I can’t +think it out steadily. I can’t face it.”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston knelt by him and put his hand on his +shoulder, concealing his own distress at this unheard-of +breakdown.</p> +<p>“My dear boy, it would not make the slightest difference +to Christopher. I’m seriously afraid he’d tell +Peter to go to the devil—and he’d come home by the +next train. He’d never accept him.”</p> +<p>“He’d never forget,” persisted Aymer, the sleeping +agony of long years shining in his eyes. “It would +not be the same, father. He would not be—mine. I +could not pretend it if he knew. Peter would be +there between us—always as he was––”</p> +<p>He broke off and took up the thread with a still +sharper note of pain, “Father, can’t you understand. +I don’t mind a woman. He’ll love and marry some +day: it’s his right. I don’t grudge that. But another +father—his real one. Oh, My God, mayn’t I keep +even this for myself?” He hid his face on the cushions, +all the wild jealousy of his nature struggling +with his pride.</p> +<p>His father put his arm round him, hardly able to +credit the meaning of the crisis. Was that white scar +on his son’s forehead no memorial to a dead jealousy, +but only an expression of a slumbering passion?</p> +<p>“Aymer, old fellow, listen. Peter isn’t going to +tell, I feel sure of it. And it would make no difference. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +You must allow I know something of men. I +give you my word of honour, Aymer, I know it would +make no difference to Christopher. You wrong him. +You will always be first with him.”</p> +<p>“It’s not Christopher,” returned Aymer, lifting +hard, haggard eyes to his father, “it’s myself. Twice +in my life I’ve wanted something—someone for myself +alone. Elizabeth—and now Christopher! It’s I +who can’t share.”</p> +<p>“Jealousy, cruel as the grave.” Involuntarily the +words escaped Mr. Aston.</p> +<p>“More cruel.”</p> +<p>He dropped his head again. St. Michael continued +to kneel by him in silence. The elementary forces of +nature are hard matters with which to deal. Silence, +sympathy, and the loan of mental strength were all +he could offer.</p> +<p>It came to his mind in the quiet stillness how in just +such a crisis as this, when he was not at hand to help +the same cruel passion had wrought the irrevocable +havoc with his son’s life. He looked at the dark head +pressed on the pillows and remembered his young +wife’s half-laughing pride in her first-born’s copper +coloured aureole of hair. He recollected the day he +had first held him in his arms, himself but just arrived +at man’s estate, and this helpless little baby given +into his power and keeping. He had done his best: +God knows how humbly he confessed that more than +truthful Truth, yet even all his love had failed to save +that little red-haired baby from this ... jealousy, +cruel as the grave! Perhaps he had been too young a +father to deal with it at first. Was it his failure or +were there greater forces behind—the forces of ages +of other failures for which poor Aymer paid....</p> +<p>Aymer moved till his head rested against his +father’s arm, like a tired child. Presently he looked +up rather shamefacedly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span></p> +<p>“It’s over. What a fool I’ve been. Don’t tell +Christopher, father.”</p> +<p>A faint reflection of what Aymer considered his own +terrible monopoly, caught poor St. Michael for a fleeting +moment, a jealous pang that his son’s first thought +must go to the boy. He realised suddenly he was +tired out and old, and got to his feet stiffly.</p> +<p>Aymer gave him a quick, penetrating glance.</p> +<p>“Send Vespasian back, father,” he said abruptly, +“and you go to bed. What a selfish brute I’ve been.” +And when Mr. Aston had bidden him good-night he +added in the indifferent tone in which he veiled any +great effort, “If Peter should want Christopher to +stay longer, you might tell him to come back—it +doesn’t pay to be so proud—and I’ll apologise to Vespasian.”</p> +<p>“He’s worth it,” said Mr. Aston with a smile, “he +and I are getting old, Aymer.”</p> +<p>“Negatived by a large majority, sir,” he answered +quickly.</p> +<p>It was not of Christopher he thought in the silent +hours of the night, and Mr. Aston’s brief jealousy +would have found no food on which to thrive had it +survived its momentary existence.</p> +<p>When Mr. Aston came down in the morning the +first sight that met his astonished eyes was Christopher, +seated at the breakfast table and attacking that +meal with liberal energy. He sprang up as Mr. Aston +entered.</p> +<p>“My dear boy, I thought you were not coming till +to-morrow at the earliest.”</p> +<p>“Will it be inconvenient?” asked Christopher, with +demure gravity. “I’m sorry, but I was so bored.”</p> +<p>He stumbled a little over the prevarication. St. +Michael was not Peter Masters, even excuses found +no easy flow in his presence.</p> +<p>“I’m delighted,” said Mr. Aston, and looked it. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span></p> +<p>He had breakfasted in his room, so he sat down by +Christopher and tried to find out the reason of the +opportune return.</p> +<p>“Your letters did not sound at all bored.”</p> +<p>“I only realised it yesterday evening,” returned +Christopher, with great gravity, “so we—that is I—came +down by the mail last night—and Nevil....”</p> +<p>“Nevil?”</p> +<p>“Yes, I picked him up, you know. He was seeing +a man in Leamington.”</p> +<p>Christopher carved ham carefully, and avoided Mr. +Aston’s eye, smiling to himself over his promise to +Nevil not to betray him.</p> +<p>“Nevil went to London. How did—” Mr. Aston +stopped suddenly, “Christopher.”</p> +<p>“Yes, St. Michael.”</p> +<p>“You are not to lie to me whatever you do to +others. Tell me what it means.”</p> +<p>Christopher regarded him doubtfully and then +laughed outright.</p> +<p>“Nevil did not like travelling alone. He thought +he would get lost, so he asked me to look after him.”</p> +<p>“He went from London to Leamington to get a +companion to travel home with?”</p> +<p>“Exactly. Isn’t it like him, St. Michael?”</p> +<p>They again looked steadily at each other.</p> +<p>“And being a bit weary of fighting for the right of +individual existence,” went on Christopher, “I agreed +to bring him home. Mr. Masters has been most kind, +but he does like his own way.”</p> +<p>“And what about you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, I like mine, too. That’s why it was so boring. +How’s Cæsar?”</p> +<p>“He will be pleased to see you. Where is Nevil?”</p> +<p>“Gone to bed, I expect. How he hates travelling.”</p> +<p>“Yes.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span></p> +<p>“He hates explanations still more, please St. +Michael.”</p> +<p>“He should have prepared a more plausible story.”</p> +<p>“He thinks it quite credible. He expected me to +believe—about the man in Leamington.”</p> +<p>“And did you?”</p> +<p>“Well, do you?”</p> +<p>They both laughed and Christopher looked at the +clock.</p> +<p>“Do you think Vespasian will let me take in +Cæsar’s breakfast?”</p> +<p>“He would be delighted, I’m sure. Cæsar won’t +believe in Leamington either, Christopher.”</p> +<p>“But he will easily believe I was bored—which is +true. I don’t think he is as fond of Mr. Masters as +he pretends to be.”</p> +<p>Whether Aymer believed or not, he asked no questions. +He only remarked that Peter was far more +likely to have been bored and Christopher had no eye +to his own advantage. To which Christopher replied +flippantly that it was a question of “vantage out,” +and he was not going to imperil his game with a rash +service.</p> +<p>After that he sat on the foot of the bed and talked +frankly of his visit, and minute by minute the jealous +fire in Aymer’s heart died down to extinction.</p> +<p>Presently, however, he said abruptly and rather reproachfully: +“You never told me Mr. Masters had +married.”</p> +<p>For a confused second the room and the occupants +were lost in a fiery mist and only Christopher’s voice +lived in the chaos. Then Aymer found himself struggling +to maintain hold of something in the mental +turmoil, he did not know what at first: then that it +was his own voice. It amazed him to hear it quite; +steady and cool. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></p> +<p>“Why should she interest you? Did Peter tell +you?”</p> +<p>“No. Never mentioned it. One day I found Mrs. +Eliot, the housekeeper, in a room, a sort of boudoir, +playing about with holland covers, and I helped her. +What was she like?”</p> +<p>“Mrs. Eliot?”</p> +<p>“No, you old stupid. Mrs. Peter Masters. I know +you knew her, because there’s a pen-and-ink sketch of +you and Mr. Masters playing cards in the room.”</p> +<p>“Oh, is there.”</p> +<p>“Is she dead?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“What was she like—to marry Mr. Masters?”</p> +<p>“Like? Like other women,” returned Aymer, +shortly.</p> +<p>Christopher looked at him sharply and realised he +had committed an indiscretion—that this was a subject +that might not be handled even with a velvet +glove.</p> +<p>“Explicit,” he retorted lightly. “However, that’s +not important. Now for something of real moment.”</p> +<p>He plunged into an account of Peter’s final offer to +him, and his own refusal.</p> +<p>“Why on earth did you refuse? Wasn’t it good +enough?” demanded Aymer curtly.</p> +<p>“No, not with P. M. attached. Might as well take +lodgings in Wormwood Scrubs—quite as much liberty. +But, anyhow, Cæsar, you see now what you have got +to do.”</p> +<p>“Get you apartments in Wormwood Scrubs?”</p> +<p>“No. Do be serious. Give me a laboratory here +and some experimental ground. Do, there’s a dear +good Cæsar.” In reminiscence of old days he pretended +to rub his head against Cæsar’s arm.</p> +<p>“Ah, you invented Peter’s offer to wheedle me into +this. I suppose.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span></p> +<p>“Exactly. Seriously, Cæsar, if you would, it would +be excellent. I’ve been thinking it out, I could work +here safely. No one to crib my ideas. But I must +have trial ground.”</p> +<p>“That’s Nevil’s affair.”</p> +<p>“Well, I undertake to manage Nevil if you are +afraid,” said Christopher, with an air of desperate resolve.</p> +<p>“I thought you didn’t like Marden,” persisted +Cæsar, fighting in an unreasoning way, against his +own desires, “and this engaged couple will wander +round and get in the way.”</p> +<p>He looked Christopher straight in the face with +scrutinising eyes, but he never flinched.</p> +<p>“I’ll put up a notice, ‘Trespassers will be blown +up.’”</p> +<p>“Well, you’d better talk to St. Michael, but remember, +I can’t buy up the other fellows. You’d better +have taken Peter’s offer.”</p> +<p>“I’d much rather bore you than Mr. Masters.”</p> +<p>“I’m not complaining.”</p> +<p>That was the nearest approach he made to expressing +to Christopher his deep, quiet content at the arrangement +that astute young man had so skilfully +suggested. St. Michael said a little more and Christopher +knew without words that he had pleased them +both.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIV' id='CHAPTER_XXIV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +</div> +<p>It took very little time for Christopher to establish +himself in the desired manner. Indeed, before another +week had passed the suggestion was an accomplished +fact. After that his actual presence in the house might +almost have been forgotten except by Cæsar. Mr. +Masters’ half serious threat was like a spur to a willing +steed. He spoke little of what he was doing, but the +experimental ground was criss-crossed with strange-coloured +roads, and the little band of men who worked +for him, with the kindly indulgence of the “young +master’s whim,” began to talk less of the fad and to +nurse a bewildered wonder at the said young master’s +strict rule and elaborate care over little points that +slow minds barely saw at all.</p> +<p>As for the engaged couple, Christopher rarely met +them. He did not intentionally avoid either Patricia +or Geoffry, singly or collectively, but he was not sorry +their preoccupation and his separated them. He did +not lose his sense of possessorship of Patricia: in his +innermost mind she was still his, and Geoffry was but +the owner of an outside visible Patricia that was but +one expression of the woman who stood crowned and +waiting in his heart.</p> +<p>There was no question of the wedding, or if there +were between themselves, Geoffry was not allowed to +voice it. Patricia was enjoying life and in no hurry +to forego or shorten the pleasant days of her engagement.</p> +<p>Towards the end of September Christopher began +to relax his long hours of work and the tense look on +his face gave way.</p> +<p>“I shall know in about a fortnight if it’s coming +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +out all right,” he said to Cæsar abruptly one day, “and +it’s a fortnight in which I can do nothing but wait.”</p> +<p>“Go and play,” said Cæsar, watching him anxiously, +“you concentrate too much. You’ll be getting nervous.”</p> +<p>Christopher laughed and gripped Cæsar’s hand in +his firm, steady grasp.</p> +<p>“Never better in my life,” he said. “Concentration +is an excellent thing. I’m beginning to appreciate +Nevil.”</p> +<p>He spent the next five days in true Nevil fashion, +however, following the whim of the moment, and +“lazing” as thoroughly as he had worked. Geoffry +and Patricia claimed his attendance, or Patricia did +and Geoffry made no protest. They were supremely +happy days. The three talked of nothing in particular, +just the easy surface aspect of the world and the moment’s +sunshine, and Geoffry was secretly surprised to +find his pleasure so little diminished by the third +presence.</p> +<p>Then one day that wore no different outer aspect +to its fellows in their livery of autumn sunshine, the +three walked over the wooded ridge to the open downland +where the brown windswept turf was interspaced +with stretches of stubble and blue-green “roots,” +where a haze of shimmering light hung over copse and +field, and beyond the undulating near country a line of +hills purple and grey melted into the sky-line.</p> +<p>They had discussed hotly a disputed point as they +mounted from the valley and came out on this good +land of promise in a sudden silence. Patricia seated +herself on the soft turf at the edge of a little chalk pit +and sat in her accustomed attitude with her hands +folded, looking straight before her, and the two men +sat on either side of her. And over all three a sense +of the smallness of the matter over which they had +differed drifted in varied manners. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span></p> +<p>Geoffry realised how little he really cared about it. +Christopher was amused at their futile efforts to solve +a problem of which they knew nothing, but Patricia +was angry, first that she had been betrayed into expressing +concern in something of which she was really +ignorant, and secondly that neither Christopher nor +Geoffry had agreed with her. The matter of the discussion—it +arose from the subject of village charities—became +of no importance, but the sense of irritation +remained with her, and she was unaccountably +cross with Christopher. Geoffry’s point of view she +could ignore, but Christopher’s worried her.</p> +<p>Geoffry dismissed the whole thing most easily; he +did not trouble about Christopher’s view, and he +thought Patricia’s a little queer, but then to him Patricia’s +views were not Patricia herself. He made the +common mistake of divorcing that particular aspect of +his lady love with which he was best acquainted from +the multitudinous prisms of her womanhood. He +would have allowed vaguely that she had “moods,” +that these overshadowed occasionally the sunny, beautiful +girl he loved, but no conception of her as a whole +had entered his mind. He was in love with one prism +of a complex whole, or rather with one colour of the +rainbow itself.</p> +<p>This particular truth with regard to Geoffry’s estimate +of Patricia impressed itself on Christopher with +disagreeable persistency during the walk, and renewed +that nearly forgotten fear that had come to him during +the ride from Milton in the spring.</p> +<p>So presently he found himself watching her inner +attitude towards her accepted lover in the forbidden +way, without sufficient knowledge of what he was +actually doing to stop it. Perhaps some subtle appreciation +of this in the subconscious realm, roused +a like uneasiness and dissatisfaction in Patricia herself. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span></p> +<p>At all events Christopher soon found grounds for +no immediate fear and left the future to itself.</p> +<p>“Shall we go on?” he suggested, marking how her +hands grew white as she pressed them together.</p> +<p>She negatived the proposal, imperiously saying they +had only just got there and she wanted to rest.</p> +<p>“You are getting lazy, Patricia,” said her lover +gravely. “I warn you, it’s the one unpardonable sin +in my eyes.”</p> +<p>“You mistake restlessness for energy,” she retorted +quickly. “I’m never lazy. Ask Christopher.”</p> +<p>Geoffry did no such thing. He continued to fling +stones at a mark on the lower lip of the chalk pit.</p> +<p>“It’s fairly hard to distinguish, anyhow,” said +Christopher, thoughtfully. “There are people who +call Nevil lazy, whereas he isn’t. He only takes all +his leisure in one draught.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. It’s simple enough, isn’t it? +I never feel lazy so long as I’m doing something—moving +about.”</p> +<p>Geoffry jumped down into the little white pit as he +spoke, as if to demonstrate his remark. Patricia looked +scornful.</p> +<p>“So long as your are restless, you mean,” she said.</p> +<p>“Well, you must teach me better if you can. I +say, Patricia, do you always turn reproof on the reprover’s +head?”</p> +<p>He leant against the bank looking up at her, smiling +in his easy, good-tempered way. He wished vaguely +the line of frown on her pretty forehead would go. +He wondered if she had a headache.</p> +<p>He ventured to put his hand over hers when he was +sure Christopher was not looking. She neither answered +the caress nor resented it.</p> +<p>Presently he began to explore the hollow, poking +into all the rabbit-holes with his stick.</p> +<p>Christopher sat silent, which was a mistake, for it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +left her irritation but one object on which to expend +itself, and after all it was Geoffry who should have +tried to please her by sitting still.</p> +<p>Suddenly a frightened rabbit burst out of a disturbed +hole, and Geoffry, with a shout of delight, in +pure instinct flung a stone. By a strange, unhappy +fluke, expected least of all by himself, the stone hit the +poor little terrified thing and it rolled over dead. He +picked it up by its ears and called to them triumphantly +to witness his luck, with boyish delight in the unexpected, +though the chances were he would never have +flung the stone at all had he dreamt of destroying it.</p> +<p>A second flint whizzed through the air, grazing the +side of his head. He dropped the rabbit and stood +staring blankly at the two on the bank.</p> +<p>Patricia’s white, furious face blazed on him. Christopher +was grasping her hands, his face hardly less +white.</p> +<p>“Are you hurt?” he called over his shoulder.</p> +<p>“No,” the other stammered out, unaware of the +blood streaming down the side of his head, and then +dabbed his handkerchief on it. “It’s only a scratch. +What’s happened?”</p> +<p>“Patricia mistook you for a rabbit, I think,” returned +Christopher grimly and added to her in a low +voice, “Do you know you struck him, Patricia?”</p> +<p>She gave a shiver and put her hands to her face. +Even then he did not leave go of her wrists.</p> +<p>“A happy fluke you didn’t aim so well as I did,” +called Geoffry, unsteadily coming towards them.</p> +<p>“Don’t come,” said Christopher sharply. “Wait +a moment. Patricia,” he tried to pull her hands from +her face: her golden head dropped against his shoulder +and he put his arms round her.</p> +<p>“What is the matter with Patricia. Is she ill?” +asked Geoffry at his shoulder, his voice altered and +strained. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span></p> +<p>“It’s all right now. Sorry I wasn’t quicker, Geoffry. +Don’t touch her yet.”</p> +<p>But Geoffry was hard pressed already not to thrust +the other aside, and he laid his hand on the girl’s arm. +Christopher never offered to move.</p> +<p>“Patricia, what’s the matter. You haven’t really +hurt me, you know. What on earth were you doing?”</p> +<p>But she gave no sign she heard him. Only her +hands clung close to Christopher and she trembled a +little.</p> +<p>“She is ill,” cried Geoffry quickly. “Put her +down, Christopher, she’s faint.”</p> +<p>“No, she is not,” returned the other through +clenched teeth, “she will be all right directly, if you’ll +give her time. For heaven’s sake go away, man. +Don’t let her see you like that. Don’t you know your +head is cut.”</p> +<p>Geoffry put up his hand mechanically, and found +plentiful evidence of this truth, but he was still bewildered +as to what had actually happened, and he +was aching with desire to take her from Christopher’s +hold.</p> +<p>“It was just an accident,” he protested. “She +didn’t mean to hit me, of course. Let her lie down.”</p> +<p>“She did mean to hit you, just at the moment,” +returned the other, very quietly, “haven’t you been +told. Oh, do go away, there’s a good fellow. I’ll +explain presently.”</p> +<p>He was sick with dread lest Patricia should give +way to one of her terrible paroxysms of sorrow before +them both. She was trembling all over and he did not +know how much self-control she had gained. Then +suddenly he understood what was the real trouble with +poor Geoffry.</p> +<p>“Don’t mind my holding her, Geoffry,” he went on +swiftly, “I’ve seen her like this before and understand, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +and I can always stop her, but she mustn’t see +you like that first.”</p> +<p>Geoffry stood biting his lip and then turned abruptly +on his heel and left them—and for all his relief at his +departure, Christopher felt a faint glow of contempt +at his obedience.</p> +<p>“Is he gone?” Patricia lifted her white face and +black-rimmed eyes to his.</p> +<p>“Yes, dear.”</p> +<p>“Did I hurt him?”</p> +<p>“Not seriously. Sorry I was not quicker, Patricia.”</p> +<p>“I did not even know myself,” she answered, +wearily. “Christopher, why was I born? Why +didn’t someone let me die?”</p> +<p>He gave her a little shake. “Don’t talk like a baby. +But, Patricia, how is it Geoffry doesn’t know?”</p> +<p>She looked round with languid interest.</p> +<p>“Why did he go?”</p> +<p>“I sent him away.”</p> +<p>“He went?”</p> +<p>“What else could he do?”</p> +<p>She made no further remark, but sat clasping and +unclasping her nervous hands, as powerless against +the desperate languor assailing her as she had been +against the gust of passion.</p> +<p>Across the wide, smiling land westward a closed +shadow, sharp of outline and rapid of flight, drove +across the stubble field, sank in an intervening valley, +and skimmed again over the close green turf to their +feet as it touched the edge of the chalk pit. She shivered +a little.</p> +<p>“Take me home, Christopher.”</p> +<p>He helped her up and with steady hands assisted +her to smooth her hair and put on her hat, and then +they turned and walked back along the path they had +come. Christopher was greatly troubled. It seemed to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +him incredible that Geoffry had been left in ignorance +of this cruel inheritance. He tried to gauge the effect +of it on his apparently unsuspecting mind and was +uneasy and dissatisfied over the result.</p> +<p>“Someone must explain to Geoffry,” he said presently; +“will you like him to come over to-night and +tell him yourself, Patricia?”</p> +<p>“I don’t want to see him.” There was a deep note +of fatigue in her voice, also a new accent of indifference. +Her mind was in no way occupied with her +lover’s attitude towards the unhappy episode.</p> +<p>“Someone’s got to see him and explain. It’s only +fair,” persisted Christopher resolutely.</p> +<p>“What is there to explain. What does it matter?”</p> +<p>“He thinks it was an accident.”</p> +<p>She walked on a little quicker.</p> +<p>“Patricia, you must tell him.”</p> +<p>Then she turned and faced him, and her pallor was +burnt out with red.</p> +<p>“Christopher, I will not see him. I can’t. What’s +the use? What can he do?”</p> +<p>“He must learn how to help you, learn how to stop +it,” he said doggedly.</p> +<p>She gave a curious, choking laugh. “Geoffry stop +it? Don’t be absurd, Christopher. You know he’d +make me ten times worse if he tried. Anyhow, I’m +not going to marry him.”</p> +<p>“Patricia!”</p> +<p>“Don’t, don’t. I can’t bear anything now. But I +won’t marry him, or anyone. It’s not safe.”</p> +<p>She went on down the path swiftly, without looking +back, hardly conscious of the tears falling from +her brimming eyes. Christopher followed her silently, +furious with himself because of some unreasoning exultation +in his heart, some clamorous sense of kinship +with the golden land and laden earth that had been +absent as they came, but it died when, presently emerging +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +from the wood on to the park land facing Marden, +she turned to him again regardless of her tears.</p> +<p>“He won’t want to marry me now, anyhow,” she +said wistfully, with a child’s appealing look of distress.</p> +<p>A great pity welled up in his heart and drowned the +last thought of self, carrying visions of the cruel isolation +this grim inheritage might entail on her, and he +had hard work to refrain from taking her in his arms +then and there to hold for ever shielded from the relentless +pressure of her life. The temptation was more +subtle and harder to withstand than on the sunny, +gorse-covered cliff at Milton, for it was her need and +her pain that cried for help and love, and she who +suffered because he withstood. He could in no wise +see what course he was to take beyond the minute, but +he knew quite clearly what course he must not take, +and such surety was the reward he won from that +other fight.</p> +<p>He answered her appeal now with quite other words +than those she perhaps sought, and it was the hardest +pang of all to know it and recognise the vague discomfort +in her eyes.</p> +<p>“You mustn’t be unfair to Geoffry, Patricia. You +haven’t any right to say that. He will want to do his +best for you when he understands.”</p> +<p>“He went away.”</p> +<p>“I sent him. I—I was afraid you were going to +cry.”</p> +<p>Had he done wrong? He cast his thoughts back +rapidly. He knew he could not have borne that they +two should witness one of her wild fits of repentance +and misery. It would have been unbearably unfit. He +could not have left her to Geoffry, and yet it had been +Geoffry’s right. He walked on by her side wondering +where he had blundered.</p> +<p>“You would not have gone, Christopher, no matter +who said so.” Her directness was dangerous. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +She was then going to allow herself no illusions of +any kind, not even concerning the man she loved, and +Christopher became suddenly aware he was very +young: that they were all three very young, and had +no previous experience to guide them in this difficult +pass, but must gain it for themselves, gain it perhaps +at greater cost than he could willingly contemplate.</p> +<p>“It is no question of me, whatever,” he said slowly. +“I’ve been used to you and I understand. I don’t +know how it would be if I had not known, neither do +you, but it’s clear, you or Nevil must explain the matter +to Geoffry at once.”</p> +<p>“You can do it.”</p> +<p>“It’s not my place.”</p> +<p>“You were there.”</p> +<p>“That was mere chance.”</p> +<p>She slipped her arm through his in the old way.</p> +<p>“Dear Christopher, I love Nevil, and he’s awfully +good, but you are like my own brother. Please pretend +you are really. If I had a brother, he would see +Geoffry for me.”</p> +<p>“But Nevil might not like it.”</p> +<p>It was a difficult pass, for how could he explain to +her it was of Geoffry he was thinking, not of Nevil. +His evasion at least raised a little smile.</p> +<p>“Nevil! An explanation taken off his hands!” She +spread her own abroad in mock amazement.</p> +<p>“Tell him yourself, Patricia.”</p> +<p>“Christopher!”</p> +<p>He looked straight ahead, a certain rigidness in the +outline of his face betokening a decision at variance +with his will.</p> +<p>“What am I to tell him?”</p> +<p>“What you like.”</p> +<p>“I shall not tell him the silly thing you said just +now, you know.”</p> +<p>“What thing?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span></p> +<p>“About not marrying.”</p> +<p>“It doesn’t matter,” she said indifferently, “he +won’t marry me if he thinks I tried to hit him.”</p> +<p>Christopher closed his mind and reason to so illogical +a conclusion, but he disputed the point no more, +and it was not till he left her and turned to face instantly +the task she had laid upon him, that he realised +how overwhelmingly difficult it was.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXV' id='CHAPTER_XXV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +</div> +<p>“I suppose no one realised you did not know all about +it as you’d known them all so long.”</p> +<p>Christopher concluded his simple and direct account +with these words, and waited vainly for a reply from +his hearer, who stood by the window with his back +to him.</p> +<p>“It’s so nearly a thing of the past, too, that it hardly +seemed worth mentioning,” he went on presently, an +uneasy wonder at the silence growing on him.</p> +<p>At length Geoffry spoke, in a thick, slow way, like +a man groping in darkness.</p> +<p>“You mean she did throw that stone deliberately, +meaning to hit me?”</p> +<p>He had no sight at present for the wider issues that +beset them or for Patricia’s story: his attention was +concentrated on the incident immediately affecting him +and he could see it in no light but that of dull horror.</p> +<p>“Deliberately tried to do it?” he repeated, turning +to Christopher.</p> +<p>“There wasn’t anything deliberate about it. She +just flung the stone at you precisely as you flung one +at the rabbit. Sort of blind instinct. She does not +know now she really hurt you.”</p> +<p>He glanced at the crossing strips of plaster with +which the other’s head was adorned on the right side.</p> +<p>“It’s horrible,” muttered Geoffry, “I can’t understand +it.”</p> +<p>“It’s simple enough.” There was growing impatience +in Christopher’s voice. “She inherits this +ghastly temper as I’ve told you. It’s like a sudden +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span> +gust of wind if she’s not warned. It takes her off her +feet, as it were, but she’s nearly learnt to stand firm. +She has a wretched time after.”</p> +<p>“It’s madness.”</p> +<p>“It’s nothing of the kind. She wasn’t taught to +control it as a child. They just treated it as something +she couldn’t help.”</p> +<p>“By heavens, are you going to make out she can +help it, and that that makes it better?”</p> +<p>Christopher faced him with amazed indignation. +Geoffry’s whole attitude and reception of his story +seemed to him incredibly one-sided.</p> +<p>“Of course it’s better. A hundred times better. +Do you mean you’d rather have her the victim of a +real madness she could not control? Think what you +are saying, man.”</p> +<p>“To me, it’s fairly unbearable if it’s something she +can help and doesn’t.”</p> +<p>Exasperation nearly choked the other. To have to +defend Patricia at all was almost a desecration in his +eyes, but he was her ambassador and he stuck to his +orders.</p> +<p>“She does help it. She’s nearly mastered it +now.”</p> +<p>Geoffry put his hand to his injured head and gave +a short laugh.</p> +<p>Christopher got up abruptly.</p> +<p>“What am I to tell her, then?” he demanded +shortly.</p> +<p>The real tenor of the discussion seemed to break +suddenly upon Geoffry and he was cruelly alive to his +own inability to meet it. He spoke hurriedly and almost +pleadingly.</p> +<p>“Don’t go yet. I’ve got to think this out. Can’t +you help me?”</p> +<p>“What’s there to think about? I’ve told you. I +can tell you how to help her if you like.”</p> +<p>“I’ve got to think of a jolly sight more than you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +seem to imagine,” returned the sorely beset young +man irritably, but unable to keep a touch of conscious +superiority out of his voice, “a jolly sight more, if I +marry her.”</p> +<p>“If you marry her?” Christopher turned on him +with blazing eyes.</p> +<p>“I’m not saying I shan’t—but it’s a pretty bad pass +for us both. I know how she feels. Marriage isn’t +just a question of pleasing oneself, you see. I must +think it out for both of us.”</p> +<p>Christopher began to speak and desisted. The other +went on in an aggrieved tone.</p> +<p>“I ought to have been told. Heredity of that sort +isn’t a thing to be played with, you know. Anything +might happen. Why wasn’t I told?” He walked to +and fro, and stopped by Christopher again.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t mind a bit,” he burst out, “if it were +just a bad joke, if she flung at me in fun and didn’t +expect to hit.”</p> +<p>“She has a good aim as a rule,” put in Christopher, +too blind with fury now to realise the other’s unhinged +condition, but Geoffry went on unheeding.</p> +<p>“But to do it in a rage, and for nothing. Just a +cold-blooded attack and no warning. I can’t get over +it. Anything might happen.”</p> +<p>His first indignant pang that Christopher had been +sent on this awkward errand had died out in the stress +of the moment: he was ready to appeal for sympathy, +for help, or even bare comprehension in the impossible +situation in which he found himself, but Christopher +had nothing to bestow on him but blind, furious resentment. +He longed to be quit of his service and +free to give way to his own wrath.</p> +<p>“There was plenty of warning for anyone with +eyes and sense to use them, and there was nothing +cold-blooded about it whatever, as I’ve told you fifty +times. If you choose to make a mountain out of a +molehill you must, but I’ll not help you. I would have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +done my best for both of you if you’d taken it decently.”</p> +<p>“You? What concern is it of yours?” retorted the +other, stung back to his original jealousy.</p> +<p>“It’s my concern so far as Patricia chooses it to +be,” he answered curtly. “I’m going now. You’d +better write to her yourself, when you’ve decided if the +risk is worth taking or not.”</p> +<p>“It’s my risk at least, not yours—yet awhile,” was +the unguarded reply.</p> +<p>The young men faced each other for a moment with +passions at the point of explosion. It was Christopher +who recollected his position of ambassador first +and turned abruptly to the door. In the hall he narrowly +escaped encounter with Mrs. Leverson, Geoffry’s +large and ample mother, but slipped out of a +garden door on hearing the rustle of her dress. In +the open air he breathed freely again and hastened to +regain his motor, which he had left near the gates. +Once outside Logan Park he turned the car northward +along a fairly deserted high-road and drove at +full pressure, until the hot passion of his heart cooled +and his pulse fell into beat with the throb of the engine, +and he found himself near Basingstoke. Then +he turned homeward, driving with greater caution and +was able to face matters in a logically sane manner.</p> +<p>“They won’t marry and it’s a blessed thing for both +of them,” was the burden of his thoughts, though it +mitigated not one bit his indignant attitude towards +Geoffry. Presently he turned to his own interest in +the matter.</p> +<p>His first idea was that he was free to claim her who +was his own at once, without loss of time, but that impulse +died down before a better appreciation of facts. +Patricia must be left free in mind to regain possession +of every faculty, that was but common fairness: also +he was by no means certain at this time what response +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +she would make to his claim, and if it should be a +negative his position at Marden would be difficult, and +there was Aymer to consider. Quite slowly, and with +no appreciable connection with the chief subject a recollection +of that first journey with Peter Masters from +London came to the surface of his mind, and written +large across, in Peter’s own handwriting, were the +words, “Aymer’s son.”</p> +<p>He had put that idea deliberately behind his back, +hidden it in the deepest recess of his mind, with a +strange content and a germ of pride unconfessed and +unacknowledged to himself. It remained a secret feeling +that touched at no point his steady faith and devotion +to his dead mother.</p> +<p>But Peter’s suggestion had utterly quenched his +original intention of asking Mr. Aston or Cæsar of his +own origin, as he had intended to do at the time of his +return from Belgium. The actual possibility or impossibility +of the idea counted nothing so long as the faintest +shadow of it lurked there in the background. If +it were a fact, it was their secret, deliberately withheld; +if it were not, he must be the last to give it +life.</p> +<p>The incalculable power of suggestion had done its +work and the suggested lie, taking root, had grown at +the pace of all ill weeds and obscured his usually clear +visions of essentials. The more he questioned the +possible fact the denser seemed the screen between him +and Patricia, until he called himself a fool to have +dreamed she was ever his to claim at all.</p> +<p>It was in this wholly unsatisfactory mood he was +called upon, on his return, to face Patricia and give his +own account of the interview.</p> +<p>Patricia was lying in wait for him at the door of +her own sanctum, which he had to pass on his way to +his room. He would have gladly deferred the interview, +but she summoned him imperiously. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span></p> +<p>“There’s a good hour till dinner, Christopher, and +I must know what he said. How long you’ve +been!”</p> +<p>He followed her in and closed the door behind him. +The little white-panelled room was so perfect an expression +of its owner that at all times Christopher felt +a still wonder fall on him to find himself within its +confines. It was singularly uncrowded and free, and +the monotonous note of light colour was broken by +splashes of brightness that were as an embroidery to +the plain setting.</p> +<p>Patricia turned to him with questioning eyes and +no words, and the difficulty of his task made him a +little curt and direct in speech, for otherwise how +could he avoid voicing the tenderness that flowed to +her.</p> +<p>“I told him about it and he seemed surprised he +hadn’t been told before, and he hadn’t really taken in +what happened this afternoon at all. I expect he’ll +write to you.”</p> +<p>A faint ghost of a smile touched her white face.</p> +<p>“You are not really telling me what I want to +know, Christopher.”</p> +<p>“There’s nothing else. He hadn’t got the real +focus of the thing when I left.”</p> +<p>“I understand.”</p> +<p>She turned away and leant her arm on the mantelpiece, +wondering in a half-comprehensive way why the +stinging sense of humiliation and helpless shame +seemed so much less since Christopher had come. +What had been well-nigh unbearable was now but a +monotonous burden that wearied but did not crush +her: she feared it no longer. He stood looking at her +a moment, gathering as it were into himself all he could +of the bitterness that he knew she carried at her heart, +and then turned away to the window, realising the +greatness of her trouble and yearning to do that very +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +thing which unconsciously by mere action of his receptive +sympathy he had done already.</p> +<p>Presently she came to him and put her hand on his +arm.</p> +<p>“You’ll understand, anyhow, Christopher,” she said +with a little sigh.</p> +<p>“We shall all do that here.”</p> +<p>“But Geoffry won’t.”</p> +<p>“I suppose he can’t.”</p> +<p>She recognised the hard note in his voice at once, +and seating herself on the window-seat set to work to +fathom it.</p> +<p>“It will help me if you can tell me exactly how he +took it, Christopher. Was he angry, or sorry, or horrified +or what?”</p> +<p>He had to consider a moment what, out of fairness +to Geoffry, he must withhold, and choose what he +considered the most pardonable aspect.</p> +<p>“I think he was frightened, Patricia, not at you, so +much as at some silly ideas he’s got hold of about +heredity. Not his own: just half-digested ideas, and +he probably finds it pretty difficult to listen to them at +all. He just thinks he ought to, I suppose.”</p> +<p>Again the faint little smile in her face.</p> +<p>“You are a dear, Christopher, when you try to +whitewash things. Listen to me. Whatever Geoffry +said or does or writes, I’ve decided I will not marry +him. I’ve written to say so and posted it before you +came in, so he should know that nothing he had said +or done influenced me in the slightest.”</p> +<p>Christopher gave a sigh of relief and she went on in +the same deliberate way.</p> +<p>“And I shall never marry at all. I can’t face it +again. I’ll tell Renata about Geoffry, and may I also +tell her you will explain to the others if she can’t +satisfy them?”</p> +<p>“I will do anything you wish.” Then he suddenly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +claimed for himself a little latitude and spoke from +his heart.</p> +<p>“Patricia, dear, I’m glad you’ve done it. It’s the +best and right thing, however hard, and if I could +manage to take all the bother of it for you I would. +Honestly, Geoffry wouldn’t have been able to help you, +I fear. But as to never marrying, you must not say +that or make rash vows, and you must never, never let +yourself think it isn’t safe to marry, or that sort of +nonsense. It’s in your own hands. We are always +strong enough for our own job, so Cæsar says. Shall +I find Renata and ask her to come to you?”</p> +<p>They stood facing each other, an arm’s length separating +them, and she looked at him across the little +space with so great gratitude and affection in her eyes +that he felt humbled at the little he offered from so +great a store at his heart.</p> +<p>“Christopher, how do girls manage who haven’t +a brother like you? I’ve been fretting because I was +all alone and no one to stand by me—will you forgive +me that, dear?”</p> +<p>Her eyes were brimming with tears. She laid her +hand on his arm again and drew nearer. Her entire +ignorance of their true relationship to each other left +her a child appealing for some outward sign of the one +dear bond she knew between them.</p> +<p>Christopher recognised it and put his arm round her +and she kissed him. “I’ll never forget again that +I’ve got you,” she whispered, “such a dear good +brother.”</p> +<p>He neither acquiesced nor dissented that point, but +very gravely and quietly he kissed her too, and she +thought the bond of fraternity between then was +sealed.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVI' id='CHAPTER_XXVI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +</div> +<p>Matters were made as easy for Patricia as the united +efforts of those who loved her could compass. Geoffry, +in his gratitude for her decisive action, which lifted +the onus of a broken engagement from his shoulders, +found a substantial ground for his belief that they had +sacrificed themselves on the altar of duty. Mrs. +Leverson sighed profoundly with unconscious satisfaction +over the highly heroic behaviour of them both +and yielded easily to Geoffry’s desire to travel. They +eventually sold Logan Park, which they had purchased +about ten years previously, and passed out of +the ken of the lives that were so nearly linked with +theirs.</p> +<p>Life renewed its wonted routine at Marden except +that Christopher was often absent for weeks together. +The final experiments hung fire and he had to seek new +material and fresh inspiration further afield, but never +for long. The end of a set term would see him back +by Aymer’s side sharing his hopes and disappointments +impartially, always declaring that nowhere could +he work with better success than at Marden Court. +He was five years older than his natural age in development +and resource, and the dogged obstinacy that +was so direct a heritage from his father, stood him in +good stead in his stiff fight with the difficulties that +stood between him and his goal. Peter Masters made +no sign and no greater success seemed to crown the +other workers’ endeavours, but there was always the +secret pressure of unknown competition at work and +it told on Christopher. He became more silent and +so absorbed in his task as to lose touch of outside +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +matters altogether. It was this absorption in his ambition +that made the daily intercourse with Patricia +possible at all. Unsuspected by her, his love, lying in +abeyance, was but awaiting the growth in her of an +answering harmony that must come to completion before +he could make his full demand of it.</p> +<p>One day in March, when the land was swept with +cold winds and beaten with rain, Christopher came +out of the little wooden building, where he worked, +and stood bareheaded a moment in the driving rain. +First he looked towards the house and then turning +sharply towards the left made his way once more to +the edge of the last of the experimental tracks that +threaded that distant corner of the park like the lines +of a spider’s web.</p> +<p>He stood looking down at the firm grey surface +from which the pouring rain ran off to the side channels +as cleanly as from polished marble. He walked a +few yards down its elastic, easy-treading surface, ruminating +over the “weight and edge” tests that had +been applied, and on the durability trials from the little +machine that had run for so many long days and +nights over a similar surface within the wooden +shanty.</p> +<p>It was morning now. His men, whose numbers had +increased each month, had gone to breakfast, and he +was alone with his finished work.</p> +<p>The strain and absorption of the long months was +over. He had at last conquered the material difficulties +that had been ranged against him. The dream of +the boy had become a tangible reality, ready by reason +of its material existence to claim its own place in the +physical world. This unnamed substance whose composition +had awaited in Nature’s laboratory the intelligent +mingling of a master hand, would add to the +store of the world’s riches and the world’s ease, and +was his gift to his generation. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span></p> +<p>As he stood looking down at the completed roadway, +the Roadmaker suddenly remembered his own +slight years and the inconceivable fraction of time he +had laboured for so wide a result, and there swept up +to him across the level way a new knowledge of his +relationship to all the past—that he was but the servant +of those who had preceded him and had but +brought into the light of day a simple secret matured +long ago in the patient earth.</p> +<p>It is in this spirit of true humility and in the recognition +of their actual place in the world that all Great +Discoverers find their highest joy. It is the joy of +service that is theirs, the loftiest ambition that can fire +the heart of man, making him accept with thankfulness +his part as a tool to the great artifices and filling +him with love and reverence for the work he has been +used to complete. As Christopher stood bareheaded +in the rain that windy March morning, his heart swept +clear for the time of all personal pride or self-gratification, +he offered himself in unconscious surrender +again to the Power that had used him, craving only to +be used, divining clearly that achievement is but the +starting post to new endeavour.</p> +<p>At last he turned away, locked up the hut and went +down towards the house, and at the entrance of the +little plantation between park and garden he met +Patricia.</p> +<p>They exchanged no greeting but a smile, and as he +stood on the slope above her, looking at her, he was +aware of a great sense of peace and rest, and on a +sudden, her understanding leapt to meet his.</p> +<p>“It is done—you have finished it?” she cried, and +her hands went out to him.</p> +<p>“Yes,” he said, quietly, freeing himself from the +strange inward pressure by the touch of that outward +union. “This piece of work is done, Patricia. The +thing is there—my Road stuff. It’s all right. It will +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +stand whatever it is asked to stand. It is ready to use +if anyone will use it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m glad—so glad!” she cried. “Christopher, +it is just the best thing in the world to know +you have succeeded.”</p> +<p>Her complete sympathy and generous joy seemed +to open his mind to the outward expression of the +speaker, which of late, since the breaking of her engagement +with Geoffry, he had tried hard not to +observe.</p> +<p>It seemed to him her face had lost a little of its +childish roundness, that there was something accentuated +about her that was nameless and yet expected. +Also for the first time in his life he was conscious that +her presence by his side was helpful. He had been +unaware till she came that he needed any aid in what, +to him, was a great moment in his life, but he knew +it was restful and good to walk by her, a strange relief +to tell her how the last difficulties that had arisen +on the heels of each other had finally been met: how +strong had been his temptation to give his discovery +to the world before the tedious tests had gone to the +uttermost limits experimental trials could reach.</p> +<p>“It’s so simple really,” he said, “just a question of +proportions once the material is there. I felt anyone +might hit on it any day, and yet it would have been +such a sickening thing to have someone else planting +an improvement on the top of it within a few months. +It may need it now, but at least it would mean the test +of years, and not immediate improvement. Do you +happen to know if Cæsar had a good night or +not?”</p> +<p>“You’ve got to have some breakfast yourself first. +I don’t believe you remember you never came in to +dinner last night at all.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t I? Breakfast must wait till I’ve seen +Cæsar anyhow. He must know before anyone else, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +and you’ll never be able to hold your tongue through +breakfast, you know.”</p> +<p>“But I’m first, after all.” She tilted her chin a little +with a complacent nod at him.</p> +<p>He stopped with a puzzled expression.</p> +<p>“So you are. It never struck me—but—but,” he +hesitated, unable to read his own hazy idea, and concluded, +“but, you are only a girl, so it doesn’t matter.”</p> +<p>The look in his eyes atoned for the “only,” and she +bore no resentment, for she had met his look and read +there the thought he could not decipher, and it sunk +deep into her heart, with illuminating power.</p> +<p>At the garden door, where the paths branched, she +stood aside.</p> +<p>“Go and tell Aymer and get your breakfast.”</p> +<p>“You are not going to stay out in this rain?”</p> +<p>“You know I love rain, and I’ve had breakfast.”</p> +<p>Before he could stop her she had turned and disappeared +up the winding path that led out eventually on +to the open down.</p> +<p>Christopher looked after her a moment doubtfully, +but her strange fondness for walking in the rain was +well known and he had no reason or right to stop her. +So he went indoors to Cæsar. But Patricia walked +on with rapid steps, never pausing till she was +well outside the confines of the park amongst the +red ploughed fields and bare downs. The rain +swept in her face and the wind rushed by her as she +walked with lifted head and exultant heart, hearing +the whole chorus of creation around her, conscious +only of the uplifting joy of the great light that had +broken in on her. At last she stopped by a gate that +led into a field of newly-turned earth—downland just +broken by the plough, lying bare and open to the breath +of heaven, and beyond, the swelling line of downs was +blurred with misty rain and merged into the driving +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +grey clouds above. Behind her in an oak tree a robin +was singing with passionate intensity. She drew a +deep breath and then held out her arms to the world.</p> +<p>“I understand, I understand,” she whispered. +“Love and Christopher. Love and Christopher, there +is nothing else in the whole world.”</p> +<p>She had accepted the revelation without fear, without +question, without distrust. She gave no thought +at all at present as to Christopher’s attitude to her, as +to whether he had anything to give in return for her +great gift of herself. She gave herself to Love first, +to him after, if such were Love’s will. But it made no +difference whether he knew or not, she was his, and +the recognition drowned all lesser emotion in the great +depth of its joy. She wasted no time in lamenting +her blindness or the interlude with another lesser love: +it troubled her not at all, for by such steps had she +climbed to this unexpected summit. Just at present +the glory of that was all-satisfying, so much more than +she had ever looked for or imagined possible, that to +demand the uttermost crown of his returning love was +in these first moments too great a consummation to +be borne.</p> +<p>She stood there with her hands clasped and the only +words she found were, “Christopher and Love,” and +again, “Love and Christopher,” as if they were the +alphabet of a new language.</p> +<p>Quite slowly the physical horizon crept up to this +plane of exultant joy and claimed her, but even as +she recognised the claim she knew the familiar world +would bear for her a new aspect, and found no resentment, +only a quiet relief as it closed her in. The languor +and fatigue of the backward journey did not +distress her, every step of the way she was studying +the news.</p> +<p>Every blade of grass and every twig spoke of this +new language to her, proclaiming a kinship that made +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +her rich in sympathy and comprehension of all humble +lovely things.</p> +<p>She was seized with fear when she reached home +that she would encounter Christopher in the hall before +she was prepared to accept him as the most unchanged +point of her altered world. Instead she met +Constantia Wyatt, who was at Marden with her +family for Easter, just coming down, who asked her +if she had been having a shower bath.</p> +<p>Now Constantia felt a proprietary right over Patricia +by reason of her knowledge of Christopher’s +sentiments, and her own prophetic instincts. She had +most carefully refrained from interference in their +affairs, however, and accepted the post of lookeron +with praiseworthy consistency. But she looked on +with very wide-opened eyes, and this morning when +Patricia answered with almost emphatic offhandedness +that she had only been for a solitary walk in the +rain, she could not refrain from remarking that she +appeared to have gathered something more than raindrops +and an appetite on her walk, and only laughed +when Patricia, betraying no further curiosity, hurried +on.</p> +<p>“Something has happened,” she thought to herself. +“Patricia’s eyes did not look like that last night. +She is grown up.”</p> +<p>But her rare discretion kept her silent, and when +later on she was confronted with the news of Christopher’s +victory she guessed one-half of the secret of +Patricia’s shining eyes.</p> +<p>Patricia exchanged her dripping garments for dry +ones and curled herself up on the sofa in her own room +before the fire, with full determination to fathom her +growing unwillingness to meet Christopher, and to +accommodate herself to the new existence, but the +gentle languor of mental emotion and physical effort +took the caressing warmth of the fire to their aid and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +cradled her to sleep instead, till the balance of nature +was restored.</p> +<p>It was in this manner that Patricia and Christopher +arrived at the same cross roads of their lives, where +the devious tracks might merge into one another, or, +being thrust asunder again by some hedge of convention, +continue by a lonely, painful and circuitous +route towards the destined goal.</p> +<p>The matter lay in Patricia’s hands, little as either +she or Christopher suspected it, and poor Patricia was +hampered by a power of tradition and a lack of complete +faith of Christopher’s view of her inherited +trouble.</p> +<p>Ever since the broken engagement with Geoffry, +she had bent in spirit before her own weakness, withstanding +it well, and yet a prey to that humiliation of +mind that accepts the imperfect as a penalty, instead +of claiming the perfect as a birthright. Having given +in to this attitude, she now, as a natural consequence, +could but see the view offered from that comparatively +lowly altitude, and that shut her in with the belief her +duty lay in renouncing marriage, and also, more limiting +still in its effect, the idea that Christopher also +held this view in his secret heart.</p> +<p>She wasted no time in the consideration as to +whether he loved her or not: she was sure of that +much crown to her own life; but slowly the false conviction +thrust itself upon her that had he thought +otherwise the long, empty months that had passed +would not have been possible. She was too young a +woman to balance correctly the power of strenuous +occupation on a man as weighed against the emotion +to which a woman will yield her whole being without +a struggle. Looking back on the long days that had +elapsed since the affair by the little chalk pit on the +downs, it seemed to her clear that Christopher had +avoided her, and there was sufficient truth in this to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +make it a dangerous lever when handled in connection +with the fear of her mind.</p> +<p>It was, therefore, by a quite natural following-out +of the mental process that she ultimately arrived at +the conclusion it was her duty to assist Christopher +to renounce herself, and for that purpose, that she +might less hamper his life, she must leave Marden +Court.</p> +<p>The decision was not arrived at all at once. The +day wore on and the natural order of things had +brought her and Christopher face to face at a moment +when she had forgotten there was any difficulty about +it. Cæsar had issued invitations to a family tea in +his room in honour of Christopher’s achievement, as +was a time-honoured custom when any of the members +of the family distinguished themselves in work or +play. Christopher served tea, as it was Cæsar’s party, +and it was not until he gave Patricia her cup that he +recollected she had not crossed his path since that +morning in the rain.</p> +<p>“Where have you hidden yourself?” he demanded +severely.</p> +<p>“You said I could not hold my tongue, so I determined +I’d prove you false,” was her flippant rejoinder.</p> +<p>“At the cost of self-immolation. I think it proves +my point.”</p> +<p>“I appeal to Cæsar.” She got up and took a chair +close to the sofa.</p> +<p>“Cæsar, I wish you’d keep that boy of yours in +order. He is always so convinced he is in the right +that he is unbearable.”</p> +<p>“Allow him latitude to-day. He’ll meet opposition +enough when he tries to foist this putty-clay of his on +the world. By the way, what are you going to call +it, Christopher?”</p> +<p>Everyone stopped talking and regarded the Discoverer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +with critical anxiety. He looked slightly embarrassed +and offered no suggestion, and it was Constantia +who insisted airily that they should all propose +names and he should choose from the offered selection.</p> +<p>Christopher was made to take a chair in the midst +of the circle and to demonstrate in plain terms the actual +substances of which the “Road-stuff,” as he inelegantly +termed it, was made.</p> +<p>The younger members of the family called pathetically +for some short, ready name that would not tax +pen or tongue. After a long silence Nevil, modestly +suggested “Hippopodharmataconitenbadistium.”</p> +<p>This raised a storm of protests, while Constantia’s +own “Roadhesion” received hardly better support.</p> +<p>Cæsar flung out “Christite” without concern, and +demanded Patricia’s contribution.</p> +<p>“Aymerite,” she ventured.</p> +<p>Christopher’s glances wandered from one to the +other. She was seated on his own particular chair +close to Cæsar, in whose company she felt a strange +comfort and protection, a security against her own +heart that could not yet be trusted to shield the secret +of her love.</p> +<p>Mr. Aston was called on in his turn and he looked +at Christopher with a smile.</p> +<p>“I think we are all wasting our time and wits,” he +said placidly. “Christopher has his own name ready +and your suggestions are superfluous.”</p> +<p>They clamoured for confirmation of this and Christopher +had to admit it was true.</p> +<p>“I call it Patrimondi,” he said slowly, his eyes on +Patricia, “because it will conquer the country and the +world in time.”</p> +<p>Which explanation was accepted more readily by +the younger members of the party than by the elder.</p> +<p>But “Patrimondi” it remained, and if he chose to +perpetuate the claims of the future rather than the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +past in this business of nomenclature, it was surely his +own affair. Patricia, at all events, made no objection. +She had recovered her equilibrium to find the relationship +between them was so old that it called for nothing +but mute acceptance on her part: the only thing +that was new was her recognition of the barrier between +them, whose imaginary shadow lay so cold +across her heart.</p> +<p>Constantia offered a refuge. Her watching eyes +divined something of Patricia’s unrest. She visited +her that night at the period of hair-brushing and found +her dreaming before a dying fire.</p> +<p>“You get up too early,” Constantia remonstrated, +“it’s a pernicious habit. If you would come and stay +with me in London, I would teach you to keep rational +hours.”</p> +<p>“Would you have me, really?” cried Patricia, sitting +bolt upright, with every sense alert to seize so +good an opportunity of escape.</p> +<p>“Why, yes. I’ve been wanting to have you a long +time. You had better come back to town with me to-morrow.”</p> +<p>“I’d like it better than anything in the world,” asserted +Patricia, fervently and truthfully.</p> +<p>“I wonder if people ever grow up at all here,” Constantia +said, smiling, “you are all so preposterously +young, you know.”</p> +<p>“You were brought up here yourself.”</p> +<p>Constantia laughed outright. “But I have been +educated since I married: that is when most people’s +education does begin. We are only preparing for it +before.”</p> +<p>“And if one never marries, one remains uneducated, +I suppose.”</p> +<p>Constantia kissed her. “Your education is not +likely to be neglected, my dear. Go to bed now, we +will settle with Renata to-morrow.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVII' id='CHAPTER_XXVII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +</div> +<p>It is one thing to produce, and another to launch the +production on an unwilling world. Christopher soon +found he had but exchanged an arduous engrossing +task for a sordid uphill struggle. Yet if his mind +sometimes flew back to Peter Masters’ offer, it was +never with any desire to open negotiations with him, +nor did he ever remind Aymer of the possibility. They +fought together against the difficulties that beset the +great venture and their comradeship reduced the irritating +trivialities of the first start to bearable limits.</p> +<p>Since the day when he received Peter Masters’ curt +acknowledgment of satisfaction with the selected car, +neither Christopher nor the Astons had heard one +word from the millionaire. His restored interest in +the family appeared to have evaporated as rapidly as +it had risen, and peace fell on Aymer’s troubled mind. +He flung himself heart and soul into the business of +launching Christopher’s discovery, and verified his +cousin’s old opinion of his business qualities. The +initial difficulties of obtaining the patent being overcome +and a small, private company formed, they started +a factory for the manufacture of Patrimondi within +five miles of Marden, and a decently capable staff was +secured to meet the slow, but steadily increasing, demands +for the new material.</p> +<p>After some months of uphill work they suddenly +received an order for laying the roadways and a special +motor track at an International Exhibition. From +this plane Patrimondi leapt into fame. Within three +months of the opening of the Exhibition the little factory +had doubled its staff and even then could not produce +enough to meet the demand. With the mounting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +strain Christopher began to prove of what metal he +was made. He stuck to the work with steady persistence, +meeting success as he had met difficulties, +counting each but expected incidents in a life’s work. +This level-headedness enabled him to bear a physical +strain that would have broken down the nerve of any +man more subject to outward conditions. A large proportion +of extra work was entailed on him by the +starting point of Patrimondi being so distant from +London, but he resisted all suggestions to move it +nearer town, or make his own headquarters there, or +take any step that would serve to separate Aymer +from easy contact with the work that made so great +a difference in his monotonous life.</p> +<p>Since the last appearance of Peter Masters, Aymer +had seemed to lose something of his old independent +spirit of resistance. The mine of strength within himself, +which his father had developed, was nearing exhaustion, +and he lived more and more by force of his +interest in outward things, and the active part he +played in Christopher’s life. But this diminution of +his inward strength made the question of any move too +serious to be contemplated, although they still vaguely +spoke of a time when they would return to London. +Mr. Aston knew that he himself could not face the old +strenuous life again.</p> +<p>He had dropped out of the line of workers too early, +and though seventy years found him still a man of +active habits and vigour of mind, he was too conscious +of his divorce from the past to endure meeting it daily +face to face.</p> +<p>The fortunes of Patrimondi continued to leap forward +by untraceable impulses. They were able to +choose their work now, and Christopher gave the +preference first to roads whose construction was under +his own direction from the very foundation, and +secondly to such work as least separated him from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +Cæsar, but this last fact he was careful to conceal even +from Mr. Aston’s watchful eyes.</p> +<p>In the world of workers he became known as the +“Roadmaker,” and fabulous stories of his origin and +fortune were circulated. Unknown to himself or to +those nearest to him, men high up in the financial +world kept their eye on the young man—made no +prophecies—said nothing—but were careful for reasons +best known to themselves to help rather than oppose +him when he happened to cross their path. But +the greatest of all their race, Peter Masters himself, +made no sign at all. No fabulous fortune was, however, +gathered in. “Patrimondi” paid well, but the +working expenses were great. Christopher made big +returns to the men, not in wages only, but in every +condition of their work. Those in power under him +soon learnt it was better to forget the momentary interests +of the company than the living interests of the +workmen, but in return for his care Christopher did +insist on, and get from his men, an amount of work +that made other employers open their eyes with envious +wonder.</p> +<p>All this time Patricia held her place in his life. It +would have been hard to trace her actual influence on +his daily actions, but it was there, preserving his finer +instincts under the load of material cares, linking him +indissolubly to that world of high Realities which is +every man’s true inheritance. Yet he made no attempt +to claim her and at times wondered at his own procrastination. +The idea implanted by Peter Masters +bore strange fruit, for even an unconsciously harboured +lie must needs hamper the life behind which it +finds shelter. He could make no advance towards Patricia +while that invidious doubt of his parentage existed, +and he lacked the remorseless courage of Mr. +Aston to inflict pain for however justifiable a cause on +Cæsar. Also perhaps his pride had a word to say. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span> +If there was a secret, it was theirs, and they had not +chosen to divulge it to him. Again, he had fathomed +something of the depth of the jealous love bestowed +on him, and his own affection and gratitude would +have their say. All and each of these reasons arrayed +themselves against his love. When he tried to face it +first one and then the other weighed heaviest, till at +length he called time to his side and flung himself into +his work the harder to leave that ally free scope. All +of which meant that he was yet but a worshipper at +Love’s throne, and failed to recognise that his place +was on it.</p> +<p>Christopher was in France when he saw the notice +of Peter Masters’ death in the papers, and he was more +staggered by it than he cared to admit to himself. +The millionaire had been knocked down at a busy +crossing with no more ceremony than would have +served for his poorest workman. He had been carried +to the nearest hospital and died there almost directly, +alone, as he had lived. There was the usual hasty account +of his life, but by some magic that had perhaps +root in Peter’s own will, no mention was made of his +marriage.</p> +<p>Christopher wrote home on the subject this-wise:</p> +<p>“It seems to me the more terrible since I think +he was a man who never believed any such mischance +could dare to happen to him. He always gave me the +impression of one who read his own mortality for +immortality, and was prepared to rule Time as arbitrarily +as he ruled men. It does not look to an outsider +as if he had gained any particular happiness from +his fortune, but happiness is a word everyone spells +in their own way.... I shall be back at the end +of the week, for I find Marcel quite capable of finishing +this piece of work....”</p> +<p>Such was the epitaph pronounced over Peter Masters +by his own son, and Aymer, reading, sank beneath +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +the dead weight of responsibility that was his. +The outcome of neutrality can be as great a force as +that of action, and to assume the right to stand aside +is to play as decisive a part as the fiercest champion. +Nevertheless he held to that neutral attitude through +the pangs of self-reproach.</p> +<p>There was no will, Mr. Aston told him, when he +returned from the plain business-like affair of the +funeral.</p> +<p>The news, incredible as it was, was yet a respite to +Aymer.</p> +<p>He did not trouble to conceal it.</p> +<p>“But I am certain Saunderson knows something. +Do not count on it, Aymer.”</p> +<p>“I count every chance in my favour,” returned Aymer +deliberately. “I discount even your belief that +Peter knew, since he said nothing.”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston looked at him sadly. He had no such +hope, nor was he even certain he was justified in seconding +Cæsar’s wish that the fortune should pass +Christopher by. The nearer the great thing came to +them the more difficult was it to ignore the vastness +of the interests involved, and the greater the responsibility +of those who stood motionless between Christopher +and it. Yet Mr. Aston knew as well as Aymer +that neither of them would move from their position, +and if they had acted wrongly in following the wishes +of the dead woman in preference to the material instincts +of the living man, they must accept the result, +and Christopher must accept it, too.</p> +<p>But he felt keenly Aymer’s failure to present an +unbiassed face to the turn of circumstances.</p> +<p>“How long will it be before Saunderson acts if he +has any clue to go on?” Aymer asked wearily after a +long silence.</p> +<p>“He would act immediately, but whether that would +land him on the right line would depend on the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +strength of the clue. Aymer, my dear fellow, try and +put the matter from you. You are not going to act +yourself.”</p> +<p>“No, but I’m no hand at waiting.”</p> +<p>That was true, and as usual the days of suspense +told heavily on Aymer. Christopher’s return was an +immense relief. He had had a heavy spell of work +and travelling, and allowed himself a few days’ holiday. +It happened that Patricia was also at Marden. +She spent so large a percentage of her time with Constantia +now that her presence in the house that had been +her home more resembled a visit than Christopher’s +comings and goings. No one had mentioned the fact +that she was there to him, and he found her in the +drawing-room before dinner kneeling by the fire and +coaxing it into a cheery blaze.</p> +<p>“You are a regular truant, Patricia,” he complained +after their greeting.</p> +<p>“Constantia maintains I am at school with her and +calls me truant when I run down here for a few days.”</p> +<p>“Are you at school? What does she teach you?”</p> +<p>“Subjects too deep for mere man,” she retorted +lightly. She continued to kneel with her back to him +and the light touched her wonderful hair, that still +seemed too heavy a crown for the proud little head. +It was like molten gold. Christopher felt a new heartache +for the days when he could touch it without fear +in the blind bravery of boyhood. He wanted to see +her face which she so persistently turned from him.</p> +<p>“I am not sure it is a suitable school for you.”</p> +<p>“Since when have you become responsible for my +education, sir? Would you prefer my going to school +with Charlotte? You are confounding me with Patrimondi. +You will end by rolling me out flat on a +high-road one day.”</p> +<p>She was talking arrant nonsense in self-defence, for +every fibre of her being was quivering at his presence. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span> +The old hushed cry awoke in her heart “Christopher +and Love—Love and Christopher.” If she looked at +him he must see it, her eyes must needs betray the +pitiful whisper but for the clamour of foolish words. +Where was Renata? Why were they all so late to-night +of all nights? Yet she had hurried her dressing—chosen +her gown even, on the chance of this interview +that outmatched her schooled frivolity. The +need to see her face and her eyes again pressed on the +man—became imperative—as something of great moment, +strangely difficult to achieve.</p> +<p>At last he abruptly spoke her name.</p> +<p>“Patricia.”</p> +<p>She involuntarily turned to him and found what +had appeared so hard was quite easy, for she discerned +some unusual trouble in his mind, and was +woman enough for the mothering instinct to sweep up +over the personal love.</p> +<p>“What is it, Christopher?”</p> +<p>He had wit enough to keep his advantage, for there +was something to read on the upturned face that must +not be deciphered in haste.</p> +<p>“I am seriously worried, Patricia. You might assist +instead of hindering me.”</p> +<p>“Well, what is it?”</p> +<p>“What is Constantia teaching you?”</p> +<p>“Me again,” she returned with a show of indignation, +“why on earth should that worry you?”</p> +<p>“I don’t like new facets to familiar diamonds,” he +grumbled obscurely, “you are getting too old. Patricia.”</p> +<p>“You are losing your manners.” But even under +the banter the colour died from her face and her hand +fell listlessly to her side.</p> +<p>“I won’t allow you to be older than I am.”</p> +<p>She was saved further embarrassment by Renata’s +entrance, but all dinner time she was conscious of his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +silent “awareness” of her and was troubled by it, +and it was a new and unpleasing sensation to be +troubled by any attitude of Christopher’s. Then his +scrutiny stopped abruptly as if she were suddenly +placed outside his range of vision, and that attitude +suited her mind as poorly as the other.</p> +<p>She hardly knew if it were by her own will or +Christopher’s that she sat with him and Aymer that +evening. She was quite powerless to resist the request +that might have been a command, and there is +some pain in life that we cling to, dreading its loss +more acutely than its presence.</p> +<p>Mr. Aston was away, a rare occurrence now, and +the three sat talking before the fire, till the dear familiar +intercourse and the peace put to sleep the dull +ache in Patricia’s heart. They talked—or rather the +men talked—of Christopher’s latest experiences +abroad. He had been to the scene of a vast tunnelling +operation in which his part was to come later.</p> +<p>“They suggest we should take over their men’s +shanties as they stand.”</p> +<p>“Will you?” demanded Cæsar. These things were +in Christopher’s hands.</p> +<p>“They might serve as material,” he answered drily. +“Two of their overseers and twenty men asked for +berths with me. They are mostly Italians. If we +keep them to make our encampment, I shall have to +go myself. It is rather odd how these men pick +things up. I heard––” he broke off abruptly.</p> +<p>“We didn’t,” remarked Cæsar suggestively after +a minute.</p> +<p>“It was not much, but it is funny how a nick-name +travels. There were about five hundred men there +still, and I heard one say as I passed, +<ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: changed quote marks from &#8220;Ecco il &#8216;Roadmaker&#8217;&#8221; to correct punctuation inconsistency.">‘Ecco il ‘Roadmaker.’’”</ins></p> +<p>He was evidently boyishly pleased at the recognition, +though he did not conclude the sentence. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span> +man had saluted him as he added to his comrade, +“C’é un maestro d’uomini, non di brutti.”</p> +<p>Patricia gave Cæsar a quick look and caught +his answer. It was as if some sudden bond of sympathy +were tied between them.</p> +<p>Cæsar continued skilfully to ply Christopher with +questions and extracted the information that the Patrimondi +Company was much disliked by the big manufacturing +powers.</p> +<p>“They say we spoil our men, and their own grumble. +They sent me a deputation to ask us to cancel +the Sunday holiday, which they never grant on contract +work, and they feared the result of our example.”</p> +<p>“And you politely agreed?” suggested Cæsar, +watching Patricia.</p> +<p>“I told them to––” again he stopped and laughed; +“well, Patricia, I told them such was the time-honoured +custom of my country and regretted my inability +to consider their request.”</p> +<p>“I expect they only get into mischief on Sunday.”</p> +<p>Cæsar flung out this with assumed contempt, but +it brought no quick retort. Christopher answered +slowly, with his eyes on the fire.</p> +<p>“We plan excursions for them when there is anything +to see or amusements of some kind. They are +like children. If they are not amused they must needs +make mischief.”</p> +<p>His voice was rather grave and Aymer knew there +must have been difficulties here of which he did not +mean to speak openly.</p> +<p>“It is deplorable if our Roadmaker is going about +destroying other people’s comfortable paths. Don’t +you agree with me, Patricia?”</p> +<p>She flushed up quickly, grasping his meaning at +once.</p> +<p>“Not if their paths encroach on weaker people’s +rights. I think it’s just what is wanted.” Then because +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span> +Cæsar laughed, she realised he was only drawing +her, and flung him an appealing glance.</p> +<p>“But we mustn’t encourage him openly, Patricia, +or he’ll leave us no old tracks at all.”</p> +<p>“I’m only the humble instrument of a company,” +protested Christopher. “I merely carry out the regulations +of my superiors.”</p> +<p>“Who are entirely at your mercy, you should add.”</p> +<p>Christopher disdained to reply to so obvious a fallacy. +Presently, when he had gone to fetch some +drawings to show them, Cæsar said quizzically.</p> +<p>“Has he obliterated any of your pet footpaths, Patricia?”</p> +<p>She shook her head.</p> +<p>“The Company has great confidence in him,” he +announced gravely.</p> +<p>She looked straight at him. There was a kind intelligence +in his eyes, and he held out his hand to her. +“Present company not excepted. But we must not +spoil him, Patricia.”</p> +<p>And she understood that her secret was Aymer’s +and it lent her a sense of security and rest to know +it, so that when she went to bed she reproached herself +for her former childish moods. “I should be +glad his strength of purpose and commonsense are so +great,” she told herself, forgetting love and commonsense +were ever ill neighbours. “I am never going +to marry, and it would be difficult to say no to him. +To-night was just one of the best of times that can be +for us.”</p> +<p>That unwise thought aroused the dull throbbing +ache in her heart again and the reasonable salve she +offered it had no effect. She slept with it, woke with +it, and knew it for the close companion of many days.</p> +<p>But Christopher’s last thought was, “I am not +going to do without her any longer, if I am to meet +her any more in this way. I should have read her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +soul again to-night if I had not remembered in +time.”</p> +<p>Aymer Aston lay awake wondering what was the +matter between the two that they did not guess their +palpable secret. He was the richer for another day’s +respite and every day was a tide carrying him to the +shore of safety.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVIII' id='CHAPTER_XXVIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +</div> +<p>A chilly, rainy mist shrouded the country and +blotted out the familiar beauty. Not a day for walking, +but Christopher had chosen to tramp to a far-off +corner of the estate on some pretence of business +and had come back through the wet, dripping woods, +burr-covered and muddy. He was met in the hall by +a message that Mr. Aymer wanted him at once, so +without waiting to change he strode away, whistling, +to the West Room and came to a standstill on the +threshold, finding Aymer had visitors with him.</p> +<p>There were two gentlemen, one was Mr. Shakleton, +the son and successor of the old solicitor who had +played his part in the finding of Christopher, the +other was a stout, complacent man with gold-rimmed +glasses and scanty sandy hair, and all three of the +occupants of the room looked towards the door as if +waiting for and expecting him. A glance at Cæsar’s +face brought Christopher swiftly to his side and established +instantly a sense of antagonism with the +visitors.</p> +<p>“You want me, Cæsar?”</p> +<p>“Yes. We want you. Mr. Shakleton you know. +This is Mr. Saunderson.”</p> +<p>Both men stood up and to Christopher’s amazement +bowed profoundly.</p> +<p>“I am very honoured to meet you,” said Mr. Saunderson +suavely. “I hope it will be the commencement +of a long and fruitful acquaintance.”</p> +<p>Christopher felt rather at a loss to know if the man +meant to be impertinent or was merely being silly. +He looked at Cæsar with the hostile impatience he +felt only too apparent. The hostility but not the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +impatience deepened as he noticed the drawn beaten +look on Aymer’s face. Also he was uncomfortably +conscious of the three pairs of eyes watching him +with rapt attention. The mild Mr. Shakleton, however, +seemed entirely obscured by the expansive personality +of the bigger man.</p> +<p>“Confound him,” thought Christopher, “has he +never seen burrs on a wet coat before or is my +tie up?”</p> +<p>“Christopher,” said Aymer, at last, “come and sit +by me, will you. I think I should like to tell you +myself.” He looked at Mr. Saunderson as if waiting +permission.</p> +<p>“Of course, of course, Mr. Aston. I quite understand. +It is not the sort of news we tell people every +day.”</p> +<p>Christopher sat on the edge of the sofa with his eyes +fixed on Cæsar.</p> +<p>“Are you sure it won’t keep,” he asked abruptly, +“you look rather tired for business, Cæsar.”</p> +<p>“It won’t keep. It concerns Peter Masters. Mr. +Saunderson says public rumour has underestimated +his fortune rather than exaggerated it. He was worth +nearly three millions.”</p> +<p>“Three millions six hundred and forty-one thousand.” +Mr. Saunderson rolled it out in sonorous tones +after a little smack of his lips that set Christopher’s +teeth on edge.</p> +<p>“It seems, Christopher,” Aymer went on, with an +abruptness that did not accord with his opening words, +“that it’s yours. You are his heir.”</p> +<p>He made not the smallest movement or sign by +which the two strangers could gather one passing +glimpse of the agony it cost him to say it, for their +attention was fixed on the younger man. But Christopher +saw nothing else and had thought for nothing +but how soonest to quench that fierce pain. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span></p> +<p>The preposterous catastrophe was evidently true, +but surely his own will and wishes were of some +account. He put his hand on Aymer, searching for +words which would not form into sense.</p> +<p>“Take your time, take your time, young man,” +broke in Mr. Saunderson’s resonant voice. “It’s not +the sort of event a man can be hurried over. You +will grasp it more clearly in a few minutes.”</p> +<p>Christopher turned and looked at him.</p> +<p>“I believe I quite grasp the matter,” he said coolly. +“Mr. Masters has, with no doubt the kindest meaning +in the world, left his fortune to me. It’s unfortunate +that I don’t happen to want all this money. I +couldn’t possibly do with it.”</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson leant back in his chair with a tolerant +smile as if this were just what he would expect +to hear after the shock, but Aymer bit his lip as if face +to face with some inevitable ill.</p> +<p>Christopher leant towards him.</p> +<p>“You are worrying about it, Cæsar. There can’t +be any need to say any more now. Of course it’s out +of the question my accepting it. They can’t make me +a millionaire against my wishes, I suppose. Anyhow +it’s a preposterous will.”</p> +<p>“There is no will,” began Cæsar and then looked +at the big lawyer, “tell him,” he added shortly. Mr. +Saunderson cleared his throat.</p> +<p>“That is so. There is no will and the fortune naturally +goes to the next of kin.”</p> +<p>“Very well, then,” returned Christopher, with blunt +relief. “I believe he told me once he had a son somewhere. +You had better find him. I don’t want to deprive +him of his luck.”</p> +<p>Again the embarrassing silence. Then the big lawyer +got up and bowed solemnly to Christopher.</p> +<p>“We have found him. Allow me to be the first to +congratulate you, Mr. Masters.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span></p> +<p>Christopher wheeled round on him like a man struck.</p> +<p>“No!” he cried with passionate emphasis. “Cæsar, +it’s not true. Tell them so.”</p> +<p>But Cæsar lay very still and looked past them all, +staring blankly at the opposite wall. It seemed to +Christopher the watching eyes of the others imprisoned +him, held him in subjection. He got up.</p> +<p>“Let me out,” he muttered between his teeth, +though none impeded him. He walked across the +room to the fireplace and stood with his back to them, +his hand mechanically altering the order of a procession +of black elephants that stood there.</p> +<p>Aymer broke the silence, speaking with clear evenness.</p> +<p>“Shakleton, will you take Mr. Saunderson into the +library. You will find my brother there, probably.”</p> +<p>“Certainly, Mr. Aston. Shall I leave these?” He +indicate the papers on the table before him.</p> +<p>“Yes. Leave them where they are.”</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson rose. “You must not be alarmed, +my dear sir,” he said in a forced whisper, with a +glance towards Christopher, “such news often takes a +man off his feet for a while. He’ll soon appreciate it.”</p> +<p>“No doubt. Order anything you like, Shakleton.”</p> +<p>They were alone at last, yet Christopher did not +move.</p> +<p>“Christopher, come to me,” called Aymer quietly.</p> +<p>At that he turned and walked mechanically to the +sofa, seating himself, again with his elbows on his +knees, and his eyes absently fixed on the carpet.</p> +<p>“Did you know this before, Cæsar?”</p> +<p>Aymer’s face twitched. “Yes, always.”</p> +<p>“Did—he—know?”</p> +<p>“Yes, apparently.”</p> +<p>“You did not tell him?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>Christopher looked up sharply and met his eyes, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +again he forgot his own intimate trouble before the +greater one.</p> +<p>“Thanks, Cæsar,” he said, dragging up a smile, +“it would have been far harder at your hand.”</p> +<p>Then suddenly he sunk on his knees by Aymer’s +side, and hid his head against the arm that had sheltered +him as a child.</p> +<p>“They can’t make me take it,” he whispered, “even +if I am his son. But Cæsar, Cæsar, why didn’t you +tell me before?”</p> +<p>“I hoped you would never know. Did you never +have any suspicion yourself?”</p> +<p>“Never. It was the last thing I should have +imagined.”</p> +<p>“You have never asked me anything. You must +sometimes have wondered about yourself.”</p> +<p>“I was quite content.” Christopher spoke with +shut teeth. Under no provocation must Cæsar know +the falsehood that had lain so long in his mind. He +saw it in its full proportion now, and hated himself +for his blindness in harbouring so ugly a thought.</p> +<p>“We were never certain how much Peter knew and +I’ve never known for the past three years whether he +meant to claim you or not.”</p> +<p>“If you’d only told me, Cæsar!”</p> +<p>“It was my one hope you should not know.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think I’ve earned that,” he said reproachfully.</p> +<p>“It was myself, not you, I thought of. You’ve got +to know the whole thing now. Go and sit there in +your old place and don’t look at me till I’ve finished.”</p> +<p>So Aymer at last reached the moment when he must +break the seals of silence—that expected moment that +had hung over him like some shadowy fate as a foretaste +of judgment, when he must retrace the painful +footsteps of his life across the black gulf from which +he had climbed. But as he turned his face to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span> +darkness, there was light also on the other side, and +he forgot he had feared.</p> +<p>“Peter and I were friends, as you know. He was five +years my senior, but it did not make much difference. +He was a worker, just as I was a player. He had tremendous +capabilities and he put all his big brain into +his work and when he wanted change he came to me. +I represented to him the reverse side of his strenuous +life and he was oddly fond of me. Before he was +thirty he had well started his fortune as he raced to +wealth. I raced to ruin and found every inch of the +road made easy for me. Peter came into conflict with +the socialistic party. There was a certain James Hibbault, +who was a great power, and Peter, who was not +so heavy a power in those days, employed the wisdom +of the serpent to crush him. He came up to London +and offered me a chance of new amusement in abetting +his plans. The Hibbaults were middle class people +without middle class virtues. They lived a scrambling, +noisy life propagating their crude ideas and +sowing broadcast the seeds of a greater power than +they knew. They were, however, a real force to be +reckoned with, they and their party, because of certain +truths hidden in their wildest creeds—truths which +did not suit Peter’s creed in the least. He made their +acquaintance, and he introduced me to them. They +were sufficiently new to amuse me, but I should have +probably have tired of them soon had it not been for +your mother.”</p> +<p>He paused a moment. “Do you remember her, +Christopher?”</p> +<p>Christopher nodded.</p> +<p>“Elizabeth Hibbault,” went on Aymer slowly, +“was extraordinarily beautiful, with the beauty of +grace rather than of feature. She was as distinct +from the rest of her clamorous family as a pearl from +pebbles. She was an enthusiast, a dreamer, passionately +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span> +sincere, passionately pitiful. She recognised +truth as a water diviner finds water. She was brought +up in a labyrinth of theories, creeds of equality, in +hatred for the rich, and out of all the jargon she gathered +some eternal truths which she made her own. +She did not live with her people: she had rooms of +her own and she was a black-and-white artist. But +she was often at the Hibbaults. Peter probably knew +her accustomed days. She used to speak of her faiths. +It was like one note of gold in the discordant babble. +Men came and listened to her and she never knew it +was not for her words but for her magnetic wonderful +unknown self that they came. She might, and probably +did, impress men who were dreamers or fanatics +already, but those to whom all her beliefs were childish +nonsense went just the same, Peter and I with +them.”</p> +<p>He stopped a moment and shot a glance at Christopher, +who never moved.</p> +<p>“I lost my interest in Peter’s schemes and he ceased +to explain them to me, but I still visited Elizabeth +at her own rooms when I was allowed. She was very +anxious to convert Peter and myself, more especially +Peter. I was not in love with her, Christopher, yet, +but she fascinated me. I speculated as to how it would +be with her if all the fire and devotion she brought +to a mere Cause were turned into a more personal +direction. She paid more attention to Peter than to +myself, and she evidently considered him a more desirable +convert. One evening we went together to +call on her and they fell into the usual line of discussion, +he answering her in a tolerant amused way as +if she were a precocious child. I stayed behind when +he left and she walked up and down in restless agitation, +half forgetful of me. ‘The personality of the +man!’ she cried fiercely, ‘he is too strong, he is ruthless! +One cannot escape him. I cannot get him out +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_316' name='page_316'></a>316</span> +of my head.’ I told her she had much better tackle +me. She told me plainly that I was a negative force +in the world and my cousin an active. That was +enough for me. I thought she despised me and I +vowed she should recognise my possibilities as well as +Peter’s. If any man were to turn the passionate stream +of her nature back on herself, or to love—to see the +woman rise above the fanatic—it should be I, not +Peter. But I said nothing of this to him. I do not +think he ever knew it at all. It began in pique on my +side, then jealousy, lastly passion. Christopher, if I +had loved her from the first beginning of things I +should not be ashamed to meet your eyes now. Don’t +look round yet. I laid deliberate siege to her heart +and found she possessed my mind night and day. Soon +it was not Peter who was my rival, but her own soul. +I was confident I should win, though Peter, it was +clear, was also wooing her persistently. He at least +meant her well, Christopher. He loved her in his uncomprehending +way, wanting her for the woman she +was <i>not</i>—except in his mind. And I—I wanted her +for the outward woman she was.”</p> +<p>He paused long enough for his listener to face +clearly the portrait of the worn, broken woman he +remembered, the outward woman that bore no likeness +to the clear knowledge of the inner soul.</p> +<p>Aymer continued:</p> +<p>“At last I felt it was time to end it. Peter had +been in town some time then. I knew the senior Hibbault +and he were coming to some understanding, but +I guessed nothing of the nature of it. She never mentioned +him to me at this time. She stood, poor girl, +between the two of us like a trapped creature, and because +she feared herself and neither of us, she overstepped +one snare to fall into the other. Christopher, +I don’t know what was in my mind when I went to +her that last evening: I had not seen her for some +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_317' name='page_317'></a>317</span> +days, but when I stood before her I knew suddenly I +loved her, and then, like a flash, I saw it was neither +Peter nor her that stood between us, but my own evil +self. I told her all—that she was the victor and I the +conquered. I was proud of my new humbleness. For +once I recognised myself and my true place in the order +of the world. But she knew me better than I guessed, +and she was afraid to tell me the truth. She put me +off with gentle words, terrified lest I should guess before +I left her—Don’t turn away, Christopher—At +last she owned she had written me a letter and I should +find it when I got back. Her attitude maddened me. +The better self, if it ever existed, got stamped out. +I told her nothing should come between us, that nothing +short of death should keep me from her, while I +could move hand or foot.”</p> +<p>The white scar on Aymer’s forehead was very plain +and his face had grown thin and sharp. Christopher +for the first time looked up at him and away again.</p> +<p>“I went home at last, Christopher, wild to get this +mysterious letter to which she would refer me. I +went back and took seven devils with me—my passion +and love fighting for possession. Nevil and I had a +room of our own on the ground floor. I think they +use it for storing papers in now.”</p> +<p>Christopher gave a slight movement: he knew that +well.</p> +<p>“I went straight in, knowing any letter for me +would be taken there. Nevil was going upstairs as I +crossed the hall and he called to me across the banisters +that Wayband had sent back my revolver and +he had opened it. Revolver shooting was a passion +just then and I was accounted a crack shot. I answered +him savagely and went on. The letter lay on +the table. She had been married to Peter two days +before at a Registrar’s office. I felt I must have +known it from eternity, but it caught me on the crest +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_318' name='page_318'></a>318</span> +of my fury, it overwhelmed me in a torrent of mad +shame and wild jealousy. I had failed—had been +beaten at my own game—beaten and fooled by some +God who had used my passion for his own ends. +Those short minutes of purer love burnt my soul like +fire till I raged at my folly. Christopher, I’d give all +I have left to say I was mad. I wasn’t. I knew what +I was doing. The revolver lay there on the table and +an open box of cartridges by it. It was the coward’s +way out of the agony, and I took it. I shot myself—the +crack shot of Waybands Club missed his own life +by a hair’s-breadth.”</p> +<p>Even then, after the long years, Christopher caught +an echo of bitterness in the voice. He dully wondered +at his own inability to move or speak or send +out a thought of consolation to the man who had suffered +so fiercely.</p> +<p>Aymer gave a little gasp and was still a moment +Then he went on:</p> +<p>“That’s all my story, Christopher. Now comes +your mother’s part of it. The first result of her marriage +was that the Hibbaults’ name ceased to be a +power for the Socialist party—became less than a +power. James Hibbault severed his connection with +them entirely. I think Peter gave him a place at one +of his big affairs. He had bought them out, and for a +time the party fell into disrepute. But Elizabeth, +whom he had married, he had not bought. I think she +believed she had and could influence him, that she +could sway him without loss of her own being. I +know she clung to her true personality with passionate +strength. I had failed to break it down, but I +think Peter failed here also. When she heard of her +father’s and brother’s betrayal of their party—it was +nothing else—she was nearly crazy with grief. It was +some time before Peter could get her to acknowledge +their marriage at all, and she never, I believe, spoke +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_319' name='page_319'></a>319</span> +of her people again. But at last he got her to Stormly. +I know very little of what happened there. I believe +he was willing she should play Lady Bountiful to his +people if it pleased her—even made her a big allowance +for the purpose. But she went amongst them +and she would have none of it. She would make no +compromise with what she regarded as wholly evil. +She found Peter had only played with her regarding +her creed—that he never had the least intention of +altering his plan of life to suit it. She hated it all a +hundredfold more than you did, Christopher, and the +thought of bringing a child into an atmosphere that +was rank poison to her, became a nightmare. Perhaps +she was not wholly accountable then—there was +no woman to stand by her or counsel patience. Anyhow, +about six weeks before you were born, we believe +she just disappeared. No one knows how Peter really +felt about it. In the face of the world he shrugged +his shoulders and went on with his life as if wife and +expected child had never been. We suppose he tried +to find her at first, but he always declared there was +no need—she would come back when she had had +enough of the world. Eventually a letter reached him +saying you had come into the world and that, rather +than put you under the power of your father and all +he stood for, she would bring you up among the people +she loved and pitied. My father tried all he could to +make Peter seriously seek for his wife. We know now +he had some false clue and that he believed she and +you were living in Liverpool. But either from pride +or indifference he would never see for himself these +two whose fortunes he watched so closely. Saunderson +tells me it was the younger Hibbault who supplied +him with the false clue and found it to his advantage +to keep up the fraud. They can’t trace either Hibbault +now. They seem to have emigrated. My father +once visited Peter, before Elizabeth left him. There +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_320' name='page_320'></a>320</span> +was some dispute at the works and a certain foreman +named Felton protested against his orders. My father +heard the interview between them, and the man made +a strong appeal to him. He did his best as go-between +and failed. Peter did not quarrel about it. He was +just immovable in his heavy way, but your mother +was greatly troubled over the whole business and was +generously good to Felton and his wife in the face +of Peter’s direct commands. Ten years afterwards +this man, tramping from Portsmouth to London in +search of work, met your mother again. He was +evidently a man of strong memory, and he knew her.”</p> +<p>Christopher nodded. He remembered the little narrow +paths in the tiny garden, the smell of the box +edging, a pink cabbage rose that fell when the man’s +sleeve brushed against it. The man and his mother +had talked long and the old woman had asked him if +he knew the man. The next day they were on the +road again and he had felt a resentment towards this +man as the cause. All these recollections crowded +themselves into his mind.</p> +<p>“Felton seems to have been a man with some +strength of character. He had easily promised your +mother not to betray her existence to her husband, but +the memory of her face and some uneasy sense of +unfitness troubled him, I suppose. He remembered +Mr. Aston, who had spoken for him, and that he was +something to do with these people. He turned up here +one day and Nevil had the sense to send him direct +to us in London. It was just at the time when I was +wanting to adopt a child. I had stopped cursing fate +and myself, and I wanted something of my own almost +as fiercely as I wanted my freedom.”</p> +<p>There was another long pause. This time Christopher +put out his hand and laid it on Aymer’s.</p> +<p>“There isn’t any more. We followed up the clue +and found you. My father made another appeal to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_321' name='page_321'></a>321</span> +Peter on behalf of his unknown son, and Peter declared +the subject was not discussable: so I kept you. +I vowed I’d never stand between your own father and +you, but also that I’d never put out a hand to bring +you together. That visit you paid him, Christopher, +was the blackest time I’ve had since the day I realised +what I’d done. I thought I had got over my jealousy, +and I had not.”</p> +<p>Christopher leant over him and gripped his hands.</p> +<p>“Cæsar,” he said in a breathless low voice, looking +him straight in the eyes. “Cæsar, there was no need +of that then—there never has been, nor could be. I +have no father at all if it be not you.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_322' name='page_322'></a>322</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIX' id='CHAPTER_XXIX'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +</div> +<p>“It does not seem to me a very great thing to ask in +the face of things.”</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson dangled his eyeglasses and regarded +Christopher with a dubious air.</p> +<p>“I want three days to consider the matter,” continued +Christopher impatiently. “Where is the difficulty? +You don’t seem to remember you are asking +me to give up my chosen life and work and take on a +job that I loathe.”</p> +<p>If Mr. Saunderson’s face had been capable of expressing +more than displeasure, it would have done so, +but he was of no plastic build, mind or body, and +“displeasure” was the nearest he could get to active +anger.</p> +<p>“You have a singular way of regarding what most +men would think overpowering good luck, Mr. Masters.”</p> +<p>Christopher turned sharply.</p> +<p>“You at least cannot compel me to take that name. +It has never been mine and never will be.”</p> +<p>“Gently, gently, young man. I am willing to make +every allowance for your perturbation, but really, in +speaking of my late client ...” he stopped with +a shake of the head.</p> +<p>“I was speaking of a name, not of him, Mr. Saunderson. +However, I apologise. Once more, will you +let the whole matter stand still for three days. I +don’t mean to accept the thing, you know, but I +can’t argue it out now. I will meet you in town on +Wednesday.”</p> +<p>“If you insist, there is nothing more to be said of +course,” returned Mr. Saunderson, huffily. “As to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_323' name='page_323'></a>323</span> +your refusing your own rights, that will be less simple +than you imagine, but I shall hope you will soon view +the matter in another light.”</p> +<p>“There was no provision made in case the inheritor +should refuse or not be available?”</p> +<p>Christopher confronted him suddenly with the question, +and the poor man, who was as completely off his +balance by Christopher’s incomprehensible reception +of his tidings, as that young man himself, was evidently +confused.</p> +<p>“There were no instructions at all beyond the memorandum +stating his wife and child were last heard of +in Whitmansworth Union.”</p> +<p>“But in the former will, which you say was destroyed?”</p> +<p>“I am not at liberty to divulge anything that might +be contained in that document.”</p> +<p>“There is nothing to prevent your acting on such +instructions at your own prompting,” Christopher insisted +bluntly.</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson looked at him critically. “That +is an ingenious suggestion Mr. ...” he paused.</p> +<p>“Aston,” said Christopher. “It’s the name those +who have treated me as a son gave me, and I see no +obligation to change it.”</p> +<p>The lawyer rose.</p> +<p>“Then we are to defer further discussion till +Wednesday?”</p> +<p>“Until Wednesday. In town, not here.”</p> +<p>He left with Mr. Shakleton in his wake, and Christopher +was at last alone and free to weigh if he would +the weight of this <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: stupenduous in original text">stupendous</ins> burden, which he resolutely +decided was not his to bear. He stood looking +out of the window at the still driving mist and had to +drag his thoughts back from the external aspect of +things to the inner matters he must face. But there +was no lucidity in his mind, nothing was clear to him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_324' name='page_324'></a>324</span> +but his fierce resentment against the dead man, and a +passionate pity for a faded woman.</p> +<p>“It was the beauty of grace rather than feature....” +He was stung with intolerable shame +for the manhood he must share with one who had +wrought such havoc in the woman he was most bound +to protect from herself, as well as from the world. The +risks and chances of those early days flickered before +him. He had been abandoned to such for some vague +ultimate good to the colossal idea of fortune which +neither he nor its late possessor could spend. Was he +more bound to take it and its cares to himself than its +author was bound to care for his own flesh and blood? +Anger clouded his reason and he knew it. Yet if he +could not think coherently on the matter, of what use +were the three days of grace he had claimed? He +could not endure company at present, and the four +walls of his room were as a prison. At last he sent a +hasty message to the motor house, tossed a few necessaries +into a bag and wrote a note to Cæsar. “Dear +Cæsar, I’ve got to make up my mind about this and +I must do it alone, so to come to some decision I’m +going off in the car. I’ll be back when I’ve got the +thing straight in my mind. Tell St. Michael and +Nevil about it, but if you can help it don’t let anyone +else know.—Christopher Aston.”</p> +<p>He drove slowly down the drive, out into the highroad +and, turning westward, sped away into the misty +distance.</p> +<p>A great stillness fell on Aymer when Christopher +left him. He had lived so long under the shadowy +fear of the thing that had now happened, that it was +hard to credit the fear had passed in fulfilment. He +had been forced back to face the past, and, behold, the +terror of it was gone. He could only measure the full +value of the effort he had made by the languor and +listlessness that now wrapped him round, as a child +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_325' name='page_325'></a>325</span> +who had overtaxed his strength and must needs rest. +A hazy doubt crept into his mind as to what it was he +had so dreaded—the resuscitation of the past, or +Christopher’s reception of it. In either case the fear +had faded as some phantom form that melted in daylight.</p> +<p>He stumbled on one thought with vague wonder. +No barrier had been raised between him and his +adopted son: instead he found the only barrier had +been erected by his own lack of strength to face that +truth until the inexorable hand of God forced him to +the issue.</p> +<p>As to the future he recognised that might be left to +Christopher, whose whole life, since Aymer took him, +had been a preparation for this situation. His long +struggle to keep a grip on life was ebbing fast, it was +good to leave decisions in another’s hands, to rest, and +accept.</p> +<p>When Mr. Aston returned Cæsar gave him Christopher’s +note with a brief remark.</p> +<p>“Saunderson has been.”</p> +<p>The note, short as it was, told the rest. Mr. Aston +looked anxiously at his son, but Aymer met his eyes +with a quiet smile.</p> +<p>“I’m glad you were away, St. Michael. You’ve +had enough to contend with, and there was no need. +There is nothing for either of us to do. It’s Christopher’s +affair.”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston looked at the note again and reread the +signature, then he gave it back, satisfied.</p> +<p>“What will happen if he won’t accept it?” he questioned +thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“It is for him to decide.” Aymer’s tone was earnestly +emphatic. “Father, we’ve done our part. We +can’t alter it if we would. Leave him free.”</p> +<p>“It is the crown of your success that you can do so, +my dear old fellow.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_326' name='page_326'></a>326</span></p> +<p>“The coronation has not taken place yet,” returned +Cæsar, with a touch of dry humour that reassured +his father more than any words that all was well with +his son.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Meanwhile, hour after hour, Christopher’s car raced +over the white roads. The twinkling lights in the villages +through which he sped grew fewer and at last +ceased. A more solid blackness was the only inkling +of dwellings on either hand. Once the low, vibrating +hum of the car seemed to bring a light to a high window, +but it fell back into the dark before he had +caught more than a faint glimmer on the blind.</p> +<p>He met nothing: the road for all he knew was utterly +empty of life. In the silent, motionless darkness +it was like a path into illimitable space. He knew +every mile of it, yet in the night the miles stretched +out and raced with him.</p> +<p>It was far from village or town when at last Christopher +wrenched his mind from the mechanical power +that held it prisoner, and realised that town or no +town, bed or no bed, he must stop. He brought the +car to a standstill under the lea of a low ridge of +downs, at a point where an old chalk pit reared its +white face, glimmering faintly in the darkness. He +hazarded a fair guess as to his whereabouts. Whitmansworth +must be fifteen or twenty miles ahead. It +was nearly midnight now. He would get no lodging +even if he went on. He backed the car off the road +into the circle of the chalk pit, made as comfortable a +resting place as he could with rugs and cushions between +the motor and the white wall, and extinguished +the lamps. The cool, still night had him to herself, +and cradled him to sleep as a mother her child, under +the folds of her dark mantle.</p> +<p>He woke when the first fingers of dawn busied +themselves with the hem of that dusky cloak, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_327' name='page_327'></a>327</span> +sound as faint and tremulous as the light itself whispered +across the earth. He watched a while to see the +dim shapes reform under the glowing light, and the +clouds that still curtained the sky, take on themselves +a sombre grey uniform. But directly the line of white +road took distinctness Christopher struck camp, and +boldly raced to meet the full day. An early shepherd +paused to watch him pass, returning impassively to +work as he disappeared. Two or three labouring men +also stared; one even commented to a fellow worker +that “these yere motors take no more heed o’ decent +hours than o’ natural distances. Five in the mornin’ +weren’t part o’ the gentry’s day when I were a boy,” +he grumbled, “and five miles were five miles, no more +nor less. ‘Tisn’t more nor a mile now.”</p> +<p>At wayside farms life was in full swing. Dumbly +impatient cows listened for the clatter of milk-pails, +and solemn cart horses trudged to the upland fields. +Presently he passed through a town where his own +Patrimondi made pleasant, easy going. The town +servants were cleaning the smooth, elastic surface with +big jets of water. Christopher went slowly by with +an eye on his handiwork. He fancied he saw a small +defect at a turn and stopped to examine it. An indignant +worker told him brusquely he needn’t try to +pick holes in their roads because there weren’t any, +and Christopher returned meekly he thought they +looked good, but fancied the mark he examined was a +flaw.</p> +<p>“It ain’t any business of yours, anyway,” was the +angry retort, “the men who laid this knew what they +was a-doin’.”</p> +<p>Another man had joined him who had worked on +the new road when Christopher was to and fro there, +and recognised him. He plucked the other by the +sleeve.</p> +<p>“Shut up, you fool,” he growled, though not so low +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_328' name='page_328'></a>328</span> +but Christopher heard him. “It’s the Roadmaker +himself. Mornin’, sir.”</p> +<p>Christopher gave him a few words of recognition +and went on.</p> +<p>The slate roofs of Whitmansworth came into sight +as the church clock struck six. He could see the white +Union House high on the hill to the left, but he had no +mind to halt there. He stopped the car at the gate of +the town cemetery. It was not a beautiful place. Just +a little square field with an avenue of young trees and +an orderly row of green mounds and haphazard monuments, +but in one corner amongst a row of unmarked +graves was a white cross. “In remembrance of my +mother,” was the sole inscription it bore. Christopher +stood and looked at it gravely. The thought of another +grave amongst the family tombs in the trim +churchyard at Stormly crossed his mind. It was +better here in the little, plain unpretentious cemetery +amongst the very poor whose sorrows she had made +her own. She would sleep more quietly so.</p> +<p>But he found no message from her here, nor had he +expected it. Her actual presence had not consecrated +the spot for him, and he was impatient to gain the +road made sacred by reason of the tired, failing footsteps +that made their last effort there: the Via Dolorosa +of his mother’s life.</p> +<p>He passed the milestone where he had waited for +his fortune fifteen years ago, and saw it in his mind’s +eye hastening towards him from the east in the person +of Charles Aston. That was the <i>true</i> Fortune,—this +spurious thing they were trying to harness to his back +was evil to the core. Had not that been the very +meaning of those painful steps that had struggled +away from it along this very road—the meaning of the +lonely grave amongst the broken-down poor of Whitmansworth +Union?</p> +<p>He stopped the car near a little bridge where a thin +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_329' name='page_329'></a>329</span> +brooklet made a noisy chatter, and sat still, his chin on +his hand, thinking deeply.</p> +<p>This was the spot for which he had raced all these +hours, for here he and she had rested that terrible night +to gather strength for the last mile that lay between +the woman and rest.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“It’s better to be tired and hungry oneself, Jim, +than to make other people so. Don’t forget that.”</p> +<p>“I am not really tired,” the child maintained +stoutly, “but it’s going to rain again. Can’t you come +on?”</p> +<p>“Presently.”</p> +<p>“You think it is the right road?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know, Jim. I was sure of it at first, but +I’m sure of nothing now.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The words and scene were as clear to him as the day +they happened. He saw in it now a deeper significance, +a possible meaning that was the last note of +tragedy to his mother’s story. For that note is +reached only when the faith in which we have lived, +acted and endured, fails us. That is the bitterness and +foretaste of death. Then only can the shadow of it +fall on us, and in great mercy gather us into its shade.</p> +<p>The Right Road! There was no doubt or shadow +for Christopher yet. He had taken the first step on +the Road he had chosen, and he would not look back. +He would not stultify his mother’s sacrifice. Such +faint echoes as he heard calling him back were temptations +to which he must turn a deaf ear. He would +go forward on his chosen path, and Peter Masters’ +millions must look after themselves.</p> +<p>That was the final decision. Yet he sat there, still +figuring the persons of the woman and the child trudging +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_330' name='page_330'></a>330</span> +down the road towards him, and as he gazed, +without conscious effort, the forms changed. The +boy grew to manhood: the woman took to herself +youth, youth with a crown of golden hair and the form +of Patricia.</p> +<p>A throb of exultation leapt through him. Here +were the real riches and fulness of life within his grasp +and he, in blunt stupidity, had not chosen to see, had +set material good and vague uncertainties before his +own incomparable gain and happiness. Whatever had +held him back before, the clouded life or personal ambition, +or Cæsar’s need, it was swept away now like +some low-lying mist before the wind, and left the clear +vision, the man and the woman together on the long, +smooth Road he would lay for her tender feet.</p> +<p>There should be no more delay than the needed time +to race from here to her. Twenty-five miles of country +that his car was eager to devour. He slipped +away swiftly from the past as he had done before on +this very road—to a new future.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_331' name='page_331'></a>331</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXX' id='CHAPTER_XXX'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXX</h2> +</div> +<p>Patricia sat by the fire in her little sitting-room seeking +for a plausible excuse to return to Constantia as +soon as might be. The grey weather, the strange sense +of impending events weighed on her, she knew. She +was in the mood when the old evil might flash up +again, and for this reason she kept away from her +sister a while, hoping to nurse herself into a better mind +before evening. Christopher had gone again in his +usual abrupt way. Presumably Cæsar understood, but +she found herself wishing she also held his confidence. +She was hungry for a repetition of that first evening +as a starved child is hungry for a crust, when the better +things seem as far away as heaven. She must go +back to Constantia when she could frame a suitable +reason for her capricious movements. She was much +safer there, beside the considerate friend, who kept the +surface of life in a pleasant ripple, and never seemed +to look into the depths or ask her what she found there +to trouble her, as dear little sympathetic Renata did +occasionally. Yet how could she go if Christopher +were really coming back to-day, as St. Michael said, +and the future held any possibility of another golden +hour? The force of her deep love turned back on herself, +broke through spirit and heart and let loose in her +mind strange imaginings, alternate glimpses of a +heaven or hell that had no relationship with tradition. +She put her hands over her face and kept quite still +in the grip of a sudden agony that made her physically +cold and faint and exhausted. It would pass as +it had passed before, yet was she forever to be at the +mercy of this torturing realisation of empty years and +eternal loss? Did Christopher love her or not? The +assured “yes” and the positive “no” were as two +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_332' name='page_332'></a>332</span> +shuttlecocks tossed over her strained mind by the +breath of circumstance. Her own erroneous idea that +her still unconquered passion kept them apart was +breeding morbid misery for her, as all false beliefs +must do. She had kept herself under control to-day +by dint of isolation, and the inadequacy of that course +filled her with self-contempt. In her solitary fight +against the life forces within and without, she was getting +worsted. She knew she resisted the invasion of +their hours of depression with less courage than of +old. It did not seem to matter so greatly if there were +nothing to be won from life, and she was very tired. +It had been a mistake to come to Marden at all, there +was too much time to think there. She returned to +that fact eventually. The afternoon wore on and she +fell into a lethargy with no desire to escape it, and did +not hear Christopher’s motor arrive.</p> +<p>Christopher for once paused in the hall, instead of +going straight to Aymer’s room, as was the invariable +rule, after even a day’s absence.</p> +<p>“Where is Mrs. Aston?” he asked the footman, +who replied vaguely, when Renata herself appeared. +But it was not Renata that Christopher wanted.</p> +<p>“Where is Patricia?” he questioned with more +truth.</p> +<p>“Upstairs in her room, I think. She seems rather +worried and tired, Christopher. Do you want her?”</p> +<p>There was a note of anxiety in Renata’s gentle +voice. She was always nervous and anxious if she +fancied Patricia was worried, struggling to stand between +her and the petty annoyances which were supposed +to be so irresistibly maddening to a true Connell.</p> +<p>“Yes, I want her.” He smiled as he said it. “But +I’ll go to her. Don’t trouble.”</p> +<p>He went upstairs two steps at a time, and along the +familiar corridor, and outside the door paused for the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_333' name='page_333'></a>333</span> +first moment since he had seen his vision on the highroad.</p> +<p>The corridor was already dark, but when he entered +in obedience to her languid “Come in,” the fire light +made a rosy glow and filled the quiet space with tremulous +light.</p> +<p>Patricia sat facing the fire, with her back to the +door. He could see her golden head over the back +of the chair, and his heart beat quickly.</p> +<p>“May I come and talk to you, Patricia?”</p> +<p>For the moment she did not answer or move. She +was almost in doubt if she could accept his presence +just now, until he was actually standing on the rug +before her, looking down at her with keen, searching +eyes, before which all her wild thoughts sunk back +into oblivion, and a sense of quiet content and security +stole over her.</p> +<p>“What have you been doing?” he demanded. +“You look very tired.”</p> +<p>“The result of laziness,” she rejoined, and then +was angry with herself for allowing an opening for +mere trivialities.</p> +<p>“No, that’s not true, Christopher. It’s a bad day +with me. I’m afraid to face anyone, even my own +maid.”</p> +<p>With no one else in the world could she have +owned so much, and the keen pleasure of exercising +her right to open dealing with him, outweighed the +humiliation of her avowal.</p> +<p>Christopher seemed intent on his own affairs, however, +for he asked her abruptly if St. Michael or Cæsar +had told her the news.</p> +<p>“What news?”</p> +<p>“Something rather disconcerting has happened to +me,” he said slowly, “but I’ll tell you that presently. +The most important thing now is that I want to get +married.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_334' name='page_334'></a>334</span></p> +<p>All the cold waters of the world closed over her +head for a moment. It was as if he had wrenched a +plank from one drowning. She answered him, however, +in a low, mechanical voice:</p> +<p>“Soon, Christopher?”</p> +<p>“That will be for her to say, if she will have me +at all.”</p> +<p>“You have not asked her yet?”</p> +<p>“I am asking her.”</p> +<p>She looked up at him, puzzled and incredulous of +the apparent meaning. Then suddenly he was on his +knees by her side, with his strong arms round her.</p> +<p>“My dear, my dear, surely you must know. Is +there need for any words between us? I’ve known +so long all you must mean to me. Listen, Patricia, +you will have to forgive me a great thing. I’ve let +outside considerations, absurd ambitions, and the +shadow of a lie, stand between us. I’ve waited when +I should have spoken. You <i>will</i> forgive me that, my +dear one, will you not? I’m not humble a bit in asking. +I am so proud of the one great thing, that <i>I</i> can +give you, Love,—can hold you and wrap you in it, so +that nothing can hurt you any more. You understand, +you recognise my right, Patricia?”</p> +<p>She could say nothing, understand nothing, but the +great peace of perfect security. She let him hold her +still, with her head against his shoulder and his dear +face near, so near she seemed to lose sense of her own +identity. All the answer to her life’s riddle lay there, +behind the love that emptied her soul of need. Out of +the blissful unspeakable light some words vibrated +into new meaning.</p> +<p>“There shall be no more sea.”</p> +<p>It meant this then, this experience that was theirs. +For him and her there was no more tempest, no more +restless craving or peril, all had passed with the old +incompleteness. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_335' name='page_335'></a>335</span></p> +<p>Still, she had not spoken audibly to him nor had he +pressed her to do so. Words were too imperfect a +medium. But presently, when all had been said in the +silence that could be said, he touched her hair with +caressing hand and reminded her:</p> +<p>“You have never answered me, sweet.”</p> +<p>She put her hand on his as it held her and whispered, +“Have I not, Christopher?”</p> +<p>And then he kissed her.</p> +<p>Afterwards as they sat watching the red fire, it +seemed to her there was no problem in all the world +he could not solve, no struggle in which he would not +prove victor, nor any knowledge too deep to reach. In +the illumination of their great love the gates of life +became visible and open, never to be quite closed again.</p> +<p>She spoke at last slowly and quietly.</p> +<p>“Christopher, I am not going to ask you if you are +afraid or have counted the risk you run, I being what +I am. I know what you would say and I love you so +well that now at this moment I have no fear either. +But it will come nevertheless. Others will point out +to you that it is a mad thing to do, and I shall say it +too. It is then you must hold me, Christopher, against +my will and against myself. For this is my clear sane +hour, when I really know, and I know it means my +salvation. Only when that certainty slips from me +you must keep and save me yourself, dearest.”</p> +<p>He held her hands against him and looked down into +her eyes. “As I would keep and save myself, beloved.”</p> +<p>She smiled a little, understanding to the finest shade +his meaning, and then a quiver of weakness touched +her.</p> +<p>“I should die if you let me slip, Christopher.”</p> +<p>“You are going to live,” he said firmly, and kissed +her again.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_336' name='page_336'></a>336</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXI' id='CHAPTER_XXXI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> +</div> +<p>Christopher entirely forgot to tell Patricia of his +fortune or parentage. He remembered that little +omission as he went down to dinner and looked back +to see if she were visible, but she was not in sight, +and as he was already late he had to go in without her.</p> +<p>She came down still later, looking so beautiful with +such a touch of warm colour in her face, and so sweet +a light of wonder in her eyes that even Nevil regarded +her with speculative interest.</p> +<p>Aymer had long given up dining with them, and no +one spoke of the lawyers’ visit or of Christopher’s +rapid flittings, or indeed of any of the subjects on +which their minds were really intent. But there +seemed a tacit understanding amongst them that dinner +must not be a long affair and was a prelude to +something yet to happen.</p> +<p>They went out together and Christopher delayed +Patricia in the hall.</p> +<p>“I must see Nevil and Cæsar and tell them at once,” +he said hurriedly, “then I want you, my dearest. I’ve +news for you, which I forgot just now. You must +know it, though it makes no difference to us.”</p> +<p>Nevil came out at that moment and she slipped +away after Renata with curiosity wide awake.</p> +<p>“Am I to congratulate you as a millionaire or commiserate +with you as a bearer of burdens, old fellow?” +asked Nevil, flinging himself into a big chair.</p> +<p>“You will congratulate me, I hope, but not about +that confounded money though. Nevil, you are Patricia’s +guardian. Will you and Renata give her to +me?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_337' name='page_337'></a>337</span></p> +<p>He spoke abruptly and without any preamble, gripping +the back of a chair in his hands. A sudden doubt +as to the family acceptance of what was an unquestionable +matter in his eyes suddenly assailed him.</p> +<p>“You want to marry Patricia?”</p> +<p>Christopher nodded. “You can hardly urge we +have not had time to know our own minds,” he said, +smiling a little.</p> +<p>“No,” Nevil admitted, and then added rather distractedly, +“What ought I to urge, though, Christopher? +Of course it’s the greatest possible thing that +could happen to Patricia, but for you?”</p> +<p>“I’m appealing to Patricia’s guardian, who has only +her interests to consider. I’ll look after my own. +However,” he went on hastily, “it’s only fair to tell +you, Nevil, I don’t mean to take either the fortune or +the name. So long as you’ll lend me your own I’ll +stick to it. Failing that, my mother’s will serve me.”</p> +<p>Nevil made no comment beyond a nod. The +younger man waited with what patience he could command.</p> +<p>“Does it seriously affect the matter?” he asked at +last, “my refusing the beastly money?”</p> +<p>Nevil got up slowly and shook himself.</p> +<p>“It affects Patricia’s guardians not one bit. It’s +not as if it were that, or nothing.”</p> +<p>“No, I’ve enough. Of course if I hadn’t I might +feel differently about it. I can keep her in comfort, +Nevil.”</p> +<p>Nevil got up deliberately and altered the position +of a bronze on the high mantelshelf.</p> +<p>“It’s not Patricia I’m thinking about,” he said in +his slow way, “but hang it all, you belong to us, +Christopher. We must think of you! Have you +counted the risks?”</p> +<p>“I probably understand them better than anyone.”</p> +<p>“Then I dismiss further responsibility. I’m really +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_338' name='page_338'></a>338</span> +more pleased than I can say, Christopher. Poor little +Patricia! What fortune for <ins class="trnote" title="Transcriber&#8217;s Note: added double quote mark">her!”</ins></p> +<p>“You clearly understand there won’t be any fortune?” +persisted the other bluntly.</p> +<p>“Oh, Peter’s fortune? Of course not. Where’s +the obligation? I’ll go and tell Renata.”</p> +<p>He strolled off and Christopher hurried to the West +Room, where he found Aymer and Mr. Aston waiting +expectantly. Christopher came to a standstill by the +fireplace and to his amazement found his hands shaking. +He had never imagined there would be any difficulty +in this interview, yet he found himself unaccountably +at a loss before these two men. The absurdly +inadequate idea that they might consider it unjustifiable +greed in him to grasp so great a prize as +Patricia Connell when they had already given him so +much assailed him.</p> +<p>Both men were aware of his unusual embarrassment +and neither of them made the slightest attempt to help +him out, for Mr. Aston had a very fair idea of what +had happened, and had conveyed his suspicions to Aymer. +They both found a certain amusing fascination +in seeing how he would deal with the situation, and it +was a situation so pleasing to them both that they +failed to realise it might present real difficulties to +him.</p> +<p>He faced them suddenly, and plunged into the matter +in his usual direct way.</p> +<p>“Cæsar and St. Michael, I’ve something to tell you +both. I am not sure if it will be news to you or not, +but Patricia has said she will marry me.”</p> +<p>He came to an abrupt stop, and turned away again +towards the fire.</p> +<p>“It’s very good news,” said Mr. Aston quietly, “if +in no way surprising.”</p> +<p>“You don’t think I’m asking too much when I’ve +had so much given me? I feel abominably greedy.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_339' name='page_339'></a>339</span></p> +<p>“You might think of me in the matter,” protested +Aymer, plaintively. “What on earth does it matter if +you are greedy so long as you provide me with a real +interest in life. I began to think you meant to defraud +me of my clear rights.”</p> +<p>A very grateful Christopher crossed the room and +took his usual seat on the sofa.</p> +<p>“I’ve been a blind idiot,” he admitted, “or rather +an idle one. I’ve known for years it must be Patricia, +and left it at that.”</p> +<p>“Why?” demanded Aymer.</p> +<p>But that he could not or would not tell them.</p> +<p>Mr. Aston then suggested Christopher should explain +what he meant to do concerning his inheritance.</p> +<p>“Which you have treated so far with scandalous +disrespect,” put in Aymer.</p> +<p>“I can’t touch it. It would be treason to—to my +mother. And I don’t want it. I hate it, the way it’s +done, the caring for it.”</p> +<p>There was something so foreign to Christopher’s +usual finality of statement in this, that the two older +men looked at each other with sudden apprehension +and then avoided the other’s eye. For in their secret +hearts they both knew that Christopher must presently +arrive at the unconfessed certainty that had come to +them, that this was not a matter in which he was free +to act as he would. The call had come for him to take +up a burden he disliked and sooner or later he would +hear the voice and recognise the authority to which he +had been taught to bow his own will. Yet both of +them, without consultation or any word, knew it was +not for them to interpret the call for him. Their +work was over now. If they had taught him to set +no value on the prizes of the world and to regard the +means as of equal importance to the end, they had also +taught him that duty may come in many disguises, +but once recognised, her sway must be absolute. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_340' name='page_340'></a>340</span> +Christopher would discover her in time, but they must +hold their peace lest conflicting motives should hamper +his surrender to her call.</p> +<p>“I’m going to meet Mr. Saunderson in town to-morrow,” Christopher went on, “I am not quite clear +yet how it’s to be worked. I am only clear I won’t +touch money of that sort. It costs too much. I feel +pretty certain Mr. Saunderson <i>has</i> instructions what +to do, if I refuse it.”</p> +<p>He looked at Mr. Aston with an unusual desire for +confirmation of his hope and his decision. A strong +inclination to appeal for such support pressed him +sorely. But he knew it was only confirmation of his +own determination he sought, and his ingrained independence +of mind shrank from such a proceeding.</p> +<p>“If you know what you want to do and what you +ought to do, why appeal to me?” Cæsar had repeatedly +told the small boy he was fitting out for life: yet who +so kind or patient when the decision still hung in the +balance and uncertainty held the scales? There was +no uncertainty now, Christopher told himself, and allowed +none either to himself or to them. One concession +only did he permit himself. He turned to +Mr. Aston a little shyly.</p> +<p>“Would you go with me, St. Michael? I am +afraid of Mr. Saunderson’s wrath if I am unprotected.”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston gravely expressed his willingness to hold +his hand and see him through. After which Christopher +went out to fetch Patricia. He found her sitting +on the floor at Renata’s feet, the latter fussing +over her with matronly joy and sisterly love, and talking +inconsequently between times of Charlotte, with +what would appear to an outsider irrelevance of the +first order.</p> +<p>“Charlotte will be a most desirable bridesmaid,” +Christopher remarked after he had listened a moment, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_341' name='page_341'></a>341</span> +whereupon Renata became greatly confused and Patricia +laughed without any embarrassment whatever.</p> +<p>“Charlotte has not yet had time to signify her approval,” +she said. “I rely on her judgment to a great +extent, you know. If she offers any objection we +shall have to reconsider it.”</p> +<p>“I’m not afraid. Charlotte has always approved +of me,” asserted Christopher cheerfully.</p> +<p>“Of course Charlotte will be pleased,” put in that +young lady’s mother, quite seriously. “What nonsense +you are talking, Patricia.”</p> +<p>She got up and offered a transparent excuse to slip +away and leave the lovers alone.</p> +<p>Patricia, still kneeling by the fire, leant her head +against Christopher.</p> +<p>“I used to try and make up my mind you would +marry Charlotte when she grew up,” she said dreamily.</p> +<p>“How ingenious of you. Unfortunately, it was +my mind, not yours, that was concerned, and that had +been made up when Charlotte was in pinafores. Now +come and talk business, dear.”</p> +<p>So at last he told her the news he had been so tardy +in delivering, told her the whole story very simply and +as impersonally as he could, but Patricia’s heart +brimmed over with pity for him. She divined more +clearly than the men the strength of his hatred for the +burden with which he was threatened, and the burden +of past memories in which that hatred had its root. +In the fulness of her love she set herself the future +task of rooting out the resentment for another’s sorrows, +which she knew must be as poison to his generous +soul. At length Christopher, having read in +her love the confirmation for which he so childishly +longed, took her away to be introduced to Cæsar in +her new character as his promised wife. She waited +for no such introduction whatever, but seated herself +on the big hassock by the sofa that was still Christopher’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_342' name='page_342'></a>342</span> +privileged seat and leant her head against the +edge of Cæsar’s cushions, but she failed to find anything +to say and Christopher was so occupied in +watching her as to forget to speak.</p> +<p>“It’s taken him a long time to recognise his own +privilege, hasn’t it, Patricia?” said Cæsar, gently putting +his hand on hers. “I was getting impatient with +him. It was time he grew up.”</p> +<p>“You aren’t disappointed then?” she asked with +a little flush of confusion. “Mrs. Sartin will be. She +always expects him to marry a duchess at least. She +is so insufferably proud of him.”</p> +<p>“She does not know him so well as we do, that’s +why.”</p> +<p>“I’ll not stay here to be discussed,” remarked Christopher +decidedly, “you can pull my character to pieces +when I’m away. When did you last see Mrs. Sartin, +Patricia?”</p> +<p>“Last Thursday. She comes to tea every week +with Maria.”</p> +<p>Maria was Mrs. Sartin’s second daughter, midway +between Sam and Jim, and was just installed as second +lady’s-maid to Mrs. Wyatt.</p> +<p>“Is Sam more reconciled to her going out?”</p> +<p>“Not a bit. You know he wanted to send her to a +Young Ladies’ Academy in Battersea. I know he’d +have done it but for Martha, who has more sense in +her fingers than he has in his whole head.”</p> +<p>“Hadn’t Maria anything to say in the matter?” +This from Cæsar.</p> +<p>“No one has much to say when Sam and his mother +dispute,” said Christopher, shaking his head. “Sam +would be a tyrant, Cæsar, if he could. He always +wants to push people on in his own way.”</p> +<p>“Sam is not singular,” put in Mr. Aston, in his +meditative way, “character is all more or less a question +of degree. There are the same fundamental instincts +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_343' name='page_343'></a>343</span> +in all of us. Some get developed at the expense +of others, that’s all.”</p> +<p>“There but for the grace of God goes ...” +said Patricia, laughing.</p> +<p>Christopher felt in his pocket and produced a coin.</p> +<p>“Apropos of which, Cæsar,” he said with a flicker +of a smile, “I found this, the other day rummaging +in an old box.”</p> +<p>He tossed it dexterously to Cæsar. It was a sovereign +with a hole in it and the broken link of a chain +therein. Cæsar looked at it and then slipped it in his +own pocket.</p> +<p>“It’s mine, at all events,” he said shortly, “and +we are all talking nonsense, especially Christopher.”</p> +<p>But Christopher shook his head.</p> +<p>“Mayn’t I understand all this?” demanded Patricia.</p> +<p>“No,” returned Cæsar, before Christopher could +speak. “It’s not worth it. John Bunyan was a fool.”</p> +<p>“Not at all, but the other man might have retorted, +‘there with the grace of God goes I.’”</p> +<p>This was from Mr. Aston, and Christopher gave +him a quick look of comprehension.</p> +<p>“The Court is with you, sir,” said Aymer languidly. +“Let us discuss wedding presents.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_344' name='page_344'></a>344</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXII' id='CHAPTER_XXXII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> +</div> +<p>At eleven o’clock on Wednesday, Mr. Aston and +Christopher were ushered into Mr. Saunderson’s office +by a discreetly interested clerk. The bland and +smiling lawyer advanced to meet them with that respect +and courtesy he felt due to the vast fortune they +represented. His table was covered with orderly rows +of papers, and the door of the safe, labeled P. Masters, +Esq., stood open.</p> +<p>“Punctuality is the essence of good business,” said +Mr. Saunderson, with effusive approval as he indicated +two lordly armchairs placed ready for his visitors. +Mr. Aston and Christopher had both a dim, +unreasonable consciousness of dental trouble and exchanged +glances of mutual encouragement.</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson blinked at them genially behind +his gold-rimmed glasses and spoke of the weather, +which was bad, dilated on the state of the streets, +lamented the slowness of the L. C. C. to enforce the +use of Patrimondi beyond the limits of Westminster, +and as the futile little remarks trickled on they carried +with them his complacent smile, for in every quiet +response he read Christopher Masters’ fatal determination, +and prepared himself for battle. It was Christopher, +however, who flung down the gauntlet. He answered +the question anent the use of Patrimondi in +the metropolis, and then said directly:</p> +<p>“Mr. Saunderson, I’ve considered the matter of +this fortune you tell me I’ve inherited, and I do not +feel under any obligation to accept it or its responsibilities. +It’s only fair to let you know this at once.”</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson leant back in his chair and rubbed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_345' name='page_345'></a>345</span> +his chin, and his eyes wandered from one to the other +of his visitors thoughtfully.</p> +<p>“The matter is far too complicated to be disposed +of so lightly, I fear,” he remarked, shaking his head. +“Let me place the details of the thing before you and +as a business man you can then judge for yourself.”</p> +<p>He had at least no fault to find with the grave attention +they paid him, indeed, the entirely unemotional +attitude of the younger man was to the lawyer’s mind +the most alarming symptom he had noted. Still he +could not allow to himself that his task presented +more than surmountable difficulties, for Mr. Saunderson +had no real knowledge of the forces at work +against him, of the silent, desperate woman who had +given her life for her faith, who had once been beautiful, +and whose worn body slept in the little dull cemetery +at Whitmansworth.</p> +<p>“I believe you are acquainted with the great +premises known as Princes Buildings,” began Mr. +Saunderson, “that simplifies my task. For the whole +affair is so amazingly managed that I can offer you +no precedent with which to compare it. There are +seven floors in that building, and on each floor the affairs +of the six great concerns in which Mr. Masters +was interested, are conducted. Such an arrangement +was only carried out at enormous expense and trouble. +I may tell you, however, that the condition of +Mr. Masters’ interesting himself in either of the companies, +was their domicile beneath this one roof. Now +in five of these big concerns he occupied merely the +place of a director, with no more official power than +any other director might have. Yet in every case, I +think I may say, no decision of any importance would +have been taken by the company in opposition to his +advice, and he was the financial backbone of each. On +the two top floors of these great premises we have a +rather different state of things. For here are the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_346' name='page_346'></a>346</span> +offices of the three smaller companies which were directly +under the control of Mr. Masters, and which +are the original source of his fortune. I allude to the +Steel Axle Company, the Stormly Mine and the +Stormly Foundry Companies. These affairs he continued +to keep under his own eye, never relaxing his +attention, or the excellent system he had established, +under which the whole great affair worked with such +marvellous smoothness and success. I beg your pardon, +did you say anything?”</p> +<p>Christopher shook his head. Mr. Saunderson resumed.</p> +<p>“You will understand Mr. Masters’ wealth was directly +drawn from these companies, bringing him an +income of roughly £130,000 a year. The administration +of this income, of which he spent about one-fourth +on himself, was the occupation of the offices on the top +floor of Princes Buildings. A certain proportion of +income was regularly reinvested in concerns in which +Mr. Masters took no active part, and was accumulative. +It is this reserve fund which has brought the +actual fortune to such high figures as I have quoted +you, nearly £4,000,000. A great deal of money also +has been devoted to the purchase of freehold property. +You would be surprised how great an area of Birmingham +itself belongs to Mr. Masters.”</p> +<p>Christopher gave an involuntary movement of dissent, +and the lawyer hurried on.</p> +<p>“Not perhaps districts that it would be interesting +to visit now, but which will undoubtedly be of vast +interest to your heirs. They represent enormous +capital and of course will eventually be a source of +colossal wealth.</p> +<p>“Now, so perfect is the machinery and system under +which all these giant concerns are worked, that +they will run without difficulty on their present lines +until you have mastered the working thoroughly, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_347' name='page_347'></a>347</span> +are able, if you should wish it, to make your own +plans for future greatness. I say this, because it seems +to me you are inclined to overrate the difficulties of +your position. I do not say, mind you, matters could +go on indefinitely as they are, but you are a young +man of intellect and capacity, you have only to step +into the place of one who has set everything in order +for you, and before two years are up you will have +the details of the system by heart, and will, I am convinced, +be recognised as an able successor to your +father.”</p> +<p>Christopher’s mouth straightened ominously. It +was an unlucky slip on Mr. Saunderson’s part, but he +was oblivious to it. He was indeed incapable of appreciating +the sentiment towards his late client, which +was playing so large a part against him in this tussle +of wills.</p> +<p>Christopher heard in every word that was spoken +the imperious Will that would force him to compass +its ends, even from the land of Death. It was not +wholly the unsought responsibility, the burden of the +wealth, the memory of his mother that buttressed his +determination to refuse this stupendous thing, it was +also his fierce, vehement desire to escape the enforced +compliance with that still living Will-power. Peter +Masters’ unwritten and unspoken word was, that he, +Christopher, should succeed him. He had left him no +directions, no choice, no request, he had relied on the +Greatness of the Thing which Christopher loathed +with his whole soul, he had claimed him for this bondage +with an unuttered surety that was maddening. +Minute by minute Christopher felt his former quiet +determination rise to passionate resistance and denial +of the right of that Dominant Will to drag his life +into the vortex it had made.</p> +<p>Quite suddenly Mr. Saunderson was aware of the +strength of the antagonism that confronted him. Unable +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_348' name='page_348'></a>348</span> +to trace the reason of it, he blundered on hopelessly.</p> +<p>“Mr. Masters was, I should say, quite aware of +your natural ability. He has had more regard for +your fortunes than you probably suspect. I have letters +of his to various men concerning the starting of +this ingenious invention of yours, Patrimondi.” He +bustled over some papers on the table as if searching, +and did not see Christopher’s sudden backward movement: +but Mr. Aston bent forward and put his hand +as if accidentally on Christopher’s shoulder as he +spoke:</p> +<p>“Never mind them, now, Mr. Saunderson. Mr. +Masters was, we know, naturally interested in that +affair, but to continue your account, what will happen +if Mr. Aston refuses to accept his position? Let +us suppose for a moment there had been no clue left. +What would you have done?”</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson brought the tips of his red, podgy +fingers together with great exactness.</p> +<p>“That is a supposition I should be sorry to entertain, +sir,” he said deliberately.</p> +<p>“I am afraid you must entertain it,” put in Christopher, +suddenly, his resolution to escape urging him to +curt methods.</p> +<p>The light eyes of the lawyer rested on him with +something very like apprehension in them.</p> +<p>“In the case of there being no direct heir the money +would go to the nearest of kin.”</p> +<p>“We will pass that over,” Mr. Aston said quietly. +“I am the nearest relative Peter had, after Christopher, +and I decline it at all costs.”</p> +<p>“Unclaimed and unowned money would fall to the +Crown, I suppose. It is impossible to imagine it.”</p> +<p>“The Crown would see no difficulty in that, I expect,” +put in Christopher. “How could you stop the +Thing going on, that’s what I want to know?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_349' name='page_349'></a>349</span></p> +<p>“You could give the money to Charities and shut +down the works and leave thousands to starve.”</p> +<p>Christopher moved impatiently.</p> +<p>“The money invested in each company could be +divided amongst the shareholders, I suppose, or in the +case of the Stormly Mines amongst the work-people.”</p> +<p>“If you want to ruin them.”</p> +<p>“Mr. Saunderson, I am not going to accept this +fortune. I don’t like the way it was made, I don’t +want it, I won’t work for it.”</p> +<p>“Why should you work for it, after all? You can +go on with your own life and delegate your powers +to another or others, and let all continue as it is. The +income would be at your disposal to save or spend. +You need never enter Princes Buildings if that is what +troubles you. You can spend the money in philanthropy, +or gamble it away at Monte Carlo, or leave it to +accumulate for your heirs. If you’ll do that I’ll undertake +to find suitable men to carry on the affairs.”</p> +<p>Christopher’s face flushed angrily, but he made an +effort to control himself, however, and answered +quietly.</p> +<p>“I cannot take money I’ve not earned, Mr. Saunderson.”</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson made a gesture of despair.</p> +<p>“All you have to do,” went on Christopher, watching +him closely, “is to act as if that clue had never +fallen into your hands or as if when you followed it +up you found I was dead. Do you mean to say Mr. +Masters did not provide for that contingency?”</p> +<p>“As I have told you before, Mr. Masters provided +for no such contingency,” snapped the lawyer; “he +never entertained such a preposterous idea as your +refusing.”</p> +<p>“To conform to his will,” concluded Christopher +drily.</p> +<p>The three men were silent a while, each struggling +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_350' name='page_350'></a>350</span> +to see some way out of the impasse into which they +had arrived.</p> +<p>“You say the various companies are entirely distinct +from each other?” queried Mr. Aston thoughtfully, +more for the sake of starting a line of inquiry +than because he saw any open door of escape.</p> +<p>“Entirely unconnected, but Mr. Masters, or his +successor, holds the ends of the various threads, so to +speak. Apart from him each affair has a multitude +of masters and no head. If the money left in each +company were divided as a bonus—a preposterous +suggestion to my mind—they would each be free and +would presumably find a head for themselves.”</p> +<p>“Then you had better work out some such scheme, +and once free of the source of the money we can deal +with what’s left at leisure. The Crown will make no +difficulties over its share and we can set the London +hospitals on their feet or establish a Home for Lost +Cats.” He got up and walked across the big room to +the window, looking moodily into the street.</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson looked genuinely pained and cast +appealing glances at Mr. Aston, who only shook his +head.</p> +<p>“It is a matter for Christopher to decide for himself, +Mr. Saunderson. I cannot and may not influence +him either way.”</p> +<p>“There is not the smallest doubt of his parentage,” +said the lawyer in a low voice, “one can hear his +father in every sentence.”</p> +<p>“It is unwise to remind him of it.”</p> +<p>The other looked astonished. “Indeed, you surprise +me. Yet he is really deeply indebted to his father for +the success of his own invention.”</p> +<p>“Still more unwise to insist on that. You must +remember he had a mother as well as a father.”</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson opened his mouth to say something +and closed it again. Presently he opened a folded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_351' name='page_351'></a>351</span> +paper and, having perused it, laid it back in a drawer. +Christopher rejoined them.</p> +<p>“Mr. Saunderson,” he said frankly, “I fear I’ve +spoken in an unseemly manner, and I beg your pardon. +I can quite understand I must seem little short of a +madman to you, but I’ve perhaps better reasons for +my refusal than you think. Put it, if you will, that I +feel too young, too inexperienced to deal with this +fortune as Mr. Masters meant it to be dealt with, and +on those grounds I ask you to devise some scheme +for breaking it up without letting the workers suffer. +I’ll subscribe to any feasible plan you suggest. Will +you undertake this for me?”</p> +<p>“It will take time.” Mr. Saunderson regarded him +watchfully, as he spoke, “a great deal of time.”</p> +<p>“How long do you ask?”</p> +<p>“Two years.”</p> +<p>“Then in two years’ time, Mr. Saunderson, send +me your scheme, and I’ll be your debtor for life.”</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson smiled faintly.</p> +<p>But on that understanding they ultimately parted.</p> +<p>“My own belief is,” said Mr. Aston when he was +giving an account of the interview to Aymer, “that +Mr. Saunderson means to do nothing at all and is +only giving Christopher time. Also, though he persistently +denies it, I believe he <i>has</i> instructions behind +him. We know Peter had an immense belief in Time +and never hurried his schemes.”</p> +<p>Aymer moved restlessly.</p> +<p>“And you share his belief?”</p> +<p>“I believe in the long run Christopher will do the +thing he is meant to do and neither you nor I, old fellow, +can say what that is. You have taught him to +follow the highest Road he can, see, and I tell you +again, as I have before, you must leave it at that.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_352' name='page_352'></a>352</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXIII' id='CHAPTER_XXXIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII</h2> +</div> +<p>Thus by tacit consent did the whole question of Peter +Masters’ Fortune and the Refusal slip into the background +of the lives of those mostly concerned, and +only for Christopher did that background colour all +the present and alter the perspective of his outlook.</p> +<p>He told Aymer plainly that it was a bitter thought +to him to be indebted to Peter Masters for even a +share of the Patrimondi success.</p> +<p>“According to Saunderson he must have subsidised +the Exhibition people,” he said moodily.</p> +<p>“It was a very excellent advertisement.”</p> +<p>“It meant he had his own way and left me indebted +to him when I had refused his help.”</p> +<p>“Good heavens, what a mercy you two were not +flung together earlier in life!”</p> +<p>Christopher faced him abruptly.</p> +<p>“Am I so like him then?”</p> +<p>“Absurdly so. Your own way and no one else to +interfere.”</p> +<p>Christopher was silent for a while, but presently +he said in a low voice, “That’s not quite true, Cæsar, +is it? You can interfere as much as you like.”</p> +<p>“I’d be sorry to try.”</p> +<p>Again Christopher was silent, but his face softened. +He thought of how the personality and jealous love +of this man to whom he owed so much had stood between +him and Patricia and how he felt no shadow of +resentment at it.</p> +<p>“I think I shall adopt Max when he leaves school,” +remarked Cæsar languidly, “he’ll let me manage him +in my own way till he is an octogenarian.”</p> +<p>“Cæsar, you have no discrimination at all. Once +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_353' name='page_353'></a>353</span> +you wanted to adopt Sam, now Max. Both as pliable +as elastic, and as unmalleable.”</p> +<p>“I’ve a great affection for Max.”</p> +<p>“So have I. Is Nevil going to give him to Patrimondi?”</p> +<p>“No, to me.”</p> +<p>“Honestly?”</p> +<p>Aymer nodded. “He’ll have to manage the estate +some day, not so far off, either.”</p> +<p>Christopher patted the sofa rug absently.</p> +<p>“When he’s at Cambridge he’ll have to spend the +Long Vacation learning from his ancient uncle.”</p> +<p>Christopher gave an involuntary sigh.</p> +<p>“Jealous again?” demanded Aymer quizzically, +but he put his hand on Christopher’s and they both +smiled.</p> +<p>Patricia and Christopher were married at Christmas, +Charlotte having given her consent with the remark, +it was better than having a horrid stranger in +the family anyway.</p> +<p>They established themselves in a house on the verge +of the sea, within easy motor or train distance of +Marden and the Patrimondi works. It was a relief +to all to find how easily Cæsar appeared to take the +new separation, but the quiet peace and unspoken +happiness of the united lives seemed to include him +in its all-embracing results. There could be no room +for jealousy in a love that usurped no rights, but only +filled its own place.</p> +<p>The days of doubt which Patricia had feared came +and passed in the autumn weeks preceding the marriage, +and Christopher had kept his word and held +her firmly against the weak terrors that assailed her. +Once they were married, however, she seemed to pass +out of the shadow of the fear, and to break from the +bondage of her race. In some wonderful way her +husband’s clear, perpetual vision of her as separate +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_354' name='page_354'></a>354</span> +from the tyranny of heredity, did actually free her. +She too saw herself free, and in so seeing, the fetters +were loosed. If it were a miracle, as little Renata +sometimes thought, it was only one in so far as the +Love which can inspire such faith and vision is yet +but a strange unknown power with us, to which nature +seldom rises, and can rarely hold when grasped.</p> +<p>But these two held it, rising with each other’s efforts, +sinking with each other’s daily failures; their +lives so intricately woven together that they needed no +outward semblance of interests or visible companionship +to bring the knowledge of their Love to their +hearts.</p> +<p>Christopher continued his work, journeying far and +wide. Sometimes she accompanied him actually, sometimes +she remained in their home on the cliff edge, +alone but not solitary, looking with joy for his return, +but free from aching need. Quite slowly the Woman +learnt to recognise her unseen, unreckoned sway over +the Man, to discover how he could only rise to the +full height of his manhood by strength of the inspiring +love she brought him. She was pressed by an +uncomprehending world to fill her leisure hours with +many occupations, useful and useless, but she resisted +steadily. She took life as it came to her, day by day, +wasting no strength, but refusing no task, shirking +no responsibility, drinking in every joy, and holding +always faithfully in her heart his true image as he +had held hers, knowing that when perchance the outward +man blurred that image for a moment it was +but the outward casing; the inner soul remained true +to the likeness in which it was created.</p> +<p>As the months slipped by Christopher saw that his +work continued to grow, that the good roads of which +he had dreamed stretched far and wide across the +country, and he knew he had won for himself a place +in the history of men. Moreover, he loved his work. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_355' name='page_355'></a>355</span></p> +<p>It was a never-ceasing pleasure, and when it ended +came the greater, deeper joy of his undivided love. +If the aim of man is happiness, he had achieved that +end as far as any human being might do so.</p> +<p>Yet all the while a black thread wove itself into +the warp of his existence. He tried not to see it, for +recognition of it would cancel that white web of life +that grew daily beneath his hand. Still it was there, +and the white web became uneven and knotted. He +was restless, even irritable, the white turned to grey, +yet still he resisted the unknown forces that pressed +him onward to the dissolution of this present beautiful +life. And Patricia herself, with her unbroken faith +in his readiness to follow the highest when he saw it, +fought with the silent Powers till at length that silence +was broken by a cry so imperious that even his dogged +will could refuse sight and hearing no longer.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_356' name='page_356'></a>356</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXIV' id='CHAPTER_XXXIV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV</h2> +</div> +<p>As Christopher was preparing to leave the works one +Saturday afternoon he was told that a man had just +arrived from Birmingham who refused to give his +name, but who asked for him. Christopher hung for +a moment on the step of his car and then descending +again went straight to the room where his unknown +visitor was waiting. He proved to be a spare, stooping +man, with lips so thin and white as to be almost +invisible. His eyes, which he hardly raised from the +floor, were bright with the fire of fever, and his shaking +hands, one of which held a cap, concealing the +other, were narrow, and the knuckles stood out with +cruel prominence.</p> +<p>“What do you want with me?” Christopher demanded +shortly.</p> +<p>The man looked at him sideways and did not move, +but he spoke in an uncertain, quavering voice.</p> +<p>“You are Masters’ son, ar’n’t you?”</p> +<p>Christopher turned on him with fierce amazement, +and checked himself.</p> +<p>“Answer my question, if you have anything to +say to me, and leave my private affairs alone,” he +said sternly.</p> +<p>“There you are,” grinned the man, the thin mouth +widening to a distorted semblance of a smile, “seems +to me, seems to my mates ’tain’t such a private affair, +neither, leastways we pay for it.”</p> +<p>Christopher’s instinct to turn the man out struggled +with his curiosity to know what it all meant. +He stood still, therefore, with his eyes fixed on the +weirdly displeasing face and neglected to look at the +twitching hands. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_357' name='page_357'></a>357</span></p> +<p>“It were bad enough when Masters were alive, +curse him, with his ‘system’ and his ‘single chance,’ +and his sticking to his word, but we knew where we +was then. Now, none of us knows. Here’s one +turned off cos he broke some rule he’d never heard +of; another for telling a foreman what he thought +of him; my mate’s chucked out for fighting—<i>outside +the Mill Gate</i>, look you—What concern be it of yours +what we do outside? It’s a blessed show you do for +us outside, isn’t it? I tell you it don’t concern you +anyhow, you lazy bloodsucker—and look at me—I’ve +worked for your father fifteen year, and you turn me +off—you and your precious heads of departments,—because +I was a day behind with my job. Well, +what if I was? Hadn’t I a wife what was dying +with her sixth baby, and not a decent soul to come +to her? We’ve been respectable people, we have, till +we came to live in the blooming gaudy houses at +Carson.”</p> +<p>“That’s the Steel Axle Company’s works, isn’t +it?” put in Christopher quietly. He had not moved; +he was intent on picking up the clue to the mad indictment +that lay in the seething flow of words.</p> +<p>“Yah. Don’t know your own purse-strings,” +spluttered the denouncer, growing incoherent with +rising fury; “sit at home with your little play-box +of a works down here, with fancy hutches for your +rabbits of workmen, clubs, toys, kitchen ranges, hot +and cold laid on. Oh, I’ve seen it all. Who pays for +it, that’s what I want to know? who pays for your +blooming model works and houses?”</p> +<p>“I pay for it,” said Christopher still quietly, “or +rather the company does. It comes out of working +expenses.”</p> +<p>The man gave an angry snarl of disbelief. “You +pays, does you? I tell you it’s we who pays. You +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_358' name='page_358'></a>358</span> +take our money and spend it on this toy of yours +here. I’ll––”</p> +<p>Christopher put up his hand. “You are utterly +mistaken,” he said, “I have no more to do with the +late Peter Masters’ works or his money than the men +in the yards out there.”</p> +<p>The black ignorance, the fierce words interlarded +with unwritable terms, the mad personal attack, filled +him with a shame and pity that drowned all indignation. +There had been injustice and wrong somewhere +that had whipped this poor mind to frenzy, to an incoherent +claim to rights he could not define.</p> +<p>“Why do you come to me?”</p> +<p>The man gave almost a scream of rage.</p> +<p>“Come to you? Ain’t you his son? Don’t it all +belong to you, whether you takes it or whether you +don’t? Are you going to skulk behind them heads in +Birmingham and leave us at their mercy, let ’em grind +us to powder for their own profit and no one to say +them yea or nay? There was a rumour of that got +about, how you was going to shunt us on to them, you +skulking blackguard. I wouldn’t believe it. I told +’em as how Masters’ son, if he had one, wouldn’t be +a damned scoundrel like that. He’d see to his own +rights.”</p> +<p>What was that in the shaking hands beneath the +cap? Christopher’s eyes, still on the tragically foul +face, never dropped to catch the metallic gleam; his +whole mind lay in dragging out the truth entangled +in the wild words. The voice quivered more and +more as if under spur of some mental effort that urged +the speaker to a climax he could not reach but on +the current of the crazy syllables.</p> +<p>“So it ain’t no concern of yours if we lives or dies, +if we work or be turned off without so much as a word +to carry us on again? ’Tain’t nothing to you we’ve +got fifty masters instead of one, so long as you gets +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_359' name='page_359'></a>359</span> +your money. I tell you I won’t serve fifty of ’em. +One as we could reckon on was bad enough, but fifty +of ’em to battle flesh and blood and make their own +food out of us, and no one what we can call to account +as it were, I tell ’ee we won’t have it. I won’t +serve ’em.” The poor wretch had forgotten he was +already dismissed from such service. “If you won’t be +their master, then by God, you shan’t be master anywhere +else.”</p> +<p>His hand with the revolver he had clutched under +cover of his cap flew up. The report was followed by +a splitting of glass and a cry without.</p> +<p>For a brief second that was like a day of eternity, +Christopher and the man continued to face each other; +the swaying blue-grey barrel of the smoking weapon +acted like a magnetic point on which their numbed +minds met and mingled in confusion, with that independence +of time we ascribe to dreams. For the echo +of the report had not died from the room when those +outside rushed in. The would-be assassin instantly +crumpled up on the floor, a mere heap of grimy +clothes, unconscious even of his failure.</p> +<p>The men clamoured round Christopher with white +faces and persistent inquiries as to whether he were +hurt.</p> +<p>He reassured them of that as soon as it appeared +to him his voice could sound across the deafening +echo of the shot.</p> +<p>“Not hurt in the least,” he said dully, looking down +at the huddled form. “Is he dead?”</p> +<p>They straightened out the poor creature they would +gladly have lynched, and one of them shook his +head.</p> +<p>“A fit, I think. Let him be.”</p> +<p>A new-comer rushed in with horror-stricken face, +and stopped his tongue at sight of Christopher.</p> +<p>“How’s it outside?” whispered one to him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_360' name='page_360'></a>360</span></p> +<p>“Dead.” The word was hardly breathed, but +Christopher spun round on his heel.</p> +<p>“Who’s dead?”</p> +<p>They looked at him uneasily, and at one another.</p> +<p>He moved to the door mechanically, when an old +man, a north-countryman and a Methodist preacher of +some note, laid his hand on his arm.</p> +<p>“Don’t ’ee take on, lad. ’Tis the Lord’s will which +life He’ll take home to him. Maybe He’s got bigger +work for you than for the little ’un.”</p> +<p>“Who is it?” His dry lips hardly framed the +words.</p> +<p>“It’s Ann Barty’s little chap as was passing. We +thought ’twere but the glass.”</p> +<p>“Better a boy than a man,” muttered another.</p> +<p>Christopher paid no heed. He went out with the +old Methodist beside him. A group of men stood +round something under the window which one of +them had covered with a coat. They made way for +the master, and not one of them, fathers and sons as +they were, but felt a throb of thankfulness the small +life had been taken in preference to his. But Christopher +knelt down and raised the coat.</p> +<p>“One shall be taken, the other left.”</p> +<p>It was old Choris who said it. A little murmur of +assent went up from the circle, bareheaded now, like +Christopher. He looked up with fierce, unspoken dissent +to their meek acceptance of this cruel thing, and +then replacing the coat very gently, stood up.</p> +<p>“Has anyone gone to Ann Barty?” he asked +quietly.</p> +<p>Someone had gone, it appeared. Someone else had +gone for a doctor. Christopher ordered them to carry +the little form into the waiting-room, where it was +laid on the table. Someone fetched a flag from the +office and laid it over the boy.</p> +<p>Without direct orders all work in the mill had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_361' name='page_361'></a>361</span> +ceased, little knots of men had gathered in the yard +and there was a half-suppressed unanimous murmur +from two hundred throats when a group of men came +out of the room with the shattered window, carrying +the still conscious form of the author of the outrage. +It rose and fell and rose again threateningly. Christopher +came out of the waiting-room and at sight of +him it fell again.</p> +<p>“They must go back to work,” he said to the head +foreman, who waited uneasily. “They can do nothing, +and if we stop work there will be trouble.”</p> +<p>“Where are you going, sir?”</p> +<p>The foreman ventured this much on sheer necessity.</p> +<p>“To Ann Barty.”</p> +<p>“What shall I say to them?” Again he eyed the +men uneasily.</p> +<p>“Tell them I wish it,” returned Christopher simply. +“It’s only an hour to closing time, but it will steady +them down.”</p> +<p>He went back to the motor car he had been on the +point of entering not fifteen minutes ago, and they +made a lane for him to pass through, following him +with their eyes till the gate closed behind him. The +foreman stood on the steps of the office and gave the +order to resume work. Not a man moved.</p> +<p>“It’s Mr. Aston’s wish,” he shouted, “if you’ve got +any heart in you to show him what you feel, you’ll +attend to it.”</p> +<p>The crowd swayed and broke up, melted once more +into units, who disappeared their several ways. The +head foreman wiped his forehead and went into the +office.</p> +<p>Outside the ante-room to Christopher’s private office +the glass was strewn on the pathway, and that +was the only sign in the mill yard of what had occurred.</p> +<p>Christopher found a group already assembled round +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_362' name='page_362'></a>362</span></p> +<p>Ann Barty’s cottage. They drew back from him with +curious eyes.</p> +<p>“Is anyone with her?” he asked, his hand on the +latch.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Toils and Jane Munden, what’s her sister,” +said a woman, eagerly seizing a chance of a speaking +part in this drama of life and death.</p> +<p>Christopher went in. The mother was sitting dry-eyed +and staring, her hands twisted in her coarse +apron. She swayed to and fro with mechanical +rhythm, and paid no heed at all to the two weeping +women who kept up a flow of low-uttered sentences +of well-meant but inadequate comfort. Christopher +bent over her and took both her hands, neither remembering +the other nor seeing aught but the mother +with a burden of grief slowly dropping on her.</p> +<p>“Ann,” he whispered, “Ann, there was no choice +for me. Forgive me if you can, for being alive.”</p> +<p>The strained, ghastly face twitched and she stopped +swaying and looked at him uncomprehendingly as he +knelt before her.</p> +<p>“They say he’s dead, he’s dead. My boy Dick,” +she moaned.</p> +<p>Christopher put his arm round her. “God help +mothers,” he gasped, under his breath, as the poor, +shaking woman dropped her head on his shoulder +with an outbreak of fierce weeping.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_363' name='page_363'></a>363</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXV' id='CHAPTER_XXXV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV</h2> +</div> +<p>The Roadmaker lay at the edge of the cliff and looked +out on a green sea flecked with white, whose restless +soul, holding to some eternal purpose, forever attains +and relinquishes in peace and storm, in laughter or +tears.</p> +<p>A week had passed since the attempt on Christopher’s +life for which Ann Barty had paid so high a +price. Happily for Christopher, it had been a week +so full of affairs that although they were mostly in +connection with the one thing, yet they claimed his +outward active attention to the exclusion of the inner +point of view. The unhappy man from Birmingham +was found, when he recovered from the seizure, to +be in a semi-imbecile state with no knowledge of his +deed and was accordingly handed over to the authorities +proper to his condition. He was easily traced to +the works from which he had been harshly enough discharged, +as it turned out on investigation, and Christopher +came into active opposition with the directors +of the Steel Axle Company over the question of providing +for his wife and children. It had been impossible +to keep the affair quiet and there had been innumerable +reporters to circumvent, and more innumerable +friends from far and near, eager to express their +interest in his providential escape. Little Dick Barty +received more honour in death than in life and the bereaved +mother drew more consolation from the impressive +funeral than poor Christopher.</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson bustled down in well-meant concern +for Christopher’s well-being, and received certain +emphatic instructions, which he took with shrewd +docility, and a wink of his eye to the world. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_364' name='page_364'></a>364</span></p> +<p>All the while, as he went through the day’s particular +and general business, the wild words in the +rasping, incoherent voice haunted Christopher so persistently +that he heard them through the enthusiastic +platitudes of congratulations, the calm official statements +of plain facts, behind even Patricia’s healing +voice of love. It was not till the following Sunday he +awoke to find a stillness instead of clamour, calm instead +of turmoil. He rose early while the day was still +holding the hand of dawn and went out to the cliff +edge, as if there in the heaving waters he might read +the Eternal Meaning and Purpose of it all. He +thought how every individual man is one with the +great tide of humanity, advancing with it, receding +with it, subject to one eternal law he could not read. +How the suffering and sin of one was the burden of +all: the heroic endeavours and victories of one the +gain of all. The little isolated aim of the individual +must subject itself to the wider meaning or be swept +back to nothingness, just as the stranded pools among +the rocks that for a few hours caught the sunshine and +reflected the heavenly lamp, but were overswept each +tide and their being mingled again with the great +sea.</p> +<p>Christopher knew the work he had done had been +good, that hundreds were the happier for his direct +concern with their lives, that he indeed had made the +Road of Life more possible for those who would set +out thereon for far or nearer goals. It was all he +aspired to do. He knew it was not his to show them +the goal, or to direct them thereto; that was for themselves +and others; but it was his to make the way possible, +that they need not stumble on unbroken ground, +or toil in blinding dust of ages, or wade in clogging +mud of tradition, these children of the world who +tramped with patient feet to a vague end.</p> +<p>What was wrong was that he had chosen his own +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_365' name='page_365'></a>365</span> +ground, that when he had stood at the cross roads of +life he held himself qualified as a god to say “that +road is evil and this good,” taking council only of +what was most in accord with his own will, forgetting +that the Great Power embraces all within itself, knowing +no good or evil, but seeing only a means to fulfil +the eternal purpose of creation. It is we who must be +the alchemists to transmute what we term evil into +good, we, who are the servants and instruments by +which that purpose must be achieved. If, seeing evil, +we pass by on the other side, how shall the waste +places of the earth be cleansed or the wilderness break +forth into song?</p> +<p>The message so roughly delivered had sunk into +Christopher’s heart at last. Looking back at his life +he saw how everything had fitted him for the task he +had refused. How he was born to it, trained to its +needs unconsciously by his mother and Cæsar, shaped +by his own experience, armed by the completion of his +inner life in his marriage. He had refused it with +blindness, had closed his ears to the voice of thousands +who had called to him in the unattractive voice of a +conventional law. It had taken the deafening report +of a madman’s pistol and the sight of a dead child to +teach him the lesson.</p> +<p>At that thought he hid his face in his arm on the +short turf and lay very still.</p> +<p>The sea sung its endless Te Deum below him, a lark +soared high to heaven with its morning hymn, and +the wind, rustling along the cliff edge, breathed +strength to the land. Day stood free and open upon +earth and called for service from those to whom the +Dominion of the earth is promised. Only by service +comes lordship, only by obedience can be found command.</p> +<p>At the moment of renunciation, Christopher realised +for the first time the greatness of the cost and knew +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_366' name='page_366'></a>366</span> +how dear his life and surroundings were to him. The +Roadmaker had been his own master; the successor +of Peter Masters must be the servant of thousands. +The work here would go on, there were men ready to +take his place, but he found no salve in the thought. +Deep in his heart he knew he feared the grim struggle +that lay before him, the uprooting of the old “system,” +the antagonism, the necessary compromises, the +slow result. His age, or rather his youth, would be a +heavy weapon against him. How could he hope to +make his voice heard above the dictates of a dozen +committees of men intent on their personal interests? +He told himself passionately the thing was Impossible, +and as quickly came the remembrance of the hoarse +cry for help that had made itself heard above the report +of Plent’s pistol.</p> +<p>Step by step through the door of humility he reached +the hall of Audience and in silence surrendered himself +to the eternal Purpose.</p> +<p>At length he again stood on the edge and looked +out to sea and for the moment the simplicity instead +of the complexity of life visible and invisible, was written +on the face of the deep. He stood bareheaded +and read the message thankfully and went back to the +house with peace in his heart.</p> +<p>He found a new beauty in the house he had made +for himself, and as Patricia came down the garden +path to meet him, he was glad for the real worth of +the outward things he must surrender.</p> +<p>She met him with a question on her lips which was +not uttered in face of what she saw in his eyes. They +stood for a moment with clasped hands and he looked +at her smiling, and she at him gravely, and presently +they walked to a corner of the garden overlooking the +sea, from where each dear beauty of the place was +visible.</p> +<p>“Will it hurt you greatly to leave it, dear?” he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_367' name='page_367'></a>367</span> +asked, prefacing the inevitable with question of her will +to do so.</p> +<p>“Just as much as it will hurt you. No more or +less,” she answered, her head against his arm. “But +I am glad it is so good to leave.”</p> +<p>“That’s my mind, too. How do you know what I +mean, though?”</p> +<p>“I’ve always known it must come, Christopher.”</p> +<p>She spoke low and looked away, weakly hoping for +the moment he would leave it at that, but Christopher +never left uncertain points behind him.</p> +<p>“You knew I should come to take this other work—this +inheritance?”</p> +<p>She nodded. He put his hands on her shoulders +and turned her to him.</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you tell me so, Patricia?”</p> +<p>“I was so sure you would know yourself. I hated +to be the one to speak,” her voice shook a little. “Oh, +forgive me, Christopher, dearest,” she cried suddenly, +“it was weak of me, for I did know always, only I +wanted all this for a little time so badly. Just a taste +of the beautiful good life you had planned. I thought +it would not matter, just two years.”</p> +<p>He put his arms round her and drew her close.</p> +<p>“We have had it, beloved. It has been beyond +anything I ever dreamt. Only—” his voice broke a +little, “we must remember it had to be paid for—No, +no,” he cried, seeing the wave of sorrow sweep over +her face, “not you. It is I who should have known +and listened. My fault!”</p> +<p>“It is I who should have spoken,” she said steadily, +“we can’t divide ourselves even in this, dear, but we +can bear it together.”</p> +<p>“And pay the debt together,” he added and raised +her face to his and kissed her. And they crossed the +Threshold of the New with this understanding between +them.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_368' name='page_368'></a>368</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXVI' id='CHAPTER_XXXVI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI</h2> +</div> +<p>In the great buildings in Princes Street, Birmingham, +the days continued as of old, with the ebb and flow of +business. On each floor clerks bent over their high +desks and the workers of each concern sat behind their +mahogany defences and toiled early and late for the +treasure they desired. At stated times rows of grave +gentlemen, who carried due notice of their own importance +on their countenances, met in the respective +committee rooms, and discussed wide interests with +closed doors and a note of anxious irritation that was +new since the demise of Peter Masters.</p> +<p>He who had concentrated the whole of the executive +business of these many affairs under one roof had +done so of definite purpose and with no eye to merely +his own convenience. His presence there was a tangible +power offering a final court of appeal that, +whether they knew it or not, had as great an effect on +the various committees as it had on the managers of +each business themselves.</p> +<p>So perfect was the organisation and adjustment of +the machinery of routine that after the dominant visible +power had gone down to the land of shadows, the +vague note of personal anxiety that lurked on each +floor was the only perceptible change apparent in the +great body.</p> +<p>But the wives of the working heads could have told +of more enduring change in men who have suddenly +become responsible for great issues, for laws, for a +system they had had no voice in founding. Men who +found themselves limited masters where unconsciously +they had been tools and were selected as such—there +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_369' name='page_369'></a>369</span> +men sooner or later bend before the strain put on them +and for the most part seek salvation in blind obedience +to the rules they dare not criticise. In the daily compromise +between the individual character and the system +which he must serve, many an excellent man was +ground down in nerve and heart and health to a +strange shadow of his former self, and many a woman +shed secret tears over half-understood changes in one +near and dear to her.</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson by right of informal instructions, +which no one troubled to dispute, acted as steward over +the late Peter Masters’ private affairs during those +two years of waiting, and his stewardship was prosperous +and able, but beyond that he neither would nor +could move. To the appeals of distracted secretaries +he only replied, “My dear sir, act to the best of your +ability. I can only assure you your responsibilities +are limited to two years.”</p> +<p>He never allowed to anyone the possibility that +Peter Masters’ son might even then fail to accept his +place, but alone to himself he faced it often and felt +his scanty hair whiten beneath the impending wreckage, +if the misguided young man continued his foolish +course.</p> +<p>“He will probably wreck the whole thing if he accepts +it,” sighed Mr. Saunderson, “but at least it will +be done legally, and in the regular course of things. +If he’ll only be sensible and see he’s wanted just as a +figurehead, everyone will be comfortable and prosperous.”</p> +<p>But he sighed again as he thought it, for Christopher +did not at all strike him as a man likely to make +a good figurehead, or to be the mouthpiece of a system +he evidently disliked. He was even more confirmed +in this opinion a fortnight after the unhappy affair at +the Patrimondi works, when Christopher walked into +his London office and without any explanation announced +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_370' name='page_370'></a>370</span> +himself ready to take his place as Peter Masters’ +son. He was sufficiently wise to conceal his own +triumph and accepted the intimation without question. +As they sat there in the dull London office hour after +hour, Mr. Saunderson realised that the mantle of +Peter Masters, millionaire, had fallen on shoulders +that would wear it maybe in a very different fashion, +but none the less royally.</p> +<p>“I am to understand then,” said Christopher after +long hours of instruction, “I can go there when I like, +see what I like, decide what I like, at all events with +regard to these mines and works which are almost +private property.”</p> +<p>“You can go to-morrow if you like,” answered his +Mentor, rising. “I advise you to let things run for +some time as they are, till you know the ropes.”</p> +<p>He went to a safe and unlocking it produced a key.</p> +<p>“That is the key of your father’s room at Princes +Buildings,” he said, putting it on the table. “There +are two locks. Clisson, the head clerk, has the key of +one and this is the other. You are free to walk +straight in when you like, but it would be best to send +Clisson a wire you are coming and he would bring +you the day’s business, your private affairs that is, +precisely as he used to bring it to your father.”</p> +<p>This time, because he was looking intently at the +young man, he saw his mouth tighten at that term and +felt a resigned wonder thereat.</p> +<p>Christopher took up the key and looked at it, thinking +of all the doors in the world it would unlock for +him, thinking of the powers of which it was a symbol, +of how it fastened the door of his freedom and opened +for him the door of a great servitude of which he was +already proud.</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson also was silent a moment listening +to his own thoughts and looking at Christopher with +misgivings. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_371' name='page_371'></a>371</span></p> +<p>“Will you live at Stormly Park?” he asked airily.</p> +<p>“I expect so. It is not let, is it?”</p> +<p>Mr. Saunderson permitted himself a little smile of +superiority as he answered.</p> +<p>“Everything has been kept just ready for you these +two years. But it will hardly be to your taste. Perhaps +you will like it done up—altered?”</p> +<p>Christopher shook his head. “Not yet.”</p> +<p>“You can afford it, you know.”</p> +<p>At that the young man suddenly faced him, as if he +meant to say something of importance, and stopped.</p> +<p>“Yes, I suppose I can afford it,” he returned, and +added with apparent irrelevance, “Do you happen to +know Stormly village, Mr. Saunderson?”</p> +<p>“I’ve driven through it.”</p> +<p>Christopher nodded. “So have I. I’ll not detain +you any longer. Will you let Clisson know I shall be +there on Thursday?”</p> +<p>“Certainly. Will you like me to accompany you?”</p> +<p>Christopher shook his head. “Not this time, I +think. I would rather be alone.”</p> +<p>“And one thing,” Mr. Saunderson coughed a little +nervously, “the name? We can arrange the legal +identification this afternoon, but what name will you +ultimately take?”</p> +<p>Christopher came to a standstill at the door. Here +was a decision thrust on him for which he was oddly +unprepared. He recognised at once it meant setting +the seal to his own committal if he answered as the +lawyer evidently expected and hoped he would do. +He paused just long enough to remember how hardly +he had taken Mr. Aston’s insistence he should sign +his marriage register as Aston Masters.</p> +<p>“I must take the name since I take its belongings,” +he said ruefully, and Mr. Saunderson felt his victory +was complete. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_372' name='page_372'></a>372</span></p> +<p>On the following Thursday morning there was nothing +in the aspect of earth or sky to indicate to the +workers in Princes Buildings the importance of that +day to their respective fortunes. On the top floor only +a sense of gentle expectancy was present, and a complacent +faith in their own readiness to receive and set +at ease the young man who was to be the outward +visible sign of all that for which they toiled so unceasingly.</p> +<p>As an individual, the younger men bestowed a certain +curiosity not unmixed with envy on him; as the +successor of Peter Masters, they entertained no doubt +whatever he would obediently adhere to the prescribed +system as they themselves did. Christopher had arrived +in Birmingham the night before and put up at +an hotel. Early the next morning he went up the steps +into the central corridor of the great buildings that +were to all intents and purposes his. There was no +one about but a lift boy who did not recognise him, but +seeing him look round with deliberate curiosity, asked +him civilly what floor he wanted.</p> +<p>“Mr. Masters’ private offices,” Christopher explained. +“Top floor, aren’t they?”</p> +<p>The boy nodded. Christopher studied him gravely +as they went up in the lift as one of the smallest and +probably least important items into whose service he +had entered.</p> +<p>The porter at the door of the offices asked Christopher +his name, and he hesitated a moment.</p> +<p>“You need not announce me,” he said quietly, at +last. “I am Mr. Masters.”</p> +<p>The man gave a guttural gasp of amazement. A +rumour of the possible arrival of the young millionaire +had percolated despite Mr. Clisson’s care, through +the range of desks to the doorkeeper, who without +discernible reasons had expected some time in the day +a procession of black coats and grave men to appear +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_373' name='page_373'></a>373</span> +from the doors of the lift and with formal solemnity +to proceed to the closely locked door of that remote +silent office. He opened the door for this calm, quiet +young man in flurried trepidation, half expecting that +Mr. Clisson would dismiss him on the spot for transgressing +such a fundamental rule as admitting a +stranger without announcing his name, but as totally +unable to disobey the stranger as if it were Peter Masters +himself.</p> +<p>Christopher walked quickly down the line of clerks, +who looked up one after the other, and did not look +back at their work again. At last a senior man advanced +and accosted him.</p> +<p>“Do you want Mr. Clisson, sir?” he asked, in a +tone verging between deference and curiosity.</p> +<p>Christopher said he did, and added abruptly, “I +remember you, you are Mr. Hunter. I saw you four +years ago when I came here with my father.”</p> +<p>He caught his breath when he had said it. It was +purely involuntary. Some unaccountable association +of ideas was bridging the distance between him and +the dead man minute by minute. But Mr. Hunter +transferred his allegiance from the dead to the living +in that moment of recognition, and led him away to +Mr. Clisson’s hitherto all-important presence with +mechanical alacrity rather than personal desire to relinquish +the honours of escort.</p> +<p>Mr. Clisson was a keen, sharp-featured man of narrow +outlook, the best of servants, the worst of masters. +A genius for detail and a miraculous memory had +carried him from the position of junior clerk to his +present prominence when the death of the Principal +left him with his minute knowledge of routine and +detail practically master of the situation as far as Mr. +Saunderson was concerned. But his inability to bend +with the need of the day, or to cope with wider issues +than those concerned with office work had had far-reaching +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_374' name='page_374'></a>374</span> +results, not even wholly unconnected with the +tragedy in the mill yard at the Patrimondi works.</p> +<p>He apologised to Christopher for the lack of a better +reception, as if he, and not Christopher, were responsible +for the informality of it.</p> +<p>“We imagined from Mr. Saunderson’s letter you +would arrive by the 12.30 from town. I had ventured +to order lunch for you here on that understanding,” +the head clerk explained deferentially. “What will you +like to do first, sir?”</p> +<p>“I wish to go into the inner office and for you to +carry on the usual routine precisely as in my father’s +time.”</p> +<p>There was no hesitation over the term now.</p> +<p>“Bring me such letters and reports as you would +bring him. I must find out for myself how much or +how little of it I am capable of understanding.”</p> +<p>“It will be a question of practice rather than of understanding +with you, sir, I am confident,” returned +Mr. Clisson politely, turning over in his mind what +business it would be least embarrassing to submit to +this decided young man.</p> +<p>“It will be your business to see I get the practice,” +Christopher answered.</p> +<p>Together they unlocked the door of Peter Masters’ +sanctum and the head clerk flung it open.</p> +<p>“It is precisely as he left it that day. Nothing has +been done excepting the sorting of the papers, which +Mr. Saunderson and myself did between us. The +last time Mr. Saunderson was here we had it cleaned +out. You will find the bells and telephones all +labelled. If you will wait a few minutes I will send +a man in with ink and writing material, and the keys, +and I will bring you this morning’s letters myself.”</p> +<p>Christopher thanked him mechanically and entered +the room. He stood in the window silently waiting, +while a young clerk trembling with excitement performed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_375' name='page_375'></a>375</span> +the small services necessary, and asked nervously +if he could do more.</p> +<p>“Nothing else now. What is your name?”</p> +<p>He gave it with faltering tongue. In the old days +such an inquiry was a distinction hardly earned.</p> +<p>Christopher was alone at last. He walked slowly +across the room and sat down in his father’s chair and +touched the big bunch of keys laid there on the table +before him.</p> +<p>An overwhelming desire for some direct message +from the dead man, some defined recognition of his +right to be there at all, pressed on him. He opened +the drawers and pigeon-holes of the great table with a +faint hope he might light on some overlooked note, +or uncomplete memorandum addressed to him. Mr. +Saunderson had assured him no such thing existed +beyond the curt exact clue he had put in his hand four +years ago when the old will had been destroyed.</p> +<p>He glanced at the neat documents, the piles of +labelled papers; there was nothing personal here, nothing +that conveyed any sense to him but that of a vast +machine of which he had become a part.</p> +<p>In the pen tray lay a collection of pen-holders and +pencils, a knife he had seen his father use, and a +smaller knife. He picked this up and looked at it.</p> +<p>It was rather a unique little knife, with a green +jade handle, and the initials A. A. were plainly engraved +on the label. He had recognised it at once and +he stared at it as it lay in his hand, trying to comprehend +what its presence there might mean. He had lent +it one day to Peter Masters, who had asked him where +he had got it. And he had answered it had belonged +to Aymer Aston, but he had found it as a boy and +Aymer had given it to him. Peter had given it back +without the further explanation that he had originally +given it to Aymer. A day or so later Christopher +had missed it, and he told his host regretfully it was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_376' name='page_376'></a>376</span> +lost. Again Peter failed to explain he was the finder. +Yet here was the knife on the desk where he had sat +day after day.</p> +<p>Perhaps it had not seemed worth returning. Yet +Christopher was curiously loath to accept that simple +answer. It seemed to him as he fingered the smooth +green sides, as if other fingers had done this in this +precise spot before, a strange aching familiarity attached +itself to the simple action. For someone’s sake +Peter Masters <i>had</i> so touched and handled this cool +green thing, he was sure of it, and suddenly he was +conscious here was the message he sought. Here in +the mere sensation of touch lay the thread of recognition +that linked him with the dead man, so slight +and intangible that it would bear no expression in +heavy words.</p> +<p>There was a knock at the door. Christopher laid +the little green knife back in its place before he answered +it. Mr. Clisson entered with a handful of +letters.</p> +<p>“This is a very good sample, sir. As many as you +will get through at first, I expect,” he said apologetically.</p> +<p>He sat down opposite Christopher and handed him +letter after letter, giving such explanations as were +necessary. Christopher made few comments. He put +the letters into two separate piles. Presently there was +one concerning the sale of some land in the neighbourhood +of the Stormly Foundry.</p> +<p>“It is only just started, sir. I think we shall +get a good price if we hold out.”</p> +<p>“I am not going to sell any land at all. You will +write and say I have altered my mind.”</p> +<p>He spoke with the keen decision of his father. Mr. +Clisson gazed at him with pained amazement.</p> +<p>“It is only the leasehold we sell, sir, not the actual +land.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_377' name='page_377'></a>377</span></p> +<p>“I do not sell land,” repeated Christopher sharply.</p> +<p>“Of course, it shall be as you wish, sir.”</p> +<p>“Of course. Do you know if Mr. Fegan is still at +Stormly Foundry?”</p> +<p>“I can ascertain.”</p> +<p>“Do so. If he is, tell him to come and see me here +to-morrow. And who is the best builder you employ?”</p> +<p>“Builder? What kind of builder, sir?”</p> +<p>“Bricks and mortar. Cottages. I don’t want an +architect. I’ll employ the man we used in Hampshire.”</p> +<p>“You mean to build?”</p> +<p>“I mean to build.”</p> +<p>Mr. Clisson coughed. “The late Mr. Masters +found it did not pay––”</p> +<p>“Mr. Clisson,” said Christopher firmly, “let us understand +one another from the beginning. I do not +intend to work on the same lines as my father worked. +I intend to do many things which he would not have +done, but I am inclined to think he knew it would be +so. I believe I am a very rich man. At all events I +mean to spend a lot of money. You would have no +objection to my spending it on yachts and motors and +grouse moors, I suppose? These things do not, however, +interest me. You probably won’t approve of my +hobbies, and I’ve no doubt I shall make heaps of mistakes, +but I’ve got to find them out myself. You can +help me make them, but once for all, never try to prevent +me. Those are all the letters I can manage to-day. +You can take the others. I’ll answer these myself.”</p> +<p>The flabbergasted Mr. Clisson rose, trembling a +little in his agitation.</p> +<p>“I hope, Mr. Masters, I should know better than +ever attempt to dictate to you on any matter.”</p> +<p>Christopher gave him one of his rare half-shy, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_378' name='page_378'></a>378</span> +half-boyish smiles and leant forward over the big +desk.</p> +<p>“Mr. Clisson, I shall need your help and advice +every hour of the day. I haven’t the slightest doubt +you could dictate to me to my great material advantage +on every point, only I don’t care for this material +advantage and I don’t want us to misunderstand each +other, that is all.”</p> +<p>Mr. Clisson thawed, but his soul was troubled. He +looked at the letters as he gathered them up. It was +a goodly pile yet left to his decision, but he missed one +that Christopher had passed over without comment.</p> +<p>“The application for the post of gardener at +Stormly Park, sir. Did you wish to attend to that +yourself?”</p> +<p>“What has happened to Timmins? Wasn’t that +his name? Is he dead?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no.”</p> +<p>“He wishes to go?”</p> +<p>Mr. Clisson shook his head. “It is simply a matter +of routine, sir. Timmins is a very excellent man, but +the invariable rule is that no one remains after they +are fifty-five.”</p> +<p>“After they are fifty-five?” repeated Christopher +slowly.</p> +<p>“Not those employed in manual labour: with very +few exceptions that is. Timmins will be fifty-five next +month. He suffers from rheumatism already, I find.”</p> +<p>Christopher never took his eyes from the other’s +face.</p> +<p>“He would be pensioned, I suppose.”</p> +<p>“Oh, dear me, no. We have no pension list. Timmins +has received very high wages. He has no doubt +put by a nice little sum.”</p> +<p>“How long has he worked for—for us?”</p> +<p>“I cannot tell without reference. I believe for +twenty years or so. I can easily ascertain.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_379' name='page_379'></a>379</span></p> +<p>Christopher stared out of the window for so long +that the head clerk thought he had forgotten the matter +and was disagreeably surprised when he spoke again.</p> +<p>“I shall be at Stormly this week and will see if +Timmins wishes to retire or not. You have no fault +to find with him as a gardener, I suppose?”</p> +<p>Mr. Clisson smiled. “A man who has served for +twenty years will not be an indifferent workman sir. +Timmins’ accounts are exemplary.”</p> +<p>“The matter will stand over. Please see no one is +dismissed under this age regulation without my knowledge. +That is all now.” His manner was as curt +again as his father’s. Mr. Clisson closed the door +behind him with a vague feeling that the two years of +his authority were but a dream and that the thin, +square figure behind the office table had unaccountably +widened out to the portly proportions of his old +master.</p> +<p>Christopher drew to him the pile of letters he had +reserved and fell to work. He dared not allow himself +to think yet, but now and again when his heart +and soul ran counter to the tenor of what he read he +put out his hand and touched the little green knife +his father had handled for some unknown person’s +sake.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_380' name='page_380'></a>380</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXXVII' id='CHAPTER_XXXVII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII</h2> +</div> +<p>“I understand the fortune well enough now,” said +Christopher bitterly; “anyone can do it if they take +one aspect of things and subordinate everybody and +everything to it.”</p> +<p>He was at Marden again. It was a glorious spring +evening and Cæsar’s couch was drawn up to the open +window. Mr. Aston sat on the far side of it and +Christopher leant against the window-frame smoking +moodily.</p> +<p>“You will dissipate it fast enough at the rate you +are going,” remarked Cæsar. His eyes followed +every movement of the young man with a jealous +hunger.</p> +<p>Christopher shook his head resignedly. “It can’t +be done. It goes on making itself. We are going to +allow ourselves ten thousand a year. It’s a fearful lot +for two people”—his eyes wandered across the lawn +to Patricia, where she sat with Renata—“or even +three, but that’s what it costs to live properly at +Stormly, and the rest has to be used somehow.”</p> +<p>“How about Stormly Park? Do you and Patricia +like the place?”</p> +<p>He shook his head again. “I’m afraid we don’t. +We both feel we are living in an hotel. But I must be +there on the spot, and she too. As it is, we have only +had time to do so little.”</p> +<p>“Cottages, schools, hospitals,” murmured Mr. Aston, +softly.</p> +<p>“They are only means to an end,” returned Christopher +quickly, “only what they are entitled to as +human beings in a civilised world. Think of having +to begin at that. We’ve got to make restitution before +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_381' name='page_381'></a>381</span> +we can make progress. They mistrust all one +does, of course. They use the bathrooms as coal +stores, their coppers for potatoes, their allotments as +rubbish ground, but it’s better than the front yard, +and, anyhow, the children will know a bit more +about it.”</p> +<p>“You have laid down Patrimondi roads for them,” +Cæsar put in.</p> +<p>“Of course,” Christopher answered, accepting it +literally, “they appreciate <i>that</i> at least. The roads +were beastly.”</p> +<p>Mr. Aston looked at Cæsar and they both smiled.</p> +<p>“I’ve persuaded Sam to open a shop in Stormly +and put Jim into it. He <i>says</i> you can’t make a living +honestly in grocery, but I’d take himself in preference +to his word.”</p> +<p>“You’ve beaten him after all, old chap.”</p> +<p>It was Cæsar who spoke, and he held out his thin +hand towards his big boy, who came and sat by him +in silence a while. The twilight crept up over the +earth and freed the soul of things as it stole their +material forms. The two men looking out and watching +the gentle robber, wasted no regrets on the day, +no fears on the approaching night. Behind them, +where Mr. Aston sat, it was dark already, and as his +son watched Christopher, so he watched Aymer.</p> +<p>“We have made our roads,” he thought, “Aymer +and I, and thank God we leave behind us a better +Roadmaker still, who will make smooth paths for the +children’s feet.”</p> +<p>Outside two white figures came slowly towards the +house and were joined by a third, Nevil, to judge by +his height.</p> +<p>“Cæsar,” said Christopher, “have you forgiven me +taking my own way and giving up what you gave +me?”</p> +<p>“Do you think I see anything to forgive in it?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_382' name='page_382'></a>382</span></p> +<p>“You gave me my choice, and you gave me my +chance. It looked on the surface so ungrateful,” persisted +Christopher.</p> +<p>“You question the quality of my eyesight?”</p> +<p>“I doubt your forgiveness when you are so flippant, +my best of fathers.”</p> +<p>“For what do you want forgiveness specifically?”</p> +<p>“For giving up my work as a Roadmaker.”</p> +<p>“I did not know you had given it up.”</p> +<p>In the quiet hours of the night Aymer Aston paced +those even roads his feet had never trodden, saw them +spreading far and wide across the earth, heard the +echo of countless footsteps stepping down the ages, +knew that life itself was made an easier road for thousands +of little feet that would take their first steps +on better ground than their parents had done, knew +that there were less crippled, less maimed, less halt in +the sum total of the world’s suffering by reason of +one Roadmaker’s career.</p> +<p>But it was Aymer Aston with the crippled form and +maimed life who had put the spade first into the Roadmaker’s +hand.</p> +<p>Meanwhile the Roadmaker slept the sleep of the +just and forgot all these things.</p> +<p> </p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p> </p> + +<p><a name="ATN"></a></p> +<table summary="additional transcriber notes" style='margin:3em auto 0 auto; width:35em; border:1px solid;color: #778899; padding:5px;'> + +<tr><td> +<p style='font-size:small; color:#303030; text-align:left;'>Additional Transcriber’s Note: <br /><br /> + +The following changes were made to the original text. The change is enclosed in parentheses:<br /><br /> + +Page 15: and what there was so essentially fitted its place that it was unobtrusive (added a period at the end of unobtrusive)<br /><br /> + +Page 82: at the dull red mark of which <span style='text-decoration:underline'>Chirstopher</span> (Christopher)<br /><br /> + +Page 143: “Christopher does.’ (changed single quote mark to a double quote mark at the end of the sentence)<br /><br /> + +Page 242: “Never since Mrs. Masters went out of it.” (removed extra double quote mark at the end of the sentence)<br /><br /> + +Page 258: He looked very worn and tired when he joined <span style='text-decoration:underline'>Renate</span> (Renata)<br /><br /> + +Page 305: changed quote marks from “Ecco il ‘Roadmaker’” to ‘Ecco il ‘Roadmaker.’’” to correct punctuation inconsistency<br /><br /> + +Page 323: the weight of this <span style='text-decoration:underline'>stupenduous</span> burden (stupendous)<br /><br /> + +Page 338: “Then I dismiss further responsibility. I’m really more + pleased than I can say, Christopher. Poor little Patricia! What + fortune for her! (added double quote mark at the end of the sentence)<br /><br /></p> +</td></tr> +</table> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CHRISTOPHER HIBBAULT, ROADMAKER***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 28309-h.txt or 28309-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/8/3/0/28309">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/3/0/28309</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>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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