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diff --git a/old/20090712-4305-h.htm b/old/20090712-4305-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..45e58e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/20090712-4305-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,20326 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of The Unclassed, by George Gissing +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Unclassed, by George Gissing + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net + + +Title: The Unclassed + +Author: George Gissing + +Posting Date: July 12, 2009 [EBook #4305] +Release Date: July, 2003 +First Posted: January 3, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNCLASSED *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +The Unclassed +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +by +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +George Gissing +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%"> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">I </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap01">SCHOOL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">MOTHER AND CHILD</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">ANTECEDENTS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">CHRISTMAS IN TWO HOMES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">POSSIBILITIES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">AN ADVERTISEMENT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">BETWEEN OLD AND NEW</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">ACADEMICAL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">THE COUSINS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">THE WAY OUT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">BY THE WAYSIDE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">RENT DAY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">A MAN-TRAP</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">NEAR AND FAR</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">UP THE RIVER</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">EXAMPLE WITHOUT PRECEPT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">THE MISSING YEARS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">THE ENDERBYS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">IN THE MEANTIME</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">A SUGGESTION</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">DIPLOMACY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">UNDER-CURRENTS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">THE OPPORTUNITY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">JUSTICE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap25">ART AND MISERY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap26">STRAYING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap27">THE WILL TO LIVE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap28">SLIMY'S DAY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap29">FREEDOM</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXX </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap30">ELM COURT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap31">NEW PROSPECTS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap32">A VISION OF SIN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap33">A GARDEN-PARTY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXIV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap34">A LATE REVENGE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXV </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap35">HOUSE-WARMING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXVI </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap36">NO WAY BUT THIS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXVII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap37">FORBIDDEN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXVIII </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap38">ORDERS OF RELEASE</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SCHOOL +</H3> + +<P> +There was strange disorder in Miss Rutherford's schoolroom, wont to be +the abode of decorum. True, it was the gathering-time after the +dinner-hour, and Miss Rutherford herself was as yet out of sight; but +things seemed to be going forward of a somewhat more serious kind than +a game of romps among the children. There were screams and sobbings, +hysterical cries for help; some of the little girls were crowding round +an object in one corner of the room, others appeared to be getting as +far away from it as possible, hiding their pale faces in their hands, +or looking at one another with terrified eyes. At length one more +thoughtful than the rest sped away out of the room, and stood at the +bottom of the stairs, calling out her teacher's name as loud as she +could. A moment, and Miss Rutherford came hastening down, with alarmed +aspect, begging to be told what was the matter. But the summoner had +turned and fled at the first sight of the lady's garments. Miss +Rutherford darted into the schoolroom, and at once there was quietness, +save for half-choked sobs here and there, and a more ominous kind of +moaning from the crowded corner. +</P> + +<P> +"Gracious goodness, children, what is it? Who's that lying on the +floor? Harriet Smales! What <I>ever</I> has happened?" +</P> + +<P> +The cluster of children had fallen aside, exposing a strange picture. +On the ground lay a girl of twelve, her face deadly pale, save in the +places where it was dabbled with fresh blood, which still streamed from +a gash on the right side of her forehead. Her eyes were half opened; +she was just recovering consciousness; a moan came from her at +intervals. She had for support the lap and arms of a little girl, +perhaps two years younger than herself. Heedless of the flowing blood, +this child was pressing her pale cheek against that of the wounded one, +whose name she kept murmuring in pitiful accents, mixed with endearing +epithets. So unconscious was she of all around, that the falling back +of the other children did not cause her to raise her eyes; neither was +she aware of Miss Rutherford's first exclamations, nor yet of the +question which was next addressed to her by the horrified +schoolmistress. +</P> + +<P> +"How did it happen? Some of you run at once for a doctor—Dr. Williams +in Grove Road—Oh, quick!—Ida Starr, how <I>did</I> it happen?" +</P> + +<P> +Ida did not move, but seemed to tighten her embrace. The other pupils +all looked fearfully hither and thither, but none ventured to speak. +</P> + +<P> +"Ida!" repeated Miss Rutherford, dropping on her knees by the two, and +beginning to wipe away some of the blood with her handkerchief. "Speak, +child! Has some one gone for the doctor? How was it done?" +</P> + +<P> +The face at length turned upon the questioner was almost as ghastly and +red-stained as that it had been pressed against. But it had become +self-controlled; the dark eyes looked straight forward with an +expression marvellously full of meaning in one so young; the lips did +not tremble as they spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"I did it, Miss Rutherford. I have killed Harriet. I, and nobody else." +</P> + +<P> +"You? How, child?" +</P> + +<P> +"I killed her with the slate, Miss Rutherford; this slate, look." +</P> + +<P> +She pointed to a slate without a frame which lay on the floor. There +were sums worked on the uppermost side, and the pencil-marks were half +obliterated. For a moment the schoolmistress's amazement held her +motionless, but fresh and louder moans recalled her to the immediate +necessities of the case. She pushed Ida Starr aside, and, with the help +of a servant-girl who had by this time appeared in the room, raised the +sufferer into a chair, and began to apply what remedies suggested +themselves. The surgeon, whom several of the children had hastened to +seek, only lived a few yards away, and his assistant was speedily +present. Harriet Smales had quite recovered consciousness, and was very +soon able to give her own account of the incident. After listening to +her, Miss Rutherford turned to the schoolchildren, who were now seated +in the usual order on benches, and spoke to them with some degree of +calm. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to take Harriet home. Lucy Wood, you will please to see +that order is preserved in my absence; I shall only be away twenty +minutes, at the most. Ida Starr, you will go up into my sitting-room, +and remain there till I come to you. All take out your copy-books; I +shall examine the lines written whilst I am away." +</P> + +<P> +The servant, who had been despatched for a cab, appeared at the door. +Harriet Smales was led out. Before leaving the house, Miss Rutherford +whispered to the servant an order to occupy herself in the +sitting-room, so as to keep Ida Starr in sight. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Rutherford, strict disciplinarian when her nerves were not +unstrung, was as good as her promise with regard to the copy-books. She +had returned within the twenty minutes, and the first thing she did was +to walk along all the benches, making a comment here, a correction +there, in another place giving a word of praise. Then she took her +place at the raised desk whence she was wont to survey the little room. +</P> + +<P> +There were present thirteen pupils, the oldest of them turned fifteen, +the youngest scarcely six. They appeared to be the daughters of +respectable people, probably of tradesmen in the neighbourhood. This +school was in Lisson Grove, in the north-west of London; a spot not to +be pictured from its name by those ignorant of the locality; in point +of fact a dingy street, with a mixture of shops and private houses. On +the front door was a plate displaying Miss Rutherford's name,—nothing +more. That lady herself was middle-aged, grave at all times, kindly, +and, be it added, fairly competent as things go in the world of school. +The room was rather bare, but the good fire necessitated by the winter +season was not wanting, and the plain boarding of the floor showed +itself no stranger to scrubbings. A clock hanging on the wall ticked +very loudly in the perfect stillness as the schoolmistress took her +seat. +</P> + +<P> +She appeared to examine a book for a few moments, then raised her head, +looked at the faces before her with a troubled expression, and began to +speak. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish to know who can give me any account of the way in which Harriet +Smales received her hurt. Stop! Hands only, please. And only those +raise their hands who actually saw the blow struck, and overheard <I>all</I> +that led to it. You understand, now? One, two, three—seven altogether, +that is quite enough. Those seven will wait in the room at four o'clock +till the others have all gone. Now I will give the first class their +sums." +</P> + +<P> +The afternoon passed Very slowly to teacher and pupils alike. When the +clock struck four, work was put away with more than the usual noise and +hurry. Miss Rutherford seemed for a time to be on the point of making +some new address to the school before the children departed, but +eventually she decided to keep silence, and the dismissal was got over +as quickly as possible. The seven witnesses remained, solemnly seated +at their desks, all anxious-looking. +</P> + +<P> +"Lucy Wood," Miss Rutherford began, when the door was closed and quiet, +"you are the eldest. Please tell me all you can of this sad affair." +</P> + +<P> +There was one of the seven faces far more discomposed than the rest, a +sweet and spiritual little countenance; it was tear-stained, red-eyed; +the eager look, the trembling lips spoke some intimate cause of +sympathy. Before the girl addressed had time to begin her answer, this +other, one would have said in spite of herself, intervened with an +almost agonised question. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Miss Rutherford, is Harriet really dead?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, hush!" said the lady, with a shocked look. "No, my dear, she is +only badly hurt." +</P> + +<P> +"And she really won't die?" pleaded the child, with an instant +brightening of look. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly not, certainly not. Now be quiet, Maud, and let Lucy begin." +</P> + +<P> +Lucy, a sensible and matter-of-fact girl, made a straightforward +narration, the facts of which were concurred in by her companions. +Harriet Smales, it seemed, had been exercising upon Ida for some days +her utmost powers of irritation, teasing her, as Lucy put it, "beyond +all bearing." The cause of this was not unknown in the school, and Miss +Rutherford remembered the incident from which the malice dated. Harriet +had copied a sum in class from Ida's slate—she was always copying from +somebody—and the teacher, who had somehow detected her, asked Ida +plainly whether such was not the case. Ida made no reply, would not +speak, which of course was taken as confirmatory evidence, and the +culprit had accordingly received an imposition. Her spleen, thus +aroused, Harriet vented upon the other girl, who, she maintained, ought +to have stoutly denied the possibility of the alleged deceit, and so +have saved her. She gave poor Ida no rest, and her persecution had +culminated this afternoon; she began to "call Ida's mother names," the +result of which was that the assailed one suddenly snatched up her +slate, and, in an uncontrollable fit of passion, struck her tormentor a +blow with it upon the forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"What did she call Ida's mother?" inquired Miss Rutherford, all at once +changing her look curiously. +</P> + +<P> +"She called her a bad woman." +</P> + +<P> +"Was that all?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, please, Miss Rutherford," put in Maud eagerly. "She said she got +her living in the streets. And it isn't true. Ida's mother's a lady, +and doesn't sell things in the streets!" +</P> + +<P> +The teacher looked down and was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think I need ask any more questions," she said presently. "Run +away home all of you. What is it, my dear?" +</P> + +<P> +Maud, she was about eleven, and small for her age, had remained behind, +and was looking anxiously up into Miss Rutherford's face. +</P> + +<P> +"May I wait for Ida, please," she asked, "and—and walk home with her? +We go the same way." +</P> + +<P> +"Not to-night, dear; no, not to-night. Ida Starr is in disgrace. She +will not go home just yet. Run away, now, there's a good girl." +</P> + +<P> +Sadly, sadly was the command obeyed, and very slowly did Maud Enderby +walk along the streets homeward, ever turning back to see whether +perchance Ida might not be behind her. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Rutherford ascended to her sitting-room. The culprit was standing +in a corner with her face to the wall. +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you stand so?" asked the teacher gravely, but not very severely. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you'd want me to, Miss Rutherford." +</P> + +<P> +"Come here to me, child." +</P> + +<P> +Ida had clearly been crying for a long time, and there was still blood +on her face. She seemed to have made up her mind that the punishment +awaiting her must be dreadful, and she resolved to bear it humbly. She +came up, still holding her hands behind her, and stood with downcast +eyes. The hair which hung down over her shoulders was dark brown, her +eye-brows strongly marked, the eyes themselves rather deep-set. She +wore a pretty plum-coloured dress, with a dainty little apron in front; +her whole appearance bespeaking a certain taste and love of elegance in +the person who had the care of her. +</P> + +<P> +"You will be glad to hear," said Miss Rutherford, "that Harriet's hurt +is not as serious as we feared at first. But she will have to stay at +home for some days." +</P> + +<P> +There was no motion, or reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know that I am quite afraid of you, Ida? I had no idea that you +were so passionate. Had you no thought what harm you might do when you +struck that terrible blow?" +</P> + +<P> +But Ida could not converse; no word was to be got from her. +</P> + +<P> +"You must go home now," went on the schoolmistress after a pause, "and +not come back till I send for you. Tell your mother just what you have +done, and say that I will write to her about you. You understand what I +say, my child?" +</P> + +<P> +The punishment had come upon her. Nothing worse than this had Ida +imagined; nay, nothing so bad. She drew in her breath, her fingers +wreathed themselves violently together behind her back. She half raised +her face, but could not resolve to meet her teacher's eyes. On the +permission to go being repeated, she left the room in silence, +descended the stairs with the slow steps of an old person, dressed +herself mechanically, and went out into the street. Miss Rutherford +stood for some time in profound and troubled thought, then sighed as +she returned to her usual engagements. +</P> + +<P> +The following day was Saturday, and therefore a half-holiday. After +dinner, Miss Rutherford prepared herself for walking, and left home. A +quarter of an hour brought her to a little out-of-the-way thoroughfare +called Boston Street, close to the west side of Regent's Park, and here +she entered a chemist's shop, over which stood the name Smales. A +middle-aged man of very haggard and feeble appearance stood behind the +counter, and his manner to the lady as she addressed him was painfully +subservient. He spoke very little above a whisper, and as though +suffering from a severe sore throat, but it was his natural voice. +</P> + +<P> +"She's better, I thank you, madam; much better, I hope and believe; +yes, much better." +</P> + +<P> +He repeated his words nervously, rubbing his hands together feverishly +the while, and making his eye-brows go up and down in a curious way. +</P> + +<P> +"Might I see her for a few moments?" +</P> + +<P> +"She would be happy, madam, very happy: oh yes, I am sure, very happy +If—if you would have the kindness to come round, yes, round here, +madam, and—and to excuse our poor sitting-room. Thank you, thank you. +Harriet, my dear, Miss Rutherford has had the great, the very great, +goodness to visit you—to visit you personally—yes. I will leave you, +if—if you please—h'm, yes." +</P> + +<P> +He shuffled away in the same distressingly nervous manner, and closed +the door behind him. The schoolmistress found herself in a dark little +parlour, which smelt even more of drugs than the shop itself. The +window looked out into a dirty back-yard, and was almost concealed with +heavy red curtains. As the eyes got accustomed to the dimness, one +observed that the floor was covered with very old oil-cloth, and that +the articles of furniture were few, only the most indispensable, and +all very shabby. Everything seemed to be dusty and musty. The only +approach to an ornament was a framed diploma hanging over the +mantelpiece, certifying that John Alfred Smales was a duly qualified +pharmaceutical chemist. A low fire burned in the grate, and before it, +in a chair which would probably have claimed the title of easy, sat the +girl Harriet Smales, her head in bandages. +</P> + +<P> +She received Miss Rutherford rather sulkily, and as she moved, groaned +in a way which did not seem the genuine utterance of pain. After a few +sympathetic remarks, the teacher began to touch upon the real object of +her visit. +</P> + +<P> +"I have no intention of blaming you, Harriet; I should not speak of +this at all, if it were not necessary. But I must ask you plainly what +reason you had for speaking of Ida Starr's mother as they say you did. +Why did you say she was a bad woman?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's only what she is," returned Harriet sullenly, and with much +inward venom. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean by that? Who has told you anything about her?" +</P> + +<P> +Only after some little questioning the fact was elicited that Harriet +owed her ideas on the subject to a servant girl in the house, whose +name was Sarah. +</P> + +<P> +"What does Sarah say, then?" asked Miss Rutherford. +</P> + +<P> +"She says she isn't respectable, and that she goes about with men, and +she's only a common street-woman," answered the girl, speaking +evidently with a very clear understanding of what these accusations +meant. The schoolmistress looked away with a rather shocked expression, +and thought a little before speaking again. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's all I wanted to ask you, Harriet," she said. "I won't +blame you, but I trust you will do as I wish, and never say such things +about any one again, whoever may tell you. It is our duty never to +speak ill of others, you know; least of all when we know that to do so +will be the cause of much pain and trouble. I hope you will very soon +be able to come back again to us. And now I will say good-bye." +</P> + +<P> +In the shop Miss Rutherford renewed to the chemist her sincere regret +for what had taken place. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I cannot risk the recurrence of such a thing," she said. +"The child who did it will not return to me, Mr. Smales." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Smales uttered incoherent excuses, apologies, and thanks, and +shufflingly escorted the lady to his shop-door. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Rutherford went home in trouble. She did not doubt the truth of +what Harriet Smales had told her, for she herself had already +entertained uneasy suspicions, dating indeed from the one interview she +had had with Mrs. Starr, when Ida was first brought to the school, and +deriving confirmation from a chance meeting in the street only a few +days ago. It was only too plain what she must do, and the necessity +grieved her. Ida had not shown any especial brilliancy at her books, +but the child's character was a remarkable one, and displayed a +strength which might eventually operate either for good or for evil. +With careful training, it seemed at present very probable that the good +would predominate. But the task was not such as the schoolmistress felt +able to undertake, bearing in mind the necessity of an irreproachable +character for her school if it were to be kept together at all. The +disagreeable secret had begun to spread; all the children would relate +the events of yesterday in their own homes; to pass the thing over was +impossible. She sincerely regretted the step she must take, and to +which she would not have felt herself driven by any ill-placed prudery +of her own. On Monday morning it must be stated to the girls that Ida +Starr had left. +</P> + +<P> +In the meantime, it only remained to write to Mrs. Starr, and make +known this determination. Miss Rutherford thought for a little while of +going to see Ida's mother, but felt that this would be both painful and +useless. It was difficult even to write, desirous as she was of somehow +mitigating the harshness of this sentence of expulsion. After +half-an-hour spent in efforts to pen a suitable note, she gave up the +attempt to write as she would have wished, and announced the necessity +she was under in the fewest possible words. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MOTHER AND CHILD +</H3> + +<P> +Ida Starr, dismissed by the schoolmistress, ran quickly homewards. She +was unusually late, and her mother would be anxious. Still, when she +came within sight of the door, she stopped and stood panting. How +should she tell of her disgrace? It was not fear that made her shrink +from repeating Miss Rutherford's message; nor yet shame, though she +would gladly have hidden herself away somewhere in the dark from every +eye; her overwhelming concern was for the pain she knew she was going +to cause one who had always cherished her with faultless +tenderness,—tenderness which it had become her nature to repay with a +child's unreflecting devotion. +</P> + +<P> +Her home was in Milton Street. On the front-door was a brass-plate +which bore the inscription: "Mrs. Ledward, Dressmaker;" in the window +of the ground-floor was a large card announcing that "Apartments" were +vacant. The only light was one which appeared in the top storey, and +there Ida knew that her mother was waiting for her, with tea ready on +the table as usual. Mrs. Starr was seldom at home during the child's +dinner-hour, and Ida had not seen her at all to-day. For it was only +occasionally that she shared her mother's bedroom; it was the rule for +her to sleep with Mrs. Ledward, the landlady, who was a widow and +without children. The arrangement had held ever since Ida could +remember; when she had become old enough to ask for an explanation of +this, among other singularities in their mode of life, she was told +that her mother slept badly, and must have the bed to herself. +</P> + +<P> +But the night had come on, and every moment of delay doubtless +increased the anxiety she was causing. Ida went up to the door, stood +on tiptoe to reach the knocker, and gave her usual two distinct raps. +Mrs. Ledward opened the door to her in person; a large woman, with +pressed lips and eyes that squinted very badly; attired, however, +neatly, and looking as good-natured as a woman who was at once landlady +and dressmaker could be expected to look. +</P> + +<P> +"How 's 't you're so late?" she asked, without looking at the child; +her eyes, as far as one could guess, fixed upon the houses opposite, +her hands in the little pocket on each side of her apron. "Your +mother's poorly." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, then I shall sleep with her to-night?" exclaimed Ida, forgetting +her trouble for the moment in this happy foresight. +</P> + +<P> +"Dessay," returned Mrs. Ledward laconically. +</P> + +<P> +Ida left her still standing in the doorway, and ran stairs. The chamber +she went into—after knocking and receiving permission to enter, +according to the rule which had been impressed upon her—was a +tolerably-furnished bedroom, which, with its bright fire, tasteful +little lamp, white coverlets and general air of fresh orderliness, made +a comfortable appearance. The air was scented, too, with some pleasant +odour of a not too pungent kind. But the table lacked one customary +feature; no tea was laid as it was wont to be at this hour. The child +gazed round in surprise. Her mother was in bed, lying back on raised +pillows, and with a restless, half-pettish look on her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you been?" she asked querulously, her voice husky and +feeble, as if from a severe cold. "Why are you so late?" +</P> + +<P> +Ida did not answer at once, but went straight to the bed and offered +the accustomed kiss. Her mother waved her off. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no; don't kiss me. Can't you see what a sore throat I've got? You +might catch it. And I haven't got you any tea," she went on, her face +growing to a calmer expression as she gazed at the child "Ain't I a +naughty mother? But it serves you half right for being late. Come and +kiss me; I don't think it's catching. No, perhaps you'd better not." +</P> + +<P> +But Ida started forward at the granted leave, and kissed her warmly. +</P> + +<P> +"There now," went on the hoarse voice complainingly, "I shouldn't +wonder if you catch it, and we shall both be laid up at once. Oh, Ida, +I do feel that poorly, I do! It's the draught under the door; what else +can it be? I do, I do feel that poorly!" +</P> + +<P> +She began to cry miserably. Ida forgot all about the tale she had to +tell; her own eyes overflowed in sympathy. She put her arm under her +mother's neck, and pressed cheek to cheek tenderly. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, how hot you are, mother! Shall I get you a cup of tea, dear? +Wouldn't it make your throat better?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps it would; I don't know. Don't go away, not just yet. You'll +have to be a mother to me to-night, Ida. I almost feel I could go to +sleep, if you held me like that." +</P> + +<P> +She closed her eyes, but only for a moment, then started up anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"What am I thinking about! Of course you want your tea." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no; indeed I don't, mother." +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense; of course you do. See, the kettle is on the bob, and I think +it's full. Go away; you make me hotter. Let me see you get your tea, +and then perhaps it'll make me feel I could drink a cup. There, you've +put your hair all out of order; let me smooth it. Don't trouble to lay +the cloth; just use the tray; it's in the cupboard." +</P> + +<P> +Ida obeyed, and set about the preparations. Compare her face with that +which rested sideways upon the pillows, and the resemblance was as +strong as could exist between two people of such different ages: the +same rich-brown hair, the same strongly-pencilled eye-brows; the +deep-set and very dark eyes, the fine lips, the somewhat prominent +jaw-bones, alike in both. The mother was twenty-eight, the daughter +ten, yet the face on the pillow was the more childish at present. In +the mother's eyes was a helpless look, a gaze of unintelligent misery, +such as one could not conceive on Ida's countenance; her lips, too, +were weakly parted, and seemed trembling to a sob, whilst sorrow only +made the child close hers the firmer. In the one case a pallor not +merely of present illness, but that wasting whiteness which is only +seen on faces accustomed to borrow artificial hues; in the other, a +healthy pearl-tint, the gleamings and gradations of a perfect +complexion. The one a child long lost on weary, woful ways, knowing, +yet untaught by, the misery of desolation; the other a child still +standing upon the misty threshold of unknown lands, looking around for +guidance, yet already half feeling that the sole guide and comforter +was within. +</P> + +<P> +It was strange that talk which followed between mother and daughter. +Lotty Starr (that was the name of the elder child, and it became her +much better than any more matronly appellation), would not remain +silent, in spite of the efforts it cost her to speak, and her +conversation ran on the most trivial topics. Except at occasional +moments, she spoke to Ida as to one of her own age, with curious +neglect of the relationship between them; at times she gave herself up +to the luxury of feeling like an infant dependent on another's care; +and cried just for the pleasure of being petted and consoled. Ida had +made up her mind to leave her disclosure till the next morning; +impossible to grieve her mother with such shocking news when she was so +poorly. Yet the little girl with difficulty kept a cheerful +countenance; as often as a moment's silence left her to her own +reflections she was reminded of the heaviness of heart which made +speaking an effort. To bear up under the secret thought of her crime +and its consequences required in Ida Starr a courage different alike in +quality and degree from that of which children are ordinarily capable. +One compensation alone helped her; it was still early in the evening, +and she knew there were before her long hours to be spent by her +mother's side. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you like me to be with you, mother?" she asked, when a timid +question had at length elicited assurance of this joy. "Does it make +you feel better?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes. But it's my throat, and you can't make that better; I only +wish you could. But you are a comfort to me, for all that; I don't know +what I should do without you. Oh, I sha'n't be able to speak a word +soon, I sha'n't!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't, don't talk, dear. I'll talk instead, and you listen. Don't you +think, mother dear, I could—could always sleep with you? I wouldn't +disturb you; indeed, indeed I wouldn't! You don't know how quiet I lie. +If I'm wakeful ever I seem to have such a lot to think about, and I lie +so still and quiet, you can't think. I never wake Mrs. Led ward, +indeed. Do let me, mother; just try me!" +</P> + +<P> +Lotty broke out into passionate weeping, wrung her hands, and hid her +face in the pillow. Ida was terrified, and exerted every effort to +console this strange grief. The outburst only endured a minute or two, +however; then a mood of vexed impatience grew out of the anguish and +despair, and Lotty pushed away the child fretfully. +</P> + +<P> +"I've often told you, you can't, you mustn't bother me. There, there; +you don't mean any harm, but you put me out, bothering me, Ida. Tell +me, what do you think about when you lay awake? Don't you think you'd +give anything to get off to sleep again? I know I do; I can't bear to +think; it makes my head ache so." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I like it. Sometimes I think over what I've been reading, in the +animal book, and the geography-book; and—and then I begin my +wishing-thoughts. And oh, I've such lots of wishing-thoughts, you +couldn't believe!" +</P> + +<P> +"And what are the wishing-thoughts about?" inquired the mother, in a +matter-of-fact way. +</P> + +<P> +"I often wish I was grown up. I feel tired of being a child; I want to +be a woman. Then I should know so much more, and I should be able to +understand all the things you tell me I can't now. I don't care for +playing at games and going to school." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll be a woman soon enough, Ida," said Lotty, with a quiet sadness +unusual in her. "But go on; what else?" +</P> + +<P> +"And then I often wish I was a boy. It must be so much nicer to be a +boy. They're stronger than girls, and they know more. Don't you wish I +was a boy, mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I do, I often do!" exclaimed Lotty. "Boys aren't such a trouble, +and they can go out and shift for themselves." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but I won't be a trouble to you," exclaimed Ida. "When I'm old +enough to leave school—" +</P> + +<P> +She interrupted herself, for the moment she had actually forgotten the +misfortune which had come upon her. But her mother did not observe the +falling of her countenance, nor yet the incomplete sentence. +</P> + +<P> +"Ida, have I been a bad mother to you?" Lotty sobbed out presently. "If +I was to die, would you be sorry?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mother!" +</P> + +<P> +"I've done my best, indeed I've done my best for yon! How many mothers +like me would have brought you up as I've done? How many, I'd like to +know? And some day you'll hate me; oh yes, you will! Some day you'll +wish to forget all about me, and you'll never come to see where I'm +buried, and you'll get rid of everything that could remind you of me. +How I wish I'd never been born!" +</P> + +<P> +Ida had often to comfort her mother in the latter's fits of low +spirits, but had never heard such sad words as these before. The poor +child could say nothing in reply; the terrible thought that she herself +was bringing new woes to be endured almost broke her heart She clung +about her mother's neck and wept passionately. +</P> + +<P> +Lotty shortly after took a draught from a bottle which the child +reached out of a drawer for her, and lay pretty still till drowsiness +came on. Ida undressed and crept to her side. They had a troubled +night, and, when the daylight came again, Lotty was no better. Ida rose +in anguish of spirit, torturing herself to find a way of telling what +must be told. Yet she had another respite; her mother said that, as it +was Saturday, she might as well stay away from school and be a little +nurse. And the dull day wore through; the confession being still +postponed. +</P> + +<P> +But by the last post at night came Miss Rutherford's letter. Ida was +still sitting up, and Lotty had fallen into a doze, when the landlady +brought the letter upstairs. The child took it in, answered an inquiry +about her mother in a whisper, and returned to the bedside. She knew +the handwriting on the envelope. The dreaded moment had come. +</P> + +<P> +She must have stood more than a quarter of an hour, motionless, gazing +on her mother's face, conscious of nothing but an agonised expectation +of seeing the sleeper's eyes open. They did open at length, and quickly +saw the letter. +</P> + +<P> +"It's from Miss Rutherford, mother," said Ida, her own voice sounding +very strange to herself. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, is it?" said Lotty, in the hoarse whisper which was all she could +command "I suppose she wants to know why you didn't go. Read it to me." +</P> + +<P> +Ida read, and, in reading, suffered as she never did again throughout +her life. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"DEAR MRS. STARR,—I am very sorry to have to say that Ida must not +return to school. I had better leave the explanation to herself; she is +truthful, and will tell you what has compelled me to take this step. I +grieve to lose her, but have really no choice.—I am, yours truly, +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +H. RUTHERFORD." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +No tears rose; her voice was as firm as though she had been reading in +class; but she was pale and cold as death. +</P> + +<P> +Lotty rose in bed and stared wildly. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you done, child?—what ever have you done? Is—is it +anything—about <I>me</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"I hit Harriet Smales with a slate, and covered her all over with +blood, and I thought I'd killed her." +</P> + +<P> +She could not meet her mother's eyes; stood with head hung down, and +her hands clasped behind her. +</P> + +<P> +"What made you do it?" asked Lotty in amazement. +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't help it, mother; she—she said you were a bad woman." +</P> + +<P> +Ida had raised her eyes with a look of love and proud confidence. Lotty +shrank before her, clutched convulsively at the bed-clothes, then half +raised herself and dashed her head with fearful violence against the +wall by which the bed stood. She fell back, half stunned, and lay on +the pillows, whilst the child, with outstretched hands, gazed +horror-struck. But in a moment Ida had her arms around the distraught +woman, pressing the dazed head against her breast. Lotty began to utter +incoherent self-reproaches, unintelligible to her little comforter; her +voice had become the merest whisper; she seemed to have quite exhausted +herself. Just now there came a knock at the door, and Ida was relieved +to see Mrs. Ledward, whose help she begged. In a few minutes Lotty had +come to herself again, and whispered that she wished to speak to the +landlady alone. The latter persuaded Ida to go downstairs for a while, +and the child, whose tears had begun to flow, left the room, sobbing in +anguish. +</P> + +<P> +"Ain't you better then?" asked the woman, with an apparent effort to +speak in a sympathetic tone which did not come easily to her. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm very bad," whispered the other, drawing her breath as if in pain. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, you've got a bad cold, that's what it is. I'll make you some gruel +presently, and put some rum in it. You don't take care of yourself: I +told you how it 'ud be when you came in with those wringin' things on, +on Thursday night." +</P> + +<P> +"They've found out about me at the school," gasped Lotty, with a +despairing look, "and Ida's got sent away." +</P> + +<P> +"She has? Well, never mind, you can find another, I suppose. I can't +see myself what she wants with so much schoolin', but I suppose you +know best about your own affairs." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I feel that bad! If I get over this, I'll give it up—God help me, +I will! I'll get my living honest, if there's any way. I never felt so +bad as I do now." +</P> + +<P> +"Pooh!" exclaimed the woman. "Wait a bit till you get rid of your sore +throat, and you'll think different. Poorly people gets all sorts o' +fancies. Keep a bit quiet now, and don't put yourself out so." +</P> + +<P> +"What are we to do? I've only got a few shillings—" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you'll have money again some time, I suppose. You don't suppose +I'll turn you out in the streets? Write to Fred on Monday, and he'll +send you something." +</P> + +<P> +They talked till Lotty exhausted herself again, then Ida was allowed to +re-enter the room. Mrs. Ledward kept coming and going till her own +bed-time, giving what help and comfort she could in her hard, +half-indifferent way. Another night passed, and in the morning Lotty +seemed a little better. Her throat was not so painful, but she breathed +with difficulty, and had a cough. Ida sat holding her mother's hand. It +was a sunny morning, and the bells of neighbouring churches began to +ring out clearly on the frosty air. +</P> + +<P> +"Ida," said the sick woman, raising herself suddenly, "get me some +note-paper and an envelope out of the box; and go and borrow pen and +ink, there's a good child." +</P> + +<P> +The materials were procured, and, with a great effort, Lotty managed to +arrange herself so as to be able to write. She covered four pages with +a sad scrawl, closed the envelope, and was about to direct it, but +paused. +</P> + +<P> +"The bells have stopped," she said, listening. "It's half-past eleven. +Put on your things, Ida." +</P> + +<P> +The child obeyed, wondering. +</P> + +<P> +"Give me my purse out of the drawer. See, there's a shilling. Now, say +this after me: Mr. Abra'm Woodstock, Number—, St. John Street Road." +</P> + +<P> +Ida repeated the address. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, listen, Ida. You put this letter in your pocket; you go down into +the Mary'bone road; you ask for a 'bus to the Angel. When you get to +the Angel, you ask your way to Number—, St. John Street Road; it isn't +far off. Knock at the door, and ask if Mr. Abra'm Woodstock is in. If +he is, say you want to see him, and then give him this letter,—into +his own hands, and nobody else's. If he isn't in, ask when he will be, +and, if it won't be long, wait." +</P> + +<P> +Ida promised, and then, after a long gaze, her mother dropped back +again on the pillow, and turned her face away. A cough shook her for a +few moments. Ida waited. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, ain't you gone?" asked Lotty faintly. +</P> + +<P> +"Kiss me, mother." +</P> + +<P> +They held each other in a passionate embrace, and then the child went +away. +</P> + +<P> +She reached Islington without difficulty, and among the bustling and +loitering crowd which obstructs the corner at the Angel, found some one +to direct her to the street she sought. She had to walk some distance +down St. John Street Road, in the direction of the City, before +discovering the house she desired to find. When she reached it, it +proved to be a very dingy tenement, the ground-floor apparently used as +offices; a much-worn plate on the door exhibited the name of the +gentleman to whom her visit was, with his professional description +added. Mr. Woodstock was an accountant. +</P> + +<P> +She rang the bell, and a girl appeared. Yes, Mr. Woodstock was at home. +Ida was told to enter the passage, and wait. +</P> + +<P> +A door at her right hand as she entered was slightly ajar, and voices +could be heard from the other side of it. One of these voices very +shortly raised itself in a harsh and angry tone, and Ida could catch +what was said. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Mr. What's-your-name, I suppose I know my own business rather +better than you can teach me. It's pretty clear you've been doing your +best for some time to set the people against me, and I'm damned if I'll +have it! You go to the place on religious pretences, and what your real +object may be I don't know; but I do know one thing, and that is, I +won't have you hanging about any longer. I'll meet you there myself, +and if it's a third-floor window you get pitched out of, well, it won't +be my fault. Now I don't want any more talk with you. This is most +folks' praying-time; I wonder you're not at it. It's <I>my</I> time for +writing letters, and I'd rather have your room than your company. I'm a +plain-spoken man, you see, a man of business, and I don't mince +matters. To come and dictate to me about the state of my houses and of +my tenants ain't a business-like proceeding, and you'll excuse me if I +don't take it kindly. There's the door, and good morning to you!" +</P> + +<P> +The door opened, and a young man, looking pale and dismayed, came out +quickly, and at once left the house. Behind him came the last speaker. +At the sight of the waiting child he stood still, and the expression of +his face changed from sour annoyance to annoyed surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Eh? Well?" he exclaimed, looking closely at Ida, his eye-brows +contracting. +</P> + +<P> +"I have a letter for Mr. Abra'm Woodstock, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, give it here. Who's it from?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Starr, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Who's Mrs. Starr? Come in here, will you?" +</P> + +<P> +His short and somewhat angry tone was evidently in some degree the +result of the interview that had just closed, but also pretty clearly +an indication of his general manner to strangers. He let the child pass +him, and followed her into the room with the letter in his hand. He did +not seem able to remove his eyes from her face. Ida, on her side, did +not dare to look up at him. He was a massively built, grey-headed man +of something more than sixty. Everything about him expressed strength +and determination, power alike of body and mind. His features were +large and heavy, but the forehead would have become a man of strong +intellect; the eyes were full of astonishing vital force, and the chin +was a physiognomical study, so strikingly did its moulding express +energy of character. He was clean-shaven, and scarcely a seam or +wrinkle anywhere broke the hard, smooth surface of his visage, its +complexion clear and rosy as that of a child. +</P> + +<P> +Still regarding Ida, he tore open the envelope. At the sight of the +writing he, not exactly started, but moved his head rather suddenly, +and again turned his eyes upon the messenger. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down," he said, pointing to a chair. The room was an uncomfortable +office, with no fire. He himself took a seat deliberately at a desk, +whence he could watch Ida, and began to read. As he did so, his face +remained unmoved, but he looked away occasionally, as if to reflect. +</P> + +<P> +"What's your name?" he asked, when he had finished, beginning, at the +same time, to tear the letter into very small pieces, which he threw +into a waste-paper basket. +</P> + +<P> +"Ida, sir,—Ida Starr." +</P> + +<P> +"Starr, eh?" He looked at her very keenly, and, still looking, and +still tearing up the letter, went on in a hard, unmodulated voice. +"Well, Ida Starr, it seems your mother wants to put you in the way of +earning your living." The child looked up in fear and astonishment. +"You can carry a message? You'll say to your mother that I'll undertake +to do what I can for you, on one condition, and that is that she puts +you in my hands and never sees you again." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I can't leave mother!" burst from the child's lips involuntarily, +her horror overcoming her fear of the speaker. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't ask you if you could," remarked Mr. Woodstock, with something +like a sneer, tapping the desk with the fingers of his right hand. "I +asked whether you could carry a message. Can you, or not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I can," stammered Ida. +</P> + +<P> +"Then take <I>that</I> message, and tell your mother it's all I've got to +say. Run away." +</P> + +<P> +He rose and stood with his hands behind him, watching her. Ida made +what haste she could to the door, and sped out into the street. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ANTECEDENTS +</H3> + +<P> +It would not have been easy to find another instance of a union of keen +intellect and cold heart so singular as that displayed in the character +of Abraham Woodstock. The man s life had been strongly consistent from +the beginning; from boyhood a powerful will had borne him triumphantly +over every difficulty, and in each decisive instance his will had been +directed by a shrewd intelligence which knew at once the strength of +its own resources and the multiplied weaknesses of the vast majority of +men. In the pursuit of his ends he would tolerate no obstacle which his +strength would suffice to remove. In boyhood and early manhood the +exuberance of his physical power was wont to manifest itself in brutal +self-assertion. At school he was the worst kind of bully, his +ferociousness tempered by no cowardice. Later on, he learned that a too +demonstrative bearing would on many occasions interfere with his +success in life; he toned down his love of muscular victory, and only +allowed himself an outbreak every now and then, when he felt he could +afford the indulgence. Put early into an accountant's office, and +losing his father about the same time (the parent, who had a diseased +heart, was killed by an outburst of fury to which Abraham gave way on +some trivial occasion), he had henceforth to fight his own battle, and +showed himself very capable of winning it. In many strange ways he +accumulated a little capital, and the development of commercial genius +put him at a comparatively early age on the road to fortune. He kept to +the business of an accountant, and by degrees added several other +distinct callings. He became a lender of money in several shapes, +keeping both a loan-office and a pawnbroker's shop. In middle age he +frequented the race-course, but, for sufficient reasons, dropped that +pursuit entirely before he had turned his fiftieth year. As a youth he +had made a good thing of games of skill, but did not pursue them as a +means of profit when he no longer needed the resource. +</P> + +<P> +He married at the age of thirty. This, like every other step he took, +was well planned; his wife brought him several thousand pounds, being +the daughter of a retired publican with whom Woodstock had had business +relations. +</P> + +<P> +Two years after his marriage was born his first and only child, a girl +whom they called Lotty. Lotty, as she grew up, gradually developed an +unfortunate combination of her parents' qualities; she had her mother's +weakness of mind, without her mother's moral sense, and from her father +she derived an ingrained stubbornness, which had nothing in common with +strength of character. Doubly unhappy was it that she lost her mother +so early; the loss deprived her of gentle guidance during her youth, +and left her without resource against her father's coldness or +harshness. The result was that the softer elements of her character +unavoidably degenerated and found expression in qualities not at all +admirable, whilst her obstinacy grew the ally of the weakness from +which she had most to fear. +</P> + +<P> +Lotty was sent to a day-school till the age of thirteen, then had to +become her father's housekeeper. Her friends were very few, none of +them likely to be of use to her. Left very much to her own control, she +made an acquaintance which led to secret intimacy and open disaster. +Rather than face her father with such a disclosure, she left home, and +threw herself upon the mercy of the man who had assisted her to go +astray. He was generous enough to support her for about a year, during +which time her child was born. Then his help ceased. +</P> + +<P> +The familiar choice lay before her—home again, the streets, or +starvation. Hardship she could not bear; the second alternative she +shrank from on account of her child; she determined to face her father. +For him she had no affection, and knew that he did not love her; only +desperation could drive her back. She came one Sunday evening, found +Mr. Woodstock at home, and, without letting the servant say who was +come, went up and entered his presence, the child in her arms. Abraham +rose and looked at her calmly. Her disappearance had not troubled him, +though he had exerted himself to discover why and whither she was gone, +and her return did not visibly affect him. She was a rebel against his +authority—so he viewed the matter—and consequently quite beyond the +range of his sympathies. He listened to all she had to say, beheld +unmoved her miserable tears, and, when she became silent, coolly +delivered his ultimatum. For her he would procure a situation, whereby +she could earn her living, and therewith his relations to her would +end; the child he would put into other hands and have it cared for, but +Lotty would lose sight of it for ever. The girl hesitated, but the +maternal instinct was very strong in her; the little one began to cry, +as if fearing separation from its mother; she decided to refuse. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I shall go on the streets!" she exclaimed passionately. "There's +nothing else left for me." +</P> + +<P> +"You can go where you please," returned Abraham. +</P> + +<P> +She tried to obtain work, of course fruitlessly. She got into debt with +her landlady, and only took the fatal step when at length absolutely +turned adrift. +</P> + +<P> +That was not quite ten years gone by; she was then but eighteen. Let +her have lost her child, and she would speedily have fallen into the +last stages of degradation. But the little one lived. She had called it +Ida, a name chosen from some tale in the penny weeklies, which were the +solace of her misery. She herself took the name of Starr, also from a +page of fiction. +</P> + +<P> +Balancing the good and evil of this life in her dark little mind, Lotty +determined that one thing there was for which it was worth while to +make sacrifices, one end which she felt strong enough to keep +persistently in view. Ida should be brought up "respectably"—it was +her own word; she should be kept absolutely free from the contamination +of her mother's way of living; nay, should, when the time came, go to +school, and have good chances. And at the end of all this was a far-off +hope, a dim vision of possibilities, a vague trust that her daughter +might perchance prove for her a means of returning to that world of +"respectability" from which she was at present so hopelessly shut out. +She would keep making efforts to get into an honest livelihood as often +as an occasion presented itself; and Ida should always live with +"respectable" people, cost what it might. +</P> + +<P> +The last resolution was only adhered to for a few months. Lotty could +not do without her little one, and eventually brought it back to her +own home. It is not an infrequent thing to find little children living +in disorderly houses. In the profession Lotty had chosen there are, as +in all professions, grades and differences. She was by no means a +vicious girl, she had no love of riot for its own sake; she would +greatly have preferred a decent mode of life, had it seemed +practicable. Hence she did not associate herself with the rank and file +of abandoned women; her resorts were not the crowded centres; her abode +was not in the quarters consecrated to her business. In all parts of +London there are quiet by-streets of houses given up to +lodging-letting, wherein are to be found many landladies, who, good +easy souls, trouble little about the private morals of their lodgers, +so long as no positive disorder comes about and no public scandal is +occasioned. A girl who says that she is occupied in a workroom is never +presumed to be able to afford the luxury of strict virtue, and if such +a one, on taking a room, says that "she supposes she may have friends +come to see her?" the landlady will understand quite well what is +meant, and will either accept or refuse her for a lodger as she sees +good. To such houses as these Lotty confined herself. After some three +or four years of various experiences, she hit upon the abode in Milton +Street, and there had dwelt ever since. She got on well with Mrs. +Ledward, and had been able to make comfortable arrangements for Ida. +The other lodgers in the house were generally very quiet and orderly +people, and she herself was quite successful in arranging her affairs +so as to create no disturbance. She had her regular <I>clientele</I>; she +frequented the roads about Regent's Park and Primrose Hill; and she +supported herself and her child. +</P> + +<P> +Ida Starr's bringing up was in no respect inferior to that she would +have received in the home of the average London artisan or small +tradesman. At five years old she had begun to go to school; Mrs. +Ledward's daughter, a girl of seventeen, took her backwards and +forwards every day. At this school she remained three years and a half; +then her mother took her away, and put her under the care of Miss +Rutherford, a better teacher. When at home, she either amused herself +in Lotty's room, or, when that was engaged, made herself comfortable +with Mrs. Ledward's family, with one or other of whom she generally +passed the night. She heard no bad language, saw nothing improper, +listened to no worse conversation than any of the other children at +Miss Rutherford's. Even at her present age of ten it never occurred to +her to inquire how her mother supported herself. The charges brought by +Harriet Smales conveyed to her mind no conception of their true +meaning; they were to her mere general calumnies of vague application. +Her mother "bad," indeed! If so, then what was the meaning of goodness? +For poor Lotty's devotion to the child had received its due reward +herein, that she was loved as purely and intensely as any most virtuous +parent could hope to be; so little regard has nature for social codes, +so utterly is she often opposed to all the precepts of respectability. +This phrase of Harriet's was the very first breathing against her +mother's character that Ida had ever heard. Lotty had invented fables, +for the child's amusement, about her own earlier days. The legend was, +that her husband had died about a year after marriage. Of course Ida +implicitly believed all this. Her mind contained pictures of a +beautiful little house just outside London in which her mother had once +lived, and her imagination busied itself with the time when they would +both live in just that same way. She was going to be a teacher, so it +had been decided in confidential chats, and would one day have a school +of her own. In such a future Lotty herself really believed. The child +seemed to her extraordinarily clover, and in four more years she would +be as old as a girl who had assisted with the little ones in the first +school she went to. Lotty was ambitious. Offers of Mrs. Ledward to +teach Ida dressmaking, she had put aside; it was not good enough. +</P> + +<P> +Yet Ida was not in reality remarkable either for industry or quickness +in learning. At both schools she had frequently to be dealt with +somewhat severely. Ability she showed from time to time, but in +application she was sadly lacking. Books were distasteful to her, more +even than to most children; she learned sometimes by listening to the +teacher, but seldom the lessons given her to prepare. At home there +were no books to tempt her to read for herself; her mother never read, +and would not have known how to set about giving her child a love for +such occupation, even had she deemed it needful. And yet Ida always +seemed to have abundance to think about; she would sit by herself for +hours, without any childlike employment, and still not seem weary. When +asked what her thoughts ran upon, she could not give very satisfactory +answers; she was always rather slow in expressing herself, and never +chattered, even to her mother. One queer and most unchildlike habit she +had, which, as if thinking it wrong, she only indulged when quite +alone; she loved to sit before a looking-glass and gaze into her own +face. At such times her little countenance became very sad without any +understood reason. +</P> + +<P> +The past summer had been to her a time of happiness, for there had come +comparatively little bad weather, and sunshine was like wine to Ida. +The proximity of the park was a great advantage. During the weeks of +summer holiday, she spent whole days wandering about the large, grassy +tracts by herself, rejoicing in the sensation of freedom from +task-work. If she were especially in luck, a dog would come and play +about her, deserting for a minute its lawful master or mistress, and +the child would roll upon the grass in delighted sport. Or she would +find out a warm, shady nook quite near to the borders of the Zoological +Gardens, and would lie there with ear eager to catch the occasional +sounds from the animals within. The roar of the lion thrilled her with +an exquisite trembling; the calls of the birds made her laugh with joy. +Once, three years ago, her mother had taken her to Hastings for a week, +and when she now caught the cry of the captive sea-gulls, it brought +back marvellous memories of the ocean flashing in the sun, of the music +of breakers, of the fresh smell of the brine. +</P> + +<P> +Now there had come upon her the first great grief. She had caused her +mother bitter suffering, and her own heart was filled with a +commensurate pain. Had she been a little older she would already have +been troubled by another anxiety; for the last two years her mother's +health had been falling away; every now and then had come a fit of +illness, and at other times Lotty suffered from a depression of spirits +which left her no energy to move about. Ida knew that her mother was +often unhappy, but naturally could not dwell long on this as soon as +each successive occasion had passed away. Indeed, in her heart, she +almost welcomed such times, since she was then allowed to sleep +upstairs, one of her greatest joys. Lotty was only too well aware of +the physical weakness which was gaining upon her. She was mentally +troubled, moreover. Ida was growing up; there would come a time, and +that very shortly, when it would be necessary either for them to part, +or else for herself to change her mode of life. Indeed, she had never +from the first quite lost sight of her intention to seek for an honest +means of support; and of late years the consciousness of her hopeless +position had grown to an ever-recurring trouble. She knew the proposed +step was in reality impossible to her, yet she persistently thought and +talked of it. To Mrs. Ledward she confided at least once a week, +generally when she paid her rent, her settled intention to go and find +work of some kind in the course of the next two or three days; till at +length this had become a standing joke with the landlady, who laughed +merrily as often as the subject was mentioned. Lotty had of late let +her thoughts turn to her father, whom she had never seen since their +parting. Not with any affection did she think of him, but, in her +despairing moments, it seemed to her impossible that he should still +refuse aid if she appealed to him for it. Several times of late she had +been on the point of putting her conviction to the test. She had passed +his house from time to time, and knew that he still lived there. +Perhaps the real reason of her hesitation was, not fear of him, but a +dread, which she would not confess to herself, lest he should indeed +prove obdurate, and so put an end to her last hope. For what would +become of her and of Ida if her health absolutely failed? The poor +creature shrank from the thought in horror. The hope connected with her +father grew more and more strong. But it needed some very decided +crisis to bring her to the point of overcoming all the apprehensions +which lay in the way of an appeal to the stern old man This crisis had +arrived. The illness which was now upon her she felt to be more serious +than any she had yet suffered. Suppose she were to die, and Ida to be +left alone in the world Even before she heard of the child's dismissal +from school she had all but made up her mind to write to her father, +and the shock of that event gave her the last impulse. She wrote a +letter of pitiful entreaty. Would he help her to some means of earning +a living for herself and her child? She could not part from Ida. +Perhaps she had not long to live, and to ask her to give up her child +would be too cruel. She would do anything, would go into service, +perform the hardest and coarsest toil. She told him how Ida had been +brought up, and implored his pity for the child, who at all events was +innocent. +</P> + +<P> +When Ida reached home from her visit to the City, she saw her mother +risen and sitting by the fire. Lotty had found the suspense +insupportable as she lay still, and, though the pains in her chest grew +worse and the feeling of lassitude was gaining upon her, she had +half-dressed, and even tried to move about. Just before the child's +appearance, she seemed to have sunk into something of a doze on her +chair, for, as the door opened, she started and looked about her in +doubt. +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you been so long?" she asked impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +"I got back as quickly as I could, mother," said Ida, in some surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Got back? Is school over?" +</P> + +<P> +"From the—the place you sent me to, mother." +</P> + +<P> +"What am I thinking of!" exclaimed Lotty, starting to consciousness. +"Come here, and tell me. Did you see—see him, Ida? Mr. Woodstock, you +know." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, mother," began the child, with pale face, "and he—he said I was +to tell you—" +</P> + +<P> +She burst into tears, and flew to her mother's neck. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you won't send me away from you, mother dear? I can't go away from +you!" +</P> + +<P> +Lotty felt she knew what this meant. Fear and trouble wrought with her +physical weakness to drive her almost distracted. She sprang up, caught +the child by the shoulders, and shook her as if in anger. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me, can't you?" she cried, straining her weak voice. "What did he +say? Don't be a little fool! Can't the child speak?" +</P> + +<P> +She fell back again, seized with a cough which choked her. Ida stayed +her sobbing, and looked on in terror. Her mother motioned constantly to +her to proceed. +</P> + +<P> +"The gentleman said," Ida continued, with calm which was the result of +extreme self-control, "that he would take me; but that you were never +to see me again." +</P> + +<P> +"Did he say anything else about me?" whispered Lotty. +</P> + +<P> +"No, nothing else." +</P> + +<P> +"Go—go and tell him you'll come,—you'll leave me." +</P> + +<P> +Ida stood in anguish, speechless and motionless. All at once her mother +seemed to forget what she was saying, and sat still, staring into the +fire. Several times she shivered. Her hands lay listlessly on her lap; +she breathed with difficulty. +</P> + +<P> +Shortly afterwards, the landlady came into the room. She was alarmed at +Lotty's condition. Her attempts to arouse the sick woman to +consciousness were only partly successful. She went downstairs again, +and returned with another woman, a lodger in the house. These two +talked together in low tones. The result of their colloquy was that +Mrs. Ledward dressed Lotty as well as she could, whilst the other left +the house and returned with a cab. +</P> + +<P> +"We're going to take your mother to the hospital," said Mrs. Ledward to +the child. "You wait here till we come back, there's a good girl. Now, +hold up a bit, Lotty; try and walk downstairs. That's better, my girl." +</P> + +<P> +Ida was left alone. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHRISTMAS IN TWO HOMES +</H3> + +<P> +When Ida Starr was dismissed from school it wanted but a few days to +the vacations. The day which followed her mother's removal to the +hospital was Christmas Eve. For two hours on the afternoon of Christmas +Day, Ida sat in silence by the bedside in the ward, holding her +mother's hand. The patient was not allowed to speak, seemed indeed +unable to do so. The child might not even kiss her. The Sister and the +nurse looked pityingly at Ida when they passed by, and, when the +visitors' time was at an end, and she had to rise and go, the Sister +put an orange into her hand, and spoke a few hopeful words. +</P> + +<P> +Night was setting in as she walked homewards; it was cold, and the sky +threatened snow. She had only gone a few yards, when there came by a +little girl of her own age, walking with some one who looked like a +nurse-maid. They were passing; but all at once the child sprang to +Ida's side with a cry of recognition. It was little Maud Enderby. +</P> + +<P> +"Where have you been, Ida? Where are you going? Oh, I'm so glad; I +wanted so to see you. Miss Rutherford told us you'd left school, and +you weren't coming back again. Aren't you really? And sha'n't I see +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, I think not," said Ida. In her premature trouble she +seemed so much older than her friend. +</P> + +<P> +"I told Miss Rutherford you weren't to blame," went on Maud eagerly. "I +told her it was Harriet's own fault, and how shockingly she'd behaved +to you. I expect you'll come back again after the holidays, don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +Ida shook her head, and said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"But I shall see you again?" pleaded the little maid. "You know we're +always going to be friends, aren't we? Who shall I tell all my dreams +to, if I lose you?" +</P> + +<P> +Dreams, in the literal sense of the word. Seldom a week went by, but +Maud had some weird vision of the night to recount to her friend, the +meaning of which they would together try to puzzle out; for it was an +article of faith with both that there were meanings to be discovered, +and deep ones. +</P> + +<P> +Ida promised that she would not allow herself to be lost to her friend, +and they kissed, and went their several ways. +</P> + +<P> +Throughout the day the door of Mr. Smales's shop had been open, though +the shutters were up. But at nightfall it was closed, and the family +drew around the tea-table in the parlour which smelt so of drugs. It +was their only sitting-room, for as much of the house as could be was +let to another family. Besides Mr. Smales and his daughter Harriet, +there sat at the table a lad of about thirteen, with a dark, handsome +face, which had something of a foreign cast His eyes gleamed at all +times with the light of a frank joyousness; he laughed with the +unrestraint of a perfectly happy nature. His countenance was capable, +too, of a thoughtfulness beyond his years, a gravity which seemed to +come of high thoughts or rich imagination. He bore no trace of +resemblance to either the chemist or his daughter, yet was their +relative. Mr. Smales had had a sister, who at an early age became a +public singer, and so far prospered as to gain some little distinction +in two or three opera seasons. Whilst thus engaged, she made the +acquaintance of an Italian, Casti by name, fell in love with him, and +subsequently followed him to Italy. Her courage was rewarded, for there +she became the singer's wife. They travelled for two years, during +which time a son was born to them. The mother's health failed; she was +unable henceforth to travel with her husband, and, after living in Rome +for nearly four years, she died there. The boy was shortly brought back +to England by his father, and placed in the care of Mr. Smales, on the +understanding that a sum of money should be paid yearly for his support +and education. From that day to the present nothing more had been heard +of Signor Casti, and all the care of his sister's child had fallen upon +poor Smales, who was not too well provided with means to support his +own small household. However, he had not failed in the duty, and Julian +(his name had been Englished) was still going to school at his uncle's +expense. It was by this time understood that, on leaving school, he +should come into the shop, and there qualify himself for the business +of a chemist. +</P> + +<P> +Had it not been for Julian, the back parlour would have seen but little +cheerfulness to-night. Mr. Smales himself was always depressed in mind +and ailing in body. Life had proved too much for him; the burden of the +recurring daylight was beyond his strength. There was plainly no lack +of kindliness in his disposition, and this never failed to come +strongly into his countenance as often as he looked at Harriet. She was +his only child. Her mother had died of consumption early in their +married life, and it was his perpetual dread lest he should discover in +Harriet a disposition to the same malady. +</P> + +<P> +His fears had but too much stimulus to keep them alive. Harriet had +passed through a sickly childhood, and was growing up with a feeble +constitution. Body and mind were alike unhealthy. Of all the people who +came in contact with her, her father alone was blind to her distorted +sense of right, her baseless resentments, her malicious pleasures, her +depraved intellect. His affection she repaid with indifference. At +present, the only person she appeared to really like was the servant +Sarah, a girl of vicious character. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet had suffered more from Ida's blow than had at first appeared +likely. The wound would not heal well, and she had had several feverish +nights. For her convenience, the couch had been drawn up between the +fire and the table; and, reclining here, she every now and then threw +out a petulant word in reply to her father's or Julian's well-meant +cheerfulness. But for the boy, the gloomy silence would seldom have +been broken. He, however, was full to-night of a favourite subject, and +kept up a steady flow of bright narrative. At school he was much +engaged just now with the history of Rome, and it was his greatest +delight to tell the listeners at home the glorious stories which were +his latest acquisitions. All to-day he had been reading Plutarch. The +enthusiasm with which he spoke of these old heroes and their deeds went +beyond mere boyish admiration of valour and delight in bloodshed; he +seemed to be strongly sensible of the real features of greatness in +these men's lives, and invested his stories with a glow of poetical +colour which found little appreciation in either of his hearers. +</P> + +<P> +"And I was born in Rome, wasn't I, uncle?" he exclaimed at last. "<I>I</I> +am a Roman; <I>Romanus sum</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +Then he laughed with his wonted bright gleefulness. It was half in +jest, but for all that there was a genuine warmth on his cheek, and +lustre in his fine eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Some day I will go to Rome again," he said, "and both of you shall go +with me. We shall see the Forum and the Capitol! Sha'n't you shout when +you see the Capitol, uncle?" +</P> + +<P> +Poor Smales only smiled sadly and shook his head. It was a long way +from Marylebone to Rome; greater still the distance between the boy's +mind and that of his uncle. +</P> + +<P> +Sarah took Harriet to bed early. Julian had got hold of his Plutarch +again, and read snatches of it aloud every now and then. His uncle paid +no heed, was sunk in dull reverie. When they had sat thus for more than +an hour, Mr. Smales began to exhibit a wish to talk. +</P> + +<P> +"Put the book away, and draw up to the fire, my boy," he said, with as +near an approach to heartiness as he was capable of. "It's Christmas +time, and Christmas only comes once a year." +</P> + +<P> +He rubbed his palms together, then began to twist the corners of his +handkerchief. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Julian," he went on, leaning feebly forward to the fire, "a year +more school, I suppose, and then—business; what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, uncle." +</P> + +<P> +The boy spoke cheerfully, but yet not in the same natural way as before. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I could afford to make you something better, my lad; you ought +to be something better by rights. And I don't well know what you'll +find to do in this little shop. The business might be better; yes, +might be better. You won't have much practice in dispensing, I'm +afraid, unless things improve. It is mostly hair-oil,—and the patent +medicines. It's a poor look-out for you, Julian." +</P> + +<P> +There was a silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Harriet isn't quite well yet, is she?" Smales went on, half to himself. +</P> + +<P> +"No, she looked poorly to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Julian," began the other, but paused, rubbing his hands more nervously +than ever. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, uncle?" +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder what 'ud become of her if I—if I died now? You're growing +up, and you're a clever lad; you'll soon be able to shift for yourself. +But what'll Harriet do? If only she had her health. And I shall have +nothing to leave either her or you, Julian,—nothing,—nothing! She'll +have to get her living somehow. I must think of some easy business for +her, I must. She might be a teacher, but her head isn't strong enough, +I fear. Julian—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, uncle?" +</P> + +<P> +"You—you are old enough to understand things, my boy," went on his +uncle, with quavering voice. "Suppose, after I'm dead and gone, Harriet +should want help. She won't make many friends, I fear, and she'll have +bad health. Suppose she was in want of any kind,—you'd stand by her, +Julian, wouldn't you? You'd be a friend to her,—always?" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed I would, uncle!" exclaimed the boy stoutly. +</P> + +<P> +"You promise me that, Julian, this Christmas night?—you promise it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I promise, uncle. You've always been kind and good to me, and see +if I'm not the same to Harriet." +</P> + +<P> +His voice trembled with generous emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I sha'n't see it, my boy," said Smales, shaking his head drearily; +"but the promise will be a comfort to me at the end, a comfort to me. +You're a good lad, Julian!" +</P> + +<P> +Silence came upon them again. +</P> + +<P> +In the same district, in one of a row of semi-detached houses standing +in gardens, lived Ida's little friend, Maud Enderby, with her aunt, +Miss Bygrave, a lady of forty-two or forty-three. The rooms were small +and dark; the furniture sparse, old-fashioned, and much worn; there +were no ornaments in any of the rooms, with the exception of a few +pictures representing the saddest incidents in the life of Christ. On +entering the front door you were oppressed by the chill, damp +atmosphere, and by a certain unnatural stillness. The stairs were not +carpeted, but stained a dark colour; a footfall upon them, however +light, echoed strangely as if from empty chambers above. There was no +sign of lack of repair; perfect order and cleanliness wherever the eye +penetrated; yet the general effect was an unspeakable desolation. +</P> + +<P> +Maud Enderby, on reaching home after her meeting with Ida, entered the +front parlour, and sat down in silence near the window, where faint +daylight yet glimmered. The room was without fire. Over the mantelpiece +hung an engraving of the Crucifixion; on the opposite wall were the +Agony in the Garden, and an Entombment; all after old masters. The +centre table, a few chairs, and a small sideboard were the sole +articles of furniture. The table was spread with a white cloth; upon it +were a loaf of bread, a pitcher containing milk, two plates, and two +glasses. +</P> + +<P> +Maud sat in the cold room for a quarter of an hour; it became quite +dark. Then was heard a soft footstep descending the stairs; the door +opened, and a lady came in, bearing a lighted lamp, which she stood +upon the table. She was tall, very slender, and with a face which a +painter might have used to personify the spiritual life. Its outlines +were of severe perfection; its expression a confirmed grief, subdued +by, and made subordinate to, the consciousness of an inward strength +which could convert suffering into triumph. Her garment was black, of +the simplest possible design. In looking at Maud, as the child rose +from the chair, it was scarcely affection that her eyes expressed, +rather a grave compassion. Maud took a seat at the table without +speaking; her aunt sat down over against her. In perfect silence they +partook of the milk and the bread. Miss Bygrave then cleared the table +with her own hands, and took the things out of the room. Maud still +kept her place. The child's manner was not at all constrained; she was +evidently behaving in her wonted way. Her eyes wandered about the room +with rather a dreamy gaze, and, as often as they fell upon her aunt's +face, became very serious, though in no degree expressive of fear or +even awe. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Bygrave returned, and seated herself near the little girl; then +remained thoughtful for some minutes. The breath from their lips was +plainly visible on the air. Maud almost shivered now and then, but +forced herself to suppress the impulse. Her aunt presently broke the +silence, speaking in a low voice, which had nothing of tenderness, but +was most impressive in its earnest calm. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish to speak to you before you go upstairs, Maud; to speak of +things which you cannot understand fully as yet, but which you are old +enough to begin to think about." +</P> + +<P> +Maud was surprised. It was the first time that her aunt had ever +addressed her in this serious way. She was used to being all but +ignored, though never in a manner which made her feel that she was +treated unkindly. There was nothing like confidence between them; only +in care for her bodily wants did Miss Bygrave fill the place of the +mother whose affection the child had never known. Maud crossed her +hands on her lap, and looked up with respectful attention upon her pale +sweet little face. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you wonder at all," Miss Bygrave went on, "why we never spend +Christmas like your friends do in their homes, with eating and drinking +and all sorts of merriment?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, aunt, I do." +</P> + +<P> +It was evidently the truth, and given with the simple directness which +characterised the child. +</P> + +<P> +"You know what Christmas Day means, Maud?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is the day on which Christ was born." +</P> + +<P> +"And for what purpose did Christ come as a child on earth?" +</P> + +<P> +Maud thought for a moment. She had never had any direct religious +teaching; all she knew of these matters was gathered from her regular +attendance at church. She replied in a phrase which had rested in her +mind, though probably conveying little if any meaning to her. +</P> + +<P> +"He came to make us free from sin." +</P> + +<P> +"And so we should rejoice at His coming. But would it please Him, do +you think, to see us showing our joy by indulging in those very sins +from which He came to free us?" +</P> + +<P> +Maud looked with puzzled countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it a sin to like cake and sweet things, aunt?" +</P> + +<P> +The gravity of the question brought a smile to Miss Bygrave's close, +strong lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Listen, Maud," she said, "and I will tell you what I mean. For you to +like such things is no sin, as long as you are still too young to have +it explained to you why you should overcome that liking. As I said, you +are now old enough to begin to think of more than a child's +foolishness, to ask yourself what is the meaning of the life which has +been given you, what duties you must set before yourself as you grow up +to be a woman. When once these duties have become clear to you, when +you understand what the end of life is, and how you should seek to gain +it, then many things become sinful which were not so before, and many +duties must be performed which previously you were not ready for." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Bygrave spoke with effort, as if she found it difficult to express +herself in sufficiently simple phraseology. Speaking, she did not look +at the child; and, when the pause came, her eyes were still fixed +absently on the picture above the mantelpiece. +</P> + +<P> +"Keep in mind what I shall tell you," she proceeded with growing +solemnity, "and some day you will better understand its meaning than +you can now. The sin which Christ came to free us from was—fondness +for the world, enjoyment of what we call pleasure, desire for happiness +on earth. He Himself came to set us the example of one to whom the +world was nothing, who could put aside every joy, and make His life a +life of sorrows. Even that was not enough. When the time had come, and +He had finished His teaching of the disciples whom He chose, He +willingly underwent the most cruel of all deaths, to prove that His +teaching had been the truth, and to show us that we must face any most +dreadful suffering rather than desert what we believe to be right." +</P> + +<P> +She pointed to the crucified figure, and Maud followed the direction of +her hand with awed gaze. +</P> + +<P> +"And this," said Miss Bygrave, "is why I think it wrong to make +Christmas a time of merriment. In the true Christian, every enjoyment +which comes from the body is a sin. If you feel you <I>like</I> this or +that, it is a sign that you must renounce it, give it up. If you feel +fond of life, you must force yourself to hate it; for life is sin. Life +is given to us that we may conquer ourselves. We are placed in the +midst of sin that we may struggle against its temptations. There is +temptation in the very breath you draw, since you feel a dread if it is +checked. You must live so as to be ready at any moment to give up your +life with gladness, as a burden which it has been appointed you to bear +for a time. There is temptation in the love you feel for those around +you; it makes you cling to life; you are tempted to grieve if you lose +them, whereas death is the greatest blessing in the gift of God. And +just because it is so, we must not snatch at it before our time; it +would be a sin to kill ourselves, since that would be to escape from +the tasks set us. Many pleasures would seem to be innocent, but even +these it is better to renounce, since for that purpose does every +pleasure exist. I speak of the pleasures of the world. One joy there is +which we may and must pursue, the joy of sacrifice. The more the body +suffers, the greater should be the delight of the soul; and the only +moment of perfect happiness should be that when the world grows dark +around us, and we feel the hand of death upon our hearts." +</P> + +<P> +She was silent, and both sat in the cold room without word or motion. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +POSSIBILITIES +</H3> + +<P> +Christmas passed, and the beginning of the New Year drew nigh. And, one +morning, as Mr. Woodstock was glancing up and down the pages of a +ledger, a telegram was delivered to him. It was from a hospital in the +north-west of London. "Your daughter is dying, and wishes to see you. +Please come at once." +</P> + +<P> +Lotty's ailment had declared itself as pneumonia. She was frequently +delirious, and the substance of her talk at such times led the +attendant Sister to ask her, when reason returned, whether she did not +wish any relative to be sent for. Lotty was frightened, but, as long as +she was told that there was still hope of recovery, declined to mention +any name. The stubborn independence which had supported her through +these long years asserted itself again, as a reaction after her +fruitless appeal; at moments she felt that she could die with her lips +closed, and let what might happen to her child. But when she at length +read upon the faces of those about her that her fate hung in the +balance, and when she saw the face of little Ida, come there she knew +not how, looking upon her from the bedside, then her purpose yielded, +and in a whisper she told her father's address, and begged that he +might be apprised of her state. +</P> + +<P> +Abraham Woodstock arrived at the hospital, but to no purpose. Lotty had +lost her consciousness. He waited for some hours; there was no return +of sensibility. When it had been long dark, and he had withdrawn from +the ward for a little, he was all at once hastily summoned back. He +stood by the bedside, his hands behind his back, his face set in a hard +gaze upon the pale features on the pillow. Opposite to him stood the +medical man, and a screen placed around the bed shut them off from the +rest of the ward. All at once Lotty's eyes opened. It seemed as though +she recognised her father, for a look of surprise came to her +countenance. Then there was a gasping for breath, a struggle, and the +eyes saw no more, for all their staring. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock left the hospital. At the first public-house he reached +he entered and drank a glass of whisky. The barman had forgotten the +piece of lemon, and was rewarded with an oath considerably stronger +than the occasion seemed to warrant. Arrived at certain cross-ways, Mr. +Woodstock paused. His eyes were turned downwards; he did not seem +dubious of his way, so much as in hesitation as to a choice of +directions. He took a few steps hither, then back; began to wend +thither, and again turned. When he at length decided, his road brought +him to Milton Street, and up to the door on which stood the name of +Mrs. Ledward. +</P> + +<P> +He knocked loudly, and the landlady herself opened. +</P> + +<P> +"A Mrs. Starr lived here, I believe?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"She does live here, sir, but she's in the orspital at present, I'm +sorry to say." +</P> + +<P> +"Is her child at home?" +</P> + +<P> +"She is, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me see her, will you? In some room, if you please." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Ledward's squinting eyes took shrewd stock of this gentleman, and, +with much politeness, she showed him into her own parlour. Then she +summoned Ida from upstairs, and, the door being closed upon the two, +she held her ear as closely as possible to the keyhole. +</P> + +<P> +Ida recognised her visitor with a start, and drew back a little. There +were both fear and dislike in her face, fear perhaps predominating. +</P> + +<P> +"You remember coming to see me," said Mr. Woodstock, looking down upon +the child, and a trifle askance. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir," was Ida's reply. +</P> + +<P> +"I have just been at the hospital. Your mother is dead." +</P> + +<P> +His voice gave way a little between the first and the last letter of +the last word. Perhaps the sound was more to his ear than the thought +had been to his mind. Perhaps, also, he felt when it was too late that +he ought to have made this announcement with something more of +preparation. Ida's eyes were fixed upon his face, and seemed expanding +as they gazed; her lips had parted; she was the image of sudden dread. +He tried to look away from her, but somehow could not. Then two great +tears dropped upon her cheeks, and her mouth began to quiver. She put +her hands up to her face, and sobbed as a grown woman might have done. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock turned away for a minute, and fingered a china ornament +on the mantelpiece. He heard the sobs forcibly checked, and, when there +was silence, again faced his grandchild. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll be left all alone now, you see," he said, his voice less hard. +"I was a friend of your mother's, and I'll do what I can for you. You'd +better come with me to my house." +</P> + +<P> +Ida looked at him in surprise, tempered with indignation. +</P> + +<P> +"If you were a friend of mother's," she said, "why did you want to take +me away from her and never let her see me again?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you've nothing to do with that," said Abraham roughly. "Go and +put your things on, and come with me." +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied Ida firmly. "I don't want to go with you." +</P> + +<P> +"What you want has nothing to do with it. You will do as I tell you." +</P> + +<P> +Abraham felt strangely in this interview. It was as though time were +repeating itself, and he was once more at issue with his daughter's +childish wilfulness. +</P> + +<P> +Ida did not move. +</P> + +<P> +"Why won't you come?" asked Mr. Woodstock sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want to," was Ida's answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Look here, then," said the other, after a brief consideration. "You +have the choice, and you're old enough to see what it means. You can +either come with me and be well cared for, or stay here and shift as +best you can; now, be sharp and make up your mind." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't wish to go with you, I'll stay here and do my best." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock whistled a bar of an air, stepped from the room, and +thence out into the streets. +</P> + +<P> +It was not his intention really to go at once. Irritation had made it +impossible for him to speak longer with the child; he would walk the +length of the street and return to give her one more chance. Distracted +in purpose as he had never been in his life before, he reached +Marylebone Road; rain was just beginning to fall, and he had no +umbrella with him. He stood and looked back. Ida once out of his sight, +that impatient tenderness which her face inspired failed before the +recollection of her stubbornness. She had matched her will with his, as +bad an omen as well could be. What was the child to him, or he to her? +He did not feel capable of trying to make her like him; what good in +renewing the old conflicts and upsetting the position of freedom he had +attained? Doubtless she inherited a fatal disposition. In his mind +lurked the foreknowledge that he might come to be fond of this little +outcast, but Woodstock was incapable as yet of understanding that love +must and will be its own reward. The rain fell heavier, and at this +moment an omnibus came up. He hailed it, saying to himself that he +would think the matter over and come back on the morrow. The first part +of his purpose he fulfilled; but to Milton Street he never returned. +</P> + +<P> +As soon as he had left the house, Mrs. Ledward bounced into the room +where Ida stood. +</P> + +<P> +"You little idjot!" she exclaimed. "What do you mean by refusing a +offer like that!—Why, the gentleman's your own father." +</P> + +<P> +"My father!" repeated Ida, in scornful astonishment. "My father died +when I was a baby. Mother's told me so often." +</P> + +<P> +"If you believe all your mother told you,—Well, well, you have been a +little wooden-head. What made you behave like that to him?—Where does +he live, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know." +</P> + +<P> +"You do know. Why, I heard him say you'd been to see him. And what are +you going to do, I'd like to know? You don't expect me to keep you, I +s'pose. Tell me at once where the gentleman lives, and let me take you +there. The idea of your turning against your own father!" +</P> + +<P> +"He's <I>not</I> my father!" cried Ida passionately. "My father is dead; and +now mother's dead, and I'm alone." She turned and went from the room, +weeping bitterly. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AN ADVERTISEMENT +</H3> + +<P> +In a morning newspaper of March 187—, that is to chapter, appeared a +singular advertisement. +</P> + +<P> +"WANTED, human companionship. A young man of four-and-twenty wishes to +find a congenial associate of about his own age. He is a student of +ancient and modern literatures, a free-thinker in religion, a lover of +art in all its forms, a hater of conventionalism. Would like to +correspond in the first instance. Address O. W., City News Rooms, W.C." +</P> + +<P> +An advertisement which, naturally, might mean much or little, might be +the outcome of an idle whim, or the despairing cry of a hungry heart. +It could not be expected to elicit many replies; and brought indeed but +one. +</P> + +<P> +Behind the counter of a chemist's shop in Oxford Street there served, +day after day, a young assistant much observed of female customers. The +young man was handsome, and not with that vulgar handsomeness which is +fairly common among the better kind of shop-walkers and +counter-keepers. He had rather long black hair, which arranged itself +in silky ripples about a face of perfectly clear, though rather dark, +complexion. When he smiled, as he frequently did, the effect was very +pleasant. He spoke, too, with that musical intonation which is always +more or less suggestive of musical thought. He did not seem by any +means ideally adapted to the place he occupied here, yet filled it +without suspicion of constraint or uneasiness: there was nothing in him +to make one suppose that he had ever been accustomed to a better sphere +of life. +</P> + +<P> +He lived in the house above the shop, and had done so for about two +years; previously he had held a like position in a more modest +establishment. His bed-room, which had to serve him as sitting-room +also during his free hours, gave indications of a taste not ordinarily +found in chemists' assistants. On the walls were several engravings of +views in Rome, ancient and modern; and there were two bookcases filled +with literature which had evidently known the second-hand stall,—most +of the Latin poets, a few Italian books, and some English classics. Not +a trace anywhere of the habits and predilections not unfairly +associated with the youth of the shop, not even a pipe or a +cigar-holder. It was while sitting alone here one evening, half musing, +half engaged in glancing over the advertisements in a paper two days +old, that the assistant had been attracted by the insertion just +quoted. He read and re-read it, became more thoughtful, sighed +slightly. Then he moved to the table and took some note-paper out of a +writing-case. Still he seemed to be in doubt, hesitated in pressing a +pen against his thumb-nail, was on the point of putting the note-paper +away again. Ultimately, however, he sat down to write. He covered four +pages with a letter, which he then proceeded deliberately to correct +and alter, till he had cut it down by about half. Then came another +period of doubt before he decided to make a fair copy. But it was +finally made, and the signature at the foot was: Julian Casti. +</P> + +<P> +He went out at once to the post. +</P> + +<P> +Two days later he received a reply, somewhat longer than his own +epistle. The writer was clearly keeping himself in a tentative +attitude. Still, he wrote something about his own position and his +needs. He was a teacher in a school in South London, living in +lodgings, with his evenings mostly unoccupied. His habits, he declared, +were Bohemian. Suppose, by way of testing each other's dispositions, +they were to interchange views on some book with which both were likely +to be acquainted: say, Keats's poems? In conclusion, the "O. W." of the +advertisement signed himself Osmond Waymark. +</P> + +<P> +The result was that, a week after, Casti received an invitation to call +on Waymark, at the latter's lodgings in Walcot Square, Kennington. He +arrived on a Saturday evening, just after eight o'clock. The house he +sought proved to be one of very modest appearance; small, apparently +not too clean, generally uninviting. But a decent-looking woman opened +the door, and said that Mr. Waymark would be found in response to a +knock at the first-floor front. The visitor made his way up the dark, +narrow stair-case, and knocked as bidden. A firm voice summoned him to +enter. +</P> + +<P> +From a seat by a table which was placed as near as possible to a very +large fire rose a young man whose age might have been either +twenty-three or twenty-six. Most people would have inclined to give him +the latter figure. He was rather above the average stature, and showed +well-hung limbs, with a habit of holding himself which suggested +considerable toughness of sinews; he moved gracefully, and with head +well held up. His attire spoke sedentary habits; would have been +decidedly shabby, but for its evident adaptation to easy-chair and +fireside. The pure linen and general tone of cleanliness were +reassuring; the hand, too, which he extended, was soft, delicate, and +finely formed. The head was striking, strongly individual, set solidly +on a rather long and shapely neck; a fine forehead, irregular nose, +rather prominent jaw-bones, lips just a little sensual, but speaking +good-humour and intellectual character. A heavy moustache; no beard. +Eyes dark, keen, very capable of tenderness, but perhaps more often +shrewdly discerning or cynically speculative. One felt that the present +expression of genial friendliness was unfamiliar to the face, though it +by no means failed in pleasantness. The lips had the look of being +frequently gnawed in intense thought or strong feeling. In the cheeks +no healthy colour, but an extreme sallowness on all the features. +Smiling, he showed imperfect teeth. Altogether, a young man upon whom +one felt it difficult to pronounce in the earlier stages of +acquaintance; whose intimacy but few men would exert themselves to +seek; who in all likelihood was chary of exhibiting his true self save +when secure of being understood. +</P> + +<P> +Julian Casti was timid with strangers; his eyes fell before the other's +look, and he shook hands without speaking. The contrast in mere +appearance between the two was very pronounced; both seemed in some +degree to be aware of it. Waymark seemed more rugged than in ordinary +companionship; the slightly effeminate beauty of Casti, and his +diffident, shyly graceful manners, were more noticeable than usual. +Waymark inspected his visitor closely and directly; the latter only +ventured upon one or two quick side glances. Yet the results were, on +the whole, mutually satisfactory. +</P> + +<P> +Julian's eyes glistened at the sight of two goodly bookcases, reaching +from floor to ceiling. There were, too, pictures of other than the +lodging-house type; engraved heads of the great in art and science, and +a few reproductions in pencil or chalk of known subjects, perchance +their possessor's own work. On the table lay traces of literary +occupation, sheets of manuscript, open books, and the like. On another +table stood a tray, with cups and saucers. A kettle was boiling on the +fire. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark helped the conversation by offering a cup of coffee, which he +himself made. +</P> + +<P> +"You smoke, I hope?" he asked, reaching some cigars from the +mantelpiece. +</P> + +<P> +Julian shook his head, with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"No? How on earth do you support existence?—At all events, you don't, +as the railway-carriage phrase has it, object to smoking?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all. I like the scent, but was never tempted to go further." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark filled his pipe, and made himself conformable in a low +cane-bottom chair, which had stood folded-up against the wall. Talk +began to range over very various topics, Waymark leading the way, his +visitor only gradually venturing to take the initiative. Theatres were +mentioned, but Julian knew little of them; recent books, but with these +he had small acquaintance; politics, but in these he had clearly no +interest. +</P> + +<P> +"That's a point of contact, at all events," exclaimed Waymark. "I +detest the very name of Parliament, and could as soon read Todhunter on +Conic Sections as the reports of a debate. Perhaps you're a +mathematician?" This with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"By no means," was the reply. "In fact," Casti went on, "I'm afraid you +begin to think my interests are very narrow indeed. My opportunities +have been small. I left a very ordinary school at fourteen, and what +knowledge I have since got has come from my own efforts. I am sure the +profit from our intercourse would be entirely on my side. I have the +wish to go in for many things, however,—" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," broke in the other, "don't suppose that I am a scholar in any +sense of the word, or a man of more than average culture. My own +regular education came to an end pretty much at the same age, and only +a certain stubbornness has forced me into an intellectual life, if you +can call it so. Not much intellect required in my every-day business, +at all events. The school in which I teach is a fair type of the +middle-class commercial 'academy;' the headmaster a nincompoop and +charlatan, my fellow-assistants poor creatures, who must live, I +suppose,—though one doesn't well understand why. I had always a liking +for Greek and Latin and can make shift to read both in a way +satisfactory to myself, though I dare say it wouldn't go for much with +college examiners. Then, as for my scribbling, well, it has scarcely +yet passed the amateur stage. It will some day; simply because I've +made up my mind that it shall; but as yet I haven't got beyond a couple +of weak articles in weak magazines, and I don't exactly feel sure of my +way. I rather think we shall approach most nearly in our taste for +poetry. I liked much what you had to say about Keats. It decided me +that we ought to go on." +</P> + +<P> +Julian looked up with a bright smile. +</P> + +<P> +"What did you think at first of my advertisement, eh?" cried Waymark, +with a sudden burst of loud laughter. "Queer idea, wasn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"It came upon me curiously. It was so like a frequent thought of my own +actually carried out." +</P> + +<P> +"It was? You have felt that same desperate need of congenial society?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have felt it very strongly indeed. I live so very much alone, and +have always done so. Fortunately I am of a very cheerful disposition, +or I might have suffered much. The young fellows I see every day +haven't much intellect, it must be confessed. I used to try to get them +under the influence of my own enthusiasms, but they didn't seem to +understand me. They care only for things which either repel me, or are +utterly without interest." +</P> + +<P> +"Ha! you understand what that means!" Waymark had risen from his low +chair, and stood with his back to the fire. His eyes had a new life, +and he spoke in a strong, emphatic way which suited well with his +countenance. "You know what it is to have to do exclusively with fools +and brutes, to rave under the vile restraints of Philistine +surroundings? Then you can form some notion of the state I was in when +I took the step of writing that advertisement; I was, I firmly believe, +on the verge of lunacy! For two or three days I had come back home from +the school only to pace up and down the room in an indescribable +condition. I get often like that, but this time things seemed reaching +a head. Why, I positively cried with misery, absurd as it may sound. My +blood seemed too hot, seemed to be swelling out the veins beyond +endurance. As a rule I get over these moods by furious walking about +the streets half through the night, but I couldn't even do that. I had +no money to go in for dissipation: that often helps me. Every book was +loathsome to me. My landlady must have overheard something, for she +came in and began a conversation about God knows what; I fear I +mortally offended her; I could have pitched the poor old woman out of +the window! Heavens, how did I get through those nights?" +</P> + +<P> +"And the fit has passed?" inquired Julian when the other ceased. +</P> + +<P> +"The Lord be praised; yes!" Waymark laughed half-scornfully. "There +came an editor's note, accepting a thing that had been going from +magazine to magazine for three months. This snatched me up into furious +spirits. I rushed out to a theatre, drank more than was good for me, +made a fool of myself in general,—and then received your letter. Good +luck never comes singly." +</P> + +<P> +Julian had watched the strange workings of Waymark's face with close +interest. When the latter suddenly turned his eyes, as if to see the +effect of all his frankness, Casti coloured slightly and looked away, +but with a look of friendly sympathy. +</P> + +<P> +"Do I shock you?" asked the other. "Do you think me rather too much of +an animal, for all my spiritual longings?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly not, I can well understand you, I believe." +</P> + +<P> +The conversation passed to quieter things. Julian seemed afraid of +saying too much about his own experiences, but found opportunities of +showing his acquaintance with English poetry, which was quite as +extensive as that of his new friend, excepting in the case of a few +writers of the day, whom he had not been able to procure. He had taught +himself Italian, too, and had read considerably in that language. He +explained that his father was an Italian, but had died when he himself +was still an infant. +</P> + +<P> +"You have been in Italy?" asked Waymark, with interest. +</P> + +<P> +A strange look came over Julian's features, a look at once bright and +melancholy; his fine eyes gleamed as was their wont eight years ago, in +the back-parlour in Boston Street, when he was telling tales from +Plutarch. +</P> + +<P> +"Not," he said, in a low voice charged with feeling, "since I was three +years old.—You will think it strange, but I don't so much long for the +modern Italy, for the beautiful scenery and climate, not even for the +Italy of Raphael, or of Dante. I think most of classical Italy. I am no +scholar, but I love the Latin writers, and can forget myself for hours, +working through Livy or Tacitus. I want to see the ruins of Rome; I +want to see the Tiber, the Clitumnus, the Aufidus, the Alban Hills, +Lake Trasimenus,—a thousand places! It is strange how those old times +have taken hold upon me. The mere names in Roman history make my blood +warm.—And there is so little chance that I shall ever be able to go +there; so little chance." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark had watched the glowing face with some surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, this is famous!" he exclaimed. "We shall suit each other +splendidly. Who knows? We may see Italy together, and look back upon +these times of miserable struggle. By the by, have you ever written +verses?" +</P> + +<P> +Julian reddened, like a girl. +</P> + +<P> +"I have tried to," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"And do still?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sometimes." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought as much. Some day you shall let me hear them; won't you? And +I will read you some of my own. But mine are in the savage vein, a mere +railing against the universe, altogether too furious to be anything +like poetry; I know that well enough. I have long since made up my mind +to stick to prose; it is the true medium for a polemical egotist. I +want to find some new form of satire; I feel capabilities that way +which shall by no means rust unused. It has pleased Heaven to give me a +splenetic disposition, and some day or other I shall find the tongue." +</P> + +<P> +It was midnight before Julian rose to leave, and he was surprised when +he discovered how time had flown. Waymark insisted on his guest's +having some supper before setting out on his walk home; he brought out +of a cupboard a tin of Australian mutton, which, with bread and +pickles, afforded a very tolerable meal after four hours' talk. They +then left the house together, and Waymark accompanied his friend as far +as Westminster Bridge. +</P> + +<P> +"It's too bad to have brought you so far at this hour," said Julian, as +they parted. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it is my hour for walking," was the reply. "London streets at +night are my element. Depend upon it, Rome was poor in comparison!" +</P> + +<P> +He went off laughing and waving his hand. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BETWEEN OLD AND NEW +</H3> + +<P> +Julian Casti's uncle had been three years dead. It was well for him +that he lived no longer; his business had continued to dwindle, and the +last months of the poor man's life were embittered by the prospect of +inevitable bankruptcy. He died of an overdose of some opiate, which the +anguish of sleeplessness brought him into the habit of taking. Suicide +it might have been, yet that was scarcely probable; he was too anxious +on his daughter's account to abandon her in this way, for certainly his +death could be nothing to her profit. Julian was then already eighteen, +and quickly succeeded in getting a situation. Harriet Smales left +London, and went to live with her sole relative, except Julian, an aunt +who kept a stationer's shop in Colchester. She was taught the business, +and assisted her aunt for more than two years, when, growing tired of +the life of a country town, she returned to London, and succeeded in +getting a place at a stationer's in Gray's Inn Road. This was six +months ago. Having thus established herself, she wrote to Julian, and +told him where she was. +</P> + +<P> +Julian never forgot the promise he had made to his uncle that Christmas +night, eight years ago, when he was a lad of thirteen. Harriet he had +always regarded as his sister, and never yet had he failed in brotherly +duty to her. When the girl left Colchester, she was on rather bad terms +with her aunt, and the latter wrote to Julian, saying that she knew +nothing of Harriet's object in going to London, but that it was +certainly advisable that some friend should be at hand, if possible, to +give her advice; though advice (she went on to say) was seldom +acceptable to Harriet. This letter alarmed Julian, as it was the first +he had heard of his cousin's new step; the letter from herself at the +end of a week's time greatly relieved him, and he went off as soon as +possible to see her. He found her living in the house where she was +engaged, apparently with decent people, and moderately contented; more +than this could never be said of the girl. Since then, he had seen her +at least once every week. Sometimes he visited her at the shop; when +the weather was fine, they spent the Sunday afternoon in walking +together. Harriet's health seemed to have improved since her return to +town. Previously, as in her childhood, she had always been more or less +ailing. From both father and mother she had inherited an unhealthy +body; there was a scrofulous tendency in her constitution, and the +slightest casual ill-health, a cold or any trifling accident, always +threatened her with serious results. She was of mind corresponding to +her body; restless, self-willed, discontented, sour-tempered, +querulous. She certainly used no special pains to hide these faults +from Julian, perhaps was not herself sufficiently conscious of them, +but the young man did not seem to be repelled by her imperfections; he +invariably treated her with gentle forbearance, pitied her sufferings, +did many a graceful little kindness in hope of pleasing her. +</P> + +<P> +The first interview between Julian and Waymark was followed by a second +a few days after, when it was agreed that they should spend each Sunday +evening together in Kennington; Julian had no room in which he could +well receive visitors. The next Sunday proved fine; Julian planned to +take Harriet for a walk in the afternoon, then, after accompanying her +home, to proceed to Walcot Square. As was usual on these occasions, he +was to meet his cousin at the Holborn end of Gray's Inn Road, and, as +also was the rule, Harriet came some twenty minutes late. Julian was +scrupulously punctual, and waiting irritated him not a little, but he +never allowed himself to show his annoyance. There was always the same +kind smile on his handsome face, and the pressure of his hand was warm. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet Smales was about a year younger than her cousin. Her dress +showed moderately good taste, with the usual fault of a desire to +imitate an elegance which she could not in reality afford. She wore a +black jacket, fur-trimmed, over a light grey dress; her black straw hat +had a few flowers in front. Her figure was good and her movements +graceful; she was nearly as tall as Julian. Her face, however, could +not be called attractive; it was hollow and of a sickly hue, even the +lips scarcely red. Grey eyes, beneath which were dark circles, looked +about with a quick, suspicious glance; the eye-brows made almost a +straight line. The nose was of a coarse type, the lips heavy and +indicative of ill-temper. The disagreeable effect of these lineaments +was heightened by a long scar over her right temple; she evidently did +her best to conceal it by letting her hair come forward very much on +each side, an arrangement in itself unsuited to her countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"I think I'm going to leave my place," was her first remark to-day, as +they turned to walk westward. She spoke in a dogged way with which +Julian was familiar enough, holding her eyes down, and, as she walked, +swinging her arms impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope not," said her cousin, looking at her anxiously. "What has +happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't know; it's always the same; people treat you as if you was +so much dirt. I haven't been accustomed to it, and I don't see why I +should begin now. I can soon enough get a new shop." +</P> + +<P> +"Has Mrs. Ogle been unkind to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't know, and I don't much care. You're expected to slave just +the same, day after day, whether you're feeling well or not." +</P> + +<P> +This indirect and querulous mode of making known her grievances was +characteristic of the girl. Julian bore with it very patiently. +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't you been feeling well?" he asked, with the same kindness. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, no, I haven't. My head fairly splits now, and this sun isn't +likely to make it any better." +</P> + +<P> +"Let us cross to the shady side." +</P> + +<P> +"'Twon't make any difference; I can't run to get out of the way of +horses." +</P> + +<P> +Julian was silent for a little. +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you write to me in the week?" she asked presently. "I'm +sure it would be a relief to hear from somebody sometimes. It's like a +year from one Sunday to another." +</P> + +<P> +"Did I promise to write? I really didn't remember having done so; I'm +very sorry. I might have told you about a new friend I've got." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet looked sharply into his face. Julian had made no mention of +Waymark on the preceding Sunday; it had been a rainy day, and they had +only spent a few minutes together in the parlour which Mrs. Ogle, the +keeper of the shop, allowed them to use on these occasions. +</P> + +<P> +"What sort of a friend?" the girl inquired rather sourly. +</P> + +<P> +"A very pleasant fellow, rather older than myself; I made his +acquaintance by chance." +</P> + +<P> +Julian avoided reference to the real circumstances. He knew well the +difficulty of making Harriet understand them. +</P> + +<P> +"We are going to see each other every Sunday," he went on. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I suppose you'll give up coming for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no, not at all. I shall see him at night always, after I have left +you." +</P> + +<P> +"Where does he live?" +</P> + +<P> +"Rather far off; in Kennington." +</P> + +<P> +"What is he?" +</P> + +<P> +"A teacher in a school. I hope to get good from being with him; we're +going to read together, and so on. I wish you could find some pleasant +companion of the same kind, Harriet; you wouldn't feel so lonely." +</P> + +<P> +"I dare say I'm better off without anybody. I shouldn't suit them. It's +very few people I do suit, or else people don't suit me, one or the +other. What's his name, your new friend's?" +</P> + +<P> +"Waymark." +</P> + +<P> +"And he lives in Kennington? Whereabouts?" +</P> + +<P> +"In Walcot Square. I don't think you know that part, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"What number?" +</P> + +<P> +Julian looked at her with some surprise. He found her eyes fixed with +penetrating observation upon his face. He mentioned the number, and she +evidently made a mental note of it. She was silent for some minutes. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose you'll go out at nights with him?" was her next remark. +</P> + +<P> +"It is scarcely likely. Where should we go to?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't know, and I don't suppose it matters much, to me." +</P> + +<P> +"You seem vexed at this, Harriet. I'm very sorry. Really, it's the +first friend I've ever had. I've often felt the need of some such +companionship." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm nobody?" she said, with a laugh, the first today. +</P> + +<P> +Julian's face registered very perfectly the many subtle phases of +thought and emotion which succeeded each other in his mind. This last +remark distressed him for a moment; he could not bear to hurt another's +feelings. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I meant male friend," he said quickly. "You are my sister." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I'm not," was the reply; and, as she spoke, Harriet glanced +sideways at him in a particularly unpleasant manner. She herself meant +it to be pleasant. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, you are, Harriet," he insisted good-humouredly. "We've been +brother and sister ever since we can remember, haven't we?" +</P> + +<P> +"But we aren't really, for all that," said the girl, looking away. +"Well, now you've got somebody else to take you up, I know very well I +shall see less of you. You'll be making excuses to get out of the rides +when the summer comes again." +</P> + +<P> +"Pray don't say or think anything of the kind, Harriet," urged Julian +with feeling. "I should not think of letting anything put a stop to our +picnics. It will soon be getting warm enough to think of the river, +won't it? And then, if you would like it, there is no reason why my +friend shouldn't come with us, sometimes." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, nonsense! Why, you'd be ashamed to let him know me." +</P> + +<P> +"Ashamed! How can you possibly think so? But you don't mean it; you are +joking." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I'm not. I should make mistakes in talking, and all sorts of +things. You don't think much of me, as it is, and that would make you +like me worse still." +</P> + +<P> +She tossed her head nervously, and swung her arms with the awkward +restlessness which always denoted some strong feeling in her. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, Harriet, this is too bad," Julian exclaimed, smiling. "Why, I +shall have to quarrel with you, to prove that we're good friends." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you <I>would</I> quarrel with me sometimes," said the girl, laughing +in a forced way. "You take all my bad-temper always just in the same +quiet way. I'd far rather you fell out with me. It's treating me too +like a child, as if it didn't matter how I went on, and I wasn't +anything to you." +</P> + +<P> +Of late, Harriet had been getting much into the habit of this ambiguous +kind of remark when in her cousin's company. Julian noticed it, and it +made him a trifle uneasy. He attributed it, however, to the girl's +strangely irritable disposition, and never failed to meet such +outbreaks with increased warmth and kindness of tone. To-day, Harriet's +vagaries seemed to affect him somewhat unusually. He became silent at +times, and then tried to laugh away the unpleasantness, but the +laughter was not exactly spontaneous. At length he brought back the +conversation to the point from which it had started, and asked if she +had any serious intention of leaving Mrs. Ogle. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm tired of being ordered about by people!" Harriet exclaimed. "I +know I sha'n't put up with it much longer. I only wish I'd a few pounds +to start a shop for myself." +</P> + +<P> +"I heartily wish I had the money to give you," was Julian's reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you save anything at all?" asked his cousin, with affected +indifference. +</P> + +<P> +"A little; very little. At all events, I think we shall be able to have +our week at the seaside when the time comes. Have you thought where +you'd like to go to?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; I haven't thought anything about it. What time shall you get back +home to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +"Rather late, I dare say. We sit talking and forget the time. It may be +after twelve o'clock." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet became silent again. They reached Hyde Park, and joined the +crowds of people going in all directions about the walks. Harriet had +always a number of ill-natured comments to make on the dress and +general appearance of people they passed. Julian smiled, but with no +genuine pleasure. As always, he did his best to lead the girl's +thoughts away from their incessant object, hers, elf. +</P> + +<P> +They were back again at the end of Gray's Inn Road by half-past four. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I won't keep you," said Harriet, with the sour smile. "I know +you're in a hurry to be off. Are you going to walk?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I can do it in about an hour." +</P> + +<P> +The girl turned away without further leave-taking, and Julian walked +southwards with a troubled face. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark expected him to tea. At this, their third meeting, the two were +already on very easy terms. Waymark did the greater share of the +talking, for Julian was naturally of fewer words; from the beginning it +was clear that the elder of the friends would have the initiative in +most things. Waymark unconsciously displayed something of that egoism +which is inseparable from force of character, and to the other this was +far from disagreeable; Julian liked the novel sensation of having a +strong nature to rely upon. Already he was being led by his natural +tendency to hero-worship into a fervid admiration for his friend. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you' been doing with yourself this fine day?" Waymark asked, +as they sat down to table. +</P> + +<P> +"I always spend Sunday afternoon with a cousin of mine," replied +Julian, with the unhesitating frankness which was natural to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Male or female?" +</P> + +<P> +"Female." There was a touch of colour on his face as he met the other's +eye, and he continued rather quickly. "We lived together always as +children, and were only separated at my uncle's death, three years ago. +She is engaged at a stationer's shop." +</P> + +<P> +"What is a fellow to do to get money?" Waymark exclaimed, when his pipe +was well alight. "I'm growing sick of this hand-to-mouth existence. Now +if one had a bare competency, what glorious possibilities would open +out. The vulgar saying has it that 'time is money;' like most vulgar +sayings putting the thing just the wrong way about. 'Money is time,' I +prefer to say; it means leisure, and all that follows. Why don't you +write a poem on Money, Casti? I almost feel capable of it myself. What +can claim precedence, in all this world, over hard cash? It is the +fruitful soil wherein is nourished the root of the tree of life; it is +the vivifying principle of human activity. Upon it luxuriate art, +letters, science; rob them of its sustenance, and they droop like +withering leaves. Money means virtue; the lack of it is vice. The devil +loves no lurking-place like an empty purse. Give me a thousand pounds +to-morrow, and I become the most virtuous man in England. I satisfy all +my instincts freely, openly, with no petty makeshifts and vile +hypocrisies. To scorn and revile wealth is the mere resource of +splenetic poverty. What cannot be purchased with coin of the realm? +First and foremost, freedom. The moneyed man is the sole king; the +herds of the penniless are but as slaves before his footstool. He +breathes with a sense of proprietorship in the whole globe-enveloping +atmosphere; for is it not in his power to inhale it wheresoever he +pleases? He puts his hand in his pocket, and bids with security for +every joy of body and mind; even death he faces with the comforting +consciousness that his defeat will only coincide with that of human +science. He buys culture, he buys peace of mind, he buys love.—You +think not! I don't use the word cynically, but in very virtuous +earnest. Make me a millionaire, and I will purchase the passionate +devotion of any free-hearted woman the world contains!" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark's pipe had gone out; he re-lit it, with the half-mocking smile +which always followed upon any more vehement utterance. +</P> + +<P> +"That I am poor," he went on presently, "is the result of my own +pigheadedness. My father was a stock-broker, in anything but +flourishing circumstances. He went in for some cursed foreign loan or +other,—I know nothing of such things,—and ruined himself completely. +He had to take a subordinate position, and died in it. I was about +seventeen then, and found myself alone in the world. A friend of my +father's, also a city man, Woodstock by name, was left my guardian. He +wanted me to begin a business career, and, like a fool, I wouldn't hear +of it. Mr. Woodstock and I quarrelled; he showed himself worthy of his +name, and told me plainly that, if I didn't choose to take his advice, +I must shift for myself. That I professed myself perfectly ready to do; +I was bent on an intellectual life, forsooth; couldn't see that the +natural order of things was to make money first and be intellectual +afterwards. So, lad as I was, I got a place as a teacher, and that's +been my business ever since." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark threw himself back and laughed carelessly. He strummed a little +with his fingers on the arm of the chair, and resumed: +</P> + +<P> +"I interested myself in religion and philosophy; I became an aggressive +disciple of free-thought, as it is called. Radicalism of every kind +broke out in me, like an ailment. I bought cheap free-thought +literature; to one or two papers of the kind I even contributed. I keep +these effusions carefully locked up, for salutary self-humiliation at +some future day, when I shall have grown conceited. Nay, I went +further. I delivered lectures at working-men's clubs, lectures with +violent titles. One, I remember, was called 'The Gospel of +Rationalism.' And I was enthusiastic in the cause, with an enthusiasm +such as I shall never experience again. Can I imagine myself writing +and speaking such things now-a-days? Scarcely: yet the spirit remains, +it is only the manifestations which have changed. I am by nature +combative; I feel the need of attacking the cherished prejudices of +society; I have a joy in outraging what are called the proprieties. And +I wait for my opportunity, which has yet to come." +</P> + +<P> +"How commonplace my life has been, in comparison," said Julian, after +an interval of thoughtfulness. +</P> + +<P> +"Your nature, I believe, is very pure, and therefore very happy. <I>I</I> am +what Browning somewhere calls a 'beast with a speckled hide,' and +happiness, I take it, I shall never know." +</P> + +<P> +Julian could begin to see that his friend took something of a pleasure +in showing and dwelling upon the worst side of his own character. +</P> + +<P> +"You will be happy," he said, "when you once find your true work, and +feel that you are doing it well." +</P> + +<P> +"But the motives, the motives!—Never mind, I've talked enough of +myself for one sitting. Don't think I've told you everything. Plenty +more confessions to come, when time and place shall serve. Little by +little you will get to know me, and by then will most likely have had +enough of me." +</P> + +<P> +"That is not at all likely; rather the opposite." +</P> + +<P> +When they left the house together, shortly after eleven, Julian's eye +fell upon the dark figure of a girl, standing by a gas-lamp on the +opposite side of the way. The figure held his gaze. Waymark moved on, +and he had to follow, but still looked back. The girl had a veil half +down upon her face; she was gazing after the two. She moved, and the +resemblance to Harriet was so striking that Julian again stopped. As he +did so, the figure turned away, and walked in the opposite direction, +till it was lost in the darkness. +</P> + +<P> +Julian went on, and for a time was very silent. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ACADEMICAL +</H3> + +<P> +The school in which Osmond Waymark taught was situated in "a pleasant +suburb of southern London" (Brixton, to wit); had its "spacious +playground and gymnasium" (the former a tolerable back-yard, the latter +a disused coach-house); and, as to educational features, offered, at +the choice of parents and guardians, either the solid foundation +desirable for those youths predestined to a commercial career, or the +more liberal training adapted to minds of a professional bias. Anything +further in the way of information was to be obtained by applying to the +headmaster, Dr. Tootle. +</P> + +<P> +At present the number of resident pupils was something under forty. The +marvel was how so many could be accommodated in so small a house. Two +fair-sized bedrooms, and a garret in which the servants could not be +persuaded to sleep, served as dormitories for the whole school; the +younger children sleeping two together. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark did not reside on the premises. For a stipulated sum of +thirteen pounds per quarter he taught daily from nine till five, with +an interval of an hour and a half at dinner-time, when he walked home +to Walcot Square for such meal as the state of his exchequer would +allow. Waymark occupied a prominent place in Dr. Tootle's prospectus. +As Osmond Waymark, B.A.,—the degree was a <I>bona fide</I> one, of London +University,—he filled the position of Senior Classical Master; +anonymously he figured as a teacher of drawing and lecturer on +experimental chemistry. The other two masters, resident, were Mr. +O'Gree and Herr Egger; the former, teacher of mathematics, assistant +classical master, and professor of gymnastics; the latter, teacher of +foreign languages, of music, and of dancing. Dr. Tootle took upon +himself the English branches, and, of course, the arduous duty of +general superintendence. He was a very tall, thin, cadaverous, +bald-headed man. Somehow or other he had the reputation of having, at +an earlier stage in his career, grievously over-exerted his brain in +literary labour; parents were found, on the whole, ready to accept this +fact as an incontestable proof of the doctor's fitness to fill his +present office, though it resulted in entire weeks of retreat from the +school-room under the excuse of fearful headaches. The only known +product of the literary toil which had had such sad results was a very +small English Grammar, of course used in the school, and always +referred to by the doctor as "my little compendium." +</P> + +<P> +Now and then, Waymark sought refuge from the loneliness of his room in +a visit to his colleagues at the Academy. The masters' sitting-room was +not remarkable for cosiness, even when a fire burnt in the grate and +the world of school was for the time shut out. The floor was +uncarpeted, the walls illustrated only with a few maps and diagrams. +There was a piano, whereon Herr Egger gave his music lessons. Few rooms +in existence could have excelled this for draughts; at all times there +came beneath the door a current of wind which pierced the legs like a +knife; impossible to leave loose papers anywhere with a chance of +finding them in the same place two minutes after. +</P> + +<P> +When Waymark entered this evening, he found his colleagues seated +together in silence. Mr. Philip O'Gree—"fill-up" was his own +pronunciation of the name—would have been worse than insignificant in +appearance, but for the expression of good-humour and geniality which +possessed his irregular features. He was red-headed, and had large red +whiskers. +</P> + +<P> +Herr Egger was a gentleman of very different exterior. Tall, thick, +ungainly, with a very heavy, stupid face, coarse hands, outrageous +lower extremities. A mass of coal-black hair seemed to weigh down his +head. His attire was un-English, and, one might suspect, had been +manufactured in some lonely cottage away in the remote Swiss valley +which had till lately been the poor fellow's home. Dr. Tootle never +kept his foreign masters long. His plan was to get hold of some +foreigner without means, and ignorant of English, who would come and +teach French or German in return for mere board and lodging; when the +man had learnt a little English, and was in a position to demand a +salary, he was dismissed, and a new professor obtained. Egger had +lately, under the influence of some desperate delusion, come to our +hospitable clime in search of his fortune. Of languages he could not be +said to know any; his French and his German were of barbarisms all +compact; English as yet he could use only in a most primitive manner. +He must have been the most unhappy man in all London. Finding himself +face to face with large classes of youngsters accustomed to no kind of +discipline, in whom every word he uttered merely excited outrageous +mirth, he was hourly brought to the very verge of despair. +Constitutionally he was lachrymose; tears came from him freely when +distress had reached a climax, and the contrast between his unwieldy +form and this weakness of demeanour supplied inexhaustible occasion for +mirth throughout the school. His hours of freedom were spent in abysmal +brooding. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark entered in good spirits. At the sight of him, Mr. O'Gree +started from the fireside, snatched up the poker, brandished it wildly +about his head, and burst into vehement exclamations. +</P> + +<P> +"Ha! ha! you've come in time, sir; you've come in time to hear my +resolution. I can't stand ut any longer; I won't stand ut a day longer! +Mr. Waymark, you're a witness of the outrageous way in which I'm +treated in this academy—the way in which I'm treated both by Dr. +Tootle and by Mrs. Tootle. You were witness of his insulting behaviour +this very afternoon. He openly takes the side of the boys against me; +he ridicules my accent; he treats me as no gentleman can treat another, +unless one of them's no gentleman at all! And, Mr. Waymark, I won't +stand ut!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. O'Gree's accent was very strong indeed, especially in his present +mood. Waymark listened with what gravity he could command. +</P> + +<P> +"You're quite right," he said in reply. "Tootle's behaviour was +especially scandalous to-day. I should certainly take some kind of +notice of it." +</P> + +<P> +"Notuss, sir, notuss! I'll take that amount of notuss of it that all +the metropoluss shall hear of my wrongs. I'll assault 'um, sir; I'll +assault 'um in the face of the school,—the very next time he dares to +provoke me! I'll rise in my might, and smite his bald crown with his +own ruler! I'm not a tall man, Mr. Waymark, but I can reach his crown, +and that he shall be aware of before he knows ut. He sets me at naught +in my own class, sir; he pooh-poohs my mathematical demonstrations, +sir; he encourages my pupils in insubordination! And Mrs. Tootle! +Bedad, if I don't invent some device for revenging myself on that +supercilious woman. The very next time she presumes to address me +disrespectfully at the dinner-table, sir, I'll rise in my might, +sir,—see if I don't!—and I'll say to her, 'Mrs. Tootle, ma'am, you +seem to forget that I'm a gentleman, and have a gentleman's +susceptibilities. When I treat <I>you</I> with disrespect, ma'am, pray tell +me of ut, and I'll inform you you speak an untruth!'" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark smiled, with the result that the expression of furious wrath +immediately passed from his colleague's countenance, giving place to a +broad grin. +</P> + +<P> +"Waymark, look here!" exclaimed the Irishman, snatching up a piece of +chalk, and proceeding to draw certain outlines upon a black-board. +"Here's Tootle, a veritable Goliath;—here's me, as it were David. +Observe; Tootle holds in his hand his 'little compendium,' raised in +haughty superciliousness. Observe me with the ruler!—I am on tiptoe; I +am taking aim; there is wrath in every sinew of my arrum! My arrum +descends on the very centre of Tootle's bald pate—" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. O'Gree!" +</P> + +<P> +The tableau was most effective. Unnoticed by either the Irishman or +Waymark, the door had opened behind them, and there had appeared a +little red-faced woman, in slatternly dress. It was Mrs. Tootle. She +had overheard almost the whole of O'Gree's vivid comment upon his +graphic illustration, in silence, until at length she could hold her +peace no longer, and gave utterance to the teacher's name in a voice +which trembled with rage and mortification. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. O'Gree! Are you aware of my presence, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +The chalk dropped from O'Gree's fingers, but otherwise his attitude +remained unaltered; struck motionless with horror, he stood pointing to +the drawing on the board, his face pale, his eyes fascinated by those +of Mrs. Tootle. The latter went on in a high note. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, sir, as soon as you have had enough of your insulting +buffoonery, perhaps you will have the goodness to attend to me, and to +your duty! What do you mean by allowing the dormitories to get into +this state of uproar? There's been a pillow-fight going on for the last +half-hour, and you pay no sort of attention; the very house is shaking?" +</P> + +<P> +"I protest I had not heard a sound, ma'am, or I should have—" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you hear nothing now, sir,—and the doctor suffering from one +of his very worst headaches, utterly unable to rest even if the house +were perfectly quiet!" +</P> + +<P> +O'Gree darted to the door, past Mrs. Tootle, and was lost to sight. +There was indeed a desperate uproar in the higher regions of the house. +In a moment the noise increased considerably. O'Gree had rushed up +without a light, and was battling desperately in the darkness with a +score of pillow-fighters, roaring out threats the while at the top of +his voice. Mrs. Tootle retired from the masters' room with much +affectation of dignity, leaving the door open behind her. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark slammed it to, and turned with a laugh to the poor Swiss. +</P> + +<P> +"In low spirits to-night, I'm afraid, Mr. Egger?" +</P> + +<P> +Egger let his chair tilt forward, rose slowly, drew a yellow +handkerchief from his mouth and wiped his eyes with it, then exclaimed, +in the most pitiful voice— +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Waymark, I have made my possible!—I can no more!" +</P> + +<P> +It was his regular phrase on these occasions; Waymark had always much +ado to refrain from laughter when he heard it repeated, but he did his +best to be seriously sympathetic, and to attempt consolation in such +German as was at his command. Egger's despondency only increased, and +he wept afresh to hear accents which were intelligible to him. Mr. +O'Gree re-entered the room, and the Swiss retired to his comer. +</P> + +<P> +Philip was hot with excitement and bodily exertion; he came in mopping +his forehead, and, without turning to Waymark, stood with eyes fixed on +the chalk caricatures. Very gradually he turned round. Waymark was +watching him, on his face an expression of subdued mirth. Their looks +met, and both exploded in laughter. +</P> + +<P> +"Bedad, my boy," exclaimed O'Gree, "I'm devilish sorry! I wouldn't have +had it happen for a quarter's salary,—though I sadly need a new pair +of breeches. She's a supercilious cat-o-mountain, and she loses no +opportunity of insulting me, but after all she's a woman." +</P> + +<P> +"By-the-by, Waymark," he added in a moment, "what a stunner the new +governess is! You're a lucky dog, to sit in the same room with her. +What's her name, I say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Enderby. You've seen her, have you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I caught a glimpse of her as she came downstairs; it was quite enough; +she floored me. She's never been out of my thoughts for a minute since +I saw her. 'I love her, I love her, and who shall dare, to chide me for +loving that teacher fair!'" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, yes," said Waymark, "she has a tolerable face; seems to me a +long way too good to be teaching those unlicked cubs. The dragon wasn't +too civil to her, though it was the first day." +</P> + +<P> +"Not civil to her? If I were present, and heard that woman breathe the +slight eat incivility, I'd—" +</P> + +<P> +He broke off in the midst of his vehemence with a startled look towards +the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Egger," he exclaimed, "a song; I beg, a song. Come, I'll lead off. +</P> + +<P> + 'Miss Enderby hath a beaming eye'—<BR> +</P> + +<P> +Bah! I'm not in voice to-night." +</P> + +<P> +Egger was persuaded to sit down to the piano. It was a mournful +instrument, reduced to discordant wheeziness by five-finger exercises, +but the touch of the Swiss could still evoke from it some kind of +harmony. He sang a Volkslied, and in a way which showed that there was +poetry in the man's nature, though his outward appearance gave so +little promise of it. His voice was very fair, and well suited to +express the tender pathos of these inimitable melodies. Waymark always +enjoyed this singing; his eyes brightened, and a fine emotion played +about his lips. And as he walked along the dark ways to his lodgings, +Egger's voice was still in his ears— +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Der Mensch wenn er fortgeht, der kommt nimmermefr</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"Heaven be thanked, no!" the young man said to himself. +</P> + +<P> +Poverty was his familiar companion, and had been so for years. His rent +paid each week, there often remained a sum quite insufficient for the +absolute necessities of existence; for anything more, he had to look to +chance pupils in the evenings, and what little he could earn with his +pen. He wrote constantly, but as yet had only succeeded in getting two +articles printed. Then, it was a necessity of his existence to mix from +time to time in the life of the town, and a stroll into the Strand +after nightfall inevitably led to the expenditure of whatever cash his +pocket contained. He was passionately found of the theatre; the lights +about the open entrance drew him on irresistibly, and if, as so often, +he had to choose between a meal and a seat in the gallery, the meal was +sacrificed. Hunger, indeed, was his normal state; semi-starvation, +alternating with surfeits of cheap and unwholesome food, brought about +an unhealthy condition of body. Often he returned to Walcot Square from +his day-long drudgery, and threw himself upon the bed, too exhausted to +light a fire and make his tea,—for he was his own servant in all +things except the weekly cleaning-out of the room. Those were dark +hours, and they had to be struggled through in solitude. +</P> + +<P> +Weary as he was he seldom went to bed before midnight, sometimes long +after, for he clung to those few hours of freedom with something like +savage obstinacy; during this small portion of each day at least, he +would possess his own soul, be free to think and read. Then came the +penalty of anguish unutterable when the morning had to be faced. These +dark, foggy February mornings crushed him with a recurring misery which +often drove him to the verge of mania. His head throbbing with the +torture of insufficient sleep, he lay in dull half-conscious misery +till there was no longer time to prepare breakfast, and he had to +hasten off to school after a mouthful of dry bread which choked him. +There had been moments when his strength failed, and he found his eyes +filling with tears of wretchedness. To face the hideous drudgery of the +day's teaching often cost him more than it had cost many men to face +the scaffold. The hours between nine and one, the hours between +half-past two and five, Waymark cursed them minute by minute, as their +awful length was measured by the crawling hands of the school-clock. He +tried sometimes, in mere self-defence, to force himself into an +interest in his work, that the time might go the quicker; but the +effort was miserably vain. His senses reeled amid the din and rattle of +classes where discipline was unknown and intelligence almost +indiscoverable. Not seldom his temper got the better even of sick +lassitude; his face at such times paled with passion, and in ungoverned +fury he raved at his tormentors. He awed them, too, but only for the +moment, and the waste of misery swallowed him up once more. +</P> + +<P> +Was this to be his life?—he asked himself. Would this last for ever? +</P> + +<P> +For some reason, the morning after the visit to the masters' room just +spoken of found him in rather better spirits than usual. Perhaps it was +that he had slept fairly well; a gleam of unwonted sunshine had +doubtless something to do with it. Yet there was another reason, though +he would scarcely admit it to himself. It was the day on which he gave +a drawing-lesson to Dr. Tootle's two eldest children. These +drawing-lessons were always given in a room upstairs, which was also +appropriated to the governess who came every morning to teach three +other young Tootles, two girls and a boy, the latter considered not yet +old enough to go into the school. On the previous day, Waymark had been +engaged in the room for half an hour touching up some drawings of boys +in the school, which were about to be sent home. He knew that he should +find a fresh governess busy with the children, the lady hitherto +employed having gone at a moment's notice after a violent quarrel with +Mrs. Tootle, an incident which had happened not infrequently before. +When he entered the room, he saw a young woman seated with her back to +him, penning a copy, whilst the children jumped and rioted about her in +their usual fashion. The late governess had been a mature person of +features rather serviceable than handsome; that her successor was of a +different type appeared sufficiently from the fair round head, the +gracefully handed neck, the perfect shoulders, the slight, beautiful +form. Waymark took his place and waited with some curiosity till she +moved. When she did so, and, rising, suddenly became aware of his +presence, there was a little start on both sides; Miss Enderby—so +Waymark soon heard her called by the pupils—had not been aware, owing +to the noise, of a stranger's entrance, and Waymark on his side was so +struck with the face presented to him. He had expected, at the most, a +pretty girl of the commonplace kind: he saw a countenance in which +refinement was as conspicuous as beauty. She was probably not more than +eighteen or nineteen. In speaking with the children she rarely if ever +smiled, but exhibited a gentle forbearance which had something touching +in it; it was almost as though she appealed for gentleness in return, +and feared a harsh word or look. +</P> + +<P> +"That's Mr. Waymark," cried out Master Percy Tootle, when his overquick +eyes perceived that the two had seen each other. "He's our +drawing-master. Do you like the look of him?" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Enderby reddened, and laid her hand on the boy's arm, trying to +direct his attention to a book. But the youngster shook off her gentle +touch, and looked at his brothers and sisters with a much too knowing +grin. Waymark had contented himself with a slight bow, and at once bent +again over his work. +</P> + +<P> +Very shortly the two eldest children, both girls, came in, and with +them their mother. The latter paid no attention to Waymark, but +proceeded to cross-examine the new governess as to her methods of +teaching, her experience, and so on, in the coarse and loud manner +which characterised Mrs. Tootle. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll find my children clever," said Mrs. Tootle, "at least, that has +been the opinion of all their teachers hitherto. If they don't make +progress, it certainly will not be their own fault. At the same time, +they are high-spirited, and require to be discreetly managed. This, as +I previously informed you, must be done without the help of punishment +in any shape; I disapprove of those methods altogether. Now let me hear +you give them a lesson in geography." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark retired at this juncture; he felt that it would be nothing less +than cruelty to remain. The episode, however, had lightened his day +with an interest of a very unusual kind. And so it was that, on the +following morning, not only the gleam of watery sunshine, but also the +thought of an hour to be spent in the presence of that timid face, +brought him on his way to the school with an unwonted resignation. +Unfortunately his drawing lessons were only given on two mornings in +the week. Still, there would be something in future to look forward to, +a novel sensation at The Academy. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE COUSINS +</H3> + +<P> +Harriet Smales had left home in a bad temper that Sunday afternoon, and +when she came back to tea, after her walk with Julian, her state of +mind did not appear to have undergone any improvement. She took her +place at the tea-table in silence. She and Mrs. Ogle were alone this +evening; the latter's husband—he was a journeyman printer, and left +entirely in his wife's hands the management of the shop in Gray's Inn +Road—happened to be away. Mrs. Ogle was a decent, cheerful woman, of +motherly appearance. She made one or two attempts to engage Harriet in +conversation, but, failing, subsided into silence, only looking askance +at the girl from time to time. When she had finished her tea and +bread-and-butter, Harriet coughed, and, without facing her companion, +spoke in rather a cold way. +</P> + +<P> +"I may be late back to-night, Mrs. Ogle. You won't lock the door?" +</P> + +<P> +"I sha'n't go to bed till eleven myself," was the reply. +</P> + +<P> +"But it may be after twelve when I get back." +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you going to, Harriet?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you must know always, Mrs. Ogle, I'm going to see my friend in +Westminster." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it ain't no business of mine, my girl," returned the woman, not +unkindly, "but I think it's only right I should have some idea where +you spend your nights. As long as you live in my house, I'm responsible +for you, in a way." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want any one to be responsible for me, Mrs. Ogle." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe not, my girl. But young people ain't always the best judges of +what's good for them, and what isn't. I don't think your cousin 'ud +approve of your being out so late. I shall sit up for you, and you +mustn't be after twelve." +</P> + +<P> +It was said very decidedly. Harriet made no reply, but speedily dressed +and went out. She took an omnibus eastward, and sought a neighbourhood +which most decently dressed people would have been chary of entering +after nightfall, or indeed at any other time, unless compelled to do +so. The girl found the object of her walk in a dirty little +public-house at the corner of two foul and narrow by-ways. She entered +by a private door, and passed into a parlour, which was behind the bar. +</P> + +<P> +A woman was sitting in the room, beguiling her leisure with a Sunday +paper. She was dressed with vulgar showiness, and made a lavish display +of jewellery, more or less valuable. Eight years ago she was a servant +in Mr. Smales's house, and her name was Sarah. She had married in the +meanwhile, and become Mrs. Sprowl. +</P> + +<P> +She welcomed her visitor with a friendly nod, but did not rise. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought it likely you'd look in, as you missed larst week. How's +things goin' in your part o' the world?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very badly," returned Harriet, throwing off her hat and cloak, and +going to warm her hands and feet at the fire. "It won't last much +longer, that's the truth of it." +</P> + +<P> +"Eh well, it's all in a life; we all has our little trials an' +troubles, as the sayin' is." +</P> + +<P> +"How's the baby?" asked Harriet looking towards a bundle of wrappers +which lay on a sofa. +</P> + +<P> +"I doubt it's too good for this world," returned the mother, grinning +in a way which made her ugly face peculiarly revolting. "Dessay it'll +join its little brother an' sister before long. Mike put it in the club +yes'day." +</P> + +<P> +The burial-club, Mrs. Sprowl meant, and Harriet evidently understood +the allusion. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you walked?" went on the woman, doubling up her paper, and then +throwing it aside. "Dessay you could do with somethin' to take the cold +orff yer chest.—Liz," she called out to some one behind the bar, with +which the parlour communicated by an open door; "two Irish!" +</P> + +<P> +The liquor was brought. Presently some one called to Mrs. Sprowl, who +went out. Leaning on the counter, in one of the compartments, was +something which a philanthropist might perhaps have had the courage to +claim as a human being; a very tall creature, with bent shoulders, and +head seeming to grow straight out of its chest; thick, grizzled hair +hiding almost every vestige of feature, with the exception of one +dreadful red eye, its fellow being dead and sightless. He had laid on +the counter, with palms downward as if concealing something, two huge +hairy paws. Mrs. Sprowl seemed familiar with the appearance of this +monster; she addressed him rather bad-temperedly, but otherwise much as +she would have spoken to any other customer. +</P> + +<P> +"No, you don't, Slimy! No, you don't! What you have in this house you +pay for in coppers, so you know. Next time I catch you tryin' to ring +the changes, I'll have you run in, and then you'll get a warm bath, +which you wouldn't partic'lar care for." +</P> + +<P> +The creature spoke, in hoarse, jumbled words, not easy to catch unless +you listened closely. +</P> + +<P> +"If you've any accusion to make agin me, Mrs. Sprowl, p'r'aps you'll +wait till you can prove it. I want change for arf a suvrin: ain't that +straight, now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Straight or not, you won't get no change over this counter, so there +you've the straight tip. Now sling yer 'ook, Slimy, an' get it +somewhere else." +</P> + +<P> +"If you've any accusion to make—" +</P> + +<P> +"Hold yer noise!—What's he ordered, Liz?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pot o' old six," answered the girl. +</P> + +<P> +"Got sixpence, Slimy?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I ain't, Mrs. Sprowl," muttered the creature. "I've got arf a +suvrin." +</P> + +<P> +"Then go an' get change for it. Now, once more, sling yer 'ook." +</P> + +<P> +The man moved away, sending back a horrible glare from his one fiery +eyeball. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Sprowl re-entered the parlour. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you'd take me on as barmaid, Sarah," Harriet said, when she had +drunk her glass of spirits. +</P> + +<P> +"Take you on?" exclaimed the other, with surprise. "Why, have you +fallen out with your cousin? I thought you was goin' to be married +soon." +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't say for sure that I was; I only said I might be. Any way it +won't be just yet, and I'm tired of my place in the shop." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you be a fool, Harriet," said the other, with genial frankness. +"You're well enough off. You stick where you are till you get married. +You wouldn't make nothin' at our business; 'tain't all sugar an' lemon, +an' sittin' drinkin' twos o' whisky till further orders. You want a +quiet, easy business, you do, an' you've got it. If you keep worritin' +yerself this way, you won't never make old bones, an' that's the truth. +You wait a bit, an' give yer cousin a chance to arst you,—if that's +what you're troublin' about." +</P> + +<P> +"I've given him lots o' chances," said Harriet peevishly. +</P> + +<P> +"Eh well, give him lots more, an' it'll all come right. We're all born, +but we're not buried.—Hev' another Irish?" +</P> + +<P> +Harriet allowed herself to be persuaded to take another glass. +</P> + +<P> +When the clock pointed to half-past nine, she rose and prepared to +depart. She had told Mrs. Sprowl that she would take the 'bus and go +straight home; but something seemed to have led her to alter her +purpose, for she made her way to Westminster Bridge, and crossed the +river. Then she made some inquiries of a policeman, and, in +consequence, got into a Kennington omnibus. Very shortly she was set +down close by Walcot Square. She walked about till, with some +difficulty in the darkness, she had discovered the number at which +Julian had told her his friend lived. The house found, she began to +pace up and down on the opposite pavement, always keeping her eyes +fixed on the same door. She was soon shivering in the cold night air, +and quickened her walk. It was rather more than an hour before the door +she was watching at length opened, and two friends came out together. +Harriet followed them as closely as she could, until she saw that she +herself was observed. Thereupon she walked away, and, by a circuit, +ultimately came back into the main road, where she took a 'bus going +northwards. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet's cousin, when alone of an evening, sat in his bedroom, the +world shut out, his thoughts in long past times, rebuilding the ruins +of a fallen Empire. +</P> + +<P> +When he was eighteen, the lad had the good luck to light upon a cheap +copy of Gibbon in a second-hand book-shop. It was the first edition; +six noble quarto volumes, clean and firm in the old bindings. Often he +had turned longing eyes upon newer copies of the great book, but the +price had always put them beyond his reach. That very night he solemnly +laid open the first volume at the first page, propping it on a couple +of meaner books, and, after glancing through the short Preface, began +to read with a mind as devoutly disposed as that of any pious believer +poring upon his Bible. "In the second century of the Christian AEra, +the empire of Rome comprehended the fairest part of the earth, and the +most civilised portion of mankind. The frontiers of that extensive +monarchy were guarded by ancient renown and disciplined valour." With +what a grand epic roll, with what anticipations of solemn music, did +the noble history begin! Far, far into the night Julian turned over +page after page, thoughtless of sleep and the commonplace duties of the +morrow. +</P> + +<P> +Since then he had mastered his Gibbon, knew him from end to end, and +joyed in him more than ever. Whenever he had a chance of obtaining any +of the writers, ancient or modern, to whom Gibbon refers, he read them +and added to his knowledge. About a year ago, he had picked up an old +Claudian, and the reading of the poet had settled him to a task which +he had before that doubtfully sought. He wanted to write either a poem +or a drama on some subject taken from the "Decline and Fall," and now, +with Claudian's help, he fixed upon Stilicho for his hero. The form, he +then decided, should be dramatic. Upon "Stilicho" he had now been +engaged for a year, and to-night he is writing the last words of the +last scene. Shortly after twelve he has finished it, and, throwing down +his pen, he paces about the room with enviable feelings. +</P> + +<P> +He had not as yet mentioned to Waymark the work he was engaged upon, +though he had confessed that he wrote verses at times. He wished to +complete it, and then read it to his friend. It was now only the middle +of the week, and though he had decided previously to wait till his +visit to Walcot Square next Sunday before saying a word about +"Stilicho," he could not refrain now from hastily penning a note to +Waymark, and going out to post it at once. +</P> + +<P> +When the day came, the weather would not allow the usual walk with +Harriet, and Julian could not help feeling glad that it was so. He was +too pre-occupied to talk in the usual way with the girl, and he knew +how vain it would be to try and make her understand his state of mind. +Still, he went to see her as usual, and sat for an hour in Mrs. Ogle's +parlour. At times, throughout the week, he had thought of the curious +resemblance between Harriet and the girl he had noticed on leaving +Waymark's house last Sunday, and now he asked her, in a half-jesting +way, whether it had really been she. +</P> + +<P> +"How could it be?" said Harriet carelessly. "I can't be in two places +at once." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you stay at home that evening?" +</P> + +<P> +"No,—not all the evening." +</P> + +<P> +"What friends are they you go to, when you are out at night, Harriet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, some relations of the Colchester people.—I suppose you've been +spending most of your time in Kennington since Sunday?" +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't left home. In fact, I've been very busy. I've just finished +some work that has occupied me for nearly a year." +</P> + +<P> +After all, he could not refrain from speaking of it, though he had made +up his mind not to do so. +</P> + +<P> +"Work? What work?" asked Harriet, with the suspicious look which came +into her grey eyes whenever she heard something she could not +understand. +</P> + +<P> +"Some writing. I've written a play." +</P> + +<P> +"A play? Will it be acted?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no, it isn't meant for acting." +</P> + +<P> +"What's the good of it then?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's written in verse. I shall perhaps try to get it published." +</P> + +<P> +"Shall you get money for it?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is scarcely likely. In all probability I shall not be able to get +it printed at all." +</P> + +<P> +"Then what's the good of it?" repeated Harriet, still suspicious, and a +little contemptuous. +</P> + +<P> +"It has given me pleasure, that's all." +</P> + +<P> +Julian was glad when at length he could take his leave. Waymark +received him with a pleased smile, and much questioning. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you keep it such a secret? I shall try my hand at a play some +day or other, but, as you can guess, the material will scarcely be +sought in Gibbon. It will be desperately modern, and possibly not +altogether in accordance with the views of the Lord Chamberlain. What's +the time? Four o'clock. We'll have a cup of coffee and then fall to. +I'm eager to hear your 'deep-chested music,' your 'hollow oes and aes.'" +</P> + +<P> +The reading took some three hours; Waymark smoked a vast number of +pipes the while, and was silent till the close. Then he got up from his +easy-chair, took a step forward, and held out his hand. His face shone +with the frankest enthusiasm. He could not express himself with +sufficient vehemence. Julian sat with the manuscript rolled up in his +hands, on his face a glow of delight. +</P> + +<P> +"It's very kind of you to speak in this way," he faltered at length. +</P> + +<P> +"Kind! How the deuce should I speak? But come, we will have this off to +a publisher's forth with. Have you any ideas for the next work?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; but so daring that they hardly bear putting into words." +</P> + +<P> +"Try the effect on me." +</P> + +<P> +"I have thought," said Julian, with embarrassment, "of a long poem—an +Epic. Virgil wrote of the founding of Rome; her dissolution is as grand +a subject. It would mean years of preparation, and again years in the +writing. The siege and capture of Rome by Alaric—what do you think?" +</P> + +<P> +"A work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of +wine. But who knows?" +</P> + +<P> +There was high talk in Walcot Square that evening. All unknown to its +other inhabitants, the poor lodging-house was converted into a temple +of the Muses, and harmonies as from Apollo's lyre throbbed in the +hearts of the two friends. The future was their inexhaustible subject, +the seed-plot of strange hopes and desires. They talked the night into +morning, hardly daunted when perforce they remembered the day's work. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE WAY OUT +</H3> + +<P> +The ruling spirit of the Academy was Mrs. Tootle. Her husband's +constitutional headache, and yet more constitutional laziness, left to +her almost exclusively the congenial task of guiding the household, and +even of disciplining the school. In lesson-time she would even flit +about the classrooms, and not scruple to administer sharp rebukes to a +teacher whose pupils were disorderly, the effect of this naturally +being to make confusion worse confounded. The boys of course hated her +with the hatred of which schoolboys alone are capable, and many a +practical joke was played at her expense, not, however, with impunity. +Still more pronounced, if possible, was the animus entertained against +Mrs. Tootle's offspring, and it was upon the head of Master Felix that +the full energy of detestation concentrated itself. He was, in truth, +as offensive a young imp as the soil of a middle-class boarding-school +could well produce. If Mrs. Tootle ruled the Academy, he in turn ruled +Mrs. Tootle, and on all occasions showed himself a most exemplary +autocrat. His position, however, as in the case of certain other +autocratic rulers, had its disadvantages; he could never venture to +wander out of earshot of his father or mother, who formed his +body-guard, and the utmost prudence did not suffice to protect him from +an occasional punch on the head, or a nip in a tender part, meant +probably as earnest of more substantial kindnesses to be conferred upon +him at the very earliest opportunity. +</P> + +<P> +To poor Egger fell the unpleasant duty of instructing these young +Tootles in the elements of the French language. For that purpose he +went up every morning to the class-room on the first floor, and for a +while relieved Miss Enderby of her charge. With anguish of spirit he +felt the approach of the moment which summoned him to this dread duty, +for, in addition to the lively spite of Master Felix and the other +children, he had to face the awful superintendence of Mrs. Tootle +herself; who was invariably present at these lessons. Mrs. Tootle had +somehow conceived the idea that French was a second mother-tongue to +her, and her intercourse with Mr. Egger was invariably carried on in +that language. Now this was a refinement of torture, seeing that it was +often impossible to gather a meaning from her remarks, whilst to show +any such difficulty was to incur her most furious wrath. Egger trembled +when he heard the rustle of her dress outside, the perspiration stood +on his forehead as he rose and bowed before her. +</P> + +<P> +"Bon jour, Monsieur," she would come in exclaiming. "Quel un beau +matin! Vous trouverez les jeunes dames et messieurs en bons esprits ce +matin." +</P> + +<P> +The spirits of Master Felix had manifested themselves already in his +skilfully standing a book upright on the teacher's chair, so that when +Egger subsided from his obeisance he sat down on a sharp edge and was +thrown into confusion. +</P> + +<P> +"Monsieur Felix," cried his mother, "que faites-vous la?—Les jeunes +messieurs anglais sont plus spirituels que les jeunes messieurs +suisses, n'est ce pas, Monsieur Egger?" +</P> + +<P> +"En effet, madame," muttered the teacher, nervously arranging his books. +</P> + +<P> +"Monsieur Egger," exclaimed Mrs. Tootle, with a burst of good humour, +"est-ce vrai ce qu'on dit que les Suisses sont si excessivement sujets +a etre <I>chez-malades</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +The awful moment had come. What on earth did <I>chez-malades</I> mean? Was +he to answer yes or no? In his ignorance of her meaning, either reply +might prove offensive. He reddened, fidgeted on his chair, looked about +him with an anguished mute appeal for help. Mrs. Tootle repeated her +question with emphasis and a change of countenance which he knew too +well. The poor fellow had not the tact to appear to understand, and, as +he might easily have done, mystify her by some idiomatic remark. He +stammered out his apologies and excuses, with the effect of making Mrs. +Tootle furious. +</P> + +<P> +Then followed a terrible hour, at the end of which poor Egger rushed +down to the Masters' Room, covered his head with his hands and wept, +regardless of the boy strumming his exercises on the piano. Waymark +shortly came in to summon him to some other class, whereupon he rose, +and, with gestures of despair, groaned out— +</P> + +<P> +"Let me, let me!—I have made my possible; I can no more!" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark alone feared neither Mrs. Tootle nor her hopeful son, and, in +turn, was held in some little awe by both of them. The lady had at +first tried the effect of interfering in his classes, as she did in +those of the other masters, but the result was not encouraging. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think, Mr. Waymark," she had said one day, as she walked +through the school-room and paused to listen to our friend's +explanation of some rule in English grammar; "don't you think it would +be better to confine yourself to the terms of the doctor's little +compendium? The boys are used to it." +</P> + +<P> +"In this case," replied Waymark calmly, "I think the terms of the +compendium are rather too technical for the fourth class." +</P> + +<P> +"Still, it is customary in this school to use the compendium, and it +has never yet been found unsatisfactory. Whilst you are discoursing at +such length, I observe your class gets very disorderly." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark looked at her, but kept silence. Mrs. Tootle stood still. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you waiting for, Mr. Waymark?" she asked sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Till your presence has ceased to distract the boys' attention, Mrs. +Tootle," was the straightforward reply. +</P> + +<P> +The woman was disconcerted, and, as Waymark preserved his calm silence, +she had no alternative but to withdraw, after giving him a look not +easily forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +But there was another person whose sufferings under the tyranny of +mother and children were perhaps keenest of all. Waymark had frequent +opportunities of observing Miss Enderby under persecution, and learned +to recognise in her the signs of acutest misery. Many times he left the +room, rather than add to her pain by his presence; very often it was as +much as he could do to refrain from taking her part, and defending her +against Mrs. Tootle. He had never been formally introduced to Miss +Enderby, and during several weeks held no kind of communication with +her beyond a "good morning" when he entered the room and found her +there. The first quarter of a year was drawing to a close when there +occurred the first conversation between them. Waymark had been giving +some of the children their drawing-lesson, whilst the governess taught +the two youngest. The class-time being over, the youngsters all +scampered off. For a wonder, Mrs. Tootle was not present, anti Waymark +seized the opportunity to exchange a word with the young lady. +</P> + +<P> +"I fear your pupils give you dreadful trouble," he said, as he stood by +the window pointing a pencil. +</P> + +<P> +She started at being spoken to. +</P> + +<P> +"They are full of life," she replied, in the low sad voice which was +natural to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Which would all seem to be directed towards shortening that of +others," said Waymark, with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"They are intelligent," the governess ventured to suggest, after a +silence. "It would be a pleasure to teach them if they—if they were a +little more orderly." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. If their parents had only common sense—" +</P> + +<P> +He stopped. A flush had risen to the girl's face, and a slight +involuntary motion of her hand seemed to warn him. The reason was that +Mrs. Tootle stood in the doorway, to which he had his back turned. Miss +Enderby said a quick "good morning" and left him. +</P> + +<P> +He was taking up some papers, preparatory to leaving the room, when he +noticed that the governess had left behind her a little book in which +she was accustomed to jot down lessons for the children. He took it up +and examined it. On the first page was written "Maud Enderby, South +Bank, Regent's Park." He repeated the name to himself several times. +Then he smiled, recalling the way in which the governess had warned him +that Mrs. Tootle could overhear what he said. Somehow, this slight +gesture of the girl's had seemed to bring them closer to each other; +there was an unpremeditated touch of intimacy in the movement, which it +pleased him to think of. This was by no means the first time that he +had stood with thoughts busied about her, but the brief exchange of +words and what had followed gave something of a new complexion to his +feelings. Previously he had been interested in her; her striking +features had made him wonder what was the history which their +expression concealed; but her extreme reticence and the timid coldness +of her look had left his senses unmoved. Now he all at once experienced +the awakening of quite a new interest; there had been something in her +eyes as they met his which seemed to desire sympathy; he was struck +with the possibilities of emotion in the face which this one look had +revealed to him. Her situation seemed, when he thought of it, to affect +him more strongly than hitherto; he felt that it would be more +difficult henceforth to maintain his calmness when he saw her insulted +by Mrs. Tootle or disrespectfully used by the children. +</P> + +<P> +Nor did the new feelings subside as rapidly as they had arisen. At home +that night he was unable to settle to his usual occupations, and, as a +visit to his friends in the Masters' Room would have been equally +distasteful, he rambled about the streets and so tired himself. His +duties did not take him up to the children's classroom on the following +morning, but he invented an excuse for going there, and felt rewarded +by the very faint smile and the inclination of the head with which Miss +Enderby returned his "good morning." Day after day, he schemed to +obtain an opportunity of speaking with her again, and he fancied that +she herself helped to remove any chances that might have occurred. +Throughout his lessons, his attention remained fixed upon her; he +studied her face intently, and was constantly discovering in it new +meanings. When she caught his eyes thus busy with her, she evinced, for +a moment, trouble and uneasiness; he felt sure that she arranged her +seat so as to have her back to him more frequently than she had been +accustomed to do. Her work appeared to him to be done with less +self-forgetfulness than formerly; the rioting and impertinence of the +children seemed to trouble her more; she bore Mrs. Tootle's +interference with something like fear. Once, when Master Felix had gone +beyond his wonted licence, in his mother's absence, Waymark went so far +as to call him to order. As soon as he had spoken, the girl looked up +at him in a startled way, and seemed silently to beg him to refrain. +All this only strengthened the influence she exercised upon Waymark. +</P> + +<P> +Since the climax of wretchedness which had resulted in his +advertisement and the forming of Julian Casti's acquaintance, a +moderate cheerfulness had possessed him. Now he once more felt the +clouds sinking about him, was aware of many a threatening portent, the +meaning whereof he too well understood. There had been a week or two of +prevailing bad weather, a state of things which always wrought +harmfully upon him; his thoughts darkened under the dark sky, and the +daily downpour of rain sapped his energies. It was within a few days of +Easter, but the prospect of a holiday had no effect upon him. Night +after night he lay in fever and unrest. He felt as though some voice +were calling upon him to undertake a vaguely hazardous enterprise which +yet he knew not the nature of. +</P> + +<P> +On one of these evenings, Mr. O'Gree announced to him that Miss Enderby +was going to give up her position at the end of the quarter. Philip had +gathered this from a conversation heard during the day between Dr. +Tootle and his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"The light of my life will be gone out," exclaimed O'Gree, "when I am +no longer able to catch a glimpse of her as she goes past the +schoolroom door. And I've never even had a chance of speaking to her. +You know the tale of Raleigh and Queen Elizabeth. Suppose I were to +rush out and throw my top-coat on the muddy door-step, just as she's +going out; d'ye think she'd say thank you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Probably," muttered Waymark, without knowing what he said. It was Mr. +O'Gree's habit to affect this violent devotion to each new governess in +turn, but Waymark did not seem to find the joke amusing at present. +</P> + +<P> +"Bedad, I'll do it then! Or, rather, I would, if I'd two top-coats. +Hang it! There's no behaving like a gentleman on twenty-five pounds a +year." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark walked about the streets the greater part of the night, and the +next morning came to school rather late. Dr. Tootle had to consult with +him about some matter as soon as he arrived. +</P> + +<P> +"You seem indisposed, Mr. Waymark," the doctor remarked, when he had in +vain tried to elicit intelligible replies to his questions. +</P> + +<P> +"I am a little out of sorts," the other returned carelessly. "Perhaps +we could talk about these things to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"As you please," said Dr. Tootle, a little surprised at his assistant's +indifference. +</P> + +<P> +It was a drawing-lesson morning. As he went upstairs, his ears apprised +him of the state of things he would find in Miss Enderby's room. The +approach of the Easter holidays was making the youngsters even more +than usually uproarious, and their insubordination had passed beyond +all pretence of attending to tasks. When Waymark entered, his first +glance, as always, was towards the governess. She looked harassed and +ill; was in vain endeavouring to exert some authority with her gentle +voice. Her eyes showed unmistakable gratitude as the teacher appeared, +for his approach meant that she would be relieved from the three elder +children. Waymark called sharply to his pupils to come and take their +places, but without any attention on their part. Master Felix openly +urged the rest to assume a defiant attitude, and began to improvise +melodies on a trumpet formed by rolling up a copy-book. +</P> + +<P> +"Felix," said Miss Enderby, "give me your copy-book and go to the +drawing-lesson." +</P> + +<P> +The boy removed the trumpet from his mouth, and, waving it once round +his head, sent it flying across the room at the speaker; it hit her on +the cheek. In the same minute, Waymark had bent across his knee a large +pointer which stood in a corner of the room, and had snapped it into +two pieces. Holding the lighter of these in one hand, with the other +hand he suddenly caught Master Felix by the coat-collar, and in a +second had him out of the room and on to the landing. Then did the +echoes of the Academy wake to such a bellowing as they had probably +never heard before. With a grip impossible even to struggle against, +Waymark held the young imp under his arm, and plied the broken pointer +with great vigour; the stripes were almost as loud as the roarings. +There was a rush from the rooms below in the direction of the +disturbance; all the boys were in a trice leaping about delightedly on +the stairs, and behind them came O'Gree, Egger, and Dr. Tootle himself. +From the room above rushed out all the young Tootles, yelling for help. +Last of all, from still higher regions of the house there swept down a +vision of disordered female attire, dishevelled hair, and glaring eyes; +it was Mrs. Tootle, disturbed at her toilet, forgetting all +considerations of personal appearance at the alarming outcry. Just as +she reached the spot, Waymark's arm dropped in weariness; he flung the +howling young monkey into one corner, the stick into another, and +deliberately pulled his coat-sleeves into position once more. He felt +vastly better for the exercise, and there was even a smile on his +heated face. +</P> + +<P> +"You brutal ruffian!" shrieked Mrs. Tootle. "How dare you touch my +child? You shall answer for this in the police court, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Waymark," cried her husband, who had struggled to the scene through +the crowd of cheering boys, "what's the meaning of this? You forget +yourself, sir. Who gave you authority to use corporal chastisement?" +</P> + +<P> +"The boy has long deserved a good thrashing," he said, "and I'm glad I +lost my temper sufficiently to give him a portion of his deserts. If +you wish to know the immediate cause, it simply was that he threw a +book at his governess's head and hit her." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. O'Gree," called out the doctor, "take your boys back to their +duties, sir! I am quite unable to understand this disgraceful lack of +discipline. Every boy who is not at his seat in one minute will have +five hundred verses of the Psalms to write out!—Mr. Waymark, I shall +be obliged to you if you will step into my study." +</P> + +<P> +Five minutes after, Waymark was closeted with Dr. Tootle. The latter +had all at once put off his appearance of indignation. +</P> + +<P> +"Really," he began, "it's a great pity you let yourself be carried away +like that. I think it very probable indeed that Felix deserved +castigation of some kind, but you would have done much better to report +him to me, you know, and let me see to it. You have put me in an +awkward position. I fear you must make an apology to Mrs. Tootle, and +then perhaps the matter can be allowed to blow over." +</P> + +<P> +"I think not," replied Waymark, whose mind was evidently made up. There +was a look of recklessness on his face which one could at any time have +detected lurking beneath the hard self-control which usually marked +him. "I don't feel disposed to apologise, and I am tired of my position +here. I must give it up." +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Tootle was annoyed. It would not be easy to get another teacher of +the kind at so cheap a rate. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, you don't mean this," he said. "You are out of temper for the +moment. Perhaps the apology could be dispensed with; I think I may +promise that it can be. The lad will be no worse for his little +correction. Possibly we can come to some more satisfactory arrangements +for the future—" +</P> + +<P> +"No," interposed Waymark; "I have quite made up my mind. I mean to give +up teaching altogether; it doesn't suit me. Of course I am willing to +come as usual the next two days." +</P> + +<P> +"You are aware that this notice should have been given me at the +beginning of the quarter?" hinted the principal. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes. Of course you will legally owe me nothing. I am prepared for +that." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I shall have to consider it. But I still think that you—" +</P> + +<P> +"As far as I am concerned, the matter is decided. I go at Easter." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. I think you are blind to your own interest, but of course +you do as you please. If Mrs. Tootle should press me to take out a +summons against you for assault, of course I—" +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, Dr. Tootle." +</P> + +<P> +The summons was not taken out, but Waymark's resolution suffered no +change. There was another interview between him and the principal, from +which he issued with the sum of six pounds ten in his pocket, being +half the quarter's salary. He had not applied for this, but did not +refuse it when it was offered. Seeing that the total amount of cash +previously in his possession was something less than five shillings, he +did wisely, perhaps, to compromise with his dignity, and let Dr. Tootle +come out of the situation with a certain show of generosity. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY THE WAYSIDE +</H3> + +<P> +"So there ends another chapter. How many more to the end of the story? +How many more scenes till the farce is played out? There is something +flattering to one's vanity in this careless playing with fate; it is +edifying, moreover, to sot circumstances at defiance in this way, now +and then, to assert one's freedom. Freedom! What a joke the word must +be to whoever is pulling the wires and making us poor puppets dance at +his pleasure. Pity that we have to pay the piper so heavily for our +involuntary jigging!" +</P> + +<P> +A passage from the letter Waymark wrote to his friend Casti, on the +evening when his school-work came to an end. That night he sought rest +early, and slept well. The sensations with which he woke next morning +were such as he had not experienced for a long time. He was at +liberty,—with six pounds ten in his pocket. He could do what he liked +and go whither he liked,—till lack of a dinner should remind him that +a man's hardest master is his own body. He dressed leisurely, and, +having dressed, treated himself to an egg for breakfast. Absolutely no +need for hurry; the thought of school-hours dismissed for ever; a +horizon quite free from the vision of hateful toil; in the real sky +overhead a gleam of real sunshine, as if to make credible this sudden +change. His mood was still complete recklessness, a revolt against the +idea of responsibility, indifference to all beyond the moment. +</P> + +<P> +It was Thursday; the morrow would be Good Friday; after that the +intervention of two clear days before the commencement of a new week In +the meantime the sun was really shining, and the fresh spring air +invited to the open ways. Waymark closed the door of his room behind +him, and went downstairs, whistling to himself. But, before reaching +the bottom, he turned and went back again. It seemed warm enough to sit +in one of the parks and read. He laid his hand on a book, almost at +haphazard, to put in his pocket. Then he walked very leisurely along +Kennington Road, and on, and on, till he had crossed the river. +</P> + +<P> +Wondering in which direction he should next turn, he suddenly found +himself repeating, with unaccountable transition of thought, the words +"South Bank, Regent's Park." In all likelihood, he said to himself +presently, they were suggested by some inscription on a passing +omnibus, noted unconsciously. The address was that he had read in Miss +Enderby's note-book. Why not ramble in that direction as well as +another, and amuse himself by guessing which house it was that the +governess lived in? He had not seen her since the uproar which had +terminated his connection with the young Tootles. Was it true that she +had then already decided to give up her position? If not, his outbreak +of temper had doubtless resulted unpleasantly for her, seeing that Mrs. +Tootle would almost certainly dismiss her out of mere spite. Several +times during the last two days he had thought of conveying to her a +note by some means, to express in some way or other this fear, and the +regret it caused him; the real motive, he knew well enough, would be a +hope of receiving a reply from her. But now she had perhaps left the +school, and he did not know her exact address. He made his way across +the Park in the direction of St. John's Wood, and had soon reached +South Bank. +</P> + +<P> +He had walked once the length of the road, and was looking at the +nearest houses before he turned, when a lady came round the corner and +paused to avoid him, as he stood in the middle of the pavement. It was +Miss Enderby herself. Her embarrassment was apparently not as great as +his own. She smiled with friendliness; seemed indeed in a happier frame +of mind than any in which Waymark had as yet seen her. But she did not +offer her hand, and the other, having raised his hat, was almost on the +point of passing on, when he overcame his diffidence and spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"I came here to try and discover where you lived, Miss Enderby." +</P> + +<P> +There was something grotesque in this abruptness; his tone only saved +it from impertinence. The girl looked at him with frank surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Pray don't misunderstand me," he went on hurriedly. "I wished, if +possible, to—well, to tell you that I feared I acted thoughtlessly the +other day; without regard, I mean, to any consequences it might have +for yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"Rather I ought to thank you for defending me. It made no difference in +the way you mean. It had already been decided that I should leave. I +did not suit Mrs. Tootle." +</P> + +<P> +It was very pleasant to look down into her earnest face, and watch it +as she spoke in this unrestrained way. She seemed so slight and frail, +evidently thought so depreciatingly of herself, looked as though her +life had in it so little joy, that Waymark had speedily assumed a +confident attitude, and gazed at her as a man does at one whom he would +gladly guard and cherish. +</P> + +<P> +"You were certainly unsuited for the work, in every way," he said, with +a smile. "Your efforts were quite wasted there. Still, I am sorry you +have left." +</P> + +<P> +"I am going into a family," were her next words, spoken almost +cheerfully. "It is in the country, in Essex. There are only two +children, quite young. I think I shall succeed better with them; I hope +so." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I suppose," Waymark said, moving a little and keeping his eyes +fixed on her with an uneasy look, "I shall—I must say good-bye to you, +for the last time?" +</P> + +<P> +A scarcely heard "yes" fell from her lips. Her eyes were cast down. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to make a bold request," Waymark exclaimed, with a sort of +recklessness, though his voice expressed no less respect than hitherto. +"Will you tell me where you are going to?" +</P> + +<P> +She told him, without looking up, and with a recurrence to the timid +manner which had marked her in the schoolroom. This gave Waymark +encouragement; his confidence grew as hers diminished. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you let me write to you—occasionally? Would you let me keep up +our acquaintance in this way,—so that, if you return to London, I +might look forward to meeting you again some time?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl answered timidly— +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be glad to keep up our acquaintance. I shall be glad to hear +from you." +</P> + +<P> +Then, at once feeling that she had gone too far, her confusion made her +pale. Waymark held out his hand, as if to take leave. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you very much," he said warmly. "I am very grateful." +</P> + +<P> +She gave him a quick "good-bye," and then passed on. Waymark moved at +once in the opposite direction, turning the corner. Then he wished to +go back and notice which house she entered, but would not do so lest +she should observe him. He walked straight forwards. +</P> + +<P> +How the aspect of the world had changed for him in these few minutes; +what an incredible revolution had come to pass in his own desires and +purposes t The intellectual atmosphere he breathed was of his own +creation; the society of cultured people he had never had an +opportunity of enjoying. A refined and virtuous woman had hitherto +existed for him merely in the sanctuary of his imagination; he had +known not one such. If he passed one in the street, the effect of the +momentary proximity was only to embitter his thoughts, by reminding him +of the hopeless gulf fixed between his world and that in which such +creatures had their being. In revenge, he tried to soil the purity of +his ideals; would have persuaded himself that the difference between +the two spheres was merely in externals, that he was imposed upon by +wealth, education, and superficial refinement of manners. Happily he +had never really succeeded in thus deceiving himself, and the effort +had only served to aggravate his miseries. The habit of mind, however, +had shown itself in the earlier stages of his acquaintance with Miss +Enderby. The first sight of her had moved him somewhat, but scarcely +with any foreshadowing of serious emotion. He felt that she was +different from any woman with whom he had ever stood on an equal +footing; but, at the same time, the very possibility of establishing +more or less intimate relations with her made him distrustful of his +judgment. In spite of himself, he tried to disparage her qualities. She +was pretty, he admitted, but then of such a feeble, characterless type; +doubtless her understanding corresponded with the weakness of her +outward appearance. None the less, he had continued to observe her +keenly, and had noted with pleasure every circumstance which +contradicted his wilful depreciation of her. His state of mind after +the thrashing he gave to young Tootle had been characteristic. What had +been the cause of his violence? Certainly not uncontrollable anger, for +he had in reality been perfectly cool throughout the affair; simply, +then, the pleasure of avenging Miss Enderby. And for this he had +sacrificed his place, and left himself without resources. He had acted +absurdly; certainly would not have repeated the absurdity had the scene +been to act over again. This was not the attitude of one in love, and +he knew it. Moreover, though he had thought of writing to her, it would +in reality have cost him nothing if she had forthwith passed out of his +sight and knowledge. Now how all this had been altered, by a mere +chance meeting. The doubts had left him; she was indeed the being from +a higher world that he would have liked to believe her from the first; +the mysterious note of true sympathy had been struck in that short +exchange of words and looks, and, though they had taken leave of each +other for who could say how long, mutual knowledge was just beginning, +real intercourse about to be established between them. He might write +to her, and of course she would reply. +</P> + +<P> +He walked without much perception of time or distance, and found +himself at home just before nightfall. He felt disposed for a quiet +evening, to be spent in the companionship of his thoughts. But when he +had made his coffee and eaten with appetite after the day's rambling, +restlessness again possessed him. After all, it was not retirement that +he needed; these strange new Imaginings would consort best with motion +and the liveliness of the streets. So he put out his lamp, and once +more set forth. The night air freshened his spirits; he sang to himself +as he went along. It was long since he had been to a theatre, and just +now he 'vas so hopelessly poor that he could really afford a little +extravagance. So he was soon sitting before the well-known drop of a +favourite play-house, as full of light-hearted expectancy as a boy who +is enjoying a holiday. The evening was delightful, and passed all too +quickly. +</P> + +<P> +The play over, he was in no mood to go straight home. He lit a cigar +and drifted with the current westward, out of the Strand and into Pall +Mall. A dispute between a cabdriver and his fare induced him to pause +for a moment under the colonnade, and, when the little cluster of +people had moved on, he still stood leaning against one of the pillars, +enjoying the mild air and the scent of his cigar. He felt his elbow +touched, and, looking round with indifference, met the kind of greeting +for which he was prepared. He shook his head and did not reply; then +the sham gaiety of the voice all at once turned to a very real misery, +and the girl began to beg instead of trying to entice him in the +ordinary way. He looked at her again, and was shocked at the ghastly +wretchedness of her daubed face. She was ill, she said, and could +scarcely walk about, but must get money somehow; if she didn't, her +landlady wouldn't let her sleep in the house again, and she had nowhere +else to go to. There could be no mistake about the genuineness of her +story, at all events as far as bodily suffering went. Waymark +contrasted her state with his own, and took out what money he had in +his pocket; it was the change out of a sovereign which he had received +at the theatre, and he gave her it all. She stared, and did not +understand. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you coming with me?" she asked, feeling obliged to make a hideous +attempt at professional coaxing in return for such generosity. +</P> + +<P> +"Good God, no!" Waymark exclaimed. "Go home and take care of yourself." +</P> + +<P> +She thanked him warmly, and turned away at once. As his eye followed +her, he was aware that somebody else had drawn near to him from behind. +This also was a girl, but of a different kind. She was well dressed, +and of graceful, rounded form; a veil almost hid her face, but enough +could be seen to prove that she had good looks. +</P> + +<P> +"That a friend of yours?" she asked abruptly, and her voice was +remarkably full, clear, and sweet. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark answered with a negative, looking closely at her. +</P> + +<P> +"Then why did you give her all that money?" +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know what I gave her?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was standing just behind here, and could see." +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing; only I should think you are one out of a thousand. You saved +me a sovereign, too; I've watched her begging of nearly a dozen people, +and I couldn't have stood it much longer." +</P> + +<P> +"You would have given her a sovereign?" +</P> + +<P> +"I meant to, if she'd failed with you." +</P> + +<P> +"Is she a friend of yours?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never saw her before to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you must be one out of a thousand." +</P> + +<P> +The girl laughed merrily. +</P> + +<P> +"In that case," she said, "we ought to know each other, shouldn't we?" +</P> + +<P> +"If we began by thinking so well of each other," returned Waymark, +smiling, "we should not improbably suffer a grievous disappointment +before long." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, <I>you</I> might. You have to take my generosity on trust, but I have +proof of yours." +</P> + +<P> +"You're an original sort of girl," said Waymark, throwing away the end +of his cigar. "Do you talk to everybody in this way?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pooh, of course not. I shouldn't be worth much if I couldn't suit my +conversation to the man I want to make a fool of. Would you rather have +me talk in the usual way? Shall I say—" +</P> + +<P> +"I had rather not." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I knew that." +</P> + +<P> +"And how?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, <I>you</I> don't wear a veil, if I do." +</P> + +<P> +"You can read faces?" +</P> + +<P> +"A little, I flatter myself. Can you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Give me a chance of trying." +</P> + +<P> +She raised her veil, and he inspected her for some moments, then looked +away. +</P> + +<P> +"Excellently well, if God did all," he observed, with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"That's out of a play," she replied quickly. "I heard it a little time +ago, but I forget the answer. I'd have given anything to be able to cap +you! Then you'd have put me down for a clever woman, and I should have +lived on the reputation henceforth and for ever. But it's all my own, +indeed; I'm not afraid of crying." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Do</I> you ever cry? I can't easily imagine it." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, sometimes," she answered, sighing, and at the same time +lowering her veil again. "But you haven't read my face for me." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a face I'm sorry to have seen." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" she asked, holding her hands clasped before her, the palms +turned outwards. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall think of it often after tonight, and imagine it with all its +freshness gone, and marks of suffering and degradation upon it." +</P> + +<P> +"Suffering, perhaps; degradation, no. Why should I be degraded?" +</P> + +<P> +"You can't help yourself. The life you have chosen brings its +inevitable consequences." +</P> + +<P> +"Chosen!" she repeated, with an indignant face. "How do you know I had +any choice in the matter? You have no right to speak contemptuously, +like that." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps not. Certainly not. I should have said—the life you are +evidently leading." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I don't know that it makes so much difference. I suppose +everybody has a choice at all events between life and death, and you +mean that I ought to have killed myself rather than come to this. +That's my own business, however, and—" +</P> + +<P> +A man had just passed behind them, and, catching the sound of the +girl's voice, had turned suddenly to look at her. She, at the same +moment, looked towards him, and stopped all at once in her speech. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you walking up Regent Street?" she asked Waymark, in quite a +different voice. "Give me your arm, will you?" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark complied, and they walked together in the direction she +suggested. +</P> + +<P> +"What is the matter with you?" he asked. "Why are you trembling?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't look round. It's that fellow behind us; I know he is following." +</P> + +<P> +"Somebody you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and hate. Worse than that, I'm afraid of him. Will you keep with +me till he's gone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I will. What harm can he do you though?" +</P> + +<P> +"None that I know of. It's a strange stupid feeling I have. I can't +bear the sight of him. Don't look round!" +</P> + +<P> +"Has he been a—a friend of yours?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no; not in that way. But he follows me about. He'll drive me out +of London, I know." +</P> + +<P> +They had reached Piccadilly Circus. +</P> + +<P> +"Look back now," she said, "and see if he's following still." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark turned his head; the man was at a little distance behind. He +stopped when he saw himself observed, and stood on the edge of the +pavement, tapping his boot with his cane. He was a tall and rather +burly fellow, well dressed, with a clean-shaven face. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's make haste round the corner," the girl said, "and get into the +restaurant. You must have some supper with me." +</P> + +<P> +"I should be very happy, had I a penny in my pocket." +</P> + +<P> +"See how easily good deeds are forgotten," returned the other, laughing +in the old way. "Now comes my turn to give proof of generosity. Come +and have some supper all the same." +</P> + +<P> +"No; that's out of the question." +</P> + +<P> +"Fiddlestick Surely you won't desert me when I ask your protection? +Come along, and pay me back another time, if you like." +</P> + +<P> +They walked round the corner, then the girl started and ran at her full +speed. Waymark followed in the same way, somewhat oppressed by a sense +of ridiculousness. They reached the shelter of the restaurant, and the +girl led the way upstairs, laughing immoderately. +</P> + +<P> +Supper was served to them, and honoured with due attention by both. +Waymark had leisure to observe his companion's face in clearer light. +It was beautiful, and, better still, full of character. +</P> + +<P> +He presently bent forward to her, and spoke in a low voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't this the man who followed us just coming in now? Look, he has +gone to the table on the right." +</P> + +<P> +She looked round hastily, and shuddered, for she had met the man's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you tell me?" she exclaimed impatiently. "Now I can't finish +my supper. Wait till he has given his order, and then we will go." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark examined this mysterious persecutor. In truth, the countenance +was no good one, and a woman might well dislike to have such eyes +turned upon her. It was a strong face; coarse originally, and, in +addition to the faults of nature, it now bore the plainest traces of +hard living. As soon as he perceived Waymark and his companion, he +fixed them with his eyes, and scarcely looked away as long as they +remained in the room. The girl seemed shrinking under this gaze, though +she sat almost with her back to him. She ceased talking, and, as soon +as she saw that Waymark had finished, made a sign to him to pay quickly +(with a sovereign she pushed across the table) and let them be gone. +They rose, accordingly, and left. The man watched them, but remained +seated. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you in a hurry to get home?" the girl asked, when they were in the +street again. +</P> + +<P> +"No; time is of no consequence to me." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you live far off?" +</P> + +<P> +"In Kennington. And you?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you like, I'll show you. Let us walk quickly. I feel rather cold." +</P> + +<P> +She led the way into the Strand. At no great distance from Temple Bar +she turned off into a small court. +</P> + +<P> +"This is a queer place to live in," observed Waymark, as he looked up +at the dark houses. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be afraid," was the good-humoured reply, as she opened the door +with a latch-key. They went up two flights of stairs, then entered a +room where a bright fire was burning. Waymark's conductor held a piece +of paper to the flame, and lit a lamp. It was a small, pleasantly +furnished sitting-room. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you play?" Waymark asked, seeing an open piano, with music upon it. +</P> + +<P> +"I only wish I could. My landlady's daughter is giving me lessons. But +I think I'm getting on. Listen to me do this exercise." +</P> + +<P> +She sat down, and, with much conscientious effort, went over some +simple bars. Then she looked up at her companion and caught him smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," she exclaimed, in a pet, "you must begin at the beginning in +everything, mustn't you? Come and let me hear what you can do." +</P> + +<P> +"Not even so much." +</P> + +<P> +"Then don't laugh at a poor girl doing her best. You have such a queer +smile too; it seems both ill-natured and good-natured at the same time. +Now wait a minute till I come back." +</P> + +<P> +She went into an inner room, and closed the door behind her. In five +minutes it opened again. She appeared in a dressing gown and with her +feet in slippers. Her fine hair fell heavily about her shoulders; in +her arms she held a beautiful black cat, with white throat and paws. +</P> + +<P> +"This is my child. Don't you admire him? Shake hands, Grim." +</P> + +<P> +"Why Grim?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's short for Grimalkin. The name of a cat in a hook of fairy tales I +used to be fond of reading. Don't you think he's got a beautiful face, +and a good deal more intelligent than some people we could mention? I +picked him up on our door-step, two months ago. Oh, you never saw such +a wretched little object, dripping with rain, and with such a poor +starved little face, and bones almost coming through the skin. He +looked up at me, and begged me as plain as plain could be to have pity +on him and help him; didn't you, Grimmy? And so I brought him upstairs, +and made him comfortable, and now we shall never part.—Do you like +animals?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +The door of the room suddenly opened, and there sprang in a +fresh-coloured young girl in hat and jacket, short, plump, pretty, and +looking about seventeen. She started back on seeing that the room was +occupied. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, Sally?" asked Grim's mistress, with a good-natured laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Mrs. Walter told me you wasn't in yet; I'm awful sorry, I beg +your pardon." +</P> + +<P> +She spoke with a strong south-west-country accent. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you want me?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's only for Grim," returned Sally, showing something which she held +wrapped up in paper. "I'd brought un home a bit o' fish, a nice bit +without bone; it'll just suit he." +</P> + +<P> +"Then come and give it he," said the other, with a merry glance at +Waymark. "But he mustn't make a mess on the hearthrug." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, trust un for that," cried Sally. "He won't pull it off the paper." +</P> + +<P> +Grim was accordingly provided with his supper, and Sally ran away with +a "good-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Who's that?" Waymark asked. "Where on earth does she come from?" +</P> + +<P> +"She's from Weymouth. They talk queerly there, don't they? She lives in +the house, and goes to business. Sally and I are great friends." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you come from the country?" Waymark inquired, as she sat down in an +easy-chair and watched the cat eating. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I'm a London girl. I've never been out of the town since I was a +little child." +</P> + +<P> +"And how old are you now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Guess." +</P> + +<P> +"Not twenty." +</P> + +<P> +"Eighteen a month ago. All my life before me, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark kept silence for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"How do you like my room?" she asked suddenly, looking round. +</P> + +<P> +"It's very comfortable. I always thought there were nothing but +business places all about here. I should rather like to live in the +very middle of the town, like this." +</P> + +<P> +"Should you? That's just what I like. Oh, how I enjoy the noise and the +crowds! I should be ill if I had to live in one of those long, dismal +streets, where the houses are all the same shape, and costermongers go +bawling about all day long. I suppose you live in a place like that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very much the same." +</P> + +<P> +In taking his handkerchief out, Waymark just happened to feel a book in +his overcoat-pocket. He drew it forth to see what it was, having +forgotten entirely that he had been carrying the volume about with him +since morning. +</P> + +<P> +"What's that?" asked the girl. "Will you let me look? Is it a tale? +Lend it me; will you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you read books?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes; why not? Let me keep this till you come again. Is this your +name written here—Osmond Waymark?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. And what is your name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ida Starr." +</P> + +<P> +"Ida? That's a beautiful name. I was almost afraid to ask you, for fear +it should be something common." +</P> + +<P> +"And why shouldn't I have a common name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because you are by no means a common girl." +</P> + +<P> +"You think not? Well, perhaps you are right. But may I keep the book +till I see you again?" +</P> + +<P> +"I had better give it you, for it isn't very likely you will see me +again." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"My acquaintance would be anything but profitable to you. I often +haven't enough money to live on, and—" +</P> + +<P> +Ida stooped down and played for a few moments with Grim, who turned +over lazily on to his back, and stroked his mistress's hands delicately +with his soft white paws. +</P> + +<P> +"But you are a gentleman," she said, rising again, and rustling over +the pages of the book she still held. "Are you in the city?" +</P> + +<P> +"The Lord deliver me!" +</P> + +<P> +"What then?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you must be rich." +</P> + +<P> +"It by no means follows. Yesterday I was a teacher in a school. To-day +I am what is called out of work." +</P> + +<P> +"A teacher. But I suppose you'll get another place." +</P> + +<P> +"No. I've given it up because I couldn't endure it any longer." +</P> + +<P> +"And how are you going to live?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have no idea." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you must have been very foolish to give away your money like that +to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't pretend to much wisdom. If I had had another sovereign in my +pocket, no doubt I should have given it you before this, and you +wouldn't have refused it." +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know?" she asked sharply. "Why should you think me selfish?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I have no reason to. And by the by, I already owe you money +for the supper. I will send it you to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not bring it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Better not. I have a good deal of an unpleasant quality which people +call pride, and I don't care to make myself uncomfortable +unnecessarily." +</P> + +<P> +"You can't have more pride than I have. Look." She held out her hands. +"Will you be my friend, really my friend? You understand me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think I understand, but I doubt whether it is possible." +</P> + +<P> +"Everything is possible. Will you shake hands with me, and, when you +come to see me again, let us meet as if I were a modest girl, and you +had got to know me in a respectable house, and not in the street at +midnight?" +</P> + +<P> +"You really wish it? You are not joking?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am in sober earnest, and I wish it. You won't refuse?" +</P> + +<P> +"If I did I should refuse a great happiness." +</P> + +<P> +He took her hand and again released it. +</P> + +<P> +"And now look at the time," said she, pointing to a clock on the +mantelpiece. "Half-past one. How will you get home?" +</P> + +<P> +"Walk. It won't take me more than an hour. May I light my pipe before I +start?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you may. When shall I see you again?" +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we say this night next week?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well. Come here any time you like in the evening. I will be at +home after six. And then I can give you your book back." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark lit his pipe, stooped to give Grim a stroke, and buttoned up +his coat. Ida led the way downstairs. They shook hands again, and +parted. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +RENT DAY +</H3> + +<P> +It was much after his usual hour when Waymark awoke on Good Friday +morning. He had been troubled throughout the night with a strangely +vivid dream, which seemed to have repeated itself several times; when +he at length started into consciousness the anguish of the vision was +still upon him. +</P> + +<P> +He rose at once, and dressed quickly, doing his best to shake off the +clinging misery of sleep. In a little while it had passed, and he tried +to go over in his mind the events of the preceding day. Were they, too, +only fragments of a long dream? Surely so many and strange events could +not have crowded themselves into one period of twelve hours; and for +him, whose days passed with such dreary monotony. The interview with +Maud Enderby seemed so unnaturally long ago; that with Ida Starr, so +impossibly fresh and recent. Yet both had undoubtedly taken place. He, +who but yesterday morning had felt so bitterly his loneliness in the +world, and, above all, the impossibility of what he most longed +for—woman's companionship—found himself all at once on terms of at +least friendly intimacy with two women, both young, both beautiful, yet +so wholly different. Each answered to an ideal which he cherished, and +the two ideals were so diverse, so mutually exclusive. The experience +had left him in a curious frame of mind. For the present, he felt cool, +almost indifferent, to both his new acquaintances. He had asked and +obtained leave to write to Maud Enderby; what on earth could he write +about? How could he address her? He had promised to go and see Ida +Starr, on a most impracticable footing. Was it not almost certain that, +before the day came round, her caprice would have vanished, and his +reception would prove anything but a flattering one? The feelings which +both girls had at the time excited in him seemed artificial; in his +present mood he in vain tried to resuscitate his interest either in the +one or the other. It was as though he had over-exerted his emotional +powers, and they lay exhausted. Weariness was the only reality of which +he was conscious. He must turn his mind to other things. Having +breakfasted, he remembered what day it was, and presently took down a +volume of his Goethe, opening at the Easter morning scene in Faust, +favourite reading with him. This inspired him with a desire to go into +the open air; it was a bright day, and there would be life in the +streets. Just as he began to prepare himself for walking, there came a +knock at his door, and Julian Casti entered. +</P> + +<P> +"Halloa!" Waymark cried. "I thought you told me you were engaged with +your cousin to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"I was, but I sent her a note yesterday to say I was unable to meet +her." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why didn't you write at the same time and tell me you were +coming? I might have gone out for the day." +</P> + +<P> +"I had no intention of coming then." +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter? You look out of sorts." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't feel in very good spirits. By the by, I heard from the +publishers yesterday. Here's the note." +</P> + +<P> +It simply stated that Messrs. So-and-so had given their best attention +to the play of "Stilicho," which Mr. Casti had been so good as to +submit to them, and regretted their inability to make any proposal for +its publication, seeing that its subject was hardly likely to excite +popular interest. They thanked the author for offering it to them, and +begged to return the MS. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it's a disappointment," said Waymark, "but we must try again. I +myself am so hardened to this kind of thing that I fear you will think +me unsympathetic. It's like having a tooth out. You never quite get +used to it, but you learn after two or three experiments to gauge the +moment's torture at its true value. Re-direct your parcel, and fresh +hope beats out the old discouragement." +</P> + +<P> +"It wasn't altogether that which was making me feel restless and +depressed," Casti said, when they had left the house and were walking +along. "I suppose I'm not quite right in health just at present. I seem +to have lost my natural good spirits of late; the worst of it is, I +can't settle to my day's work as I used to. In fact, I have just been +applying for a new place, that of dispenser at the All Saints' +Hospital. If I get it, it would make my life a good deal more +independent. I should live in lodgings of my own, and have much more +time to myself." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark encouraged the idea strongly. But his companion could not be +roused to the wonted cheerfulness. After a long silence, he all at once +put a strange question, and in an abashed way. +</P> + +<P> +"Waymark, have you ever been in love?" +</P> + +<P> +Osmond laughed, and looked at his friend curiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Many thousand times," was his reply. +</P> + +<P> +"No, but seriously," urged Julian. +</P> + +<P> +"With desperate seriousness for two or three days at a time. Never +longer." +</P> + +<P> +"Well now, answer me in all earnestness. Do you believe it possible to +love a woman whom in almost every respect you regard as your inferior, +who you know can't understand your thoughts and aspirations, who has no +interest in anything above daily needs?" +</P> + +<P> +"Impossible to say. Is she good-looking?" +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose she is not; yet not altogether plain." +</P> + +<P> +"Then does she love you?" +</P> + +<P> +Julian reddened at the direct application. +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose she seems to." +</P> + +<P> +"Seems to, eh?—On the whole, I should say that I couldn't declare it +possible or the contrary till I had seen the girl. I myself should be +very capable of falling desperately in love with a girl who hadn't an +idea in her head, and didn't know her letters. All I should ask would +be passion in return, and—well, yes, a pliant and docile character." +</P> + +<P> +"You are right; the character would go for much. Never mind, we won't +speak any more of the subject. It was an absurd question to ask you." +</P> + +<P> +"Nevertheless, you have made me very curious." +</P> + +<P> +"I will tell you more some other time; not now. Tell me about your own +plans. What decision have you come to?" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark professed to have formed no plan whatever. This was not +strictly true. For some months now, ever and again, as often indeed as +he had felt the burden of his schoolwork more than usually intolerable, +his thoughts had turned to the one person who could be of any +assistance to him, and upon whom he had any kind of claim; that was +Abraham Woodstock, his father's old friend. He had held no +communication with Mr. Woodstock for four years; did not even know +whether he was living. But of him he still thought, now that absolute +need was close at hand, and, as soon as Julian Casti had left him +to-day, he examined a directory to ascertain whether the accountant +still occupied the house in St. John Street Road. Apparently he did. +And the same evening Waymark made up his mind to visit Mr. Woodstock on +the following day. +</P> + +<P> +The old gentleman was sitting alone when the servant announced a +visitor. In personal appearance he was scarcely changed since the visit +of his little grand-daughter. Perhaps the eye was not quite so vivid, +the skin on forehead and cheeks a trifle less smooth, but his face had +the same healthy colour; there was the same repose of force in the huge +limbs, and his voice had lost nothing of its resonant firmness. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" he exclaimed, as Waymark entered. "You! I've been wondering where +you were to be found." +</P> + +<P> +The visitor held out his hand, and Abraham, though he did not rise, +smiled not unpleasantly as he gave his own. +</P> + +<P> +"You wanted to see me?" Waymark asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, yes. I suppose you've come about the mines." +</P> + +<P> +"Mines? What mines?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, then you haven't come about them. You didn't know the Llwg Valley +people have begun to pay a dividend?" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark remembered that one of his father's unfortunate speculations +had been the purchase of certain shares in some Welsh mines. The money +thus invested had remained, for the last nine years, wholly +unproductive. Mr. Woodstock explained that things were looking up with +the company in question, who had just declared a dividend of 4 per +cent. on all their paid-up shares. +</P> + +<P> +"In other words," exclaimed Waymark eagerly, "they owe me some money?" +</P> + +<P> +"Which you can do with, eh?" said Abraham, with a twinkle of +good-humoured commiseration in his eye. +</P> + +<P> +"Perfectly. What are the details?" +</P> + +<P> +"There are fifty ten-pound shares. Dividend accordingly twenty pounds." +</P> + +<P> +"By Jingo! How is it to be got at?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you feel disposed to sell the shares?" asked the old man, looking +up sideways, and still smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"No; on the whole I think not." +</P> + +<P> +"Ho, ho, Osmond, where have you learnt prudence, eh?—Why don't you sit +down?—If you didn't come about the mines, why did you come, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not to mince matters," said Waymark, taking a chair, and speaking in +an off-hand way which cost him much effort, "I came to ask you to help +me to some way of getting a living." +</P> + +<P> +"Hollo!" exclaimed the old man, chuckling. "Why, I should have thought +you'd made your fortune by this time. Poetry doesn't pay, it seems?" +</P> + +<P> +"It doesn't. One has to buy experience. It's no good saying that I +ought to have been guided by you five years ago. Of course I wish I had +been, but it wasn't possible. The question is, do you care to help me +now?" +</P> + +<P> +"What's your idea?" asked Abraham, playing with his watch-guard, a +smile as of inward triumph flitting about his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I have none. I only know that I've been half-starved for years in the +cursed business of teaching, and that I can't stand it any longer. I +want some kind of occupation that will allow me to have three good +meals every day, and leave me my evenings free. That isn't asking much, +I imagine; most men manage to find it. I don't care what the work is, +not a bit. If it's of a kind which gives a prospect of getting on, all +the better; if that's out of the question, well, three good meals and a +roof shall suffice." +</P> + +<P> +"You're turning out a devilish sensible lad, Osmond," said Mr. +Woodstock, still smiling. "Better late than never, as they say. But I +don't see what you can do. You literary chaps get into the way of +thinking that any fool can make a man of business, and that it's only a +matter of condescending to turn your hands to desk work and the ways +clear before you. It's a mistake, and you're not the first that'll find +it out." +</P> + +<P> +"This much I know," replied Waymark, with decision. "Set me to anything +that can be learnt, and I'll be perfect in it in a quarter the time it +would take the average man." +</P> + +<P> +"You want your evenings free?" asked the other, after a short +reflection. "What will you do with them?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall give them to literary work." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought as much. And you think you can be a man of business and a +poet at the same time? No go, my boy. If you take up business, you drop +poetising. Those two horses never yet pulled at the same shaft, and +never will." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock pondered for a few moments. He thrust out his great legs +with feet crossed on the fender, and with his hands jingled coin in his +trouser-pockets. +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you what," he suddenly began. "There's only one thing I know of +at present that you're likely to be able to do. Suppose I gave you the +job of collecting my rents down east." +</P> + +<P> +"Weekly rents?" +</P> + +<P> +"Weekly. It's a rough quarter, and they're a shady lot of customers. +You wouldn't find the job over-pleasant, but you might try, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"What would it bring me in,—to go at once to the point?" +</P> + +<P> +"The rents average twenty-five pounds. Your commission would be seven +per cent. You might reckon, I dare say, on five-and-thirty shillings a +week." +</P> + +<P> +"What is the day for collecting?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mondays; but there's lots of 'em you'd have to look up several times +in a week. If you like I'll go round myself on Tuesday—Easter Monday's +no good—and you can come with me." +</P> + +<P> +"I will go, by all means," exclaimed Waymark +</P> + +<P> +Talk continued for some half-hour. When Waymark rose at length, he +expressed his gratitude for the assistance promised. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well," said the other, "wait till we see how things work. I +shouldn't wonder if you throw it up after a week or two. However, be +here on Tuesday at ten. And prompt, mind: I don't wait for any man." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark was punctual enough on the following Tuesday, and the two drove +in a hansom eastward. It was rather a foggy morning, and things looked +their worst. After alighting they had a short walk. Mr. Woodstock +stopped at the end of an alley. +</P> + +<P> +"You see," he said, "that's Litany Lane. There are sixteen houses in +it, and they're all mine. Half way down, on the left, runs off Elm +Court, where there are fourteen houses, and those are all mine, too." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark looked. Litany Lane was a narrow passage, with houses only on +one side; opposite to them ran a long high wall, apparently the limit +of some manufactory. Two posts set up at the entrance to the Lane +showed that it was no thoroughfare for vehicles. The houses were of +three storeys. There were two or three dirty little shops, but the rest +were ordinary lodging-houses, the front-doors standing wide open as a +matter of course, exhibiting a dusky passage, filthy stairs, with +generally a glimpse right through into the yard in the rear. In Elm +Court the houses were smaller, and had their fronts whitewashed. Under +the archway which led into the Court were fastened up several written +notices of rooms to be let at this or that number. The paving was in +evil repair, forming here and there considerable pools of water, the +stench and the colour whereof led to the supposition that the +inhabitants facilitated domestic operations by emptying casual vessels +out of the windows. The dirty little casements on the ground floor +exhibited without exception a rag of red or white curtain on the one +side, prevailing fashion evidently requiring no corresponding drapery +on the other. The Court was a <I>cul de sac</I>, and at the far end stood a +receptacle for ashes, the odour from which was intolerable. Strangely +enough, almost all the window-sills displayed flower-pots, and, despite +the wretched weather, several little bird-cages hung out from the upper +storeys. In one of them a lark was singing briskly. +</P> + +<P> +They began their progress through the tenements, commencing at the top +of Litany Lane. Many of the rooms were locked, the occupiers being away +at their work, but in such case the rent had generally been left with +some other person in the house, and was forthcoming. But now and then +neither rent nor tenant was to be got at, and dire were the threats +which Abraham bade the neighbours convey to the defaulters on their +return. His way with one and all was curt and vigorous; to Waymark it +seemed needlessly brutal. A woman pleading inability to make up her +total sum would be cut short with a thunderous oath, and the assurance +that, if she did not pay up in a day or two, every stick would be +carried off. Pitiful pleading for time had absolutely no effect upon +Abraham. Here and there e tenant would complain of high rent, and point +out a cracked ceiling, a rotten piece of stairs, or something else +imperatively calling for renovation. "If you don't like the room, clear +out," was the landlord's sole reply to all such speeches. +</P> + +<P> +In one place they came across an old Irish woman engaged in washing. +The room was hung with reeking clothes from wall to wall. For a time it +was difficult to distinguish objects through the steam, and Waymark, +making his way in, stumbled and almost fell over an open box. From the +box at once proceeded a miserable little wail, broken by as terrible a +cough as a child could be afflicted with; and Waymark then perceived +that the box was being used as a cradle, in which lay a baby gasping in +the agonies of some throat disease, whilst drops from the wet clothing +trickled on to its face. +</P> + +<P> +On leaving this house, they entered Elm Court. Here, sitting on the +doorstep of the first house, was a child of apparently nine or ten, and +seemingly a girl, though the nondescript attire might have concealed +either sex, and the face was absolutely sexless in its savagery. Her +hair was cut short, and round her neck was a bit of steel chain, +fastened with string. On seeing the two approach, she sprang up, and +disappeared with a bound into the house. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the most infernal little devil in all London, I do believe," +said Mr. Woodstock, as they began to ascend the stairs. "Her mother +owes two weeks, and if she don't pay something to-day, I'll have her +out. She'll be shamming illness, you'll see. The child ran up to +prepare her." +</P> + +<P> +The room in question was at the top of the house. It proved to be quite +bare of furniture. On a bundle of straw in one corner was lying a +woman, to all appearances <I>in extremis</I>. She lay looking up to the +ceiling, her face distorted into the most ghastly anguish, her lips +foaming; her whole frame shivered incessantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ha, I thought so," exclaimed Abraham as he entered. "Are you going to +pay anything this week?" +</P> + +<P> +The woman seemed to be unconscious. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you got the rent?" asked Mr. Woodstock, turning to the child, who +had crouched down in another corner. +</P> + +<P> +"No, we ain't," was the reply, with a terribly fierce glare from eyes +which rather seemed to have looked on ninety years than nine. +</P> + +<P> +"Then out you go! Come, you, get up now; d' you hear? Very well; come +along, Waymark; you take hold of that foot, and I'll take this. Now, +drag her out on to the landing." +</P> + +<P> +They dragged her about half-way to the door, when suddenly Waymark felt +the foot he had hold of withdrawn from his grasp, and at once the woman +sprang upright. Then she fell on him, tooth and nail, screaming like +some evil beast. Had not Abraham forthwith come to the rescue, he would +have been seriously torn about the face, but just in time the woman's +arms were seized in a giant grip, and she was flung bodily out of the +room, falling with a crash upon the landing. Then from her and the +child arose a most terrific uproar of commination; both together yelled +such foulness and blasphemy as can only be conceived by those who have +made a special study of this vocabulary, and the vituperation of the +child was, if anything, richer in quality than the mother's. The +former, moreover, did not confine herself to words, but all at once +sent her clenched fist through every pain of glass in the window, +heedless of the fearful cuts she inflicted upon herself, and uttering a +wild yell of triumph at each fracture. Mr. Woodstock was too late to +save his property, but he caught up the creature like a doll, and flung +her out also on to the landing, then coolly locked the door behind him, +put the key in his pocket, and, letting Waymark pass on first, +descended the stairs. The yelling and screeching behind them continued +as long as they were in the Court, but it drew no attention from the +neighbours, who were far too accustomed to this kind of thing to heed +it. +</P> + +<P> +In the last house they had to enter they came upon a man asleep on a +bare bedstead. It was difficult to wake him. When at length he was +aroused, he glared at them for a moment with one blood-shot eye (the +other was sightless), looking much like a wild beast which doubts +whether to spring or to shrink back. +</P> + +<P> +"Rent, Slimy," said Mr. Woodstock with more of good humour than usual. +</P> + +<P> +The man pointed to the mantelpiece, where the pieces of money were +found to be lying. Waymark looked round the room. Besides the bedstead, +a table was the only article of furniture, and on it stood a dirty jug +and a glass. Lying about was a strange collection of miscellaneous +articles, heaps of rags and dirty paper, bottles, boots, bones. There +were one or two chairs in process of being new-caned; there was a +wooden frame for holding glass, such as is carried about by itinerant +glaziers, and, finally, there was a knife-grinding instrument, adapted +for wheeling about the streets. The walls were all scribbled over with +obscene words and drawings. On the inside of the door had been fitted +two enormous bolts, one above and one below. +</P> + +<P> +"How's trade, Slimy?" inquired Mr. Woodstock. +</P> + +<P> +"Which trade, Mr. Woodstock?" asked the man in return, in a very husky +voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, trade in general." +</P> + +<P> +"There never was sich times since old Scratch died," replied Slimy, +shaking his head. "No chance for a honest man." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you're in luck. This is the new collector, d'you see." +</P> + +<P> +"I've been a-looking at him," said Slimy, whose one eye, for all that, +had seemed busy all the time in quite a different direction. "I seen +him somewheres, but I can't just make out where." +</P> + +<P> +"Not many people you haven't seen, I think," said Abraham, nodding, as +he went out of the room. Waymark followed, and was glad to get into the +open streets again. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A MAN-TRAP +</H3> + +<P> +Julian Casti was successful in his application for the post of +dispenser at the All Saints' Hospital, and shortly after Easter he left +the shop in Oxford Street, taking lodgings in Beaufort Street, Chelsea. +His first evening there was spent in Waymark's company, and there was +much talk of the progress his writing would make, now that his hours of +liberty were so considerably extended. For the first time in his life +he was enjoying the sense of independence. Waymark talked of moving +from Walcot Square, in order to be nearer to his friend. He, too, was +possessed of more freedom than had been the case for a long time, and +his head was full of various fancies. They would encourage each other +in their work, afford by mutual appreciation that stimulus which is so +essential to the young artist. +</P> + +<P> +But in this world, though man may propose, it is woman who disposes. +And at this moment, Julian's future was being disposed of in a manner +he could not well have foreseen. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet Smales had heard with unconcealed pleasure of his leaving the +shop and taking lodgings of his own. She had been anxious to come and +see the rooms, and, though the following Sunday was appointed for her +visit, she could not wait so long, but, to her cousin's surprise, +presented herself at the house one evening, and was announced by the +landlady, who looked suspicious. Julian, with some nervousness, +hastened to explain that the visitor was a relative, which did not in +the least alter his landlady's preconceived ideas. Harriet sat down and +looked about her with a sigh of satisfaction. If she could but have +such a home! Girls had no chance of getting on as men did. If only her +father could have lived, things would have been different. Now she was +thrown on the world, and had to depend upon her own hard work. Then she +gave way to an hysterical sob, and Julian—who felt sure that the +landlady was listening at the door—could only beg her nervously not to +be so down-hearted. +</P> + +<P> +"Whatever success I have," he said to her, "you will share it." +</P> + +<P> +"If I thought so!" she sighed, looking down at the floor, and moving +the point of her umbrella up and down. Harriet had saturated her mind +with the fiction of penny weeklies, and owed to this training all +manner of awkward affectations which she took to be the most becoming +manifestations of a susceptible heart. At times she would express +herself in phrases of the most absurdly high-flown kind, and lately she +had got into the habit of heaving profound sighs between her sentences. +Julian was not blind to the meaning of all this. His active employments +during the past week had kept his thoughts from brooding on the matter, +and he had all but dismissed the trouble it had given him. But this +visit, and Harriet's demeanour throughout it, revived all his +anxieties. He came back from accompanying his cousin part of her way +home in a very uneasy frame of mind. What could he do to disabuse the +poor girl of the unhappy hopes she entertained? The thought of giving +pain to any most humble creature was itself a pain unendurable to +Julian. His was one of those natures to which self-sacrifice is +infinitely easier than the idea of sacrificing another to his own +desires or even necessities, a vice of weakness often more deeply and +widely destructive than the vices of strength. +</P> + +<P> +The visit having been paid, it was arranged that on the following +Sunday Julian should meet his cousin at the end of Gray's Inn Road as +usual. On that day the weather was fine, but Harriet came out in no +mood for a walk. She had been ailing for a day or two, she said, and +felt incapable of exertion; Mrs. Ogle was away from home for the day, +too, and it would be better they should spend the afternoon together in +the house. Julian of course assented, as always, and they established +themselves in the parlour behind the shop. In the course of talk, the +girl made mention of an engraving Julian had given her a week or two +before, and said that she had had it framed and hung it in her bed-room. +</P> + +<P> +"Do come up and look at it," she exclaimed; "there's no one in the +house. I want to ask you if you can find a better place for it. It +doesn't show so well where it is." +</P> + +<P> +Julian hesitated for a moment, but she was already leading the way, and +he could not refuse to follow. They went up to the top of the house, +and entered a little chamber which might have been more tidy, but was +decently furnished. The bed was made in a slovenly way, the mantelpiece +was dusty, and the pictures on the walls hung askew. Harriet closed the +door behind them, and proceeded to point out the new picture, and +discuss the various positions which had occurred to her. Julian would +have decided the question as speedily as possible, and once or twice +moved to return downstairs, but each time the girl found something new +to detain him. Opening a drawer, she took out several paltry little +ornaments, which she wished him to admire, and, in showing them, stood +very close by his side. All at once the door of the room was pushed +open, and a woman ran in. On seeing the stranger present, she darted +back with an exclamation of surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Miss Smales, I didn't know as you wasn't alone! I heard you moving +about, and come just to arst you to lend me—but never mind, I'm so +sorry; why didn't you lock the door?" +</P> + +<P> +And she bustled out again, apparently in much confusion. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet had dropped the thing she held in her hand, and stood looking +at her cousin as if dismayed. +</P> + +<P> +"I never thought any one was in," she said nervously. "It's Miss Mould, +the lodger. She went out before I did, and I never heard her come back. +Whatever will she think!" +</P> + +<P> +"But of course," he stammered, "you will explain everything to her. She +knows who I am, doesn't she?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think so, and, even if she did—" +</P> + +<P> +She stopped, and stood with eyes on the ground, doing her best to +display maiden confusion. Then she began to cry. +</P> + +<P> +"But surely, surely there is no need to trouble yourself," exclaimed +Julian, almost distracted, beginning to be dimly conscious of all +manner of threatening possibilities. "I will speak to the woman myself, +and clear you of every—. Oh, but this is all nonsense. Let us go down +at once, Harriet. What a pity you asked me to come up here!" +</P> + +<P> +It was the nearest to a reproach that he had ever yet addressed to her. +His face showed clearly how distressed he was, and that on his own +account more than hers, for he could not conceive any blame save on +himself for being so regardless of appearances. +</P> + +<P> +"Go as quietly as ever you can," Harriet whispered. "The stairs creak +so. Step very softly." +</P> + +<P> +This was terrible to the poor fellow. To steal down in this guilty way +was as bad as a confession of evil intentions, and he so entirely +innocent of a shadow of evil even in his thought. Yet he could not but +do as she bade him. Even on the stairs she urged him in a very loud +whisper to be yet more cautious. He was out of himself with +mortification; and felt angry with her for bringing him into such +ignominy. In the back parlour once more, he took up his hat at once. +</P> + +<P> +"You mustn't go yet," whispered Harriet. "I'm sure that woman's +listening on the stairs. You must talk a little. Let's talk so she can +hear us. Suppose she should tell Mrs. Ogle." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't see that it matters," said Julian, with annoyance. "I will +myself see Mrs. Ogle." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! The idea! I should have to leave at once. Whatever shall I do +if she turns me away, and won't give me a reference or anything!" +</P> + +<P> +Even in a calmer mood, Julian's excessive delicacy would have presented +an affair of this kind in a grave light to him; at present he was +wholly incapable of distinguishing between true and false, or of +gauging these fears at their true value. The mere fact of the girl +making so great a matter out of what should have been so easy to +explain and have done with, caused an exaggeration of the difficulty in +his own mind. He felt that he ought of course to justify himself before +Mrs. Ogle, and would have been capable of doing so had only Harriet +taken the same sensible view; but her apparent distress seemed—even to +him—so much more like conscious guilt than troubled innocence, that +such a task would cost him the acutest suffering. For nearly an hour he +argued with her, trying to convince her how impossible it was that the +woman who had surprised them should harbour any injurious suspicions. +</P> + +<P> +"But she knows—" began Harriet, and then stopped, her eyes falling. +</P> + +<P> +"What does she know?" demanded her cousin in surprise; but could get no +reply to his question. However, his arguments seemed at length to have +a calming effect, and, as he took leave, he even affected to laugh at +the whole affair. For all that, he had never suffered such mental +trouble in his life as during this visit and throughout the evening +which followed. The mere thought of having been obliged to discuss such +things with his cousin filled him with inexpressible shame and misery. +Waymark came to spend the evening with him, but found poor +entertainment. Several times Julian was on the point of relating what +had happened, and asking for advice, but he found it impossible to +broach the subject. There was an ever-recurring anger against Harriet +in his mind, too, for which at the same time he reproached himself. He +dreaded the next meeting between them. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet, though herself quite innocent of fine feeling and nice +complexities of conscience, was well aware of the existence of such +properties in her cousin. She neither admired nor despised him for +possessing them; they were of unknown value, indifferent to her, +indeed, until she became aware of the practical use that might be made +of them. Like most narrow-minded girls, she became a shrewd reader of +character, when her affections and interests were concerned, and could +calculate Julian's motives, and the course wherein they would lead him, +with much precision. She knew too well that he did not care for her in +the way she desired, but at the same time she knew that he was capable +of making almost any sacrifice to spare her humiliation and trouble, +especially if he felt that her unhappiness was in any way caused by +himself. +</P> + +<P> +Thus it came about that, on the Tuesday evening of the ensuing week, +Julian was startled by his landlady's announcing another visit from +Miss Smales. Harriet came into the room with a veil over her face, and +sank on a chair, sobbing. What she had feared had come to pass. The +lodger had told Mrs. Ogle of what had taken place in her absence on the +Sunday afternoon, and Harriet had received notice that she must find +another place at once. Mrs. Ogle was a woman of severe virtue, and +would not endure the suspicion of wrong-doing under her roof. To whom +could she come for advice and help, but to Julian? +</P> + +<P> +Julian was overwhelmed. His perfectly sincere nature was incapable of +suspecting a far more palpable fraud. He started up with the intention +of going forthwith to Gray's Inn Road, but Harriet clung to him and +held him back. The idea was vain. The lodger, Miss Mould, had long +entertained a spite against her, Harriet said, and had so exaggerated +this story in relating it to Mrs. Ogle, that the latter, and her +husband, had declared that Casti should not as much as put foot in +their shop again. +</P> + +<P> +"If you only knew what they've been told!" sobbed the girl, still +clinging to Julian. "They wouldn't listen to a word you said. As if I +could have thought of such a thing happening, and that woman to say all +the bad things of us she can turn her tongue to! I sha'n't never get +another place; I'm thrown out on the wide world!" +</P> + +<P> +It was a phrase she had got out of her penny fiction; and very +remarkable indeed was the mixture of acting and real sentiment which +marked her utterances throughout. +</P> + +<P> +Julian's shame and anger began to turn to compassion. A woman in tears +was a sight which always caused him the keenest distress. +</P> + +<P> +"But," he cried, with tears in his own eyes, "it is impossible that you +should suffer all this through me, and I not even make an attempt to +clear you of such vile charges!" +</P> + +<P> +"It was my own fault. I was thoughtless. I ought to have known that +people's always ready to think harm. But I think of nothing when I'm +with you, Julian!" +</P> + +<P> +He had disengaged himself from her hands, and was holding one of them +in his own. But, as she made this last confession, she threw her arms +about his neck and drooped her head against his bosom. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, if you only felt to me like I do to you!" she sobbed. +</P> + +<P> +No man can hear without some return of emotion a confession from a +woman's lips that she loves him. Harriet was the only girl whom Julian +had ever approached in familiar intercourse; she had no rival to fear +amongst living women; the one rival to be dreaded was altogether out of +the sphere of her conceptions,—the ideal love of a poet's heart and +brain. But the ideal is often least present to us when most needed. +Here was love; offer but love to a poet, and does he pause to gauge its +quality? The sudden whirl of conflicting emotions left Julian at the +mercy of the instant's impulse. She was weak; she was suffering through +him; she loved him. +</P> + +<P> +"Be my wife, then," he whispered, returning her embrace, "and let me +guard you from all who would do you harm." +</P> + +<P> +She uttered a cry of delight, and the cry was a true one. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +NEAR AND FAR +</H3> + +<P> +Osmond Waymark was light-hearted; and with him such a state meant +something not at all to be understood by those with whom lightness of +heart is a chronic affection. The man who dwells for long periods face +to face with the bitter truths of life learns so to distrust a fleeting +moment of joy, gives habitually so cold a reception to the tardy +messenger of delight, that, when the bright guest outdares his +churlishness and perforce tarries with him, there ensues a passionate +revulsion unknown to hearts which open readily to every fluttering +illusive bliss. Illusion it of course remains; is ever recognised as +that; but illusion so sweet and powerful that he thanks the god that +blinds him, and counts off with sighs of joy the hours thus brightly +winged. +</P> + +<P> +He awaited with extreme impatience the evening on which he would again +see Ida. Distrustful always, he could not entirely dismiss the fear +that his first impressions might prove mistaken in the second +interview; yet he tried his best to do so, and amused himself with +imagining for Ida a romantic past, for her and himself together a yet +more romantic future. In spite of the strange nature of their +relations, he did not delude himself with the notion that the girl had +fallen in love with him at first sight, and that she stood before him +to take or reject as he chose. He had a certain awe of her. He divined +in her a strength of character which made her his equal; it might well +be, his superior. Take, for instance, the question of the life she was +at present leading. In the case of an ordinary pretty and good-natured +girl falling in his way as Ida Starr had done, he would have exerted +whatever influence he might acquire over her to persuade her into +better paths. Any such direct guidance was, he felt, out of the +question here. The girl had independence of judgment; she would resent +anything said by him on the assumption of her moral inferiority, and, +for aught he knew, with justice. The chances were at least as great +that he might prove unworthy of her, as that she should prove unworthy +of him. +</P> + +<P> +When he presented himself at the house in the little court by Temple +Bar, it was the girl Sally who opened the door to him. She beckoned him +to follow, and ran before him upstairs. The sitting-room presented the +same comfortable appearance, and Grim, rising lazily from the +hearthrug, came forward purring a welcome, but Ida was not there. +</P> + +<P> +"She was obliged to go out," said Sally, in answer to his look of +inquiry. "She won't be long, and she said you was to make yourself +comfortable till she came back." +</P> + +<P> +On a little side-table stood cups and saucers, and a box of cigars. The +latter Sally brought forward. +</P> + +<P> +"I was to ask you to smoke, and whether you'd like a cup of coffee with +it?" she asked, with the curious <I>naivete</I> which marked her mode of +speech. +</P> + +<P> +"The kettle's boiling on the side," she added, seeing that Waymark +hesitated. "I can make it in a minute." +</P> + +<P> +"In that case, I will." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't mind me having one as well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not." +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I talk, or shall I keep quiet? I'm not a servant here, you +know," she added, with an amusing desire to make her position clear. +"Ida and me's friends, and she'd do just as much for I." +</P> + +<P> +"Talk by all means," said Waymark, smiling, as he lit his cigar. The +result was that, in a quarter of an hour Sally had related her whole +history. As Ida had said, she came from Weymouth, where her father was +a fisherman, and owner of bum-boats. Her mother kept a laundry, and the +family had all lived together in easy circumstances. She herself had +come to London—well, just for a change. And what was she doing? Oh, +getting her living as best she could. In the day-time she worked in a +city workroom. +</P> + +<P> +"And how much do you think I earn a week?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Fifteen shillings or so, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, that's all you know about it! Now, last week was the best I've had +yet, and I made seven shillings." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Machine work; makin' ulsters. How much do you think we get, now, for +makin' a ulster—one like this?" pointing to one which hung behind the +door. +</P> + +<P> +"Have no idea." +</P> + +<P> +"Well,—<I>fourpence</I>: there now!" +</P> + +<P> +"And how many can you make in a day?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't make no more than two. Some make three, but it's blessed hard +work. But I get a little job now and then to do at home." +</P> + +<P> +"But you can't live on seven shillings a week?" +</P> + +<P> +"I sh'd think not, indeed. We have to make up the rest as best we can, +s'nough." +</P> + +<P> +"But your employers must know that?" +</P> + +<P> +"In course. What's the odds? All us girls are the same; we have to keep +on the two jobs at the same time. But I'll give up the day-work before +long, s'nough. I come home at night that tired out I ain't fit for +nothing. I feel all eyes, as the sayin' is. And it's hard to have to go +out into the Strand, when you're like that." +</P> + +<P> +"But do they know about all this at home?" +</P> + +<P> +"No fear! If our father knew, he'd be down here precious soon, and the +house wouldn't hold him. But I shall go back some day, when I've got a +good fit-out." +</P> + +<P> +The door opened quietly, and Ida came in. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, young people, so you are making yourselves at home." +</P> + +<P> +The sweet face, the eyes and lips with their contained mirth, the +light, perfect form, the graceful carriage,—Waymark felt his pulses +throb at the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"You didn't mind waiting a little for me? I really couldn't help it. +And then, after all, I thought you mightn't come." +</P> + +<P> +"But I promised to." +</P> + +<P> +"Promises, promises, oh dear!" laughed Ida. "Sally, here's an orange +for you." +</P> + +<P> +"You <I>are</I> a duck!" was the girl's reply, as she caught it, and, with a +nod to Waymark, left the room. +</P> + +<P> +"And so you've really come," Ida went on, sitting down and beginning to +draw off her gloves. +</P> + +<P> +"You find it surprising? To begin with, I have come to pay my debts." +</P> + +<P> +"Is there another cup of coffee?" she asked, seeming not to have heard. +"I'm too tired to get up and see." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark felt a keen delight in waiting upon her, in judging to a nicety +the true amount of sugar and cream, in drawing the little table just +within her reach. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Waymark," she exclaimed, all at once, "if you had had supper with +a friend, and your friend had paid the bill, should you take out your +purse and pay him back at your next meeting?" +</P> + +<P> +"It would depend entirely on circumstances." +</P> + +<P> +"Just so. Then the present circumstances don't permit anything of the +kind, and there's an end of <I>that</I> matter. Light another cigar, will +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"You don't dislike the smoke?" +</P> + +<P> +"If I did, I should say so." +</P> + +<P> +Having removed her outer garments one by one, she rose and took them +into the inner room. On reappearing, she went to the sitting-room door +and turned the key in the lock. +</P> + +<P> +"Could you let me have some more books to read?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I have brought one, thinking you might be ready for it." +</P> + +<P> +It was "Jane Eyre." She glanced over the pages eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know how it is," she said, "I have grown so hungry for reading +of late. Till just now I never cared for it. When I was a child and +went to school, I didn't like my lessons. Still I learned a good deal, +for a little girl, and it has stayed by me. And oh, it seems so long +ago! Never mind, perhaps I will tell you all about that some day." +</P> + +<P> +They were together for an hour or so. Waymark, uneasily watching his +companion's every movement, rose as soon as she gave sign of weariness, +and Ida did not seek to detain him. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall think much of you," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"The less the better," was Ida's reply. +</P> + +<P> +For his comfort, yes,—Waymark thought, as he walked homewards. Ida had +already a dangerous hold upon him; she possessed his senses, and set +him on fire with passionate imaginings. Here, as on every hand, his +cursed poverty closed against him the possibilities of happiness. That +she should ever come to love him, seemed very unlikely; the alliance +between them could only be a mere caprice on her part, such as girls of +her kind are very subject to; he might perhaps fill up her intervals of +tedium, but would have no share in her real life. And the thought of +that life fevered him with jealousy. She might say what she liked about +never having known love, but it was of course impossible that she +should not have a preference among her lovers. And to think of the +chances before such a girl, so blessed with rare beauty and endless +charms. In the natural order of events she would become the mistress of +some rich man; might even, as at times happens, be rescued by marriage; +in either case, their acquaintance must cease. And, indeed, what right +had he to endeavour to gain her love having nothing but mere beggarly +devotion to offer her in return? He had not even the excuse of one who +could offer her married life in easy circumstances,—supposing that to +be an improvement on her present position. Would it not be better at +once to break off these impossible relations? How often he had promised +himself, in moments of clear thought, never again to enter on a course +which would obviously involve him in futile suffering. Why had he not +now the strength to obey his reason, and continue to possess his soul +in the calm of which he had enjoyed a brief taste? +</P> + +<P> +The novel circumstances of the past week had almost driven from his +mind all thought of Maud Enderby. He regretted having asked and +obtained permission to write to her. She seemed so remote from him, +their meeting so long past. What could there be in common between +himself and that dim, quiet little girl, who had excited his sympathy +merely because her pretty face was made sad by the same torments which +had afflicted him? He needed some strong, vehement, original nature, +such as Ida Starr's; how would Maud's timid conventionality—doubtless +she was absolutely conventional—suit with the heresies of which he was +all compact? Still, he could not well ignore what had taken place +between them, and, after all, there would be a certain pleasant +curiosity in awaiting her reply. In any case, he would write just such +a letter as came naturally from him. If she were horrified, well, there +was an end of the matter. +</P> + +<P> +Accordingly, he sat down on the morning after his visit to Ida, and, +after a little difficulty in beginning, wrote a long letter. It was +mainly occupied with a description of his experiences in Litany Lane +and Elm Court. He made no apology for detailing such unpleasant +matters, and explained that he would henceforth be kept in pretty close +connection with this unknown world. Even this, he asserted, was +preferable to the world of Dr. Tootle's Academy. Then he dwelt a little +on the contrast between this life of his and that which Maud was +doubtless leading in her home on the Essex coast; and finally he hoped +she would write to him when she found leisure, and be able to let him +know that she was no longer so unhappy as formerly. +</P> + +<P> +This he posted on Friday. On the following Monday morning, the post +brought two letters for him, both addressed in female hand, one bearing +a city, the other a country, post-mark. Waymark smiled as he compared +the two envelopes, on one of which his name stood in firm, upright +characters, on the other in slender, sloping, delicate writing. The +former he pressed to his lips, then tore open eagerly; it was the +promised intimation that Ida would be at home after eight o'clock on +Wednesday and Friday evenings, nothing more. The second letter he +allowed to lie by till he had breakfasted. He could see that it +contained more than one sheet. When at length he opened it, he read +this:— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"DEAR MR. WAYMARK,—I have an hour of freedom this Sunday afternoon, +and I will spend it in replying as well as I can to your very +interesting letter. My life is, as you say, very quiet and commonplace +compared with that you find yourself suddenly entering upon. I have no +such strange and moving things to write about, but I will tell you in +the first place how I live and what I do, then put down some of the +thoughts your letter has excited in me. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"The family I am with consists of very worthy but commonplace people. +They treat me with more consideration than I imagine governesses +usually get, and I am grateful to them for this, but their +conversation, especially that of Mrs. Epping, I find rather wearisome. +It deals with very trivial concerns of everyday life, in which I vainly +endeavour to interest myself. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Then there is the religious formalism of the Eppings and their +friends. They are High Church. They discuss with astonishing vigour and +at dreadful length what seems to me the most immaterial points in the +Church service, and just at present an impulse is given to their zeal +by the fact of their favourite clergyman being threatened with a +prosecution for ritualistic practices. Of course I have to feign a +becoming interest in all this, and to take part in all their religious +forms and ceremonies. And indeed it is all so new to me that I have +scarcely yet got over the first feelings of wonder and curiosity. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Have I not, then, you will ask, the courage of my opinions? But indeed +my religious opinions are so strangely different from those which +prevail here, that I fear it would be impossible to make my thoughts +clear to these good people. They would scarcely esteem me a Christian; +and yet I cannot but think that it is they who are widely astray from +Christian belief and practice. The other evening the clergyman dined +with us, and throughout the meal discussions of the rubric alternated +with talk about delicacies of the table! That the rubric should be so +interesting amazes me, but that an earnest Christian should think it +compatible with his religion to show the slightest concern in what he +shall eat or drink is unspeakably strange to me. Surely, if +Christianity means anything it means asceticism. My experience of the +world is so slight. I believe this is the first clergyman I ever met in +private life. Surely they cannot all be thus? +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I knew well how far the world at large had passed from true +Christianity; that has been impressed upon me from my childhood. But +how strange it seems to me to hear proposed as a remedy the formalism +to which my friends here pin their faith! How often have I burned to +speak up among them, and ask—'What think ye, then, of Christ? Is He, +or is He not, our exemplar? Was not His life meant to exhibit to us the +ideal of the completest severance from the world which is consistent +with human existence? To follow Him, should we not, at least in the +spirit, cast off everything which may tempt us to consider life, as +life, precious?' We cannot worship both God and the world, and yet +nowadays Christians seem to make a merit of doing so. When I conceive a +religious revival, my thought does not in the least concern itself with +forms and ceremonies. I imagine another John the Baptist inciting the +people, with irresistible fervour, to turn from their sins—that is, +from the world and all its concerns—and to purify themselves by +Renunciation. What they call 'Progress,' I take to be the veritable +Kingdom of Antichrist. The world is evil, life is evil; only by +renunciation of the very desire for life can we fulfil the Christian +idea. What then of the civilisation which endeavours to make the world +more and more pleasant as a dwelling-place, life more and more +desirable for its own sake? +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"And so I come to the contents of your own letter. You say you marvel +that these wretched people you visited do not, in a wild burst of +insurrection, overthrow all social order, and seize for themselves a +fair share of the world's goods. I marvel also;—all the more that +their very teachers in religion seem to lay such stress on the joys of +life. And yet what profit would a real Christian preacher draw for them +from this very misery of their existence! He would teach them that +herein lay their supreme blessing, not their curse; that in their +poverty and nakedness lay means of grace and salvation such as the rich +can scarcely by any means attain to; that they should proudly, +devoutly, accept their heritage of woe, and daily thank God for +depriving them of all that can make life dear. Only awaken the spirit +in these poor creatures, and how near might they be to the true Kingdom +of Heaven! And surely such a preacher will yet arise, and there will be +a Reformation very different from the movement we now call by that +name. But I weary you, perhaps. It may be you have no interest in all +this. Yet I think you would wish me to write from what I am. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"It would interest me to hear your further experiences in the new work. +Believe me to be your sincere friend, +</P> + +<P> +"MAUD ENDERBY." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Waymark read, and thought, and wondered. +</P> + +<P> +Then it was time to go and collect his rents. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +UP THE RIVER +</H3> + +<P> +Here is an extract from a letter written by Julian Casti to Waymark in +the month of May. By this time they were living near to each other, but +something was about to happen which Julian preferred to communicate in +writing. +</P> + +<P> +"This will be the beginning of a new life for me. Already I have felt a +growth in my power of poetical production. Verse runs together in my +thoughts without effort; I feel ready for some really great attempt. +Have you not noticed something of this in me these last few days? Come +and see me to-night, if you can, and rejoice with me." +</P> + +<P> +This meant that Julian was about to be married. Honeymoon journey was +out of the question for him. He and his wife established themselves in +the lodgings which he was already occupying. And the new life began. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark had made Harriet's acquaintance a couple of weeks before; +Julian had brought her with him one Sunday to his friend's room. She +was then living alone, having quitted Mrs. Ogle the day after that +decisive call upon Julian. There was really no need for her to have +done so, Mrs. Ogle's part in the comedy being an imaginary one of +Harriet's devising. But Julian was led entirely by his cousin, and, as +she knew quite well, there was not the least danger of his going on his +own account to the shop in Gray's Inn Road; he dreaded the thought of +such an interview. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark was not charmed with Miss Smales; the more he thought of this +marriage, the more it amazed him; for, of course, he deemed it wholly +of his friend's bringing about. +</P> + +<P> +The marriage affected their intercourse. Harriet did not like to be +left alone in the evening, so Julian could not go to Waymark's, as he +had been accustomed to, and conversation in Mrs. Casti's presence was, +of course, under restraint. Waymark bore this with impatience, and even +did his best to alter it. One Sunday afternoon, about three weeks after +the marriage, he called and carried Julian off to his room across the +street. Harriet's face sufficiently indicated her opinion of this +proceeding, and Julian had difficulty in appearing at his case. Waymark +understood what was going on, and tried to discuss the matter freely, +but the other shrank from it. +</P> + +<P> +"I am grievously impatient of domestic arrangements," Waymark said. "I +fancy it would never do for me to marry, unless I had limitless cash, +and my wife were as great a Bohemian as myself. By the by, I have +another letter from Maud. Her pessimism is magnificent. This intense +religiousness is no doubt a mere phase; it will pass, of course; I +wonder how things would arrange themselves if she came back to London. +Why shouldn't she come here to sit and chat, like you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"That would naturally lead to something definite," said Casti, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't know. Why should it? I'm a believer in friendship between +men and women. Of course there is in it the spice of the difference of +sex, and why not accept that as a pleasant thing? How much better if, +when we met a woman we liked, we could say frankly, 'Now let us amuse +each other without any <I>arriere pensee</I>. If I married you to-day, even +though I feel quite ready to, I should ten to one see some one next +week who would make me regret having bound myself. So would you, my +dear. Very well, let us tantalise each other agreeably, and be at ease +in the sense that we are on the right side of the illusion.' You laugh +at the idea?" +</P> + +<P> +Julian laughed, but not heartily. They passed to other things. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm making an article out of Elm Court," said Waymark. +"Semi-descriptive, semi-reflective, wholly cynical Maybe it will pay +for my summer holiday. And, apropos of the same subject, I've got great +ideas. This introduction to such phases of life will prove endlessly +advantageous to me, artistically speaking. Let me get a little more +experience, and I will write a novel such as no one has yet ventured to +write, at all events in England. I begin to see my way to magnificent +effects; ye gods, such light and shade! The fact is, the novel of +every-day life is getting worn out. We must dig deeper, get to +untouched social strata. Dickens felt this, but he had not the courage +to face his subjects; his monthly numbers had to lie on the family +tea-table. Not <I>virginibus puerisque</I> will be my book, I assure you, +but for men and women who like to look beneath the surface, and who +understand that only as artistic material has human life any +significance. Yes, that is the conclusion I am working round to. The +artist is the only sane man. Life for its own sake?—no; I would drink +a pint of laudanum to-night. But life as the source of splendid +pictures, inexhaustible material for effects—<I>that</I> can reconcile me +to existence, and that only. It is a delight followed by no bitter +after-taste, and the only such delight I know." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet was very quiet when Julian returned. She went about getting the +tea with a sort of indifference; she let a cup fall and break, but made +no remark, and left her husband to pick up the pieces. +</P> + +<P> +"Waymark thinks I'm neglecting him," said Julian, with a laugh, as they +sat down together. +</P> + +<P> +"It's better to neglect him than to neglect me, I should think," was +Harriet's reply, in a quiet ill-natured tone which she was mistress of. +</P> + +<P> +"But couldn't we find out some way of doing neither, dear?" went on +Julian, playing with his spoon. "Now suppose I give him a couple of +hours one evening every week? You could spare that, couldn't you? Say, +from eight to ten on Wednesdays?" +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose you'll go if you want to." said Harriet, rising from the +tea-table, and taking a seat sulkily by the window. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, come, we won't say any more about it, if it's so disagreeable to +you," said Julian, going up to her, and coaxing her back to her place. +"You don't feel well to-day, do you? I oughtn't to have left you this +afternoon, but it was difficult to refuse, wasn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"He had no business to ask you to go. He could see I didn't like it." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark grew so accustomed to receiving Ida's note each Monday morning, +that when for the first time it failed to conic he was troubled +seriously. It happened, too, that he was able to attach a particular +significance to the omission. When they had last parted, instead of +just pressing her hand as usual, he had raised it to his lips. She +frowned and turned quickly away, saying no word. He had offended her by +this infringement of the conditions of their friendship; for once +before, when he had uttered a word which implied more than she was +willing to allow, Ida had engaged him in the distinct agreement that he +should never do or say anything that approached love-making. As, +moreover, it was distinctly understood that he should never visit her +save at times previously appointed, he could not see her till she chose +to write. After waiting in the vain expectation of some later post +bringing news, he himself wrote, simply asking the cause of her +silence. The reply came speedily. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I have no spare time in the week. I thought you would understand this. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +I. S." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It was her custom to write without any formal beginning or ending; yet +Waymark felt that this note was briefer than it would have been, had +all been as usual between them. The jealousy which now often tortured +him awoke with intolerable vehemence. He spent a week of misery. +</P> + +<P> +But late on Saturday evening came a letter addressed in the well-known +hand. It said— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Sally and I are going up the river to-morrow, if it is fine. Do you +care to meet us on the boat which reaches Chelsea Pier at 10.30? +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +I. S." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It seemed he did care; at all events he was half an hour too soon at +the pier. As the boat approached his eye soon singled out two very +quietly-dressed girls, who sat with their backs to him, and neither +turned nor made any sign of expecting any addition to their party. With +like undemonstrativeness he took a seat at Ida's side, and returned +Sally's nod and smile. Ida merely said "Good morning;" there was +nothing of displeasure on her face, however, and when he began to speak +of indifferent things she replied with the usual easy friendliness. +</P> + +<P> +It was the first time he had seen her by daylight. He had been +uncertain whether she used any artificial colour on her cheeks; +seemingly she did, for now she looked much paler than usual. But the +perfect clearness of her complexion, the lustre of her eyes, appeared +to indicate complete health. She breathed the fresh sun-lit air with +frank enjoyment, and smiled to herself at objects on either side of the +river. +</P> + +<P> +"By the by," Waymark said, when no words had been exchanged for some +minutes, "you didn't tell me where you were going; so I took no ticket, +and left matters to fate." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you a good walker?" Ida asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Fairly good, I flatter myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Then this is what I propose. It's a plan I carried out two or three +times by myself last summer, and enjoyed. We get off at Putney, walk +through Roehampton, then over the park into Richmond. By that time we +shall be ready for dinner, and I know a place where we can have it in +comfort." +</P> + +<P> +There was little thought of weariness throughout the delightful walk. +All three gave themselves up for the time to simple enjoyment; their +intercourse became that of children; the troubles of passion, the +miseries of self-consciousness, the strain of mutual observation fell +from them as the city dropped behind; they were once more creatures for +whom the external world alone had reality. There was a glorious June +sky; there were country roads scented with flower and tree; the +wide-gleaming common with its furze and bramble; then the great park, +with felled trunks to rest upon, and prospects of endlessly-varied +green to soothe the eye. The girls exhibited their pleasure each in her +own way. Sally threw off restraint, and sprang about in free happiness, +like one of the young roes, the sight of which made her utter cries +like a delighted child. She remembered scenes of home, and chattered in +her dialect of people and places strange enough to both her companions. +She was in constant expectation of catching a glimpse of the sea; in +spite of all warnings it was a great surprise and disappointment to her +that Richmond Hill did not end in cliffs and breakers. Ida talked less, +but every now and then laughed in her deep enjoyment. She had no +reminiscence of country life it was enough that all about her was new +and fresh and pure; nothing to remind her of Regent Street and the +Strand. Waymark talked of he knew not what, cheerful things that came +by chance to his tongue, trifling stories, descriptions of places, +ideal plans for spending of ideal holidays; but nothing of London, +nothing of what at other times his thoughts most ran upon. He came back +to himself now and then, and smiled as he looked at the girls, but this +happened seldom. +</P> + +<P> +The appetites of all three were beyond denying when they had passed the +"Star and Garter" and began to walk down into the town. Waymark +wondered whither their guide would lead them, but asked no questions. +To his surprise, Ida stopped at a small inn half way down the hill. +</P> + +<P> +"You are to go straight in," she said, with a smile, to Waymark, "and +are to tell the first person you meet that three people want dinner. +There's no choice—roast beef and vegetables, and some pudding or other +afterwards. Then you are to walk straight upstairs, as if you knew your +way, and we will follow." +</P> + +<P> +These directions were obeyed, with the result that all reached an upper +chamber, wherein a table was cleanly and comfortably laid, as if +expecting them. French windows led out on to a quaint little verandah +at the back of the house, and the view thence was perfect. The river +below, winding between wooded banks, and everywhere the same splendour +of varied green which had delighted their eyes all the morning. Just +below the verandah was the tiled roof of an outhouse, whereon lay a +fine black and white cat, basking in the hot sun. Ida clapped her hands. +</P> + +<P> +"He's like poor old Grim," she cried. Then, turning to Waymark: "If you +are good, you may bring out a chair and smoke a cigar here after +dinner." +</P> + +<P> +They had just began to eat, when footsteps were heard coining up the +stairs. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh bother!" exclaimed Sally. "There's some one else a-comin', s'nough." +</P> + +<P> +There was. The door opened, and two gentlemen walked in. Waymark looked +up, and to his astonishment recognised his old friends O'Gree and +Egger. Mr. O'Gree was mopping his face with a handkerchief, and looked +red and hungry; Mr. Egger was resplendent in a very broad-brimmed straw +hat, the glistening newness of which contrasted with the rest of his +attire, which had known no variation since his first arrival at Dr. +Tootle's. He, too, was perspiring profusely, and, as he entered, was +just in the act of taking out the great yellow handkerchief which +Waymark had seen him chewing so often in the bitterness of his spirit. +</P> + +<P> +"Hollo, Waymark, is it you?" cried Mr. O'Gree, forgetting the presence +of the strangers in his astonishment. "Sure, and they told us we'd find +a <I>gentleman</I> here." +</P> + +<P> +"And I was the last person you would have thought of as answering that +description?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, no, I didn't mean that. I meant there was no mention of the +ladies." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark flashed a question at Ida with his eyes, and understood her +assent in the smile and slight motion of the head. +</P> + +<P> +"Then let me introduce you to the ladies." +</P> + +<P> +The new-comers accordingly made the acquaintance of Miss Starr and Miss +Fisher (that was Sally's name), and took seats at the table, to await +the arrival of their dinners. Both were on their good behaviour. Mr. +O'Gree managed to place himself at Sally's left hand, and led the +conversation with the natural ease of an Irishman, especially delighted +if Sally herself seemed to appreciate his efforts to be entertaining. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, who'd have thought of the like of this." he exclaimed. "And we +came in here by the merest chance; sure, there's a fatality in these +things. We've walked all the way from Hammersmith." +</P> + +<P> +"And we from Putney," said Waymark. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't mean it? It's been a warm undertaking." +</P> + +<P> +"How did you find the walk, Mr. Egger?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bedad," replied that gentleman, who had got hold of his friend's +exclamation, and used it with killing effect; "I made my possible, but, +bedad, I could not much more." +</P> + +<P> +"You both look warm," Waymark observed, smiling. "I fear you hurried. +You should have been leisurely, as we were." +</P> + +<P> +"Now that's cruel, Waymark. You needn't have reflected upon our +solitariness. If we'd been blessed with society such as you had, we'd +have come slow enough. As it was, we thought a good deal of our +dinners." +</P> + +<P> +No fresh guests appeared to disturb the party. When all had appeased +their hunger, Waymark took a chair out on to the verandah for Ida. He +was spared the trouble of providing in the same way for Sally by Mr. +O'Gree's ready offices. Poor Egger, finding himself deserted, opened a +piano there was in the room, and began to run his finger over the keys. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us have one of your German songs, my boy," cried O'Gree. +</P> + +<P> +"But it is the Sunday, and we arc still in England," said the Swiss, +hesitating. +</P> + +<P> +"Pooh, never mind," said Waymark. "We'll shut the door. Sing my +favourite, Mr. Egger,—'<I>Wenn's Mailufterl</I>.'" +</P> + +<P> +When they left the inn, Waymark walked first with Ida, and Mr. O'Gree +followed with Sally. Egger brought up the rear; he had relapsed into a +dreamy mood, and his mind seemed occupied with unearthly things. +</P> + +<P> +With no little amusement Waymark had noted Sally's demeanour under Mr. +O'Gree's attentions. The girl had evidently made up her mind to be +absolutely proper. The Irishman's respectful delicacy was something so +new to her and so pleasant, and the question with her was how she could +sufficiently show her appreciation without at the same time forfeiting +his good opinion for becoming modesty. All so new to her, accustomed to +make an art of forwardness, and to school herself in the endurance of +brutality. She was constantly blushing in the most unfeigned way at his +neatly-turned little compliments, and, when she spoke, did so with a +pretty air of self-distrust which sat quite charmingly on her. Fain, +fain would O'Gree have proposed to journey back to London by the same +train, but good taste and good sense prevailed with him. At the +ticket-barrier there was a parting. +</P> + +<P> +"How delightful it would be, Miss Fisher," said Mr. O'Gree, in +something like a whisper, "if this lucky chance happened again. If I +only knew when you were coming again, there's no telling but it might." +</P> + +<P> +Sally gave her hand, smiled, evidently wished to say something, but +ended by turning away and running after her companions. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +EXAMPLE WITHOUT PRECEPT +</H3> + +<P> +Waymark was grateful for the help Mr. Woodstock had given him. Indeed, +the two soon began to get on very well together. In a great measure, of +course, this was due to the change in Waymark's philosophy; whereas his +early idealism had been revolted by what he then deemed Mr. Woodstock's +crass materialism and vulgarity, the tolerance which had come with +widened experience now made him regard these characteristics with far +less certainty of condemnation. He was often merely amused at what had +formerly enraged and disgusted him. At the same time, there were +changes in Abraham himself, no doubt—at all events in his manner to +the young man. He, on his side, was also far more tolerant than in the +days when he had growled at Osmond for a conceited young puppy. +</P> + +<P> +One Sunday morning in early July, Waymark was sitting alone in his +room, when he noticed that a cab stopped before the house. A minute +after, there was a knock at his door, and, to his great surprise, Mr. +Woodstock entered, bearing a huge volume in his arms. Abraham deposited +it on a chair, wiped his forehead, and looked round the room. +</P> + +<P> +"You smoke poor tobacco," was his first remark, as he sniffed the air. +</P> + +<P> +"Good tobacco happens to be expensive," was the reply. "Will you sit +down?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I will." The chair creaked under him. "And so here you hang out, +eh? Only one room?" +</P> + +<P> +"As you see." +</P> + +<P> +"Devilish unhealthy, I should think." +</P> + +<P> +"But economical." +</P> + +<P> +"Ugh!" +</P> + +<P> +The grunt meant nothing in particular. Waymark was eyeing the mighty +volume on the chair, and had recognised it Some fortnight previously, +he had come upon Abraham, in the latter's study, turning over a +collection of Hogarth's plates, and greatly amusing himself with the +realism which so distinctly appealed to his taste in art. The book had +been pledged in the shop, and by lapse of time was become Abraham's +property. It was the first time that Waymark had had an opportunity of +examining Hogarth; the pictures harmonised with his mood; they gave him +a fresh impulse in the direction his literary projects were taking. He +spent a couple of hours in turning the leaves, and Mr. Woodstock had +observed his enjoyment. What meant the arrival of the volume here in +Beaufort Street? +</P> + +<P> +Abraham lit a cigar, still looking about the room. +</P> + +<P> +"You live alone?" he asked, in a matter-of-fact way. +</P> + +<P> +"At present." +</P> + +<P> +"Ha! Didn't know but you might have found it lonely; I used to, at your +age." +</P> + +<P> +Then, after a short silence— +</P> + +<P> +"By-the-by, it's your birthday." +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I shouldn't have done, but for an old letter I turned up by +chance the other day. How old are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Five-and-twenty." +</P> + +<P> +"H'm. I am sixty-nine. You'll be a wiser man when you get to my +age.—Well, if you can find room anywhere for that book there, perhaps +you'd like to keep it!" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark looked up in astonishment. +</P> + +<P> +"A birthday present!" he exclaimed. "It's ten years since I had one. +Upon my word, I don't well know how to thank you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know what the thing was published at?" asked Abraham in an +off-hand way. +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Fifty pounds." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care about the value. It's the kindness. You couldn't have +given me anything, either, that would have delighted me so much." +</P> + +<P> +"All right; keep it, and there's an end of the matter. And what do you +do with yourself all day, eh? I didn't think it very likely I should +find you in." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm writing a novel." +</P> + +<P> +"H'm. Shall you get anything for it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Can't say. I hope so." +</P> + +<P> +"Look here. Why don't you go in for politics?" +</P> + +<P> +"Neither know nor care anything about them." +</P> + +<P> +"Would you like to go into Parliament?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wouldn't go if every borough in England called upon me to-morrow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Plainly, I think myself too good for such occupation. If you once +succeed in getting <I>outside</I> the world, you have little desire to go +back and join in its most foolish pranks." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all damned nonsense! How can any one be too good to be in +Parliament? The better men you have there, the better the country will +be governed, won't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. But the best man, in this case, is the man who sees the +shortest distance before his nose. If you think the world worth all the +trouble it takes to govern it, go in for politics neck and crop, by all +means, and the world will no doubt thank you in its own way." +</P> + +<P> +Abraham looked puzzled, and half disposed to be angry. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you think novel-writing better than governing the country?" he +asked. +</P> + +<P> +"On its own merits, vastly so." +</P> + +<P> +"And suppose there was no government What about your novels then?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'd make a magnificent one out of the spectacle of chaos." +</P> + +<P> +"But you know very well you're talking bosh," exclaimed Abraham, +somewhat discomfited. "There must be government, and there must be +order, say what you like. Its nature that the strong should rule over +the weak, and show them what's for their own good. What else are we +here for? if you're going to be a parson, well and good; then cry down +the world as much as you please, and think only about heaven and hell. +But as far as I can make out, there's government there too. The devil +rebelled and was kicked out. Serve him right If he wasn't strong enough +to hold his own, he'd ought to have kept quiet." +</P> + +<P> +"You're a Conservative, of course," said Waymark, smiling. "You believe +only in keeping the balance. You don't are about reform." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be so sure of that Let me have the chance and he power, and I'd +reform hard enough, many a thing." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, one might begin on a small scale. Suppose one took in hand +Litany Lane and Elm Court? Suppose we exert our right as the stronger, +and, to begin with, do a little whitewashing? Then sundry stairs and +ceilings might be looked to. No doubt there'd be resistance, but on the +whole it would be for the people's own good. A little fresh draining +mightn't be amiss, or—" +</P> + +<P> +"What the devil's all this to do with politics?" cried Abraham, whose +face had grown dark. +</P> + +<P> +"I should imagine, a good deal," returned Waymark, knocking out his +pipe. "If you're for government, yen mustn't be above considering +details." +</P> + +<P> +"And so you think you have a hit at me, eh? Nothing of the kind. These +are affairs of private contract, and no concern of government at all. +In private contract a man has only a right to what he's strong enough +to exact If a tenant tells me my houses ain't fit to live in, I tell +him to go where he'll be better off' and I don't hinder him; I know +well enough in a day or two there'll come somebody else. Ten to one he +can't go, and he don't. Then why should I be at unnecessary expense in +making the places better? As Boon as I can get no tenants I'll do so; +not till then." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't believe in works of mere humanity?" +</P> + +<P> +"What the devil's humanity got to do with business?" cried Abraham. +</P> + +<P> +"True," was Waymark's rejoinder. +</P> + +<P> +"See, we won't talk of these kind of things," said Mr. Woodstock. +"That's just what we always used to quarrel about, and I'm getting too +old for quarrelling. Got any engagement this afternoon?" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought of looking in to see a friend here in the street" +</P> + +<P> +"Male or female?" +</P> + +<P> +"Both; man and wife." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, then you have got some friends? So had I when I was your age. They +go somehow when you get old. Your father was the last of them, I think. +But you're not much like him, except a little in face. True, he was a +Radical, but you,—well, I don't know what you are. If you'd been a son +of mine, I'd have had you ill Parliament by now, somehow or other." +</P> + +<P> +"I think you never had a son?" said Way mark, observing the note of +melancholy which every now and then came up in the old man's talk. +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"But you had some children, I think?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes,—they're dead." +</P> + +<P> +He had walked to the window, and suddenly turned round with a kind of +impatience. +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind the friend to-day; come and have some dinner with me. I +seem to want a bit of company." +</P> + +<P> +This was the first invitation of the kind Waymark had received. He +accepted it, and they went out together. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a pleasant part this," Mr. Woodstock said, as they walked by the +river. "One might build himself a decent house somewhere about here, +eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think of doing so?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think of doing so! What's the good of a house, and nobody to live in +it?" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark studied these various traits of the old man's humour, and +constantly felt more of kindness towards him. +</P> + +<P> +On the following day, just as he had collected his rents, and was on +his way out of Litany Lane, Waymark was surprised at coming face to +face with Mrs. Casti; yet more surprised when he perceived that she had +come out from a public-house. She looked embarrassed, and for a moment +seemed about to pass without recognising him; but he had raised his +hat, and she could not but move her head in reply. She so obviously +wished to avoid speaking, that he walked quickly on in another +direction. He wondered what he could be doing in such a place as this. +It could hardly be that she had acquaintances or connections here. +Julian had not given him any particulars of Harriet's former life, and +his friend's marriage was still a great puzzle to him. He knew well +that the girl had no liking for himself; it was not improbable that +this casual meeting would make their intercourse yet more strained. He +thought for a moment of questioning Julian, but decided that the matter +was no business of his. +</P> + +<P> +It was so rare for him to meet an acquaintance in the streets, that a +second chance of the same kind, only a few minutes later, surprised him +greatly. This time the meeting as a pleasant one; somebody ran across +to him from over the way, and he saw that it was Sally Fisher. She +looked pleased. The girl had preserved a good deal of her sea-side +complexion through the year and a half of town life, and, when happy, +glowed all over her cheeks with the healthiest hue. She held out her +hand in the usual frank, impulsive way. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I thought it was you! You won't see I no more at the old place." +</P> + +<P> +"No? How's that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm leavin' un to-morrow. I've got a place in a shop, just by here,—a +chandler's shop, and I'm going to live in." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed? Well, I'm glad to hear it. I dare say you'll be better off." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I say,—you know your friend?" +</P> + +<P> +"The Irishman?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"What about him?" asked the other, smiling as he looked into the girl's +pretty face. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Sally, "I don't mind you telling un where I live now,—if +you like.—Look, there's the address on that paper; you can take it." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I see. In point of fact, you <I>wish</I> me to tell him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't care. I dessay he don't want to know anything about I. But +you can if you like." +</P> + +<P> +"I will be sure to, and no doubt he will be delighted. He's been +growing thin since I told him you declined to renew his acquaintance." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, don't talk! And now I must be off. Good-bye. I dessay I shall see +you sometimes?" +</P> + +<P> +"Without doubt. We'll have another Sunday at Richmond soon. Good-bye." +</P> + +<P> +It was about four in the afternoon when Sally reached home, and she ran +up at once to Ida's room, and burst in, crying out, "I've got it! I've +got it!" with much dancing about and joyous singing. Ida rose with a +faint smile of welcome. She had been sitting at the window, reading a +book lent her by Waymark. +</P> + +<P> +"They said they liked my appearance," Sally went on, "and 'ud give me a +try. I go in to-morrow. It won't be a over easy place, neither. I've to +do all the cleaning in the house, and there's a baby to look after when +I'm not in the shop." +</P> + +<P> +"And what will they give you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ten shillings a month for the first half-year; then a rise." +</P> + +<P> +"And you're satisfied?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it'll do till something better turns up. Oh, I say, I met your +friend just after I'd come away." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you?" said Ida quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; and I told him he could tell his friend where I was, if he liked." +</P> + +<P> +"His friend?" +</P> + +<P> +"The Irishman, you know," explained Sally, moving about the room. "I +told you he'd been asking after me." +</P> + +<P> +Ida seemed all at once to awake from a dream. She uttered a long "Ah!" +under her breath, and for a moment looked at the girl like one who is +struck with an unexpected explanation. Then she turned away to the +window, and again gazed up at the blue sky, standing so for nearly a +minute. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you engaged to-night?" Sally asked presently. +</P> + +<P> +"No; will you sit with me?" +</P> + +<P> +"You're not feeling very well to-day, are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think not," replied Ida, passing her hand over her forehead. "I've +been thinking of going out of London for a few days, perhaps to the +seaside." +</P> + +<P> +"Go to Weymouth!" cried Sally, delighted at the thought. "Go and see my +people, and tell un how I'm getting on. They'll make you hide with un +all the time you're there, s'nough. It isn't a big house, but it's +comfortable, and see if our mother wouldn't look after you! It's three +weeks since I wrote; if I don't mind there'll be our father up here +looking after I. Now, do go!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, it's too far. Besides, if I go, I shall want to be quite alone." +</P> + +<P> +On the following evening Waymark was expected. At his last visit he had +noticed that Ida was not in her usual spirits. To-night he saw that +something was clearly wrong, and when Ida spoke of going to the +seaside, he strongly urged her to do so. +</P> + +<P> +"Where should you go to?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I think to Hastings. I went there once, when I was a child, with my +mother—I believe I told you. I had rather go there than anywhere else." +</P> + +<P> +"I feel the need of a change myself," he said, a moment after, and +without looking at her. "Suppose I were to go to Hastings, too—at the +same time that you're there—would you dislike it?" +</P> + +<P> +She merely shook her head, almost indifferently. She did not care to +talk much to-night, and frequently nodded instead of replying with +words. +</P> + +<P> +"But—you would rather I didn't?" he urged. +</P> + +<P> +"No, indeed," still in the same indifferent way. "I should have +company, if I found it dull." +</P> + +<P> +"Then let us go down by the same train—will you, Ida?" +</P> + +<P> +As far as she remembered, it was the first time that he had ever +addressed her thus by her name. She looked up and smiled slightly. +</P> + +<P> +"If you like," was her answer. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE MISSING YEARS +</H3> + +<P> +"Why shouldn't life be always like this?" said Waymark, lying on the +upper beach and throwing pebbles into the breakers, which each moment +drew a little further hack and needed a little extra exertion of the +arm to reach them. There was small disturbance by people passing, here +some two miles up the shore eastward from Hastings. A large shawl +spread between two walking-sticks stuck upright gave, at this afternoon +hour, all the shade needful for two persons lying side by side, and, +even in the blaze of unclouded summer, there were pleasant airs +flitting about the edge of the laughing sea. "Why shouldn't life be +always like this? It might be—sunshine or fireside—if men were wise. +Leisure is the one thing that all desire, but they strive for it so +blindly that they frustrate one another's hope. And so at length they +have come to lose the end in the means; are mad enough to set the means +before them as in itself an end." +</P> + +<P> +"We must work to forget our troubles," said his companion simply. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes, and those very troubles are the fit reward of our folly. We +have not been content to live in the simple happiness of our senses. We +must be learned and wise, forsooth. We were not content to enjoy the +beauty of the greater and the lesser light. We must understand whence +they come and whither they go—after that, what they are made of and +how much they weigh. We thought for such a long time that our toil +would end in something; that we might become as gods, knowing good and +evil. Now we are at the end of our tether, we see clearly enough that +it has all been worse than vain; how good if we could unlearn it all, +scatter the building of phantasmal knowledge in which we dwell so +uncomfortably! It is too late. The gods never take back their gifts; we +wearied them with our prayers into granting us this one, and now they +sit in the clouds and mock us." +</P> + +<P> +Ida looked, and kept silent; perhaps scarcely understood. +</P> + +<P> +"People kill themselves in despair," Waymark went on, "that is, when +they have drunk to the very dregs the cup of life's bitterness. If they +were wise, they would die at that moment—if it ever comes—when joy +seems supreme and stable. Life can give nothing further, and it has no +more hellish misery than disillusion following upon delight." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever seriously think of killing yourself?" Ida asked, gazing +at him closely. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I have reached at times the point when I would not have moved a +muscle to escape death, and from that it is not far to suicide. But my +joy had never come, and it is hard to go away without that one +draught.—And you!" +</P> + +<P> +"I went so far once as to buy poison. But neither had I tasted any +happiness, and I could not help hoping." +</P> + +<P> +"And you still wait—still hope?" +</P> + +<P> +Ida made no direct answer. She gazed far off at the indistinguishable +border-land of sea and sky, and when she spoke it was in a softened +tone. +</P> + +<P> +"When I was here last, I was seven years old. Now I am not quite +nineteen. How long I have lived since then—how long! Yet my life did +not really begin till I was about eleven. Till then I was a happy +child, understanding nothing. Between then and now, if I have +discovered little good either in myself or in others, I have learned by +heart everything that is bad in the world. Nothing in meanness or +vileness or wretchedness is a secret to me. Compare me with other girls +of nineteen—perhaps still at school. What sort of a companion should I +be for one of those, I wonder! What strange thoughts I should have, if +ever I talked with such a girl; how old I should feel myself beside +her!" +</P> + +<P> +"Your knowledge is better in my eyes than their ignorance. My ideal +woman is the one who, knowing every darkest secret of life, keeps yet a +pure mind—as you do, Ida." +</P> + +<P> +She was silent so long that Waymark spoke again. +</P> + +<P> +"Your mother died when you were eleven!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and that was when my life began. My mother was very poor, but she +managed to send me to a pretty good school. But for that, my life would +have been very different; I should not have understood myself as well +as I always have done. Poor mother,—good, good mother! Oh, if I could +but have her now, and thank her for all her love, and give her but one +year of quiet happiness. To think that I can see her as if she were +standing before me, and yet that she is gone, is nowhere, never to be +brought back to me if I break my heart with longing!" +</P> + +<P> +Tears stood in her eyes. They meant more than she could ever say to +another, however close and dear to her. The secret of her mother's life +lay in the grave and in her own mind; the one would render it up as +soon as the other. For never would Ida tell in words of that moment +when there had come to her maturing intelligence clear insight into her +mother's history, when the fables of childhood had no longer availed to +blind her, and every recalled circumstance pointed but to one miserable +truth. +</P> + +<P> +"She's happier than we are," Waymark said solemnly. "Think how long she +has been resting." +</P> + +<P> +Ida became silent, and presently spoke with a firmer voice. +</P> + +<P> +"They took her to a hospital in her last illness, and she died there. I +don't know where her grave is." +</P> + +<P> +"And what became of you? Had you friends to go to?" +</P> + +<P> +"No one; I was quite alone.—We had been living in lodgings. The +landlady told me that of course I couldn't stay on there; she couldn't +afford to keep me; I must go and find a home somewhere. Try and think +what that meant to me. I was so young and ignorant that such an idea as +that I might one day have to earn my own living had never entered my +mind. I was fed and clothed like every one else,—a good deal better, +indeed, than some of the children at school,—and I didn't know why it +shouldn't always be so. Besides, I was a vain child; I thought myself +clever; I had even begun to look at myself in the glass and think I was +handsome. It seemed quite natural that every one should be kind and +indulgent to me. I shall never forget the feeling I had when the +landlady spoke to me in that hard, sharp way. My whole idea of the +world was overset all at once; I seemed to be in a miserable dream. I +sat in my mother's bedroom hour after hour, and, every step I heard on +the stairs, I thought it must be my mother coming back home to me;—it +was impossible to believe that I was left alone, and could look to no +one for help and comfort." +</P> + +<P> +"Next morning the landlady came up to me again, and said, if I liked, +she could tell me of a way of earning my living. It was by going as a +servant to an eating-house in a street close by, where they wanted some +one to wash up dishes and do different kinds of work not too hard for a +child like me. I could only do as I was advised; I went at once, and +was engaged. They took off the dress I was wearing, which was far too +good for me then, and gave me a dirty, ragged one; then I was set to +work at once to clean some knives. Nothing was said about wages or +anything of that kind; only I understood that I should live in the +house, and have all given me that I needed. Of course I was very +awkward. I tried my very hardest to do everything that was set me, but +only got scolding for my pains; and it soon came to boxes on the ear, +and even kicks. The place was kept by a man and wife; they had a +daughter older than I, and they treated her just like a hired servant. +I used to sleep with the girl in a wretched kitchen underground, and +the poor thing kept me awake every night with crying and complaining of +her hard life. It was no harder than mine, and I can't think she felt +it more; but I had even then a kind of stubborn pride which kept me +from showing what I suffered. I couldn't have borne to let them see +what a terrible change it was for me, all this drudgery and unkindness; +I felt it would have been like taking them into my confidence, opening +my heart to them, and I despised them too much for that. I even tried +to talk in a rough rude way, as if I had never been used to anything +better—" +</P> + +<P> +"That was fine, that was heroic!" broke in Waymark admiringly. +</P> + +<P> +"I only know it was miserable enough. And things got worse instead of +better. The master was a coarse drunken brute, and he and his wife used +to quarrel fearfully. I have seen them throw knives at each other, and +do worse things than that, too. The woman seemed somehow to have a +spite against me from the first, and the way her husband behaved to me +made her hate me still more. Child as I was, he did and said things +which made her jealous. Often when she had gone out of an evening, I +had to defend myself against him, and call the daughter to protect me. +And so it went on, till, what with fear of him, and fear of her, and +misery and weariness, I resolved to go away, become of me what might. +One night, instead of undressing for bed as usual, I told Jane—that +was the daughter—that I couldn't bear it any longer, and was going +away, as soon as I thought the house was quiet. She looked at me in +astonishment, and asked me if I had anywhere to go to. Will you believe +that I said yes, I had? I suppose I spoke in a way which didn't +encourage her to ask questions; she only lay down on the bed and cried +as usual. "Jane," I said, in a little, "if I were you, I'd run away as +well." "I will," she cried out, starting up, "I will this very night! +We'll go out together." It was my turn to ask her if <I>she</I> had anywhere +to go to. She said she knew a girl who lived in a good home at +Tottenham, and who'd do something for her, she thought. At any rate +she'd rather go to the workhouse than stay where she was. So, about one +o'clock, we both crept out by a back way, and ran into Edgware Road. +There we said good-bye, and she went one way, and I another. +</P> + +<P> +"All that night I walked about, for fear of being noticed loitering by +a policeman. When it was morning, I had come round to Hyde Park, and, +though it was terribly cold—just in March—I went to sleep on a seat. +I woke about ten o'clock, and walked off into the town, seeking a poor +part, where I thought it more likely I might find something to do. Of +course I asked first of all at eating-houses, but no one wanted me. It +was nearly dark, and I hadn't tasted anything. Then I begged of one or +two people—I forgot everything but my hunger—and they gave me a few +coppers. I bought some bread, and still wandered about. There are some +streets into which I can never bear to go now; the thought of walking +about them eight years ago is too terrible to me. Well, I walked till +midnight, and then could stand up no longer. I found myself in a dirty +little street where the house doors stood open all night; I went into +one, and walked up as far as the first landing, and there fell down in +a corner and slept all night." +</P> + +<P> +"Poor child!" said Waymark, looking into her face, which had become +very animated as the details of the story succeeded each other in her +mind. +</P> + +<P> +"I must have looked a terrible little savage on that next morning," Ida +went on, smiling sadly. "Oh, how hungry I was! I was awoke by a woman +who came out of one of the rooms, and I asked her if she'd give me +something to eat. She said she would, if I'd light her fire for her, +and clean up the grate. I did this, gladly enough. Then she pretended I +had done it badly, and gave me one miserable little dry crust, and told +me to be off. Well, that day I found another woman who said she'd give +me one meal and twopence a day for helping her to chop wood and wash +vegetables; she had a son who was a costermonger, and the stuff he sold +had to be cleaned each day. I took the work gladly. She never asked me +where I spent the night; the truth was I chose a different house each +night, where I found the door open, and went up and slept on the +stairs. I often found several people doing the same thing, and no one +disturbed us. +</P> + +<P> +"I lived so for a fortnight, then I was lucky enough to get into +another eating-house. I lived there nearly two months, and had to leave +for the very same reason as at the first place. I only half understood +the meaning of what I had to resist, but my resistance led to other +unbearable cruelties, and again I ran away. I went about eight o'clock +in the evening. The thought of going back to my old sleeping places on +the stairs was horrible. Besides, for some days a strange idea had been +in my head. I had not forgotten my friend Jane, and I wondered whether, +if I went to Tottenham, it would be possible to find her. Perhaps she +might be well off there, and could help me. I had made inquiries about +the way to Tottenham, and the distance, and when I left the +eating-house I had made up my mind to walk straight there. I started +from Hoxton, and went on and on, till I had left the big streets +behind. I kept asking my way, but often went long distances in the +wrong direction. I knew that Tottenham was quite in the country, and my +idea was to find a sleeping-place in some field, then to begin my +search on the next day. It was summer, but still I began to feel cold, +and this drew me away out of my straight road to a fire which I saw +burning a little way off. I thought it would be nice to sit down by it +and rest. I found that the road was being mended, and by the fire lay a +watchman in a big tub. Just as I came up he was eating his supper. He +was a great, rough man, but I looked in his face and thought it seemed +good, so I asked him if he'd let me rest a little. Of course he was +surprised at seeing me there, for it must have been midnight, and when +he asked me about myself I told him the truth, because he spoke in a +kind way. Then he stopped eating and gave me what was left; it was a +bit of fat bacon and some cold potatoes; but how good it was, and how +good <I>he</I> was! To this moment I can see that man's face. He got out of +his tub and made me take his place, and he wrapped me up in something +he had there. Then he sat by the fire, and kept looking at me, I +thought, in a sad sort of way; and he said, over and over again, 'Ay, +it's bad to be born a little girl; it's bad to be born a little girl; +pity you wasn't a boy.' Oh, how well I can hear his voice this moment! +And as he kept saying this, I went off to sleep." +</P> + +<P> +She stopped, and played with the pebbles. +</P> + +<P> +"And in the morning?" asked Waymark. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, when I woke up, it was light, and there were a lot of other men +about, beginning their work on the road. I crept out of the tub, and +when they saw me, they laughed in a kind sort of way, and gave me some +breakfast. I suppose I thanked them, I hope I did; the watchman was +gone, but no doubt he had told the others my story, for they showed me +the way to Tottenham, and wished me luck." +</P> + +<P> +"And you found your friend Jane!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no; how was it likely I should? I wandered about till I could +stand no longer, and then I went up to the door of a house which stood +in a garden, and begged for something to eat. The servant who opened +was sending me away, when her mistress heard, and came to the door. She +stood looking at me for some time, and then told me to come in. I went +into the kitchen, and she asked me all about myself. I told her the +truth; I was too miserable now to do anything else. Well, the result +was—she kept me there." +</P> + +<P> +"For good?" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, for good. In that very house I lived for six years. Oh; she +was the queerest and kindest little body! At first I helped her servant +in the kitchen,—she lived quite by herself, with one servant,—but +little by little she made me a sort of lady's maid, and I did no more +rough work. You wouldn't believe the ridiculous fancies of that dear +old woman! She thought herself a great beauty, and often told me so +very plainly, and she used to talk to me about her chances of being +married to this and the other person in the neighbourhood. And the +result of all this was that she had to spend I don't know how long +every day in dressing herself, and then looking at herself in the +glass. And I had to learn how to do her hair, and put paint and powder +on her face, and all sorts of wonderful things. She was as good to me +as she could be, and I never wanted for anything. And so six years +passed, and one morning she was found dead in her bed. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that was the end of the happiest time of my life. In a day or +two some relatives came to look after things, and I had to go. They +were kind to me, however; they gave me money, and told me I might refer +to them if I needed to. I came to London, and took a room, and wondered +what I should do. +</P> + +<P> +"I advertised, and answered advertisements, but nothing came. My money +was going, and I should soon be as badly off as ever. I began to do +what I had always thought of as the very last thing, look for +needlework, either for home or in a workroom. I don't know how it is +that I have always hated sewing. For one thing, I really can't sew. I +was never taught as a child, and few girls are as clumsy with a needle +as I am. I've always looked upon a work-girl's life as the most +horrible drudgery; I'd far rather scrub floors. I suppose I've a +rebellious disposition, and just because sewing is looked upon as a +woman's natural slavery, I rebelled against it. +</P> + +<P> +"By this time I was actually starving. I had one day to tell my +landlady I couldn't pay my rent. She was a very decent woman, and she +talked to me in a kind way. What was better, she gave me help. She had +a sister who kept a laundry, and she thought I might perhaps get +something to do there; at all events she would go and see. The result +was I got work. I was in the laundry nearly six months, and became +quite clever in getting up linen. Now this was a kind of work I liked. +You can't think what a pleasure it was to me to see shirts and collars +turning out so spotless and sweet—" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but you don't understand. I do so like cleanliness! I have a sort +of feeling when I'm washing anything, that I'm really doing good in the +world, and the dazzling white of linen after I'd ironed it seemed to +thank me for my work." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes, I understand well enough," said Waymark earnestly. +</P> + +<P> +"For all that I couldn't stay. I was restless. I had a foolish notion +that I should like to be with a better kind of people again—I mean +people in a higher position. I still kept answering advertisements for +a lady's maid's place, and at last I got what I wanted. Oh yes, I got +it." +</P> + +<P> +She broke off' laughing bitterly, and remained silent. Waymark would +not urge her to continue. For a minute it seemed as if she would tell +no more; she looked at her watch, and half arose. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I may as well tell you all, now I've begun," she said, falling +back again in a careless way. "You know what the end's going to be; +never mind, at all events I'll try and make you understand how it came. +</P> + +<P> +"The family I got into was a lady and her two grown-up daughters, and a +son of about five-and-twenty. They lived in a small house at Shepherd's +Bush. My wages were very small, and I soon found out that they were a +kind of people who keep up a great deal of show on very little means. +Of course I had to be let into all the secrets of their miserable +shifts for dressing well on next to nothing at all, and they expected +me—mother and daughters—to do the most wonderful and impossible +things. I had to turn old rags into smart new costumes, to trim +worn-out hats into all manner of gaudy shapes, even to patch up boots +in a way you couldn't imagine. And they used to send me with money to +buy things they were ashamed to go and buy themselves; then, if I +hadn't laid out their few pence with marvellous result, they all but +accused me of having used some of the money for myself. I had +fortunately learnt a great deal with the old lady in Tottenham, or I +couldn't have satisfied them for a day. I'm sure I did what few people +could have done, and for all that they treated me from almost the first +very badly. I had to be housemaid as well as lady's maid; the slavery +left me every night worn out with exhaustion. And I hadn't even enough +to eat. As time went on, they treated me worse and worse. They spoke to +me often in a way that made my heart boil, as if they were so many +queens, and I was some poor mean wretch who was honoured by being +allowed to toil for them. Then they quarrelled among themselves +unceasingly, and of course I had to bear all the bad temper. I never +saw people hate one another like those three did; the sisters even +scratched each other's faces in their fits of jealousy, and sometimes +they both stormed at their mother till she went into hysterics, just +because she couldn't give them more money. The only one in the house +who ever spoke decently to me was the son—Alfred Bolter, his name was. +I suppose I felt grateful to him. Once or twice, when he met me on the +stairs, he kissed me. I was too miserable even to resent it. +</P> + +<P> +"I went about, day after day, in a dazed state, trying to make up my +mind to leave the people, but I couldn't. I don't know how it was, I +had never felt so afraid of being thrown out into the world again. I +suppose it was bodily weakness, want of proper food, and overwork. I +began to feel that the whole world was wronging me. Was there never to +be anything for me but slaving? Was I never to have any enjoyment of +life, like other people? I felt a need of pleasure, I didn't care how +or what. I was always in a fever; everything was exaggerated to me. +What was going to be my future?—I kept asking myself. Was it only to +be hard work, miserably paid, till I died? And I should die at last +without having known what it was to enjoy my life. When I was allowed +to go out—it was very seldom—I walked aimlessly about the streets, +watching all the girls I passed, and fancying they all looked so happy, +all enjoying their life so. I was growing thin and pale. I coughed, and +began to think I was consumptive. A little more of it and I believe I +should have become so really. +</P> + +<P> +"It came to an end, suddenly and unexpectedly. All three, mother and +daughters, had been worrying me through a whole morning, and at last +one of them called me a downright fool, and said I wasn't worth the +bread I ate. I turned on them. I can't remember a word I said, but +speak I did, and in a way that astonished them; they shrank back from +me, looking pale and frightened. I felt in that moment that I was a +thousand times their superior; I believe I told them so. Then I rushed +up to my room, packed my box, and went out into the street. +</P> + +<P> +"I had just turned a corner, when some one came up to me, and it was +Mr. Bolter. He had followed me from the house. He laughed, said I had +done quite right, and asked me if I had any money. I shook my head. He +walked on by me, and talked. The end was, that he found me rooms, and +provided for me. +</P> + +<P> +"I had not the least affection for him, but he had pleasant, +gentlemanly ways, and it scarcely even occurred to me to refuse his +offers. I was reckless; what happened to me mattered little, as long as +I had not to face hard work. I needed rest. For one in my position +there was, I saw well enough, only one way of getting it. I took that +way." +</P> + +<P> +Ida had told this in a straightforward, unhesitating manner, not +meeting her companion's gaze, yet not turning away. One would have said +that judgments upon her story were indifferent to her; she simply +related past events. In a moment, she resumed. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you remember, on the night when you first met me, a man following +us in the street?" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"He was a friend of Alfred Bolter's, and sometimes we met him when we +went to the theatre, and such places. That is the only person I ever +hated from the first sight,—hated and dreaded in a way I could not +possibly explain." +</P> + +<P> +"But why do you mention him?" asked Waymark. "What is his name?" +</P> + +<P> +"His name is Edwards," returned Ida, pronouncing it as if the sound +excited loathing in her. "I had been living in this way for nearly +half-a-year, when one day this man called and came up to my +sitting-room. He said he had an appointment with Mr. Bolter, who would +come presently. I sat scarcely speaking, but he talked on. Presently, +Mr. Bolter came. He seemed surprised to find the other man with me, and +almost at once turned round and went out again. Edwards followed him, +saying to me that he wondered what it all meant. The meaning was made +clear to me a few hours after. There came a short note from Mr. Bolter, +saying that he had suspected that something was wrong, and that under +the circumstances he could of course only say good-bye. +</P> + +<P> +I can't say that I was sorry; I can't say that I was glad. I despised +him for his meanness, not even troubling myself to try and make sure of +what had happened. The same night Edwards came to see me again, made +excuses, blamed his friend, shuffled here and there, and gave me +clearly to understand what he wanted. I scarcely spoke, only told him +to go away, and that he need never speak to me anywhere or at any time; +it would be useless. Well, I changed my lodgings for those I now have, +and simply began the life I now—the life I have been leading. Work was +more impossible for me than ever, and I had to feed and clothe myself." +</P> + +<P> +"How long ago was that?" asked Waymark, without looking up. +</P> + +<P> +"Four months." +</P> + +<P> +Ida rose from the beach. The tide had gone down some distance; there +were stretches of smooth sand, already dry in the sunshine. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us walk back on the sands," she said, pointing. +</P> + +<P> +"You are going home?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I want to rest a little. I will meet you again about eight +o'clock, if you like." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark accompanied her as far as the door, then strolled on to his own +lodgings, which were near at hand. It was only the second day that they +had been in Hastings, yet it seemed to him as if he had been walking +about on the seashore with Ida for weeks. For all that, he felt that he +was not as near to her now as he had been on certain evenings in +London, when his arrival was to her a manifest pleasure, and their talk +unflagging from hour to hour. She did not show the spirit of holiday, +seemed weary from time to time, was too often preoccupied and +indisposed to talk. True, she had at length fulfilled her promise of +telling him the whole of her story, but even this increase of +confidence Waymark's uneasy mind strangely converted into fresh source +of discomfort to himself. She had made this revelation—he half +believed—on purpose to keep up the distance between them, to warn him +how slight occasion had led her from what is called the path of virtue, +that he might not delude himself into exaggerated estimates of her +character. Such a thought could of course only be due to the fact that +Ida's story had indeed produced something of this impression upon her +hearer. Waymark had often busied himself with inventing all manner of +excuses for her, had exerted his imagination to the utmost to hit upon +some most irresistible climax of dolorous circumstances to account for +her downfall. He had yet to realise that circumstances are as relative +in their importance as everything else in this world, and that ofttimes +the greatest tragedies revolve on apparently the most insignificant +outward events—personality being all. +</P> + +<P> +He spent the hours of her absence in moving from place to place, +fretting in mind. At one moment, he half determined to bring things to +some issue, by disregarding all considerations and urging his love upon +her. Yet this he felt he could not do. Surely—he asked himself angrily +he was not still so much in the thraldom of conventionality as to be +affected by his fresh reminder of her position and antecedents? Perhaps +not quite so much prejudice as experience which disturbed him. He was +well acquainted with the characteristics of girls of this class; he +knew how all but impossible it is for them to tell the truth, the whole +truth, and nothing but the truth. And there was one thing particularly +in Ida's story that he found hard to credit; was it indeed likely that +she had not felt more than she would confess for this man whose +mistress she became so easily? If she had <I>not</I>, if what she said were +true, was not this something like a proof of her lack of that refined +sentiment which is, the capacity for love, in its real sense? Torturing +doubts and reasonings of this kind once set going in a brain already +confused with passion, there is no limit to the range of speculation +opened; Waymark found himself—in spite of everything—entertaining all +his old scepticism. In any case, had he the slightest ground for the +hope that she might ever feel to him as warmly as he did to her? He +could not recall one instance of Ida's having betrayed a trace of +fondness in her intercourse with him. The mere fact of their +intercourse he altogether lost sight of. Whereas an outsider would, +under the circumstances, have been justified in laying the utmost +stress on this, Waymark had grown to accept it as a matter of course, +and only occupied himself with Ida's absolute self-control, her perfect +calmness in all situations, the ease with which she met his glance, the +looseness of her hand in his, the indifference with which she heard him +when he had spoken of his loneliness and frequent misery. Where was the +key of her character? She did not care for admiration; it was quite +certain that she was not leading him about just to gratify her own +vanity. Was it not purely an intellectual matter? She was a girl of +superior intellect, and, having found in him some one with whom she +could satisfy her desire for rational converse, did she not on this +account keep up their relations? For the rest—well, she liked ease and +luxury; above all, ease. Of that she would certainly make no sacrifice. +How well he could imagine the half-annoyed, half-contemptuous smile +which would rise to her beautiful face, if he were so foolish as to +become sentimental with her! That, he felt, would be a look not easy to +bear. Humiliation he dreaded. +</P> + +<P> +When eight o'clock came, he was leaning over the end of the pier, at +the appointed spot, still busy in thought. There came a touch on his +arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, are you thinking how you can make a book out of my story?" +</P> + +<P> +The touch, the voice, the smile,—how all his sophistry was swept away +in a rush of tenderness and delight! +</P> + +<P> +"I must wait for the end of it," he returned, holding out his hand, +which she did not take. +</P> + +<P> +"The end?—Oh, you must invent one. Ends in real life are so +commonplace and uninteresting." +</P> + +<P> +"Commonplace or not," said Waymark, with some lack of firmness in his +voice, "the end of your story should not be an unhappy one, if I had +the disposing of it. And I might have—but for one thing." +</P> + +<P> +"What's that?" she asked, with sudden interest. +</P> + +<P> +"My miserable poverty. If I only had money—money"— +</P> + +<P> +"Money!" she exclaimed, turning away almost angrily. Then she added, +with the coldness which she did not often use, but which, when she did, +chilled and checked him—"I don't understand you." +</P> + +<P> +He pointed with a bitter smile down to the sands. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at that gold of the sunset in the pools the tide has left. It is +the most glorious colour in nature, but it makes me miserable by +reminding me of the metal it takes its name from." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him with eyes which had in them a strange wonder, sad at +first, then full of scorn, of indignation. And then she laughed, +drawing herself away from him. The laugh irritated him. He experienced +a terrible revulsion of feeling, from the warmth and passion which had +possessed him, to that humiliation, which he could not bear. +</P> + +<P> +And just now a number of people came and took their stands close by, in +a gossiping group. Ida had half turned away, and was looking at the +golden pools. He tried to say something, but his tongue was dry, and +the word would not come. Presently, she faced him again, and said, in +very much her ordinary tone— +</P> + +<P> +"I was going to tell you that I have just had news from London, which +makes it necessary for me to go back to-morrow. I shall have to take an +early train." +</P> + +<P> +"This is because I have offended you," Waymark said, moving nearer to +her. "You had no thought of going before that." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not surprised that you refuse to believe me," returned Ida, +smiling very faintly. "Still, it is the truth. And now I must go in +again;—I am very tired." +</P> + +<P> +"No," he exclaimed as she moved away, "you must not go in till—till +you have forgotten me. At least come away to a quiet place, where I can +speak freely to you; these people—" +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow morning," she said, waving her hand wearily. "I can't talk +now—and indeed there is no need to speak of this at all. I have +forgotten it." +</P> + +<P> +"No, you have not; how could you?—And you will not go to-morrow; you +shall not." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I must," she returned firmly. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I shall go with you." +</P> + +<P> +"As you like. I shall leave by the express at five minutes past nine." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I shall be at the station. But at least I may walk home with you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, please. If you wish me to think you are sincere,—if you wish us +still to be friends—stay till I have left the pier.—Good night." +</P> + +<P> +He muttered a return, and stood watching her as she walked quietly away. +</P> + +<P> +When it was nearly midnight, Ida lay on her bed, dressed, as she had +lain since her return home. For more than an hour she had cried and +sobbed in blank misery, cried as never since the bitter days long ago, +just after her mother's death. Then, the fit over, something like a +reaction of calm followed, and as she lay perfectly still in the +darkness, her regular breathing would have led one to believe her +asleep. But she was only thinking, and in deed very far from sleep The +long day in the open air had so affected her eyes that, as she looked +up at the ceiling, it seemed to her to be a blue space, with light +clouds constantly flitting across it. Presently this impression became +painful, and a growing restlessness made her rise. The heat of the room +was stifling, for just above was the roof, upon which all day the sun +had poured its rays. She threw open the window, and drank in the air. +The night was magnificent, flooded with warm moonlight, and fragrant +with sea breathings. Ida felt an irresistible desire to leave the house +and go down to the shore, which she could not see from her window; the +tide, she remembered, would just now be full, and to walk by it in the +solitude of midnight would bring her that peace and strength of soul +she so much needed. She put on her hat and cloak, and went downstairs. +The front door was only latched, and, as she had her key, no doubt she +would be able to let herself in at any hour. +</P> + +<P> +The streets were all but deserted, and, when she came to the beach, no +soul was anywhere visible. She walked towards the place where she had +spent the afternoon with Waymark, then onwards still further to the +east, till there was but a narrow space between the water and the +cliffs. Breakers there were none, not more ripple at the clear +tide-edge than on the border of a little lake. So intense was the +silence that every now and then could be distinctly heard a call on one +of the fishing-boats lying some distance from shore. The town was no +longer in sight. +</P> + +<P> +It was close even here; what little breeze there was brushed the face +like the warm wing of a passing bird. Ida dipped her hands in the water +and sprinkled it upon her forehead. Then she took off her boots and +stockings, and walked with her feet in the ripples. A moment after she +stopped, and looked all around, as if hesitating at some thought, and +wishing to see that her solitude was secure. Just then the sound of a +clock came very faintly across the still air, striking the hour of one. +She stepped from the water a few paces, and began hastily to put off +her clothing; in a moment her feet were again in the ripples, and she +was walking out from the beach, till her gleaming body was hidden. Then +she bathed, breasting the full flow with delight, making the sundered +and broken water flash myriad reflections of the moon and stars. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +Waymark was at the station next morning half an hour before train-time. +He waited for Ida's arrival before taking his ticket. She did not come. +He walked about in feverish impatience, plaguing himself with all +manner of doubt and apprehension. The train came into the station, and +yet she had not arrived. It started, and no sign of her. +</P> + +<P> +He waited yet five minutes, then walked hastily into the town, and to +Ida's lodgings. Miss Starr, he was told, had left very early that +morning; if he was Mr. Waymark, there was a note to be delivered to him. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I thought it better that I should go to London by an earlier train, +for we should not have been quite at our ease with each other. I beg +you will not think my leaving you is due to anything but +necessity—indeed it is not. I shall not be living at the old place, +but any letter you send there I shall get. I cannot promise to reply at +once, but hope you will let me do so when I feel able to. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +I. S." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Waymark took the next train to town. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE ENDERBYS +</H3> + +<P> +Some twenty years before the date we have reached, the Rev. Paul +Enderby, a handsome young man, endowed with moral and intellectual +qualities considerably above the average, lived and worked in a certain +small town of Yorkshire. +</P> + +<P> +He had been here for two years, an unmarried man; now it was made known +that this state of things was to come to an end; moreover, to the +disappointment of not a few households, it was understood that the +future Mrs. Enderby had been chosen from among his own people, in +London. The lady came, and there was a field-day of criticism. Mrs. +Enderby looked very young, and was undeniably pretty; she had +accomplishments, and evidently liked to exhibit them before her homely +visitors. She exaggerated the refinement of her utterance that it might +all the more strike off against the local accent. It soon became clear +that she would be anything but an assistance to her husband in his +parochial work; one or two attempts were made, apparently with good +will, at intercourse with the poor parishioners, but the enterprise was +distinctly a failure; it had to be definitively given up. Presently a +child was born in the parsonage, and for a little while the young +mother's attention was satisfactorily engaged at home. The child was a +girl and received the name of Maud. +</P> + +<P> +Paul Enderby struggled to bate no jot of his former activity, but a +change was obvious to all. No less obvious the reason of it. Mrs. +Enderby's reckless extravagance had soon involved her husband in great +difficulties. He was growing haggard; his health was failing; his +activity shrank within the narrowest possible limits; he shunned men's +gaze. +</P> + +<P> +Yet all at once there happened something which revived much of his old +zeal, and, in spite of everything, brought him once more prominently +forward. A calamity had visited the town. By a great explosion in a +neighbouring colliery, numbers of homes had been rendered destitute, +and aid of every kind was imperatively called for on all sides. In +former times, Paul Enderby would have been just the man for this +occasion, and even now he was not wanting. Extensive subscriptions were +raised, and he, as chief man in the committee which had been formed, +had chief control of the funds. People said afterwards that they had +often remarked something singular in his manner as he went about in +these duties. Whether that was true or not, something more than +singular happened when, some two months later, accounts were being +investigated and cleared up. Late one evening, Mr. Enderby left +home,—and never returned to it. It was very soon known that he must +have appropriated to his own use considerable sums which had reached +his hands for charitable purposes, and the scandal was terrific. Mrs. +Enderby and her child disappeared in a day or two. It was said that +ladies from London had come and fetched her away, and she was no more +heard of in that little town. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Bygrave, an elder sister of Mrs. Enderby, had received a letter +from Paul summoning her to the wife's aid: and this letter, dated from +Liverpool, after disclosing in a few words the whole situation, went on +to say that the writer, though he would never more be seen by those who +knew him, would not fail to send his wife what money he could as often +as he could. And, after half a year, sums had begun to be remitted, in +envelopes bearing a Californian postmark. They were not much use, +however, to Mrs. Enderby. A few days after her arrival at her home in +London, she had been discovered hanging, with a rope round her neck, +from a nail behind her bedroom door. Cut down in time, her life was +saved, but reason had forsaken her. She was taken away to an asylum, +and remained there for five years. +</P> + +<P> +By that time, she seemed to have quite recovered. Her home was now to +be with her sister, Theresa Bygrave. Her child, Maud Enderby, was +nearly seven years old. Mrs. Enderby returned to the world not quite +the same woman as when she left it. She had never lacked character, and +this now showed itself in one immutable resolution. Having found that +the child had learnt nothing of its parents, she determined that this +ignorance should continue; or rather that it should be exchanged for +the belief that those parents were both long dead. She dwelt apart, +supported by her sister. Finally, after ten years' absence, Paul +Enderby returned to England, and lived again with his wife. But Maud, +their daughter, still believed herself alone in the world, save for her +aunt, Miss Bygrave. +</P> + +<P> +At the time when Waymark and Ida were together at Hastings, Mrs. +Enderby called one evening at Miss Bygrave's house—the house of Maud's +childhood, still distinguished by the same coldness, bareness and +gloom, the same silence echoing to a strange footfall. Theresa Bygrave +had not greatly altered; tall, upright, clad in the plainest black +garment, she walked into the room with silent dignity, and listened to +a suggestion made by her brother-in-law. +</P> + +<P> +"We have talked it over again," said Paul, "and we have decided to take +this step." +</P> + +<P> +He paused and watched the listener's face eagerly, glancing quickly +away as soon as she looked up. +</P> + +<P> +"And you still wish me to break it to Maud, and in the way you said?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you will.—But I do so wish you would let me know your own thoughts +about this. You have so much claim to be considered. Maud is in reality +yours far more than she is ours. Will it—do you think now it will +really be for our own happiness? Will the explanation you are able to +give be satisfactory to her? What will be her attitude towards us? You +know her character—you understand her." +</P> + +<P> +"If the future could be all as calm as the past year has been," said +Miss Bygrave, "I should have nothing to urge against your wishes." +</P> + +<P> +"And this will contribute to it," exclaimed Enderby. "This would give +Emily the very support she needs." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Bygrave looked into his face, which had a pleading earnestness, +and a deep pity lay in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Let it be so," she said with decision. "I myself have much hope from +Maud's influence. I will write and tell her not to renew her +engagement, and she will be with us at the end of September." +</P> + +<P> +"But you will not tell her anything till she comes?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Bygrave lived in all but complete severance from the world. When +Maud Enderby was at school, she felt strongly and painfully the +contrast between her own home life and that of her companions. The girl +withdrew into solitary reading and thinking; grew ever more afraid of +the world; and by degrees sought more of her aunt's confidence, feeling +that here was a soul that had long since attained to the peace which +she was vainly seeking. +</P> + +<P> +But it was with effort that Miss Bygrave brought herself to speak to +another of her form of faith. After that Christmas night when she +addressed Maud for the first time on matters of religion, she had said +no second word; she waited the effect of her teaching, and the girl's +spontaneous recurrence to the subject. There was something in the very +air of the still, chill house favourable to ascetic gravity. A young +girl, living under such circumstances, must either pine away, eating +her own heart, or become a mystic, and find her daily food in religious +meditation. +</P> + +<P> +Only when her niece was seventeen years old did Miss Bygrave speak to +her of worldly affairs. Her own income, she explained, was but just +sufficient for their needs, and would terminate upon her death; had +Maud thought at all of what course she would choose when the time for +decision came? Naturally, only one thing could suggest itself to the +girl's mind, and that was to become a teacher. To begin with, she took +subordinate work in the school where she had been a pupil; later, she +obtained the engagement at Dr. Tootle's. +</P> + +<P> +An education of this kind, working upon Maud Enderby's natural +temperament, resulted in an abnormal character, the chief trait of +which was remarkable as being in contradiction to the spirit of her +time. She was oppressed with the consciousness of sin. Every most +natural impulse of her own heart she regarded as a temptation to be +resisted with all her strength. Her ideal was the same as Miss +Bygrave's, but she could not pursue it with the latter's assured calm; +at every moment the voice of her youth spoke within her, and became to +her the voice of the enemy. Her faith was scarcely capable of +formulation in creeds; her sins were not of omission or commission in +the literal sense; it was an attitude of soul which she sought to +attain, though ever falling away. What little she saw of the world in +London, and afterwards at her home by the sea-side, only served to +increase the trouble of her conscience, by making her more aware of her +own weakness. For instance, the matter of her correspondence with +Waymark. In very truth, the chief reason why she had given him the +permission he asked of her was, that before so sudden and unexpected a +demand she found herself confused and helpless; had she been able to +reflect, the temptation would probably have been resisted, for the +pleasantness of the thought made her regard it as a grave temptation. +Casuistry and sophistical reasoning with her own heart ensued, to the +increase of her morbid sensitiveness; she persuaded herself that +greater insight into the world's evil would be of aid in her struggle, +and so the contents of Waymark's first letter led her to a continuance +of the correspondence. A power of strong and gloomy description which +she showed in her letters, and which impressed Waymark, afforded the +key to her sufferings; her soul in reality was that of an artist, and, +whereas the artist should be free from everything like moral +prepossession, Maud's aesthetic sensibilities were in perpetual +conflict with her moral convictions. She could not understand herself, +seeing that her opportunities had never allowed her to obtain an idea +of the artistic character. This irrepressible delight and interest in +the active life of the world, what could it be but the tendency to +evil, most strongly developed? These heart-burnings whenever she +witnessed men and women rejoicing in the exercise of their natural +affections, what could that be but the proneness to evil in its +grossest form? +</P> + +<P> +It was naturally a great surprise to Maud when she received the letter +from her aunt, which asked her not to continue her engagement into the +new quarter, giving as a reason merely that the writer wished for her +at home. It was even with something of dread and shrinking that she +looked forward to a renewal of the old life. Still, it was enough that +her aunt had need of her. On her return to London, she was met with +strange revelations. Miss Bygrave's story had been agreed upon between +herself and Paul. It had been deemed best to make Mrs. Enderby's +insanity the explanation of Maud's removal from her parents, and the +girl, stricken as she was with painful emotions, seemed to accept this +undoubtingly. +</P> + +<P> +The five years or so since Paul Enderby's reappearance in England +seemed to have been not unprosperous. The house to which Maud was +welcomed by her father and mother was not a large one, and not in a +very fashionable locality, but it was furnished with elegance. Mrs. +Enderby frequently had her hired brougham, and made use of it to move +about a good deal where people see and are seen. Mr. Enderby's business +was "in the City." How he had surmounted his difficulties was not very +clear; his wife learned that he had brought with him from America a +scheme for the utilisation of waste product in some obscure branch of +manufacture, which had been so far successful as to supply him with a +small capital. He seemed to work hard, leaving home at nine each +morning, getting back to dinner at half-past six, and, as often as not, +spending the evening away from home, and not returning till the small +hours. He had the feverish eye of a man whose subsistence depends upon +speculative acuteness and restless calculation. No doubt he was still +so far the old Paul, that, whatever he undertook, he threw himself into +it with surpassing vigour. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Enderby was in her thirty-eighth year, and still handsome. Most +men, at all events, would have called her so, for most men are +attracted by a face which is long, delicate, characterless, and +preserves late the self-conscious expression of a rather frivolous girl +of seventeen. She had ideals of her own, which she pursued regardless +of the course in which they led her; and these ideals were far from +ignoble. To beauty of all kinds she was passionately sensitive. As a +girl she had played the piano well, and, though the power had gone from +long disuse, music was still her chief passion. Graceful ease, delicacy +in her surroundings, freedom from domestic cares, the bloom of flowers, +sweet scents—such things made up her existence. She loved her husband, +and had once worshipped him; she loved her recovered daughter; but both +affections were in her, so to speak, of aesthetic rather than of moral +quality. +</P> + +<P> +Intercourse between Maud and her parents, now that they lived together, +was, as might have been expected, not altogether natural or easy. She +came to them with boundless longings, ready to expend in a moment the +love of a lifetime; they, on their side, were scarcely less full of +warm anticipation; yet something prevented the complete expression of +this mutual yearning. The fault was not in the father and mother if +they hung back somewhat; in very truth, Maud's pure, noble countenance +abashed them. This, their child, was so much the superior of them both; +they felt it from the first moment, and could never master the +consciousness. Maud mistook this for coldness; it checked and saddened +her. Yet time brought about better things, though the ideal would never +be attained. In her father, the girl found much to love; her mother she +could not love as she had hoped, but she regarded her with a vast +tenderness, often with deep compassion. Much of sympathy, moreover, +there was between these two. Maud's artistic temperament was inherited +from her mother, but she possessed it in a stronger degree, of purer +quality, and under greater restraint. This restraint, however, did not +long continue to be exercised as hitherto. Life for the first time was +open before her, and the music which began to fill her ears, the +splendour which shone into her eyes, gradually availed to still that +inner voice which had so long spoken to her in dark admonishings. She +could not resign herself absolutely to the new delight; it was still a +conflict; but from the conflict itself she derived a kind of joy, born +of the strength of her imagination. +</P> + +<P> +Yes, there was one portion of the past which dwelt with her, and by +degrees busied her thoughts more and more. The correspondence with +Waymark had ceased, and by her own negligence. In those days of mental +disturbance which preceded her return to London, his last letter had +reached her, and this she had not replied to. It had been her turn to +write, but she had not felt able to do so; it had seemed to her, +indeed, that, with her return home, the correspondence would naturally +come to an end; with a strange ignorance of herself, such as now and +then darkens us, she had suddenly come to attach little value to the +connection. Not improbably, Waymark's last two letters had been forced +and lacking in interest. He had never said anything which could be +construed into more than an expression of friendly interest, or +intellectual sympathy. It may be that Maud's condition, dimly prophetic +of the coming change, required more than this, and she conceived a +certain dissatisfaction. Then came the great event, and for some weeks +she scarcely thought of her correspondent. One day, however, she +chanced upon the little packet of his letters, and read them through +again. It was with new eyes. Thoughts spoke to her which had not been +there on the first reading. Waymark had touched at times on art and +kindred subjects, and only now could she understand his meaning. She +felt that, in breaking off her connection with him, she had lost the +one person who could give her entire sympathy; to whom she might have +spoken with certainty of being understood, of all the novel ideas which +possessed her; who, indeed, would have been invaluable as a guide in +the unknown land she was treading. It was now almost the end of the +year; more than three months had gone by since she received that last +letter from him. Could she write now, and let him know that she was in +London? She could not but give expression to her altered self; and +would he be able to understand her? Yet,—she needed him; and there was +something of her mother in the fretting to which she was now and then +driven by the balked desire. At length she was on the point of writing +a letter, with whatever result, when chance spared her the trouble. +</P> + +<P> +One morning in December, she went with her mother to an exhibition of +pictures in Bond Street. Such visits had been common of late; Mrs. +Enderby could rarely occupy herself at home, and pictures, as +everything beautiful, always attracted her. They had been in the +gallery a few minutes only, when Maud recognised Waymark close at hand. +He was looking closely at a canvas, and seemed quite unaware of her +proximity. She laid her hand on her mother's arm, and spoke in a +nervous whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother, I know that gentleman." +</P> + +<P> +"This one?" asked Mrs. Enderby, indicating Waymark, with a smile. She +showed no surprise, any more than she would have done had Maud been +only her friend. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. If he should notice me, may I introduce him to you? He was at the +school where I taught a year ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, certainly, my love," replied her mother, with cheerful assent. +"It is quite natural that you should have acquaintances I should like +to know. Shall I ask him to come and see us?" +</P> + +<P> +There was no opportunity of answering. Waymark, in moving on, had +glanced round at the groups of people, and his eye had fallen on Maud. +He seemed uncertain; looked quickly away; glanced again, and, meeting +her eyes, raised his hat, though still without conviction in his face. +Maud came naturally forward a step or two, and they shook hands; then +at once she introduced him to her mother. No one ever experienced +awkward pauses in Mrs. Enderby's presence; conversation linked itself +with perfect ease, and in a minute they were examining the pictures +together. Mrs. Enderby had made up her mind with regard to her new +acquaintance in one or two gleams of her quick eyes, and then talked on +in an eager, intelligent way, full of contagious enthusiasm, which soon +brought out Waymark's best powers. Maud said very little. Whenever it +was possible unobserved, she gazed at Waymark's face. She found herself +thinking that, in external appearance, he had improved since she last +saw him. He had no longer that hungry, discontented look to which she +had grown accustomed in the upper schoolroom at Dr. Tootle's; his eye +seemed at once quieter and keener; his complexion was brighter; the +habitual frown had somewhat smoothed away. Then, he was more careful in +the matter of dress. On the whole, it seemed probable that his +circumstances had changed for the better. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark, on his side, whilst he talked, was not less full of +speculation about Maud. For the change in her appearance was certainly +much more noticeable than it could be in his own. Not only that she had +put aside her sad-coloured and poor raiment for a costume of tasteful +and attractive simplicity—this, of course, her mother's doing—but the +look of shrinking, almost of fear, which he had been wont to see on her +face, was entirely gone. Her eyes seemed for ever intelligent of new +meanings; she was pale, but with the pallor of eager, joy-bringing +thought. There was something pathetic in this new-born face; the lips +seemed still to speak of past sorrows, or, it might be, to hold +unspoken a sad fate half-foreseen. +</P> + +<P> +If this renewal of acquaintanceship came just at the right time for +Maud, it was no less welcome to Waymark. When he wrote his last letter +to her, it had proceeded more from a sense of obligation than any +natural impulse. For he was then only just recovering from a period of +something like despair. His pursuit of Ida Starr to London had been +fruitless. It was true that she had left her former abode, and the +landlady professed to be ignorant of her new one, though she admitted +that she had seen Ida scarcely two hours before Waymark's arrival. He +wrote, but had no reply. His only comfort was an ever-rising suspicion +of the truth (as he would learn it later), but fears were, on the +whole, strongest within him. Confidence in her he had not. All the +reflections of that last evening on Hastings pier lived and re-lived in +his mind; outcome of the cynicism which was a marked feature in his +development, and at the same time tending to confirm it. She had been +summoned back suddenly by a letter; who but a simpleton could doubt +what that meant? He thought of Sally, of course, and the step she had +taken; but could he draw conclusions about Ida from Sally, and did ever +two such instances come within a man's experience? To Sally herself he +had naturally had recourse, but in vain. She said that she knew nothing +of the lost girl. So Waymark fought it out, to the result of weariness; +then plunged into his work again, and had regained very much his +ordinary state of mind when Maud Enderby unexpectedly came before him. +</P> + +<P> +He called upon the Enderbys, and was soon invited to dine, which +necessitated the purchase of a dress suit. On the appointed evening, he +found Maud and her mother in a little drawing-room, which had a +pleasant air of ease and refinement. It was a new sensation for Waymark +as he sank into a soft chair, and, in speaking, lowered his voice, to +suit the quietness of the room. The soft lamp-light spreading through +the coloured shade, the just perceptible odour of scent when Mrs. +Enderby stirred, the crackling of the welcome fire, filled him with a +sense of luxury to which he was not accustomed. He looked at Maud. She +was beautiful in her evening dress; and, marking the grave, sweet +thoughtfulness of her face, the grace of her movements, the air of +purity which clung about her, his mind turned to Ida Starr, and +experienced a shock at the comparison. Where was Ida at this moment? +The mere possibilities which such a question brought before his mind +made him uneasy, almost as if he had forgotten himself and uttered +aloud some word all unfit for ladies' ears. The feeling was a novel +one, and, in afterwards recalling it, he could smile rather +contemptuously, If we are enraptured with one particular flower, shall +we necessarily despise another, whose beauty and perfume happen to be +of quite a different kind? +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Enderby appeared, followed by another gentleman. Waymark noticed an +unpleasant heat in the hand held out to him; there was a flush in +Paul's cheeks, too, and his eyes were very bright. He greeted the +visitor with somewhat excessive warmth, then turned and introduced his +companion, by the name of Mr. Rudge. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark observed that this gentleman and his hostess were on terms of +lively intimacy. They talked much throughout the evening. +</P> + +<P> +During the three months that followed, Waymark's intercourse with the +Enderbys was pretty frequent. Mrs. Enderby asked few questions about +him, and Maud was silent after she had explained Waymark's position, so +far as she was acquainted with it, and how she had come to know him. To +both parents, the fact of Maud's friendship was a quite sufficient +guarantee, so possessed were they with a conviction of the +trustworthiness of her judgment, and the moral value of her impulses. +In Waymark's character there was something which women found very +attractive; strength and individuality are perhaps the words that best +express what it was, though these qualities would not in themselves +have sufficed to give him his influence, without a certain gracefulness +of inward homage which manifested itself when he talked with women, a +suggestion, too, of underlying passion which works subtly on a woman's +imagination. There was nothing commonplace in his appearance and +manner; one divined in him a past out of the ordinary range of +experiences, and felt the promise of a future which would, in one way +or another, be remarkable. +</P> + +<P> +The more Waymark saw of Maud Enderby the more completely did he yield +to the fascination of her character. In her presence he enjoyed a +strange calm of spirit. For the first time he knew a woman who by no +word or look or motion could stir in him a cynical thought. Here was +something higher than himself, a nature which he had to confess +transcended the limits of his judgment, a soul with insight possibly +for ever denied to himself. He was often pained by the deference with +which she sought his opinion or counsel; the words in which he replied +to her sounded so hollow; he became so often and so keenly sensible of +his insincerity,—a quality which, with others, he could consciously +rely upon as a resource, but which, before Maud, stung him. He was +driven to balance judgments, to hesitate in replies, to search his own +heart, as perhaps never before. +</P> + +<P> +Artificial good humour, affected interest, mock sympathy, were as far +from her as was the least taint of indelicacy; every word she uttered +rang true, and her very phrases had that musical fall which only +associates itself with beautiful and honest thought. She never +exhibited gaiety, or a spirit of fun, but could raise a smile by an +exquisite shade of humour—humour which, as the best is, was more than +half sadness. Nor was she fond of mixing with people whom she did not +know well; when there was company at dinner, she generally begged to be +allowed to dine alone. Though always anxious to give pleasure to her +parents, she was most happy when nothing drew her from her own room; +there she would read and dream through hours There were times when the +old dreaded feelings took revenge; night-wakings, when she lay in cold +anguish, yearning for the dawn. She was not yet strong enough to face +past and future, secured in attained conviction. As yet, she could not +stir beyond the present, and in the enjoyment of the present was her +strength. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IN THE MEANTIME +</H3> + +<P> +It was one Wednesday evening in early April, that Waymark found a +letter awaiting him, addressed in a hand he at once recognised. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Will you come and see me? I am at home after eight o'clock till the +end of the week, and all day on Sunday. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +I. S." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +No distinct pleasure was aroused in Waymark as he read this. As was +always the case for hours after he had left Maud's presence, her face +and voice lived with him to the exclusion of every other thought. There +was even something of repulsion in the feeling excited by his thus +having the memory of Ida brought suddenly before him; her face came as +an unwelcome intruder upon the calm, grave mood which always possessed +him on these evenings. In returning home each Wednesday night, Waymark +always sought the speediest and quietest route, unwilling to be brought +in contact with that life of the streets which at other times delighted +him. Ida's note seemed a summons from that world which, for the moment, +he held at a distance. But the call was not to be silenced at his will. +He began to wonder about her life during the past half-year. Why had +she written just now, after so long a silence? Where, and under what +circumstances, should he meet her? Did she think to find him the same +as when they last talked together? +</P> + +<P> +Through the night he woke constantly, and always with thoughts busy +about Ida. In the morning his first impulse was to re-read her message; +received so carelessly, it had in the meantime become of more account, +and Waymark laughed in his wonted way as he saw himself thus swayed +between forces he could not control. The ordinary day's task was +neglected, and he impatiently waited for the hour when he could be sure +of finding Ida at home. The address was at Fulham, and, on reaching it, +he found a large new block of the kind known as model lodging-houses. +Ida's number was up at the very top. When he knocked, the door opened +immediately, and she stood there, holding out her hand to him. +</P> + +<P> +She wore the same dress that she had worn at Hastings, but the gold +brooch and watch-chain were missing, and her hair was arranged in a +simpler way. She was a trifle pale, perhaps, but that might be due to +the excitement of the moment; her voice shook a little as she spoke. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark looked about him as he went in. There appeared to be two rooms, +one of them a very small bedroom, the other fitted with a cooking-grate +and oven; the kind of tenement suitable to very poor working-people. +The floors were bare, and there was nothing in the way of furniture +beyond the most indispensable articles: a table, two chairs, and a few +cups, saucers, and plates on a shelf; through the half-open door, he +saw that the bed-room was equally plain. A fire was burning, and a +kettle on it; and in front, on a little square piece of carpet, lay +Ida's inseparable friend, Grim. Grim had lifted his head at Waymark's +entrance, and, with gathering curiosity in his eyes, slowly stood up; +then stretched himself, and, looking first at one, then at the other, +waited in doubt. +</P> + +<P> +Ida stooped and took him up in her arms. +</P> + +<P> +"And who's this?" she asked, talking to him as one talks to a child, +whilst she pressed his warm black cheek against her own. "Does Grim +remember who this is? We still keep together," she added, looking at +Waymark. "All day long, whilst I'm away, he keeps house; I'm often +afraid he suffers dreadfully from loneliness, but, you see, I'm obliged +to lock him in. And he knows exactly the time when I come home. I +always find him sitting on that chair by the door, waiting, waiting, oh +so patiently! And I often bring him back something nice, don't I, +Grimmy? You should see how delighted he is as soon as I enter the door." +</P> + +<P> +Ida was changed, and in many ways. She seemed to have grown younger; in +her voice and manner there was a girlishness which was quite new to +Waymark. Her motions were lighter and nimbler; there was no longer that +slow grace of step and carriage which had expressed absolute leisure, +and with it had gone, perhaps, something of dignity, which used to sit +so well upon her. She laughed from time to time in a free, careless +way; formerly she seldom did more than smile. In the old days, there +was nothing about her suggestive of what are called the domestic +virtues; now she seemed perfectly at home amid these simple +surroundings, and, almost as soon as her visitor had sat down, she +busied herself in laying the table in a quick, ready way, which came of +the habit of waiting upon herself. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll have a cup of tea with me?" she said, looking at Waymark with +the curiosity which seemed to show that she also found something +changed in him. "I only get home about eight o'clock, and this is the +quietest and pleasantest meal in the day for me." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you do all day, then?" Waymark asked, softening the bluntness +of his question with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +She stepped near to him, and held out her hands for him to look at; +then, as he met her eyes again, laughed merrily. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you guess?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I believe I can. You have gone back to the laundry again?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And how long is it since you did so?" +</P> + +<P> +"How long is it since we last saw each other?" +</P> + +<P> +"Did you begin at once when you returned to London?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark kept silence, whilst Ida poured out a cup of tea for him, and +then took her seat at the table. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think I'm comfortable here?" Ida said. "It's like having a +house of my own. I see nothing of the other people in the building, and +feel independent." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you buy the furniture yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; just the things I couldn't do without. I pay only +three-and-sixpence a week, and so long as I can earn that, I'm sure at +all events of a home, where I can be happy or miserable, as I please." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark wondered. There was no mistaking the genuineness of her tone. +What, then, had been the reason for this astonishing change, a change +extending, it would seem, almost to temperament? What intermediate +phases had led up to this result? He wished to ask her for an +explanation, but to do so would be to refer to the condition she had +left, and that he did not wish to do. All would no doubt explain itself +as they talked; in the meantime she told him how her days were ordered, +and the details of her life. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you brought your pipe?" she asked, when they had drank their tea. +</P> + +<P> +"May I smoke?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course,—just as you used to." +</P> + +<P> +"But it is not the same," Waymark said, half to himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sorry for the change?" Ida asked, as she handed him a box of +matches. +</P> + +<P> +"What induced you to make it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I have strange fancies. The idea came, just like others do. Are +you sorry?" +</P> + +<P> +"The opposite. Did the idea come whilst we were at Hastings?" +</P> + +<P> +"Before that. Do you remember my telling you that I had a letter +calling me back to London?" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"It was from the laundry, to say I could go to work as soon as I liked." +</P> + +<P> +"And why didn't you tell me that?" +</P> + +<P> +Ida seemed about to reply, but altered her intention, and, after being +silent for a moment, asked another question. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you think you would ever hear from me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I had given up hope." +</P> + +<P> +"And did you wonder what had become of me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Often. Why didn't you write before?" +</P> + +<P> +"I wasn't ready." +</P> + +<P> +"What does that mean?" Waymark asked, looking closely at her. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I shall be able to explain some day. If not, well, it won't +matter." +</P> + +<P> +"And will you let me see you often?" said Waymark, after thinking a +little. "Are we to be friends again, as we used to be?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you would care for it." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark turned away as their eyes met. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I should care for it," he said, feeling all at once a +difficulty in speaking naturally. Then he looked at Ida again; she was +bending down and stroking Grim's ears. There was rather a long silence, +which Waymark at length forced himself to break. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I bring you books again?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"I have very little time for reading," was Ida's reply. "It's better, +perhaps, that it is so." +</P> + +<P> +"But why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps it would make me discontented with my work, and want all sorts +of things I couldn't have." +</P> + +<P> +"You have your Sundays free?" Waymark said, after another rather long +silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then we must have some expeditions again, now that the fine days have +come. By the by, do you ever see Sally?" +</P> + +<P> +Ida looked up with a smile and said, "Yes; do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; but I hear of her." +</P> + +<P> +"From your friend?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, from O'Gree." +</P> + +<P> +"Do your other friends still live near you?" Ida asked, speaking +quickly, as if to interrupt what Waymark was about to say. +</P> + +<P> +"The Castis? Oh yes." +</P> + +<P> +"What is Mrs. Casti like?" she said, in a tone which attracted +Waymark's attention. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he replied, "it's difficult to describe her. There's nothing +very good about her, and I suppose nothing very bad. I see little of +her now; she's almost always ill." +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Can't say; general weakness and ill health, I think?" +</P> + +<P> +"But she's so young, isn't she? Has she friends to go and see her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very few, I think." +</P> + +<P> +"It must be dreadful to be like that," said Ida. "I'm thankful that I +have my health, at all events. Loneliness isn't so hard to bear, as it +must be in illness." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you feel lonely?" +</P> + +<P> +"A little, sometimes," said Ida. "But it's ungrateful to poor old Grim +to say so." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you no acquaintances except the people you work with?" +</P> + +<P> +She shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"And you don't read? Wouldn't you like to go on reading as you used to? +You have a better head than most women, and it's a pity not to make use +of it. That's all nonsense about in making you discontented. You won't +always be living like this, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" Ida asked simply. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Waymark, without meeting her look, "even if you do, it +will be gain to you to cultivate your mind?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you wish me to cultivate my mind?" +</P> + +<P> +"You know I do." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark seemed uneasy. He rose and leaned against the mantelpiece. +</P> + +<P> +"I will do whatever you bid me," Ida said. "I can get an hour or so +each night, and I have all Sunday." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark felt only too well the effect of the tone he was adopting. The +situation was by this time clear enough to him, and his own +difficulties no less clear. He avoided looking at Ida as much as he +could. A change had again come over her manner; the girlishness was +modified, the old sadder tone was audible at moments. +</P> + +<P> +"If it's fine on Sunday," he said, "will you go with me to Richmond, +and let us have dinner at the old place?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," was Ida's reply, with a smile, "I can't afford it." +</P> + +<P> +"But I invite you. Of course I didn't mean that it should be any +expense." +</P> + +<P> +She still shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I must take my own share, wherever we go." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I shall certainly refuse your cup of tea next time I come," said +Waymark jestingly. +</P> + +<P> +"That's quite different," said Ida. "But if you like, we can go in the +afternoon, and walk about Roehampton; that I can afford." +</P> + +<P> +"As you please. When shall I call for you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Half-past one." +</P> + +<P> +She opened the door for him, and held out her hand. Their eyes did not +meet as they said good-bye. The door closed, and Waymark went so slowly +down the stone steps that he seemed at every moment on the point of +stopping and turning back. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A SUGGESTION +</H3> + +<P> +Waymark and Julian Casti were sitting together in the former's room. It +was Saturday evening—two days after Waymark's visit to Ida. Julian had +fallen into a sad reverie. +</P> + +<P> +"How is your wife?" asked his friend, after watching the melancholy +face for a while. +</P> + +<P> +"She said her headache was worse to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Curiously," observed Waymark, with a little acidity, "it always is +when you have to leave home." +</P> + +<P> +Julian looked up, and seemed to reach a crisis in his thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"Waymark," he began, reddening as he still always did when greatly +moved, "I fear I have been behaving very foolishly. Many a time I have +wished to speak out to you plainly, but a sort of delicacy—a wrong +kind of delicacy, I think—prevented me. I can't keep this attitude any +longer. I must tell you how things are going on, and you must give me +what help you can. And perhaps I shall be telling you what you already +know?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have suspected." +</P> + +<P> +"Where is the blame?" Julian broke out, with sudden vehemence. "I +cannot think that ever husband was more patient and more indulgent than +I have been. I have refused her nothing that my means could possibly +obtain. I have given up all the old quiet habits of my life that she +mightn't think I slighted her; I scarcely ever open a book at home, +knowing that it irritates her to see me reading; I do my best to amuse +her at all times. How does she reward me? For ever she grumbles that I +can't perform impossibilities,—take her to theatres, buy her new +dresses, procure for her friends and acquaintances. My wishes, +expressed or understood, weigh with her less than the least of her own +caprices. She wantonly does things which she knows will cause me +endless misery. Her companions are gross and depraved people, who +constantly drag her lower and lower, to their own level. The landlady +has told me that, in my absence, women have called to see her who +certainly ought not to enter any decent house. When I entreat her to +give up such associates, her only answer is to accuse me of +selfishness, since I have friends myself, and yet won't permit her to +have any. And things have gone from bad to worse. Several nights of +late, when I have got home, she has been away, and has not returned +till much after midnight. Hour after hour I have sat there in the +extremest misery, waiting, waiting, feeling as though my brain would +burst with its strain! I have no idea where she goes to. If I ask, she +only retorts by asking me where I spend the nights when I am with you, +and laughs contemptuously when I tell her the truth. Her suspicions and +jealousy are incessant, and torture me past endurance. Once or twice, I +confess, I have lost patience, and have spoken angrily, too angrily; +then she has accused me of brutal disregard of her sufferings. It would +hurt me less if she pierced me with a knife. Only this morning there +was a terrible scene; she maddened me past endurance by her wretched +calumnies—accusing me of I know not what disgraceful secrets—and when +words burst from me involuntarily, she fell into hysterics, and +shrieked till all the people in the house ran up in alarm. Can you +understand what this means to one of my temperament? To have my private +affairs forced upon strangers in this way tortures me with the pains of +hell. I am naturally reticent and retiring—too much so, I dare +say—and no misery could have been devised for me more dreadful than +this. Her accusations are atrocious, such as could only come from a +grossly impure mind, or at the suggestion of vile creatures. You she +hates with a rabid hatred—God only knows why. She would hate any one +who was my friend, and whose society relieved me for a moment from my +ghastly torments!" +</P> + +<P> +He ceased for very exhaustion, so terribly did the things he described +work upon him. +</P> + +<P> +"What am I to do, Waymark? Can you give me advice?" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark had listened with his eyes cast down, and he was silent for +some time after Julian ceased. +</P> + +<P> +"You couldn't well ask for advice in a more difficult case," he said at +length. "There's nothing for it but to strengthen yourself and endure. +Force yourself into work. Try to forget her when she is out of sight." +</P> + +<P> +"But," broke in Julian, "this amounts to a sentence of death! What of +the life before me, of the years I shall have to spend with her? Work, +forget myself, forget her,—that is just what I <I>cannot</I> do! My nerves +are getting weaker every day; I am beginning to have fits of trembling +and horrible palpitation; my dreams are hideous with vague +apprehensions, only to be realised when I wake. Work! Half my misery is +caused by the thought that my work is at an end for ever. It is all +forsaking me, the delight of imagining great things, what power I had +of putting my fancies into words, the music that used to go with me +through the day's work. It is long since I wrote a line of verse. +Quietness, peace, a calm life of thought, these things are what I +<I>must</I> have; I thought I should have them in a higher degree than ever, +and I find they are irretrievably lost. I feel my own weakness, as I +never could before. When you bid me strengthen myself, you tell me to +alter my character. The resolution needed to preserve the better part +of my nature through such a life as this, will never be within my +reach. It is fearful to think of what I shall become as time goes on. I +dread myself! There have been revealed to me depths of passion and +misery in my own heart which I had not suspected. I shall lose all +self-control, and become as selfish and heedless as she is." +</P> + +<P> +"No, you will not," said Waymark encouragingly. "This crisis will pass +over, and strength will be developed. We have a wonderful faculty for +accommodating ourselves to wretchedness; how else would the world have +held together so long? When you begin to find your voice again, maybe +you won't sing of the dead world any longer, but of the living and +suffering. Your thoughts were fine; they showed you to be a poet; but I +have never hidden from you how I wished that you had been on my side. +Art, nowadays, must be the mouthpiece of misery, for misery is the +key-note of modern life." +</P> + +<P> +They talked on, and Julian, so easily moulded by a strong will, became +half courageous. +</P> + +<P> +"One of her reproaches," he said, "is just; I can't meet it. If I +object to her present companions it is my duty to find her more +suitable ones. She lives too much alone. No doubt it is every husband's +duty to provide his wife with society. But how am I to find it? I am so +isolated, and always have been. I know not a soul who could be a friend +to her." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark grew thoughtful, and kept silent. +</P> + +<P> +"One person I know," he said presently, and in a cautious way, "who +might perhaps help you." +</P> + +<P> +"You do?" cried Julian eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"You know that I make all sorts of queer acquaintances in my +wanderings. Well, I happen to know a girl of about your wife's age, +who, if she were willing, would be just the person you want. She is +quite alone, parentless, and almost without friends. She lives by +herself, and supports herself by working in a laundry. For all this, +she is by no means the ordinary London work-girl; you can't call her +educated, but she speaks purely, and has a remarkably good +intelligence. I met her by chance, and kept up her acquaintance. There +has been nothing wrong—bah! how conventional one is, in spite of +oneself!—I mean to say there has been nothing more than a pleasant +friendship between us; absolutely nothing. We see each other from time +to time, and have a walk, perhaps a meal, together, and I lend her +books. Now, do you think there would be any way of getting your wife to +accept her society, say of an evening now and then? Don't do anything +rash; it is of course clear that <I>you</I> must have no hand in this. I +must manage it if it is to be done. Naturally, I can't answer at once +for the girl's readiness; but I believe she would do what I asked her +to. Do you think it is worth entertaining, this idea?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do, indeed; it would be salvation, I really believe." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be too sanguine, Casti; that's another of your faults. Still, I +know very well that this girl could cure your wife of her ill +propensities if any living creature could. She is strong in character, +admirably clear-headed, mild, gentle, womanly; in fact, there is +perhaps no one I respect so much, on the whole." +</P> + +<P> +"Respect, only?" asked Julian, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye-es; yes, I believe I am perfectly honest in saying so, though I +couldn't have been so sure about it some little time ago. Our +relations, no doubt, are peculiar; on her side there is no more warmth +than on mine"—Waymark tried so to believe—"and indeed her clear sight +has no doubt gauged me fairly well at my true value." +</P> + +<P> +"What is her name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ida Starr." +</P> + +<P> +"What!" cried Julian startled. "That is a strange thing! You have +noticed the scar on Harriet's forehead?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, it was a wound given her at school by a girl of that very name! I +remember the name as well as possible. It was a blow with a slate dealt +in passion—some quarrel or other. They were both children then, and +Ida Starr left the school in consequence." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it possible that it is the same person?" asked Waymark, wondering +and reflecting. +</P> + +<P> +"If so, that puts a new difficulty in our way." +</P> + +<P> +"Removes one, I should have thought" +</P> + +<P> +"Harriet is not of a very forgiving nature," said Julian gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"I shouldn't have supposed she was; but a long time has gone by since +then, and, after all, one is generally glad to see an old +school-fellow." +</P> + +<P> +At this point the conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door, +followed by the announcement that a gentleman named O'Gree wished to +see Mr. Waymark. Waymark smiled at Julian. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't run away," he said. "You ought to know O'Gree in the flesh." +</P> + +<P> +The teacher came into the room with a rush, and was much taken aback at +the sight of a stranger present. Perspiration was streaming profusely +from his face, which was aglow with some great intelligence. After +being introduced to Casti, he plunged down on a chair, and mopped +himself with his handkerchief, uttering incoherencies about the state +of the weather. Waymark made an effort to bring about a general +conversation, but failed; O'Gree was so preoccupied that any remark +addressed to him had to be repeated before he understood it, and Julian +was in no mood for making new acquaintances. So, in a few minutes, the +latter took his hat and left, Waymark going with him to the door to +speak a few words of encouragement. +</P> + +<P> +"The battle's won!" cried O'Gree, with much gesticulation, as soon as +Waymark returned. "The campaign's at an end!—I'm sorry if I've driven +your friend away, but I was bound to tell you." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. Let me have a description of the manoeuvres." +</P> + +<P> +"Look here, my boy," said O'Gree, with sudden solemnity, "you've never +been very willing to talk to me about her. Now, before I tell you +anything, I want to know this. <I>Why</I> wouldn't you tell me how you first +got to know her, and so on?" +</P> + +<P> +"Before I answer, I want to know this: have you found out why I +wouldn't?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I have—that is, I suppose I have—and from her own lips, too! +You knew her when she lived near the Strand there, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did." +</P> + +<P> +"Well now, understand, my boy. I don't want to hear anything +disagreeable; in fact, I won't listen to anything disagreeable;—all I +want to know is, whether I may safely tell you what she has told me. If +you don't know it already, there's no need to talk of it." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand, and I don't think you can tell me anything I'm not well +aware of." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure, then, I will tell you, and if there's another girl as brave and +honest as Sally in all this worruld, I'll be obliged if you'll make me +acquainted with her! Well, you know she has a Saturday afternoon off +every month. It hasn't been a very cheerful day, but it couldn't be +missed; and, as it was too rainy to walk about, I couldn't think of any +better place to go to than the British Museum. Of course I wanted to +find a quiet corner, but there were people about everywhere, and the +best we could manage was in the mummy-room. We looked at all the +mummies, and I told her all I knew about them, and I kept thinking to +myself: Now, how can I work round to it? I've tried so often, you know, +and she's always escaped me, somehow, and I couldn't help thinking it +was because I hadn't gone about it in the proper way. Well, we'd been +staring at a mummy for about a quarter of an hour, and neither of us +said anything, when all at once a rare idea came into my head. 'Sally,' +I said, glancing round to see that there was no one by, 'that mummy was +very likely a pretty girl like you, once.' 'Do you think so?' she said, +with that look of hers which makes me feel like a galvanic battery. 'I +do,' I said, 'and what's more, there may once have been another mummy, +a man-mummy, standing by her just as I am standing by you, and wanting +very much to ask her something, and shaking in his shoes for fear he +shouldn't get the right answer.' 'Did the mummies wear shoes when they +were alive?' she asked, all at once. 'Wear shoes!' I cried out. 'I +can't tell you, Sally; but one thing I feel very sure of, and that is +that they had hearts. Now, suppose,' I said, 'we're those two +mummies—' 'I'm sure it's bad luck!' interrupted Sally. 'Oh no, it +isn't,' said I, seeing something in her face which made me think it was +the opposite. 'Let me go on. Now, suppose the one mummy said to the +other, "Sally—"' '<I>Were</I> the girl-mummies called Sally?' she +interrupted again. 'Sure I can't say,' said I, 'but we'll suppose so. +Well, suppose he said, "Sally if I can hit on some means of making a +comfortable home here by the Nile,—that's to say, the Thames, you +know,—will you come and keep it in order for me, and live with me for +all the rest of our lives?' Now what do you think the girl-mummy would +have answered:'" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark laughed, but O'Gree had become solemn. +</P> + +<P> +"She didn't answer at once, and there was something very queer in her +face. All at once she said, 'What has Mr. Waymark told you about me?' +'Why, just nothing at all,' I said, rather puzzled. 'And do you know,' +she asked then, without looking at me, 'what sort of a girl I am?' +Well, all at once there came something into my head that I'd never +thought of before, and I was staggered for a moment; I couldn't say +anything. But I got over it. 'I don't want to know anything,' I said. +'All I know is, that I like you better than I ever shall any one else, +and I want you to promise to be my wife, some day.' 'Then you must let +me tell you all my story first,' she said. 'I won't answer till you +know everything.' And so she told me what it seems you know. Well, if I +thought much of her before, I thought a thousand times as much after +that! And do you know what? I believe it was on my account that she +want and took that place in the shop." +</P> + +<P> +"Precisely," said Waymark. +</P> + +<P> +"You think so?" cried the other, delighted. +</P> + +<P> +"I guessed as much when she met me that day and said I might let you +know where she was." +</P> + +<P> +"Ha!" exclaimed O'Gree, with a long breath. +</P> + +<P> +"And so the matter is settled?" +</P> + +<P> +"All but the most important part of it. There's no chance of my being +able to marry for long enough to come. Now, can you give me any advice? +I've quite made up my mind to leave Tootle. The position isn't worthy +of a gentleman; I'm losing my self-respect. The she-Tootle gets worse +and worse. If I don't electrify her, one of these days, with an +outburst of ferocious indignation, she will only have my patience to +thank. Let her beware how she drives the lion to bay!" +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't you get a non-resident mastership?" +</P> + +<P> +"I must try, but the pay is so devilish small." +</P> + +<P> +"We must talk the matter over." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +DIPLOMACY +</H3> + +<P> +Waymark had a good deal of frank talk with himself before meeting Ida +again on the Sunday. Such conversation was, as we know, habitual. Under +the circumstances, however, he felt that it behoved him to become +especially clear on one or two points; never mind what course he might +ultimately pursue, it was always needful to him to dissect his own +motives, that he might at least be acting with full consciousness. +</P> + +<P> +One thing was clear enough. The fiction of a mere friendship between +himself and Ida was impossible to support. It had been impossible under +the very different circumstances of a year ago, and was not likely to +last a week, now that Ida could so little conceal how her own feelings +had changed. What, then, was to be their future? Could he accept her +love, and join their lives without legal bond, thinking only of present +happiness, and content to let things arrange themselves as they would +in the years to come? +</P> + +<P> +His heart strongly opposed such a step. Clearly Ida had changed her +life for his sake, and was undergoing hardships in the hope of winning +his respect as well as his love. Would she have done all this without +something of a hope that she might regain her place in the every-day +world, and be held by Waymark worthy to become his wife? He could not +certainly know, but there was little doubt that this hope had led her +on. Could he believe her capable of yet nobler ideas; could he think +that only in reverence of the sanctity of love, and without regard to +other things, she had acted in this way; then, regarding her as indeed +his equal, he would open his heart to her and speak somewhat in this +way. "Yes, I do love you; but at the same time I know too well the +uncertainty of love to go through the pretence of binding myself to you +for ever. Will you accept my love in its present sincerity, neither +hoping nor fearing, knowing that whatever happens is beyond our own +control, feeling with me that only an ignoble nature can descend to the +affectation of union when the real links are broken?" Could Waymark but +have felt sure of her answer to such an appeal, it would have gone far +to make his love for Ida all-engrossing. She would then be his ideal +woman, and his devotion to her would have no bounds. +</P> + +<P> +But he felt too strongly that in thus speaking he would sadden her by +the destruction of her great hope. On the other hand, to offer to make +her his legal wife would be to do her a yet greater injustice, even had +he been willing to so sacrifice himself. The necessity for legal +marriage would be a confession of her inferiority, and the sense of +being thus bound would, he well knew, be the surest means of weakening +his affection. This affection he could not trust. How far was it mere +passion of the senses, which gratification would speedily kill? +</P> + +<P> +In the case of his feeling towards Maud Enderby there was no such +doubt. Never was his blood so calm as in her presence. She was to him a +spirit, and in the spirit he loved her. With Maud he might look forward +to union at some distant day, a union outwardly of the conventional +kind. It would be so, not on account of any inferiority to his ideal in +Maud, for he felt that there was no height of his own thought whither +she would not in time follow him; but simply because no point of +principle would demand a refusal of the yoke of respectability, with +its attendant social advantages. And the thought of thus binding +himself to Maud had nothing repulsive, for the links between them were +not of the kind which easily yield, and loyalty to a higher and nobler +nature may well be deemed a duty. +</P> + +<P> +So far logical arguing. But the fact remained that he had not the least +intention of breaking off his intercourse with Ida, despite the +certainty that passion would grow upon him with each of their meetings, +rendering their mutual relations more and more dangerous. Of only one +thing could he be sure: marriage was not to be thought of. It remained, +then, that he was in danger of being led into conduct which would be +the source of grievous unrest to himself, and for Ida would lay the +foundation of much suffering. Waymark was honest enough in his +self-communing to admit that he could not trust himself. Gross +deception he was incapable of, but he would not answer for it that, the +temptation pressing him too hard, he might not be guilty of allowing +Ida to think his love of more worth than it really was. She knew his +contempt of conventional ties, and her faith in him would keep her from +pressing him to any step he disliked; she would trust him without that. +And such trust would be unmerited. +</P> + +<P> +It was significant that he did not take into account loyalty to Maud as +a help in resisting this temptation. He was too sure of himself as +regarded that purer love; let what might happen, his loyalty to Maud +would be unshaken. It was independent of passion, and passion could not +shake it. +</P> + +<P> +Then came the subject of the proposed acquaintance between Ida and Mrs. +Casti. An impulse of friendship had led to his conceiving the idea; +together, perhaps, with the recollection of what Ida had said about her +loneliness, and the questions she had asked about Mrs. Casti. Waymark +had little doubt that those questions indicated a desire to become +acquainted with his friends; the desire was natural, under the +circumstances. Still, he regretted what he had done. To introduce Ida +to his friends would be almost equivalent to avowing some conventional +relations between her and himself. And, in the next place, it would be +an obstacle in the way of those relations becoming anything but +conventional. Well, and was not this exactly the kind of aid he needed +in pursuing the course which he felt to be right? Truly; yet— +</P> + +<P> +At this point Waymark broke into that half contemptuous, half indulgent +laugh which so frequently interrupted his self-communings, and, it +being nearly one o'clock, set out to call for Ida. The day was fine, +and, when they left the steamer at Putney, they walked on to the heath +in good spirits and with cheerful talk. To be with Ida under these +circumstances, in the sunlight and the fresh breeze, was very different +from sitting with her yonder in the little room, with the lamp burning +on the table, and the quietness of night around. The calm pleasure of +passionless intercourse was realised and sufficing. Ida, too, seemed +content to enjoy the moment; there was not that wistfulness in her eyes +which had been so new to him and so strong in its influence. It was +easy to find indifferent subjects of conversation, and to avoid the +seriousness which would have been fatal. +</P> + +<P> +When they had found a pleasant spot to rest awhile before turning back, +Waymark made up his mind to fulfil his promise to Julian. +</P> + +<P> +"It's rather strange," he said, "that you should have been asking me +questions about Mrs. Casti. Since then I've discovered that you +probably know her, or once did." +</P> + +<P> +Ida looked surprised. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you remember once having a schoolfellow called Harriet Smales?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is that <I>her</I> name?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was, before her marriage." +</P> + +<P> +Ida became grave, and thought for some moments before speaking again. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I remember her," she said, "and not pleasantly." +</P> + +<P> +"You wouldn't care to renew her acquaintance then?" said Waymark, half +glad, in spite of himself, that she spoke in this way. +</P> + +<P> +Ida asked, with earnestness, how he had made this discovery. Waymark +hesitated, but at length told the truth. He explained that Mrs. Casti +suffered from the want of companionship, and that he had mentioned +Ida's name to Julian; whence the discovery. +</P> + +<P> +"Has <I>she</I> been told about me?" asked Ida. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing was to be said till I had spoken to you." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark paused, but presently continued in a more serious tone. In +recurring to that conversation with Julian, his friend's trouble spoke +strongly to him once more, and overcame selfish thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"I said that I had come to know you by chance, and that—strange as it +might sound—we were simply friends." He glanced for an instant at Ida; +her eyes were turned to the ground. "You will believe me," he went on +quickly, "when I tell you that I really said nothing more?" +</P> + +<P> +"I never doubt a word of yours," was Ida's quiet reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Casti was overjoyed at the thought of finding such a friend for his +wife. Of course I told him that he must not certainly count either on +your consent or on his wife's. Hers I thought to be perhaps more +doubtful than yours." +</P> + +<P> +"Could I really be of any use to her," asked Ida, after a silence, +"with so little free time as I have?" +</P> + +<P> +"Supposing she would welcome you, I really believe you could be of +great use. She is a strange creature, miserably weak in body and mind. +If you could get to regard this as a sort of good work you were called +upon to undertake, you would very likely be little less than an angel +of mercy to both of them. Casti is falling into grievous +unhappiness—why, you will understand sufficiently if you come to know +them." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think she bears malice against me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of that I know nothing. Casti said she had never spoken of you in that +way. By-the-by, she still has a scar on her forehead, I often wondered +how it came there." +</P> + +<P> +Ida winced. +</P> + +<P> +"What a little termagant you must have been!" exclaimed Waymark, +laughing. "How hard it is to fancy you at that age, Ida.—What was the +quarrel all about?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't speak of it," she replied, in a low, sad voice. "It is so long +ago; and I want to forget it." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark kept silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you wish me to be her friend?" Ida asked, suddenly looking up. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly not if you dislike the thought." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no. But you think it would be doing good? you would like me to +help your friend if I can?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I should," was Waymark's reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I hope she will be willing to let me go and see her. I will do my +very best. Let us lose no time in trying. It is such a strange thing +that we should meet again in this way; perhaps it is something more +than chance." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"You think I am superstitious?" she asked quickly. "I often feel so. I +have all sorts of hopes and faiths that you would laugh at." +</P> + +<P> +Ida's thoughts were busy that night with the past and the future. The +first mention of Harriet's name had given her a shock; it brought back +with vividness the saddest moments of her life; it awoke a bitter +resentment which mere memory had no longer kept the power to revive. +That was only for a moment, however. The more she accustomed herself to +the thought, the easier it seemed to be to bury the past in +forgiveness. Harriet must have changed so much since those days. +Possibly there would never be a mention between them of the old +trouble; practically they would be new acquaintances, and would be very +little helped to an understanding of each other by the recollections of +childhood. And then Ida felt there was so much to be glad of in the new +prospects. She longed for a world more substantial than that of her own +imaginations, and here, as she thought, it would be opened to her. +Above all, by introducing her to his friends, Waymark had strengthened +the relations between her and himself. He was giving her, too, a chance +of showing herself to him in a new light. For the first time he would +see her under the ordinary conditions of a woman's life in a home +circle Ida had passed from one extreme to the other. At present there +was nothing she desired so much as the simple, conventional, every-day +existence of the woman who has never swerved from the beaten track. She +never saw a family group anywhere without envying the happiness which +to her seemed involved in the mere fact of a home and relations. Her +isolation weighed heavily upon her. If there were but some one who +could claim her services, as of right, and in return render her the +simple hum-drum affection which goes for so much in easing the burden +of life. She was weary of her solitary heroism, though she never +regarded it as heroism, but merely as the path in which she was +naturally led by her feelings. Waymark could not but still think of her +very much in the old light, and she wished to prove to him how +completely she was changed. The simple act of making tea for him when +he came to see her had been a pleasure; it was domestic and womanly, +and she had often glanced at his face to see whether he noticed it at +all. Then the fact of Harriet's being an invalid would give her many +opportunities for showing that she could be gentle and patient and +serviceable. Casti would observe these things, and doubtless would +speak of them to Waymark. Thinking in this way, Ida became all +eagerness for the new friendship. There was of course the possibility +that Harriet would refuse to accept her offered kindness, but it seemed +very unlikely, and the disappointment would be so great that she could +not bear to dwell on the thought. Waymark had promised to come as soon +as he had any news. The time would go very slowly till she saw him. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark had met Harriet very seldom of late. Julian spent regularly one +evening a week with him, but it was only occasionally that Waymark paid +a visit in turn. He knew that he was anything but welcome to Mrs. +Casti, who of course had neither interest nor understanding for the +conversation between himself and Julian. Formerly he had now and then +tried his best to find some common subject for talk with her, but the +effort had been vain; she was hopelessly stupid, and more often than +not in a surly mood, which made her mere presence difficult to be +endured. Of late, whenever he came, she made her illness an excuse for +remaining in her bed-room. And hence arose another trouble. The two +rooms were only divided by folding doors, and when Harriet got +impatient with what she conceived to be the visitor's undue stay, she +would rap on the doors, to summon Julian to her. This rapping would +take place sometimes six or seven times in half an hour, till Waymark +hastened away in annoyance. And indeed there was little possibility of +conversing in Julian's own room. Julian sat for ever in a state of +nervous apprehension, dreading the summons which was sure to come +before long. When he left the room for a moment, in obedience to it, +Waymark could hear Harriet's voice speaking in a peevish or +ill-tempered tone, and Julian would return pale with agitation, unable +to utter consecutive words. It was a little better when the meeting was +at Waymark's, but even then Julian was anything but at his ease. He +would often sit for a long time in gloomy silence, and seldom could +even affect his old cheerfulness. The change which a year had made in +him was painful. His face was growing haggard with ceaseless anxiety. +The slightest unexpected noise made him start nervously. His old +enthusiasms were dying away. His daily work was a burden which grew +more and more oppressive. He always seemed weary, alike in body and +mind. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet's ailments were not of that unreal kind which hysterical women +often affect, for the mere sake of demanding sympathy, though it was +certain she made the most of them. The scrofulous taint in her +constitution was declaring itself in many ways. The most serious +symptoms took the form of convulsive fits. On Julian's return home one +evening, he had found her stretched upon the floor, unconscious, +foaming at the mouth, and struggling horribly. Since then, he had come +back every night in agonies of miserable anticipation. Her illness, and +his own miseries, were of course much intensified by her self-willed +habits. When she remained away from home till after midnight, Julian +was always in fear lest some accident had happened to her, and once or +twice of late she had declared (whether truly or not it was impossible +to say) that she had had fits in the open street. Weather made no +difference to her; she would leave home on the pretence of making +necessary purchases, and would come back drenched with rain. Protest +availed nothing, save to irritate her. At times her conduct was so +utterly unreasonable that Julian looked at her as if to see whether she +had lost her senses. And all this he bore with a patience which few +could have rivalled. Moments there were when she softened, and, in a +burst of hysterical weeping, begged him to forgive her for some unusual +violence, pleading her illness as the cause; and so sensible was he to +compassion, that he always vowed in his mind to bear anything rather +than deal harshly with her. Love for her, in the true sense, he had +never felt, but his pity often led him to effusions of tenderness which +love could scarcely have exceeded. He was giving up everything for her. +Through whole evenings he would sit by her, as she lay in pain, holding +her hands, and talking in a way which he thought would amuse or +interest her. +</P> + +<P> +"You're sorry you married me," she would often say at such times. "It's +no good saying no; I'm sure you are." +</P> + +<P> +That always made Julian think of her father, and of his own promise +always to be a friend to the poor, weak, ailing creature; and he +strengthened himself in his resolution to bear everything. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark decided that he would venture on the step of going to see +Harriet during the daytime, whilst Julian was away, in order to speak +of Ida. This he did on the Monday, and was lucky enough to find her at +home. She was evidently surprised at his visit, and perhaps still more +so at the kind and friendly way in which he began to speak to her. In a +few minutes he had worked round to his subject. He had, he said, a +friend, a young lady who was very lonely, and for whom he wanted to +find an agreeable companion. It had occurred to him that perhaps he +might ask to be allowed to introduce her. Waymark had concluded that +this would probably be the best way of putting it; Harriet would +perhaps be flattered by being asked to confer the favour of her +acquaintance. And indeed she seemed so; there was even something like a +momentary touch of colour in her pale cheek. +</P> + +<P> +"Does Julian know her?" she asked, fixing her eyes on his with the +closest scrutiny. +</P> + +<P> +"No, he does not." +</P> + +<P> +He would leave her to what conclusion she liked about his relations to +Ida; in reality that mattered little. +</P> + +<P> +"She is some one," he went on, "for whom I have a great regard. As I +say, she has really no friends, and she earns her own living. I feel +sure you would find her company pleasant; she is sensible and cheerful, +and would be very grateful for any kindness you showed her. Her name, +by-the-by, is Ida Starr." +</P> + +<P> +"Ida Starr?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is the name familiar to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I used to know some one called that." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed? How strange it would be if you knew her already. I have spoken +to her of you, but she didn't tell me she knew your name." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no, she wouldn't. It was years and years ago. We used to go to +school together—if it's the same." +</P> + +<P> +The way in which this was spoken was not very promising, but Waymark +would not be discouraged, having once brought himself to the point of +carrying the scheme through. Harriet went on to ask many questions, all +of which he answered as satisfactorily as he could, and in the end she +expressed herself quite willing to renew Ida's acquaintance. Waymark +had watched her face as closely as she did his, and he was able to read +pretty accurately what was passing in her mind. Curiosity, it was +clear, was her main incentive. Good will there was none; its growth, if +at all possible, would depend upon Ida herself. There was even +something very like a gleam of hate in her dark eyes when Ida's name +was first spoken. +</P> + +<P> +"When may I bring her!" Waymark asked. "Perhaps you would like to talk +it over with Julian first? By-the-by, perhaps he remembers her as your +schoolfellow?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know, I'm sure," she said, with a pretence of indifference. "I +don't see what he can have to say against it. Bring her as soon as you +like." +</P> + +<P> +"She is not free till seven at night. Perhaps we had better leave it +till next Sunday?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why? Why couldn't she come to-morrow night?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is very good of you. I have no doubt she would be glad." +</P> + +<P> +With this understanding Waymark took his departure. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you remember Ida Starr?" was Harriet's first question to her +husband when he returned that evening. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I do," replied Julian, with complete self-control. "Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"When did you see her last?" followed quickly, whilst she examined him +as keenly as she had done Waymark. +</P> + +<P> +"See her?" repeated Julian, laughing. "Do you mean the girl you went to +school with?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I do." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know that I ever saw her in my life." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, she's coming here to-morrow night." +</P> + +<P> +An explanation followed. +</P> + +<P> +"Hasn't he ever spoken to you about her?" Harriet asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Julian, smiling. "I suppose he thought it was a private +affair, in which no one else had any interest." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you will like her," he said presently. "It will be very nice to +have a friend of that kind, won't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes,—if she doesn't throw one of my own plates at me." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +UNDER-CURRENTS +</H3> + +<P> +"Well, how do you like her?" Julian asked, when their visitors had left +them. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I dare say she's all right," was the reply. "She's got a good deal +to say for herself." +</P> + +<P> +Julian turned away, and walked about the room. +</P> + +<P> +"What does she work at?" said Harriet, after glancing at him furtively +once or twice. +</P> + +<P> +"I have no idea." +</P> + +<P> +"It's my belief she doesn't work at all." +</P> + +<P> +"Why should Waymark have said so, then?" asked Julian, standing still +and looking at her. He spoke very quietly, but his face betrayed some +annoyance. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet merely laughed, her most ill-natured and maliciously suggestive +laugh, and rose from her seat. Julian came up and faced her. +</P> + +<P> +"Harriet," he said, with perfect gentleness, though his lips trembled, +"why do you always prefer to think the worst of people? I always look +for the good rather than the evil in people I meet." +</P> + +<P> +"We're different in a good many things, you see," said Harriet, with a +sneer. Her countenance had darkened. Julian had learnt the significance +of her looks and tones only too well. Under the circumstances it would +have been better to keep silence, but something compelled him to speak. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure of this," he said. "If you will only meet her in her own +spirit, you will find her a valuable friend—just such a friend as you +need. But of course if you begin with all manner of prejudices and +suspicions, it will be very hard for her to make you believe in her +sincerity. Certainly her kindness, her sympathy, her whole manner, was +perfect to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"You seemed to notice her a good deal." +</P> + +<P> +"Naturally I did, being so anxious that you should find a friend and +companion." +</P> + +<P> +"And who is she, I should like to know?" said Harriet, with perfection +of subdued acrimony. "How can I tell that she's a proper person to be a +friend to me? I know what her mother was, at all events." +</P> + +<P> +"Her mother? What do you know of her mother?" +</P> + +<P> +Julian had never known the whole story of that scar on his wife's +forehead. +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind," said Harriet, nodding significantly. +</P> + +<P> +"I have no idea what you mean," Julian returned. "At all events I can +trust Waymark, and I know very well he would not have brought her here, +if she hadn't been a proper person for you to know. But come," he added +quickly, making an effort to dismiss the disagreeable tone between +them, "there's surely no need for us to talk like this, Harriet. I am +sure you will like her, when you know her better. Promise me that you +will try, dear. You are so lonely, and it would rejoice me so to feel +that you had a friend to help you and to be a comfort to you. At all +events you will judge her on her own merits, won't you, and put aside +all kind of prejudice?" +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't said I shouldn't; but I suppose I must get to know her +first?" +</P> + +<P> +Ominous as such a commencement would have been under any other +circumstances, Julian was so prepared for more decided hostility, that +he was even hopeful. When he met Waymark next, the change in his manner +was obvious; he was almost cheerful once more. And the improvement held +its ground as the next two or three weeks went by. Ida came to Beaufort +Street often, and Julian was able to use the freedom he thus obtained +to spend more time in Waymark's society. The latter noticed the change +in him with surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Things go well still?" he would ask, when Julian came in of an evening. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well indeed. Harriet hasn't been out one night this week." +</P> + +<P> +"And you think it will last?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have good hope." +</P> + +<P> +They did not speak much of Ida, however. It was only when three weeks +had gone by that Julian asked one night, with some hesitation in +putting the question, whether Waymark saw her often. +</P> + +<P> +"Pretty often," was the reply. "I am her tutor, in a sort of way. We +read together, and that kind of thing." +</P> + +<P> +"At her lodgings?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Does it seem a queer arrangement?" +</P> + +<P> +"She seems very intelligent," said Julian, letting the question pass +by, and speaking with some constraint. "Isn't it a pity that she can't +find some employment better suited to her?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see what is open. Could you suggest anything?" +</P> + +<P> +Julian was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"In any case, it won't last very long, I suppose?" he said, looking up +with a smile which was rather a trembling of the lip. +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +They gazed at each other for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Waymark, shaking his head and smiling. "It isn't as you +think. It is perfectly understood between us that we are to be +agreeable company to each other, and absolutely nothing beyond that. I +have no motive for leading you astray in the matter. However things +were, I would tell you frankly." +</P> + +<P> +There was another silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think there is anything like confidence between your wife and +her?" Waymark asked. +</P> + +<P> +"That I hardly know. When I am present, of course they only talk about +ordinary women's interests, household affairs, and so on." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you have no means of—well, of knowing whether she has spoken +about me to your wife in any particular way?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing of the kind has ever been hinted to me" +</P> + +<P> +"Waymark," Julian continued, after a pause, "you are a strange fellow." +</P> + +<P> +"In what respect." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean to tell me honestly that—that you—" +</P> + +<P> +"Well?—you mean to say, that I am not in love with the girl?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I wasn't going to say that," said Julian, with his usual +bashfulness, heightened in this case by some feeling which made him +pale. "I meant, do you really believe that <I>she</I> has no kind of regard +for you beyond mere friendship?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why? Have you formed any conclusions of your own on the point?" +</P> + +<P> +"How could I help doing so?" +</P> + +<P> +"And you look on me," said Waymark, after thinking for a moment, "as an +insensible dog, with a treasure thrown at his feet which he is quite +incapable of appreciating or making use of?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I only feel that your position must be a very difficult one. But +perhaps you had rather not speak of these things?" +</P> + +<P> +"On the contrary. You are perfectly right, and the position is as +difficult as it well could be." +</P> + +<P> +"You had made your choice, I suppose, before you knew Ida at all?" +</P> + +<P> +"So far from that, I haven't even made it yet. I am not at all sure +that my chance of ever marrying Maud Enderby is not so utterly remote, +that t ought to put aside all thought of it. In that case—" +</P> + +<P> +"But this is a strange state of mind," said Julian, with a forced +laugh. "Is it possible to balance feelings in this way?" +</P> + +<P> +"You, in my position, would have no doubt?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know Miss Enderby," said Julian, reddening. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark walked up and down the room, with his hands behind his back, +his brows bent. He had never told his friend anything of Ida's earlier +history; but now he felt half-tempted to let him know everything. To do +so, might possibly give him that additional motive to a clear and +speedy decision in the difficulties which grew ever more pressing. Yet +was it just to Ida to speak of these things even to one who would +certainly not repeat a word? Once or twice he all but began, yet in the +end a variety of motives kept him silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he exclaimed shortly, "we'll talk about this another time. +Perhaps I shall have more to tell you. Don't be gloomy. Look, here I am +just upon the end of my novel. If all goes smoothly I shall finish it +in a fortnight, and then I will read it to you." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you may have better luck with it than I had," said Julian. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, your time is yet to come. And it's very likely I shall be no +better off. There are things in the book which will scarcely recommend +it to the British parent. But it shall be published, if it is at my own +expense. If it comes to the worst, I shall sell my mining shares to +Woodstock." +</P> + +<P> +"After all," said Julian, smiling, "you are a capitalist." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and much good it does me." +</P> + +<P> +Since that first evening Julian had refrained from speaking to his wife +about Ida, beyond casual remarks and questions which could carry no +significance. Harriet likewise had been silent. As far as could be +observed, however, she seemed to take a pleasure in Ida's society, and, +as Julian said, with apparently good result to herself. She was more at +home than formerly, and her health even seemed to profit by the change. +Still, there was something not altogether natural in all this, and +Julian could scarcely bring himself to believe in the happy turn things +seemed to be taking. In Harriet herself there was no corresponding +growth of cheerfulness or good-nature. She was quiet, but with a +quietness not altogether pleasant; it was as though her thoughts were +constantly occupied, as never hitherto; and her own moral condition was +hardly likely to be the subject of these meditations. Julian, when he +sat reading, sometimes became desperately aware of her eyes being fixed +on him for many minutes at a time. Once, on this happening, he looked +up with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, dear?" he asked, turning round to her. "You are very +quiet. Shall I put away the book and talk?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; I'm all right." +</P> + +<P> +"You've been much better lately, haven't you?" he said, taking her hand +playfully. "Let me feel your pulse; you know I'm half a doctor." +</P> + +<P> +She drew it away peevishly. But Julian, whom a peaceful hour had made +full of kindness, went on in the same gentle way. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know how happy it makes me to see you and Ida such good +friends. I was sure it would be so. Don't you feel there is something +soothing in her society? She speaks so gently, and always brings a sort +of sunshine with her." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet's lips curled, very slightly, but she said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"When are you going to see her again? It's hardly fair to let the +visiting be always on her side, is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall go when I feel able. Perhaps to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +Julian presently went back to his book again. If he could have seen the +look Harriet turned upon him when his face was averted, he would not +have read so calmly. +</P> + +<P> +That same evening Harriet herself was the subject of a short +conversation between Ida and Waymark, as they sat together in the usual +way. +</P> + +<P> +"I fear there will never be anything like confidence between us," Ida +was saying. "Do you know that I am sometimes almost afraid of her; +sometimes she looks and speaks as if she hated me." +</P> + +<P> +"She is a poor, ill-conditioned creature," Waymark re plied, rather +contemptuously. +</P> + +<P> +"Can you explain," asked Ida, "how it was that Mr. Casti married her?" +</P> + +<P> +"For my life, I can't! I half believe it was out of mere pity; I +shouldn't wonder if the proposal came from her side. Casti might once +have done something; but I'm afraid he never will now." +</P> + +<P> +"And he is so very good to her. I pity him from my heart whenever I see +them together. Often I have been so discouraged by her cold suspicious +ways, that I half-thought I should have to give it up, but I felt it +would be cruel to desert him so. I met him in the street the other +night just as I was going to her, and he thanked me for what I was +doing in a way that almost made me cry." +</P> + +<P> +"By-the-by," said Waymark, "you know her too well to venture upon +anything like direct criticism of her behaviour, when you talk +together!" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, I scarcely venture to speak of herself at all. It would be +hard to say what we talk about." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," Waymark said, after a short silence, "there are limits to +self-devotion. So long as it seems to you that there is any chance of +doing some good, well, persevere. But you mustn't be sacrificed to such +a situation. The time you give her is so much absolute loss to +yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but I work hard to make up for it. You are not dissatisfied with +me?" +</P> + +<P> +"And what if I were? Would it matter much?" +</P> + +<P> +This was one of the things that Waymark was ever and again saying, in +spite of himself. He could not resist the temptation of proving his +power in this way; it is so sweet to be assured of love, even though +every voice within cries out against the temptation to enjoy it, and +condemns every word or act that could encourage it to hope. Ida +generally met such remarks with silence; but in this instance she +looked up steadily, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it <I>would</I> matter much." Waymark drew in his breath, half turned +away—and spoke of some quite different matter. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet carried out her intention of visiting Ida on the following day. +In these three weeks she had only been to Ida's lodgings once. The +present visit was unexpected. She waited about the pavement for Ida's +return from work, and shortly saw her approaching. +</P> + +<P> +"This is kind of you," Ida said. "We'll have some tea, and then, if +you're not too tired, we might go into the park. It will be cool then." +</P> + +<P> +She dreaded the thought of sitting alone with Harriet. But the latter +said she must get home early, and would only have time to sit for half +an hour. When Ida had lit her fire, and put the kettle on, she found +that the milk which she had kept since the morning for Grim and herself +had gone sour; so she had to run out to a dairy to fetch some. +</P> + +<P> +"You won't mind being left alone for a minute?" she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no; I'll amuse myself with Grim." +</P> + +<P> +As soon as she was alone, Harriet went into the bed-room, and began to +examine everything. Grim had followed her, and came up to rub +affectionately against her feet, but she kicked him, muttering, "Get +off; you black beast!" Having scrutinised the articles which lay about, +she quickly searched the pockets of a dress which hung on the door, but +found nothing except a handkerchief. All the time she listened for any +footfall on the stone steps without. Next she went to the chest of +drawers, and was pleased to find that they were unlocked. In the first +she drew out there were some books and papers. These she rummaged +through very quickly, and at length, underneath them, came upon a +little bundle of pawn-tickets. On finding these, she laughed to +herself, and carefully inspected every one of them. "Gold chain," she +muttered; "bracelet; seal-skin;—what was she doing with all those +things, I wonder? Ho, ho, Miss Starr?" +</P> + +<P> +She started; there was a step on the stairs. In a second everything was +replaced, and she was back in the sitting-room, stooping over Grim, who +took her endearments with passive indignation. +</P> + +<P> +"Have I been long?" panted Ida, as she came in. "The kettle won't be a +minute. You'll take your things off?" +</P> + +<P> +Harriet removed her hat only. As Ida went about, preparing the tea, +Harriet watched her with eyes in which there was a new light. She +spoke, too, in almost a cheerful way, and even showed a better appetite +than usual when they sat down together. +</P> + +<P> +"You are better to-day?" Ida said to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps so; but it doesn't last long." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you must be more hopeful. Try not to look so much on the dark side +of things. How would you be," she added, with a good-humoured laugh, +"if you had to work all day, like me? I'm sure you've a great deal to +make you feel happy and thankful." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what," returned Harriet coldly. +</P> + +<P> +"But your husband, your home, your long, free days?" +</P> + +<P> +The other laughed peevishly. Ida turned her head away for a moment; she +was irritated by this wretched humour, and, as had often been the case +of late, found it difficult to restrain some rather trenchant remark. +</P> + +<P> +"It may sound strange," she said, with a smile, "but I think I should +be very willing to endure bad health for a position something like +yours." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet laughed again, and still more unpleasantly. +</P> + +<P> +Later in the evening Harriet went to call upon her friend Mrs. Sprowl. +Something of an amusing kind seemed to be going forward in front of the +house. On drawing near and pressing into the crowd of loitering people, +she beheld a spectacle familiar to her, and one which brought a smile +to her face. A man of wretched appearance, in vile semblance of +clothing which barely clung together about him, was standing on his +head upon the pavement, and, in that attitude, drawling out what was +meant for a song, while those around made merry and indulged in +practical jokes at his expense. One such put a sudden end to the +exhibition. A young ragamuffin drew near with a handful of rich mud, +and carefully cast it right into the singer's inverted mouth. The man +was on his feet in an instant, and pursuing the assailant, who, +however, succeeded in escaping down an alley hard by. Returning, the +man went from one to another in the crowd, holding out his hand. +Harriet passed on into the bar. +</P> + +<P> +"Slimy's up to his larks to-night," exclaimed Mrs. Sprowl, with a +laugh, as she welcomed her visitor in the bar-parlour. "He'll be losin' +his sweet temper just now, see if he don't, an' then one o' them chaps +'ll get a bash i' the eye." +</P> + +<P> +"I always like to see him singing on his head," said Harriet, who +seemed at once thoroughly at her ease in the atmosphere of beer and +pipes. +</P> + +<P> +"It's funny, ain't it? And 'ow's the world been a-usin' you, Harriet? +Seen anything more o' that affectionate friend o' yourn?" +</P> + +<P> +This was said with a grin, and a significant wink. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you found out anything about her?" asked Harriet eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"Why yes, I have; somethin' as 'll amuse you. It's just as I thought." +</P> + +<P> +"How do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Bella, was in 'ere th' other night, so I says to her, 'Bella,' I +says, 'didn't you never hear of a girl called Ida Starr?' I says. +'Course I did,' she says. 'One o' the 'igh an' 'aughty lot, an' she +lived by herself somewhere in the Strand.' So it's just as I told you." +</P> + +<P> +"But what is she doing now?" +</P> + +<P> +"You say she's turned modest." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't make her out quite," said Harriet, reflecting, with her head +on one side. "I've been at her lodgings tonight, and, whilst she was +out of the room, I happened to get sight of a lot of pawn-tickets, for +gold chains and sealskins, and I don't know what." +</P> + +<P> +"Spouted 'em all when she threw up the job, I s'pose," suggested Mrs. +Sprowl. "You're sure she does go to work?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I've had somebody to follow her and watch her. There's Waymark +goes to see her often, and I shouldn't wonder if she half keeps him; +he's just that kind of fellow." +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't caught no one else going there?" asked Mrs. Sprowl, with +another of her intense winks. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I haven't, not yet," replied Harriet, with sudden vehemence, "but +I believe he does go there, or else sees her somewhere else." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said the landlady, with an air of generous wisdom, "I told you +from the first as I 'adn't much opinion of men as is so anxious to have +their wives friendly with other women. There's always something at the +bottom of it, you may bet. It's my belief he's one too many for you, +Harriet; you're too simple-minded to catch him." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll have a good try, though," cried the girl, deadly pale with +passion. "Perhaps I'm not so simple as you think. I'm pretty quick in +tumbling to things—no fear. If they think I don't notice what goes on, +they must take me for a damned silly fool, that's all! Why, I've seen +them wink at each other, when they thought I wasn't looking." +</P> + +<P> +"You're not such a fool as to leave them alone together?" said the +woman, who seemed to have a pleasure in working upon Harriet's jealousy. +</P> + +<P> +"No fear! But they understand each other; I can see that well enough. +And he writes to her; I'm dead sure he writes to her. Let me get hold +of a letter just once, that's all!" +</P> + +<P> +"And he's orful good-natured to her, ain't he? Looks after her when she +has tea with you, and so on?" +</P> + +<P> +"I should think he did. It's all—'Won't Miss Starr have this?' and +'Won't Miss Starr have that?' He scarcely takes his eyes off of her, +all the time." +</P> + +<P> +"I know, I know; it's allus the same! You keep your eyes open, Harriet, +and you'll 'ave your reward, as the Scriptures says." +</P> + +<P> +When she reached home, Julian was in the uneasy condition always +brought about by these late absences. To a remark he made about the +time, she vouchsafed no answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you been with Ida all the evening?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I haven't," was her reply. +</P> + +<P> +She went into the bed-room, and was absent for a few minutes, then +reappeared. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know where my silver spoon is?" she asked, looking closely at +him. +</P> + +<P> +"Your silver spoon?" he returned, in surprise. "Have you lost it?" +</P> + +<P> +The article in question, together with a fork, hod been a +wedding-present from Mrs. Sprowl, whose character had in it a sort of +vulgar generosity, displayed at times in gifts to Harriet. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't find it," Harriet said. "I was showing it to Ida Starr when +she was here on Sunday, and now I come to look for it, it's gone." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it can't be very far off," said Julian. "You'll find it if you +look." +</P> + +<P> +"But I tell you I've looked everywhere. It's gone, that's all I know." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, but—what do you mean? How can it have gone?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. I only know I was showing it her on Sunday." +</P> + +<P> +"And what connection is there between the two things?" asked Julian, +almost sternly. "You don't wish me to understand that Ida Starr knows +anything about the spoon?" +</P> + +<P> +"How can I tell? It's gone." +</P> + +<P> +"Come," exclaimed Julian, with a laugh, "this is too absurd, Harriet! +You must have taken leave of your senses. If it's gone, then some one +in the house has taken it." +</P> + +<P> +"And why not Ida Starr?" +</P> + +<P> +Julian stared at her with mingled anger and alarm. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not? Simply because she is incapable of such a thing." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps <I>you</I> think so, no doubt. You think a good deal of her, it +seems to me. Perhaps you don't know quite as much about her as I do." +</P> + +<P> +"I fancy I know much more," exclaimed Julian indignantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you think her capable of stealing your spoon, you show complete +ignorance of her character. What do you know of her that you should +have such suspicions?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind," said Harriet, nodding her head obstinately. +</P> + +<P> +There was again a long silence. Julian reflected. +</P> + +<P> +"We will talk about this again to-morrow," he said, "when you have had +time to think. You are under some strange delusion. After all, I expect +you will find the spoon, and then you'll be sorry for having been so +hasty." +</P> + +<P> +Harriet became obstinately silent. She cut a piece of bread and butter, +and took it into the other room. Julian paced up and down. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE OPPORTUNITY +</H3> + +<P> +One or two days after this, Ida Starr came home from work with a heavy +heart. Quite without notice, and without explanation, her employer had +paid her a week's wages and dismissed her. Her first astonished +questions having been met with silence by the honest but hard-grained +woman who kept the laundry, Ida had not condescended to any further +appeal. The fact was that the laundress had received a visit from a +certain Mrs. Sprowl, who, under pretence of making inquiries for the +protection of a young female friend, revealed the damaging points of +Ida's story, and gained the end plotted with Harriet Casti. +</P> + +<P> +Several circumstances united to make this event disastrous to Ida. Her +wages were very little more than she needed for her week to week +existence, yet she had managed to save a shilling or two now and then. +The greater part of these small savings she had just laid out in some +new clothing, the reason for the expense being not so much necessity, +as a desire to be rather better dressed when she accompanied Waymark on +those little country excursions which had reestablished themselves of +late. By no means the smallest part of Ida's heroism was that involved +in this matter of external appearance. A beautiful woman can never be +indifferent to the way in which her beauty is arrayed. That Waymark was +not indifferent to such things she knew well, and often she suffered +from the thought that one strong means of attraction was lost to her. +If at one moment Ida was conscious of her claim to inspire a noble +enthusiasm, at another she fell into the saddest self-distrust, and, in +her hunger for love, would gladly have sought every humblest aid of +grace and adornment. So she had yielded to the needs of her heart, and +only this morning was gladdened by the charm of some new clothing which +became her well, and which Waymark would see in a day or two. It lay +there before her now that she returned home, and, in the first onset of +trouble, she sat down and cried over it. +</P> + +<P> +She suffered the more, too, that there had been something of a falling +off of late in the good health she generally enjoyed. The day's work +seemed long and hard; she felt an unwonted need of rest. And these +things caused trouble of the mind. With scarcely an hour of depression +she had worked on through those months of solitude, supported by the +sense that every day brought an accession of the strength of purity, +that the dark time was left one more stage behind, and that trust in +herself was growing assured. +</P> + +<P> +But it was harder than she had foreseen, to maintain reserve and +reticence when her heart was throbbing with passion; the effect upon +her of Waymark's comparative coldness was so much harder to bear than +she had imagined. Her mind tortured itself incessantly with the fear +that some new love had taken possession of him. And now there had +befallen her this new misfortune, which, it might be, would once more +bring about a crisis in her life. +</P> + +<P> +Of course she must forthwith set about finding new work. It would be +difficult, seeing that she had now no reference to give. Reflection had +convinced her that it must have been some discovery of her former life +which had led to her sudden dismissal, and this increased her +despondency. Yet she would not give way to it. On the following morning +she began her search for employment, and day after day faced without +result the hateful ordeal. Hope failed as she saw her +painfully-eked-out coins become fewer and fewer. In a day or two she +would have nothing, and what would happen then? +</P> + +<P> +When she returned to London to begin a new life, now nearly a year ago, +she had sold some and pawned the rest of such possessions as would in +future be useful to her. Part of the money thus obtained had bought the +furniture of her rooms; what remained had gone for a few months to +supplement her weekly wages, thus making the winter less a time of +hardship than it must otherwise have been. One or two articles yet +remained capable of being turned into small sums, and these she now +disposed of at a neighbouring pawnbroker's—the same she had previously +visited on the occasion of pawning one or two of the things, the +tickets for which Harriet Casti had so carefully inspected. She spoke +to no one of her position. Yet now the time was quickly coming when she +must either have help from some quarter or else give up her lodgings. +In food she was already stinting herself to the verge of starvation. +And through all this she had to meet her friends as hitherto, if +possible without allowing any trace of her suffering to become visible. +Harriet, strange to say, had been of late a rather frequent visitor, +and was more pressing than formerly in her invitations. Ida dreaded her +coming, as it involved the unwarrantable expense of obtaining luxuries +now unknown in her cupboard, such as tea and butter. And, on the other +hand, it was almost impossible to affect cheerfulness in the company of +the Castis. At times she caught Julian's eyes fixed upon her, and felt +that he noticed some change in her appearance. She had a sense of guilt +in their presence, as if she were there on false pretences. For, +together with her daily work, much of her confidence had gone; an +inexplicable shame constantly troubled her. She longed to hide herself +away, and be alone with her wretchedness. +</P> + +<P> +If it came to asking for help, of whom could she ask it but of Waymark? +Yet for some time she felt she could not bring herself to that. In the +consciousness of her own attitude towards him, it seemed to her that +Waymark might well doubt the genuineness of her need, might think it a +mere feint to draw him into nearer relations. She could not doubt that +he knew her love for him; she did not desire to hide it, even had she +been able. But him she could not understand. A struggle often seemed +going on within him in her presence; he appeared to repress his +impulses; he was afraid of her. At times passion urged her to break +through this barrier between them, to bring about a situation which +would end in clear mutual understanding, cost her what it might. At +other times she was driven to despair by the thought that she had made +herself too cheap in his eyes. Could she put off the last vestige of +her independence, and, in so many words, ask him to give her money? +</P> + +<P> +This evening she expected Waymark, but the usual time of his coming +went by. She sat in the twilight, listening with painful intentness to +every step on the stairs; again and again her heart leaped at some +footfall far below, only to be deceived. She had not even now made up +her mind how to speak to him, or whether to speak to him at all; but +she longed passionately to see him. The alternations of hope and +disappointment made her feverish. Illusions began to possess her. Once +she heard distinctly the familiar knock. It seemed to rouse her from +slumber: she sprang to the door and opened it, but no one was there. +She ran half way down the stairs, but saw no one. It was now nearly +midnight. The movement had dispelled for a little the lethargy which +was growing upon her, and she suddenly came to a resolution. Taking a +sheet of note-paper, she wrote this:— +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I have been without work for a fortnight. All my money is done, and I +am in want. Can you send me some, for present help, till I get more +work? <I>Do not bring it yourself, and do not speak a word of this when +you see me, I beg you earnestly</I>. If I shall fail to get work, I will +speak to you of my own accord. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +I. S." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +She went out and posted this, though she had no stamp to put on the +envelope; then, returning, she threw herself as she was on to the bed, +and before long passed into unconsciousness. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark's absence that evening had been voluntary. His work had come to +a standstill; his waking hours were passed in a restless misery which +threatened to make him ill. And to-night he had not dared to go to Ida; +in his present state the visit could have but one result, and even yet +he hoped that such a result might not come about. He left home and +wandered about the streets till early morning. All manner of projects +occupied him. He all but made up his mind to write a long letter to Ida +and explain his position without reserve. But he feared lest the result +of that might be to make Ida hide away from him once more, and to this +loss he could not reconcile himself. Yet he was further than ever from +the thought of giving himself wholly to her, for the intenser his +feeling grew, the more clearly he recognised its character. This was +not love he suffered from, but mere desire. To let it have its way +would be to degrade Ida. Love might or might not follow, and how could +he place her at the mercy of such a chance as that? Her faith and trust +in him were absolute; could he take advantage of it for his own ends? +And, for all these fine arguments, Waymark saw with perfect clearness +how the matter would end. Self would triumph, and Ida, if the fates so +willed it, would be sacrificed. It was detestable, but a fact; as good +already as an accomplished fact. +</P> + +<P> +And on the following morning Ida's note reached him. It was final. Her +entreaty that he would merely send money had no weight with him for a +moment; he felt that there was a contradiction between her words and +her wishes. This note explained the strangeness he had noticed in her +on their last evening together. He pitied her, and, as is so often the +case, pity was but fuel to passion. He swept from his mind all +obstinate debatings. Passion should be a law unto itself. Let the +future bring things about as it would. +</P> + +<P> +He had risen late, and by the time he had finished a hasty breakfast it +was eleven o'clock. Half an hour after he went up the stairs of the +lodging-house and knocked at the familiar door. +</P> + +<P> +But his knock met with no answer. Ida herself had left home an hour +before. Upon waking, and recalling what she had done, she foresaw that +Waymark would himself come, in spite of her request. She could not face +him. For all that her exhaustion was so great that walking was slow and +weary, she went out and strayed at first with no aim; but presently she +took the direction of Chelsea, and so came to Beaufort Street. She +would go in and see Harriet, who would give her something to eat. She +cared little now for letting it be known that she had left her +employment; with the step which she had at last taken, her position was +quite changed; she had only kept silence lest Waymark should come to +know. Harriet was at first surprised to see her then seemed glad. +</P> + +<P> +"I've only a minute ago sent a note, asking you to be sure to come +round to-night. I wanted you to help me with this new hat; you have +such good taste in trimming." +</P> + +<P> +Ida would have been astonished at another time; for Harriet to be +paying compliments was indeed something novel. There was a flush on the +latter's usually sallow face; she did not sit down, and kept moving +aimlessly about. +</P> + +<P> +"Give me your hat and jacket," she said, "and let me take them into the +other room." +</P> + +<P> +She took them away, and returned. Ida was not looking at her; otherwise +she must surely have noticed that weird pallor which had all at once +succeeded to the unhealthy flush, and the unwonted gleaming of her +eyes. Of what passed during those next two hours Ida had afterwards no +recollection. They ate together, and they talked, Ida as if in a dream, +Harriet preoccupied in a way quite out of her habit. Ida explained that +she was out of employment, news which could scarcely be news to the +listener, who would in that case have heard it with far less composure. +There were long silences, generally brought to an end by some outburst +of forced merriment from Harriet. Ida was without consciousness of +time, but her restless imagination at length compelled her to go forth +again. Harriet did not urge her to stay, but rose and watched her as +she went into the other room to put her things on. In a few moments +they had parted. +</P> + +<P> +The instant Harriet, from the head of the stairs, heard the front-door +close, she ran back into her bed-room, put on her hat, and darted down. +Opening the door, she saw Ida moving away at a short distance. Turning +her eyes in the opposite direction, she perceived a policeman coming +slowly down the street. She ran towards him. +</P> + +<P> +"I've caught her at last," she exclaimed, as she met him, pointing +eagerly after Ida. "She's taken a brooch of mine. I put it in a +particular place in my bed-room, and it's gone." +</P> + +<P> +"Was she alone in the room?" inquired the constable, looking keenly at +Harriet, then down the street. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, she went in alone to put her things on. Be quick, or she'll be +off!" +</P> + +<P> +"I understand you give her in charge?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I do." +</P> + +<P> +A brisk walk of two or three minutes, and they had caught up Ida, who +turned at the sound of the quick footsteps, and stood in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"This lady charges you with stealing some articles of hers," said the +constable, looking from face to face. "You must come with me to the +station." +</P> + +<P> +Ida blanched. When the policeman had spoken, she turned to Harriet, and +gazed at her fixedly. She could neither speak nor move. The constable +touched her arm impatiently. Her eyes turned to him, and she began to +walk along by his side. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet followed in silence. There were not many people on the way to +the police-station in King's Road, and they reached it speedily. They +came before the inspector, and the constable made his report. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you got this brooch?" asked the inspector, looking at Ida. +</P> + +<P> +Ida put her hand into one of her jacket-pockets, then into the other, +and from the second brought out the object in question. It was of gold, +and had been given by Julian to his wife just after their marriage. As +she laid it before her on the desk, she seemed about to speak, but her +breath failed, and she clutched with her hands at the nearest support. +</P> + +<P> +"Look out," exclaimed the inspector. "Don't let her fall." +</P> + +<P> +Five or six times, throughout the day and evening, Waymark had knocked +at Ida's door. About seven o'clock he had called at the Castis', but +found neither of them at home. Returning thence to Fulham, he had +walked for hours up and down, in vain expectation of Ida's coming. +There was no light at her window. +</P> + +<P> +Just before midnight he reached home, having on his way posted a letter +with money in it. As he reached his door, Julian stood there, about to +knock. +</P> + +<P> +"Anything amiss?" Waymark asked, examining his friend by the light of +the street-lamp. +</P> + +<P> +Julian only made a sign to him to open the door. They went upstairs +together, and Waymark speedily obtained a light. Julian had seated +himself on the couch. His face was ghastly. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter?" Waymark asked anxiously. "Do you know anything +about Ida?" +</P> + +<P> +"She's locked up in the police cells," was the reply. "My wife has +accused her of stealing things from our rooms." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark stared at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Cacti, what's the matter with you?" he exclaimed, overcome with fear, +in spite of his strong self-command. "Are you ill? Do you know what +you're saying?" +</P> + +<P> +Julian rose and made an effort to control himself. +</P> + +<P> +"I know what I'm saying, Waymark I've only just heard it. She has come +back home from somewhere—only just now—she seems to have been +drinking. It happened in the middle of the day, whilst I was at the +hospital. She gave her in charge to a policeman in the street, and a +brooch was found on her." +</P> + +<P> +"A brooch found on her? Your wife's?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. When she came in, she railed at me like a fury, and charged me +with the most monstrous things. I can't and won't go back there +to-night! I shall go mad if I hear her voice. I will walk about the +streets till morning." +</P> + +<P> +"And you tell me that Ida Starr is in custody?" +</P> + +<P> +"She is. My wife accuses her of stealing several things." +</P> + +<P> +"And you believe this?" asked Waymark, under his voice, whilst his +thoughts pictured Ida's poverty, of which he had known nothing, and led +him through a long train of miserable sequences. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. I can't say. She says that Ida confessed, and, gave the +brooch up at once. But her devilish malice is equal to anything. I see +into her character as I never did before. Good God, if you could have +seen her face as she told me! And Ida, Ida! I am afraid of myself, +Waymark. If I had stayed to listen another moment, I should have struck +her. It seemed as if every vein was bursting. How am I ever to live +with her again? I dare not! I should kill her in some moment of +madness! What will happen to Ida?" +</P> + +<P> +He flung himself upon the couch, and burst into tears. Sobs convulsed +him; he writhed in an anguish of conflicting passions. Waymark seemed +scarcely to observe him, standing absorbed in speculation and the +devising of a course to be pursued. +</P> + +<P> +"I must go to the police-station," he said at length, when the violence +of the paroxysm had passed and left Julian in the still exhaustion of +despair. "You, I think, had better stay here. Is there any danger of +her coming to seek you?" +</P> + +<P> +Julian made a motion with his hand, otherwise lay still, his pale face +turned upwards. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be back very quickly," Waymark added, taking his hat. Then, +turning back for a moment, "You mustn't give way like this, old fellow; +this is horrible weakness. Dare I leave you alone?" +</P> + +<P> +Julian stretched out his hand, and Waymark pressed it. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JUSTICE +</H3> + +<P> +Waymark received from the police a confirmation of all that Julian had +said, and returned home. Julian still lay on the couch, calmer, but +like one in despair. He begged Waymark to let him remain where he was +through the night, declaring that in any case sleep was impossible for +him, and that perhaps he might try to pass the hours in reading. They +talked together for a time; then Waymark lay down on the bed and +shortly slept. +</P> + +<P> +He was to be at the police court in the morning. Julian would go to the +hospital as usual. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall you call at home on your way?" Waymark asked him. +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"But what do you mean to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"I must think during the day. I shall come to-night, and you will tell +me what has happened." +</P> + +<P> +So they parted, and Waymark somehow or other whiled away the time till +it was the hour for going to the court. He found it difficult to +realise the situation; so startling and brought about so suddenly. +Julian had been the first to put into words the suspicion of them both, +that it was all a deliberate plot of Harriet's; but he had not been +able to speak of his own position freely enough to let Waymark +understand the train of circumstances which could lead Harriet to such +resoluteness of infamy. Waymark doubted. But for the unfortunate fact +of Ida's secret necessities, he could perhaps scarcely have entertained +the thought of her guilt. What was the explanation of her being without +employment? Why had she hesitated to tell him, as soon as she lost her +work? Was there not some mystery at the bottom of this, arguing a lack +of complete frankness on Ida's part from the first? +</P> + +<P> +The actual pain caused by Ida's danger was, strange to say, a far less +important item in his state of mind than the interest which the +situation inspired. Through the night he had thought more of Julian +than of Ida. What he had for some time suspected had now found +confirmation; Julian was in love with Ida, in love for the first time, +and under circumstances which, as Julian himself had said, might well +suffice to change his whole nature. Waymark had never beheld such +terrible suffering as that depicted on his friend's face during those +hours of talk in the night. Something of jealousy had been aroused in +him by the spectacle; not jealousy of the ordinary gross kind, but +rather a sense of humiliation in the thought that he himself had never +experienced, was perhaps incapable of, such passion as racked Julian in +every nerve. This was the passion which Ida was worthy of inspiring, +and Waymark contrasted it with his own feelings on the previous day, +and now since the calamity had fallen. He had to confess that there was +even an element of relief in the sensations the event had caused in +him. He had been saved from himself; a position of affairs which had +become intolerable was got rid of without his own exertion. Whatever +might now happen, the old state of things would never be restored. +There was relief and pleasure in the thought of such a change, were it +only for the sake of the opening up of new vistas of observation and +experience. Such thoughts as these indicated very strongly the course +which Waymark's development was taking, and he profited by them to +obtain a clearer understanding of himself. +</P> + +<P> +The proceedings in the court that morning were brief. Waymark, from his +seat on the public benches, saw Ida brought forward, and heard her +remanded for a week. She did not see him; seemed, indeed, to see +nothing. The aspect of her standing there in the dock, her head bowed +under intolerable shame, made a tumult within him. Blind anger and +scorn against all who surrounded her were his first emotions; there was +something of martyrdom in her position; she, essentially so good and +noble, to be dragged here before these narrow-natured slaves of an +ignoble social order, in all probability to be condemned to miserable +torment by men who had no shadow of understanding of her character and +her circumstances. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark was able, whilst in court, to make up his mind as to how he +should act. When he left he took his way northwards, having in view St. +John Street Road, and Mr. Woodstock's house. +</P> + +<P> +When he had waited about half an hour, the old man appeared. He gave +his hand in silence. Something seemed to be preoccupying him; he went +to his chair in a mechanical way. +</P> + +<P> +"I have come on rather serious business," Waymark began. "I want to ask +your advice in a very disagreeable matter—a criminal case, in fact." +</P> + +<P> +Abraham did not at once pay attention, but the last words presently had +their effect, and he looked up with some surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you been up to?" he asked, with rather a grim smile, leaning +back and thrusting his hands in his pockets in the usual way. +</P> + +<P> +"It only concerns myself indirectly. It's all about a girl, who is +charged with a theft she is perhaps quite innocent of. If so, she is +being made the victim of a conspiracy, or something of the kind. She +was remanded to-day at Westminster for a week." +</P> + +<P> +"A girl, eh? And what's your interest in the business?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if you don't mind I shall have to go a little into detail. You +are at liberty?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go on." +</P> + +<P> +"She is a friend of mine. No, I mean what I say; there is absolutely +nothing else between us, and never has been. I should like to know +whether you are satisfied to believe that; much depends on it." +</P> + +<P> +"Age and appearance?" +</P> + +<P> +"About twenty—not quite so much—and strikingly handsome." +</P> + +<P> +"H'm. Position in life?" +</P> + +<P> +"A year ago was on the streets, to put it plainly; since then has been +getting her living at laundry-work." +</P> + +<P> +"H'm. Name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ida Starr." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock had been gazing at the toes of his boots, still the same +smile on his face. When he heard the name he ceased to smile, but did +not move at all. Nor did he look up as he asked the next question. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that her real name?" +</P> + +<P> +"I believe so." +</P> + +<P> +The old man drew up his feet, threw one leg over the other, and began +to tap upon his knee with the fingers of one hand. He was silent for a +minute at least. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you know about her?" he then inquired, looking steadily at +Waymark, with a gravity which surprised the latter. "I mean, of her +earlier life. Do you know who she is at all?" +</P> + +<P> +"She has told me her whole story—a rather uncommon one, full of good +situations." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +The words were uttered with such harsh impatience that Waymark started. +</P> + +<P> +"What annoys you?" he asked, with surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me something of the story," said the other, regaining his +composure, and apparently wishing to affect indifference. "I have a +twinge of that damned rheumatism every now and then, and it makes me +rather crusty. Do you think her story is to be depended upon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I believe it is." +</P> + +<P> +And Waymark linked briefly the chief points of Ida's history, as he +knew it, the old man continually interrupting him with questions. +</P> + +<P> +"Now go on," said Abraham, when he had heard all that Waymark knew, +"and explain the scrape she's got into." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark did so. +</P> + +<P> +"And you mean to tell me," Abraham said, before the story was quite +finished, "that there's been nothing more between you than that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Absolutely nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe you." +</P> + +<P> +It was said angrily, and with a blow of the clenched fist on the table. +The old man could no longer conceal the emotion that possessed him. +Waymark looked at him in astonishment, unable to comprehend his +behaviour. +</P> + +<P> +"Well if you don't believe me, of course I can offer no proof; and I +know well enough that every presumption is against me. Still, I tell +you the plain fact; and what reason have I for hiding the truth? If I +had been living with the girl, I should have said so, as an extra +reason for asking your help in the matter." +</P> + +<P> +"What help can I give?" asked Woodstock, again cooling down, though his +eyes had in them a most unwonted light. He spoke as if simply asking +for information. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you might suggest something as to modes of defence, and the +like. The expenses I would somehow or other meet myself. It appears +that she will plead not guilty." +</P> + +<P> +"And what's your belief?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't make up my mind." +</P> + +<P> +"In that case, it seems to me, you ought to give her the benefit of the +doubt; especially as you seem to have made up your mind pretty clearly +about this Mrs. What's-her-name." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark was silent, looking at Mr. Woodstock, and reflecting. +</P> + +<P> +"What are your intentions with regard to the girl?" Abraham asked, with +a change in his voice, the usual friendliness coming back. He looked at +the young man in a curious way; one would almost have said, with +apprehensive expectation. +</P> + +<P> +"I have no intentions." +</P> + +<P> +"You would have had, but for this affair?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; you are mistaken. I know the position is difficult to realise." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you intentions, then, in any other quarter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, perhaps yes." +</P> + +<P> +"I've never heard anything of this." +</P> + +<P> +"I could scarcely talk of a matter so uncertain." +</P> + +<P> +There was silence. A sort of agitation came upon the old man ever and +again, in talking. He now grew absorbed in thought, and remained thus +for several minutes, Waymark looking at him the while. When at length +Abraham raised his eyes, and they met Waymark's, he turned them away at +once, and rose from the chair. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll look into the business," he said, taking out a bunch of keys, and +putting one into the lock of a drawer in his desk. "Yes, I'll go and +make inquiries." He half pulled out the drawer and rustled among some +papers. +</P> + +<P> +"Look here," he said, on the point of taking something out; but, even +in speaking, he altered his mind. "No; it don't matter. I'll go and +make inquiries. You can go now, if you like;—I mean to say, I suppose +you've told me all that's necessary.—Yes, you'd better go, and look in +again tomorrow morning." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark went straight to Fulham. Reaching the block of tenements which +had been Ida's home, he sought out the porter. When the door opened at +his knock, the first face that greeted him was that of Grim, who had +pushed between the man's legs and was peering up, as if in search of +some familiar aspect. +</P> + +<P> +From the porter he learned that the police had made that afternoon an +inspection of Ida's rooms, though with what result was not known. The +couple had clearly formed their own opinion as to Waymark's interest in +the accused girl, but took the position in a very matter-of-fact way, +and were eager to hear more than they succeeded in getting out of the +police. +</P> + +<P> +"My main object in coming," Waymark explained, "was to look after her +cat. I see you have been good enough to anticipate me." +</P> + +<P> +"The poor thing takes on sadly," said the woman. "Of course I shouldn't +have known nothing if the hofficers hadn't come, and it 'ud just have +starved to death. It seems to know you, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes, I dare say. Do you think you could make it convenient to +keep the cat for the present, if I paid you for its food?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I don't see why not, sir; we ain't got none of our own." +</P> + +<P> +"And you would promise me to be kind to it? I don't mind the expense; +keep it well, and let me know what you spend. And of course I should +consider your trouble." +</P> + +<P> +So that matter was satisfactorily arranged, and Waymark went home. +</P> + +<P> +Julian spent his day at the hospital as usual, finding relief in fixing +his attention upon outward things. It was only when he left his work in +the evening that he became aware how exhausted he was in mind and body. +And the dread which he had hitherto kept off came back upon him, the +dread of seeing his wife's face and hearing her voice. When he parted +with Waymark in the morning, he had thought that he would be able to +come to some resolution during the day as to his behaviour with regard +to her. But no such decision had been formed, and his overtaxed mind +could do no more than dwell with dull persistency on a long prospect of +wretchedness. Fear and hatred moved him in turns, and the fear was as +much of himself as of the object of his hate. +</P> + +<P> +As he approached the door, a man came out whom he did not know, but +whose business he suspected. He had little doubt that it was a police +officer in plain clothes. He had to stand a moment and rest, before he +could use his latchkey to admit himself. When he entered the +sitting-room, he found the table spread as usual. Harriet was sitting +with sewing upon her lap. She did not look at him. +</P> + +<P> +He sat down, and closed his eyes. There seemed to be a ringing of great +bells about him, overpowering every other sound; all his muscles had +become relaxed and powerless; he half forgot where and under what +circumstances he was, in a kind of deadly drowsiness. Presently this +passed, and he grew aware that Harriet was preparing tea. When it was +ready, he went to the table, and drank two or three cups, for he was +parched with thirst. He could not look at Harriet, but he understood +the mood she was in, and knew she would not be the first to speak. He +rose, walked about for a few minutes, then stood still before her. +</P> + +<P> +"What proof have you to offer," he said, speaking in a slow but +indistinct tone, "that she is guilty of this, and that it isn't a plot +you have laid against her?" +</P> + +<P> +"You can believe what you like," she replied sullenly. "Of course I +know you'll do your worst against me." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you to answer my question. If I choose to suspect that you +yourself put this brooch in her pocket—and if other people choose to +suspect the same, knowing your enmity against her, what proof can you +give that she is guilty?" +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't the first thing she's stolen." +</P> + +<P> +"What proof have you that she took those other things?" +</P> + +<P> +"Quite enough, I think. At all events, they've found a pawn-ticket for +the spoon at her lodgings, among a whole lot of other tickets for +things she can't have come by honestly." +</P> + +<P> +Julian became silent, and, as Harriet looked up at him with eyes full +of triumphant spite, he turned pale. He could have crushed the hateful +face beneath his feet. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a good husband, you are," Harriet went on, with a sudden change +to anger; "taking part against your own wife, and trying to make her +out all that's bad. But I think you've had things your own way long +enough. You thought I was a fool, did you, and couldn't see what was +going on? You and your Ida Starr, indeed! Oh, she would be such a good +friend to me, wouldn't she? She would do me so much good; you thought +so highly of her; she was just the very girl to be my companion; how +lucky we found her! I'm much obliged to you, but I think I might have +better friends than thieves and street-walkers." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" asked Julian, starting at the last word, and +turning a ghastly countenance on her. +</P> + +<P> +"I mean what I say. As if you didn't know, indeed!" +</P> + +<P> +"Explain what you mean," Julian repeated, almost with violence. "Who +has said anything of that kind against her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Who has? Why I can bring half a dozen people who knew her when she was +on the streets, before Waymark kept her. And you knew it, well +enough—no fear!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's a lie, a cursed lie! No one can say a word against her purity. +Only a foul mind could imagine such things." +</P> + +<P> +"Purity! Oh yes, she's very pure—you know that, don't you? No doubt +you'll be a witness, and give evidence for her, and against me;—let +everybody know how perfect she is, and what a beast and a liar I am! +You and your Ida Starr!" +</P> + +<P> +Julian rushed out of the room. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark could not but observe peculiarities in Mr. Woodstock's +behaviour during the conversation about Ida. At first it had occurred +to him—knowing a good deal of Abraham's mode of life—that there must +be some disagreeable secret at the bottom, and for a moment the +ever-recurring distrust of Ida rose again. But he had soon observed +that the listener was especially interested in the girl's earliest +years, and this pointed to possibilities of a different kind. What was +it that was being taken from the drawer to show him, when the old man +suddenly altered his mind? Mr. Woodstock had perhaps known Ida's +parents. Waymark waited with some curiosity for the interview on the +morrow. +</P> + +<P> +Accordingly, he was surprised when, on presenting himself, Mr. +Woodstock did not at first appear to remember what he had called about. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, ay, the girl!" Abraham exclaimed, on being reminded. "What did you +say her name was? Ida something—" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark was puzzled and suspicious, and showed both feelings in his +looks, but Mr. Woodstock preserved a stolid indifference which it was +very difficult to believe feigned. +</P> + +<P> +"I've been busy," said the latter. "Never mind; there's time. She was +remanded for a week, you said? I'll go and see Helter about her. May as +well come along with me, and put the case in 'artistic' form." +</P> + +<P> +It was a word frequently on Waymark's lips, and he recognised the +unwonted touch of satire with a smile, but was yet more puzzled. They +set out together to the office of the solicitor who did Abraham's legal +business, and held with him a long colloquy. Waymark stated all he knew +or could surmise with perfect frankness. He had heard from Julian the +night before of the discovery which it was said the police had made at +Ida's lodgings, and this had strengthened his fear that Harriet's +accusation was genuine. +</P> + +<P> +"How did this girl lose her place at the laundry?" asked Mr. Helter. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark could not say; for all he knew it was through her own fault. +</P> + +<P> +"And that's all you can tell us, Waymark?" observed Mr. Woodstock, who +had listened with a show of indifference. "Well, I have no more time at +present. Look the thing up, Helter." +</P> + +<P> +On reaching home, Waymark wrote a few lines to Ida, merely to say that +Grim was provided for, and assure her that she was not forgotten. In a +day or two he received a reply. The official envelope almost startled +him at first. Inside was written this: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"You have been kind. I thank you for everything. Try to think kindly of +me, whatever happens; I shall be conscious of it, and it will give me +strength. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +I. S." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The week went by, and Ida again appeared in court. Mr. Woodstock went +with Waymark, out of curiosity, he said. The statement of the case +against the prisoner sounded very grave. What Harriet had said about +the discovery of the pawn-ticket for her silver spoon was true. Ida's +face was calm, but paler yet and thinner. When she caught sight of +Harriet Casti, she turned her eyes away quickly, and with a look of +trouble. She desired to ask no question, simply gave her low and +distinct "Not guilty." She was committed for trial. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark watched Mr. Woodstock, who was examining Ida all the time; he +felt sure that he heard something like a catching of the breath when +the girl's face first became visible. +</P> + +<P> +"And what's your opinion?" asked Waymark. +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't see the girl very well," said the old man coldly. +</P> + +<P> +"She hasn't quite a fortnight to wait." +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"You're sure Helter will do all that can be done?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock nodded his head, and walked off by himself. +</P> + +<P> +Julian Casti was ill. With difficulty he had dragged himself to the +court, and his sufferings as he sat there were horribly evident on his +white face. Waymark met him just as Mr. Woodstock walked off; and the +two went home together by omnibus, not speaking on the way. +</P> + +<P> +"She will be convicted," was Julian's first utterance, when he had sat +for a few minutes in Waymark's room, whilst Waymark himself paced up +and down. The latter turned, and saw that tears were on his friend's +hollow cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you sleep better last night?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Good God, no! I never closed my eyes. That's the third night without +rest. Waymark, get me an opiate of some kind, or I shall kill myself; +and let me sleep here." +</P> + +<P> +"What will your wife say?" +</P> + +<P> +"What do I care what she says!" cried Julian, with sudden excitement, +his muscles quivering, and his cheeks flaming all at once. "Don't use +that word 'wife,' it is profanation; I can't bear it! If I see her +to-night, I can't answer for what I may do. Curse her to all eternity!" +</P> + +<P> +He sank beck in exhaustion. +</P> + +<P> +"Julian," said Waymark, using his friend's first name by exception, "if +this goes on, you will be ill. What the deuce shall we do then?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I shall not be ill. It will be all right if I can get sleep." +</P> + +<P> +He was silent for a little, then spoke, with his eyes on the ground. +</P> + +<P> +"Waymark, is this true they say about her—about the former time?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; it is true." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark in turn was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose," he continued presently, "I owe you an apology." +</P> + +<P> +"None. It was right of you to act as you did." +</P> + +<P> +He was going to say something else, but checked himself. Waymark +noticed this, watched his face for a moment, and spoke with some +earnestness. +</P> + +<P> +"But it was in that only I misled you. Do you believe me when I repeat +that she and I were never anything but friends!" +</P> + +<P> +Julian looked up with a gleam of gratitude in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I believe you!" +</P> + +<P> +"And be sure of this," Waymark went on, "whether or not this accusation +is true, it does not in the least affect the nobility of her character. +You and I are sufficiently honest, in the true sense of the word, to +understand this." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark only saw Mr. Woodstock once or twice in the next fortnight, and +very slight mention was made between them of the coming trial. He +himself was not to be involved in the case in any way; as a witness on +Ida's side he could do no good, and probably would prejudice her yet +more in the eyes of the jury. It troubled him a little to find with +what complete calmness he could await the result; often he said to +himself that he must be sadly lacking in human sympathy. Julian Casti, +on the other hand, had passed into a state of miserable deadness; +Waymark in vain tried to excite hope in him. He came to his friend's +every evening, and sat there for hours in dark reverie. +</P> + +<P> +"What will become of her!" Julian asked once. "In either case—what +will become of her!" +</P> + +<P> +"Woodstock shall help us in that," Waymark replied. "She must get a +place of some kind." +</P> + +<P> +"How dreadfully she is suffering, and how dark life will be before her!" +</P> + +<P> +And so the day of the trial came. The pawnbroker's evidence was +damaging. The silver spoon had been pledged, he asserted, at the same +time with another article for which Ida possessed the duplicate. The +inscriptions on the duplicates supported him in this, and he professed +to have not the least doubt as to the prisoner's identity. Pressed in +cross-examination, he certainly threw some suspicion on the +trustworthiness of his assertions. "You positively swear that these two +articles were pledged by the prisoner, and at the same time!" asked the +cross-examiner. "Well," was the impatient reply, "there's the same date +and name, and both in my writing." But even thus much of doubt he +speedily retracted, and his evidence could not be practically +undermined. +</P> + +<P> +Harriet's examination was long and searching, but she bore it without +the slightest damage to her credit. Plain, straightforward, and +stubborn were all her replies and assertions; she did not contradict +herself once. Waymark marvelled at her appearance and manner. The venom +of malice had acted upon her as a tonic, strengthening her intellect, +and bracing her nerves. Once she looked directly into Ida's face and +smiled. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Sprowl had been summoned, and appeared in all the magnificence of +accumulated rings, bracelets, necklaces, and watch-chains. Helter hoped +to make good use of her. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you on a certain occasion go to the person in whose employ the +prisoner was, and, by means of certain representations with regard to +the prisoner's antecedents, become the cause of her dismissal?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did. I told all I knew about her, and I consider I'd a right to do +so." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Sprowl was not to be robbed of her self-assurance by any array of +judicial dignity. +</P> + +<P> +"What led you to do this?" +</P> + +<P> +"A good enough one, I think. She'd been imposed on Mr. Casti and his +wife as a respectable character, and she was causing trouble between +them. She had to be got rid of somehow, and this was one step to it." +</P> + +<P> +"Was Mrs. Casti aware of your intention to take this step?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, she wasn't." +</P> + +<P> +"But you told her when you had done it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I did." +</P> + +<P> +The frankness of all this had its effect, of course. The case was +attracting much interest in court, and the public seats were quite +full. Mrs. Sprowl looked round in evident enjoyment of her position. +There was a slight pause, and then the examination continued. +</P> + +<P> +"Of what nature was the trouble you speak of, caused by the prisoner +between this lady and her husband?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Casti began to pay a good deal too much attention to her." +</P> + +<P> +There was a sound of whispers and a murmuring. +</P> + +<P> +"Did Mrs. Casti impart to you her suspicions of the prisoner as soon as +she missed the first of these articles alleged to be stolen?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, she did." +</P> + +<P> +"And did you give any advice as to how she should proceed?" +</P> + +<P> +"I told her to be on the look-out." +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt you laid stress on the advantage, from a domestic point of +view, of securing this prisoner's detection?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I did, and I hoped and prayed as she might caught!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Sprowl was very shortly allowed to retire. For the defence there +was but one witness, and that was the laundress who had employed Ida. +Personal fault with Ida she had one at all to find; the sole cause of +her dismissal was the information given by Mrs. Sprowl. Perhaps she had +acted hastily and unkindly, but she had young girls working in the +laundry, and it behoved her to be careful of them. +</P> + +<P> +Julian's part in the trial had been limited to an examination as to his +knowledge of Ida's alleged thefts. He declared that he knew nothing +save from his wife's statements to him. He had observed nothing in the +least suspicious. +</P> + +<P> +A verdict was returned of "Guilty." +</P> + +<P> +Had the prisoner anything to say? Nothing whatever. There was a pause, +a longer pause than seemed necessary. Then, without remark, she was +sentenced to be imprisoned for six months with hard labour. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark had been drawn to the court in spite of himself. Strangely +quiet hitherto, a fear fell upon him the night be fore the trial. From +an early hour in the morning he walked about the streets, circling ever +nearer to the hateful place. All at once he found himself facing Mr. +Woodstock. The old man's face was darkly anxious, and he could not +change its expression quickly enough. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you going in?" he said sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I shall not," said Waymark. "I'll go to your place, and wait +there." +</P> + +<P> +But when Abraham, whose eyes had not moved from the prisoner throughout +the proceedings, rose at length to leave, a step or two brought him to +a man who was leaning against the wall, powerless from conflicting +excitement, and deadly pale. It was Waymark. Mr. Woodstock took him by +the arm and led him out. +</P> + +<P> +"Why couldn't you keep away?" the old man exclaimed hoarsely, and with +more of age in his voice than any one had ever yet heard in it. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark shook himself free, and laughed as one laughs under torment. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ART AND MISERY +</H3> + +<P> +One Monday afternoon at the end of October—three months had gone by +since the trial—Waymark carried his rents to St. John Street Road as +usual. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to Tottenham," said Mr. Woodstock. "You may as well come +with me." +</P> + +<P> +"By the by, I finished my novel the other day," Waymark said, as they +drove northward. +</P> + +<P> +"That's right. No doubt you're on your way to glory, as the hymn says." +</P> + +<P> +Abraham was in good spirits. One would have said that he had grown +younger of late. That heaviness and tendency to absent brooding which +not long ago seemed to indicate the tightening grip of age, was +disappearing; he was once more active and loud and full of his old +interests. +</P> + +<P> +"How's Casti?" Mr. Woodstock went on to ask. +</P> + +<P> +"A good deal better, I think, but shaky. Of course things will be as +bad as ever when his wife comes out of the hospital." +</P> + +<P> +"Pity she can't come out heels first," muttered Abraham. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark found that the purpose of their journey was to inspect a large +vacant house, with a good garden and some fine trees about it. The old +man wished for his opinion, and, by degrees, let it be known that he +thought of buying the property. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose you think me an old fool to want a house like this at my +time of life, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +There was a twinkle in his eye, and a moment after he fairly burst into +a laugh of pleasure. Waymark asked no questions, and received no more +information; but a thought rose in his mind which occupied him for the +rest of the day. +</P> + +<P> +In the evening Julian came. He looked like one who had recovered from a +long illness, very pale and thin, and his voice had tremblings and +uncertainties of key. In fact, a feverish disorder had been upon him +for some weeks, never severe enough to prevent his getting about, but +weakening him to a serious degree. It would doubtless have developed +into some more pronounced illness, but for the period of comparative +rest and quietness which had begun shortly after the miseries of the +trial. Harriet's ailments had all at once taken such a decided turn for +the worse—her fits becoming incessant, and other disorders traceable +to the same source suddenly taking hold upon her—that Julian had +obtained her admission to the hospital, where she still remained. He +went to see her in the ward two or three times a week, though he +dreaded the necessity. From little incidents which occurred at such +times, he was convinced that all her fellow-patients, as well as the +"sister" and nurses of the wards, had been prejudiced against him by +her reports and accusations. To meet their looks occasioned him the +most acute suffering. Sometimes he sat by the bedside for half an hour +without speaking, then rose and hastened away to hide himself and be +alone with his misery. +</P> + +<P> +He was earnest and eager to-night in his praise of Waymark's book, +which he had just read in manuscript. +</P> + +<P> +"It is horrible," he exclaimed; "often hideous and revolting to me; but +I feel its absolute truth. Such a book will do more good than half a +dozen religious societies." +</P> + +<P> +"If only people can be got to read it. Yet I care nothing for that +aspect of the thing. Is it artistically strong? Is it good as a +picture? There was a time when I might have written in this way with a +declared social object. That is all gone by. I have no longer a spark +of social enthusiasm. Art is all I now care for, and as art I wish my +work to be judged." +</P> + +<P> +"One would have thought," said Julian, "that increased knowledge of +these fearful things would have had just the opposite effect." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," exclaimed the other, with the smile which always prefaced some +piece of self-dissection, "and so it would in the case of a man born to +be a radical. I often amuse myself with taking to pieces my former +self. I was not a conscious hypocrite in those days of violent +radicalism, working-man's-club lecturing, and the like; the fault was +that I understood myself as yet so imperfectly. That zeal on behalf of +the suffering masses was nothing more nor less than disguised zeal on +behalf of my own starved passions. I was poor and desperate, life had +no pleasures, the future seemed hopeless, yet I was overflowing with +vehement desires, every nerve in me was a hunger which cried to be +appeased. I identified myself with the poor and ignorant; I did not +make their cause my own, but my own cause theirs. I raved for freedom +because I was myself in the bondage of unsatisfiable longing." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he went on, after regarding his listener with still the same +smile, "I have come out of all that, in proportion as my artistic +self-consciousness has developed. For one thing, I am not so miserable +as I was then, personally; then again, I have found my vocation. You +know pretty well the phases I have passed through. Upon ranting +radicalism followed a period of philosophical study. My philosophy, I +have come to see, was worth nothing; what philosophy is worth anything? +It had its use for myself, however; it made me by degrees +self-conscious, and brought me to see that in art alone I could find +full satisfaction." +</P> + +<P> +"Yet," urged Julian, "the old direction still shows itself in your +choice of subjects. Granting that this is pure art, it is a kind of art +only possible to an age in which the social question is predominant." +</P> + +<P> +"True, very likely. Every strong individuality is more or less the +expression of its age. This direction may be imposed upon me; for all +that, I understand why I pursue it." +</P> + +<P> +After reflecting, Julian spoke in another tone. "Imagine yourself in my +position. Could you appreciate the artistic effect of your own +circumstances?" +</P> + +<P> +"Probably not. And it is because I recognise that, that I grow more and +more careful to hold aloof from situations that would threaten my peace +of mind. My artistic egotism bids fair to ally itself with vulgar +selfishness. That tendency I must resist. For the artist <I>ought</I> to be +able to make material of his own sufferings, even while the suffering +is at its height. To what other end does he suffer? In very deed, he is +the only man whose misery finds justification in apparent result." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not an artist," sighed Julian. +</P> + +<P> +"On the contrary, I firmly believe that you are. And it makes me angry +to see the impulse dying in you." +</P> + +<P> +"What am I to do?" Julian cried, almost with a voice of anguish. "I am +so helpless, so hopelessly fettered! Release is impossible. No words +could express the desperate struggles I go through when I recognise how +my life is being wasted and my powers, whatever they may be, numbed and +crushed. Something I might do, if I were free; I feel that! But there +is no hope of freedom. I shall fall into darker and darker depths of +weakness and ruin, always conscious of what I am losing. What will be +the end?" +</P> + +<P> +"What the end will be, under the present circumstances, is only too +clear to me. But it might easily be averted?" +</P> + +<P> +"How? Give me some practical advice, Waymark! Let us talk of the matter +freely. Tell me what you would do!" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark thought for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"Does there seem any chance of her health being permanently improved?" +he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't say. She says she is better. It's no use my asking the +doctors; they despise me, and would not think of treating me with any +consideration." +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you do this?" began Waymark, after another pause. "Use all +means to find some convalescent home where she can be received when she +leaves the hospital. Then, if her fits and the rest of it still +continue, find some permanent place for her. You can afford it. Never +mind if it reduces you for a time to a garret and a crust." +</P> + +<P> +"She would refuse to go to such places," said Julian despondently. +</P> + +<P> +"Then refuse to take her back! Sell your furniture; take one room for +yourself; and tell her she must live where she likes on a sufficient +allowance from you." +</P> + +<P> +"I dare not. It is impossible. She would never leave me in peace." +</P> + +<P> +"You will have to do this ultimately, if you are to continue to live. +Of that there is no doubt. So why not now?" +</P> + +<P> +"I must think; it is impossible to make up my mind to such a thing at +once. I know you advise what is best; I have thought of it myself. But +I shall never have the courage! I am so miserably weak. If only I could +get my health back! Good God, how I suffer!" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark did his best to familiarise Julian with the thought, and to +foster in him something of resoluteness, but he had small hope of +succeeding. The poor fellow was so incapable of anything which at all +resembled selfishness, and so dreaded the results of any such severity +on his part as that proposed. There were moments when indignation +almost nerved him to independence, but there returned so soon the souse +of pity, and, oftener still, the thought of that promise made to +Harriet's father, long ago, in the dark little parlour which smelt of +drugs. The poor chemist, whose own life was full of misery, had been +everything to him; but for Mr. Smales, he might now have been an +ignorant, coarse-handed working man, if not worse. Was Harriet past all +rescue? Was there not even yet a chance of saving her from herself and +those hateful friends of hers? +</P> + +<P> +This was the natural reaction after listening to Waymark's remorseless +counsel. Going home, Julian fought once more the battle with himself, +till the usual troubled sleep severed his thoughts into fragments of +horrible dreams. The next day he felt differently; Waymark's advice +seemed more practical. In the afternoon he should have visited Harriet +in the ward, but an insuperable repulsion kept him away, and for the +first time. It was a bleak, cheerless day; the air was cold with the +breath of the nearing winter; At night he found it impossible to sit in +his own room, and dreaded to talk with any one. His thoughts were fixed +upon one place; a great longing drew him forth, into the darkness and +the rain of the streets, onwards in a fixed direction. It brought him +to Westminster, and to the gate of Tothill Fields Prison. The fetters +upon the great doors were hideous in the light of the lamps above them; +the mean houses around the gaol seemed to be rotting in its accursed +shadow. A deadly stillness possessed the air; there was blight in the +dropping of the rain. +</P> + +<P> +He leaned against the great, gloomy wall, and thought of Ida. At this +hour she was most likely asleep, unless sorrow kept her waking. What +unimagined horrors did she suffer day after day in that accursed +prison-house? How did she bear her torments? Was she well or ill? What +brutality might she not be subjected to? He pictured her face wasted +with secret tears, those eyes which were the light of his soul fixed on +the walls of the cell, hour after hour, in changeless despair, the fire +of passionate resentment feeding at her life's core. +</P> + +<P> +The night became calmer. The rained ceased, and a sudden gleam made him +look up, to behold the moon breaking her way through billows of +darkness. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap26"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +STRAYING +</H3> + +<P> +The Enderbys were at Brighton during the autumn. Mr. Enderby only +remained with them two or three days at a time, business requiring his +frequent presence in town. Maud would have been glad to spend her +holidays at some far quieter place, but her mother enjoyed Brighton, +and threw herself into its amusements of the place with spirits which +seemed to grow younger. They occupied handsome rooms, and altogether +lived in a more expensive way than when at home. +</P> + +<P> +Maud was glad to see her mother happy, but could not be at ease herself +in this kind of life. It was soon arranged that she should live in her +own way, withholding from the social riot which she dreaded, and +seeking rest in out-of-the-way parts of the shore, where more of nature +was to be found and less of fashion. Maud feared lest her mother should +feel this as an unkind desertion, but Mrs. Enderby was far from any +such trouble; it relieved her from the occasional disadvantage of +having by her side a grown-up daughter, whose beauty so strongly +contrasted with her own. So Maud spent her days very frequently in +exploring the Downs, or in seeking out retired nooks beneath the +cliffs, where there was no sound in her ears but that of the waves. She +would sit for hours with no companion save her thoughts, which were +unconsciously led from phase to phase by the moving lights and shadows +upon the sea, and the soft beauty of unstable clouds. +</P> + +<P> +Even before leaving London, she had begun to experience a frequent +sadness of mood, tending at times to weariness and depression, which +foreshadowed new changes in her inner life. The fresh delight in nature +and art had worn off in some degree; she read less, and her thoughts +took the habit of musing upon the people and circumstances about her, +also upon the secrets of the years to come. She grew more conscious of +the mystery in her own earlier life, and in the conditions which now +surrounded her. A sense which at times besets all imaginative minds +came upon her now and then with painful force; a fantastic unreality +would suddenly possess all she saw and heard; it seemed as if she had +been of a sudden transported out of the old existence into this new and +unrealised position; if any person spoke to her, it was difficult to +feel that she was really addressed and must reply; was it not all a +mere vision she was beholding, out of which she would presently awake! +Such moments were followed by dark melancholy. This life she was +leading could not last, but would pass away in some fearful shock of +soul. Once she half believed herself endowed with the curse of a +hideous second-sight. Sitting with her father and mother, silence all +at once fell upon the room, and everything was transfigured in a +ghostly light. Distinctly she saw her mother throw her head back and +raise to her throat what seemed to be a sharp, glistening piece of +steel; then came a cry, and all was darkened before her eyes in a rush +of crimson mist. The cry she had herself uttered, much to her parents' +alarm; what her mother held was in reality only a paper-knife, with +which she had been tapping her lips in thought. A slight attack of +illness followed on this disturbance, and it was some days before she +recovered from the shock; she kept to herself, however, the horrible +picture which her imagination had conjured up. +</P> + +<P> +She began to pay more frequent visits to her aunt Theresa, whom at +first she had seen very seldom. There was not the old confidence +between them. Maud shrank from any direct reference to the change in +herself, and Miss Bygrave spoke no word which could suggest a +comparison between past and present. Maud tried once more to draw near +to the pale, austere woman, whose life ever remained the same. She was +not repelled, but neither did any movement respond to her yearning. She +always came away with a sad heart. +</P> + +<P> +One evening in the week she looked forward to with eagerness; it was +that on which Waymark was generally expected. In Waymark's presence she +could forget those dark spirits that hovered about her; she could +forget herself, and be at rest in the contemplation of strength and +confidence. There was a ring in his voice which inspired faith; +whatever might be his own doubts and difficulties—and his face +testified to his knowledge of both—it was so certain that he had power +to overcome them. This characteristic grew stronger in him to her +observation; he was a far other man now than when she first knew him; +the darkness had passed from his eyes, which seemed always to look +straight forward, and with perception of an end he was nearing. Why +could she not make opportunities of speaking freely with him, alone +with him? They were less near to each other, it seemed, after a year of +constant meeting, than in the times when, personally all but strangers, +they had corresponded so frankly and unconventionally. Of course he +came to the house for her sake; it could not but be so; yet at times he +seemed to pay so little attention to her. Her mother often monopolised +him through a whole evening, and not apparently to his annoyance. And +all the time he had in his heart the message for which she longed; +support and comfort were waiting for her there, she felt sure, could he +but speak unrestrainedly. In herself was no salvation; but he had +already overcome, and why could she not ask him for the secret of his +confidence? Often, as the evening drew to an end, and he was preparing +to leave, an impatience scarcely to be repressed took hold upon her; +her face grew hot, her hands trembled, she would have followed him from +the room and begged for one word to herself had it been possible. And +when he was gone, there came the weakest moments her life had yet +known; a childish petulance, a tearful fretting, an irritable misery of +which she was ashamed. She went to her room to suffer in silence, and +often to read through that packet of his letters, till the night was +far spent. +</P> + +<P> +It had cost her much to leave London. She feared lest, during her +absence, something should occur to break off the wonted course of +things, and that Waymark might not resume his visits on their return. +After the feverish interval of those first weeks, she tried sometimes +to distract her thoughts by reading, and got from a library a book +which Waymark had recommended to her at their last meeting—Rossetti's +poems. These gave her much help in restoring her mind to quietness. +Their perfect beauty entranced her, and the rapturous purity of ideal +passion, the mystic delicacies of emotion, which made every verse gleam +like a star, held her for the time high above that gloomy cloudland of +her being, rife with weird shapes and muffled voices. That Beauty is +solace of life, and Love the end of being,—this faith she would cling +to in spite of all; she grasped it with the desperate force of one who +dreaded lest it should fade and fail from her. Beauty alone would not +suffice; too often it was perceived as a mere mask, veiling horrors; +but in the passion and the worship of love was surely a never-failing +fountain of growth and power; this the draught that would leave no +bitter aftertaste, its enjoyment the final and all-sufficient answer to +the riddle of life. Rossetti put into utterance for her so much that +she had not dared to entrust even to the voice of thought. Her spirit +and flesh became one and indivisible; the old antagonism seemed at an +end for ever. +</P> + +<P> +Such dreamings as these naturally heightened Maud's dislike for the +kind of life her mother led, and she longed unspeakably for the time of +her return to London. They had been at Brighton already nearly a month, +when a new circumstance was added to her discomfort. As she walked with +her mother one day, they met their acquaintance, Mr. Budge. This +gentleman dined with them that evening at Mrs. Enderby's invitation, +and persuaded the latter to join a party he had made up for an +excursion on the following day. Maud excused herself. She did not like +Mr. Budge, and his demeanour during the evening only strengthened her +prejudice. He was unduly excited and fervent, and allowed himself a +certain freedom in his conversation with Mrs. Enderby which Maud +resented strongly. +</P> + +<P> +When they were once more in London, Maud did not win back the former +quiet of mind. Waymark came again as usual, but if anything the +distance between him and herself seemed more hopeless. He appeared +preoccupied; his talk, when he spoke with her, was of a more general +kind than formerly; she was conscious that her presence did not affect +him as it had done. She sank again into despondency; books were +insipid, and society irritated her. She began the habit of taking long +walks, an aimless wandering about the streets and parks within her +reach. One evening, wending wearily homewards, she was attracted by the +lights in a church in Marylebone Road, and, partly for a few minutes' +rest, partly out of a sudden attraction to a religious service, she +entered. It was the church of Our Lady of the Rosary. She had not +noticed that it was a Roman Catholic place of worship, but the +discovery gave her an unexpected pleasure. She was soothed and filled +with a sense of repose. Sinking into the attitude of prayer, she let +her thoughts carry her whither they would; they showed her nothing but +images of beauty and peace. It was with reluctance that she arose and +went back into the dark street, where the world met her with a chill +blast, sleet-laden. +</P> + +<P> +Our Lady of the Rosary received her frequently after this. But there +were days when the thought of repose was far from her. At one such +time, on an evening in November, a sudden desire possessed her mind; +she would go out into the streets of the town and see something of that +life which she knew only in imagination, the traffic of highway and +byway after dark, the masque of pleasure and misery of sin of which a +young girl can know nothing, save from hints here and there in her +reading, or from the occasional whispers and head-shakings of society's +gossip. Her freedom was complete; her absence, if noticed, would entail +no questions; her mother doubtless would conclude that she was at her +aunt Theresa's. So she clad herself in walking attire of a kind not +likely to attract observation, and set forth. The tumult which had been +in her blood all day received fresh impulse from the excitement of the +adventure. She had veiled her face, but the veil hindered her +observation, and she threw it back. First into Edgware Road, then down +Oxford Street. Her thoughts pointed to an eastern district, though she +feared the distance would be too great; she had frequently talked with +Waymark of his work in Litany Lane and Elm Court, and a great curiosity +possessed her to see these places. She entered an omnibus, and so +reached the remote neighbourhood. Here, by inquiry of likely people, +she found her way to Litany Lane, and would have penetrated its +darkness, but was arrested by a sudden event characteristic of the +locality. +</P> + +<P> +Forth from the alley, just before her, rushed a woman of hideous +aspect, pursued by another, younger, but, if possible, yet more foul, +who shrieked curses and threats. In the way of the fugitive was a +costermonger's stall; unable to check herself, the woman rushed against +this, overturning it, and herself falling among the ruin. The one in +pursuit, with a yell of triumph, sprang upon her prostrate enemy, and +attacked her with fearful violence, leaping on her body, dashing her +head against the pavement, seemingly bent on murder. In a moment there +was a thick crowd rushing round, amid which Maud was crushed and swayed +without possibility of disengaging herself. The screams of the one +woman, and the terrific objurgations of the other, echoed through the +street. From the words of those about her, Maud understood that the two +women were mother and daughter, and that it was no rare occurrence for +the younger woman to fall just short of killing her parent. But only +for a moment or two could Maud understand anything; horror and physical +oppression overcame her senses. Her fainting caused a diversion in the +crowd, and she was dragged without much delay to the nearest doorstep. +</P> + +<P> +She was not long unconscious, and presently so far recovered as to know +that she was being helped to enter a cab. The cab began to drive off. +Then she saw that some one was sitting opposite her. "Who is it?" she +asked, trying to command herself, and to see clearly by the light of +the street lamps. At the sound of the voice which answered, she +started, and, looking again, at length recognised Waymark. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you feel better?" he asked. "Are you able to go on homewards?" +</P> + +<P> +"Quite able," she answered, leaning back again, and speaking with +strange calmness. +</P> + +<P> +"What on earth is the meaning of this?" was Waymark's next inquiry. +"How came you here at this time?" +</P> + +<P> +"Curiosity brought me," Maud answered, with the same unnatural +composure. +</P> + +<P> +"Had you been there long?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; I had asked my way to Litany Lane, and all at once found myself in +the crowd." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank goodness I happened to be by! I had just been looking up a +defaulting tenant. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you lying in +that doorway. Why didn't you ask me to come with you, and show you +these places?" +</P> + +<P> +"It would have been better," she said, with her eyes closed. Waymark +leaned back. Conversation was difficult in the noise of the vehicle, +and for a long time neither spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"I told the man to drive to Edgware Road," Waymark said then. "Shall he +go on to the house?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; I had rather walk the last part." +</P> + +<P> +They talked brokenly of the Lane and its inhabitants. When at length +Maud alighted Waymark offered his arm, and she just laid her hand upon +it. +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen dreadful things to-night," she said, in a voice that still +trembled; "seen and heard things that will haunt me." +</P> + +<P> +"You give too much weight to the impressions of the moment. That world +is farther removed from yours than the farthest star; you must forget +this glimpse of it." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I fear you do not know me; I do not know myself." +</P> + +<P> +He made no reply, and, on their coming near to the house, Maud paused. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother's sending you a note this evening," she said, as she held out +her hand, "to ask you to come on Thursday instead of to-morrow. She +will be from home to-morrow night." +</P> + +<P> +"Shall you also be from home?" +</P> + +<P> +"I? No." +</P> + +<P> +"Then may I not come and see you?—Not if it would be troublesome." +</P> + +<P> +"It would not, at all." +</P> + +<P> +"It is good of you. I will come." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap27"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE WILL TO LIVE +</H3> + +<P> +Waymark made his way to Paddington at the usual time on the following +evening, and found Maud alone. There was agitation in her manner as she +welcomed him, and she resumed her seat as if the attitude of rest was +needful to her. In reply to his inquiries about her health, she assured +him she was well, and that she felt no painful results from the +previous evening. Waymark also showed an unusual embarrassment. He +stood for some moments by the table, turning over the leaves of a book. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't know you had Rossetti," he said, without looking up. "You +never mentioned him." +</P> + +<P> +"I seem to have had no opportunity." +</P> + +<P> +"No. I too have many things that I have wanted to speak to you about, +but opportunity was wanting. I have sometimes been on the point of +asking you to let me write to you again." +</P> + +<P> +He glanced inquiringly at her. Her eyes fell, and she tried to speak, +but failed. Waymark went to a seat at a little distance from her. +</P> + +<P> +"You do not look as well as when I met you in the summer," he said. "I +have feared you might be studying too hard. I hope you threw away your +books whilst you were at the sea-side." +</P> + +<P> +"I did, but it was because I found little pleasure in them. It was not +rest that took the place of reading." +</P> + +<P> +"Are your difficulties of a kind you could speak of to me?" he asked, +with some hesitation. +</P> + +<P> +She kept her eyes lowered, and her fingers writhed nervously on the arm +of the chair. +</P> + +<P> +"My only fear would be lest you should think my troubles unreal. Indeed +it is so hard to make them appear anything more than morbid fancies. +They are traceable, no doubt, to my earliest years. To explain them +fully, I should have to tell you circumstances of my life which could +have little interest for you." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me—do," Waymark replied earnestly. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you let me?" she said, with a timid pleasure in her voice. "I +believe you could understand me. I have a feeling that you must have +experienced something of these troubles yourself, and have overcome +them. Perhaps you could help me to understand myself." +</P> + +<P> +"If I thought I could, it would give me great happiness." +</P> + +<P> +She was silent a little, then, with diffidence which lessened as she +went on, she related the history, as far as she knew it, of her +childhood, and described the growth of her mind up to the time when she +had left home to begin life as a governess. It was all very simply, but +very vividly, told; that natural command of impressive language which +had so struck Waymark in her letters displayed itself as soon as she +had gained confidence. Glimpses of her experience Waymark had already +had, but now for the first time he understood the full significance of +her early years. Whilst she spoke, he did not move his eyes from her +face. He was putting himself in her position, and imagining himself to +be telling his own story in the same way. His relation, he knew, would +have been a piece of more or less clever acting, howsoever true; he +would have been considering, all the time, the effect of what he said, +and, indeed, could not, on this account, have allowed himself to be +quite truthful. How far was this the case with Maud Enderby? Could he +have surprised the faintest touch of insincerity in look or accent, it +would have made a world's difference in his position towards <I>her</I>. His +instinct was unfailing in the detection of the note of affected +feeling; so much the stronger the impression produced upon him by a +soul unveiling itself in the <I>naivete</I> of genuine emotion. That all was +sincere he could have no doubt. Gradually he lost his critical +attitude, and at moments surprised himself under the influence of a +sympathetic instinct. Then he would lose consciousness of her words for +an interval, during which he pondered her face, and was wrought upon by +its strange beauty. The pure and touching spirituality of Maud's +countenance had never been so present to him as now; she was pale with +very earnestness, her eyes seemed larger than their wont, there was +more than womanly sweetness in the voice which so unconsciously +modulated itself to the perfect expression of all she uttered. Towards +the end, he could but yield himself completely to the spell, and, when +she ceased, he, like Adam at the end of the angel's speech, did not at +once perceive that her voice was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"It was long," she said, after telling the outward circumstances of her +life with her aunt, "before I came to understand how differently I had +been brought up from other children. Partly I began to see it at the +school where we first met; but it only grew quite clear to me when I +shared in the home life of my pupils in the country. I found I had an +entirely different view of the world from what was usual. That which +was my evil, I discovered to be often others' good; and my good, their +abhorrence. My aunt's system was held to be utterly unchristian. Little +things which I sometimes said, in perfect innocence, excited grave +disapproval. All this frightened me, and made me even more reserved +than I should have been naturally. +</P> + +<P> +"In my letters to you I began to venture for the first time to speak of +things which were making my life restless. I did little more than hint +my opinions; I wonder, in looking back, that I had the courage to do +even that. But I already knew that your mind was broader and richer +than mine, and I suppose I caught with a certain desperation at the +chance of being understood. It was the first opportunity I had ever had +of discussing intellectual things. With my aunt I had never ventured to +discuss anything; I reverenced her too much for that; she spoke, and I +received all she said. I thought that from you I should obtain +confirmation where I needed it, but your influence was of the opposite +kind. Your letters so abounded with suggestion that was quite new to +me, referred so familiarly to beliefs and interests of which I was +quite ignorant, showed such a boldness in judging all things, that I +drifted further and further from certainty. The result of it all was +that I fell ill. +</P> + +<P> +"You see now what it is that has burdened me from the day when I first +began to ask myself about my beliefs. I was taught to believe that the +world was sin, and that the soul only freed itself from sin in +proportion as it learned to live apart from and independently of the +world. Everything was dark because of sin; only in the still, secret +places of the soul was the light of purity and salvation. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought I had passed out of this. When I returned to London, and +began this new life, the burden seemed all at once lifted from me. I +could look here and there with freedom; the sky was bright above me; +human existence was cheerful and noble and justified in itself. I began +to learn a thousand things. Above all, my mind fixed on Art; in that I +thought I had found a support that would never fail me. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, why could it not last? The clouds began to darken over me again. I +heard voices once which I had hoped were for ever silenced. That sense +of sin and horror came upon me last night in the streets. I suffered +dreadfully." +</P> + +<P> +She was silent, and, meeting Waymark's eyes so fixed on her own, became +conscious of the eagerness and fervour with which she had spoken. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you any experience of such things?" she asked nervously. "Did you +ever suffer in the same way?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is all very strange," he said, without answering her question. +"This overpowering consciousness of sin is an anachronism in our time. +But, from the way in which you express yourself, I should have thought +you had been studying Schopenhauer. I suppose you know nothing of him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"Some of your phrases were precisely his. Your doctrine is simply +Pessimism, with an element of dogmatic faith added. With Schopenhauer, +the will to live is the root of sin; mortify this, deny the first +instincts of your being, and you approach righteousness. Buddhism has +the same system. And, in deducing all this from the plain teachings of +Christianity, I am disposed to think you are right and consistent. +Christianity <I>is</I> pessimism, so far as this world is concerned; we see +that in such things as the thanksgiving for a' person's death in the +burial service, and the prayer that the end of the world may soon come." +</P> + +<P> +He paused, and thought for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"But all this," he resumed, rising from his seat, and going to stand +with one arm upon the mantelpiece, "is of course, with me, mere matter +of speculation. There are two allegories, which define Pessimism and +Optimism. First that of Adam and Christ. Adam falls through eating of +the tree of knowledge; in other words, sin only comes with +self-consciousness, sin <I>is</I> the conscious enjoyment of life. And, +according to this creed, it can only be overcome by abnegation, by the +denial of the will to live. Accordingly, Christ enters the world, and, +representing Humanity, as Adam had done, saves the world by denial, of +Himself, even to death. The other allegory is that of Prometheus. He +also represents mankind, and his stealing of the fire means man's +acquirement of a conscious soul, whereby he makes himself capable of +sin. The gods put him in bondage and torment, representing the +subjection to the flesh. But Prometheus is saved in a different way +from Adam; not by renunciation, but by the prowess of Hercules, that is +to say, the triumphant aspiration of Humanity. Man triumphs by +asserting his right to do so. Self-consciousness he claims as a good +thing, and embraces the world as his birthright. Here, you see, there +is no room for the crushing sense of sin. Sin, if anything, is +weakness. Let us rejoice in our strength, whilst we have it. The end of +course will come, but it is a wise man's part not to heed the +inevitable. Let us live whilst it is called to-day; we shall go to +sleep with all the better conscience for having used the hours of +daylight." +</P> + +<P> +Maud listened with head bent. +</P> + +<P> +"My own temperament," Waymark went on, "is, I suppose, exceptional, at +all events among men who have an inner life. I never knew what goes by +the name of religious feeling; impulses of devotion, in the common +sense of the phrase, have always been strange to me. I have known fear +at the prospect of death; religious consolation, never. Sin, above all, +has been a word without significance to me. As a boy, it was so; it is +so still, now that I am self-conscious. I have never been a deep +student of philosophy, but the doctrine of philosophical necessity, the +idea of Fate, is with me an instinct. I know that I could not have +acted otherwise than I did in any juncture of my life; I know that the +future is beyond my control. I shall do this, and avoid that, simply +owing to a preponderance of motives, which I can gauge, but not +control. Certain things I hate and shrink from; but I try to avoid, +even in thought, such words as vice and crime; the murderer could not +help himself, and the saint has no merit in his sanctity. Does all this +seem horrible to you?" +</P> + +<P> +Maud raised her eyes, and looked steadily at him, but did not speak. It +was the gaze of one who tries humbly to understand, and longs to +sympathise. But there was a shadow of something like fear upon her face. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark spoke with more earnestness. +</P> + +<P> +"You will not think me incapable of what we call noble thought and +feeling? I have in me the elements of an enthusiast; they might have +led me to strange developments, but for that cold, critical spirit +which makes me so intensely self-conscious. This restless scepticism +has often been to me a torment in something the same way as that burden +of which you speak. Often, often, I would so gladly surrender myself to +my instincts of passion and delight. I may change; I may perhaps some +day attain rest in an absolute ideal. If I do, it will be through the +help of one who shall become to me that ideal personified, who shall +embody all the purer elements of my nature, and speak to me as with the +voice of my own soul." +</P> + +<P> +She hung upon his words, and an involuntary sigh, born of the intensity +of the moment, trembled on her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I have spoken to you," he said, after what seemed a long silence, +"with a sincerity which was the due return for your own. I could have +shown myself in a more pleasing light. You see how little able I am to +help you; the centre-thought of your being is wholly strange to me. And +for all that—may I speak my thought?—we are nearer to each other than +before." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, nearer," she repeated, under her breath. +</P> + +<P> +"You think that? You feel that? I have not repelled you?" +</P> + +<P> +"You have not" +</P> + +<P> +"And if I stood before you, now, as you know me—egotistic, sceptical, +calm—and told you that you are the only being in whom I have ever felt +complete confidence, whose word and thought I felt to be one; that you +exercise more power over me than any other ever did or shall; that life +in your companionship might gain the unity I long for; that in your +presence I feel myself face to face with a higher and nobler nature +than my own, one capable of sustaining me in effort and leading me to +great results—" +</P> + +<P> +He became silent, for her face had turned deadly pale. But this passed, +and in her eyes, as they met his, trouble grew to a calm joy. Without +speaking, she held her hand to him. +</P> + +<P> +"You are not afraid," Waymark said, "to link your fate with mine? My +life is made up of uncertainties. I have no position; it may be a long +time before I can see even the promise of success in my work. I have +chosen that work, however, and by it I stand or fall. Have you +sufficient faith in me to wait with confidence?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have absolute faith in you. I ask no greater happiness than to have +a share in your aims. It will give me the strength I need, and make my +life full of hope." +</P> + +<P> +It had come then, and just as he had foreseen it would. It was no +result of deliberate decision, he had given up the effort to discover +his true path, knowing sufficiently that neither reason nor true +preponderance of inclination was likely to turn the balance. The +gathering emotion of the hour had united with opportunity to decide his +future. The decision was a relief; as he walked homewards, he was +lighthearted. +</P> + +<P> +On the way, he thought over everything once more, reviewing former +doubts from his present position. On the whole, he felt that fate had +worked for his happiness. +</P> + +<P> +And yet there was discontent. He had never known, felt that perhaps he +might never know, that sustained energy of imaginative and sensual +longing which ideal passion demands. The respectable make-believe which +takes the form of domestic sentiment, that everyday love, which, become +the servant of habit, suffices to cement the ordinary household, is not +the state in which such men as Waymark seek or find repose; the very +possibility of falling into it unawares is a dread to them. If he could +but feel at all times as he had felt at moments in Maud's presence. It +might be that the growth of intimacy, of mutual knowledge, would make +his love for her a more real motive in his life. He would endeavour +that it should be so. Yet there remained that fatal conviction of the +unreality of every self-persuasion save in relation to the influences +of the moment. To love was easy, inevitable; to concentrate love +finally on one object might well prove, in his case, an impossibility. +Clear enough to him already was the likelihood of a strong revulsion of +feeling when Ida once more came back, and the old life—if it could +be—was resumed. Compassion would speak so loudly for her; her face, +pale and illuminated with sorrow, would throw a stronger spell than +ever upon his senses. Well, there was no help. Whatever would be, would +be. It availed nothing to foresee and scheme and resolve. +</P> + +<P> +And, in the same hour, Maud was upon her knees, in the silence of her +own chamber, shedding tears which were at once both sweet and bitter, +in her heart a tumult of emotion, joy and thanksgiving at strife with +those dark powers which shadowed her existence. <I>She</I> had do doubts of +the completeness and persistency of her love. But was not this love a +sin, and its very strength the testimony of her soul's loss? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap28"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SLIMY'S DAY +</H3> + +<P> +Waymark had written to Ida just after her imprisonment began, a few +words of such comfort as he could send. No answer came; perhaps the +prison rules prevented it. When the term was drawing to a close, he +wrote again, to let her know that he would meet her on the morning of +her release. +</P> + +<P> +It would be on a Tuesday morning. As the time drew near, Waymark did +his best to think of the matter quietly. The girl had no one else to +help her; it would have been brutality to withdraw and leave her to her +fate, merely because he just a little feared the effect upon himself of +such a meeting. And the feeling on her side? Well, that he could not +pretend to be ignorant of, and, in spite of everything, there was still +the same half-acknowledged pleasure in the thought. He tried to +persuade himself that he should have the moral courage to let her as +soon as possible understand his new position; he also tried to believe +that this would not involve any serious shock to Ida. For all that, he +knew only too well that man is "<I>ein erbarmlicher Schuft</I>," and there +was always the possibility that he might say nothing of what had +happened, and let things take their course. +</P> + +<P> +On the Monday he was already looking forward to the meeting with +restlessness. Could he have foreseen that anything would occur to +prevent his keeping his promise, it would have caused him extreme +anxiety. But such a possibility never entered his thoughts, and, +shortly before mid-day, he went down to collect his rents as usual. +</P> + +<P> +The effect of a hard winter was seen in the decrease of the collector's +weekly receipts. The misery of cold and starvation was growing familiar +to Waymark's eyes, and scarcely excited the same feelings as formerly; +yet there were some cases in which he had not the heart to press for +the payment of rent, and his representations to Mr. Woodstock on behalf +of the poor creatures were more frequently successful than in former +times. Still, in the absence of then but eviction, and Waymark more +than once knew what ideal philanthropy, there was nothing for it every +now and it was to be cursed to his face by suffering wretches whom +despair made incapable of discrimination. "Where are we to go?" was the +oft-repeated question, and the only reply was a shrug of the shoulders; +impossible to express oneself otherwise. They clung desperately to +habitations so vile that brutes would have forsaken them for cleaner +and warmer retreats in archway and by roadside. One family of seven, a +man and wife (both ill) with five children, could not be got out, even +when a man had been sent by Mr. Woodstock to remove the window-frames +and take the door away, furniture having already been seized; only by +force at length were they thrown into the street, to find their way to +perdition as best they might. Waymark did not relish all this; it cost +him a dark hour now and then. But it was rich material; every item was +stored up for future use. +</P> + +<P> +Among others, the man named Slimy just managed to hold his footing. +Times were hard with Slimy, that was clear; still, he somehow contrived +to keep no more than a fortnight behind with his rent. Waymark was +studying this creature, and found in him the strangest matter for +observation; in Slimy there were depths beyond Caliban, and, at the +same time, curious points of contact with average humanity, +unexpectedly occurring. He was not ungrateful for the collector's +frequent forbearance, and, when able to speak coherently, tried at +times to show this. Waymark had got into the habit of sitting with him +in his room for a little time, whenever he found him at home. Of late, +Slimy had seemed not quite in his usual health; this exhibited itself +much as it would in some repulsive animal, which suffers in captivity, +and tries to find a remote corner when pains come on. At times Waymark +experienced a certain fear in the man's presence; if ever he met the +dull glare of that one bleared blood-shot eye, a chill ran through him +for a moment, and he drew back a little. Personal uncleanliness made +Slimy's proximity at all times unpleasant; and occasionally his gaunt, +grimed face grew to an expression suggestive of disagreeable +possibilities. +</P> + +<P> +On the present day, Waymark was told by a woman who lived on the +ground-floor that Slimy had gone out, but had left word with her, in +case the collector called, that he should be back in less than +half-an-hour. Doubtless this meant that the rent was not forthcoming. +The people who lived on the first floor were out as usual, but had left +their rent. Of the two rooms at the top, one was just now vacant. +Waymark went on to the two or three houses that remained. On turning +back, he met Slimy at the door; the man nodded in his wonted way, +grinning like a grisly phantom, and beckoned Waymark to follow him +upstairs. The woman below had closed her door again, and in all +probability no one observed the two entering together. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark sat down amid the collection of nondescript articles which +always filled the room, and waited for the tenant to produce his rent. +Slimy seemed to have other things in mind. After closing the door, he +too had taken a seat, upon a heap of filthy sacking, and was running +his fingers through the shock of black hair which made his beard. +Waymark examined him. There was no sign of intoxication, but something +was evidently working in the man's mind, and his breath came quickly, +with a kind of asthmatic pant, from between his thin lips, still parted +in the uncanny grin. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Waymark," he began at length. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't got no rent." +</P> + +<P> +"That's bad. You're two weeks behind, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Waymark." +</P> + +<P> +The single eye fixed itself on Waymark's face in a way which made the +latter feel uncomfortable. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"I ain't a-gem' to pay you no more rent, nor yet no one else, maybe." +</P> + +<P> +"How's that?" +</P> + +<P> +"'Cos I ain't, and 'cos I'm tired o' payin' rent." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid you'll find it difficult to get on without, though," said +Waymark, trying to get into the jocular tone he sometimes adopted with +Slimy, but scarcely succeeding. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Waymark." +</P> + +<P> +There was clearly something wrong. Waymark rose to his feet. Slimy rose +also, and at the same time took up a heavy piece of wood, looking like +a piece of a cart-shaft, which had lain on the floor beside him. His +exclamation elicited no answer, and he spoke again, hoarsely as always, +but with a calmness which contrasted strangely with the words he +uttered. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you believe in the devil and hell?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" returned Waymark, trying hard to command himself, and to face +down the man as a wild beast has been known to be out-gazed. +</P> + +<P> +"'Cos, by the devil himself, as 'll have me before many weeks is over, +and by the fires of hell, as 'll burn me, if you stir a step, or speak +a word above your breath, I'll bring you down just like they do the +bullocks. Y' understand!" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark saw that the threat was no idle one. He could scarcely have +spoken, had he wished. Slimy grinned at the effect he had produced, and +continued in the same matter-of-fact way. +</P> + +<P> +"It takes you back a bit, don't it! Never mind; you'll get over it. I +don't mean you no 'arm, Mr. Waymark, but I'll have to put you to a +little ill-convenience, that's all. See now; here's a bit o' stout +rope. With this 'ere, I'm a-goin' jist to tie you up, 'and an' foot, +you see. As I said before, if you give me any trouble, well, I'll 'ave +to knock the senses out o' you fust, that's all." +</P> + +<P> +Vain to think of grappling with the man, whose strength Waymark knew to +be extraordinary. For a moment, the shock of alarm had deprived him of +thought and power of movement; but this passed, and he was able to +consider his position. He looked keenly into Slimy's face. Had the man +gone mad! His manner was scarcely consistent with that supposition. As +the alternative before him was of such a kind, Waymark could but choose +the lesser evil. He allowed Slimy to remove from his shoulders the +satchel which contained the sums of money he had just collected. It was +quietly put aside. +</P> + +<P> +"Now," said Slimy, with the same deliberation, "I have to arst you just +to lay down on the floor, just 'ere, see. It's better to lay down quiet +than to be knocked down, you see." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark mentally agreed that it was. His behaviour might seem cowardly, +but—to say nothing of the loathsomeness of a wrestle with Slimy—he +knew very well that any struggle, or a shout for help, would mean his +death. He hesitated, felt ashamed, but looked at Slimy's red eye, and +lay down. In taking the position indicated, he noticed that three very +large iron hooks had been driven firmly into the floor, in a triangular +shape. Just beside the lower one of these his feet had to rest; his +head lay between the other two. Slimy now proceeded to bind his +captive's feet together with strong cord, and then attach them firmly +to the hook; then bidding him sit up for a moment, he made his hands +fast behind his back; lastly, Waymark being again recumbent, a rope was +passed once round his neck, and each end of it firmly fastened to one +of the remaining hooks. This was not a pleasant moment, but, the +operation completed, Waymark found that, though he could not move his +head an inch, there was no danger of strangulation as long as he +remained quiet. In short, he was bound as effectually as a man could +be, yet without much pain. The only question was, how long he would +have to remain thus. +</P> + +<P> +Slimy examined his work, and nodded with satisfaction. Then he took up +the satchel again, opened it, and for a few moments kept diving his +long black fingers into the coins, whilst his face was transformed to +an expression of grim joy. Presently, having satisfied himself with the +feel of the money, he transferred it all to a pocket inside his ragged +coat. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Mr. Waymark," he recommenced, seating himself on the chair +Waymark had previously occupied, "I ain't quite done with +ill-conveniencin' you. I'm sorry to say I'll 'ave jist to put a bit of +a gag on, to prevent you from 'ollerin' out too soon; but before I do +that, I've jist got a word or two to say. Let's spend our last time +together in a friendly way." +</P> + +<P> +In spite of his alarm, Waymark observed with astonishment the change +which had come over the man's mode of speech. In all their previous +intercourse, Slimy had shown himself barely articulate; for the most +part it was difficult to collect meaning from his grunts and snarls. +His voice was still dreadfully husky, and indeed seemed unused to the +task of uttering so many words, but for all that he spoke without +hesitation, and with a reserve of force which made his utterances all +the more impressive. Having bespoken his hearer's attention in this +deliberate way, he became silent, and for a while sat brooding, his +fingers still busy among the coins in his pocket. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't rightly know how old I may be," he began at length, "but it's +most like about fifty; we'll say fifty. For fifty years I've lived in +this world, and in all that time I can't remember not one single 'appy +day, not one. I never knowed neither father nor mother; I never knowed +not a soul as belonged to me. Friends I '<I>ave</I> had; four of 'em; and +their names was Brandy, Whisky, Rum, an' Gin. But they've cost me a +good deal, an' somehow they ain't quite what they used to be. They used +to make me merry for a while, now and then; but they've taken now to +burnin' up my inside, an' filling my 'ead with devils; an' I'm gettin' +afeard of 'em, an' they'll 'ave to see me through to the end. +</P> + +<P> +"Fifty year," he resumed, after another interval of brooding, "an' not +one 'appy day. I was a-thinkin' of it over to myself, and, says I, +'What's the reason on it?' The reason is, 'cos I ain't never 'ad money. +Money means 'appiness, an' them as never 'as money, 'll never be 'appy, +live as long as they may. Well, I went on a-sayin' to myself, 'Ain't I +to 'ave not <I>one</I> 'appy day in all my life?' An' it come to me all at +once, with a flash like, that money was to be 'ad for the trouble o' +takin' it—money an' 'appiness." +</P> + +<P> +The bleared eye rolled with a sort of self-congratulation, and the +coins jingled more loudly. +</P> + +<P> +"A pound ain't no use; nor yet two pound; nor yet five pound. An' five +pound's what I never 'ad in fifty year. There's a good deal more than +five pound 'ere now, Mr. Waymark; I've reckoned it up in my 'cad. What +d' you think I'm a-goin' for to do with it?" +</P> + +<P> +He asked this question after a pause, with his head bent forward, his +countenance screwed into the most hideous expression of cunning and +gratified desire. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a-goin'," he said, with the emphasis of a hoarse whisper, "I +a-goin' to drink myself dead! That's what I'm a-goin' to do, Mr. +Waymark. My four friends ain't what they used for to be, an' 'cos I +ain't got enough of 'em. It's unsatisfaction, that's what it is, as +brings the burnin' i' th' inside, an' the devils in the 'cad. Now I've +got money, an' for wunst in my life I'll be satisfied an' 'appy. And +then I'll go where there's <I>real</I> burnin', an' <I>real</I> devils—an' let +'em make the most o' Slimy!" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark felt his blood chill with horror. For years after, the face of +Slimy, as it thus glared at him, haunted him in dreamful nights. Dante +saw nothing more fearful in any circle of hell. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I've said my say," Slimy remarked, rising from his seat. "An' +now, I'm sorry I'll 'ave to ill-convenience you, Mr. Waymark. You've +behaved better to me than most has, and I wouldn't pay you in +ill-convenience, if I could help it. But I must have time enough to get +off clear. I'll 'ave jist to keep you from 'ollerin'—this way, +see—but I won't hurt you; the nose is good enough for breathin'. I'll +see as some one comes to let you out before to-morrow mornin'. An' now +I'll say good-bye, Mr. Waymark. You won't see Slimy in this world +again, an' if I only knowed 'ow to say a prayer, why, I'd pray as you +mightn't never see him in the next." +</P> + +<P> +With one more look, a look at once of wild anticipation and friendly +regret, Slimy disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +The relief consequent upon the certainty that no worse could happen had +brought Waymark into a state of mind in which he could regard his +position with equanimity. The loss of the money seemed now to be the +most serious result of the affair. Slimy had promised that release +should come before the morning, and would doubtless keep his word +Waymark had a certain confidence in this, which a less interested +person would perhaps have deemed scarcely warrantable. In the meantime, +the discomfort was not extreme to lie gagged and bound on a +garret-floor for some few hours was, after all, a situation which a +philosopher might patiently endure, and to an artist it might well be +suggestive of hints. Breathing, to be sure, was not easy, but became +more so by degrees. +</P> + +<P> +But with the complete recollection of his faculties came back the +thought of what was involved in the question of release before the +following day. Early in the morning he had to be at the door of Tothill +Fields' Prison. How if his release were delayed, through Slimy's +neglect or that of the agent he might employ? As the first hour passed +slowly by, this became the chief anxiety in Waymark's mind. It made him +forgetful of the aching in his arms, caused by the bind ing together of +his hands behind him, and left no room for anticipation of the other +sufferings which would result from his being left thus for an +indefinite period. What would Ida do, if she came out and found no one +to meet her? +</P> + +<P> +His absence would make no one anxious, at all events not till more than +a day had gone by. Hitherto he had always taken his rents at once to +Mr. Woodstock's office, but the old gentleman was not likely to be +disturbed by his non appearance; it would be accounted for in some +simple way, and his coming expected on the following morning. Then it +was as good as certain that no one would come to Slimy's room. And, by +the by, had not there been a sound of the turning of a key when Slimy +took his departure? He could not be quite sure of this; just then he +had noticed all things so imperfectly. Was it impossible to free a +limb, or to ungag his mouth? He tried to turn his head, but it was +clear that throttling would be the only result of any such effort; and +the bonds on hands and feet were immoveable. No escape, save by Slimy's +aid. +</P> + +<P> +He determined not to face the possibility of Slimy's failing in his +word; otherwise, anxiety would make him desperate. He recognised now, +for the first time fully, how much it meant to him, that meeting with +Ida. The shock he had experienced on hearing her sentence and beholding +her face as she left the court had not, apparently, produced lasting +results; his weakness surprised him when he looked back upon it. In a +day or two he had come to regard the event as finally severing him from +Ida, and a certain calm ensuing hereupon led to the phase which +ultimately brought him to Maud once more. But Waymark's introspection +was at fault; he understood himself less in proportion as he felt that +the ground was growing firmer under his feet. Even when he wrote the +letter to the prison, promising to meet Ida, he had acted as if out of +mere humanity. It needed a chance such as the present to open his eyes. +That she should quit the prison, and, not finding him, wander away in +blank misery and hopelessness, most likely embittered by the thought +that he had carelessly neglected to meet her, and so driven to +despair—such a possibility was intolerable. The fear of it began to +goad him in flesh and spirit. With a sudden violent stringing of all +his sinews, he wrenched at the bonds, but only with the effect of +exhausting himself and making the walls and ceiling reel before his +eyes. The attempt to utter cries resulted in nothing but muffled +moaning. Then, mastering himself once more, he resolved to be patient. +Slimy would not fail him. +</P> + +<P> +He tried not to think of Ida in any way, but this was beyond his power. +Again and again she came before his mind. When he endeavoured to +supplant her by the image of Maud Enderby, the latter's face only +irritated him. Till now, it had been just the reverse; the thought of +Maud had always brought quietness; Ida he had recognised as the +disturbing element of his life, and had learned to associate her with +his least noble instincts. Thinking of this now, he began to marvel how +it could have been so. Was it true that Maud was his good angel, that +in her he had found his ideal? He had forced himself to believe this, +now that he was in honour bound to her; yet she had never made his +pulse quicken, as it had often done when he had approached Ida. True, +that warmth of feeling had come to represent merely a temptation to +him; but was not that the consequence of his own ambiguous attitude? +Suppose he had not known Maud Enderby, how would he then have regarded +Ida, and his relations to her? Were these in very deed founded on +nothing but selfish feeling? Then he reviewed all his acquaintanceship +with her from the first, and every detail of the story grew to a new +aspect. +</P> + +<P> +Thinking of Ida, he found himself wondering how it was that Mr. +Woodstock appeared to take so much interest in her fate. Several times +during the past six months the old man had referred to her, generally +inquiring whether Waymark had written to or heard from her. And, only +two days ago, he had shown that he remembered the exact date of her +release, in asking whether Waymark meant to do anything. Waymark +replying that he intended to meet her, and give her what assistance he +could, the old gentleman had signified his strong approval, and had +even gone on to mention a house in the neighbourhood of the office, +where Ida could be lodged at first. A room had accordingly been secured +beforehand, and it was arranged that Waymark should take her directly +thither on the Tuesday morning. In reviewing all this, Waymark found it +more significant than he had imagined. Why, he wondered, had Mr. +Woodstock grown so philanthrophic all at once? Why had he been so +particular in making sure that Waymark would meet the girl? Indeed, +from the very beginning of this affair, he had behaved with regard to +it in a manner quite unlike himself. Waymark had leisure now to ponder +these things, but could only conjecture explanations. +</P> + +<P> +The hours went by; a church clock kept him aware of their progress. The +aching in his arms became severe; he suffered from cold. The floor was +swept by a draught which seemed strong and keen as a blast of east +wind; it made his eyes smart, and he kept them closed, with some slight +hope that this might also have the effect of inducing sleep. Sleep, +however, held far aloof from him. When he had wearied his brain with +other thoughts, his attention began to turn to sounds in the court +below. There, just as it grew dusk, some children were playing, and he +tried to get amusement from their games. One of them was this. A little +girl would say to the rest:—"I sent my daughter to the oil-shop, and +the first thing she saw was C;" and the task was to guess for what +article this initial stood. "Carrots!" cried one, but was laughed to +scorn. "Candles!" cried another, and triumphed. Then there were games +which consisted in the saying of strange incantations. The children +would go round and round, as was evident from the sound of their feet, +chanting the while:—"Sally, Sally Wallflower, Sprinkle in a pan; Rise, +Sally Wallflower, And choose your young man. Choose for the fairest +one, Choose for the best, Choose for the rarest one, That you love +best!" Upon this followed words and movements only half understood; +then at length broke out a sort of hymeneal chorus:—"Here stands a +young couple, Just married and settled: Their father and mother they +must obey. They love one another like sister and brother. So pray, +young couple, come kiss together!" Lastly, laughter and screams and +confusion. This went on till it was quite dark. +</P> + +<P> +Pitch dark in Slimy's room; only the faintest reflection on a portion +of the ceiling of lamplight from without. Waymark's sufferings became +extreme. The rope about his neck seemed to work itself tighter; there +were moments when he had to struggle for the scant breath which the gag +allowed him. He feared lest he should become insensible, and so perhaps +be suffocated. His arms were entirely numbed; he could not feel that he +was lying on them. Surely Slimy's emissary would come before midnight. +</P> + +<P> +"One, two, three, four—twelve!" How was it that e had lost all count +of the hours since eight o'clock? Whether that had been sleep or +insensibility, Waymark could not decide. Intensity of cold must have +brought back consciousness; his whole body seemed to be frozen; his +eyes ached insufferably. Continuous thought had somehow become an +impossibility; he knew that Ida was constantly in his mind, and her +image clear at times in the dark before him, but he could not think +about her as he wished and tried to do. Who was it that seemed to come +between her and him?—some one he knew, yet could not identify. Then +the hours sounded uncertainly; some he appeared to have missed. There, +at length, was seven. Why, this was morning; and Slimy had promised +that he should be set free before this. What was it that tortured his +struggling brain so? A thought he strove in vain for a time to grasp. +The meaning flashed upon him. By a great effort he regained complete +consciousness; mind alone seemed to be left to him, his body was dead. +Was he, then, really to be prevented from keeping his promise to Ida? +All the suffering of his previous life amassed was nothing to what +Waymark endured during the successive quarters of this hour. His brain +burned: his eyes had no power to gather the growing daylight. That one +name was his single perception; the sound of it, uttered incessantly in +thought, alone seemed to keep him conscious. He could feel something +slightly warm on his cheeks, but did not know that it was the streaming +of tears from his darkened eyes. Then he lost consciousness once more. +</P> + +<P> +The clock struck eight. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap29"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FREEDOM +</H3> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock was not so indifferent with regard to Waymark's failure +to bring the rents as the young man supposed. Under ordinary +circumstances he probably would have waited without any anxiety till +the following day; already on a previous occasion Waymark had collected +on Tuesday instead of Monday, though not without notice of his +intention to do so. But Mr. Woodstock had quite special reasons for +wishing to see his agent before the following morning; he desired to +assure himself once more that Waymark would not fail to be at the +prison punctually. When the afternoon passed without the usual visit, +he grew uneasy; he was incapable of attending to matters of business, +and walked up and down his office with impatient step. Such a mood was +extraordinary in Mr. Woodstock; he had often waxed restive in this or +that business difficulty; was, indeed, anything but remarkable for +equanimity under trial; but his state of mind was quite different at +present, and exhibited itself in entirely different ways. He neither +swore nor looked black; his was the anxiety of a man who has some grave +interest at stake wherein the better part of his nature is concerned. +</P> + +<P> +At five o'clock he took a cab, and went off to Waymark's lodgings in +Chelsea. Here he learned that Waymark had left home at the usual time, +and had not yet returned. Just as he was speaking with the landlady at +the door, another gentleman came up on the same errand. Mr. Woodstock +remembered Julian Casti, and held out his hand to him. Casti looked +ill; his handsome features had wasted, and his fair complexion was +turned to a dull, unhealthy, yellowish hue. It was a comparatively warm +day for the season, but his thin frame was closely muffled up, and +still he seemed to be shrinking under the air. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you any idea where he can be?" Mr. Woodstock asked, as they +turned away together. +</P> + +<P> +"None whatever. I must see him to-night, though, if possible." +</P> + +<P> +"Ha! And I too." +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke Mr. Woodstock looked at the other keenly, and something +seemed to suggest itself to him. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to see if he's been for the rents as usual. Would you care +to come with me?" +</P> + +<P> +Julian looked surprised, but assented. They got into the cab together, +and alighted at the end of Litany Lane, having scarcely spoken on the +way. Inquiries here showed that the collector had gone his rounds, and +departed, it was said, in the ordinary way. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you an hour to spare, Mr. Casti?" asked the old gentleman, +turning suddenly after a moment's reflection. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I wish you'd just come on with me to St. John's Street Road. It's +possible you may have it in your power to do me a great service, if +Waymark doesn't turn up. And yet, ten to one, I shall find him waiting +for me. Never mind, come along if you can spare the time; you'll find +him the sooner." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock tried to pooh-pooh his own uneasiness; yet, totally +improbable as it seemed that Waymark should disappear at such a +juncture, the impatience of the afternoon had worked him into a most +unwonted fit of nervousness. Doubts and suspicions which would +ordinarily never have occurred to him filled his mind. He was again +quite silent till his office was reached. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark had not been. They walked upstairs together, and Mr. Woodstock +asked his companion to be seated. He himself stood, and began to poke +the fire. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you live in Chelsea still?" he suddenly asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"I have left word at Waymark's lodgings that he is to come straight +here whenever he returns. If he's not here by midnight, should I find +you up if I called—say at half-past twelve or so?" +</P> + +<P> +"I would in any case wait up for you, with pleasure?" +</P> + +<P> +"Really," said Mr. Woodstock, who could behave with much courtesy when +he chose, "I must apologise for taking such liberties. Our acquaintance +is so slight. And yet I believe you would willingly serve me in the +matter in hand. Perhaps you guess what it is. Never mind; I could speak +of that when I came to you, if I have to come." +</P> + +<P> +Julian's pale cheek had flushed with a sudden warmth. He looked at the +other, and faced steadily the gaze that met his own. +</P> + +<P> +"I am absolutely at your disposal," he said, in a voice which he tried +to make firm, though with small success. +</P> + +<P> +"I am obliged to you. And now you will come and have something to eat +with me; it is my usual time." +</P> + +<P> +Julian declined, however, and almost immediately took his leave. He +walked all the way to Chelsea, regarding nothing that he passed. When +he found himself in his lodgings he put a match to the ready-laid fire, +and presently made himself some tea. Then he sat idly through the +evening, for the most part staring into the glowing coals, occasionally +taking up a book for a few minutes, and throwing it aside again with a +sigh of weariness. As it got late he shivered so with cold, in spite of +the fire, that he had to sit in his overcoat. When it was past midnight +he began to pace the room, making impatient gestures, and often resting +his head upon his hands as if it ached. It must have been about a +quarter to one when there was the sound of a vehicle pulling up in the +street below, followed by a knock at the door. Julian went down +himself, and admitted Mr. Woodstock. +</P> + +<P> +"What can it mean?" he asked anxiously, when they had walked up to the +room together. "What has become of him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't know. I stopped at his place on the way here." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you fear some mischance? With all that money—" +</P> + +<P> +"Pooh! It's some absurd freak of his, I'll warrant. He doesn't care how +much anxiety he gives other people." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock was excited and angry. +</P> + +<P> +"But he will certainly go—go <I>there</I> in the morning, wherever he is," +said Julian. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not so sure of that. I believe it's on that very account that he's +keeping out of the way!" +</P> + +<P> +He smote his fist on the palm of the other hand with the emphasis of +conviction. Julian looked at him with an expression of wonder. There +was a short silence, and then Mr. Woodstock began to speak more calmly. +The conversation lasted only about a quarter of an hour. Mr. Woodstock +then returned to his cab, which had waited, and Julian bade him good +night at the door. +</P> + +<P> +At six o'clock Julian arose. It was still quite dark when he left the +house, and the air was piercing. But he did not mind the weather this +morning. His step had a vigour very different from the trailing +weariness of the night before, and he looked straight before him as he +walked. There was a heat on his forehead which the raw breath of the +morning could not allay. Before he had gone half a mile, he flung open +his overcoat, as if it oppressed him. It was in the direction of +Westminster that he walked. Out of Victoria Street he took the same +turn as on one miserable night, one which he had taken on many a night +since then. But he was far too early at the prison gate. He strayed +about the little streets of the neighbourhood, his eyes gazing absently +in this or that direction, his hot breath steaming up in the grey +light. When it was drawing near the time, he made some inquiries from a +policeman whom he passed. Then he went to the spot whither he was +directed, and watched. Two or three people, of poor appearance, were +also standing about, waiting. Julian kept apart from them. First, a +miserable old woman, huddling herself in a dirty shawl; looking on all +sides with a greedy eye; hastening off no one knew whither. Then two +young girls, laughing aloud at their recovered liberty; they repaired +at once to the nearest public-house. Then a figure of quite different +appearance, coming quickly forward, hesitating, gazing around; a +beautiful face, calm with too great self-control, sad, pale. Towards +her Julian advanced. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Waymark was unavoidably prevented from coming," he said quickly. +"But he has taken rooms for you. You will let me go with you, and show +you the house?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," was Ida's only reply. +</P> + +<P> +They walked together into the main street, and Julian stopped the first +empty cab that passed. As he sat opposite to her, his eyes, in spite of +himself, kept straying to her face. Gazing at her, Casti's eyes grew +dim. He forced himself not to look at her again till the cab stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"They are prepared for you here," he said, as they stood on the +pavement. "Just give your name. And—you will not go away? You will +wait till some one calls?" +</P> + +<P> +Ida nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"No; but your word," Julian urged anxiously. "Promise me." +</P> + +<P> +"I promise." +</P> + +<P> +She went up to the door and knocked. Julian walked quickly away. At the +end of the street Mr. Woodstock was waiting. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter?" he asked, examining the young man anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing—nothing!" +</P> + +<P> +"Does she seem well?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think so; yes," Casti replied, in a stifled voice. Then he asked +hurriedly, "Where can Waymark be? What does it all mean?" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock shook his head, looking annoyed. +</P> + +<P> +"I am convinced," Julian said, "that something is wrong. Surely it's +time to make inquiries." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes; I will do so. But you look downright ill. Do you feel able +to get home? If I'd thought it would upset you like this—" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock was puzzled, and kept scrutinising the other's face. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall go home and have a little rest," Julian said. "I didn't get +much sleep last night, that's all. But I must hear about Waymark." +</P> + +<P> +"You shall. I'll warrant he turns up in the course of the day. Don't be +anxious: I'll get to work as soon as possible to find him; but, depend +upon it, the fellow's all right." +</P> + +<P> +They shook hands, and Julian took his way homewards. Mr. Woodstock went +to the house which Ida had just entered. He knocked lightly, and a +woman opened to him and led him into a sitting-room on the ground-floor. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll just have a cup of coffee, Mrs. Sims," he said. "Does she seem to +care for her breakfast?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid not, sir; she looks tired out, and poorly like." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes; the long journey and her troubles. Make her as comfortable +as you can. I'll make myself at home with the paper here for an hour or +so. Just see if she cares to lie down for a little; If so I won't +disturb her." +</P> + +<P> +Abraham did not devote much attention to the news. He sat before the +fire, a cup of coffee within reach on the mantel piece, his legs fully +stretched out before him, his favourite attitude when thinking. In +spite of his fresh complexion and active limbs, you would have seen, +had you watched him in his present mood, that Mr. Woodstock was +beginning to age. Outwardly he was well-preserved—few men of his years +anything like so well. But let the inner man become visible during a +fit of brooding, and his features made evident the progress of years. +His present phase of countenance was a recent development; the relaxed +lines brought to light a human kindliness not easily discoverable in +the set expression of wide-awake hours. At present there was even +tenderness in his eyes, and something of sad recollection. His strong +mouth twitched a little at times, and his brows contracted, as if in +self-reproach. When he returned to himself, it was with a sigh. He sat +for about an hour; then the woman presented herself again, and told him +that Miss Starr had been persuaded to lie down. It seemed likely she +might sleep. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," said Mr. Woodstock, rising. "I'll go to the office. Send +some one round when she's stirring, will you?" +</P> + +<P> +Ida, to get rid of her troublesome though well-meaning attendant, had +promised to lie down, but she had no need of sleep. Alone, she still +kept her chair by the fire, sitting like one worn out with fatigue, her +hands upon her lap, her head drooping, her eyes fixed on vacancy. She +was trying to think, but thoughts refused to come consecutively, and a +dull annoyance at this inability to reason upon her position fretted +her consciousness. Not with impunity can the human mind surrender +itself for half a year to unvaried brooding upon one vast misery; the +neglected faculties revenge themselves by rusting, and will not respond +when at length summoned. For months Ida's thoughts had gone round and +round about one centre of anguish, like a wailing bird circling over a +ravaged nest. The image of her mental state had been presented by an +outward experience with which she became familiar. Waking long before +daylight, she would lie with her eyes directed to the little barred +window, and watch till there came the first glimmer of dawn. Even so +was it her sole relief in the deep night of her misery to look forward +for that narrow gleam of hope—her ultimate release. As the day +approached, she made it the business of her thoughts to construct a +picture of the events it would bring. Even before hearing from Waymark, +she had been sure that he would meet her; Waymark and freedom grew +identical images; to be free meant to see him awaiting her and to put +herself absolutely in his hands. Now that everything had turned out +differently from what she had grown to anticipate with certainty, she +found herself powerless to face the unexpected. Why had Waymark failed +her?—she could do no more than repeat the question a thousand times, +till the faculty of self-communing forsook her. It was as though the +sun should fail one morning to rise upon the world, and men should +stand hopeless of day for ever. +</P> + +<P> +She wondered vaguely whither she had been brought. At one moment she +seemed to have been waiting an eternity in this unknown room, Julian's +face and voice unspeakably remote; then again she would look round and +wonder that she no longer saw the hare walls and barred window of her +cell, the present seeming only a dream. All the processes of her mind +were slow, sinewless. She tried to hope for something, to expect that +something would happen, but could not summon the energy. Resentment, +revolt, bitterness of spirit, of these things she knew just as little. +They had been strong enough within her at first, but how long ago that +seemed! She had no thought of time in the present; to sit waiting for +an hour meant as little as to wait five minutes; such was the habit +that had become impressed upon her by interminable days and nights. +When at length she heard a knock at the door it filled her with fear; +she started to her feet and looked with unintelligent eyes at the woman +who again presented herself. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you feel better, 'm?" the landlady asked. "Have you rested +yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, thank you." +</P> + +<P> +The woman went away; then came another knock, and Mr. Woodstock entered +the room. He closed the door behind him, and drew near. She had again +started up, and did not move her eyes from his face. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you any recollection of me?" Abraham asked, much embarrassed in +her presence, his voice failing to be as gentle as he wished through +his difficulty in commanding it. +</P> + +<P> +Ida had recognised him at once. He had undergone no change since that +day when she saw him last in Milton Street, and at this moment it was +much easier for her to concentrate her thoughts upon bygone things than +to realise the present. +</P> + +<P> +"You are Abraham Woodstock," she said very coldly, the resentment +associated with the thought of him being yet stronger than the dead +habit which had but now oppressed her. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I am. And I am a friend of Osmond Waymark. I should like to talk +a little with you, if you'll let me." +</P> + +<P> +The old man found it so hard to give expression to the feelings that +possessed him. Ida concluded at once that he came with some hostile +purpose, and the name of Waymark was an incentive to her numbed +faculties. +</P> + +<P> +"How can you be a friend of Osmond Waymark?" she asked, with cold +suspicion. +</P> + +<P> +"Didn't he ever mention my name to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark had in truth always kept silence with Ida about his +occupations, though he had spoken so freely of them to Maud. He could +not easily have explained to himself why he had made this difference, +though it had a significance. Mr. Woodstock was almost at a loss how to +proceed. He coughed, and moved his foot uneasily. +</P> + +<P> +"I have known him all his life, for all that," he said. "And it was +through him I found you." +</P> + +<P> +"Found me?" +</P> + +<P> +"It'll seem very strange, what I have to tell you.—You were a little +girl when I saw you last, and you refused to come with me. Had you any +idea why I asked you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I hadn't then." +</P> + +<P> +"But you have thought of it since?" +</P> + +<P> +Ida looked at him sternly, and turned her eyes away again. The belief +that he was her father had always increased the resentment with which +she recalled his face. +</P> + +<P> +"I am your grandfather," Abraham said gravely. "Your mother was my +daughter." +</P> + +<P> +A change came over her countenance; she gazed at him with wonder. +</P> + +<P> +"Who did you think I was?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated for a moment, then, instead of replying, said: +</P> + +<P> +"You behaved cruelly to my poor mother." +</P> + +<P> +"I won't deny it," the old man returned, mastering his voice with +difficulty. "I ought to have been more patient with her. But she +refused to obey me, and I can't help my nature. I repented it when it +was too late." +</P> + +<P> +Ida could not know what it cost him to utter these abrupt sentences. He +seemed harsh, even in confining his harshness. She was as far from him +as ever. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't do anything for <I>her</I>," Mr. Woodstock continued, trying to +look her in the face. "But you are her child, and I want to do now what +I ought to have done long ago. I've come here to ask you if you'll live +in my house, and be like a child of my own." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't feel to you as a child ought," Ida said, her voice changing to +sadness. "You've left it too late." +</P> + +<P> +"No, it isn't too late!" exclaimed the other, with emotion he could not +control. "You mustn't think of yourself, but of me. You have all your +life before you, but I'm drawing near to the end of mine. There's no +one in the world belonging to me but you. I have a <I>right</I> to—" +</P> + +<P> +"No right! no right!" Ida interrupted him almost passionately. +</P> + +<P> +"Then <I>you</I> have a duty," said Abraham, with lowered voice. "My mind +isn't at ease, and it's in your power to help me. Don't imitate me, and +put off doing good till it is too late. I don't ask you to feel kindly +to me; all I want is that you'll let me take you to my home and do all +I can for you, both now and after I'm gone." +</P> + +<P> +There was pathos in the speech, and Ida felt it. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know where I came from this morning?" she asked, when both had +been silent for some moments. +</P> + +<P> +"I know all about it. I was at the trial, and I did my best for you +then." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you believe that I robbed that woman?" Ida asked, leaning forward +with eager eyes and quickened breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Believe it! Not I! No one believes it who knows anything about her. +Waymark said he wouldn't have believed it if all the courts in England +found you guilty." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>He</I> said that?" she exclaimed. Then, as if suddenly becoming clearer +about her position: "Where is Mr. Waymark? Why didn't he meet me as he +promised?" +</P> + +<P> +Abraham hesitated, but speedily made up his mind that it would be best +to speak the truth. +</P> + +<P> +"I know as little as you do. He ought to have come to me yesterday, but +he didn't, and I can't discover him. I got Mr. Casti to meet you +instead." +</P> + +<P> +The keenest trouble manifested itself on Ida's countenance. She asked +questions in rapid succession, and thus elicited an explanation of all +the circumstances hitherto unknown to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you been through the houses?" she inquired, all her native energy +restored by apprehension. "Haven't you thought that he may have been +robbed and—" +</P> + +<P> +She stopped, overcome by sudden weakness, and sank into the chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, come, it isn't so bad as all that," said the old man, observing +her closely. "He may turn up at any moment; all sorts of unexpected +things may have happened. But I'll go again to his lodgings, and if I +can't hear anything there, I'll set the police to work. Will you +promise me to wait here quietly?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, that I can't do. I want to move about; I must do something. Let me +go with you to look for him." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no; that'll never do, Ida." +</P> + +<P> +The power of speaking tenderly seemed to have been given to him all at +once; this and his calling her "Ida," struck so upon the girl's +agitated feelings that she began to sob. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me, let me go with you! I will forget everything—I will be your +child—I will try to love you.—" +</P> + +<P> +She was as weak as water, and would have sunk to the ground if Abraham +had not given her his support just in time. He could not find words to +soothe her, but passed his hand very tenderly over her head. +</P> + +<P> +"We are losing time!" she exclaimed, forcing herself into an appearance +of calmness. "Come at once." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap30"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ELM COURT +</H3> + +<P> +In Beaufort Street they only learnt that Waymark had not yet been home. +Thence they drove to the east, and stopped at a police-station, where +Abraham saw the inspector. The latter suggested that Mr. Woodstock +should go through all the houses which Waymark would have visited; if +that search proved fruitless, the police would pursue the matter. Ida +insisted on being allowed to accompanying him when the cab stopped at +the end of Litany Lane. She gazed about her like one who had been +suddenly set down in a new country; this squalor and vileness, so +familiar to her of old, affected her strangely under the present +conditions. The faces of people at whom she looked remained fresh in +her memory for years after; the long confinement and the excitement +which now possessed her resulted in preternatural acuteness of +observation. Abraham spoke first with several people whom he had +already questioned about Waymark, but they had heard nothing since. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you strong enough for this?" he asked Ida. "Hadn't you better go +back to the cab and wait for me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't ask me to do that!" she entreated earnestly. "I <I>must</I> be +active. I have strength now for anything." +</P> + +<P> +Just as she spoke, Mr. Woodstock became aware of a disturbance of some +kind in a duty little tobacconist's shop close at hand. There was a +small crowd at the door, and the sound of wrangling voices came from +within. Such an occurrence was too ordinary to suggest any special +significance, but Abraham would not pass without making some inquiry. +Begging Ida to stand where he left her, he pushed his way into the shop +and listened to what was going on. A lad, well known in these parts as +"Lushy Dick," was, it appeared, charging the tobacconist with cheating +him; he alleged that he had deposited half a sovereign on the counter +in payment for a cigar, and the shopman had given him change as if for +sixpence, maintaining stoutly that sixpence had been the coin given +him, and no half-sovereign at all. When Mr. Woodstock entered, the +quarrel had reached a high pitch. +</P> + +<P> +"Arf a quid!" the tobacconist was exclaiming contemptuously. "I'd like +to know where such as you's likely to git arf a quid from." +</P> + +<P> +Lushy Dick, stung to recklessness by a succession of such remarks, +broke out in vehement self-justification. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Would</I> yer like to know, y' old ——! Then yer shall, —— soon! I'm +—— if I don't tell jist the —— truth, an' take the —— +consequences. It was Slimy as give it me, an' if yer want to know where +Slimy got it, yer 'll 'ave to —— well find out, 'cos I don't know +myself." +</P> + +<P> +"And how came Slimy to give you half a sovereign?" Mr. Woodstock at +once interposed, speaking with authority. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that you, Mr. Woodstock?" exclaimed the boy, turning round suddenly +at the sound of the voice. "Now, look 'ere, I'm a-goin' to make a —— +clean breast of it. This 'ere —— bloke's been a ringin' the changes +on me; I'll show him up, an' —— well chance it. Slimy give me a quid +afore he took his —— hook." +</P> + +<P> +The lad had clearly been drinking, but had not yet reached the +incoherent stage. He spoke in great excitement, repeating constantly +his determination to be revenged upon the tobacconist at all costs. It +was with difficulty that Mr. Woodstock kept him to the point. +</P> + +<P> +"Why Slimy give it me? Well, I'll jist tell yer, Mr. Woodstock. It was +to do a job for him, which I never done it after all. Slimy told me as +'ow I was to go to your orffice at ten o'clock last night, 'an tell you +from him as he'd no more 'casion for his room, so he'd sent yer the +key, an' yer'd better come as soon as possible an' see as he'd left +everything square behind him, an' 'cos he was afraid he'd locked in a +friend o' yourn by mistake an' in his hurry." +</P> + +<P> +"And why the devil didn't you come?" exclaimed Abraham, looking at him +in angry surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"'Cos why, Mr. Woodstock? Well, I'll tell yer just the bloomin' truth, +an' charnce it. I loss the key out o' my pocket, through 'avin' a —— +hole in it, so I thought as 'ow I'd best just say nothink about neither +Slimy nor his room, an' there y'ave it!" +</P> + +<P> +Abraham was out of the shop again on the instant. +</P> + +<P> +"I've found him," he said to Ida. "A house round there in the court." +</P> + +<P> +She walked quickly by his side, a cluster of people following them. +Fortunately, a policeman was just coming from the opposite end of +Litany Lane, and Mr. Woodstock secured his services to keep the mob +from entering the house where Slimy had lived. As soon as they got +inside, the old man begged Ida to remain in a room on the ground floor +whilst he went upstairs, and this she consented to do. Reaching the +garret, he tried the handle of the door, without effect. Knocking and +calling produced no response, and within all was perfectly quiet. +Hesitating no longer, he drew back as far as the wall would allow him, +and ran with his foot against the door. The rotten woodwork cracked, +and a second onset forced the lock away. In the middle of the floor +Waymark lay, just as Slimy had left him nearly twenty-four hours ago. +Abraham scarcely ventured to draw near; there was no motion in the +fettered body, and he dreaded to look closely at the face. Before he +could overcome this momentary fear, there was a quick step behind him, +and, with a smothered cry, Ida had rushed into the room. She was on her +knees beside Waymark, her face close down to his. +</P> + +<P> +"He is alive!" she cried. "His eyes have opened. A knife! Cut these +cords!" +</P> + +<P> +That was soon accomplished, but Waymark lay motionless; he showed that +he understood what was going on, but he was quite blind, his voice had +all but gone, and a dead man could as soon have risen. Ida still knelt +by him, chafing one of his hands; when he tried to speak, she gently +raised his head and let it rest upon her lap. In a few minutes Abraham +had procured a glass of spirits, and, after drinking this, Waymark was +able to make himself understood. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is touching me?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. "It is all dark. +Whose hand is this?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's Ida," Abraham said, when she herself remained silent. "She and I +have had a rare hunt for you." +</P> + +<P> +"Ida?" +</P> + +<P> +He endeavoured to raise himself, but in vain. All he could do was to +press her hand to his heart. In the meantime the policeman had come up, +and with his help Waymark was carried downstairs, out into the court, +and thence to the end of Litany Lane, where the cab still waited. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +Four days after this the following paragraph appeared in the morning +papers:— +</P> + +<P> +"The man wanted on a charge of robbery with violence in the East End, +and who appears to be known only by the nickname of Slimy, was +yesterday afternoon discovered by the police in a cellar in Limehouse. +He seems to have been in hiding there since the perpetration of the +crime, only going out from time to time to purchase liquor at +public-houses in the neighbourhood. Information given by the landlord +of one of these houses led to his arrest. He was found lying on the +stone floor, with empty bottles about him, also a quantity of gold and +silver coins, which appeared to have rolled out of his pocket. He was +carried to the police-station in an insensible state, but on being +taken to the cell, came to himself, and exhibited symptoms of delirium +tremens. Two officers remained with him, but the assistance of a third +shortly became necessary, owing to the violence of his struggles. +Towards midnight his fury lessened, and, after a very brief interval of +unconsciousness, the wretched creature expired." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap31"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +NEW PROSPECTS +</H3> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock's house at Tottenham was a cheerful abode when the months +of early summer came round, and there was thick leafage within the +shelter of the old brick wall which shut it off from the road. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time in his life he understood the attractions of +domesticity. During the early months of the year, slippers and the +fireside after dinner; now that the sunset-time was growing warm and +fragrant, a musing saunter about the garden walks; these were the +things to which his imagination grew fond of turning. Nor to these +only; blended with such visions of bodily comfort, perchance lending to +them their chief attraction, was the light of a young face, grave +always, often sad, speaking with its beautiful eyes to those simpler +and tenderer instincts of his nature which had hitherto slept. In the +presence of Ida (who was now known, by his wish, as Miss Woodstock) +Abraham's hard voice found for itself a more modest and musical key. +</P> + +<P> +He began—novel sensation—to look upon himself as a respectable old +gentleman; the grey patches on his head were grateful to him from that +point of view. If only he had been able to gather round his +granddaughter and himself a circle of equally respectable friends and +acquaintances, he would have enjoyed complete satisfaction. Two or +three at most there were, whom he could venture to bring over with him +from the old life to the new. For Ida he could as yet provide no +companionship at all. +</P> + +<P> +But Ida did not feel the want. Since the day of her coming to the new +house her life had been very full; so much was passing within, that she +desired to escape, rather than discover, new distractions in the world +around her. For the week or so during which Waymark had lain ill, her +courage had triumphed over the sufferings to which she was herself a +prey; the beginning of his recovery brought about a reaction in her +state, and for some days she fell into a depressed feebleness almost as +extreme as on the first morning of her freedom. It distressed her to be +spoken to, and her own lips were all but mute. Mr. Woodstock sometimes +sat by her whilst she slept, or seemed to be sleeping; when she stirred +and showed consciousness of his presence, he left her, so great was his +fear of annoying her, and thus losing the ground he had gained. Once, +when he was rising to quit the room, Ida held out her hand as if to +stay him. She was lying on a sofa, and had enjoyed a very quiet sleep. +</P> + +<P> +"Grandfather," she murmured, turning to face him. It was the first time +she had addressed him thus, and the old man's eyes brightened at the +sound. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you better for the sleep, Ida?" he asked, taking the hand she had +extended. +</P> + +<P> +"Much; much better. How the sun shines!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it's a fine day. Don't you think you could go out a little?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think I should like to, but I can't walk very far, I'm afraid." +</P> + +<P> +"You needn't walk at all, my dear. Your carriage shall be here whenever +you like to order it." +</P> + +<P> +"My carriage?" +</P> + +<P> +The exclamation was like a child's pleased wonder. She coloured a +little, and seemed ashamed. +</P> + +<P> +"How is Mr. Waymark?" was her next question. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing much amiss now, I think. His eyes are painful, he says, and he +mustn't leave the room yet, but it won't last much longer. Shall we go +together and see him?" +</P> + +<P> +She hesitated, but decided to wait till he could come down. +</P> + +<P> +"But you'll go out, Ida, if I order the carriage?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, I should like to." +</P> + +<P> +That first drive had been to Ida a joy unspeakable. To-day for the +first time she was able to sweep her mind clear of the dread shadow of +brooding, and give herself up to simple enjoyment of the hour. +</P> + +<P> +Abraham went and told Waymark of all this as soon as they got back. In +the exuberance of his spirits he was half angry with the invalid for +being gloomy. Waymark had by this time shaken off all effects of his +disagreeable adventure, with the exception of a weakness of the eyes; +but convalescence did not work upon him as in Ida's case. He was +morose, often apparently sunk in hopeless wretchedness. When Abraham +spoke to him of Ida, he could scarcely be got to reply. Above all, he +showed an extreme impatience to recover his health and go back to the +ordinary life. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be able to go for the rents next Monday," he said to Mr. +Woodstock one day. +</P> + +<P> +"I should have thought you'd had enough of that. I've found another man +for the job." +</P> + +<P> +"Then what on earth am I to do?" Waymark exclaimed impatiently. "How am +I to get my living if you take that work away from me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind; we'll find something," Abraham returned. "Why are you in +such a hurry to get away, I should like to know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Simply because I can't always live here, and I hate uncertainty." +</P> + +<P> +There was something in the young man's behaviour which puzzled Mr. +Woodstock; but the key to the puzzle was very shortly given him. On the +evening of the same day he presented himself once more in Waymark's +room. The latter could not see him, but the first sound of his voice +was a warning of trouble. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you feel able to talk?" Abraham asked, rather gruffly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I want to ask you a few questions. I've just had a call from +that friend of yours, Mr. Enderby, and something came out in talk that +I wasn't exactly prepared for." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark rose from his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you tell me," pursued Mr. Woodstock, "that you were engaged +to his daughter?" +</P> + +<P> +"I scarcely thought it necessary." +</P> + +<P> +"Not when I told you who Ida was?" +</P> + +<P> +This disclosure had been made whilst Waymark was still confined to his +bed; partly because Abraham had a difficulty in keeping the matter to +himself; partly because he thought it might help the other through his +illness. Waymark had said very little at the time, and there had been +no conversation on the matter between them since. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see that it made any difference," Waymark replied gloomily. +</P> + +<P> +The old man was silent. He had been, it seemed, under a complete +delusion, and could not immediately make up his mind whether he had +indeed ground of complaint against Waymark. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did Mr. Enderby call?" the latter inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"Very naturally, it seems to me, to know what had become of you. He +didn't see the report in the paper, and went searching for you." +</P> + +<P> +"Does Ida know of this?" he asked, after a pause, during which Waymark +had remained standing with his arms crossed on the back of the chair. +</P> + +<P> +"I have never told her. Why should I have done? Perhaps now you will +believe what I insisted upon before the trial, that there had been +nothing whatever—" +</P> + +<P> +He spoke irritably, and was interrupted by the other with yet more +irritation. +</P> + +<P> +"Never mention that again to me as long as you live, Waymark If you do, +we shall quarrel, understand!" +</P> + +<P> +"I have no more pleasure in referring to it than you have," said +Waymark, more calmly; "but I must justify myself when you attack me." +</P> + +<P> +"How long has this been going on?" asked the other, after a silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Some three months—perhaps more." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I think it would have been better if you'd been straightforward +about it, that's all. I don't know that I've anything more to say. We +know what we're about, and there's an end of it." +</P> + +<P> +So saying, the old man went out of the room. There was a difference in +him henceforth, something which Ida noticed, though she could not +explain it. On the following day he spoke with her on a matter she was +surprised to hear him mention, her education. He had been thinking, he +said, that she ought to learn to play the piano, and be taught foreign +languages. Wouldn't she like him to find some lady who could live in +the house and teach her all these things? Ida's thoughts at once ran to +the conclusion that this had been suggested by Waymark, and, when she +found that her grandfather really wished it, gave a ready assent. A +week or two later the suitable person had been discovered—a lady of +some thirty years of age, by name Miss Hurst. She was agreeable and +refined, endowed, moreover, with the tact which was desirable in one +undertaking an office such as this. Ida found her companionship +pleasant, and Mr. Woodstock con gratulated himself on having taken the +right step. +</P> + +<P> +At the same time that the governess came to the house, Waymark left it. +He returned to his old lodgings, and, with an independence which was +partly his own impulse, partly the natural result of the slight +coolness towards him which had shown itself in Mr. Woodstock, set to +work to find a means of earning his living. This he was fortunate +enough to discover without any great delay; he obtained a place as +assistant in a circulating library. The payment was small, but he still +had his evenings free. +</P> + +<P> +Ida did not conceal her disappointment when Abraham conveyed this news +to her; she had been hoping for better things. Her intercourse with +Waymark between his recovery and his leaving the house had been +difficult, full of evident constraint on both sides. It was the desire +of both not to meet alone, and in Mr. Woodstock's presence they talked +of indifferent things, with an artificiality which it was difficult to +support, yet impossible to abandon. They shunned each other's eyes. +Waymark was even less at his ease than Ida, knowing that Mr. Woodstock +observed him closely at all times. With her grandfather Ida tried to +speak freely of their friend, but she too was troubled by the +consciousness that the old man did not seem as friendly to Waymark as +formerly. +</P> + +<P> +"This will of course only be for a time?" she said, when told of +Waymark's new employment. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," Abraham replied indifferently. "I should think it will +suit him as well as anything else." +</P> + +<P> +"But he is clever; he writes books. Don't you think he will make +himself known some day?" +</P> + +<P> +"That kind of thing isn't much to be depended on, it seems to me. It's +a doubtful business to look forward to for a living." +</P> + +<P> +Ida kept silence on the subject after that. She did not seem to brood +any longer over sad thoughts, yet it was seldom she behaved or spoke +light-heartedly; her face often indicated an absent mind, but it was +the calm musing of one whose thoughts look to the future and strengthen +themselves with hope. Times there were when she drew away into +solitude, and these were the intervals of doubt and self-questioning. +With her grandfather she was reconciled; she had become convinced of +his kindness to her, and the far-off past was now seldom in her mind. +The trouble originated in the deepest workings of her nature. When she +found herself comparing her position now with that of former days, it +excited in her a restive mood to think that chance alone had thus +raised her out of misery, that the conscious strength and purity of her +soul would never have availed to help her to the things which were now +within her grasp. The old sense of the world's injustice excited anger +and revolt in her heart. Chance, chance alone befriended her, and the +reflection injured her pride. What of those numberless struggling +creatures to whom such happy fortune could never come, who, be their +aspirations and capabilities what they might, must struggle vainly, +agonise, and in the end despair? She had been lifted out of hell, not +risen therefrom by her own strength. Sometimes it half seemed to her +that it would have been the nobler lot to remain as she was, to share +the misery of that dread realm of darkness with those poor disinherited +ones, to cherish that spirit of noble rebellion, the consciousness of +which had been as a pure fire on the altar of her being. What was to be +her future? Would she insensibly forget her past self, let her strength +subside in refinement—it might be, even lose the passion which had +made her what she was? +</P> + +<P> +But hope predominated. Forget! Could she ever forget those faces in the +slums on the day when she bade farewell to poverty and all its +attendant wretchedness? Litany Lane and Elm Court were names which +already symbolised a purpose. If ever she still looked at her +grandfather with a remnant of distrust, it was because she thought of +him as drawing money from such a source, enjoying his life of ease in +disregard of the responsibilities laid upon him. The day would come +when she could find courage to speak to him. She waited and prepared +herself. +</P> + +<P> +Prepared herself, for that, and for so much else. Waymark's behaviour +would have cost her the bitterest misery, had she not been able to +explain it to her own satisfaction. There could be but one reason why +he held aloof from her, and that an all-sufficient one. In her new +position, it was impossible for him to be more than just friendly to +her. If that had been his attitude in the old days, how could his +self-respect allow him to show the slightest change? In his anxiety not +to do so, he had even fallen short of the former kindness. No +forgiveness was needed, when she felt that she understood him so well. +But all the more did it behove her to make herself worthy of him in all +things. She had still so much to learn; she was so far his inferior in +culture and understanding. Her studies with Miss Hurst were fruitful. +Nor were her domestic duties forgotten. Mr. Woodstock had supplied her +with a good housekeeper, to help her inexperience, but Ida took an +adequate burden on her own shoulders. This again was a new and keen joy. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark dined with them one Sunday in June, and, in the course of the +evening, went with Abraham to the smoking-room for some private +conversation. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you remember," he began, "once offering to buy those shares of +mine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I do," replied Mr. Woodstock, narrowing his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Does the offer still hold good?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes; if you're anxious to realise." +</P> + +<P> +"I am. I want money—for two purposes." +</P> + +<P> +"What are they?" Abraham asked bluntly. +</P> + +<P> +"One is a private matter, which I don't think I need speak of; but the +other I can explain. I have found a courageous publisher who has +offered to bring my book out if I take a certain risk. This I have made +up my mind to do. I want to get the thing out, if only for the sake of +hearing Mrs. Grundy lift up her voice; and if it can't be otherwise, I +must publish at my own expense." +</P> + +<P> +"Will it repay you?" Mr. Woodstock asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Ultimately, I have no doubt; but I don't care so much about that." +</P> + +<P> +"H'm. I should think that's the chief matter to be considered. And you +won't tell me what the other speculation is?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to lend a friend some money, but I don't wish to go into +detail." +</P> + +<P> +The old man looked at him shrewdly. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," he said presently. "I'll let you have the cash. Could you +manage to look in at the office to-morrow at mid-day?" +</P> + +<P> +This was arranged, and Waymark rose, but Mr. Woodstock motioned to him +to resume his seat. +</P> + +<P> +"As we're talking," he began, "I may as well have over something that's +on my mind. Why haven't you told Ida yet about that engagement of +yours?" +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't <I>you</I> done so?" Waymark asked, in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you think I had?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes, I did." +</P> + +<P> +"I've done nothing of the kind," Abraham returned, pretending to be +surprised at the supposition, though he knew it was a perfectly natural +one. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think," the other pursued, "it's about time something was +said to her?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't see that it matters, and—" +</P> + +<P> +"But I <I>can</I> see. As long as that isn't known you're here, to speak +plainly, on false pretences." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I won't come here at all!" +</P> + +<P> +"Very good," exclaimed the old man irritably, "so long as you explain +to her first." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark turned away, and stood gazing gloomily at the floor. Abraham +regarded him, and a change came over his hard face. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, look here," he said, "there's something in all this I can't make +out. Is this engagement a serious one?" +</P> + +<P> +"Serious?" returned the other, with a look of misery. "How can it be +otherwise?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well; in that case you're bound to let Ida know about it, and at +once. Damn it all, don't you know your own mind?" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark collected himself, and spoke gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"I, of course, understand why you press so for this explanation. You +take it for granted that Ida regards me as something more than a +friend. If so, my manner since she has been here must have clearly +shown her that, on my side, I have not the least thought of offering +more than friendship. You yourself will grant so much, I believe. For +all that, I don't deny that our relations have always been unusual; and +it would cost me very much to tell her of my engagement. I ask you to +relieve me of the painful task, on the understanding that I never come +here again. I can't make you understand my position. You say my +behaviour has not been straightforward. In the ordinary sense of the +word it has not;—there let it rest. Tell Ida what you will of me, and +let me disappear from her world." +</P> + +<P> +"The plain English of all which," cried Abraham angrily, "is, that, as +far as you are concerned, you would be quite willing to let the girl +live on false hopes, just to have the pleasure of her society as long +as you care for it." +</P> + +<P> +"Not so, not so at all! I value Ida's friendship as I value that of no +other woman, and I am persuaded that, if I were free with her, I could +reconcile her entirely to our connection remaining one of friendship, +and nothing more." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark, in his desperate straits, all but persuaded himself that he +told the truth. Mr. Woodstock gazed at him in doubt. He would give him +to the end of July to make up his mind; by that time Waymark must +either present himself as a free man, or allow Ida to be informed of +his position. In the meanwhile he must come to Tottenham not oftener +than once a week. To this Waymark agreed, glad of any respite. +</P> + +<P> +He returned to his lodgings in a state of nervous misery. Fortunately, +he was not left to his thoughts; in a few minutes a knock at his door +announced a visitor in the person of Mr. O'Gree. The Irishman exhibited +his wonted liveliness, and at once began to relate an incident to the +disadvantage of his archenemy. +</P> + +<P> +"Faith," he cried, "I'd have given a trifle if ye could have heard the +conversation between Tootle and me, just after breakfast yesterday. The +boys were filing out of the room, when, 'Mr. O'Gree!' cries +Pendy.—'Sir!' I reply.—'The boys were called late this morning, I +hear.'—'No such thing, sir,' I assure 'um. 'Half-past six to the +minute, by my watch.'—'Oh, <I>your</I> watch, Mr. O'Gree,' cries the old +reprobate. 'I fear your watch doesn't keep very good time.'—'Sure, +you're in the right, sir,' said I;' it's been losing a little of late; +so only last night I stopped it at half-past six, to make sure it would +show me the right calling-time this morning.' And, when I'd said that, +I just nod my head, as much as to say, 'There's one for ye, me boy!' +and walk off as jaunty as a Limerick bantam." +</P> + +<P> +Then, after a burst of merriment, O'Gree suddenly fixed his face in a +very grave expression. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm resolved, Waymark, I'm resolved!" he exclaimed. "At midsummer I +break my chains, and stand erect in the dignity of a free man. I've +said it often, but now I mean it. Sally urges me to do ut, and Sally +never utters a worrud that isn't pure wisdom." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I think she's right. I myself should prefer a scavenger's +existence, on the whole. But have you thought any further of the other +scheme?" +</P> + +<P> +"The commercial undertaking? We were talking it over the other night. +Sally says: Borrow the money and risk ut. And I think she's in the +right. If you enter the world of commerce, you must be prepared for +speculation. We looked over the advertisements in a newspaper, just to +get an idea, and we calculated the concern could be set afloat for +seventy-five pounds. Out of that we could pay a quarter's rent, and +stock the shop. Sally's been behind the counter a good bit of late, and +she's getting an insight into that kind of thing. Wonderful girl, +Sally! Put her in Downing Street for a week, and she'd be competent to +supplant the Premier!" +</P> + +<P> +"You have decided for a chandler's?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; we neither of us know much about tobacco, and tobacco perhaps +isn't quits the thing for a man of education. But to be a chandler is +something worthy of any man's ambition. You supply at once the solids +and the luxuries of life; you range from boiled ham and pickles to +mixed biscuits and preserves. You are the focus of a whole street. The +father comes to you for his mid-day bread and cheese, the mother for +her half-ounce of tea, the child for its farthing's-worth of sweets. +For years I've been leading a useless life; once let me get into my +shop, and I become a column of the social system. Faith, it's as good +as done!" +</P> + +<P> +"From whom shall you borrow the cash?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sally's going to think about that point. I suppose we shall go to a +loan office, and make some kind of arrangement. I'm rather vague on +these things, but Sally will find it out." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand," said Waymark, checking his amusement, that you are +perfectly serious in this plan?" +</P> + +<P> +"As serious as I was in the moment of my birth! There's no other +chance." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, then, suppose I offer to lend you the money." +</P> + +<P> +"You, Waymark?" +</P> + +<P> +"No less a person." +</P> + +<P> +And he went on to explain how it was that he was able to make the +offer, adding that any sum up to a hundred pounds was at his friend's +disposal. +</P> + +<P> +"Ye mean it, Waymark!" cried O'Gree, leaping round the room in ecstasy. +"Bedad, you are a man and a brother, and no mistake! Ye're the first +that ever offered to lend me a penny; ye're the first that ever had +faith in me! You shall come with me to see Sally on Saturday, and tell +her this yourself, and I shouldn't be surprised if she gives you a +kiss!" +</P> + +<P> +O'Gree exhausted himself in capering and vociferation, then sat down +and began to exercise his luxuriant imagination in picturing unheard-of +prosperity. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll take a shop in a new neighbourhood, where we shall have the +monopoly. The people 'll get to know Sally; she'll be like a magnet +behind the counter. I shall go to the wholesale houses, and impress +them with a sense of my financial stability; I flatter myself I shall +look the prosperous shopkeeper, eh? Who knows what we may come to? Why, +in a few years we may transfer our business to Oxford Street or +Piccadilly, and call ourselves Italian warehousemen; and bedad, we'll +turn out in the end another Crosse and Blackwell, see if we don't!" +</P> + +<P> +At the utmost limit of the time allowed him by the rules of The +Academy, the future man of business took his leave, in spirits +extravagant even for him. +</P> + +<P> +"Faith," he exclaimed, when he was already at the door, "who d'ye think +I saw last Sunday? As I was free in the afternoon, I took a walk, and, +coming back, I went into a little coffee-shop for a cup of tea. A man +in an apron came up to serve me, and, by me soul, if it wasn't poor old +Egger! I've heard not a word of him since he left last Christmas. He +was ashamed of himself, poor devil; but I did my best to make him easy. +After all, he's better off than in the scholastic line." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark laughed at this incident, and stood watching O'Gree's progress +down the street for a minute or two. Then he went to his room again, +and sitting down with a sigh, fell into deep brooding. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap32"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A VISION OF SIN +</H3> + +<P> +Maud Enderby's life at home became ever more solitary. Such daily +intercourse as had been established between her mother and herself grew +less and less fruitful of real intimacy, till at length it was felt by +both to be mere form. Maud strove against this, but there was no +corresponding effort on the other side; Mrs. Enderby showed no dislike +for her daughter, yet unmistakably shunned her. If she chanced to enter +the sitting-room whilst Maud was there, she would, if possible, retreat +unobserved; or else she would feign to have come in quest of something, +and at once go away with it. Maud could not fail to observe this, and +its recurrence struck a chill to her heart. She had not the courage to +speak to her mother; a deadweight of trouble, a restless spirit of +apprehension, made her life one of passive endurance; she feared to +have the unnatural conditions of their home openly recognised. Very +often her thoughts turned to the time when she had found refuge from +herself in the daily occupation of teaching, and, had she dared, she +would gladly have gone away once more as a governess. But she could not +bring herself to propose such a step. To do so would necessitate +explanations, and that was what she dreaded most of all. Whole days, +with the exception of meal-times, she spent in her own room, and there +no one ever disturbed her. Sometimes she read, but most often sat in +prolonged brooding, heedless of the hours. +</P> + +<P> +Her father was now constantly away from home. He told her that he +travelled on business. It scarcely seemed to be a relief to him to rest +awhile in his chair; indeed, Paul had grown incapable of resting. Time +was deepening the lines of anxiety on his sallow face. His mind seemed +for ever racked with painful calculation. Mrs. Enderby, too, spent much +time away from the house, and Maud knew nothing of her engagements. One +thing, however, Maud could not help noticing, and that was that her +mother was clearly very extravagant in her mode of living. New and +costly dresses were constantly being purchased, as well as articles of +luxury for the house. Mrs. Enderby had of late provided herself with a +<I>femme de chambre</I>, a young woman who arrayed herself with magnificence +in her mistresses castoff dresses, and whose appearance and demeanour +had something the reverse of domestic. Maud almost feared her. Then +there was a hired brougham constantly in use. Whenever Mrs. Enderby +spent an evening at home, company was sure to be entertained; noisy and +showy people filled the drawing-room, and remained till late hours. +Maud did not even see their faces, but the voices of one or two men and +women became only too familiar to her; even in the retirement of her +room she could not avoid hearing these voices, and they made her +shudder. Especially she was conscious of Mr. Rudge's presence; she knew +his very step on the stairs, and waited in feverish apprehension for +the first notes of an accompaniment on the piano, which warned her that +he was going to sing. He had a good voice, and it was often in request. +Sometimes the inexplicable dread of his singing was more than she could +bear; she would hurry on her walking-attire, and, stealing like a +shadow down the stairs, would seek refuge in pacing about the streets +of the neighbourhood, heedless of weather or the hour. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Enderby never came down to breakfast. One morning, when Paul +happened to be at home, he and Maud had finished that meal in silence, +and Maud was rising to leave the room, when her father checked her. He +leaned over the table towards her, and spoke in an anxious undertone. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you noticed anything a little—a little strange in your mother +lately, Maud? Anything in her way of speaking, I mean—her general +manner?" +</P> + +<P> +The girl met his look, and shook her head. The approach to such a +conversation affected her as with a shock; she could not speak. +</P> + +<P> +"She has very bad nights, you know," Paul went on, still in a tone just +above a whisper, "and of late she has been taking chloral. It's against +my wish, but the relief makes it an irresistible temptation. I fear—I +am afraid it is having some deleterious effect upon her; she seemed to +be a little—just a little delirious in the night, I thought." +</P> + +<P> +There was something horrible in his voice and face as he uttered these +words; he shuddered slightly, and his tongue seemed to labour for +utterance, as though he dreaded the sound of his own speech. +</P> + +<P> +Maud sat unmoving and silent. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought, also," Paul went on, "that she appeared a little strange +last evening, when the people were here.—You weren't in the +drawing-room?" +</P> + +<P> +Maud shook her head again. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you—do you think," he asked, "she is having too much excitement? I +know she needs a life of constant variety; it is essential to her. I'm +sure you understand that, Maud? You—you don't misjudge her?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no; it is necessary to her," said the girl mechanically. +</P> + +<P> +"But," her father pursued, with still lower voice, "there is always the +danger lest she should over-exert herself. Last night I—I thought I +noticed—but it was scarcely worth speaking of; I am so easily alarmed, +you know." +</P> + +<P> +Maud tried to say something, but in vain. +</P> + +<P> +"You—you won't desert her—quite—Maud?" said her father in a tone of +pleading. "I am obliged to be so muck away—God knows I can't help it. +And then I—I wonder whether you have noticed? I seem to have little +influence with her." +</P> + +<P> +He stopped, but the next moment forced himself to utter what was in his +mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you help me a little more, Maud? Couldn't you induce her to live +a little more—more restfully at times?" +</P> + +<P> +She rose, pushing the chair back behind her. +</P> + +<P> +"Father, I can't!" she cried; then burst into a passion of tears. +</P> + +<P> +"God help us!" her father breathed, rising and looking at her in blank +misery. But in a moment she had recovered herself. They faced each +other for an instant, but neither ventured to speak again, and Maud +turned and left him. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark came as usual, but now he seldom saw Mrs. Enderby. Maud +received him alone. There was little that was lover-like in these hours +spent together. They kissed each other at meeting and parting, but, +with this exception, the manner of both was very slightly different +from what it had been before their engagement. They sat apart, and +talked of art, literature, religion, seldom of each other. It had come +to this by degrees; at first there had been more warmth, but passion +never. Waymark's self-consciousness often weighed upon his tongue, and +made his conversation but a string of commonplaces; Maud was often +silent for long intervals. Their eyes never met in a steady gaze. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark often asked himself whether Maud's was a passionless nature, or +whether it was possible that her reserve had the same origin as his +own. The latter he felt to be unlikely; sometimes there was a pressure +of her hands as their lips just touched, the indication, he believed, +of feeling held in restraint for uncertain reasons. She welcomed him, +too, with a look which he in vain endeavoured to respond to—a look of +sudden relief from weariness, of gentle illumination; it smote him like +a reproach. When the summer had set in, he was glad to change the still +room for the open air; they walked frequently about Regent's Park, and +lingered till after sunset. +</P> + +<P> +One evening, when it was dull and threatened rain, they returned to the +house sooner than usual. Waymark would have taken his leave at the +door, as he ordinarily did, but Maud begged him to enter, if only for a +few minutes. It was not quite nine o'clock, and Mrs. Enderby was from +home. +</P> + +<P> +He seated himself, but Maud remained standing irresolutely. Waymark +glanced at her from under his eyebrows. He did not find it easy to +speak; they had both been silent since they left the park, with the +exception of the few words exchanged at the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you let me sit here?" Maud asked suddenly, pushing a footstool +near to his chair, and kneeling upon it. +</P> + +<P> +He smiled and nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"When will they begin the printing?" she asked, referring to his book, +which was now in the hands of the publisher who had undertaken it. +</P> + +<P> +"Not for some months. It can't come out till the winter season." +</P> + +<P> +"If it should succeed, it will make a great difference in your +position, won't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"It might," he replied, looking away. +</P> + +<P> +She sat with her eyes fixed on the ground. She wished to continue, but +something stayed her. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't much count upon it," Waymark said, when he could no longer +endure the silence. "We mustn't base any hopes on that." +</P> + +<P> +He rose; the need of changing his attitude seemed imperative. +</P> + +<P> +"Must you go?" Maud asked, looking up at him with eyes which spoke all +that her voice failed to utter. +</P> + +<P> +He moved his head affirmatively, and held out his hand to raise her. +She obeyed his summons, and stood up before him; her eyes had fixed +themselves upon his; he could not avoid their strange gaze. +</P> + +<P> +"Good-bye," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Her free hand rose to his shoulder, upon which it scarcely rested. He +could not escape her eyes, though to meet them tortured him. Her lips +were moving, but he could distinguish no syllable; they moved again, +and he could just gather the sense of her whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you love me?" +</P> + +<P> +An immense pity thrilled through him. He put his arm about her, held +her closely, and pressed his lips against her cheek. She reddened, and +hid her face against him. Waymark touched her hair caressingly, then +freed his other hand, and went from the room. +</P> + +<P> +Maud sat in thought till a loud ring at the door-bell made her start +and flee upstairs. The room in which she and Waymark sat when they were +by themselves was in no danger of invasion, but she feared the +possibility of meeting her mother to-night. Her father was away from +home, as usual, but the days of his return were always uncertain, and +Mrs. Enderby might perchance open the door of the little sitting-room +just to see whether he was there, as it was here he ordinarily employed +himself when in the house. From her bedroom Maud could hear several +people ascend the stairs. It was ten o'clock, but an influx of visitors +at such an hour was nothing remarkable. She could hear her mother's +laugh, and then the voice of a man, a voice she knew but too well—that +of Mr. Budge. +</P> + +<P> +Her nerves were excited. The night was close, and there were mutterings +of thunder at times; the cloud whence they came seemed to her to spread +its doleful blackness over this one roof. An impulse seized her; she +took paper and sat down at her desk to write. It was a letter to +Waymark, a letter such as she had never addressed to him, and which, +even in writing it, she was conscious she could not send. Her hand +trembled as she filled the pages with burning words. She panted for +more than he had given her; this calm, half-brotherly love of his was +just now like a single drop of water to one dying of thirst; she cried +to him for a deeper draught of the joy of life. The words came to her +without need of thought; tears fell hot from her eyes and blotted what +she wrote. +</P> + +<P> +The tears brought her relief; she was able to throw her writing aside, +and by degrees to resume that dull, vacant mood of habitual suffering +which at all events could be endured. From this, too, there was at +times a retreat possible with the help of a book. She had no mind to +sleep, and on looking round, she remembered that the book she had been +reading in the early part of the day was downstairs. It was after +midnight, and she seemed to have a recollection of hearing the visitors +leave the house a little while ago; it would be safe to venture as far +as the sitting-room below. +</P> + +<P> +She began to descend the stairs quietly. There was still a light in the +hall, but the quietness of the house reassured her. On turning an angle +of the stairs, however, she saw that the door of the drawing-room was +open, and that just within stood two figures—her mother and Mr. Rudge. +They seemed to be whispering together, and in the same moment their +lips met. Then the man came out and went downstairs. Mrs. Enderby +turned back into the drawing-room. +</P> + +<P> +Maud stood fixed to the spot. Darkness had closed in around her, and +she clung to the banisters to save herself from the gulf which seemed +to yawn before her feet. The ringing of a bell, the drawing-room bell +summoning Mrs. Enderby's maid, brought her back to consciousness, and +with trembling limbs she regained her room. It was as though some +ghastly vision of the night had shaken her soul. The habit of her mind +overwhelmed her with the conviction that she knew at last the meaning +of that mystery of horror which had of late been strengthening its hold +upon her imagination. The black cloud which lowered above the house had +indeed its significance; the voices which wailed to her of sin and woe +were the true expression of things amid which she had been moving +unconsciously. That instinct which made her shrink from her mother's +presence was not without its justification; the dark powers which +circled her existence had not vainly forced their influence upon her. +Her first impulse was to flee from the house; the air breathed +pestilence and death, death of the soul. Looking about her in the +anguish of conflicting thoughts, her eyes fell upon the pages she had +written. These now came before her as a proof of contagion which had +seized upon her own nature; she tore the letter hastily into fragments, +and, striking fire with a match, consumed them in the grate. As she +watched the sparks go out, there came a rustling of dresses past her +door. She flung herself upon her knees and sought refuge in wild, +wordless prayer. +</P> + +<P> +A fortnight after this Maud went late in the evening to the room where +she knew her father was sitting alone. Paul Enderby looked up from his +papers in surprise; it was some time since Maud had sought private +conversation with him. As he met her pale, resolute face, he knew that +she had a serious purpose in thus visiting him, and his look changed to +one of nervous anticipation. +</P> + +<P> +"Do I disturb you, father?" Maud asked. "Could you spare me a few +minutes?" +</P> + +<P> +Paul nodded, and she took a seat near him. +</P> + +<P> +"Father, I am going to leave home, going to be a governess again." +</P> + +<P> +He drew a sigh of relief; he had expected something worse than this. +Yet the relief was only for a moment, and then he looked at her with +eyes which made her soul fail for very compassion. +</P> + +<P> +"You will desert me, Maud?" he asked, trying to convey in his look that +which he could not utter in words. +</P> + +<P> +"Father, I can be of no help, and I feel that I must not remain here." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you found a place?" +</P> + +<P> +"This afternoon I engaged myself to go to Paris with a French family. +They have been in England some time, and want to take back an English +governess for their children." +</P> + +<P> +Paul was silent. +</P> + +<P> +"I leave the day after to-morrow," she added; at first she had feared +to say how soon she was to go. +</P> + +<P> +"You are right," her father said, shifting some papers about with a +tremulous hand. "You are right to leave us. You at least will be safe." +</P> + +<P> +"Safe?" she asked, under her breath. +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her in the same despairing way, but said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"Father," she began, her lips quivering in the intensity of her inward +struggle, "can you not go away from here? Can you not take mother away?" +</P> + +<P> +They gazed at each other, each trying to divine what it was that made +the other so pale. Did her father know?—Maud asked herself. Did Maud +know something more than he himself?—was the doubt in Paul's mind. But +they were thinking of different things. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't, I can't!" the wretched man exclaimed, spreading out his arms +on the desk. "Perhaps in a few months—but I doubt. I can do nothing +now; I am helpless; I am not my own master. O God, if I could but go +and leave it all behind me!" +</P> + +<P> +Maud could only guess at the meaning of this. He had already hinted to +her of business troubles which were crushing him. But this was a matter +of no moment in her sight. There was something more terrible, and she +could not force her tongue to speak of it. +</P> + +<P> +"You fear for her?" Paul went on. "You have noticed her strangeness?" +He lowered his voice. "What can I do, Maud?" +</P> + +<P> +"You are so much away," she said hurriedly, laying her hand on his arm. +"Her visitors—she has so many temptations—" +</P> + +<P> +"Temptations?" +</P> + +<P> +"Father, help her against herself!" +</P> + +<P> +"My help is vain. There is a curse on her life, and on mine. I can only +stand by and wait for the worst." +</P> + +<P> +She could not speak. It was her duty, clearly her imperative duty, yet +she durst not fulfil it. She had come down from her room with the fixed +purpose, attained after nights of sleepless struggle, of telling him +what she had seen. She found herself alone again, the task unfulfilled. +And she knew that she could not face him again. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap33"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A GARDEN-PARTY +</H3> + +<P> +Waymark received with astonishment Maud's letter from Paris. He had +seen her only two days before, and their conversation had been of the +ordinary kind; Maud had given him no hint of her purpose, not even when +he spoke to her of the coming holiday season, and the necessity of her +having a change. She confessed she was not well. Sometimes, when they +had both sat for some minutes in silence, she would raise her eyes and +meet his gaze steadily, seeming to search for something. Waymark could +not face this look; it drove him to break the suspense by any kind of +remark on an indifferent subject. He remembered now that she had gazed +at him in that way persistently on the last evening that they were +together. When he was saying good-bye, and as he bent to kiss her, she +held him back for a moment, and seemed to wish to say something. +Doubtless she had been on the point of telling him that she was going +away; but she let him leave in silence. +</P> + +<P> +It was not a long letter that she wrote; she merely said that change +had become indispensable to body and soul, and that it had seemed best +to make it suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope," she wrote in conclusion, "that you will see my father as +often as you can; he is very much in need of friendly company, and I +should like you to be able to send me news of him. Do not fear for me; +I feel already better. I am always with you in spirit, and in the +spirit I love you; God help me to keep my love pure!" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark put away the letter carelessly; the first sensation of surprise +over, he did not even care to speculate on the reasons which had led +Maud to leave home. It was but seldom now that his thoughts busied +themselves with Maud; the unreal importance which she had for a time +assumed in his life was only a recollection; her very face was +ghostlike in his mind's eye, dim, always vanishing. If the news of her +departure from England moved him at all, it was with a slight sense of +satisfaction; it would be so much easier to write letters to her than +to speak face to face. Yet, in the days that followed, the ghostlike +countenance hovered more persistently before him than was its wont; +there was a far-off pleading in its look, and sometimes that shadow of +reproach which our uneasy conscience will cast upon the faces of those +we have wronged. This passed, however, and another image, one which had +ever grown in clearness and persistency of presentment in proportion as +Maud's faded away, glided before him in the hours of summer sunlight, +and shone forth with the beauty of a rising star against the clouded +heaven of his dreams. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark's mood was bitter, but, in spite of himself, it was no longer +cynical. He could not indulge himself in that pessimistic scepticism +which had aided him in bearing his poverty, and the restless craving of +sense and spirit which had accompanied it. His enthusiasm for art was +falling away; as a faith it had failed him in his hour of need. In its +stead another faith had come to him, a faith which he felt to be +all-powerful, and the sole stay of a man's life amid the shifting +shadows of intellectual creeds. And it had been revealed too late. Led +by perverse motives, now no longer intelligible, he had reached a goal +of mere frustration; between him and the true end of his being there +was a great gulf fixed. +</P> + +<P> +To Ida, in the meanwhile, these weeks of early summer were bringing +health of body and cheerfulness of mind. She spent very much of her +time in the open air. Whenever it was possible she and Miss Hurst took +their books out into the garden, and let the shadows of the rose-bushes +mark the hours for them. Ida's natural vigour throve on the +strength-giving properties of sun and breeze the last traces of +unwholesome pallor passed from her face, and exercise sent her home +flushed like the dawn. +</P> + +<P> +One afternoon she went to sit with her grandfather on a bench beneath +an apple-tree. The old man had his pipe and a newspaper. Ida was quiet, +and glancing at her presently, Abraham found her eyes fixed upon him. +</P> + +<P> +"Grandfather," she said, in her gentlest voice, "will you let me give a +garden-party some day next week?" +</P> + +<P> +"A party?" Mr. Woodstock raised his brows in astonishment. "Who are you +going to invite?" +</P> + +<P> +"You'll think it a strange notion.—I wonder whether I can make it seem +as delightful to you as it does to me. Suppose we went to those houses +of yours, and got together as many poor little girls as we could, and +brought them all here to spend an afternoon in the garden. Think what +an unheard-of thing it would be to them! And then we would give them +some tea, and take them back again before dark." +</P> + +<P> +The proposal filled Mr. Woodstock with dismay, and the habitual +hardness of his face suggested a displeasure he did not in reality feel. +</P> + +<P> +"As you say, it's a strange notion," he remarked, smiling very +slightly. "I don't know why you shouldn't have your own way, Ida, +but—it'll cost you a good deal of trouble, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"You are mistaking me, grandfather. You think this a curious whim I +have got into my head, and your kindness would tempt you to let me do a +silly thing just for the sake of having my way. It is no foolish fancy. +It's not for my sake, but for the children's." +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes were aglow with earnestness, and her voice trembled. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think they'd care for it?" asked her grandfather, impressed by +something in her which he had never seen before. +</P> + +<P> +"Care for it!—Imagine a poor little thing that has been born in a +wretched, poverty-stricken, disorderly home, a home that is no home, +and growing up with no knowledge of anything but those four hateful +walls and the street outside. No toys, no treats, no change of air; +playing in the gutter, never seeing a beautiful thing, never hearing of +the pleasures which rich people's children would pine and die without +And a child for all that." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock cleared his throat and smoothed the newspaper upon his +knee. +</P> + +<P> +"How will you get them here, Ida?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, leave that to me! Let us choose a day; wouldn't Saturday be best! +I will go there myself, and pick out the children, and get their +mothers to promise to have them ready. Then I'll arrange to have one of +those carts you see at Sunday-school treats. Why, the ride here, that +alone! And you'll let me have tea for them,—just bread and butter and +a bun,—it will cost not half as much as my new dress this week, not +<I>half</I> as much—" +</P> + +<P> +"Come, come, I can't stand this!" growled out Abraham, getting up from +the seat. "I'd <I>give</I> them the garden, for good and all, rather than +see you like that. Say Saturday, if it's fine; if not, Monday, or when +you like." +</P> + +<P> +On the following morning the details were arranged, and the next day +Ida went to Litany Lane. She preferred to go alone, and on this errand +Mr. Woodstock would have found a difficulty in accompanying her. Ida +knew exactly the nature of the task she had taken in hand, and found it +easier than it would have been to the ordinary young lady. She jotted +down the names of some twenty little girls, selecting such as were +between the ages of eight and twelve, and obtained promises that all +should be ready at a fixed hour next Saturday. She met with doubts and +objections and difficulties enough, but only failed in one or two +instances. Then followed fresh talks with her grandfather, and all the +details were arranged. +</P> + +<P> +There was rain on the Thursday and Friday, but when Ida drew up her +blind at six o'clock on Saturday morning, the sky gave promise of good +things. She was walking in the garden long before breakfast-time, and +gladdened to rapture as she watched the sun gain power, till it +streamed gloriously athwart cloudless blue. By one o'clock she was at +the end of Litany Lane, where the cart with long seats was already +waiting; its arrival had become known to the little ones, and very few +needed summoning. Of course there were disappointments now and again. +In spite of mothers' promises, half the children had their usual dirty +faces, and showed no sign of any preparation. Five or six of them had +nothing to put on their heads; two had bare feet. It was too late to +see to these things now; as they were, the children clambered, or were +lifted, on to the cart, and Ida took her seat among them. Then a crack +of the driver's whip, and amid the shouts of envious brothers and +sisters, and before the wondering stare of the rest of the population, +off they drove away. +</P> + +<P> +"Who'd like an apple?" Ida asked, as soon as they were well clear of +the narrow streets. There was a general scream of delight, and from a +hamper by her side she brought out apples and distributed them. Only +for a minute or two had there been anything like shyness in Ida's +presence; she knew how to talk and behave to these poor little waifs. +Her eyes filled with tears as she listened to their chatter among +themselves, and recognised so many a fragment of her own past life. One +child, who sat close by her, had been spending the morning in washing +vegetables for the Saturday-night market. Did not that call to mind +something?—so far off; so far, yet nearer to her than many things +which had intervened. How they all laughed, as the big, black houses +gave way to brighter streets, and these again began to open upon +glimpses of field or garden! Not one of them had the slightest +conception of whither they were being taken, or what was to happen to +them at length. But they had confidence in "the lady." She was a +sorceress in their eyes; what limit could there be to her powers? +Something good and joyous awaited them; that was all they knew or +cared; leagues of happiness, stretching away to the remote limits of +the day's glory; a present rapture beyond knowledge, and a memory for +ever. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock stood within the gate of the garden, his hands in his +pockets, and as the vehicle came in sight he drew just a little back. +</P> + +<P> +They streamed along the carriage-drive, and in a minute or two were all +clustered upon the lawn behind the house. What was expected of them? +Had an angel taken them by he hand and led them straight from Litany +Lane through the portals of paradise, they could not have been more +awed and bewildered. Trees and rose-bushes, turf and beds of flowers, +seats in the shade, skipping-ropes thrown about on the open—and there, +hark, a hand-organ, a better one than ever they danced to on the +pavement, striking up to make them merry. That was the happiest +thought! It was something not too unfamiliar; the one joyful thing of +which they had experience meeting them here to smooth over the first +introduction to a new world. Ida knew it well, the effect of that +organ; had it not lightened her heart many and many a time in the +by-gone darkness? Two of the girls had caught each other by the waist +at the first sounds. Might they? Would "the lady" like it? +</P> + +<P> +Miss Hurst had come out as soon as the music began, and Ida ran to talk +with her. There was whispering between them, and pointing to one and +another of the children, and then the governess, with a pleased face, +disappeared again. She was away some time, but on her return two of the +children were called into the house. Bare-footed they went in, but came +forth again with shoes and stockings on, hardly able to comprehend what +had happened to them. Then were summoned those who had nothing on their +heads, and to each of these a straw hat was given, a less wonderful +possession than the shoes and stockings, but a source of gladness and +pride. +</P> + +<P> +In the meantime, however, marvels had accumulated on the lawn. Whilst +yet the organ was playing, there appeared two men, one of them carrying +a big drum, the other hidden under a Punch and Judy show. Of a sudden +there sounded a shrill note, high above the organ, a fluting from the +bottom to the top of the gamut, the immemorial summons to children, the +overture to the primitive drama. It was drowned in a scream of welcome, +which, in its turn, was outdone by thunderous peals upon the drum. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock said little during the whole afternoon. Perhaps he +thought the more. +</P> + +<P> +Tables had been fixed in one part of the garden, and as the drama of +Punch drew to an end, its interest found a serious rival in the +spectacle of piled plates of cake. But there was to intervene nearly +half-an-hour before the tea-urns were ready to make an appearance. The +skipping-ropes came into requisition outside, but in the house was +proceeding simultaneously a rather more serious pastime, which fell to +Ida's share to carry out. Choosing the little girl whose face was the +dirtiest and hair the untidiest of any she could see, she led her +gently away to a place where a good bowl of warm water and plenty of +soap were at hand, and, with the air of bestowing the greatest kindness +of all, fell to work to such purpose that in a few minutes the child +went back to the garden a resplendent being, positively clean and kempt +for the first time in her life. +</P> + +<P> +"I know you'll feel uncomfortable for a little, dear," Ida said, +dismissing the astonished maiden with a kiss, "but the strangeness will +wear off; and you'll see how much nicer it is." +</P> + +<P> +One after another, all were dealt with in this way, presently with a +good-natured servant-girl's assistance, as time pressed. The result was +that a transformed company sat down to tea. The feeling wore off, as +Ida said, but at first cleanliness meant positive discomfort, taking +the form of loss of identity and difficulty of mutual recognition. They +looked at their hands, and were amazed at the whiteness that had come +upon them; they kept feeling their faces and their ordered hair. But +the appetite of one and all was improved by the process. +</P> + +<P> +"How I wish Mr. Waymark was here!" Ida said to her grandfather, as they +stood together, watching the feast. "He would enjoy it. We must give +him a full account to-morrow, mustn't we?" +</P> + +<P> +"I forgot," replied the other. "I had a note from him this morning, +saying he thought he shouldn't be able to come." +</P> + +<P> +The first shadow of disappointment which this day had brought fell upon +the girl's countenance. She made no reply, and presently went to help +one or the youngest children, who had spilt her tea and was in evident +distress. +</P> + +<P> +After tea the organ struck up again, and again there was dancing on the +lawn. Then a gathering of flowers by Ida and Miss Hurst, and one given +to each of the children, with injunctions to put it in water on +reaching home, and keep it as long as possible in memory of the day. +Already the sun was westering, and Litany Lane must be reached before +dusk. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor children!" Ida sighed to herself. "If they had but homes to go +to!" And added, in her thought, "We shall see, we shall see!" +</P> + +<P> +Every bit as joyous as the ride out was the return to town. With +foresight, Ida made the two youngest sit on each side of her; soon the +little heads were drooping in her lap, subdued by the very weariness of +bliss. Miss Hurst had offered to accompany Ida, that she might not have +to come back alone, but Ida wanted her friends all to herself, and was +rewarded by the familiarity with which they gossipped to her all the +way. +</P> + +<P> +"Hands up, all those who <I>haven't</I> enjoyed themselves!" she exclaimed, +just as they were entering the noisy streets. +</P> + +<P> +There was a moment's doubt, then a burst of merry laughter. +</P> + +<P> +"Hands up, all those who would like to come again!" +</P> + +<P> +All held up both arms—except the two children who were asleep. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you've all been good, and I'm very pleased with you, and you +<I>shall</I> come again!" +</P> + +<P> +It was the culmination of the day's delight. For the first time in +their lives the children of Litany Lane and Elm Court had something to +look forward to. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap34"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +A LATE REVENGE +</H3> + +<P> +Ida clung to the possibility of Waymark's paying his usual visit on the +Sunday, but she was disappointed. This absence had no reason beyond +Waymark's choice. It was the last Sunday but one of the month; a week +more, and he must keep his word with Mr. Woodstock. The evil day had +been put off, and to what purpose? There had been some scarcely +confessed hope. Maud's sudden departure from England, and her strange +letter, might perhaps mean a change in her which would bring about his +freedom; he himself might possibly be driven by his wretchedness to the +point of writing to her in a way which would hasten her decision, if +indeed she were doubting. +</P> + +<P> +All was over between Ida and himself, so why undergo the torment of +still seeing her. In sending his note to Mr. Woodstock, he was on the +point of surrendering the week that remained, and begging that Ida +might be told at once, but his hand refused to write the words. Through +the week that ensued he had no moment's rest. At night he went to +places of amusement, to seek distraction; he wished and dreaded the +coming of the Sunday. How would Ida receive the revelation? Should he +write to her and try to make her understand him? Yet in that he could +scarcely succeed, and failure would bring upon him her contempt. The +only safety lay in never seeing or communicating with her again. +</P> + +<P> +Even on Saturday night he had not made up his mind how to act. He went +to the theatre, but left before the play was half over, and walked +slowly homewards. As he drew near to his lodgings, some one hastened +towards him with both hands held out. It was Maud Enderby. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I have waited so long! I wanted to see you to-night." She was +exhausted with fatigue and distress, and still held his hands, as if +needing their support. To Waymark, in his then state of mind, she came +like an apparition. He could only look at her in astonishment. +</P> + +<P> +"Last night," she said, "I had a telegram from father. He told me to +come back at once; he had had to leave, and mother was alone. I was to +call for a letter at a place in the city. I was in time to catch the +night boat, and when I got his letter it told me dreadful things. +Something has happened which compelled him to leave England at once. He +could do nothing, make no arrangements. Mother, he said, had a little +money; we must sell everything and manage to live somewhere for a +little; he would try to send us what he could. Then I went home. There +was a police-officer in the house, and mother had gone away, I can't +tell where. Father has done something, and—Oh, what shall I do? You +can help me, can't you?" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark, whom this news overwhelmed with blank despair, could at first +say nothing; but the very greatness of the blow gradually produced in +him the strength to bear it. He saw that fate had taken the future out +of his hands; there was no longer even the appearance of choice. To +Maud he must now devote himself, aiding her with all his strength in +the present and through the days to come. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I go back home with you?" he asked, pressing her hands to +comfort her, and speaking with the calmness of one who had made up his +mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; perhaps mother will have returned. But what shall we do? What +will happen to father? Do you know anything of all this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing whatever. Walk with me to the top of the street, and we will +take a cab." +</P> + +<P> +She hung upon his arm, trembling violently; and during the drive to +Paddington, she lay back with her eyes closed, holding Waymark's hands +in her own, which burned with fever. On alighting, they found that Mrs. +Enderby had indeed returned; the servant told them so, and at the same +time whispered something to Maud. They went up into the drawing-room, +and there found Mrs. Enderby lying upon the couch. She could not +understand when she was spoken to, but nodded her head and looked at +them with large, woebegone, wandering eyes. Every effort to rouse her +was vain. +</P> + +<P> +It was a dreadful night. +</P> + +<P> +The early dawn was in the sky when Waymark reached Beaufort Street. +With no thought of sleep, he sat down at once and wrote to Mr. +Woodstock, relating what had happened. "So, you see," he concluded, +"with the end of July has come the decision of my fate, as we agreed it +should. If I had seen you to-morrow, as I proposed, I know not what +folly I might have been guilty of. Tell Ida everything at once; I shall +never see her again. But do you, if you can, be my friend still. I need +your help in this horrible situation. Meet me—will you?—at the office +to-morrow night, say at eight o'clock." +</P> + +<P> +This letter would reach Tottenham on Monday morning. Waymark went to +the office at the hour he had mentioned, and waited till ten o'clock. +But Mr. Woodstock had not been in St. John Street Road that day, and +the waiting was in vain. +</P> + +<P> +The garden-party had not been without its effect upon Mr. Woodstock. On +the following day, when he was sitting again with Ida in the garden, he +recurred to the conversation of a week ago, and seemed desirous of +leading the girl to speak freely on the subjects which had such power +to stir her. Ida had been waiting for this; she rejoiced at the promise +it held out, and unburdened her heart. Would he not do yet more for the +poor people in his houses I could not their homes in some way be made +more fit for human beings? With careful observation of his mood, she +led him on to entertain thoughts he had never dreamt of, and before +they parted she had all but obtained a promise that he would go over +the whole of his property and really see what could be done. Ida's +influence over him had by this time become very great; the old man was +ready to do much for the sake of pleasing her. +</P> + +<P> +On the following Tuesday he went down into Litany Lane in company with +a builder, and proceeded to investigate each of the houses. In many +instances the repairs, to be of any use, would have to be considerable; +there would be a difficulty in executing them whilst the tenants +remained in possession. One possibility occurred to him in the course +of examination, and he determined to make use of it; he would create +room by getting rid of the worst tenants, all those, in fact, whose +presence was pollution to the neighbourhood, and whom it was hopeless +to think of reforming. In this way he would be able to shift about the +remaining lodgers without too great a loss to himself, and avoid the +necessity of turning helpless people into the street. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Woodstock had considerably more knowledge of the state of his +property, and of the tenants inhabiting it, than is usual with +landlords of his kind; for all that, the present examination brought to +light not a few things which were startling even to him. Since Waymark +had ceased to act as his collector, the office had been filled by an +agent of the ordinary kind, and Mr. Woodstock had, till just now, taken +less interest in the property than formerly. Things had got worse on +the whole. Whereas Waymark had here and there been successful in +suppressing the grosser forms of uncleanliness by threats of expulsion, +and at times by the actual enforcement of his threat, no such +supervision had of late been exercised. There were very few houses in +which the air was at all tolerable; in many instances the vilest odours +hung about the open door-ways. To pass out of Elm Court into the wider +streets around was like a change to the freshness of woods and fields. +And the sources of this miasma were only too obvious. +</P> + +<P> +The larger houses which made up Litany Lane had underground cellars; in +the court there were fortunately no such retreats. On entering one of +these former houses, the two were aware of an especially offensive +odour rising from below the stairs. Pursuing, however, their plan of +beginning at the garrets, they went up together. In the room at the top +they came upon a miserable spectacle. On something which, for want of +another name, was probably called a bed, there lay a woman either +already dead or in a state of coma, and on the floor sat two very young +children, amusing themselves with a dead kitten, their only toy. Mr. +Woodstock bent over the woman and examined her. He found that she was +breathing, though in a slow and scarcely perceptible way; her eyes were +open, but expressed no consciousness. The slightly-parted lips were +almost black, and here and there on her face there seemed to be a kind +of rash. Mr. Woodstock's companion, after taking one glance, drew +hastily back. +</P> + +<P> +"Looks like small-pox," he said, in an alarmed voice. "I wouldn't stand +so near, sir, if I was you." +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't there any one to look to her?" said Abraham. Then turning to one +of the children, "Where's your father?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Dono," was the little fellow's indifferent reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you alone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dono." +</P> + +<P> +They went down to the floor below, and there found a woman standing at +her door. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with her up there?" asked Mr. Woodstock. +</P> + +<P> +"She's very bad, sir. Her Susan's gone to get a order for the parish +doctor, I b'lieve. I was just a-goin' to look after the children when +you came up. I've only just come 'ome myself, you see." +</P> + +<P> +"What's that horrible stench down below?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't notice nothink, sir," said the woman, looking over the +banisters as if the odour might be seen. +</P> + +<P> +"Any one living in the kitchen?" +</P> + +<P> +"There <I>was</I> some one, I b'lieve, sir, but I don't exac'ly know if +they's there yet." +</P> + +<P> +Presently they reached the region below. In absolute darkness they +descended steps which were covered with a sort of slime, and then, by +striking a light, found themselves in front of a closed door. Opening +this, they entered a vile hole where it could scarcely be said to be +daylight, so thickly was the little window patched with filth. Groping +about in the stifling atmosphere, they discovered in one corner a mass +of indescribable matter, from which arose, seemingly, the worst of the +effluvia. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" asked Mr. Woodstock, holding a lighted match. +</P> + +<P> +"Rotten fish, it seems to me," said the other, holding his nose. +</P> + +<P> +Abraham turned away; then, as if his eye had suddenly caught something, +strode to another corner. There lay the body of a dead child, all but +naked, upon a piece of sacking. +</P> + +<P> +"We'd better get out of this, sir," said the builder. "We shall be +poisoned. Wonder they haven't the plague here." +</P> + +<P> +"Seems to me they have," returned Mr. Woodstock. +</P> + +<P> +They went out into the street, and hailed the first policeman in sight. +Then, giving up his investigations for that morning, Mr. Woodstock +repaired to the police-station, and after a good deal of trouble, +succeeded in getting the attendance of a medical man, with the result +that the woman they had seen up in the garret was found to be in truth +dying of small-pox. If the contagion spread, as probably it had by this +time begun to, there would be a pleasant state of things in Litany Lane. +</P> + +<P> +In the evening, before going home, Abraham had a bath. He was not a +nervous man, but the possibilities of the risk he had run were not +agreeable to contemplate. Two or three days went by without any +alarming symptoms, but as he learnt that another case of small-pox had +declared itself in the Lane, he postponed his personal activity there +for the present, and remained a good deal at home. On the Sunday +morning—when Waymark's letter had already been posted—he awoke with a +headache, continued from the night before. It grew worse during the +day, and he went to bed early with a dull pain across the forehead, +which prevented him from sleeping. On the following morning the +headache still remained; he felt a disinclination to rise, and now, for +the first time, began to be troubled with vague fears, which blended +themselves with his various pre-occupations in a confusing way. The +letter which arrived from Waymark was taken up to him. It caused him +extreme irritation, which was followed by uneasy dozing, the pain +across his forehead growing worse the while. A doctor was summoned. +</P> + +<P> +The same day Ida and Miss Hurst left the house, to occupy lodgings hard +by; it was done at Mr. Woodstock's peremptory bidding. Ida at once +wrote to Waymark, begging him to come; he arrived early next morning, +and learnt the state of things. +</P> + +<P> +"The doctor tells me," said Ida, "there is a case in Litany Lane. It is +very cruel. Grandfather went to make arrangements for having the houses +repaired." +</P> + +<P> +"There I recognise your hand," Waymark observed, as she made a pause. +</P> + +<P> +"Why have you so deserted us?" Ida asked. "Why do we see you so seldom?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is so late every evening before I leave the library, and I am busy +with all sorts of things." +</P> + +<P> +They had little to say to each other, Waymark promised to communicate +at once with a friend of Mr. Woodstock's, a man of business, and to +come again as soon as possible, to give any help he could. Whether Ida +had been told of his position remained uncertain. +</P> + +<P> +For Ida they were sad, long days. Troubles which she had previously +managed to keep in the background now again beset her. She had attached +herself to her grandfather; gratitude for all that he was doing at her +wish strengthened her affection, and she awaited each new day with +fear. Waymark seemed colder to her in these days than he had ever been +formerly. The occasion ought, she felt, to have brought them nearer +together; but on his side there appeared to be no such feeling. The +time hung very heavily on her hands. She tried to go on with her +studies, but it was a mere pretence. +</P> + +<P> +Soon, she learnt that there was no hope; the sick man had sunk into a +state of unconsciousness from which he would probably not awake. She +haunted the neighbourhood of the house, or, in her lodging, sat like +one who waits, and the waiting was for she knew not what. There was +once more to be a great change in her life, but of what kind she could +not foresee. She wished her suffering had been more acute; her only +relative was dying, yet no tear would come to her eyes; it was +heartless, and to weep would have brought relief to her. She could only +sit and wait. +</P> + +<P> +When Waymark came, on the evening of the next day, he heard that all +was over. Ida saw him, but only for a few minutes. In going away, he +paused by the gates of the silent house. +</P> + +<P> +"The slums have avenged themselves," he said to himself sadly, "though +late." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap35"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOUSE-WARMING +</H3> + +<P> +On a Sunday afternoon in October, when Abraham Woodstock had lain in +his grave for three months, Waymark met Julian Casti by appointment in +Sloane Square, and they set forth together on a journey to Peckham. +They were going thither by invitation, and, to judge from the laughter +which accompanied their talk, their visit was likely to afford them +entertainment. The merriment on Julian's side was not very natural; he +looked indeed too ill to enjoy mirth of any kind. As they stood in the +Square, waiting for an omnibus, he kept glancing uneasily about him, +especially in the direction whence they had come. It had the appearance +of a habit, but before they had stood much more than a minute, he +started and exclaimed in a low voice to his companion— +</P> + +<P> +"I told you so. She is just behind there. She has come round by the +back streets, just to see if I'd told her the truth." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark glanced back and shrugged his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Pooh! Never mind," he said. "You're used to it." +</P> + +<P> +"Used to it! Yes," Julian returned, his face flushing suddenly a deep +red, the effect of extraordinary excitement; "and it is driving me mad." +</P> + +<P> +Then, after a fit of coughing— +</P> + +<P> +"She found my poem last night, and burnt it." +</P> + +<P> +"Burnt it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; simply because she could not understand it. She said she thought +it was waste paper, but I saw, I saw." +</P> + +<P> +The 'bus they waited for came up, and they went on their way. On +reaching the neighbourhood of Peckham, they struck off through a +complex of small new streets, apparently familiar to Waymark, and came +at length to a little shop, also very new, the windows of which +displayed a fresh-looking assortment of miscellaneous goods. There was +half a large cheese, marked by the incisions of the tasting-knife; a +boiled ham, garlanded; a cone of brawn; a truncated pyramid of spiced +beef, released from its American tin; also German sausage and other +dainties of the kind. Then there were canisters of tea and coffee, tins +of mustard, a basket of eggs, some onions, boxes of baking-powder and +of blacking; all arranged so as to make an impression on the +passers-by; everything clean and bright. Above the window stood in +imposing gilt letters the name of the proprietor: O'Gree. +</P> + +<P> +They entered. The shop was very small and did not contain much stock. +The new shelves showed a row of biscuit-tins, but little else, and from +the ceiling hung balls of string. On the counter lay an inviting round +of boiled beef. Odours of provisions and of fresh paint were strong in +the air. Every thing gleamed from resent scrubbing and polishing; the +floor only emphasised its purity by a little track where a child's +shoes had brought in mud from the street; doubtless it had been washed +over since the Sunday morning's custom had subsided. Wherever the walls +would have confessed their bareness the enterprising tradesman had hung +gorgeous advertising cards. At the sound of the visitors' footsteps, +the door leading out of the shop into the parlour behind opened +briskly, a head having previously appeared over the red curtain, and +Mr. O'Gree, in the glory of Sunday attire, rushed forward with eager +hands. His welcome was obstreperous. +</P> + +<P> +"Waymark, you're a brick! Mr. Casti, I'm rejoiced to receive you in my +establishment! You're neither a minute too soon nor a minute too late. +Mrs. O'Gree only this moment called out from the kitchen that the +kettle was boiling and the crumpets at the point of perfection! I knew +your punctuality of old, Waymark. Mr. Casti, how does it strike you? +Roaring trade, Waymark! Done two shillings and threepence three +farthings this Sunday morning. Look here, me boy,—ho, ho!" +</P> + +<P> +He drew out the till behind the counter, and jingled his hand in +coppers. Then he rushed about in the wildest fervour from object to +object, opening tins which he had forgotten were empty, making passes +at the beef and the ham with a formidable carving-knife, demonstrating +the use of a sugar-chopper and a coffee-grinder, and, lastly, calling +attention with infinite glee to a bad halfpenny which he had detected +on the previous afternoon, and had forthwith nailed down to the +counter, <I>in terrorem</I>. Then he lifted with much solemnity a hinged +portion of the counter, and requested his visitors to pass into the +back-parlour. Here there was the same perfect cleanliness, though the +furniture was scant and very simple. The round table was laid for tea, +with a spotless cloth, plates of a very demonstrative pattern, and +knives and forks which seemed only just to have left the ironmonger's +shop. +</P> + +<P> +"We pass, you observe, Mr. Casti," cried the ex-teacher, "from the +region of commerce to that of domestic intimacy. Here Mrs. O'Gree +reigns supreme, as indeed she does in the other department, as far as +presiding genius goes. She's in all places at once, like a birrud! Mr. +Casti," in a whisper, "I shall have the pleasure of introducing you to +one of the most remarkable women it was ever your lot to meet; a +phenomenon of—" +</P> + +<P> +The inner door opened, and the lady herself interrupted these eulogies. +Sally was charming. Her trim little body attired in the trimmest of +homely dresses, her sharp little face shining and just a little red +with excitement, her quick movements, her laughing eyes, her restless +hands graced with the new wedding-ring—all made up a picture of which +her husband might well be proud. He stood and gazed at her in frank +admiration; only when she sprang forward to shake hands with Waymark +did he recover himself sufficiently to go through the ceremony of +introducing Julian. It was done with all stateliness. +</P> + +<P> +"An improvement this on the masters' room, eh, Waymark?" cried Mr. +O'Gree. Then, suddenly interrupting him self, "And that reminds me! +We've got a lodger." +</P> + +<P> +"Already?" +</P> + +<P> +"And who d'ye think? Who d'ye think? You wouldn't guess if you went on +till Christmas. Ho, ho, ho! I'm hanged if I tell you. Wait and see!" +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I call him down?" asked Sally, who in the meantime had brought +in the tea-pot, and the crumpets, and a dish of slices from the round +of beef on the counter, and boiled eggs, and sundry other dainties. +</P> + +<P> +O'Gree, unable to speak for mirth, nodded his head, and presently Sally +returned, followed by—Mr. Egger. Waymark scarcely recognised his old +friend, so much had the latter changed: instead of the old woe-begone +look, Egger's face wore a joyous smile, and his outer man was so vastly +improved that he had evidently fallen on a more lucrative profession. +Waymark remembered O'Gree's chance meeting with the Swiss, but had +heard nothing of him since; nor indeed had O'Gree till a day or two ago. +</P> + +<P> +"How do things go?" Waymark inquired heartily. "Found a better school?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, my friend," returned Egger, in his very bad English. "At the +school I made my possible; I did till I could no more. I have made like +Mr. O'Gree; it is to say, quite a change in my life. I am waiter at a +restaurant. And see me; am I not the better quite? No fear!" This +cockneyism came in with comical effect. "I have enough to eat and to +drink, and money in my pocket. The school may go to ——" +</P> + +<P> +O'Gree coughed violently to cover the last word, and looked +reproachfully at his old colleague. Poor Egger, who had been carried +away by his joyous fervour, was abashed, and glanced timidly at Sally, +who replied by giving him half a dozen thick rounds of German sausage. +On his requesting mustard, she fetched some from the shop and mixed it, +but, in doing so, had the misfortune to pour too much water. +</P> + +<P> +"There!" she exclaimed; "I've doubted the miller's eye." +</P> + +<P> +O'Gree laughed when he saw Waymark looking for an explanation. +</P> + +<P> +"That's a piece of Weymouth," he remarked. "Mrs. O'Gree comes from the +south-west of England," he added, leaning towards Casti. "She's +constantly teaching me new and interesting things. Now, if I was to +spill the salt here—" +</P> + +<P> +He put his Ii and on the salt-cellar, as if to do so, but Sally rapped +his knuckles with a fork. +</P> + +<P> +"None of your nonsense, sir! Give Mr. Casti some more meat, instead." +</P> + +<P> +It was a merry party. The noise of talk grew so loud that it was only +the keenness of habitual attention on Sally's part which enabled her to +observe that a customer was knocking on the counter. She darted out, +but returned with a disappointed look on her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Pickles?" asked her husband, frowning. +</P> + +<P> +Sally nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, look here, Waymark," cried O'Gree, rising in indignation from his +seat. "Look here, Mr. Casti. The one drop of bitterness in our cup +is—pickles; the one thing that threatens to poison our happiness +is—pickles. We're always being asked for pickles; just as if the +people knew about it, and came on purpose!" +</P> + +<P> +"Knew About what?" asked Waymark, in astonishment. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, that we mayn't sell 'em! A few doors off there's a scoundrel of a +grocer. Now, his landlord's the same as ours, and when we took this +shop there was one condition attached. Because the grocer sells +pickles, and makes a good thing of them, we had to undertake that, in +that branch of commerce, we wouldn't compete with him. Pickles are +forbidden." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark burst into a most unsympathetic roar of laughter, but with +O'Gree the grievance was evidently a serious one, and it was some few +moments before he recovered his equanimity. Indeed it was not quite +restored till the entrance of another customer, who purchased two +ounces of butter. When, in the dead silence which ensued, Sally was +heard weighing out the order, O'Gree's face beamed; and when there +followed the chink of coins in the till, he brought his fist down with +a triumphant crash upon the table. +</P> + +<P> +When tea was over, O'Gree managed to get Waymark apart from the rest, +and showed him a small photograph of Sally which had recently been +taken. +</P> + +<P> +"Sally's great ambition," he whispered, "is to be taken cabinet-size, +and in a snow-storm. You've seen the kind of thing in the shop-windows? +We'll manage that before long, but this will do for the present. You +don't see a face like that every day; eh, Waymark?" +</P> + +<P> +Sally, her housewifery duly accomplished in the invisible regions, came +back and sat by the fireside. She had exchanged her work-a-day costume +for one rather more ornate. Noticeable was a delicate gold chain which +hung about her neck, and Waymark smiled when he presently saw her take +out her watch and seem to compare its time with that of the clock on +the mantelpiece. It was a wedding present from Ida. +</P> + +<P> +Sally caught the smile, and almost immediately came over to a seat by +Waymark; and, whilst the others were engaged in loud talk, spoke with +him privately. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you seen her lately?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Not for some weeks," the other replied, shaking his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it's the queerest thing I ever knew, s'nough! But, there," she +added, with an arch glance, "some men are that stupid—" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark laughed slightly, and again shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"All a mistake," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, that's just what it is, you may depend upon it. I more'n half +believe you're telling fibs." +</P> + +<P> +Tumblers of whisky were soon smoking on the table, and all except Casti +laughed and talked to their heart's content. Casti was no kill-joy; he +smiled at all that went on, now and then putting in a friendly word; +but the vitality of the others was lacking in him, and the weight which +crushed him night and day could not so easily be thrown aside. O'Gree +was abundant in reminiscences of academic days, and it would not have +been easy to resist altogether the comical vigour of his stories, all +without one touch of real bitterness or malice. +</P> + +<P> +"Bedad," he cried, "I sent old Pendy a business prospectus, with my +compliments written on the bottom of it. I thought he might perhaps be +disposed to give me a contract for victualling the Academy. I wish he +had, for the boys' sake." +</P> + +<P> +Then, to bring back completely the old times, Mr. Egger was prevailed +upon to sing one of his <I>Volkslieder</I>, that which had been Waymark's +especial favourite, and which he had sung—on an occasion memorable to +Sally and her husband—in the little dining-room at Richmond. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Die Schwalb'n flieg'n fort, doch sie zieh'n wieder her; Der Mensch +wenn er fortgeht, er kommt nimmermehr!</I>" +</P> + +<P> +Waymark was silent for a little after that. +</P> + +<P> +When it was nearly eleven o'clock, Casti looked once or twice meaningly +at Waymark, and the friends at length rose to take their leave, in +spite of much protest. O'Gree accompanied them as far as the spot where +they would meet the omnibus, then, with assurances that to-night had +been but the beginning of glorious times, sent them on their way. +Julian was silent during the journey home; he looked very wearied. For +lack of a timely conveyance the last mile or so had to be walked. +Julian's cough had been bad during the evening, and now the cold +night-air seemed to give him much trouble. Presently, just as they +turned a corner, a severe blast of wind met them full in the face. +Julian began coughing violently, and all at once became so weak that he +had to lean against a palisading. Waymark, looking closer in alarm, saw +that the handkerchief which the poor fellow was holding to his mouth +was covered with blood. +</P> + +<P> +"We must have a cab," he exclaimed. "It is impossible for you to walk +in this state." +</P> + +<P> +Julian resisted, with assurances that the worst was over for the time. +If Waymark would give the support of his arm, he would get on quite +well. There was no overcoming his resolution to proceed. +</P> + +<P> +"There's no misunderstanding this, old fellow," he said, with a laugh, +when they had walked a few paces. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark made no reply. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll laugh at me," Julian went on, "but isn't there a certain +resemblance between my case and that of Keats? He too was a +drug-pounder; he liked it as little as I do; and he died young of +consumption. I suppose a dying man may speak the truth about himself. I +too might have been a poet, if life had dealt more kindly with me. I +think you would have liked the thing I was writing; I'd finished some +three hundred lines; but now you'll never see it. Well, I don't know +that it matters." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark tried to speak in a tone of hopefulness, but it was hard to +give his words the semblance of sincerity. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you remember," Casti continued, "when all my talk used to be about +Rome, and how I planned to see it one day—see it again. I should say? +Strange to think that I really was born in Rome. I used to call myself +a Roman, you know, and grow hot with pride when I thought of it. Those +were dreams. Oh, I was to do wonderful things! Poetry was to make me +rich, and then I would go and live in Italy, and fill my lungs with the +breath of the Forum, and write my great Epic. How good that we can't +foresee our lives!" +</P> + +<P> +"I wish to heaven," Waymark exclaimed, when they were parting, "that +you would be a man and shake this monstrous yoke from off your neck! It +is that that is killing you. Give yourself a chance. Defy everything +and make yourself free." +</P> + +<P> +Julian shook his head sadly. +</P> + +<P> +"Too late! I haven't the courage. My mind weakens with my body." +</P> + +<P> +He went to his lodgings, and, as he anticipated, found that Harriet had +not yet come home. She was almost always out very late, and he had +learnt too well what t expect on her return. In spite of her illness, +of which she made the most when it suited her purpose, she was able t +wander about at all hours with the acquaintances her husband did not +even know by name, and Julian had no longer the strength even to +implore her to have pity on him. He absence racked him with nervous +fears; her presence tortured him to agony. Weakness in him had reached +a criminal degree. Once or twice he had all but made up his mind to +flee secretly, and only let her know his determination when he had +gone; but his poverty interposed such obstacles that he ended by +accepting them as excuses for his hesitation. The mere thought of +fulfilling the duty which he owed to himself, of speaking out with +manly firmness, and telling her that here at length all ended between +them—that was a terror to his soul. So he stayed on and allowed her to +kill him by slow torment. He was at least carrying out to the letter +the promise he had made to her father, and this thought supplied him +with a flattering unction which, such was his disposition, at times +even brought him a moment's solace. +</P> + +<P> +There was no fire in the room; he sank upon a chair and waited. Every +sound in the street below sent the blood back upon his heart. At length +there came the fumbling of a latch-key—he could hear it plainly—and +then the heavy foot ascending the stairs. Her glazed eyes and red +cheeks told the familiar tale. She sat down opposite him and was silent +for a minute, half dozing; then she seemed suddenly to become conscious +of his presence, and the words began to flow from her tongue, every one +cutting him to the quick, poisoning his soul with their venom of +jealousy and vulgar spite. Contention was the breath of her nostrils; +the prime impulse of her heart was suspicion. Little by little she came +round to the wonted topic. Had he been to see his friend the thief? Was +she in prison again yet? Whom had she been stealing from of late? Oh, +she was innocence itself, of course; too good for this evil-speaking +world. +</P> + +<P> +Tonight he could not bear it. He rose from his chair like a drunken +man, and staggered to the door. She sprang after him, but he was just +in time to escape her grasp and spring down the stairs; then, out into +the night. Once before, not quite a month ago, he had been driven thus +in terror from the sound of her voice, and had slept at a coffeehouse. +Now, as soon as he had got out of the street and saw that he was not +being pursued, he discovered that he had given away his last copper for +the omnibus fare. No matter; the air was pleasant upon his throbbing +temples. It was too late to think of knocking at the house where +Waymark lodged. Nothing remained but to walk about the streets all +night, resting on a stone when he became too weary to go further, +sheltering a little here or there when the wind cut him too keenly. +Rather this, oh, a thousand times rather, than the hell behind him. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap36"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXVI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +NO WAY BUT THIS +</H3> + +<P> +In the early days of October, Waymark's book appeared. It excited no +special attention. Here and there a reviewer was found who ventured to +hint that there was powerful writing in this new novel, but no one +dared to heartily recommend it to public attention. By some it was +classed with the "unsavoury productions of the so-called naturalist +school;" others passed it by with a few lines of unfavourable comment. +Clearly it was destined to bring the author neither fame nor fortune. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark was surprised at his own indifference. Having given a copy to +Casti, and one to Maud, he thought very little more of the production. +It had ceased to interest him; he felt that if he were to write again +it would be in a very different way and of different people. Even when +he prided himself most upon his self-knowledge he had been most +ignorant of the direction in which his character was developing. +Unconsciously, he had struggled to the extremity of weariness, and now +he cared only to let things take their course, standing aside from +every shadow of new onset. Above all, he kept away as much as possible +from the house at Tottenham, where Ida was still living. To go there +meant only a renewal of torment. This was in fact the commonplace +period of his life. He had no energy above that of the ordinary young +man who is making his living in a commonplace way, and his higher +faculties lay dormant. +</P> + +<P> +In one respect, and that, after all, perhaps the most important, his +position would soon be changed. Mr. Woodstock's will, when affairs were +settled, would make him richer by one thousand pounds; he might, if he +chose, presently give up his employment, and either trust to +literature, or look out for something less precarious. A year ago, this +state of things would have filed him with exultation. As it was, he +only saw in it an accident compelling him to a certain fateful duty. +There was now no reason why his marriage should be long delayed. For +Maud's sake the step was clearly desirable. At present she and her +mother were living with Miss Bygrave in the weird old house. Of Paul +there had come no tidings. Their home was of course broken up, and they +had no income of their own to depend upon. Maud herself, though of +course aware of Waymark's prospects, seemed to shrink from speaking of +the future. She grew more and more uncertain as to her real thoughts +and desires. +</P> + +<P> +And what of Ida? It was hard for her to realise her position; for a +time she was conscious only of an overwhelming sense of loneliness. The +interval of life with her grandfather was dreamlike as she looked back +upon it; yet harder to grasp was the situation in which she now found +herself, surrounded by luxuries which had come to her as if from the +clouds, her own mistress, free to form wishes merely for the sake of +satisfying them. She cared little to realise the minor possibilities of +wealth. The great purpose, the noble end to which her active life had +shaped itself, was sternly present before her; she would not shirk its +demands. But there was lacking the inspiration of joy. Could she harden +herself to every personal desire, and forget, in devotion to others, +the sickness of one great hope deferred? Did her ideal require this of +her? +</P> + +<P> +Would he come, now that she was free to give herself where she would, +now that she was so alone? The distance between them had increased ever +since the beginning of her new life. She knew well the sort of pride he +was capable of; but was there not something else, something she dreaded +to observe too closely, in the manner of his speech? Did he think so +meanly of her as to deem such precautions necessary against her +misconstruction? Nay, <I>could</I> he have guarded himself in that way if he +really loved her? Would it not have been to degrade her too much in his +own eyes? +</P> + +<P> +He loved her once. Had she in any way grown less noble in his eyes, by +those very things which she regarded as help and strengthening? Did he +perchance think she had too readily accepted ease when it was offered +her, sacrificing the independence which he most regarded? If so, all +the more would he shrink from losing for her his own independence. +</P> + +<P> +She imagined herself wedded to him; at liberty to stand before him and +confess all the thoughts which now consumed her in the silence of vain +longing. "Why did I break free from the fetters of a shameful life? +Because I loved, and loved <I>you</I>. What gave me the strength to pass +from idle luxury, poisoning the energies of the soul, to that life of +lonely toil and misery? My love, and my love for <I>you</I>. I kept apart +from you then; I would not even let you know what I was enduring; only +because you had spoken a hasty, thoughtless word to me, which showed me +with terrible distinctness the meaning of all I had escaped, and filled +me with a determination to prove to myself that I had not lost all my +better nature, that there was still enough of purity in my being to +save me finally. What was it that afflicted me with agony beyond all +words when I was made the victim of a cruel and base accusation? Not +the fear of its consequences; only the dread lest <I>you</I> should believe +me guilty, and no longer deem me worthy of a thought. It is no +arrogance to say that I am become a pure woman; not my own merits, but +love of you has made me so. I love you as a woman loves only once; if +you asked me to give up my life to prove it, I am capable of doing no +less a thing than that. Flesh and spirit I lay before you—all yours; +do you still think the offering unworthy?" +</P> + +<P> +And yet she knew that she could never thus speak to him; her humility +was too great. At moments she might feel this glow of conscious virtue, +but for the most part the weight of all the past was so heavy upon her. +</P> + +<P> +Fortunately, her time did not long remain unoccupied. As her +grandfather's heiress she found herself owner of the East-end property, +and, as soon as it was assured that she would incur no danger, she went +over the houses in the company of the builder whom Abraham had chosen +to carry out his proposed restorations. The improvements were proceeded +with at once, greatly to the astonishment of the tenants, to whom such +changes inevitably suggested increase of rent. These fears Ida did her +best to dispel. Dressed in the simplest possible way, and with that +kind, quiet manner which was natural to her, she went about from room +to room, and did her best to become intimately acquainted with the +woman-kind of the Lane and the Court. It was not an easy end to +compass. She was received at first with extreme suspicion; her +appearance aroused that distrust which with the uneducated attaches to +everything novel. In many instances she found it difficult to get it +believed' that she was really the "landlord." But when this idea had +been gradually mastered, and when, moreover, it was discovered that she +brought no tracts, spoke not at all of religious matters, was not +impertinently curious, and showed indeed that she knew a good deal of +what she talked about, something like respect for her began to spring +up here and there, and she was spoken of as "the right sort." +</P> + +<P> +Ida was excellently fitted for the work she had undertaken. She knew so +well, from her own early experience, the nature of the people with whom +she was brought in contact, and had that instinctive sympathy with +their lives without which it is so vain to attempt practical social +reform. She started with no theory, and as yet had no very definite end +in view; it simply appeared to her that, as owner of these slums, +honesty and regard for her own credit required that she should make +them decent human habitations, and give what other help she could to +people obviously so much in need of it. The best was that she +understood how and when such help could be afforded. To native +practicality and prudence she added a keen recollection of the wants +and difficulties she had struggled through in childhood; there was no +danger of her being foolishly lavish in charity, when she could foresee +with sympathy all the evil results which would ensue. Her only +temptation to imprudence was when, as so often happened, she saw some +little girl in a position which reminded her strongly of her own dark +days; all such she would have liked to take home with her and somehow +provide for, saving them from the wretched alternatives which were all +that life had to offer them. So, little by little, she was brought to +think in a broader way of problems puzzling enough to wiser heads than +hers. Social miseries, which she had previously regarded as mere +matters of fact, having never enjoyed the opportunities of comparison +which alone can present them in any other light, began to move her to +indignation. Often it was with a keen sense of shame that she took the +weekly rent, a sum scraped together Heaven knew how, representing so +much deduction from the food of the family. She knew that it would be +impossible to remit the rent altogether, but at all events there was +the power of reducing it, and this she did in many cases. +</P> + +<P> +The children she came to regard as her peculiar care. Her strong common +sense taught her that it was with these that most could be done. The +parents could not be reformed; at best they might be kept from that +darkest depth of poverty which corrupts soul and body alike. But might +not the girls be somehow put into the way of earning a decent +livelihood? Ida knew so well the effect upon them of the occupations to +which they mostly turned, occupations degrading to womanhood, blighting +every hope. Even to give them the means of remaining at home would not +greatly help them; there they still breathed a vile atmosphere. To +remove them altogether was the only efficient way, and how could that +be done? +</P> + +<P> +The months of late summer and autumn saw several more garden-parties. +These, Ida knew, were very useful, but more enduring things must be +devised. Miss Hurst was the only person with whom she could consult, +and that lady's notions were not very practical. If only she could have +spoken freely with Waymark; but that she could no longer on any +subject, least of all on this. As winter set in, he had almost forsaken +her. He showed no interest in her life, beyond asking occasionally what +she was reading, and taking the opportunity to talk of books. +Throughout November she neither saw him nor heard from him. Then one +evening he came. +</P> + +<P> +She was alone when the servant announced him; with her sat her old +companion, Grim. As Waymark entered, she looked at him with friendly +smile, and said quietly— +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you would never come again" +</P> + +<P> +"I have not kept away through thoughtlessness," he replied. "Believe +that; it is the truth. And to-night I have only come to say good-bye. I +am going to leave London." +</P> + +<P> +"You used to say nothing would induce you to leave London, and that you +couldn't live anywhere else." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; that was one of my old fancies. I am going right away into the +country, at all events for a year or two. I suppose I shall write +novels." +</P> + +<P> +He moved uneasily under her gaze, and affected a cheerfulness which +could not deceive her. +</P> + +<P> +"Has your book been a success?" Ida asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No; it fell dead." +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't you give me a copy?" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought too little of it. It's poor stuff. Better you shouldn't read +it." +</P> + +<P> +"But I have read it." +</P> + +<P> +"Got it from the library, did you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; I bought it." +</P> + +<P> +"What a pity to waste so much money!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you speak like that? You know how anything of yours would +interest me." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, in a certain way, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"For its own sake, too. I can't criticise, but I know it held me as +nothing else ever did. It was horrible in many parts, but I was the +better for reading it." +</P> + +<P> +He could not help showing pleasure, and grew more natural. Ida had +purposely refrained from speaking of the book when she read it, more +than a month ago, always hoping that he would be the first to say +something about it. But the news he had brought her to-night put an end +to reticence on her side. She must speak out her heart, cost her what +it might. +</P> + +<P> +"Who should read it, if not I?" she said, as he remained silent. "Who +can possibly understand it half so well as I do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he remarked, with wilful misunderstanding, "you have seen the +places and the people. And I hear you are going on with the work your +grandfather began?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am trying to do something. If you had been able to give me a little +time now and then, I should have asked you to advise and help me. It is +hard to work there single-handed." +</P> + +<P> +"You are too good for that; I should have liked to think of you as far +apart from those vile scenes." +</P> + +<P> +"Too good for it?" Her voice trembled. "How can any one be too good to +help the miserable? If you had said that I was not worthy of such a +privilege—Can you, knowing me as no one else does or ever will, think +that I could live here in peace, whilst those poor creatures stint and +starve themselves every week to provide me with comforts? Do I seem to +you such a woman?" +</P> + +<P> +He only smiled, his lips tortured to hold their peace. +</P> + +<P> +"I had hoped you understood me better than that. Is that why you have +left me to myself? Do you doubt my sincerity? Why do you speak so +cruelly, saying I am too good, when your real thoughts must be so +different? You mean that I am incapable of really doing anything; you +have no faith in me. I seem to you too weak to pursue any high end. You +would not even speak to me of your book, because you felt I should not +appreciate it. And yet you do know me—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I know you well," Waymark said. +</P> + +<P> +Ida looked steadily at him. "If you are speaking to me for the last +time, won't you be sincere, and tell me of my faults? Do you think I +could not bear it? You can say nothing to me—nothing from your +heart—that I won't accept in all humility. Are we no longer even +friends?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mistake me altogether." +</P> + +<P> +"And you are still my friend?" she uttered warmly. "But why do you +think me unfit for good work?" +</P> + +<P> +"I had no such thought. You know how my ideals oppose each other. I +spoke on the impulse of the moment; I often find it so hard to +reconcile myself to anything in life that is not, still and calm and +beautiful. I am just now bent on forgetting all the things about which +you are so earnest." +</P> + +<P> +"Earnest? Yes. But I cannot give my whole self to the work. I am so +lonely." +</P> + +<P> +"You will not be so for long," he answered with more cheerfulness. "You +have every opportunity of making for yourself a good social position. +You will soon have friends, if only you seek them. Your goodness will +make you respected. Indeed I wonder at your remaining so isolated. It +need not be; I am sure it need not. Your wealth—I have no thought of +speaking cynically—your wealth must—" +</P> + +<P> +"My wealth! What is it to me? What do I care for all the friends it +might bring? They are nothing to me in my misery. But you ... I would +give all I possess for one kind word from you." +</P> + +<P> +Flushing over forehead and cheeks, she compelled herself to meet his +look. It was her wealth that stood between her and him. Her position +was not like that of other women. Conventionalities were meaningless, +set against a life. +</P> + +<P> +"I have tried hard to make myself ever so little worthy of you," she +murmured, when her voice would again obey her will. "Am I still—still +too far beneath you?" +</P> + +<P> +He stood like one detected in a crime, and stammered the words. +</P> + +<P> +"Ida, I am not free." +</P> + +<P> +He had risen. Ida sprang up, and moved towards him. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>This</I> was your secret? Tell me, then. Look—<I>I</I> am strong! Tell me +about it. I might have thought of this. I thought only of myself. I +might have known there was good reason for the distance you put between +us. Forgive me—oh, forgive the pain I have caused you! +</P> + +<P> +"You asking for forgiveness? How you must despise me." +</P> + +<P> +"Why should I despise you? You have never said a word to me that any +friend, any near friend, might not have said, never since I myself, in +my folly, forbade you to. You were not bound to tell me—" +</P> + +<P> +"I had told your grandfather," Waymark said in a broken voice. "In a +letter I wrote the very day he was taken ill, I begged him to let you +know that I had bound myself." +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke he knew that he was excusing himself with a truth which +implied a falsehood, and before it was too late his soul revolted +against the unworthiness. +</P> + +<P> +"But it was my own fault that it was left so long. I would not let him +tell you when he wished to; I put off the day as long as I could." +</P> + +<P> +"Since you first knew me?" she asked, in a low voice. +</P> + +<P> +"No! Since you came to live here. I was free before." +</P> + +<P> +It was the part of his confession which cost him most to utter, and the +hearing of it chilled Ida's heart. Whilst she had been living through +her bitterest shame and misery, he had given his love to another woman, +forgetful of her. For the first time, weakness overcame her. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you loved me," she sobbed, bowing her head. +</P> + +<P> +"I did—and I do. I can't understand myself, and it would be worse than +vain to try to show you how it came about. I have brought a curse upon +my life, and worse than my own despair is your misery." +</P> + +<P> +"Is she a good woman you are going to marry?" Ida asked simply and +kindly. +</P> + +<P> +"Only less noble than yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"And she loves you—no, she cannot love as I do—but she loves you +worthily and with all her soul?" +</P> + +<P> +"Worthily and with all her soul—the greater my despair." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I dare not think of her one unkind thought. We must remember her, +and be strong for her sake. You will leave London and forget me +soon,—yes, yes, you will <I>try</I> to forget me. You owe it to her; it is +your duty." +</P> + +<P> +"Duty!" he broke out passionately. "What have I to do with duty? Was it +not my duty to be true to you? Was it not my duty to confess my hateful +weakness, when I had taken the fatal step? Duty has no meaning for me. +I have set it aside at every turn. Even now there would be no +obligation on me to keep my word, but that I am too great a coward to +revoke it." +</P> + +<P> +She stood near to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear,—I will call you so, it is for the last time,—you think these +things in the worst moment of our suffering; afterwards you will thank +me for having been strong enough, or cold enough, to be your +conscience. There <I>is</I> such a thing as duty; it speaks in your heart +and in mine, and tells us that we must part." +</P> + +<P> +"You speak so lightly of parting. If you felt all that I—" +</P> + +<P> +"My love is no shadow less than yours," she said, with earnestness +which was well nigh severity. "I have never wavered from you since I +knew you first." +</P> + +<P> +"Ida!" +</P> + +<P> +"I meant no reproach, but it will perhaps help you to think of that. +You <I>did</I> love her, if it was only for a day, and that love will +return." +</P> + +<P> +She moved from him, and he too rose. +</P> + +<P> +"You shame me," he said, under his breath. "I am not worthy to touch +your hand." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she returned, smiling amid her tears, "very worthy of all the +love I have given you, and of the love with which <I>she</I> will make you +happy. I shall suffer, but the thought of your happiness will help me +to bear up and try to live a life you would not call ignoble. You will +do great things, and I shall hear of them, and be glad. Yes; I know +that is before you. You are one of those who cannot rest till they have +won a high place. I, too, have my work, and—" +</P> + +<P> +Her voice failed. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we never see each other again, Ida?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps. In a few years we might meet, and be friends. But I dare not +think of that now." +</P> + +<P> +They clasped hands, for one dread moment resisted the lure of eyes and +lips, and so parted. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap37"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXVII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +FORBIDDEN +</H3> + +<P> +December was half through, and it was the eve of Maud Enderby's +marriage-day. Everything was ready for the morrow. Waymark had been +away in the South, and the house to which he would take his wife now +awaited their coming. +</P> + +<P> +It was a foggy night. Maud had been for an hour to Our Lady of the +Rosary, and found it difficult to make her way back. The street lamps +were mere luminous blurs upon the clinging darkness, and the suspension +of the wonted traffic made the air strangely still. It was cold, that +kind of cold which wraps the limbs like a cloth soaked in icy water. +When she knocked at the door of her aunt's house, and it was opened to +her, wreaths of mist swept in and hung about the lighted hall. It +seemed colder within than without. Footsteps echoed here in the old +way, and voices lost themselves in a muffled resonance along the bare +white walls. The house was more tomb-like than ever on such a night as +thin To Maud's eyes the intruding fog shaped itself into ghostly +visages, which looked upon her with weird and woeful compassion. She +shuddered, and hastened upstairs to her mother's room. +</P> + +<P> +After her husband's disappearance, Mrs. Enderby had passed her days in +a morbid apathy, contrasting strangely with the restless excitement +which had so long possessed her. But a change came over her from the +day when she was told of Maud's approaching marriage. It was her +delight to have Maud sit by her bed, or her couch, and talk over the +details of the wedding and the new life that would follow upon it. Her +interest in Waymark, which had fallen off during the past half-year, +all at once revived; she conversed with him as she had been used to do +when she first made his acquaintance, and the publication of his book +afforded her endless matter for gossip. She began to speak of herself +as an old woman, and of spending her last years happily in the country. +To all appearances she had dismissed from her mind the calamity which +had befallen her; her husband might have been long dead for any thought +she seemed to give him. She was wholly taken up with childish joy in +trivial matters. The dress in which Maud should be married gave her +thoughts constant occupation, and she fretted at any opposition to her +ideas. Still, like a child, she allowed herself to be brought round to +others' views, and was ultimately led to consent that the costume +should be a very simple one, merely a new dress, in fact, which Maud +would be able to wear subsequently with little change. Even thus, every +detail of it was as important to her as if it had been the most +elaborate piece of bridal attire. In talking with Maud, too, she had +lost that kind of awe which had formerly restrained her; it was as +though she had been an affectionate mother ever since her daughter's +birth. She called her by pet names, often caressed her, and wished for +loving words and acts in return. Of Miss Bygrave's presence in the +house she appeared scarcely conscious, never referring to her, and +suffering a vague trouble if her sister entered the room where she was, +which Theresa did very seldom. +</P> + +<P> +The new dress had come home finished this evening whilst Maud was away. +On the latter's return, her mother insisted on seeing her at once in +it, and Maud obeyed. A strange bride, rather as one who was about to +wed herself to Heaven beneath the veil, than preparing to be led to the +altar. +</P> + +<P> +Having resumed her ordinary dregs, Maud went downstairs to the parlour +where her aunt was sitting. Miss Bygrave laid down a book as she +entered. +</P> + +<P> +"We shall not see each other after tonight," Theresa said, breaking the +stillness with her grave but not unkind voice. "Is there anything more +you would like to say to me, Maud?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only that I shall always think of you, and grieve that we are parted." +</P> + +<P> +"You are going into the world," said the other sadly, "my thoughts +cannot follow you there. But your purer spirit will often be with me." +</P> + +<P> +"And your spirit with me. If I had been permitted to share your life, +that would have been my greatest joy. I am consciously choosing what my +soul would set aside. For a time I thought I had reconciled myself to +the world; I found delight in it, and came to look on the promptings of +the spirit as morbid fancies. That has passed. I know the highest, but +between me and it there is a gulf which it may be I shall never pass." +</P> + +<P> +"It is only to few," said Theresa, looking at Maud with her smile of +assured peace, "that it is given to persevere and attain." +</P> + +<P> +As they sat once more in silence, there suddenly came a light knock at +the house-door. At this moment Maud's thoughts had wandered back to a +Christmas of her childhood, when she had sat just as to-night with her +aunt, and had for the first time listened to those teachings which had +moulded her life. The intervening years were swept away, and she was +once more the thoughtful, wondering child, conscious of the great +difference between herself and her companions; in spite of herself +learning to regard the world in which they moved as something in which +she had no part. Of those school companions a few came back to her +mind, and, before all, the poor girl named Ida Starr, whom she had +loved and admired. What had become of Ida, after she had been sent away +from Miss Rutherford's school? She remembered that last meeting with +her in the street, on the evening of Christmas Day, and could see her +face. +</P> + +<P> +The house door was opened, and Maud heard a voice outside which held +her to the spot where she stood. Then Theresa re-entered the room, and +after her came Paul Enderby. +</P> + +<P> +He seemed to be wearing a disguise; at all events his clothing was that +of a working man, poor and worn, and his face was changed by the growth +of a beard. He shivered with cold, and, as Miss Bygrave closed the door +behind him, stood with eyes sunk to the ground, in an attitude of +misery and shame. Maud, recovering quickly from the shock his entrance +had caused her, approached him and took his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Father," she said gently. Her voice overcame him; he burst into tears +and stood hiding his face with the rough cap he held. Maud turned to +her aunt, who remained at a little distance, unmoving, her eyes cast +down. Before any other word was said, the door opened quickly, and Mrs. +Enderby ran in with a smothered cry. Throwing her arms about her +husband, she clung to him in a passion of grief and tenderness. In a +moment she had been changed from the listless, childish woman of the +last few months to a creature instinct with violent emotion. Her +mingled excess of joy and anguish could not have displayed itself more +vehemently had she been sorrowing night and day for her husband's loss. +Maud was terrified at the scene, and shrunk to Theresa's side. Without +heeding either, the distracted woman led Paul from the room, and +upstairs to her own chamber. Drawing him to a chair, she fell on her +knees beside him and wept agonisingly. +</P> + +<P> +"You will stay with me now?" she cried, when her voice could form +words. "You won't leave me again, Paul? We will hide you here.—No, no; +I am for getting. You will go away with us, away from London to a safe +place. Maud is going to be married to-morrow, and we will live with her +in her new home. You have suffered dreadfully; you look so changed, so +ill. You shall rest, and I will nurse you. Oh, I will be a good wife to +you, Paul. Speak to me, do speak to me: speak kindly, dear! How long is +it since I lost you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I daren't stay, Emily," he replied, in a hoarse and broken voice. "I +should be discovered. I must get away from England, that is my only +chance. I have scarcely left the house where I was hiding all this +time. It wouldn't have been safe to try and escape, even if I had had +any money. I have hungered for days, and I am weaker than a child." +</P> + +<P> +He sobbed again in the extremity of his wretchedness. +</P> + +<P> +"It was all for my sake!" she cried, clinging around his neck. "I am +your curse. I have brought you to ruin a second time. I am a bad, +wretched woman; if you drove me from you with blows it would be less +than I deserve! You can never forgive me; but let me be your slave, let +me suffer something dreadful for your sake! Why did I ever recover from +my madness, only to bring that upon you!" +</P> + +<P> +He could speak little, but leaned back, holding her to him with one arm. +</P> + +<P> +"No, it is not your fault, Emily," he said. "Only my own weakness and +folly. Your love repays me for all I have undergone; that was all I +ever wanted." +</P> + +<P> +When she had exhausted herself in passionate consolation, she left him +for a few moments to get him food, and he ate of it like a famished man. +</P> + +<P> +"If I can only get money enough to leave the country, I am saved," he +said. "If I stay here, I shall be found, and they will imprison me for +years. I had rather kill myself! +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Waymark will give us the money," was the reply, "and we will go +away together." +</P> + +<P> +"That would betray me; it would be folly to face such a risk. If I can +escape, then you shall come to me." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you will leave me!" she cried. "I shall lose you, as I did before, +but this time for ever! You don't love me, Paul! And how can I expect +you should? But let me go as your servant. Let me dress like a man, and +follow you. Who will notice then?" +</P> + +<P> +He shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"I love you, Emily, and shall love you as long as I breathe. To hear +you speak to me like this has almost the power to make me happy. If I +had known it, I shouldn't have stayed so long away from you; I hadn't +the courage to come, and I thought the sight of me would only be misery +to you. I have lived a terrible life, among the poorest people, getting +my bread as they did; oftener starving. Not one of my acquaintances was +to be trusted. I have not seen one face I knew since I first heard of +my danger and escaped. But I had rather live on like that than fall +into the hands of the police; I should never know freedom again. The +thought maddens me with fear." +</P> + +<P> +"You are safe here, love, quite safe!" she urged soothingly. "Who could +know that you are here? Who could know that Maud and I were living +here?" +</P> + +<P> +There was a tap at the door. Mrs. Enderby started to it, turned the +key, and then asked who was there. +</P> + +<P> +"Emily," said Miss Bygrave's voice, "let me come in—or let Paul come +out here and speak to me." +</P> + +<P> +There was something unusual in the speaker's tone; it was quick and +nervous. Paul himself went to the door, and, putting his wife's hand +aside, opened it. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +She beckoned him to leave the room, then whispered: +</P> + +<P> +"Some one I don't know is at the front door. I opened it with the chain +on, and a man said he must see Mr. Enderby." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't I go out by the back?" Paul asked, all but voiceless with +terror. "I daren't hide in the rooms; they will search them all. How +did they know that I was here? O God, I am lost!" +</P> + +<P> +They could hear the knocking below repeated. Paul hurried down the +stairs, followed by his wife, whom Theresa in vain tried to hold back +He knew the way to the door which led into the garden, and opening +this, sprang into the darkness. Scarcely had he taken a step, when +strong arms seized him. +</P> + +<P> +"Hold on!" said a voice. "You must come back with me into the house." +</P> + +<P> +At the same moment there was a shriek close at hand, and, as they +turned to the open door, Paul and his captor saw Emily prostrate on the +threshold, and Miss Bygrave stooping over her. +</P> + +<P> +"Better open the front door, ma'am," said the police officer, "and ask +my friend there to come through. We've got all we want." +</P> + +<P> +This was done, and when Emily had been carried into the house, Paul was +led thither also by his captor. As they stood in the hall, the second +officer drew from his pocket a warrant, and read it out with official +gravity. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll go quietly with us, I suppose?" he then said. +</P> + +<P> +Paul nodded, and all three departed by the front door. +</P> + +<P> +It was midnight and before Mrs. Enderby showed any signs of returning +consciousness. Miss Bygrave and Maud sat by her bed together, and at +length one of them noticed that she had opened her eyes and was looking +about her, though without moving her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother," Maud asked, bending over her, "are you better? Do you know +me?" +</P> + +<P> +Emily nodded. There was no touch of natural colour in her face, and its +muscles seemed paralysed. And she lay thus for hours, conscious +apparently, but paying no attention to those in the room. Early in the +morning a medical man was summoned, but his assistance made no change. +The fog was still heavy, and only towards noon was it possible to +dispense with lamp-light; then there gleamed for an hour or two a weird +mockery of day, and again it was nightfall. With the darkness came rain. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark had come to the house about ten o'clock. But this was to be no +wedding-day. Maud begged him through her aunt not to see her, and he +returned as he came. Miss Bygrave had told him all that had happened. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Enderby seemed to sleep for some hours, but just after nightfall +the previous condition returned; she lay with her eyes open, and just +nodded when spoken to. From eight o'clock to midnight Maud tried to +rest in her own room, but sleep was far from her, and when she returned +to the sick-chamber to relieve her aunt, she was almost as worn and +ghastly in countenance as the one they tended. She took her place by +the fire, and sat listening to the sad rain, which fell heavily upon +the soaked garden-ground below. It had a lulling effect. Weariness +overcame her, and before she could suspect the inclination, she had +fallen asleep. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly she was awake again, wide awake, it seemed to her, without any +interval of half-consciousness, and staring horror-struck at the scene +before her. The shaded lamp stood on the chest of drawers at one side +of the room, and by its light she saw her mother in front of the +looking-glass, her raised hand holding something that glistened. She +could not move a limb; her tongue was powerless to utter a sound. There +was a wild laugh, a quick motion of the raised hand—then it seemed to +Maud as if the room were filled with a crimson light, followed by the +eternal darkness. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +A fortnight later Miss Bygrave was sitting in the early morning by the +bed where Maud lay ill. For some days it had been feared that the +girl's reason would fail, and though this worst possibility seemed at +length averted, her condition was still full of danger. She had +recognised her aunt the preceding evening, but a relapse had followed. +Now she unexpectedly turned to the watcher, and spoke feebly, but with +perfect self-control. +</P> + +<P> +"Aunt, is madness hereditary?" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Bygrave, who had thought her asleep, bent over her and tried to +turn her mind to other thoughts. But the sick girl would speak only of +this subject. +</P> + +<P> +"I am quite myself," she said, "and I feel better. Yes, I remember +reading somewhere that it was hereditary." +</P> + +<P> +She was quiet for a little. +</P> + +<P> +"Aunt," she then said, "I shall never be married. It would be wrong to +him. I am afraid of myself." +</P> + +<P> +She did not recur to the subject till she had risen, two or three weeks +after, and was strong enough to move about the room. Waymark had called +every day during her illness. As soon as he heard that she was up, he +desired to see her, but Maud begged him, through her aunt, to wait yet +a day or two. In the night which followed she wrote to him, and the +letter was this: +</P> + +<P> +"If I had seen you when you called yesterday, I should have had to face +a task beyond my strength. Yet it would be wrong to keep from you any +longer what I have to say. I must write it, and hope your knowledge of +me will help you to understand what I can only imperfectly express. +</P> + +<P> +"I ask you to let me break my promise to you. I have not ceased to love +you; to me you are still all that is best and dearest in the world. You +would have made my life very happy. But happiness is now what I dare +not wish for. I am too weak to make that use of it which, I do not +doubt, is permitted us; it would enslave my soul. With a nature such as +mine, there is only one path of safety: I must renounce all. You know +me to be no hypocrite, and to you, in this moment, I need not fear to +speak my whole thought, The sacrifice has cost me much To break my +faith to you, and to put aside for ever all the world's joys—the +strength for this has only come after hours of bitterest striving. Try +to be glad that I have won; it is all behind me, and I stand upon the +threshold of peace. +</P> + +<P> +"You know how from a child I have suffered. What to others was pure and +lawful joy became to me a temptation. But God was not unjust; if He so +framed me, He gave me at the same time the power to understand and to +choose. All those warnings which I have, in my blindness, spoken of so +lightly to you, I now recall with humbler and truer mind. If the shadow +of sin darkened my path, it was that I might look well to my steps, +and, alas, I have failed so, have gone so grievously astray! God, in +His righteous anger, has terribly visited me. The most fearful form of +death has risen before me; I have been cast into abysses of horror, and +only saved from frenzy by the mercy which brought all this upon me for +my good. A few months ago I had also a warning. I did not disregard it, +but I could not overcome the love which bound me to you. But for that +love, how much easier it would have been to me to overcome the world +and myself. +</P> + +<P> +"You will forgive me, for you will understand me. Do not write in +reply; spare me, I entreat you, a renewal of that dark hour I have +passed through. With my aunt I am going to leave London. We shall +remain together, and she will strengthen me in the new life. May God +bless you here and hereafter. MAUD ENDERBY." +</P> + +<P> +After an interval of a day Waymark wrote as follows to Miss Bygrave:— +</P> + +<P> +"Doubtless you know that Maud has written desiring me to release her. I +cannot but remember that she is scarcely yet recovered from a severe +illness, and her letter must not be final. She entreats me not to write +to her or see her. Accordingly I address myself to you, and beg that +you will not allow Maud to take any irrevocable step till she is +perfectly well, and has had time to reflect. I shall still deem her +promise to me binding. If after the lapse of six months from now she +still desires to be released, I must know it, either from herself or +from you. Write to me at the old address." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap38"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXVIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ORDERS OF RELEASE +</H3> + +<P> +Waymark and Casti spent their Christmas Eve together. They spoke freely +of each other's affairs, saving that there was no mention of Ida. +Waymark had of course said nothing of that parting between Ida and +himself. Of the hope which supported him he could not speak to his +friend. +</P> + +<P> +A month had told upon Julian as months do when the end draws so near. +In spite of his suffering he still discharged his duties at the +hospital, but it was plain that he would not be able to do so much +longer. And what would happen then? +</P> + +<P> +"Casti," Waymark exclaimed suddenly, when a hint of this thought had +brought both of them to a pause, "come away with me." +</P> + +<P> +Julian looked up in bewilderment. +</P> + +<P> +"Where to?" +</P> + +<P> +"Anywhere. To some place where the sun shines." +</P> + +<P> +"What an impossible idea! How am I to get my living? And how is she to +live?" +</P> + +<P> +"Look here," Waymark said, smiling, "my will is a little stronger than +yours, and in the present case I mean to exercise it. I have said, and +there's an end of it. You say she'll be away from home to-morrow. Good. +We go together, pack up your books and things in half an hour or so, +bring them here,—and then off! <I>Sic volo, sic jubeo, sit pro ratione +voluntas!</I>" +</P> + +<P> +And it was done, though not till Waymark had overcome the other's +opposition by the most determined effort. Julian understood perfectly +well the full significance of the scheme, for all Waymark's kind +endeavour to put a hopeful and commonplace aspect on his proposal. He +resisted as long as his strength would allow, then put himself in his +friend's hands. +</P> + +<P> +It was some time before Julian could set his mind at rest with regard +to the desertion of his wife. Though no one capable of judging the +situation could have cast upon him a shadow of blame, the first +experience of peace mingled itself in his mind with self-reproach. +Waymark showed him how utterly baseless any such feeling was. Harriet +had proved herself unworthy of a moment's consideration, and it was +certain that, as long as she received her weekly remittance—paid +through an agent in London,—she would trouble herself very little +about the rest; or, at all events, any feeling that might possess her +would be wholly undeserving of respect. Gradually Julian accustomed +himself to this thought. +</P> + +<P> +They were in the Isle of Wight; comfortably housed, with the sea before +their eyes, and the boon of sunshine which Casti had so longed for. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark gave himself wholly to the invalid. He had no impulse to resume +literary work; anything was welcome which enabled him to fill up the +day and reach the morrow. Whilst Julian lay on the couch, which was +drawn up to the fireside, Waymark read aloud anything that could lead +them to forget themselves. At other times, Julian either read to +himself or wrote verse, which, however, he did not show to his friend. +Before springtime came he found it difficult even to maintain a sitting +attitude for long. His cough still racked him terribly. Waymark often +lay awake in the night, listening to that fearful sound in the next +room. At such times he tried to fancy himself in the dying man's +position, and then the sweat of horror came upon his brow. Deeply he +sympathised with the misery he could do so little to allay. Yet he was +doing what he might to make the end a quiet one, and the consciousness +of this brought him many a calm moment. +</P> + +<P> +However it might be in those fearful vigils, Julian's days did not seem +unhappy. He was resigning himself to the inevitable, in the strength of +that quiet which sometimes ensues upon despair. Now and then he could +even be, to all appearances, light-hearted. +</P> + +<P> +With the early May he had a revival of inspiration. Strangely losing +sight of his desperate condition, he spoke once more of beginning the +great poem planned long ago. It was living within his mind and heart, +he said. Waymark listened to him whilst he unfolded book after book of +glorious vision; listened, and wondered. +</P> + +<P> +There was a splendid sunset one evening at this time, and the two +watched it together from the room in which they always sat. Seas of +molten gold, strands and promontories of jasper and amethyst, +illimitable mountain-ranges, cities of unimagined splendour, all were +there in that extent of evening sky. They watched it till the vision +wasted before the breath of night. +</P> + +<P> +"What shall I read?" Waymark asked, when the lamp was lit. +</P> + +<P> +"Read that passage in the Georgics which glorifies Italy," Julian +replied. "It will suit my mood to-night." +</P> + +<P> +Waymark took down his Virgil. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "Sed neque Medorum silvae, ditissima terra, + Nec pulcher Ganges atque auro turbibus Hermus + Laudibus Italiae certent, non Bactra, neque Indi, + Totaque turiferis Panchaia pinguis arenis." +</P> + +<P> +Julian's eyes glistened as the melody rolled on, and when it ceased, +both were quiet for a time. +</P> + +<P> +"Waymark," Julian said presently, a gentle tremor in his voice, "why do +we never speak of her?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Can</I> we speak of her?" Waymark returned, knowing well who was meant. +</P> + +<P> +"A short time ago I could not; now I feel the need. It will give me no +pain, but great happiness.', +</P> + +<P> +"That is all gone by," he continued, with a solemn smile. "To me she is +no longer anything but a remembrance, an ideal I once knew. The noblest +and sweetest woman I have known, or shall know, on earth." +</P> + +<P> +They talked of her with subdued voices, reverently and tenderly. +Waymark described what he knew or divined of the life she was now +leading, her beneficent activity, her perfect adaptation to the new +place she filled. +</P> + +<P> +"In a little while," Julian said, when they had fallen into thought +again, "you will have your second letter. And then?" +</P> + +<P> +There was no answer. Julian waited a moment, then rose and, clasping +his friend's hand, bade him good night. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark awoke once or twice before morning, but there was no coughing +in the next room. He felt glad, and wondered whether there was indeed +any improvement in the invalid's health. But at the usual +breakfast-time Julian did not appear. Waymark knocked at his door, with +no result. He turned the handle and entered. +</P> + +<P> +On this same day, Ida was visiting her houses. Litany lane and Elm +Court now wore a changed appearance. At present it was possible to +breathe even in the inmost recesses of the Court. There the fronts of +the houses were fresh white-washed; in the Lane they were new-painted. +Even the pavement and the road-way exhibited an improvement. If you +penetrated into garrets and cellars you no longer found squalor and +dilapidation; poverty in plenty, but at all events an attempt at +cleanliness everywhere, as far, that is to say, as a landlord's care +could ensure it. The stair-cases had ceased to be rotten pit-falls; the +ceilings showed traces of recent care; the walls no longer dripped with +moisture or were foul with patches of filth. Not much change, it is +true, in the appearance of the inhabitants; yet close inquiry would +have elicited comforting assurances of progressing reform, results of a +supervision which was never offensive, never thoughtlessly exaggerated. +Especially in the condition of the children improvement was +discernible. Lodgers in the Lane and the Court had come to understand +that not even punctual payment of weekly rent was sufficient to +guarantee them stability of tenure. Under this singular lady-landlord +something more than that was expected and required, and, whilst those +who were capable of adjusting themselves to the new <I>regime</I> found, on +the whole, that things went vastly better with them, such as could by +no means overcome their love of filth, moral and material, troubled +themselves little when the notice to quit came, together with a little +sum of ready money to cover the expenses of removal. +</P> + +<P> +Among those whom Ida called upon this afternoon was an old woman who, +in addition to her own voluminous troubles, was always in a position to +give a <I>compte-rendu</I> of the general distress of the neighbourhood. +People had discovered that her eloquence could be profitably made use +of in their own service, and not infrequently, when speaking with Ida, +she was in reality holding a brief from this or that neighbour, marked, +not indeed in guineas, but in "twos" of strong beverage, obtainable at +her favourite house of call. To-day she held such a brief, and was more +than usually urgent in the representation of a deserving case. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Miss Woodstock, mem, there's a poor young 'oman a-lyin' at the +Clock 'Ouse, as it really makes one's 'art bleed to tell of her! For +all she's so young, she's a widder, an' pr'aps it's as well she should +be, seein' how shockin' her 'usband treated her afore he was took where +no doubt he's bein' done as he did by. It's fair cruel, Miss Woodstock, +mem, to see her sufferin's. She has fits, an' falls down everywheres; +it's a mercy as she 'asn't been run over in the public street long ago. +They're hepiplectic fits, I'm told, an' laws o' me! the way she foams +at the mouth! No doubt as they was brought on by her 'usband's +etrocious treatment. I understand as he was a man as called hisself a +gentleman. He was allus that jealous of the pore innocent thing, +mem—castin' in her teeth things as I couldn't bring myself not even to +'int at in your presence, Miss Woodstock, mem. Many's the time he's +beat her black an' blue, when she jist went out to get a bit o' +somethink for his tea at night, 'cos he would 'ave it she'd been +a-doin' what she 'adn't ought—" +</P> + +<P> +"Where is she?" Ida asked, thinking she had now gathered enough of the +features of the case. +</P> + +<P> +"I said at the Clock 'Ouse, mem. Mrs. Sprowl's took her in' mem, and is +be'avin' to her like a mother. She knew her, did Mrs. Sprowl, in the +pore thing's 'appy days, before ever she married. But of course it +ain't likely as Mrs. Sprowl can keep her as long as her pore life +lasts; not to speak of the expense; its a terrible responsibility, +owin' to the hepiplectic ailment, mem, as of course you understand." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't she get into any hospital!" +</P> + +<P> +"She only just came out, mem, not two weeks ago. They couldn't do no +more for the pore creature, and so she had to go. An' she 'asn't not a +friend in the world, 'ceptin' Mrs. Sprowl, as is no less than a mother +to her." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know her name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Casty, mem. It's a Irish name, I b'lieve, an' I can't say as I'm +partial to the Irish, but—" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," Ida broke in hastily. "I'll see if I can do anything." +</P> + +<P> +Paying no attention to the blessings showered upon her by the counsel +in this case, blessings to which she was accustomed, and of which she +well understood the value, Ida went out into the Lane, and walked away +quickly. She did not pause at the Clock House, but walked as far as a +quiet street some little distance off, and then paced the pavement for +a while, in thought. Who this "Mrs. Casty" was she could have little +doubt. The calumnies against her husband were just such as Harriet +Casti would be likely to circulate. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment it had seemed possible to go to the public-house and make +personal inquiries, but reflection showed her that this would be a +needless imprudence, even had she been able to overcome herself +sufficiently for such an interview. She went home instead, and at once +despatched Miss Hurst to the Clock House to discover whether it was +indeed Harriet Casti who lay there, and, if so, what her real condition +was. That lady returned with evidence establishing the sick woman's +identity. Harriet, she reported, was indeed in a sad state, clearly +incapable of supporting herself by any kind of work. Her husband—Miss +Hurst was told—had deserted her, leaving her entirely without means, +and now, but for Mrs. Sprowl's charity, she would have been in the +workhouse. This story sounded very strangely to Ida. It might mean that +Julian was dead. She wrote a few lines to Waymark, at the old address, +and had a speedy reply. Yes, Julian Casti was dead, but the grave had +not yet closed over him. Harriet had been in receipt of money, and need +have wanted for nothing; but <I>now</I> she must expect no more. +</P> + +<P> +The result of it all was that, in the course of a week, Harriet was +informed by Miss Hurst that a place was open to her in a hospital near +London, where she could remain as long as her ailments rendered it +necessary; the expense would be provided for by a lady who had been +told of the case, and wished to give what aid she could. The offer was +rejected, and with insult. When next she visited Litany Lane, Ida +learnt that "pore Mrs. Casty," after a quarrel with her friend Mrs. +Sprowl, had fallen downstairs in a fit and broken her neck. +</P> + +<P> +Waymark lived on in the Isle of Wight, until a day when there came to +him a letter from Miss Bygrave. It told him that Maud's resolve was +immutable, and added that aunt and niece, having become members of "the +true Church," were about to join a sisterhood in a midland town, where +their lives would be devoted to work of charity. +</P> + +<P> +Not many days after this, Ida, in London, received a letter, addressed +in a hand she knew well. There was a flush on her face as she began to +read; but presently came the pallor of a sudden joy almost too great to +be borne. The letter was a long one, containing the story of several +years of the writer's life, related with unflinching sincerity, bad and +good impartially set down, and all leading up to words which danced in +golden sunlight before her tear-dimmed eyes. +</P> + +<P> +For an hour she sat alone, scarce moving. Yet it seemed to her that +only a few minutes were allowed to pass before she took her pen and +wrote. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Unclassed, by George Gissing + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNCLASSED *** + +***** This file should be named 4305-h.htm or 4305-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/0/4305/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net + + +Title: The Unclassed + +Author: George Gissing + +Posting Date: July 12, 2009 [EBook #4305] +Release Date: July, 2003 +First Posted: January 3, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNCLASSED *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + +The Unclassed + + +by + +George Gissing + + + + +CONTENTS + + I SCHOOL + II MOTHER AND CHILD + III ANTECEDENTS + IV CHRISTMAS IN TWO HOMES + V POSSIBILITIES + VI AN ADVERTISEMENT + VII BETWEEN OLD AND NEW + VIII ACADEMICAL + IX THE COUSINS + X THE WAY OUT + XI BY THE WAYSIDE + XII RENT DAY + XIII A MAN-TRAP + XIV NEAR AND FAR + XV UP THE RIVER + XVI EXAMPLE WITHOUT PRECEPT + XVII THE MISSING YEARS + XVIII THE ENDERBYS + XIX IN THE MEANTIME + XX A SUGGESTION + XXI DIPLOMACY + XXII UNDER-CURRENTS + XXIII THE OPPORTUNITY + XXIV JUSTICE + XXV ART AND MISERY + XXVI STRAYING + XXVII THE WILL TO LIVE + XXVIII SLIMY'S DAY + XXIX FREEDOM + XXX ELM COURT + XXXI NEW PROSPECTS + XXXII A VISION OF SIN + XXXIII A GARDEN-PARTY + XXXIV A LATE REVENGE + XXXV HOUSE-WARMING + XXXVI NO WAY BUT THIS + XXXVII FORBIDDEN + XXXVIII ORDERS OF RELEASE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +SCHOOL + + +There was strange disorder in Miss Rutherford's schoolroom, wont to be +the abode of decorum. True, it was the gathering-time after the +dinner-hour, and Miss Rutherford herself was as yet out of sight; but +things seemed to be going forward of a somewhat more serious kind than +a game of romps among the children. There were screams and sobbings, +hysterical cries for help; some of the little girls were crowding round +an object in one corner of the room, others appeared to be getting as +far away from it as possible, hiding their pale faces in their hands, +or looking at one another with terrified eyes. At length one more +thoughtful than the rest sped away out of the room, and stood at the +bottom of the stairs, calling out her teacher's name as loud as she +could. A moment, and Miss Rutherford came hastening down, with alarmed +aspect, begging to be told what was the matter. But the summoner had +turned and fled at the first sight of the lady's garments. Miss +Rutherford darted into the schoolroom, and at once there was quietness, +save for half-choked sobs here and there, and a more ominous kind of +moaning from the crowded corner. + +"Gracious goodness, children, what is it? Who's that lying on the +floor? Harriet Smales! What _ever_ has happened?" + +The cluster of children had fallen aside, exposing a strange picture. +On the ground lay a girl of twelve, her face deadly pale, save in the +places where it was dabbled with fresh blood, which still streamed from +a gash on the right side of her forehead. Her eyes were half opened; +she was just recovering consciousness; a moan came from her at +intervals. She had for support the lap and arms of a little girl, +perhaps two years younger than herself. Heedless of the flowing blood, +this child was pressing her pale cheek against that of the wounded one, +whose name she kept murmuring in pitiful accents, mixed with endearing +epithets. So unconscious was she of all around, that the falling back +of the other children did not cause her to raise her eyes; neither was +she aware of Miss Rutherford's first exclamations, nor yet of the +question which was next addressed to her by the horrified +schoolmistress. + +"How did it happen? Some of you run at once for a doctor--Dr. Williams +in Grove Road--Oh, quick!--Ida Starr, how _did_ it happen?" + +Ida did not move, but seemed to tighten her embrace. The other pupils +all looked fearfully hither and thither, but none ventured to speak. + +"Ida!" repeated Miss Rutherford, dropping on her knees by the two, and +beginning to wipe away some of the blood with her handkerchief. "Speak, +child! Has some one gone for the doctor? How was it done?" + +The face at length turned upon the questioner was almost as ghastly and +red-stained as that it had been pressed against. But it had become +self-controlled; the dark eyes looked straight forward with an +expression marvellously full of meaning in one so young; the lips did +not tremble as they spoke. + +"I did it, Miss Rutherford. I have killed Harriet. I, and nobody else." + +"You? How, child?" + +"I killed her with the slate, Miss Rutherford; this slate, look." + +She pointed to a slate without a frame which lay on the floor. There +were sums worked on the uppermost side, and the pencil-marks were half +obliterated. For a moment the schoolmistress's amazement held her +motionless, but fresh and louder moans recalled her to the immediate +necessities of the case. She pushed Ida Starr aside, and, with the help +of a servant-girl who had by this time appeared in the room, raised the +sufferer into a chair, and began to apply what remedies suggested +themselves. The surgeon, whom several of the children had hastened to +seek, only lived a few yards away, and his assistant was speedily +present. Harriet Smales had quite recovered consciousness, and was very +soon able to give her own account of the incident. After listening to +her, Miss Rutherford turned to the schoolchildren, who were now seated +in the usual order on benches, and spoke to them with some degree of +calm. + +"I am going to take Harriet home. Lucy Wood, you will please to see +that order is preserved in my absence; I shall only be away twenty +minutes, at the most. Ida Starr, you will go up into my sitting-room, +and remain there till I come to you. All take out your copy-books; I +shall examine the lines written whilst I am away." + +The servant, who had been despatched for a cab, appeared at the door. +Harriet Smales was led out. Before leaving the house, Miss Rutherford +whispered to the servant an order to occupy herself in the +sitting-room, so as to keep Ida Starr in sight. + +Miss Rutherford, strict disciplinarian when her nerves were not +unstrung, was as good as her promise with regard to the copy-books. She +had returned within the twenty minutes, and the first thing she did was +to walk along all the benches, making a comment here, a correction +there, in another place giving a word of praise. Then she took her +place at the raised desk whence she was wont to survey the little room. + +There were present thirteen pupils, the oldest of them turned fifteen, +the youngest scarcely six. They appeared to be the daughters of +respectable people, probably of tradesmen in the neighbourhood. This +school was in Lisson Grove, in the north-west of London; a spot not to +be pictured from its name by those ignorant of the locality; in point +of fact a dingy street, with a mixture of shops and private houses. On +the front door was a plate displaying Miss Rutherford's name,--nothing +more. That lady herself was middle-aged, grave at all times, kindly, +and, be it added, fairly competent as things go in the world of school. +The room was rather bare, but the good fire necessitated by the winter +season was not wanting, and the plain boarding of the floor showed +itself no stranger to scrubbings. A clock hanging on the wall ticked +very loudly in the perfect stillness as the schoolmistress took her +seat. + +She appeared to examine a book for a few moments, then raised her head, +looked at the faces before her with a troubled expression, and began to +speak. + +"I wish to know who can give me any account of the way in which Harriet +Smales received her hurt. Stop! Hands only, please. And only those +raise their hands who actually saw the blow struck, and overheard _all_ +that led to it. You understand, now? One, two, three--seven altogether, +that is quite enough. Those seven will wait in the room at four o'clock +till the others have all gone. Now I will give the first class their +sums." + +The afternoon passed Very slowly to teacher and pupils alike. When the +clock struck four, work was put away with more than the usual noise and +hurry. Miss Rutherford seemed for a time to be on the point of making +some new address to the school before the children departed, but +eventually she decided to keep silence, and the dismissal was got over +as quickly as possible. The seven witnesses remained, solemnly seated +at their desks, all anxious-looking. + +"Lucy Wood," Miss Rutherford began, when the door was closed and quiet, +"you are the eldest. Please tell me all you can of this sad affair." + +There was one of the seven faces far more discomposed than the rest, a +sweet and spiritual little countenance; it was tear-stained, red-eyed; +the eager look, the trembling lips spoke some intimate cause of +sympathy. Before the girl addressed had time to begin her answer, this +other, one would have said in spite of herself, intervened with an +almost agonised question. + +"Oh, Miss Rutherford, is Harriet really dead?" + +"Hush, hush!" said the lady, with a shocked look. "No, my dear, she is +only badly hurt." + +"And she really won't die?" pleaded the child, with an instant +brightening of look. + +"Certainly not, certainly not. Now be quiet, Maud, and let Lucy begin." + +Lucy, a sensible and matter-of-fact girl, made a straightforward +narration, the facts of which were concurred in by her companions. +Harriet Smales, it seemed, had been exercising upon Ida for some days +her utmost powers of irritation, teasing her, as Lucy put it, "beyond +all bearing." The cause of this was not unknown in the school, and Miss +Rutherford remembered the incident from which the malice dated. Harriet +had copied a sum in class from Ida's slate--she was always copying from +somebody--and the teacher, who had somehow detected her, asked Ida +plainly whether such was not the case. Ida made no reply, would not +speak, which of course was taken as confirmatory evidence, and the +culprit had accordingly received an imposition. Her spleen, thus +aroused, Harriet vented upon the other girl, who, she maintained, ought +to have stoutly denied the possibility of the alleged deceit, and so +have saved her. She gave poor Ida no rest, and her persecution had +culminated this afternoon; she began to "call Ida's mother names," the +result of which was that the assailed one suddenly snatched up her +slate, and, in an uncontrollable fit of passion, struck her tormentor a +blow with it upon the forehead. + +"What did she call Ida's mother?" inquired Miss Rutherford, all at once +changing her look curiously. + +"She called her a bad woman." + +"Was that all?" + +"No, please, Miss Rutherford," put in Maud eagerly. "She said she got +her living in the streets. And it isn't true. Ida's mother's a lady, +and doesn't sell things in the streets!" + +The teacher looked down and was silent. + +"I don't think I need ask any more questions," she said presently. "Run +away home all of you. What is it, my dear?" + +Maud, she was about eleven, and small for her age, had remained behind, +and was looking anxiously up into Miss Rutherford's face. + +"May I wait for Ida, please," she asked, "and--and walk home with her? +We go the same way." + +"Not to-night, dear; no, not to-night. Ida Starr is in disgrace. She +will not go home just yet. Run away, now, there's a good girl." + +Sadly, sadly was the command obeyed, and very slowly did Maud Enderby +walk along the streets homeward, ever turning back to see whether +perchance Ida might not be behind her. + +Miss Rutherford ascended to her sitting-room. The culprit was standing +in a corner with her face to the wall. + +"Why do you stand so?" asked the teacher gravely, but not very severely. + +"I thought you'd want me to, Miss Rutherford." + +"Come here to me, child." + +Ida had clearly been crying for a long time, and there was still blood +on her face. She seemed to have made up her mind that the punishment +awaiting her must be dreadful, and she resolved to bear it humbly. She +came up, still holding her hands behind her, and stood with downcast +eyes. The hair which hung down over her shoulders was dark brown, her +eye-brows strongly marked, the eyes themselves rather deep-set. She +wore a pretty plum-coloured dress, with a dainty little apron in front; +her whole appearance bespeaking a certain taste and love of elegance in +the person who had the care of her. + +"You will be glad to hear," said Miss Rutherford, "that Harriet's hurt +is not as serious as we feared at first. But she will have to stay at +home for some days." + +There was no motion, or reply. + +"Do you know that I am quite afraid of you, Ida? I had no idea that you +were so passionate. Had you no thought what harm you might do when you +struck that terrible blow?" + +But Ida could not converse; no word was to be got from her. + +"You must go home now," went on the schoolmistress after a pause, "and +not come back till I send for you. Tell your mother just what you have +done, and say that I will write to her about you. You understand what I +say, my child?" + +The punishment had come upon her. Nothing worse than this had Ida +imagined; nay, nothing so bad. She drew in her breath, her fingers +wreathed themselves violently together behind her back. She half raised +her face, but could not resolve to meet her teacher's eyes. On the +permission to go being repeated, she left the room in silence, +descended the stairs with the slow steps of an old person, dressed +herself mechanically, and went out into the street. Miss Rutherford +stood for some time in profound and troubled thought, then sighed as +she returned to her usual engagements. + +The following day was Saturday, and therefore a half-holiday. After +dinner, Miss Rutherford prepared herself for walking, and left home. A +quarter of an hour brought her to a little out-of-the-way thoroughfare +called Boston Street, close to the west side of Regent's Park, and here +she entered a chemist's shop, over which stood the name Smales. A +middle-aged man of very haggard and feeble appearance stood behind the +counter, and his manner to the lady as she addressed him was painfully +subservient. He spoke very little above a whisper, and as though +suffering from a severe sore throat, but it was his natural voice. + +"She's better, I thank you, madam; much better, I hope and believe; +yes, much better." + +He repeated his words nervously, rubbing his hands together feverishly +the while, and making his eye-brows go up and down in a curious way. + +"Might I see her for a few moments?" + +"She would be happy, madam, very happy: oh yes, I am sure, very happy +If--if you would have the kindness to come round, yes, round here, +madam, and--and to excuse our poor sitting-room. Thank you, thank you. +Harriet, my dear, Miss Rutherford has had the great, the very great, +goodness to visit you--to visit you personally--yes. I will leave you, +if--if you please--h'm, yes." + +He shuffled away in the same distressingly nervous manner, and closed +the door behind him. The schoolmistress found herself in a dark little +parlour, which smelt even more of drugs than the shop itself. The +window looked out into a dirty back-yard, and was almost concealed with +heavy red curtains. As the eyes got accustomed to the dimness, one +observed that the floor was covered with very old oil-cloth, and that +the articles of furniture were few, only the most indispensable, and +all very shabby. Everything seemed to be dusty and musty. The only +approach to an ornament was a framed diploma hanging over the +mantelpiece, certifying that John Alfred Smales was a duly qualified +pharmaceutical chemist. A low fire burned in the grate, and before it, +in a chair which would probably have claimed the title of easy, sat the +girl Harriet Smales, her head in bandages. + +She received Miss Rutherford rather sulkily, and as she moved, groaned +in a way which did not seem the genuine utterance of pain. After a few +sympathetic remarks, the teacher began to touch upon the real object of +her visit. + +"I have no intention of blaming you, Harriet; I should not speak of +this at all, if it were not necessary. But I must ask you plainly what +reason you had for speaking of Ida Starr's mother as they say you did. +Why did you say she was a bad woman?" + +"It's only what she is," returned Harriet sullenly, and with much +inward venom. + +"What do you mean by that? Who has told you anything about her?" + +Only after some little questioning the fact was elicited that Harriet +owed her ideas on the subject to a servant girl in the house, whose +name was Sarah. + +"What does Sarah say, then?" asked Miss Rutherford. + +"She says she isn't respectable, and that she goes about with men, and +she's only a common street-woman," answered the girl, speaking +evidently with a very clear understanding of what these accusations +meant. The schoolmistress looked away with a rather shocked expression, +and thought a little before speaking again. + +"Well, that's all I wanted to ask you, Harriet," she said. "I won't +blame you, but I trust you will do as I wish, and never say such things +about any one again, whoever may tell you. It is our duty never to +speak ill of others, you know; least of all when we know that to do so +will be the cause of much pain and trouble. I hope you will very soon +be able to come back again to us. And now I will say good-bye." + +In the shop Miss Rutherford renewed to the chemist her sincere regret +for what had taken place. + +"Of course I cannot risk the recurrence of such a thing," she said. +"The child who did it will not return to me, Mr. Smales." + +Mr. Smales uttered incoherent excuses, apologies, and thanks, and +shufflingly escorted the lady to his shop-door. + +Miss Rutherford went home in trouble. She did not doubt the truth of +what Harriet Smales had told her, for she herself had already +entertained uneasy suspicions, dating indeed from the one interview she +had had with Mrs. Starr, when Ida was first brought to the school, and +deriving confirmation from a chance meeting in the street only a few +days ago. It was only too plain what she must do, and the necessity +grieved her. Ida had not shown any especial brilliancy at her books, +but the child's character was a remarkable one, and displayed a +strength which might eventually operate either for good or for evil. +With careful training, it seemed at present very probable that the good +would predominate. But the task was not such as the schoolmistress felt +able to undertake, bearing in mind the necessity of an irreproachable +character for her school if it were to be kept together at all. The +disagreeable secret had begun to spread; all the children would relate +the events of yesterday in their own homes; to pass the thing over was +impossible. She sincerely regretted the step she must take, and to +which she would not have felt herself driven by any ill-placed prudery +of her own. On Monday morning it must be stated to the girls that Ida +Starr had left. + +In the meantime, it only remained to write to Mrs. Starr, and make +known this determination. Miss Rutherford thought for a little while of +going to see Ida's mother, but felt that this would be both painful and +useless. It was difficult even to write, desirous as she was of somehow +mitigating the harshness of this sentence of expulsion. After +half-an-hour spent in efforts to pen a suitable note, she gave up the +attempt to write as she would have wished, and announced the necessity +she was under in the fewest possible words. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MOTHER AND CHILD + + +Ida Starr, dismissed by the schoolmistress, ran quickly homewards. She +was unusually late, and her mother would be anxious. Still, when she +came within sight of the door, she stopped and stood panting. How +should she tell of her disgrace? It was not fear that made her shrink +from repeating Miss Rutherford's message; nor yet shame, though she +would gladly have hidden herself away somewhere in the dark from every +eye; her overwhelming concern was for the pain she knew she was going +to cause one who had always cherished her with faultless +tenderness,--tenderness which it had become her nature to repay with a +child's unreflecting devotion. + +Her home was in Milton Street. On the front-door was a brass-plate +which bore the inscription: "Mrs. Ledward, Dressmaker;" in the window +of the ground-floor was a large card announcing that "Apartments" were +vacant. The only light was one which appeared in the top storey, and +there Ida knew that her mother was waiting for her, with tea ready on +the table as usual. Mrs. Starr was seldom at home during the child's +dinner-hour, and Ida had not seen her at all to-day. For it was only +occasionally that she shared her mother's bedroom; it was the rule for +her to sleep with Mrs. Ledward, the landlady, who was a widow and +without children. The arrangement had held ever since Ida could +remember; when she had become old enough to ask for an explanation of +this, among other singularities in their mode of life, she was told +that her mother slept badly, and must have the bed to herself. + +But the night had come on, and every moment of delay doubtless +increased the anxiety she was causing. Ida went up to the door, stood +on tiptoe to reach the knocker, and gave her usual two distinct raps. +Mrs. Ledward opened the door to her in person; a large woman, with +pressed lips and eyes that squinted very badly; attired, however, +neatly, and looking as good-natured as a woman who was at once landlady +and dressmaker could be expected to look. + +"How 's 't you're so late?" she asked, without looking at the child; +her eyes, as far as one could guess, fixed upon the houses opposite, +her hands in the little pocket on each side of her apron. "Your +mother's poorly." + +"Oh, then I shall sleep with her to-night?" exclaimed Ida, forgetting +her trouble for the moment in this happy foresight. + +"Dessay," returned Mrs. Ledward laconically. + +Ida left her still standing in the doorway, and ran stairs. The chamber +she went into--after knocking and receiving permission to enter, +according to the rule which had been impressed upon her--was a +tolerably-furnished bedroom, which, with its bright fire, tasteful +little lamp, white coverlets and general air of fresh orderliness, made +a comfortable appearance. The air was scented, too, with some pleasant +odour of a not too pungent kind. But the table lacked one customary +feature; no tea was laid as it was wont to be at this hour. The child +gazed round in surprise. Her mother was in bed, lying back on raised +pillows, and with a restless, half-pettish look on her face. + +"Where have you been?" she asked querulously, her voice husky and +feeble, as if from a severe cold. "Why are you so late?" + +Ida did not answer at once, but went straight to the bed and offered +the accustomed kiss. Her mother waved her off. + +"No, no; don't kiss me. Can't you see what a sore throat I've got? You +might catch it. And I haven't got you any tea," she went on, her face +growing to a calmer expression as she gazed at the child "Ain't I a +naughty mother? But it serves you half right for being late. Come and +kiss me; I don't think it's catching. No, perhaps you'd better not." + +But Ida started forward at the granted leave, and kissed her warmly. + +"There now," went on the hoarse voice complainingly, "I shouldn't +wonder if you catch it, and we shall both be laid up at once. Oh, Ida, +I do feel that poorly, I do! It's the draught under the door; what else +can it be? I do, I do feel that poorly!" + +She began to cry miserably. Ida forgot all about the tale she had to +tell; her own eyes overflowed in sympathy. She put her arm under her +mother's neck, and pressed cheek to cheek tenderly. + +"Oh, how hot you are, mother! Shall I get you a cup of tea, dear? +Wouldn't it make your throat better?" + +"Perhaps it would; I don't know. Don't go away, not just yet. You'll +have to be a mother to me to-night, Ida. I almost feel I could go to +sleep, if you held me like that." + +She closed her eyes, but only for a moment, then started up anxiously. + +"What am I thinking about! Of course you want your tea." + +"No, no; indeed I don't, mother." + +"Nonsense; of course you do. See, the kettle is on the bob, and I think +it's full. Go away; you make me hotter. Let me see you get your tea, +and then perhaps it'll make me feel I could drink a cup. There, you've +put your hair all out of order; let me smooth it. Don't trouble to lay +the cloth; just use the tray; it's in the cupboard." + +Ida obeyed, and set about the preparations. Compare her face with that +which rested sideways upon the pillows, and the resemblance was as +strong as could exist between two people of such different ages: the +same rich-brown hair, the same strongly-pencilled eye-brows; the +deep-set and very dark eyes, the fine lips, the somewhat prominent +jaw-bones, alike in both. The mother was twenty-eight, the daughter +ten, yet the face on the pillow was the more childish at present. In +the mother's eyes was a helpless look, a gaze of unintelligent misery, +such as one could not conceive on Ida's countenance; her lips, too, +were weakly parted, and seemed trembling to a sob, whilst sorrow only +made the child close hers the firmer. In the one case a pallor not +merely of present illness, but that wasting whiteness which is only +seen on faces accustomed to borrow artificial hues; in the other, a +healthy pearl-tint, the gleamings and gradations of a perfect +complexion. The one a child long lost on weary, woful ways, knowing, +yet untaught by, the misery of desolation; the other a child still +standing upon the misty threshold of unknown lands, looking around for +guidance, yet already half feeling that the sole guide and comforter +was within. + +It was strange that talk which followed between mother and daughter. +Lotty Starr (that was the name of the elder child, and it became her +much better than any more matronly appellation), would not remain +silent, in spite of the efforts it cost her to speak, and her +conversation ran on the most trivial topics. Except at occasional +moments, she spoke to Ida as to one of her own age, with curious +neglect of the relationship between them; at times she gave herself up +to the luxury of feeling like an infant dependent on another's care; +and cried just for the pleasure of being petted and consoled. Ida had +made up her mind to leave her disclosure till the next morning; +impossible to grieve her mother with such shocking news when she was so +poorly. Yet the little girl with difficulty kept a cheerful +countenance; as often as a moment's silence left her to her own +reflections she was reminded of the heaviness of heart which made +speaking an effort. To bear up under the secret thought of her crime +and its consequences required in Ida Starr a courage different alike in +quality and degree from that of which children are ordinarily capable. +One compensation alone helped her; it was still early in the evening, +and she knew there were before her long hours to be spent by her +mother's side. + +"Do you like me to be with you, mother?" she asked, when a timid +question had at length elicited assurance of this joy. "Does it make +you feel better?" + +"Yes, yes. But it's my throat, and you can't make that better; I only +wish you could. But you are a comfort to me, for all that; I don't know +what I should do without you. Oh, I sha'n't be able to speak a word +soon, I sha'n't!" + +"Don't, don't talk, dear. I'll talk instead, and you listen. Don't you +think, mother dear, I could--could always sleep with you? I wouldn't +disturb you; indeed, indeed I wouldn't! You don't know how quiet I lie. +If I'm wakeful ever I seem to have such a lot to think about, and I lie +so still and quiet, you can't think. I never wake Mrs. Led ward, +indeed. Do let me, mother; just try me!" + +Lotty broke out into passionate weeping, wrung her hands, and hid her +face in the pillow. Ida was terrified, and exerted every effort to +console this strange grief. The outburst only endured a minute or two, +however; then a mood of vexed impatience grew out of the anguish and +despair, and Lotty pushed away the child fretfully. + +"I've often told you, you can't, you mustn't bother me. There, there; +you don't mean any harm, but you put me out, bothering me, Ida. Tell +me, what do you think about when you lay awake? Don't you think you'd +give anything to get off to sleep again? I know I do; I can't bear to +think; it makes my head ache so." + +"Oh, I like it. Sometimes I think over what I've been reading, in the +animal book, and the geography-book; and--and then I begin my +wishing-thoughts. And oh, I've such lots of wishing-thoughts, you +couldn't believe!" + +"And what are the wishing-thoughts about?" inquired the mother, in a +matter-of-fact way. + +"I often wish I was grown up. I feel tired of being a child; I want to +be a woman. Then I should know so much more, and I should be able to +understand all the things you tell me I can't now. I don't care for +playing at games and going to school." + +"You'll be a woman soon enough, Ida," said Lotty, with a quiet sadness +unusual in her. "But go on; what else?" + +"And then I often wish I was a boy. It must be so much nicer to be a +boy. They're stronger than girls, and they know more. Don't you wish I +was a boy, mother?" + +"Yes, I do, I often do!" exclaimed Lotty. "Boys aren't such a trouble, +and they can go out and shift for themselves." + +"Oh, but I won't be a trouble to you," exclaimed Ida. "When I'm old +enough to leave school--" + +She interrupted herself, for the moment she had actually forgotten the +misfortune which had come upon her. But her mother did not observe the +falling of her countenance, nor yet the incomplete sentence. + +"Ida, have I been a bad mother to you?" Lotty sobbed out presently. "If +I was to die, would you be sorry?" + +"Mother!" + +"I've done my best, indeed I've done my best for yon! How many mothers +like me would have brought you up as I've done? How many, I'd like to +know? And some day you'll hate me; oh yes, you will! Some day you'll +wish to forget all about me, and you'll never come to see where I'm +buried, and you'll get rid of everything that could remind you of me. +How I wish I'd never been born!" + +Ida had often to comfort her mother in the latter's fits of low +spirits, but had never heard such sad words as these before. The poor +child could say nothing in reply; the terrible thought that she herself +was bringing new woes to be endured almost broke her heart She clung +about her mother's neck and wept passionately. + +Lotty shortly after took a draught from a bottle which the child +reached out of a drawer for her, and lay pretty still till drowsiness +came on. Ida undressed and crept to her side. They had a troubled +night, and, when the daylight came again, Lotty was no better. Ida rose +in anguish of spirit, torturing herself to find a way of telling what +must be told. Yet she had another respite; her mother said that, as it +was Saturday, she might as well stay away from school and be a little +nurse. And the dull day wore through; the confession being still +postponed. + +But by the last post at night came Miss Rutherford's letter. Ida was +still sitting up, and Lotty had fallen into a doze, when the landlady +brought the letter upstairs. The child took it in, answered an inquiry +about her mother in a whisper, and returned to the bedside. She knew +the handwriting on the envelope. The dreaded moment had come. + +She must have stood more than a quarter of an hour, motionless, gazing +on her mother's face, conscious of nothing but an agonised expectation +of seeing the sleeper's eyes open. They did open at length, and quickly +saw the letter. + +"It's from Miss Rutherford, mother," said Ida, her own voice sounding +very strange to herself. + +"Oh, is it?" said Lotty, in the hoarse whisper which was all she could +command "I suppose she wants to know why you didn't go. Read it to me." + +Ida read, and, in reading, suffered as she never did again throughout +her life. + + +"DEAR MRS. STARR,--I am very sorry to have to say that Ida must not +return to school. I had better leave the explanation to herself; she is +truthful, and will tell you what has compelled me to take this step. I +grieve to lose her, but have really no choice.--I am, yours truly, + +H. RUTHERFORD." + + +No tears rose; her voice was as firm as though she had been reading in +class; but she was pale and cold as death. + +Lotty rose in bed and stared wildly. + +"What have you done, child?--what ever have you done? Is--is it +anything--about _me_." + +"I hit Harriet Smales with a slate, and covered her all over with +blood, and I thought I'd killed her." + +She could not meet her mother's eyes; stood with head hung down, and +her hands clasped behind her. + +"What made you do it?" asked Lotty in amazement. + +"I couldn't help it, mother; she--she said you were a bad woman." + +Ida had raised her eyes with a look of love and proud confidence. Lotty +shrank before her, clutched convulsively at the bed-clothes, then half +raised herself and dashed her head with fearful violence against the +wall by which the bed stood. She fell back, half stunned, and lay on +the pillows, whilst the child, with outstretched hands, gazed +horror-struck. But in a moment Ida had her arms around the distraught +woman, pressing the dazed head against her breast. Lotty began to utter +incoherent self-reproaches, unintelligible to her little comforter; her +voice had become the merest whisper; she seemed to have quite exhausted +herself. Just now there came a knock at the door, and Ida was relieved +to see Mrs. Ledward, whose help she begged. In a few minutes Lotty had +come to herself again, and whispered that she wished to speak to the +landlady alone. The latter persuaded Ida to go downstairs for a while, +and the child, whose tears had begun to flow, left the room, sobbing in +anguish. + +"Ain't you better then?" asked the woman, with an apparent effort to +speak in a sympathetic tone which did not come easily to her. + +"I'm very bad," whispered the other, drawing her breath as if in pain. + +"Ay, you've got a bad cold, that's what it is. I'll make you some gruel +presently, and put some rum in it. You don't take care of yourself: I +told you how it 'ud be when you came in with those wringin' things on, +on Thursday night." + +"They've found out about me at the school," gasped Lotty, with a +despairing look, "and Ida's got sent away." + +"She has? Well, never mind, you can find another, I suppose. I can't +see myself what she wants with so much schoolin', but I suppose you +know best about your own affairs." + +"Oh, I feel that bad! If I get over this, I'll give it up--God help me, +I will! I'll get my living honest, if there's any way. I never felt so +bad as I do now." + +"Pooh!" exclaimed the woman. "Wait a bit till you get rid of your sore +throat, and you'll think different. Poorly people gets all sorts o' +fancies. Keep a bit quiet now, and don't put yourself out so." + +"What are we to do? I've only got a few shillings--" + +"Well, you'll have money again some time, I suppose. You don't suppose +I'll turn you out in the streets? Write to Fred on Monday, and he'll +send you something." + +They talked till Lotty exhausted herself again, then Ida was allowed to +re-enter the room. Mrs. Ledward kept coming and going till her own +bed-time, giving what help and comfort she could in her hard, +half-indifferent way. Another night passed, and in the morning Lotty +seemed a little better. Her throat was not so painful, but she breathed +with difficulty, and had a cough. Ida sat holding her mother's hand. It +was a sunny morning, and the bells of neighbouring churches began to +ring out clearly on the frosty air. + +"Ida," said the sick woman, raising herself suddenly, "get me some +note-paper and an envelope out of the box; and go and borrow pen and +ink, there's a good child." + +The materials were procured, and, with a great effort, Lotty managed to +arrange herself so as to be able to write. She covered four pages with +a sad scrawl, closed the envelope, and was about to direct it, but +paused. + +"The bells have stopped," she said, listening. "It's half-past eleven. +Put on your things, Ida." + +The child obeyed, wondering. + +"Give me my purse out of the drawer. See, there's a shilling. Now, say +this after me: Mr. Abra'm Woodstock, Number--, St. John Street Road." + +Ida repeated the address. + +"Now, listen, Ida. You put this letter in your pocket; you go down into +the Mary'bone road; you ask for a 'bus to the Angel. When you get to +the Angel, you ask your way to Number--, St. John Street Road; it isn't +far off. Knock at the door, and ask if Mr. Abra'm Woodstock is in. If +he is, say you want to see him, and then give him this letter,--into +his own hands, and nobody else's. If he isn't in, ask when he will be, +and, if it won't be long, wait." + +Ida promised, and then, after a long gaze, her mother dropped back +again on the pillow, and turned her face away. A cough shook her for a +few moments. Ida waited. + +"Well, ain't you gone?" asked Lotty faintly. + +"Kiss me, mother." + +They held each other in a passionate embrace, and then the child went +away. + +She reached Islington without difficulty, and among the bustling and +loitering crowd which obstructs the corner at the Angel, found some one +to direct her to the street she sought. She had to walk some distance +down St. John Street Road, in the direction of the City, before +discovering the house she desired to find. When she reached it, it +proved to be a very dingy tenement, the ground-floor apparently used as +offices; a much-worn plate on the door exhibited the name of the +gentleman to whom her visit was, with his professional description +added. Mr. Woodstock was an accountant. + +She rang the bell, and a girl appeared. Yes, Mr. Woodstock was at home. +Ida was told to enter the passage, and wait. + +A door at her right hand as she entered was slightly ajar, and voices +could be heard from the other side of it. One of these voices very +shortly raised itself in a harsh and angry tone, and Ida could catch +what was said. + +"Well, Mr. What's-your-name, I suppose I know my own business rather +better than you can teach me. It's pretty clear you've been doing your +best for some time to set the people against me, and I'm damned if I'll +have it! You go to the place on religious pretences, and what your real +object may be I don't know; but I do know one thing, and that is, I +won't have you hanging about any longer. I'll meet you there myself, +and if it's a third-floor window you get pitched out of, well, it won't +be my fault. Now I don't want any more talk with you. This is most +folks' praying-time; I wonder you're not at it. It's _my_ time for +writing letters, and I'd rather have your room than your company. I'm a +plain-spoken man, you see, a man of business, and I don't mince +matters. To come and dictate to me about the state of my houses and of +my tenants ain't a business-like proceeding, and you'll excuse me if I +don't take it kindly. There's the door, and good morning to you!" + +The door opened, and a young man, looking pale and dismayed, came out +quickly, and at once left the house. Behind him came the last speaker. +At the sight of the waiting child he stood still, and the expression of +his face changed from sour annoyance to annoyed surprise. + +"Eh? Well?" he exclaimed, looking closely at Ida, his eye-brows +contracting. + +"I have a letter for Mr. Abra'm Woodstock, sir." + +"Well, give it here. Who's it from?" + +"Mrs. Starr, sir." + +"Who's Mrs. Starr? Come in here, will you?" + +His short and somewhat angry tone was evidently in some degree the +result of the interview that had just closed, but also pretty clearly +an indication of his general manner to strangers. He let the child pass +him, and followed her into the room with the letter in his hand. He did +not seem able to remove his eyes from her face. Ida, on her side, did +not dare to look up at him. He was a massively built, grey-headed man +of something more than sixty. Everything about him expressed strength +and determination, power alike of body and mind. His features were +large and heavy, but the forehead would have become a man of strong +intellect; the eyes were full of astonishing vital force, and the chin +was a physiognomical study, so strikingly did its moulding express +energy of character. He was clean-shaven, and scarcely a seam or +wrinkle anywhere broke the hard, smooth surface of his visage, its +complexion clear and rosy as that of a child. + +Still regarding Ida, he tore open the envelope. At the sight of the +writing he, not exactly started, but moved his head rather suddenly, +and again turned his eyes upon the messenger. + +"Sit down," he said, pointing to a chair. The room was an uncomfortable +office, with no fire. He himself took a seat deliberately at a desk, +whence he could watch Ida, and began to read. As he did so, his face +remained unmoved, but he looked away occasionally, as if to reflect. + +"What's your name?" he asked, when he had finished, beginning, at the +same time, to tear the letter into very small pieces, which he threw +into a waste-paper basket. + +"Ida, sir,--Ida Starr." + +"Starr, eh?" He looked at her very keenly, and, still looking, and +still tearing up the letter, went on in a hard, unmodulated voice. +"Well, Ida Starr, it seems your mother wants to put you in the way of +earning your living." The child looked up in fear and astonishment. +"You can carry a message? You'll say to your mother that I'll undertake +to do what I can for you, on one condition, and that is that she puts +you in my hands and never sees you again." + +"Oh, I can't leave mother!" burst from the child's lips involuntarily, +her horror overcoming her fear of the speaker. + +"I didn't ask you if you could," remarked Mr. Woodstock, with something +like a sneer, tapping the desk with the fingers of his right hand. "I +asked whether you could carry a message. Can you, or not?" + +"Yes, I can," stammered Ida. + +"Then take _that_ message, and tell your mother it's all I've got to +say. Run away." + +He rose and stood with his hands behind him, watching her. Ida made +what haste she could to the door, and sped out into the street. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +ANTECEDENTS + + +It would not have been easy to find another instance of a union of keen +intellect and cold heart so singular as that displayed in the character +of Abraham Woodstock. The man s life had been strongly consistent from +the beginning; from boyhood a powerful will had borne him triumphantly +over every difficulty, and in each decisive instance his will had been +directed by a shrewd intelligence which knew at once the strength of +its own resources and the multiplied weaknesses of the vast majority of +men. In the pursuit of his ends he would tolerate no obstacle which his +strength would suffice to remove. In boyhood and early manhood the +exuberance of his physical power was wont to manifest itself in brutal +self-assertion. At school he was the worst kind of bully, his +ferociousness tempered by no cowardice. Later on, he learned that a too +demonstrative bearing would on many occasions interfere with his +success in life; he toned down his love of muscular victory, and only +allowed himself an outbreak every now and then, when he felt he could +afford the indulgence. Put early into an accountant's office, and +losing his father about the same time (the parent, who had a diseased +heart, was killed by an outburst of fury to which Abraham gave way on +some trivial occasion), he had henceforth to fight his own battle, and +showed himself very capable of winning it. In many strange ways he +accumulated a little capital, and the development of commercial genius +put him at a comparatively early age on the road to fortune. He kept to +the business of an accountant, and by degrees added several other +distinct callings. He became a lender of money in several shapes, +keeping both a loan-office and a pawnbroker's shop. In middle age he +frequented the race-course, but, for sufficient reasons, dropped that +pursuit entirely before he had turned his fiftieth year. As a youth he +had made a good thing of games of skill, but did not pursue them as a +means of profit when he no longer needed the resource. + +He married at the age of thirty. This, like every other step he took, +was well planned; his wife brought him several thousand pounds, being +the daughter of a retired publican with whom Woodstock had had business +relations. + +Two years after his marriage was born his first and only child, a girl +whom they called Lotty. Lotty, as she grew up, gradually developed an +unfortunate combination of her parents' qualities; she had her mother's +weakness of mind, without her mother's moral sense, and from her father +she derived an ingrained stubbornness, which had nothing in common with +strength of character. Doubly unhappy was it that she lost her mother +so early; the loss deprived her of gentle guidance during her youth, +and left her without resource against her father's coldness or +harshness. The result was that the softer elements of her character +unavoidably degenerated and found expression in qualities not at all +admirable, whilst her obstinacy grew the ally of the weakness from +which she had most to fear. + +Lotty was sent to a day-school till the age of thirteen, then had to +become her father's housekeeper. Her friends were very few, none of +them likely to be of use to her. Left very much to her own control, she +made an acquaintance which led to secret intimacy and open disaster. +Rather than face her father with such a disclosure, she left home, and +threw herself upon the mercy of the man who had assisted her to go +astray. He was generous enough to support her for about a year, during +which time her child was born. Then his help ceased. + +The familiar choice lay before her--home again, the streets, or +starvation. Hardship she could not bear; the second alternative she +shrank from on account of her child; she determined to face her father. +For him she had no affection, and knew that he did not love her; only +desperation could drive her back. She came one Sunday evening, found +Mr. Woodstock at home, and, without letting the servant say who was +come, went up and entered his presence, the child in her arms. Abraham +rose and looked at her calmly. Her disappearance had not troubled him, +though he had exerted himself to discover why and whither she was gone, +and her return did not visibly affect him. She was a rebel against his +authority--so he viewed the matter--and consequently quite beyond the +range of his sympathies. He listened to all she had to say, beheld +unmoved her miserable tears, and, when she became silent, coolly +delivered his ultimatum. For her he would procure a situation, whereby +she could earn her living, and therewith his relations to her would +end; the child he would put into other hands and have it cared for, but +Lotty would lose sight of it for ever. The girl hesitated, but the +maternal instinct was very strong in her; the little one began to cry, +as if fearing separation from its mother; she decided to refuse. + +"Then I shall go on the streets!" she exclaimed passionately. "There's +nothing else left for me." + +"You can go where you please," returned Abraham. + +She tried to obtain work, of course fruitlessly. She got into debt with +her landlady, and only took the fatal step when at length absolutely +turned adrift. + +That was not quite ten years gone by; she was then but eighteen. Let +her have lost her child, and she would speedily have fallen into the +last stages of degradation. But the little one lived. She had called it +Ida, a name chosen from some tale in the penny weeklies, which were the +solace of her misery. She herself took the name of Starr, also from a +page of fiction. + +Balancing the good and evil of this life in her dark little mind, Lotty +determined that one thing there was for which it was worth while to +make sacrifices, one end which she felt strong enough to keep +persistently in view. Ida should be brought up "respectably"--it was +her own word; she should be kept absolutely free from the contamination +of her mother's way of living; nay, should, when the time came, go to +school, and have good chances. And at the end of all this was a far-off +hope, a dim vision of possibilities, a vague trust that her daughter +might perchance prove for her a means of returning to that world of +"respectability" from which she was at present so hopelessly shut out. +She would keep making efforts to get into an honest livelihood as often +as an occasion presented itself; and Ida should always live with +"respectable" people, cost what it might. + +The last resolution was only adhered to for a few months. Lotty could +not do without her little one, and eventually brought it back to her +own home. It is not an infrequent thing to find little children living +in disorderly houses. In the profession Lotty had chosen there are, as +in all professions, grades and differences. She was by no means a +vicious girl, she had no love of riot for its own sake; she would +greatly have preferred a decent mode of life, had it seemed +practicable. Hence she did not associate herself with the rank and file +of abandoned women; her resorts were not the crowded centres; her abode +was not in the quarters consecrated to her business. In all parts of +London there are quiet by-streets of houses given up to +lodging-letting, wherein are to be found many landladies, who, good +easy souls, trouble little about the private morals of their lodgers, +so long as no positive disorder comes about and no public scandal is +occasioned. A girl who says that she is occupied in a workroom is never +presumed to be able to afford the luxury of strict virtue, and if such +a one, on taking a room, says that "she supposes she may have friends +come to see her?" the landlady will understand quite well what is +meant, and will either accept or refuse her for a lodger as she sees +good. To such houses as these Lotty confined herself. After some three +or four years of various experiences, she hit upon the abode in Milton +Street, and there had dwelt ever since. She got on well with Mrs. +Ledward, and had been able to make comfortable arrangements for Ida. +The other lodgers in the house were generally very quiet and orderly +people, and she herself was quite successful in arranging her affairs +so as to create no disturbance. She had her regular _clientele_; she +frequented the roads about Regent's Park and Primrose Hill; and she +supported herself and her child. + +Ida Starr's bringing up was in no respect inferior to that she would +have received in the home of the average London artisan or small +tradesman. At five years old she had begun to go to school; Mrs. +Ledward's daughter, a girl of seventeen, took her backwards and +forwards every day. At this school she remained three years and a half; +then her mother took her away, and put her under the care of Miss +Rutherford, a better teacher. When at home, she either amused herself +in Lotty's room, or, when that was engaged, made herself comfortable +with Mrs. Ledward's family, with one or other of whom she generally +passed the night. She heard no bad language, saw nothing improper, +listened to no worse conversation than any of the other children at +Miss Rutherford's. Even at her present age of ten it never occurred to +her to inquire how her mother supported herself. The charges brought by +Harriet Smales conveyed to her mind no conception of their true +meaning; they were to her mere general calumnies of vague application. +Her mother "bad," indeed! If so, then what was the meaning of goodness? +For poor Lotty's devotion to the child had received its due reward +herein, that she was loved as purely and intensely as any most virtuous +parent could hope to be; so little regard has nature for social codes, +so utterly is she often opposed to all the precepts of respectability. +This phrase of Harriet's was the very first breathing against her +mother's character that Ida had ever heard. Lotty had invented fables, +for the child's amusement, about her own earlier days. The legend was, +that her husband had died about a year after marriage. Of course Ida +implicitly believed all this. Her mind contained pictures of a +beautiful little house just outside London in which her mother had once +lived, and her imagination busied itself with the time when they would +both live in just that same way. She was going to be a teacher, so it +had been decided in confidential chats, and would one day have a school +of her own. In such a future Lotty herself really believed. The child +seemed to her extraordinarily clover, and in four more years she would +be as old as a girl who had assisted with the little ones in the first +school she went to. Lotty was ambitious. Offers of Mrs. Ledward to +teach Ida dressmaking, she had put aside; it was not good enough. + +Yet Ida was not in reality remarkable either for industry or quickness +in learning. At both schools she had frequently to be dealt with +somewhat severely. Ability she showed from time to time, but in +application she was sadly lacking. Books were distasteful to her, more +even than to most children; she learned sometimes by listening to the +teacher, but seldom the lessons given her to prepare. At home there +were no books to tempt her to read for herself; her mother never read, +and would not have known how to set about giving her child a love for +such occupation, even had she deemed it needful. And yet Ida always +seemed to have abundance to think about; she would sit by herself for +hours, without any childlike employment, and still not seem weary. When +asked what her thoughts ran upon, she could not give very satisfactory +answers; she was always rather slow in expressing herself, and never +chattered, even to her mother. One queer and most unchildlike habit she +had, which, as if thinking it wrong, she only indulged when quite +alone; she loved to sit before a looking-glass and gaze into her own +face. At such times her little countenance became very sad without any +understood reason. + +The past summer had been to her a time of happiness, for there had come +comparatively little bad weather, and sunshine was like wine to Ida. +The proximity of the park was a great advantage. During the weeks of +summer holiday, she spent whole days wandering about the large, grassy +tracts by herself, rejoicing in the sensation of freedom from +task-work. If she were especially in luck, a dog would come and play +about her, deserting for a minute its lawful master or mistress, and +the child would roll upon the grass in delighted sport. Or she would +find out a warm, shady nook quite near to the borders of the Zoological +Gardens, and would lie there with ear eager to catch the occasional +sounds from the animals within. The roar of the lion thrilled her with +an exquisite trembling; the calls of the birds made her laugh with joy. +Once, three years ago, her mother had taken her to Hastings for a week, +and when she now caught the cry of the captive sea-gulls, it brought +back marvellous memories of the ocean flashing in the sun, of the music +of breakers, of the fresh smell of the brine. + +Now there had come upon her the first great grief. She had caused her +mother bitter suffering, and her own heart was filled with a +commensurate pain. Had she been a little older she would already have +been troubled by another anxiety; for the last two years her mother's +health had been falling away; every now and then had come a fit of +illness, and at other times Lotty suffered from a depression of spirits +which left her no energy to move about. Ida knew that her mother was +often unhappy, but naturally could not dwell long on this as soon as +each successive occasion had passed away. Indeed, in her heart, she +almost welcomed such times, since she was then allowed to sleep +upstairs, one of her greatest joys. Lotty was only too well aware of +the physical weakness which was gaining upon her. She was mentally +troubled, moreover. Ida was growing up; there would come a time, and +that very shortly, when it would be necessary either for them to part, +or else for herself to change her mode of life. Indeed, she had never +from the first quite lost sight of her intention to seek for an honest +means of support; and of late years the consciousness of her hopeless +position had grown to an ever-recurring trouble. She knew the proposed +step was in reality impossible to her, yet she persistently thought and +talked of it. To Mrs. Ledward she confided at least once a week, +generally when she paid her rent, her settled intention to go and find +work of some kind in the course of the next two or three days; till at +length this had become a standing joke with the landlady, who laughed +merrily as often as the subject was mentioned. Lotty had of late let +her thoughts turn to her father, whom she had never seen since their +parting. Not with any affection did she think of him, but, in her +despairing moments, it seemed to her impossible that he should still +refuse aid if she appealed to him for it. Several times of late she had +been on the point of putting her conviction to the test. She had passed +his house from time to time, and knew that he still lived there. +Perhaps the real reason of her hesitation was, not fear of him, but a +dread, which she would not confess to herself, lest he should indeed +prove obdurate, and so put an end to her last hope. For what would +become of her and of Ida if her health absolutely failed? The poor +creature shrank from the thought in horror. The hope connected with her +father grew more and more strong. But it needed some very decided +crisis to bring her to the point of overcoming all the apprehensions +which lay in the way of an appeal to the stern old man This crisis had +arrived. The illness which was now upon her she felt to be more serious +than any she had yet suffered. Suppose she were to die, and Ida to be +left alone in the world Even before she heard of the child's dismissal +from school she had all but made up her mind to write to her father, +and the shock of that event gave her the last impulse. She wrote a +letter of pitiful entreaty. Would he help her to some means of earning +a living for herself and her child? She could not part from Ida. +Perhaps she had not long to live, and to ask her to give up her child +would be too cruel. She would do anything, would go into service, +perform the hardest and coarsest toil. She told him how Ida had been +brought up, and implored his pity for the child, who at all events was +innocent. + +When Ida reached home from her visit to the City, she saw her mother +risen and sitting by the fire. Lotty had found the suspense +insupportable as she lay still, and, though the pains in her chest grew +worse and the feeling of lassitude was gaining upon her, she had +half-dressed, and even tried to move about. Just before the child's +appearance, she seemed to have sunk into something of a doze on her +chair, for, as the door opened, she started and looked about her in +doubt. + +"Where have you been so long?" she asked impatiently. + +"I got back as quickly as I could, mother," said Ida, in some surprise. + +"Got back? Is school over?" + +"From the--the place you sent me to, mother." + +"What am I thinking of!" exclaimed Lotty, starting to consciousness. +"Come here, and tell me. Did you see--see him, Ida? Mr. Woodstock, you +know." + +"Yes, mother," began the child, with pale face, "and he--he said I was +to tell you--" + +She burst into tears, and flew to her mother's neck. + +"Oh, you won't send me away from you, mother dear? I can't go away from +you!" + +Lotty felt she knew what this meant. Fear and trouble wrought with her +physical weakness to drive her almost distracted. She sprang up, caught +the child by the shoulders, and shook her as if in anger. + +"Tell me, can't you?" she cried, straining her weak voice. "What did he +say? Don't be a little fool! Can't the child speak?" + +She fell back again, seized with a cough which choked her. Ida stayed +her sobbing, and looked on in terror. Her mother motioned constantly to +her to proceed. + +"The gentleman said," Ida continued, with calm which was the result of +extreme self-control, "that he would take me; but that you were never +to see me again." + +"Did he say anything else about me?" whispered Lotty. + +"No, nothing else." + +"Go--go and tell him you'll come,--you'll leave me." + +Ida stood in anguish, speechless and motionless. All at once her mother +seemed to forget what she was saying, and sat still, staring into the +fire. Several times she shivered. Her hands lay listlessly on her lap; +she breathed with difficulty. + +Shortly afterwards, the landlady came into the room. She was alarmed at +Lotty's condition. Her attempts to arouse the sick woman to +consciousness were only partly successful. She went downstairs again, +and returned with another woman, a lodger in the house. These two +talked together in low tones. The result of their colloquy was that +Mrs. Ledward dressed Lotty as well as she could, whilst the other left +the house and returned with a cab. + +"We're going to take your mother to the hospital," said Mrs. Ledward to +the child. "You wait here till we come back, there's a good girl. Now, +hold up a bit, Lotty; try and walk downstairs. That's better, my girl." + +Ida was left alone. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +CHRISTMAS IN TWO HOMES + + +When Ida Starr was dismissed from school it wanted but a few days to +the vacations. The day which followed her mother's removal to the +hospital was Christmas Eve. For two hours on the afternoon of Christmas +Day, Ida sat in silence by the bedside in the ward, holding her +mother's hand. The patient was not allowed to speak, seemed indeed +unable to do so. The child might not even kiss her. The Sister and the +nurse looked pityingly at Ida when they passed by, and, when the +visitors' time was at an end, and she had to rise and go, the Sister +put an orange into her hand, and spoke a few hopeful words. + +Night was setting in as she walked homewards; it was cold, and the sky +threatened snow. She had only gone a few yards, when there came by a +little girl of her own age, walking with some one who looked like a +nurse-maid. They were passing; but all at once the child sprang to +Ida's side with a cry of recognition. It was little Maud Enderby. + +"Where have you been, Ida? Where are you going? Oh, I'm so glad; I +wanted so to see you. Miss Rutherford told us you'd left school, and +you weren't coming back again. Aren't you really? And sha'n't I see +you?" + +"I don't know, I think not," said Ida. In her premature trouble she +seemed so much older than her friend. + +"I told Miss Rutherford you weren't to blame," went on Maud eagerly. "I +told her it was Harriet's own fault, and how shockingly she'd behaved +to you. I expect you'll come back again after the holidays, don't you?" + +Ida shook her head, and said nothing. + +"But I shall see you again?" pleaded the little maid. "You know we're +always going to be friends, aren't we? Who shall I tell all my dreams +to, if I lose you?" + +Dreams, in the literal sense of the word. Seldom a week went by, but +Maud had some weird vision of the night to recount to her friend, the +meaning of which they would together try to puzzle out; for it was an +article of faith with both that there were meanings to be discovered, +and deep ones. + +Ida promised that she would not allow herself to be lost to her friend, +and they kissed, and went their several ways. + +Throughout the day the door of Mr. Smales's shop had been open, though +the shutters were up. But at nightfall it was closed, and the family +drew around the tea-table in the parlour which smelt so of drugs. It +was their only sitting-room, for as much of the house as could be was +let to another family. Besides Mr. Smales and his daughter Harriet, +there sat at the table a lad of about thirteen, with a dark, handsome +face, which had something of a foreign cast His eyes gleamed at all +times with the light of a frank joyousness; he laughed with the +unrestraint of a perfectly happy nature. His countenance was capable, +too, of a thoughtfulness beyond his years, a gravity which seemed to +come of high thoughts or rich imagination. He bore no trace of +resemblance to either the chemist or his daughter, yet was their +relative. Mr. Smales had had a sister, who at an early age became a +public singer, and so far prospered as to gain some little distinction +in two or three opera seasons. Whilst thus engaged, she made the +acquaintance of an Italian, Casti by name, fell in love with him, and +subsequently followed him to Italy. Her courage was rewarded, for there +she became the singer's wife. They travelled for two years, during +which time a son was born to them. The mother's health failed; she was +unable henceforth to travel with her husband, and, after living in Rome +for nearly four years, she died there. The boy was shortly brought back +to England by his father, and placed in the care of Mr. Smales, on the +understanding that a sum of money should be paid yearly for his support +and education. From that day to the present nothing more had been heard +of Signor Casti, and all the care of his sister's child had fallen upon +poor Smales, who was not too well provided with means to support his +own small household. However, he had not failed in the duty, and Julian +(his name had been Englished) was still going to school at his uncle's +expense. It was by this time understood that, on leaving school, he +should come into the shop, and there qualify himself for the business +of a chemist. + +Had it not been for Julian, the back parlour would have seen but little +cheerfulness to-night. Mr. Smales himself was always depressed in mind +and ailing in body. Life had proved too much for him; the burden of the +recurring daylight was beyond his strength. There was plainly no lack +of kindliness in his disposition, and this never failed to come +strongly into his countenance as often as he looked at Harriet. She was +his only child. Her mother had died of consumption early in their +married life, and it was his perpetual dread lest he should discover in +Harriet a disposition to the same malady. + +His fears had but too much stimulus to keep them alive. Harriet had +passed through a sickly childhood, and was growing up with a feeble +constitution. Body and mind were alike unhealthy. Of all the people who +came in contact with her, her father alone was blind to her distorted +sense of right, her baseless resentments, her malicious pleasures, her +depraved intellect. His affection she repaid with indifference. At +present, the only person she appeared to really like was the servant +Sarah, a girl of vicious character. + +Harriet had suffered more from Ida's blow than had at first appeared +likely. The wound would not heal well, and she had had several feverish +nights. For her convenience, the couch had been drawn up between the +fire and the table; and, reclining here, she every now and then threw +out a petulant word in reply to her father's or Julian's well-meant +cheerfulness. But for the boy, the gloomy silence would seldom have +been broken. He, however, was full to-night of a favourite subject, and +kept up a steady flow of bright narrative. At school he was much +engaged just now with the history of Rome, and it was his greatest +delight to tell the listeners at home the glorious stories which were +his latest acquisitions. All to-day he had been reading Plutarch. The +enthusiasm with which he spoke of these old heroes and their deeds went +beyond mere boyish admiration of valour and delight in bloodshed; he +seemed to be strongly sensible of the real features of greatness in +these men's lives, and invested his stories with a glow of poetical +colour which found little appreciation in either of his hearers. + +"And I was born in Rome, wasn't I, uncle?" he exclaimed at last. "_I_ +am a Roman; _Romanus sum_!" + +Then he laughed with his wonted bright gleefulness. It was half in +jest, but for all that there was a genuine warmth on his cheek, and +lustre in his fine eyes. + +"Some day I will go to Rome again," he said, "and both of you shall go +with me. We shall see the Forum and the Capitol! Sha'n't you shout when +you see the Capitol, uncle?" + +Poor Smales only smiled sadly and shook his head. It was a long way +from Marylebone to Rome; greater still the distance between the boy's +mind and that of his uncle. + +Sarah took Harriet to bed early. Julian had got hold of his Plutarch +again, and read snatches of it aloud every now and then. His uncle paid +no heed, was sunk in dull reverie. When they had sat thus for more than +an hour, Mr. Smales began to exhibit a wish to talk. + +"Put the book away, and draw up to the fire, my boy," he said, with as +near an approach to heartiness as he was capable of. "It's Christmas +time, and Christmas only comes once a year." + +He rubbed his palms together, then began to twist the corners of his +handkerchief. + +"Well, Julian," he went on, leaning feebly forward to the fire, "a year +more school, I suppose, and then--business; what?" + +"Yes, uncle." + +The boy spoke cheerfully, but yet not in the same natural way as before. + +"I wish I could afford to make you something better, my lad; you ought +to be something better by rights. And I don't well know what you'll +find to do in this little shop. The business might be better; yes, +might be better. You won't have much practice in dispensing, I'm +afraid, unless things improve. It is mostly hair-oil,--and the patent +medicines. It's a poor look-out for you, Julian." + +There was a silence. + +"Harriet isn't quite well yet, is she?" Smales went on, half to himself. + +"No, she looked poorly to-night." + +"Julian," began the other, but paused, rubbing his hands more nervously +than ever. + +"Yes, uncle?" + +"I wonder what 'ud become of her if I--if I died now? You're growing +up, and you're a clever lad; you'll soon be able to shift for yourself. +But what'll Harriet do? If only she had her health. And I shall have +nothing to leave either her or you, Julian,--nothing,--nothing! She'll +have to get her living somehow. I must think of some easy business for +her, I must. She might be a teacher, but her head isn't strong enough, +I fear. Julian--" + +"Yes, uncle?" + +"You--you are old enough to understand things, my boy," went on his +uncle, with quavering voice. "Suppose, after I'm dead and gone, Harriet +should want help. She won't make many friends, I fear, and she'll have +bad health. Suppose she was in want of any kind,--you'd stand by her, +Julian, wouldn't you? You'd be a friend to her,--always?" + +"Indeed I would, uncle!" exclaimed the boy stoutly. + +"You promise me that, Julian, this Christmas night?--you promise it?" + +"Yes, I promise, uncle. You've always been kind and good to me, and see +if I'm not the same to Harriet." + +His voice trembled with generous emotion. + +"No, I sha'n't see it, my boy," said Smales, shaking his head drearily; +"but the promise will be a comfort to me at the end, a comfort to me. +You're a good lad, Julian!" + +Silence came upon them again. + +In the same district, in one of a row of semi-detached houses standing +in gardens, lived Ida's little friend, Maud Enderby, with her aunt, +Miss Bygrave, a lady of forty-two or forty-three. The rooms were small +and dark; the furniture sparse, old-fashioned, and much worn; there +were no ornaments in any of the rooms, with the exception of a few +pictures representing the saddest incidents in the life of Christ. On +entering the front door you were oppressed by the chill, damp +atmosphere, and by a certain unnatural stillness. The stairs were not +carpeted, but stained a dark colour; a footfall upon them, however +light, echoed strangely as if from empty chambers above. There was no +sign of lack of repair; perfect order and cleanliness wherever the eye +penetrated; yet the general effect was an unspeakable desolation. + +Maud Enderby, on reaching home after her meeting with Ida, entered the +front parlour, and sat down in silence near the window, where faint +daylight yet glimmered. The room was without fire. Over the mantelpiece +hung an engraving of the Crucifixion; on the opposite wall were the +Agony in the Garden, and an Entombment; all after old masters. The +centre table, a few chairs, and a small sideboard were the sole +articles of furniture. The table was spread with a white cloth; upon it +were a loaf of bread, a pitcher containing milk, two plates, and two +glasses. + +Maud sat in the cold room for a quarter of an hour; it became quite +dark. Then was heard a soft footstep descending the stairs; the door +opened, and a lady came in, bearing a lighted lamp, which she stood +upon the table. She was tall, very slender, and with a face which a +painter might have used to personify the spiritual life. Its outlines +were of severe perfection; its expression a confirmed grief, subdued +by, and made subordinate to, the consciousness of an inward strength +which could convert suffering into triumph. Her garment was black, of +the simplest possible design. In looking at Maud, as the child rose +from the chair, it was scarcely affection that her eyes expressed, +rather a grave compassion. Maud took a seat at the table without +speaking; her aunt sat down over against her. In perfect silence they +partook of the milk and the bread. Miss Bygrave then cleared the table +with her own hands, and took the things out of the room. Maud still +kept her place. The child's manner was not at all constrained; she was +evidently behaving in her wonted way. Her eyes wandered about the room +with rather a dreamy gaze, and, as often as they fell upon her aunt's +face, became very serious, though in no degree expressive of fear or +even awe. + +Miss Bygrave returned, and seated herself near the little girl; then +remained thoughtful for some minutes. The breath from their lips was +plainly visible on the air. Maud almost shivered now and then, but +forced herself to suppress the impulse. Her aunt presently broke the +silence, speaking in a low voice, which had nothing of tenderness, but +was most impressive in its earnest calm. + +"I wish to speak to you before you go upstairs, Maud; to speak of +things which you cannot understand fully as yet, but which you are old +enough to begin to think about." + +Maud was surprised. It was the first time that her aunt had ever +addressed her in this serious way. She was used to being all but +ignored, though never in a manner which made her feel that she was +treated unkindly. There was nothing like confidence between them; only +in care for her bodily wants did Miss Bygrave fill the place of the +mother whose affection the child had never known. Maud crossed her +hands on her lap, and looked up with respectful attention upon her pale +sweet little face. + +"Do you wonder at all," Miss Bygrave went on, "why we never spend +Christmas like your friends do in their homes, with eating and drinking +and all sorts of merriment?" + +"Yes, aunt, I do." + +It was evidently the truth, and given with the simple directness which +characterised the child. + +"You know what Christmas Day means, Maud?" + +"It is the day on which Christ was born." + +"And for what purpose did Christ come as a child on earth?" + +Maud thought for a moment. She had never had any direct religious +teaching; all she knew of these matters was gathered from her regular +attendance at church. She replied in a phrase which had rested in her +mind, though probably conveying little if any meaning to her. + +"He came to make us free from sin." + +"And so we should rejoice at His coming. But would it please Him, do +you think, to see us showing our joy by indulging in those very sins +from which He came to free us?" + +Maud looked with puzzled countenance. + +"Is it a sin to like cake and sweet things, aunt?" + +The gravity of the question brought a smile to Miss Bygrave's close, +strong lips. + +"Listen, Maud," she said, "and I will tell you what I mean. For you to +like such things is no sin, as long as you are still too young to have +it explained to you why you should overcome that liking. As I said, you +are now old enough to begin to think of more than a child's +foolishness, to ask yourself what is the meaning of the life which has +been given you, what duties you must set before yourself as you grow up +to be a woman. When once these duties have become clear to you, when +you understand what the end of life is, and how you should seek to gain +it, then many things become sinful which were not so before, and many +duties must be performed which previously you were not ready for." + +Miss Bygrave spoke with effort, as if she found it difficult to express +herself in sufficiently simple phraseology. Speaking, she did not look +at the child; and, when the pause came, her eyes were still fixed +absently on the picture above the mantelpiece. + +"Keep in mind what I shall tell you," she proceeded with growing +solemnity, "and some day you will better understand its meaning than +you can now. The sin which Christ came to free us from was--fondness +for the world, enjoyment of what we call pleasure, desire for happiness +on earth. He Himself came to set us the example of one to whom the +world was nothing, who could put aside every joy, and make His life a +life of sorrows. Even that was not enough. When the time had come, and +He had finished His teaching of the disciples whom He chose, He +willingly underwent the most cruel of all deaths, to prove that His +teaching had been the truth, and to show us that we must face any most +dreadful suffering rather than desert what we believe to be right." + +She pointed to the crucified figure, and Maud followed the direction of +her hand with awed gaze. + +"And this," said Miss Bygrave, "is why I think it wrong to make +Christmas a time of merriment. In the true Christian, every enjoyment +which comes from the body is a sin. If you feel you _like_ this or +that, it is a sign that you must renounce it, give it up. If you feel +fond of life, you must force yourself to hate it; for life is sin. Life +is given to us that we may conquer ourselves. We are placed in the +midst of sin that we may struggle against its temptations. There is +temptation in the very breath you draw, since you feel a dread if it is +checked. You must live so as to be ready at any moment to give up your +life with gladness, as a burden which it has been appointed you to bear +for a time. There is temptation in the love you feel for those around +you; it makes you cling to life; you are tempted to grieve if you lose +them, whereas death is the greatest blessing in the gift of God. And +just because it is so, we must not snatch at it before our time; it +would be a sin to kill ourselves, since that would be to escape from +the tasks set us. Many pleasures would seem to be innocent, but even +these it is better to renounce, since for that purpose does every +pleasure exist. I speak of the pleasures of the world. One joy there is +which we may and must pursue, the joy of sacrifice. The more the body +suffers, the greater should be the delight of the soul; and the only +moment of perfect happiness should be that when the world grows dark +around us, and we feel the hand of death upon our hearts." + +She was silent, and both sat in the cold room without word or motion. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +POSSIBILITIES + + +Christmas passed, and the beginning of the New Year drew nigh. And, one +morning, as Mr. Woodstock was glancing up and down the pages of a +ledger, a telegram was delivered to him. It was from a hospital in the +north-west of London. "Your daughter is dying, and wishes to see you. +Please come at once." + +Lotty's ailment had declared itself as pneumonia. She was frequently +delirious, and the substance of her talk at such times led the +attendant Sister to ask her, when reason returned, whether she did not +wish any relative to be sent for. Lotty was frightened, but, as long as +she was told that there was still hope of recovery, declined to mention +any name. The stubborn independence which had supported her through +these long years asserted itself again, as a reaction after her +fruitless appeal; at moments she felt that she could die with her lips +closed, and let what might happen to her child. But when she at length +read upon the faces of those about her that her fate hung in the +balance, and when she saw the face of little Ida, come there she knew +not how, looking upon her from the bedside, then her purpose yielded, +and in a whisper she told her father's address, and begged that he +might be apprised of her state. + +Abraham Woodstock arrived at the hospital, but to no purpose. Lotty had +lost her consciousness. He waited for some hours; there was no return +of sensibility. When it had been long dark, and he had withdrawn from +the ward for a little, he was all at once hastily summoned back. He +stood by the bedside, his hands behind his back, his face set in a hard +gaze upon the pale features on the pillow. Opposite to him stood the +medical man, and a screen placed around the bed shut them off from the +rest of the ward. All at once Lotty's eyes opened. It seemed as though +she recognised her father, for a look of surprise came to her +countenance. Then there was a gasping for breath, a struggle, and the +eyes saw no more, for all their staring. + +Mr. Woodstock left the hospital. At the first public-house he reached +he entered and drank a glass of whisky. The barman had forgotten the +piece of lemon, and was rewarded with an oath considerably stronger +than the occasion seemed to warrant. Arrived at certain cross-ways, Mr. +Woodstock paused. His eyes were turned downwards; he did not seem +dubious of his way, so much as in hesitation as to a choice of +directions. He took a few steps hither, then back; began to wend +thither, and again turned. When he at length decided, his road brought +him to Milton Street, and up to the door on which stood the name of +Mrs. Ledward. + +He knocked loudly, and the landlady herself opened. + +"A Mrs. Starr lived here, I believe?" he asked. + +"She does live here, sir, but she's in the orspital at present, I'm +sorry to say." + +"Is her child at home?" + +"She is, sir." + +"Let me see her, will you? In some room, if you please." + +Mrs. Ledward's squinting eyes took shrewd stock of this gentleman, and, +with much politeness, she showed him into her own parlour. Then she +summoned Ida from upstairs, and, the door being closed upon the two, +she held her ear as closely as possible to the keyhole. + +Ida recognised her visitor with a start, and drew back a little. There +were both fear and dislike in her face, fear perhaps predominating. + +"You remember coming to see me," said Mr. Woodstock, looking down upon +the child, and a trifle askance. + +"Yes, sir," was Ida's reply. + +"I have just been at the hospital. Your mother is dead." + +His voice gave way a little between the first and the last letter of +the last word. Perhaps the sound was more to his ear than the thought +had been to his mind. Perhaps, also, he felt when it was too late that +he ought to have made this announcement with something more of +preparation. Ida's eyes were fixed upon his face, and seemed expanding +as they gazed; her lips had parted; she was the image of sudden dread. +He tried to look away from her, but somehow could not. Then two great +tears dropped upon her cheeks, and her mouth began to quiver. She put +her hands up to her face, and sobbed as a grown woman might have done. + +Mr. Woodstock turned away for a minute, and fingered a china ornament +on the mantelpiece. He heard the sobs forcibly checked, and, when there +was silence, again faced his grandchild. + +"You'll be left all alone now, you see," he said, his voice less hard. +"I was a friend of your mother's, and I'll do what I can for you. You'd +better come with me to my house." + +Ida looked at him in surprise, tempered with indignation. + +"If you were a friend of mother's," she said, "why did you want to take +me away from her and never let her see me again?" + +"Well, you've nothing to do with that," said Abraham roughly. "Go and +put your things on, and come with me." + +"No," replied Ida firmly. "I don't want to go with you." + +"What you want has nothing to do with it. You will do as I tell you." + +Abraham felt strangely in this interview. It was as though time were +repeating itself, and he was once more at issue with his daughter's +childish wilfulness. + +Ida did not move. + +"Why won't you come?" asked Mr. Woodstock sharply. + +"I don't want to," was Ida's answer. + +"Look here, then," said the other, after a brief consideration. "You +have the choice, and you're old enough to see what it means. You can +either come with me and be well cared for, or stay here and shift as +best you can; now, be sharp and make up your mind." + +"I don't wish to go with you, I'll stay here and do my best." + +"Very well." + +Mr. Woodstock whistled a bar of an air, stepped from the room, and +thence out into the streets. + +It was not his intention really to go at once. Irritation had made it +impossible for him to speak longer with the child; he would walk the +length of the street and return to give her one more chance. Distracted +in purpose as he had never been in his life before, he reached +Marylebone Road; rain was just beginning to fall, and he had no +umbrella with him. He stood and looked back. Ida once out of his sight, +that impatient tenderness which her face inspired failed before the +recollection of her stubbornness. She had matched her will with his, as +bad an omen as well could be. What was the child to him, or he to her? +He did not feel capable of trying to make her like him; what good in +renewing the old conflicts and upsetting the position of freedom he had +attained? Doubtless she inherited a fatal disposition. In his mind +lurked the foreknowledge that he might come to be fond of this little +outcast, but Woodstock was incapable as yet of understanding that love +must and will be its own reward. The rain fell heavier, and at this +moment an omnibus came up. He hailed it, saying to himself that he +would think the matter over and come back on the morrow. The first part +of his purpose he fulfilled; but to Milton Street he never returned. + +As soon as he had left the house, Mrs. Ledward bounced into the room +where Ida stood. + +"You little idjot!" she exclaimed. "What do you mean by refusing a +offer like that!--Why, the gentleman's your own father." + +"My father!" repeated Ida, in scornful astonishment. "My father died +when I was a baby. Mother's told me so often." + +"If you believe all your mother told you,--Well, well, you have been a +little wooden-head. What made you behave like that to him?--Where does +he live, eh?" + +"I don't know." + +"You do know. Why, I heard him say you'd been to see him. And what are +you going to do, I'd like to know? You don't expect me to keep you, I +s'pose. Tell me at once where the gentleman lives, and let me take you +there. The idea of your turning against your own father!" + +"He's _not_ my father!" cried Ida passionately. "My father is dead; and +now mother's dead, and I'm alone." She turned and went from the room, +weeping bitterly. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +AN ADVERTISEMENT + + +In a morning newspaper of March 187--, that is to chapter, appeared a +singular advertisement. + +"WANTED, human companionship. A young man of four-and-twenty wishes to +find a congenial associate of about his own age. He is a student of +ancient and modern literatures, a free-thinker in religion, a lover of +art in all its forms, a hater of conventionalism. Would like to +correspond in the first instance. Address O. W., City News Rooms, W.C." + +An advertisement which, naturally, might mean much or little, might be +the outcome of an idle whim, or the despairing cry of a hungry heart. +It could not be expected to elicit many replies; and brought indeed but +one. + +Behind the counter of a chemist's shop in Oxford Street there served, +day after day, a young assistant much observed of female customers. The +young man was handsome, and not with that vulgar handsomeness which is +fairly common among the better kind of shop-walkers and +counter-keepers. He had rather long black hair, which arranged itself +in silky ripples about a face of perfectly clear, though rather dark, +complexion. When he smiled, as he frequently did, the effect was very +pleasant. He spoke, too, with that musical intonation which is always +more or less suggestive of musical thought. He did not seem by any +means ideally adapted to the place he occupied here, yet filled it +without suspicion of constraint or uneasiness: there was nothing in him +to make one suppose that he had ever been accustomed to a better sphere +of life. + +He lived in the house above the shop, and had done so for about two +years; previously he had held a like position in a more modest +establishment. His bed-room, which had to serve him as sitting-room +also during his free hours, gave indications of a taste not ordinarily +found in chemists' assistants. On the walls were several engravings of +views in Rome, ancient and modern; and there were two bookcases filled +with literature which had evidently known the second-hand stall,--most +of the Latin poets, a few Italian books, and some English classics. Not +a trace anywhere of the habits and predilections not unfairly +associated with the youth of the shop, not even a pipe or a +cigar-holder. It was while sitting alone here one evening, half musing, +half engaged in glancing over the advertisements in a paper two days +old, that the assistant had been attracted by the insertion just +quoted. He read and re-read it, became more thoughtful, sighed +slightly. Then he moved to the table and took some note-paper out of a +writing-case. Still he seemed to be in doubt, hesitated in pressing a +pen against his thumb-nail, was on the point of putting the note-paper +away again. Ultimately, however, he sat down to write. He covered four +pages with a letter, which he then proceeded deliberately to correct +and alter, till he had cut it down by about half. Then came another +period of doubt before he decided to make a fair copy. But it was +finally made, and the signature at the foot was: Julian Casti. + +He went out at once to the post. + +Two days later he received a reply, somewhat longer than his own +epistle. The writer was clearly keeping himself in a tentative +attitude. Still, he wrote something about his own position and his +needs. He was a teacher in a school in South London, living in +lodgings, with his evenings mostly unoccupied. His habits, he declared, +were Bohemian. Suppose, by way of testing each other's dispositions, +they were to interchange views on some book with which both were likely +to be acquainted: say, Keats's poems? In conclusion, the "O. W." of the +advertisement signed himself Osmond Waymark. + +The result was that, a week after, Casti received an invitation to call +on Waymark, at the latter's lodgings in Walcot Square, Kennington. He +arrived on a Saturday evening, just after eight o'clock. The house he +sought proved to be one of very modest appearance; small, apparently +not too clean, generally uninviting. But a decent-looking woman opened +the door, and said that Mr. Waymark would be found in response to a +knock at the first-floor front. The visitor made his way up the dark, +narrow stair-case, and knocked as bidden. A firm voice summoned him to +enter. + +From a seat by a table which was placed as near as possible to a very +large fire rose a young man whose age might have been either +twenty-three or twenty-six. Most people would have inclined to give him +the latter figure. He was rather above the average stature, and showed +well-hung limbs, with a habit of holding himself which suggested +considerable toughness of sinews; he moved gracefully, and with head +well held up. His attire spoke sedentary habits; would have been +decidedly shabby, but for its evident adaptation to easy-chair and +fireside. The pure linen and general tone of cleanliness were +reassuring; the hand, too, which he extended, was soft, delicate, and +finely formed. The head was striking, strongly individual, set solidly +on a rather long and shapely neck; a fine forehead, irregular nose, +rather prominent jaw-bones, lips just a little sensual, but speaking +good-humour and intellectual character. A heavy moustache; no beard. +Eyes dark, keen, very capable of tenderness, but perhaps more often +shrewdly discerning or cynically speculative. One felt that the present +expression of genial friendliness was unfamiliar to the face, though it +by no means failed in pleasantness. The lips had the look of being +frequently gnawed in intense thought or strong feeling. In the cheeks +no healthy colour, but an extreme sallowness on all the features. +Smiling, he showed imperfect teeth. Altogether, a young man upon whom +one felt it difficult to pronounce in the earlier stages of +acquaintance; whose intimacy but few men would exert themselves to +seek; who in all likelihood was chary of exhibiting his true self save +when secure of being understood. + +Julian Casti was timid with strangers; his eyes fell before the other's +look, and he shook hands without speaking. The contrast in mere +appearance between the two was very pronounced; both seemed in some +degree to be aware of it. Waymark seemed more rugged than in ordinary +companionship; the slightly effeminate beauty of Casti, and his +diffident, shyly graceful manners, were more noticeable than usual. +Waymark inspected his visitor closely and directly; the latter only +ventured upon one or two quick side glances. Yet the results were, on +the whole, mutually satisfactory. + +Julian's eyes glistened at the sight of two goodly bookcases, reaching +from floor to ceiling. There were, too, pictures of other than the +lodging-house type; engraved heads of the great in art and science, and +a few reproductions in pencil or chalk of known subjects, perchance +their possessor's own work. On the table lay traces of literary +occupation, sheets of manuscript, open books, and the like. On another +table stood a tray, with cups and saucers. A kettle was boiling on the +fire. + +Waymark helped the conversation by offering a cup of coffee, which he +himself made. + +"You smoke, I hope?" he asked, reaching some cigars from the +mantelpiece. + +Julian shook his head, with a smile. + +"No? How on earth do you support existence?--At all events, you don't, +as the railway-carriage phrase has it, object to smoking?" + +"Not at all. I like the scent, but was never tempted to go further." + +Waymark filled his pipe, and made himself conformable in a low +cane-bottom chair, which had stood folded-up against the wall. Talk +began to range over very various topics, Waymark leading the way, his +visitor only gradually venturing to take the initiative. Theatres were +mentioned, but Julian knew little of them; recent books, but with these +he had small acquaintance; politics, but in these he had clearly no +interest. + +"That's a point of contact, at all events," exclaimed Waymark. "I +detest the very name of Parliament, and could as soon read Todhunter on +Conic Sections as the reports of a debate. Perhaps you're a +mathematician?" This with a smile. + +"By no means," was the reply. "In fact," Casti went on, "I'm afraid you +begin to think my interests are very narrow indeed. My opportunities +have been small. I left a very ordinary school at fourteen, and what +knowledge I have since got has come from my own efforts. I am sure the +profit from our intercourse would be entirely on my side. I have the +wish to go in for many things, however,--" + +"Oh," broke in the other, "don't suppose that I am a scholar in any +sense of the word, or a man of more than average culture. My own +regular education came to an end pretty much at the same age, and only +a certain stubbornness has forced me into an intellectual life, if you +can call it so. Not much intellect required in my every-day business, +at all events. The school in which I teach is a fair type of the +middle-class commercial 'academy;' the headmaster a nincompoop and +charlatan, my fellow-assistants poor creatures, who must live, I +suppose,--though one doesn't well understand why. I had always a liking +for Greek and Latin and can make shift to read both in a way +satisfactory to myself, though I dare say it wouldn't go for much with +college examiners. Then, as for my scribbling, well, it has scarcely +yet passed the amateur stage. It will some day; simply because I've +made up my mind that it shall; but as yet I haven't got beyond a couple +of weak articles in weak magazines, and I don't exactly feel sure of my +way. I rather think we shall approach most nearly in our taste for +poetry. I liked much what you had to say about Keats. It decided me +that we ought to go on." + +Julian looked up with a bright smile. + +"What did you think at first of my advertisement, eh?" cried Waymark, +with a sudden burst of loud laughter. "Queer idea, wasn't it?" + +"It came upon me curiously. It was so like a frequent thought of my own +actually carried out." + +"It was? You have felt that same desperate need of congenial society?" + +"I have felt it very strongly indeed. I live so very much alone, and +have always done so. Fortunately I am of a very cheerful disposition, +or I might have suffered much. The young fellows I see every day +haven't much intellect, it must be confessed. I used to try to get them +under the influence of my own enthusiasms, but they didn't seem to +understand me. They care only for things which either repel me, or are +utterly without interest." + +"Ha! you understand what that means!" Waymark had risen from his low +chair, and stood with his back to the fire. His eyes had a new life, +and he spoke in a strong, emphatic way which suited well with his +countenance. "You know what it is to have to do exclusively with fools +and brutes, to rave under the vile restraints of Philistine +surroundings? Then you can form some notion of the state I was in when +I took the step of writing that advertisement; I was, I firmly believe, +on the verge of lunacy! For two or three days I had come back home from +the school only to pace up and down the room in an indescribable +condition. I get often like that, but this time things seemed reaching +a head. Why, I positively cried with misery, absurd as it may sound. My +blood seemed too hot, seemed to be swelling out the veins beyond +endurance. As a rule I get over these moods by furious walking about +the streets half through the night, but I couldn't even do that. I had +no money to go in for dissipation: that often helps me. Every book was +loathsome to me. My landlady must have overheard something, for she +came in and began a conversation about God knows what; I fear I +mortally offended her; I could have pitched the poor old woman out of +the window! Heavens, how did I get through those nights?" + +"And the fit has passed?" inquired Julian when the other ceased. + +"The Lord be praised; yes!" Waymark laughed half-scornfully. "There +came an editor's note, accepting a thing that had been going from +magazine to magazine for three months. This snatched me up into furious +spirits. I rushed out to a theatre, drank more than was good for me, +made a fool of myself in general,--and then received your letter. Good +luck never comes singly." + +Julian had watched the strange workings of Waymark's face with close +interest. When the latter suddenly turned his eyes, as if to see the +effect of all his frankness, Casti coloured slightly and looked away, +but with a look of friendly sympathy. + +"Do I shock you?" asked the other. "Do you think me rather too much of +an animal, for all my spiritual longings?" + +"Certainly not, I can well understand you, I believe." + +The conversation passed to quieter things. Julian seemed afraid of +saying too much about his own experiences, but found opportunities of +showing his acquaintance with English poetry, which was quite as +extensive as that of his new friend, excepting in the case of a few +writers of the day, whom he had not been able to procure. He had taught +himself Italian, too, and had read considerably in that language. He +explained that his father was an Italian, but had died when he himself +was still an infant. + +"You have been in Italy?" asked Waymark, with interest. + +A strange look came over Julian's features, a look at once bright and +melancholy; his fine eyes gleamed as was their wont eight years ago, in +the back-parlour in Boston Street, when he was telling tales from +Plutarch. + +"Not," he said, in a low voice charged with feeling, "since I was three +years old.--You will think it strange, but I don't so much long for the +modern Italy, for the beautiful scenery and climate, not even for the +Italy of Raphael, or of Dante. I think most of classical Italy. I am no +scholar, but I love the Latin writers, and can forget myself for hours, +working through Livy or Tacitus. I want to see the ruins of Rome; I +want to see the Tiber, the Clitumnus, the Aufidus, the Alban Hills, +Lake Trasimenus,--a thousand places! It is strange how those old times +have taken hold upon me. The mere names in Roman history make my blood +warm.--And there is so little chance that I shall ever be able to go +there; so little chance." + +Waymark had watched the glowing face with some surprise. + +"Why, this is famous!" he exclaimed. "We shall suit each other +splendidly. Who knows? We may see Italy together, and look back upon +these times of miserable struggle. By the by, have you ever written +verses?" + +Julian reddened, like a girl. + +"I have tried to," he said. + +"And do still?" + +"Sometimes." + +"I thought as much. Some day you shall let me hear them; won't you? And +I will read you some of my own. But mine are in the savage vein, a mere +railing against the universe, altogether too furious to be anything +like poetry; I know that well enough. I have long since made up my mind +to stick to prose; it is the true medium for a polemical egotist. I +want to find some new form of satire; I feel capabilities that way +which shall by no means rust unused. It has pleased Heaven to give me a +splenetic disposition, and some day or other I shall find the tongue." + +It was midnight before Julian rose to leave, and he was surprised when +he discovered how time had flown. Waymark insisted on his guest's +having some supper before setting out on his walk home; he brought out +of a cupboard a tin of Australian mutton, which, with bread and +pickles, afforded a very tolerable meal after four hours' talk. They +then left the house together, and Waymark accompanied his friend as far +as Westminster Bridge. + +"It's too bad to have brought you so far at this hour," said Julian, as +they parted. + +"Oh, it is my hour for walking," was the reply. "London streets at +night are my element. Depend upon it, Rome was poor in comparison!" + +He went off laughing and waving his hand. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +BETWEEN OLD AND NEW + + +Julian Casti's uncle had been three years dead. It was well for him +that he lived no longer; his business had continued to dwindle, and the +last months of the poor man's life were embittered by the prospect of +inevitable bankruptcy. He died of an overdose of some opiate, which the +anguish of sleeplessness brought him into the habit of taking. Suicide +it might have been, yet that was scarcely probable; he was too anxious +on his daughter's account to abandon her in this way, for certainly his +death could be nothing to her profit. Julian was then already eighteen, +and quickly succeeded in getting a situation. Harriet Smales left +London, and went to live with her sole relative, except Julian, an aunt +who kept a stationer's shop in Colchester. She was taught the business, +and assisted her aunt for more than two years, when, growing tired of +the life of a country town, she returned to London, and succeeded in +getting a place at a stationer's in Gray's Inn Road. This was six +months ago. Having thus established herself, she wrote to Julian, and +told him where she was. + +Julian never forgot the promise he had made to his uncle that Christmas +night, eight years ago, when he was a lad of thirteen. Harriet he had +always regarded as his sister, and never yet had he failed in brotherly +duty to her. When the girl left Colchester, she was on rather bad terms +with her aunt, and the latter wrote to Julian, saying that she knew +nothing of Harriet's object in going to London, but that it was +certainly advisable that some friend should be at hand, if possible, to +give her advice; though advice (she went on to say) was seldom +acceptable to Harriet. This letter alarmed Julian, as it was the first +he had heard of his cousin's new step; the letter from herself at the +end of a week's time greatly relieved him, and he went off as soon as +possible to see her. He found her living in the house where she was +engaged, apparently with decent people, and moderately contented; more +than this could never be said of the girl. Since then, he had seen her +at least once every week. Sometimes he visited her at the shop; when +the weather was fine, they spent the Sunday afternoon in walking +together. Harriet's health seemed to have improved since her return to +town. Previously, as in her childhood, she had always been more or less +ailing. From both father and mother she had inherited an unhealthy +body; there was a scrofulous tendency in her constitution, and the +slightest casual ill-health, a cold or any trifling accident, always +threatened her with serious results. She was of mind corresponding to +her body; restless, self-willed, discontented, sour-tempered, +querulous. She certainly used no special pains to hide these faults +from Julian, perhaps was not herself sufficiently conscious of them, +but the young man did not seem to be repelled by her imperfections; he +invariably treated her with gentle forbearance, pitied her sufferings, +did many a graceful little kindness in hope of pleasing her. + +The first interview between Julian and Waymark was followed by a second +a few days after, when it was agreed that they should spend each Sunday +evening together in Kennington; Julian had no room in which he could +well receive visitors. The next Sunday proved fine; Julian planned to +take Harriet for a walk in the afternoon, then, after accompanying her +home, to proceed to Walcot Square. As was usual on these occasions, he +was to meet his cousin at the Holborn end of Gray's Inn Road, and, as +also was the rule, Harriet came some twenty minutes late. Julian was +scrupulously punctual, and waiting irritated him not a little, but he +never allowed himself to show his annoyance. There was always the same +kind smile on his handsome face, and the pressure of his hand was warm. + +Harriet Smales was about a year younger than her cousin. Her dress +showed moderately good taste, with the usual fault of a desire to +imitate an elegance which she could not in reality afford. She wore a +black jacket, fur-trimmed, over a light grey dress; her black straw hat +had a few flowers in front. Her figure was good and her movements +graceful; she was nearly as tall as Julian. Her face, however, could +not be called attractive; it was hollow and of a sickly hue, even the +lips scarcely red. Grey eyes, beneath which were dark circles, looked +about with a quick, suspicious glance; the eye-brows made almost a +straight line. The nose was of a coarse type, the lips heavy and +indicative of ill-temper. The disagreeable effect of these lineaments +was heightened by a long scar over her right temple; she evidently did +her best to conceal it by letting her hair come forward very much on +each side, an arrangement in itself unsuited to her countenance. + +"I think I'm going to leave my place," was her first remark to-day, as +they turned to walk westward. She spoke in a dogged way with which +Julian was familiar enough, holding her eyes down, and, as she walked, +swinging her arms impatiently. + +"I hope not," said her cousin, looking at her anxiously. "What has +happened?" + +"Oh, I don't know; it's always the same; people treat you as if you was +so much dirt. I haven't been accustomed to it, and I don't see why I +should begin now. I can soon enough get a new shop." + +"Has Mrs. Ogle been unkind to you?" + +"Oh, I don't know, and I don't much care. You're expected to slave just +the same, day after day, whether you're feeling well or not." + +This indirect and querulous mode of making known her grievances was +characteristic of the girl. Julian bore with it very patiently. + +"Haven't you been feeling well?" he asked, with the same kindness. + +"Well, no, I haven't. My head fairly splits now, and this sun isn't +likely to make it any better." + +"Let us cross to the shady side." + +"'Twon't make any difference; I can't run to get out of the way of +horses." + +Julian was silent for a little. + +"Why didn't you write to me in the week?" she asked presently. "I'm +sure it would be a relief to hear from somebody sometimes. It's like a +year from one Sunday to another." + +"Did I promise to write? I really didn't remember having done so; I'm +very sorry. I might have told you about a new friend I've got." + +Harriet looked sharply into his face. Julian had made no mention of +Waymark on the preceding Sunday; it had been a rainy day, and they had +only spent a few minutes together in the parlour which Mrs. Ogle, the +keeper of the shop, allowed them to use on these occasions. + +"What sort of a friend?" the girl inquired rather sourly. + +"A very pleasant fellow, rather older than myself; I made his +acquaintance by chance." + +Julian avoided reference to the real circumstances. He knew well the +difficulty of making Harriet understand them. + +"We are going to see each other every Sunday," he went on. + +"Then I suppose you'll give up coming for me?" + +"Oh no, not at all. I shall see him at night always, after I have left +you." + +"Where does he live?" + +"Rather far off; in Kennington." + +"What is he?" + +"A teacher in a school. I hope to get good from being with him; we're +going to read together, and so on. I wish you could find some pleasant +companion of the same kind, Harriet; you wouldn't feel so lonely." + +"I dare say I'm better off without anybody. I shouldn't suit them. It's +very few people I do suit, or else people don't suit me, one or the +other. What's his name, your new friend's?" + +"Waymark." + +"And he lives in Kennington? Whereabouts?" + +"In Walcot Square. I don't think you know that part, do you?" + +"What number?" + +Julian looked at her with some surprise. He found her eyes fixed with +penetrating observation upon his face. He mentioned the number, and she +evidently made a mental note of it. She was silent for some minutes. + +"I suppose you'll go out at nights with him?" was her next remark. + +"It is scarcely likely. Where should we go to?" + +"Oh, I don't know, and I don't suppose it matters much, to me." + +"You seem vexed at this, Harriet. I'm very sorry. Really, it's the +first friend I've ever had. I've often felt the need of some such +companionship." + +"I'm nobody?" she said, with a laugh, the first today. + +Julian's face registered very perfectly the many subtle phases of +thought and emotion which succeeded each other in his mind. This last +remark distressed him for a moment; he could not bear to hurt another's +feelings. + +"Of course I meant male friend," he said quickly. "You are my sister." + +"No, I'm not," was the reply; and, as she spoke, Harriet glanced +sideways at him in a particularly unpleasant manner. She herself meant +it to be pleasant. + +"Oh yes, you are, Harriet," he insisted good-humouredly. "We've been +brother and sister ever since we can remember, haven't we?" + +"But we aren't really, for all that," said the girl, looking away. +"Well, now you've got somebody else to take you up, I know very well I +shall see less of you. You'll be making excuses to get out of the rides +when the summer comes again." + +"Pray don't say or think anything of the kind, Harriet," urged Julian +with feeling. "I should not think of letting anything put a stop to our +picnics. It will soon be getting warm enough to think of the river, +won't it? And then, if you would like it, there is no reason why my +friend shouldn't come with us, sometimes." + +"Oh, nonsense! Why, you'd be ashamed to let him know me." + +"Ashamed! How can you possibly think so? But you don't mean it; you are +joking." + +"I'm sure I'm not. I should make mistakes in talking, and all sorts of +things. You don't think much of me, as it is, and that would make you +like me worse still." + +She tossed her head nervously, and swung her arms with the awkward +restlessness which always denoted some strong feeling in her. + +"Come, Harriet, this is too bad," Julian exclaimed, smiling. "Why, I +shall have to quarrel with you, to prove that we're good friends." + +"I wish you _would_ quarrel with me sometimes," said the girl, laughing +in a forced way. "You take all my bad-temper always just in the same +quiet way. I'd far rather you fell out with me. It's treating me too +like a child, as if it didn't matter how I went on, and I wasn't +anything to you." + +Of late, Harriet had been getting much into the habit of this ambiguous +kind of remark when in her cousin's company. Julian noticed it, and it +made him a trifle uneasy. He attributed it, however, to the girl's +strangely irritable disposition, and never failed to meet such +outbreaks with increased warmth and kindness of tone. To-day, Harriet's +vagaries seemed to affect him somewhat unusually. He became silent at +times, and then tried to laugh away the unpleasantness, but the +laughter was not exactly spontaneous. At length he brought back the +conversation to the point from which it had started, and asked if she +had any serious intention of leaving Mrs. Ogle. + +"I'm tired of being ordered about by people!" Harriet exclaimed. "I +know I sha'n't put up with it much longer. I only wish I'd a few pounds +to start a shop for myself." + +"I heartily wish I had the money to give you," was Julian's reply. + +"Don't you save anything at all?" asked his cousin, with affected +indifference. + +"A little; very little. At all events, I think we shall be able to have +our week at the seaside when the time comes. Have you thought where +you'd like to go to?" + +"No; I haven't thought anything about it. What time shall you get back +home to-night?" + +"Rather late, I dare say. We sit talking and forget the time. It may be +after twelve o'clock." + +Harriet became silent again. They reached Hyde Park, and joined the +crowds of people going in all directions about the walks. Harriet had +always a number of ill-natured comments to make on the dress and +general appearance of people they passed. Julian smiled, but with no +genuine pleasure. As always, he did his best to lead the girl's +thoughts away from their incessant object, hers, elf. + +They were back again at the end of Gray's Inn Road by half-past four. + +"Well, I won't keep you," said Harriet, with the sour smile. "I know +you're in a hurry to be off. Are you going to walk?" + +"Yes; I can do it in about an hour." + +The girl turned away without further leave-taking, and Julian walked +southwards with a troubled face. + +Waymark expected him to tea. At this, their third meeting, the two were +already on very easy terms. Waymark did the greater share of the +talking, for Julian was naturally of fewer words; from the beginning it +was clear that the elder of the friends would have the initiative in +most things. Waymark unconsciously displayed something of that egoism +which is inseparable from force of character, and to the other this was +far from disagreeable; Julian liked the novel sensation of having a +strong nature to rely upon. Already he was being led by his natural +tendency to hero-worship into a fervid admiration for his friend. + +"What have you' been doing with yourself this fine day?" Waymark asked, +as they sat down to table. + +"I always spend Sunday afternoon with a cousin of mine," replied +Julian, with the unhesitating frankness which was natural to him. + +"Male or female?" + +"Female." There was a touch of colour on his face as he met the other's +eye, and he continued rather quickly. "We lived together always as +children, and were only separated at my uncle's death, three years ago. +She is engaged at a stationer's shop." + +"What is a fellow to do to get money?" Waymark exclaimed, when his pipe +was well alight. "I'm growing sick of this hand-to-mouth existence. Now +if one had a bare competency, what glorious possibilities would open +out. The vulgar saying has it that 'time is money;' like most vulgar +sayings putting the thing just the wrong way about. 'Money is time,' I +prefer to say; it means leisure, and all that follows. Why don't you +write a poem on Money, Casti? I almost feel capable of it myself. What +can claim precedence, in all this world, over hard cash? It is the +fruitful soil wherein is nourished the root of the tree of life; it is +the vivifying principle of human activity. Upon it luxuriate art, +letters, science; rob them of its sustenance, and they droop like +withering leaves. Money means virtue; the lack of it is vice. The devil +loves no lurking-place like an empty purse. Give me a thousand pounds +to-morrow, and I become the most virtuous man in England. I satisfy all +my instincts freely, openly, with no petty makeshifts and vile +hypocrisies. To scorn and revile wealth is the mere resource of +splenetic poverty. What cannot be purchased with coin of the realm? +First and foremost, freedom. The moneyed man is the sole king; the +herds of the penniless are but as slaves before his footstool. He +breathes with a sense of proprietorship in the whole globe-enveloping +atmosphere; for is it not in his power to inhale it wheresoever he +pleases? He puts his hand in his pocket, and bids with security for +every joy of body and mind; even death he faces with the comforting +consciousness that his defeat will only coincide with that of human +science. He buys culture, he buys peace of mind, he buys love.--You +think not! I don't use the word cynically, but in very virtuous +earnest. Make me a millionaire, and I will purchase the passionate +devotion of any free-hearted woman the world contains!" + +Waymark's pipe had gone out; he re-lit it, with the half-mocking smile +which always followed upon any more vehement utterance. + +"That I am poor," he went on presently, "is the result of my own +pigheadedness. My father was a stock-broker, in anything but +flourishing circumstances. He went in for some cursed foreign loan or +other,--I know nothing of such things,--and ruined himself completely. +He had to take a subordinate position, and died in it. I was about +seventeen then, and found myself alone in the world. A friend of my +father's, also a city man, Woodstock by name, was left my guardian. He +wanted me to begin a business career, and, like a fool, I wouldn't hear +of it. Mr. Woodstock and I quarrelled; he showed himself worthy of his +name, and told me plainly that, if I didn't choose to take his advice, +I must shift for myself. That I professed myself perfectly ready to do; +I was bent on an intellectual life, forsooth; couldn't see that the +natural order of things was to make money first and be intellectual +afterwards. So, lad as I was, I got a place as a teacher, and that's +been my business ever since." + +Waymark threw himself back and laughed carelessly. He strummed a little +with his fingers on the arm of the chair, and resumed: + +"I interested myself in religion and philosophy; I became an aggressive +disciple of free-thought, as it is called. Radicalism of every kind +broke out in me, like an ailment. I bought cheap free-thought +literature; to one or two papers of the kind I even contributed. I keep +these effusions carefully locked up, for salutary self-humiliation at +some future day, when I shall have grown conceited. Nay, I went +further. I delivered lectures at working-men's clubs, lectures with +violent titles. One, I remember, was called 'The Gospel of +Rationalism.' And I was enthusiastic in the cause, with an enthusiasm +such as I shall never experience again. Can I imagine myself writing +and speaking such things now-a-days? Scarcely: yet the spirit remains, +it is only the manifestations which have changed. I am by nature +combative; I feel the need of attacking the cherished prejudices of +society; I have a joy in outraging what are called the proprieties. And +I wait for my opportunity, which has yet to come." + +"How commonplace my life has been, in comparison," said Julian, after +an interval of thoughtfulness. + +"Your nature, I believe, is very pure, and therefore very happy. _I_ am +what Browning somewhere calls a 'beast with a speckled hide,' and +happiness, I take it, I shall never know." + +Julian could begin to see that his friend took something of a pleasure +in showing and dwelling upon the worst side of his own character. + +"You will be happy," he said, "when you once find your true work, and +feel that you are doing it well." + +"But the motives, the motives!--Never mind, I've talked enough of +myself for one sitting. Don't think I've told you everything. Plenty +more confessions to come, when time and place shall serve. Little by +little you will get to know me, and by then will most likely have had +enough of me." + +"That is not at all likely; rather the opposite." + +When they left the house together, shortly after eleven, Julian's eye +fell upon the dark figure of a girl, standing by a gas-lamp on the +opposite side of the way. The figure held his gaze. Waymark moved on, +and he had to follow, but still looked back. The girl had a veil half +down upon her face; she was gazing after the two. She moved, and the +resemblance to Harriet was so striking that Julian again stopped. As he +did so, the figure turned away, and walked in the opposite direction, +till it was lost in the darkness. + +Julian went on, and for a time was very silent. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +ACADEMICAL + + +The school in which Osmond Waymark taught was situated in "a pleasant +suburb of southern London" (Brixton, to wit); had its "spacious +playground and gymnasium" (the former a tolerable back-yard, the latter +a disused coach-house); and, as to educational features, offered, at +the choice of parents and guardians, either the solid foundation +desirable for those youths predestined to a commercial career, or the +more liberal training adapted to minds of a professional bias. Anything +further in the way of information was to be obtained by applying to the +headmaster, Dr. Tootle. + +At present the number of resident pupils was something under forty. The +marvel was how so many could be accommodated in so small a house. Two +fair-sized bedrooms, and a garret in which the servants could not be +persuaded to sleep, served as dormitories for the whole school; the +younger children sleeping two together. + +Waymark did not reside on the premises. For a stipulated sum of +thirteen pounds per quarter he taught daily from nine till five, with +an interval of an hour and a half at dinner-time, when he walked home +to Walcot Square for such meal as the state of his exchequer would +allow. Waymark occupied a prominent place in Dr. Tootle's prospectus. +As Osmond Waymark, B.A.,--the degree was a _bona fide_ one, of London +University,--he filled the position of Senior Classical Master; +anonymously he figured as a teacher of drawing and lecturer on +experimental chemistry. The other two masters, resident, were Mr. +O'Gree and Herr Egger; the former, teacher of mathematics, assistant +classical master, and professor of gymnastics; the latter, teacher of +foreign languages, of music, and of dancing. Dr. Tootle took upon +himself the English branches, and, of course, the arduous duty of +general superintendence. He was a very tall, thin, cadaverous, +bald-headed man. Somehow or other he had the reputation of having, at +an earlier stage in his career, grievously over-exerted his brain in +literary labour; parents were found, on the whole, ready to accept this +fact as an incontestable proof of the doctor's fitness to fill his +present office, though it resulted in entire weeks of retreat from the +school-room under the excuse of fearful headaches. The only known +product of the literary toil which had had such sad results was a very +small English Grammar, of course used in the school, and always +referred to by the doctor as "my little compendium." + +Now and then, Waymark sought refuge from the loneliness of his room in +a visit to his colleagues at the Academy. The masters' sitting-room was +not remarkable for cosiness, even when a fire burnt in the grate and +the world of school was for the time shut out. The floor was +uncarpeted, the walls illustrated only with a few maps and diagrams. +There was a piano, whereon Herr Egger gave his music lessons. Few rooms +in existence could have excelled this for draughts; at all times there +came beneath the door a current of wind which pierced the legs like a +knife; impossible to leave loose papers anywhere with a chance of +finding them in the same place two minutes after. + +When Waymark entered this evening, he found his colleagues seated +together in silence. Mr. Philip O'Gree--"fill-up" was his own +pronunciation of the name--would have been worse than insignificant in +appearance, but for the expression of good-humour and geniality which +possessed his irregular features. He was red-headed, and had large red +whiskers. + +Herr Egger was a gentleman of very different exterior. Tall, thick, +ungainly, with a very heavy, stupid face, coarse hands, outrageous +lower extremities. A mass of coal-black hair seemed to weigh down his +head. His attire was un-English, and, one might suspect, had been +manufactured in some lonely cottage away in the remote Swiss valley +which had till lately been the poor fellow's home. Dr. Tootle never +kept his foreign masters long. His plan was to get hold of some +foreigner without means, and ignorant of English, who would come and +teach French or German in return for mere board and lodging; when the +man had learnt a little English, and was in a position to demand a +salary, he was dismissed, and a new professor obtained. Egger had +lately, under the influence of some desperate delusion, come to our +hospitable clime in search of his fortune. Of languages he could not be +said to know any; his French and his German were of barbarisms all +compact; English as yet he could use only in a most primitive manner. +He must have been the most unhappy man in all London. Finding himself +face to face with large classes of youngsters accustomed to no kind of +discipline, in whom every word he uttered merely excited outrageous +mirth, he was hourly brought to the very verge of despair. +Constitutionally he was lachrymose; tears came from him freely when +distress had reached a climax, and the contrast between his unwieldy +form and this weakness of demeanour supplied inexhaustible occasion for +mirth throughout the school. His hours of freedom were spent in abysmal +brooding. + +Waymark entered in good spirits. At the sight of him, Mr. O'Gree +started from the fireside, snatched up the poker, brandished it wildly +about his head, and burst into vehement exclamations. + +"Ha! ha! you've come in time, sir; you've come in time to hear my +resolution. I can't stand ut any longer; I won't stand ut a day longer! +Mr. Waymark, you're a witness of the outrageous way in which I'm +treated in this academy--the way in which I'm treated both by Dr. +Tootle and by Mrs. Tootle. You were witness of his insulting behaviour +this very afternoon. He openly takes the side of the boys against me; +he ridicules my accent; he treats me as no gentleman can treat another, +unless one of them's no gentleman at all! And, Mr. Waymark, I won't +stand ut!" + +Mr. O'Gree's accent was very strong indeed, especially in his present +mood. Waymark listened with what gravity he could command. + +"You're quite right," he said in reply. "Tootle's behaviour was +especially scandalous to-day. I should certainly take some kind of +notice of it." + +"Notuss, sir, notuss! I'll take that amount of notuss of it that all +the metropoluss shall hear of my wrongs. I'll assault 'um, sir; I'll +assault 'um in the face of the school,--the very next time he dares to +provoke me! I'll rise in my might, and smite his bald crown with his +own ruler! I'm not a tall man, Mr. Waymark, but I can reach his crown, +and that he shall be aware of before he knows ut. He sets me at naught +in my own class, sir; he pooh-poohs my mathematical demonstrations, +sir; he encourages my pupils in insubordination! And Mrs. Tootle! +Bedad, if I don't invent some device for revenging myself on that +supercilious woman. The very next time she presumes to address me +disrespectfully at the dinner-table, sir, I'll rise in my might, +sir,--see if I don't!--and I'll say to her, 'Mrs. Tootle, ma'am, you +seem to forget that I'm a gentleman, and have a gentleman's +susceptibilities. When I treat _you_ with disrespect, ma'am, pray tell +me of ut, and I'll inform you you speak an untruth!'" + +Waymark smiled, with the result that the expression of furious wrath +immediately passed from his colleague's countenance, giving place to a +broad grin. + +"Waymark, look here!" exclaimed the Irishman, snatching up a piece of +chalk, and proceeding to draw certain outlines upon a black-board. +"Here's Tootle, a veritable Goliath;--here's me, as it were David. +Observe; Tootle holds in his hand his 'little compendium,' raised in +haughty superciliousness. Observe me with the ruler!--I am on tiptoe; I +am taking aim; there is wrath in every sinew of my arrum! My arrum +descends on the very centre of Tootle's bald pate--" + +"Mr. O'Gree!" + +The tableau was most effective. Unnoticed by either the Irishman or +Waymark, the door had opened behind them, and there had appeared a +little red-faced woman, in slatternly dress. It was Mrs. Tootle. She +had overheard almost the whole of O'Gree's vivid comment upon his +graphic illustration, in silence, until at length she could hold her +peace no longer, and gave utterance to the teacher's name in a voice +which trembled with rage and mortification. + +"Mr. O'Gree! Are you aware of my presence, sir?" + +The chalk dropped from O'Gree's fingers, but otherwise his attitude +remained unaltered; struck motionless with horror, he stood pointing to +the drawing on the board, his face pale, his eyes fascinated by those +of Mrs. Tootle. The latter went on in a high note. + +"Well, sir, as soon as you have had enough of your insulting +buffoonery, perhaps you will have the goodness to attend to me, and to +your duty! What do you mean by allowing the dormitories to get into +this state of uproar? There's been a pillow-fight going on for the last +half-hour, and you pay no sort of attention; the very house is shaking?" + +"I protest I had not heard a sound, ma'am, or I should have--" + +"Perhaps you hear nothing now, sir,--and the doctor suffering from one +of his very worst headaches, utterly unable to rest even if the house +were perfectly quiet!" + +O'Gree darted to the door, past Mrs. Tootle, and was lost to sight. +There was indeed a desperate uproar in the higher regions of the house. +In a moment the noise increased considerably. O'Gree had rushed up +without a light, and was battling desperately in the darkness with a +score of pillow-fighters, roaring out threats the while at the top of +his voice. Mrs. Tootle retired from the masters' room with much +affectation of dignity, leaving the door open behind her. + +Waymark slammed it to, and turned with a laugh to the poor Swiss. + +"In low spirits to-night, I'm afraid, Mr. Egger?" + +Egger let his chair tilt forward, rose slowly, drew a yellow +handkerchief from his mouth and wiped his eyes with it, then exclaimed, +in the most pitiful voice-- + +"Mr. Waymark, I have made my possible!--I can no more!" + +It was his regular phrase on these occasions; Waymark had always much +ado to refrain from laughter when he heard it repeated, but he did his +best to be seriously sympathetic, and to attempt consolation in such +German as was at his command. Egger's despondency only increased, and +he wept afresh to hear accents which were intelligible to him. Mr. +O'Gree re-entered the room, and the Swiss retired to his comer. + +Philip was hot with excitement and bodily exertion; he came in mopping +his forehead, and, without turning to Waymark, stood with eyes fixed on +the chalk caricatures. Very gradually he turned round. Waymark was +watching him, on his face an expression of subdued mirth. Their looks +met, and both exploded in laughter. + +"Bedad, my boy," exclaimed O'Gree, "I'm devilish sorry! I wouldn't have +had it happen for a quarter's salary,--though I sadly need a new pair +of breeches. She's a supercilious cat-o-mountain, and she loses no +opportunity of insulting me, but after all she's a woman." + +"By-the-by, Waymark," he added in a moment, "what a stunner the new +governess is! You're a lucky dog, to sit in the same room with her. +What's her name, I say?" + +"Miss Enderby. You've seen her, have you?" + +"I caught a glimpse of her as she came downstairs; it was quite enough; +she floored me. She's never been out of my thoughts for a minute since +I saw her. 'I love her, I love her, and who shall dare, to chide me for +loving that teacher fair!'" + +"Well, yes," said Waymark, "she has a tolerable face; seems to me a +long way too good to be teaching those unlicked cubs. The dragon wasn't +too civil to her, though it was the first day." + +"Not civil to her? If I were present, and heard that woman breathe the +slight eat incivility, I'd--" + +He broke off in the midst of his vehemence with a startled look towards +the door. + +"Mr. Egger," he exclaimed, "a song; I beg, a song. Come, I'll lead off. + + 'Miss Enderby hath a beaming eye'-- + +Bah! I'm not in voice to-night." + +Egger was persuaded to sit down to the piano. It was a mournful +instrument, reduced to discordant wheeziness by five-finger exercises, +but the touch of the Swiss could still evoke from it some kind of +harmony. He sang a Volkslied, and in a way which showed that there was +poetry in the man's nature, though his outward appearance gave so +little promise of it. His voice was very fair, and well suited to +express the tender pathos of these inimitable melodies. Waymark always +enjoyed this singing; his eyes brightened, and a fine emotion played +about his lips. And as he walked along the dark ways to his lodgings, +Egger's voice was still in his ears-- + +"_Der Mensch wenn er fortgeht, der kommt nimmermefr_." + +"Heaven be thanked, no!" the young man said to himself. + +Poverty was his familiar companion, and had been so for years. His rent +paid each week, there often remained a sum quite insufficient for the +absolute necessities of existence; for anything more, he had to look to +chance pupils in the evenings, and what little he could earn with his +pen. He wrote constantly, but as yet had only succeeded in getting two +articles printed. Then, it was a necessity of his existence to mix from +time to time in the life of the town, and a stroll into the Strand +after nightfall inevitably led to the expenditure of whatever cash his +pocket contained. He was passionately found of the theatre; the lights +about the open entrance drew him on irresistibly, and if, as so often, +he had to choose between a meal and a seat in the gallery, the meal was +sacrificed. Hunger, indeed, was his normal state; semi-starvation, +alternating with surfeits of cheap and unwholesome food, brought about +an unhealthy condition of body. Often he returned to Walcot Square from +his day-long drudgery, and threw himself upon the bed, too exhausted to +light a fire and make his tea,--for he was his own servant in all +things except the weekly cleaning-out of the room. Those were dark +hours, and they had to be struggled through in solitude. + +Weary as he was he seldom went to bed before midnight, sometimes long +after, for he clung to those few hours of freedom with something like +savage obstinacy; during this small portion of each day at least, he +would possess his own soul, be free to think and read. Then came the +penalty of anguish unutterable when the morning had to be faced. These +dark, foggy February mornings crushed him with a recurring misery which +often drove him to the verge of mania. His head throbbing with the +torture of insufficient sleep, he lay in dull half-conscious misery +till there was no longer time to prepare breakfast, and he had to +hasten off to school after a mouthful of dry bread which choked him. +There had been moments when his strength failed, and he found his eyes +filling with tears of wretchedness. To face the hideous drudgery of the +day's teaching often cost him more than it had cost many men to face +the scaffold. The hours between nine and one, the hours between +half-past two and five, Waymark cursed them minute by minute, as their +awful length was measured by the crawling hands of the school-clock. He +tried sometimes, in mere self-defence, to force himself into an +interest in his work, that the time might go the quicker; but the +effort was miserably vain. His senses reeled amid the din and rattle of +classes where discipline was unknown and intelligence almost +indiscoverable. Not seldom his temper got the better even of sick +lassitude; his face at such times paled with passion, and in ungoverned +fury he raved at his tormentors. He awed them, too, but only for the +moment, and the waste of misery swallowed him up once more. + +Was this to be his life?--he asked himself. Would this last for ever? + +For some reason, the morning after the visit to the masters' room just +spoken of found him in rather better spirits than usual. Perhaps it was +that he had slept fairly well; a gleam of unwonted sunshine had +doubtless something to do with it. Yet there was another reason, though +he would scarcely admit it to himself. It was the day on which he gave +a drawing-lesson to Dr. Tootle's two eldest children. These +drawing-lessons were always given in a room upstairs, which was also +appropriated to the governess who came every morning to teach three +other young Tootles, two girls and a boy, the latter considered not yet +old enough to go into the school. On the previous day, Waymark had been +engaged in the room for half an hour touching up some drawings of boys +in the school, which were about to be sent home. He knew that he should +find a fresh governess busy with the children, the lady hitherto +employed having gone at a moment's notice after a violent quarrel with +Mrs. Tootle, an incident which had happened not infrequently before. +When he entered the room, he saw a young woman seated with her back to +him, penning a copy, whilst the children jumped and rioted about her in +their usual fashion. The late governess had been a mature person of +features rather serviceable than handsome; that her successor was of a +different type appeared sufficiently from the fair round head, the +gracefully handed neck, the perfect shoulders, the slight, beautiful +form. Waymark took his place and waited with some curiosity till she +moved. When she did so, and, rising, suddenly became aware of his +presence, there was a little start on both sides; Miss Enderby--so +Waymark soon heard her called by the pupils--had not been aware, owing +to the noise, of a stranger's entrance, and Waymark on his side was so +struck with the face presented to him. He had expected, at the most, a +pretty girl of the commonplace kind: he saw a countenance in which +refinement was as conspicuous as beauty. She was probably not more than +eighteen or nineteen. In speaking with the children she rarely if ever +smiled, but exhibited a gentle forbearance which had something touching +in it; it was almost as though she appealed for gentleness in return, +and feared a harsh word or look. + +"That's Mr. Waymark," cried out Master Percy Tootle, when his overquick +eyes perceived that the two had seen each other. "He's our +drawing-master. Do you like the look of him?" + +Miss Enderby reddened, and laid her hand on the boy's arm, trying to +direct his attention to a book. But the youngster shook off her gentle +touch, and looked at his brothers and sisters with a much too knowing +grin. Waymark had contented himself with a slight bow, and at once bent +again over his work. + +Very shortly the two eldest children, both girls, came in, and with +them their mother. The latter paid no attention to Waymark, but +proceeded to cross-examine the new governess as to her methods of +teaching, her experience, and so on, in the coarse and loud manner +which characterised Mrs. Tootle. + +"You'll find my children clever," said Mrs. Tootle, "at least, that has +been the opinion of all their teachers hitherto. If they don't make +progress, it certainly will not be their own fault. At the same time, +they are high-spirited, and require to be discreetly managed. This, as +I previously informed you, must be done without the help of punishment +in any shape; I disapprove of those methods altogether. Now let me hear +you give them a lesson in geography." + +Waymark retired at this juncture; he felt that it would be nothing less +than cruelty to remain. The episode, however, had lightened his day +with an interest of a very unusual kind. And so it was that, on the +following morning, not only the gleam of watery sunshine, but also the +thought of an hour to be spent in the presence of that timid face, +brought him on his way to the school with an unwonted resignation. +Unfortunately his drawing lessons were only given on two mornings in +the week. Still, there would be something in future to look forward to, +a novel sensation at The Academy. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE COUSINS + + +Harriet Smales had left home in a bad temper that Sunday afternoon, and +when she came back to tea, after her walk with Julian, her state of +mind did not appear to have undergone any improvement. She took her +place at the tea-table in silence. She and Mrs. Ogle were alone this +evening; the latter's husband--he was a journeyman printer, and left +entirely in his wife's hands the management of the shop in Gray's Inn +Road--happened to be away. Mrs. Ogle was a decent, cheerful woman, of +motherly appearance. She made one or two attempts to engage Harriet in +conversation, but, failing, subsided into silence, only looking askance +at the girl from time to time. When she had finished her tea and +bread-and-butter, Harriet coughed, and, without facing her companion, +spoke in rather a cold way. + +"I may be late back to-night, Mrs. Ogle. You won't lock the door?" + +"I sha'n't go to bed till eleven myself," was the reply. + +"But it may be after twelve when I get back." + +"Where are you going to, Harriet?" + +"If you must know always, Mrs. Ogle, I'm going to see my friend in +Westminster." + +"Well, it ain't no business of mine, my girl," returned the woman, not +unkindly, "but I think it's only right I should have some idea where +you spend your nights. As long as you live in my house, I'm responsible +for you, in a way." + +"I don't want any one to be responsible for me, Mrs. Ogle." + +"Maybe not, my girl. But young people ain't always the best judges of +what's good for them, and what isn't. I don't think your cousin 'ud +approve of your being out so late. I shall sit up for you, and you +mustn't be after twelve." + +It was said very decidedly. Harriet made no reply, but speedily dressed +and went out. She took an omnibus eastward, and sought a neighbourhood +which most decently dressed people would have been chary of entering +after nightfall, or indeed at any other time, unless compelled to do +so. The girl found the object of her walk in a dirty little +public-house at the corner of two foul and narrow by-ways. She entered +by a private door, and passed into a parlour, which was behind the bar. + +A woman was sitting in the room, beguiling her leisure with a Sunday +paper. She was dressed with vulgar showiness, and made a lavish display +of jewellery, more or less valuable. Eight years ago she was a servant +in Mr. Smales's house, and her name was Sarah. She had married in the +meanwhile, and become Mrs. Sprowl. + +She welcomed her visitor with a friendly nod, but did not rise. + +"I thought it likely you'd look in, as you missed larst week. How's +things goin' in your part o' the world?" + +"Very badly," returned Harriet, throwing off her hat and cloak, and +going to warm her hands and feet at the fire. "It won't last much +longer, that's the truth of it." + +"Eh well, it's all in a life; we all has our little trials an' +troubles, as the sayin' is." + +"How's the baby?" asked Harriet looking towards a bundle of wrappers +which lay on a sofa. + +"I doubt it's too good for this world," returned the mother, grinning +in a way which made her ugly face peculiarly revolting. "Dessay it'll +join its little brother an' sister before long. Mike put it in the club +yes'day." + +The burial-club, Mrs. Sprowl meant, and Harriet evidently understood +the allusion. + +"Have you walked?" went on the woman, doubling up her paper, and then +throwing it aside. "Dessay you could do with somethin' to take the cold +orff yer chest.--Liz," she called out to some one behind the bar, with +which the parlour communicated by an open door; "two Irish!" + +The liquor was brought. Presently some one called to Mrs. Sprowl, who +went out. Leaning on the counter, in one of the compartments, was +something which a philanthropist might perhaps have had the courage to +claim as a human being; a very tall creature, with bent shoulders, and +head seeming to grow straight out of its chest; thick, grizzled hair +hiding almost every vestige of feature, with the exception of one +dreadful red eye, its fellow being dead and sightless. He had laid on +the counter, with palms downward as if concealing something, two huge +hairy paws. Mrs. Sprowl seemed familiar with the appearance of this +monster; she addressed him rather bad-temperedly, but otherwise much as +she would have spoken to any other customer. + +"No, you don't, Slimy! No, you don't! What you have in this house you +pay for in coppers, so you know. Next time I catch you tryin' to ring +the changes, I'll have you run in, and then you'll get a warm bath, +which you wouldn't partic'lar care for." + +The creature spoke, in hoarse, jumbled words, not easy to catch unless +you listened closely. + +"If you've any accusion to make agin me, Mrs. Sprowl, p'r'aps you'll +wait till you can prove it. I want change for arf a suvrin: ain't that +straight, now?" + +"Straight or not, you won't get no change over this counter, so there +you've the straight tip. Now sling yer 'ook, Slimy, an' get it +somewhere else." + +"If you've any accusion to make--" + +"Hold yer noise!--What's he ordered, Liz?" + +"Pot o' old six," answered the girl. + +"Got sixpence, Slimy?" + +"No, I ain't, Mrs. Sprowl," muttered the creature. "I've got arf a +suvrin." + +"Then go an' get change for it. Now, once more, sling yer 'ook." + +The man moved away, sending back a horrible glare from his one fiery +eyeball. + +Mrs. Sprowl re-entered the parlour. + +"I wish you'd take me on as barmaid, Sarah," Harriet said, when she had +drunk her glass of spirits. + +"Take you on?" exclaimed the other, with surprise. "Why, have you +fallen out with your cousin? I thought you was goin' to be married +soon." + +"I didn't say for sure that I was; I only said I might be. Any way it +won't be just yet, and I'm tired of my place in the shop." + +"Don't you be a fool, Harriet," said the other, with genial frankness. +"You're well enough off. You stick where you are till you get married. +You wouldn't make nothin' at our business; 'tain't all sugar an' lemon, +an' sittin' drinkin' twos o' whisky till further orders. You want a +quiet, easy business, you do, an' you've got it. If you keep worritin' +yerself this way, you won't never make old bones, an' that's the truth. +You wait a bit, an' give yer cousin a chance to arst you,--if that's +what you're troublin' about." + +"I've given him lots o' chances," said Harriet peevishly. + +"Eh well, give him lots more, an' it'll all come right. We're all born, +but we're not buried.--Hev' another Irish?" + +Harriet allowed herself to be persuaded to take another glass. + +When the clock pointed to half-past nine, she rose and prepared to +depart. She had told Mrs. Sprowl that she would take the 'bus and go +straight home; but something seemed to have led her to alter her +purpose, for she made her way to Westminster Bridge, and crossed the +river. Then she made some inquiries of a policeman, and, in +consequence, got into a Kennington omnibus. Very shortly she was set +down close by Walcot Square. She walked about till, with some +difficulty in the darkness, she had discovered the number at which +Julian had told her his friend lived. The house found, she began to +pace up and down on the opposite pavement, always keeping her eyes +fixed on the same door. She was soon shivering in the cold night air, +and quickened her walk. It was rather more than an hour before the door +she was watching at length opened, and two friends came out together. +Harriet followed them as closely as she could, until she saw that she +herself was observed. Thereupon she walked away, and, by a circuit, +ultimately came back into the main road, where she took a 'bus going +northwards. + +Harriet's cousin, when alone of an evening, sat in his bedroom, the +world shut out, his thoughts in long past times, rebuilding the ruins +of a fallen Empire. + +When he was eighteen, the lad had the good luck to light upon a cheap +copy of Gibbon in a second-hand book-shop. It was the first edition; +six noble quarto volumes, clean and firm in the old bindings. Often he +had turned longing eyes upon newer copies of the great book, but the +price had always put them beyond his reach. That very night he solemnly +laid open the first volume at the first page, propping it on a couple +of meaner books, and, after glancing through the short Preface, began +to read with a mind as devoutly disposed as that of any pious believer +poring upon his Bible. "In the second century of the Christian AEra, +the empire of Rome comprehended the fairest part of the earth, and the +most civilised portion of mankind. The frontiers of that extensive +monarchy were guarded by ancient renown and disciplined valour." With +what a grand epic roll, with what anticipations of solemn music, did +the noble history begin! Far, far into the night Julian turned over +page after page, thoughtless of sleep and the commonplace duties of the +morrow. + +Since then he had mastered his Gibbon, knew him from end to end, and +joyed in him more than ever. Whenever he had a chance of obtaining any +of the writers, ancient or modern, to whom Gibbon refers, he read them +and added to his knowledge. About a year ago, he had picked up an old +Claudian, and the reading of the poet had settled him to a task which +he had before that doubtfully sought. He wanted to write either a poem +or a drama on some subject taken from the "Decline and Fall," and now, +with Claudian's help, he fixed upon Stilicho for his hero. The form, he +then decided, should be dramatic. Upon "Stilicho" he had now been +engaged for a year, and to-night he is writing the last words of the +last scene. Shortly after twelve he has finished it, and, throwing down +his pen, he paces about the room with enviable feelings. + +He had not as yet mentioned to Waymark the work he was engaged upon, +though he had confessed that he wrote verses at times. He wished to +complete it, and then read it to his friend. It was now only the middle +of the week, and though he had decided previously to wait till his +visit to Walcot Square next Sunday before saying a word about +"Stilicho," he could not refrain now from hastily penning a note to +Waymark, and going out to post it at once. + +When the day came, the weather would not allow the usual walk with +Harriet, and Julian could not help feeling glad that it was so. He was +too pre-occupied to talk in the usual way with the girl, and he knew +how vain it would be to try and make her understand his state of mind. +Still, he went to see her as usual, and sat for an hour in Mrs. Ogle's +parlour. At times, throughout the week, he had thought of the curious +resemblance between Harriet and the girl he had noticed on leaving +Waymark's house last Sunday, and now he asked her, in a half-jesting +way, whether it had really been she. + +"How could it be?" said Harriet carelessly. "I can't be in two places +at once." + +"Did you stay at home that evening?" + +"No,--not all the evening." + +"What friends are they you go to, when you are out at night, Harriet?" + +"Oh, some relations of the Colchester people.--I suppose you've been +spending most of your time in Kennington since Sunday?" + +"I haven't left home. In fact, I've been very busy. I've just finished +some work that has occupied me for nearly a year." + +After all, he could not refrain from speaking of it, though he had made +up his mind not to do so. + +"Work? What work?" asked Harriet, with the suspicious look which came +into her grey eyes whenever she heard something she could not +understand. + +"Some writing. I've written a play." + +"A play? Will it be acted?" + +"Oh no, it isn't meant for acting." + +"What's the good of it then?" + +"It's written in verse. I shall perhaps try to get it published." + +"Shall you get money for it?" + +"That is scarcely likely. In all probability I shall not be able to get +it printed at all." + +"Then what's the good of it?" repeated Harriet, still suspicious, and a +little contemptuous. + +"It has given me pleasure, that's all." + +Julian was glad when at length he could take his leave. Waymark +received him with a pleased smile, and much questioning. + +"Why did you keep it such a secret? I shall try my hand at a play some +day or other, but, as you can guess, the material will scarcely be +sought in Gibbon. It will be desperately modern, and possibly not +altogether in accordance with the views of the Lord Chamberlain. What's +the time? Four o'clock. We'll have a cup of coffee and then fall to. +I'm eager to hear your 'deep-chested music,' your 'hollow oes and aes.'" + +The reading took some three hours; Waymark smoked a vast number of +pipes the while, and was silent till the close. Then he got up from his +easy-chair, took a step forward, and held out his hand. His face shone +with the frankest enthusiasm. He could not express himself with +sufficient vehemence. Julian sat with the manuscript rolled up in his +hands, on his face a glow of delight. + +"It's very kind of you to speak in this way," he faltered at length. + +"Kind! How the deuce should I speak? But come, we will have this off to +a publisher's forth with. Have you any ideas for the next work?" + +"Yes; but so daring that they hardly bear putting into words." + +"Try the effect on me." + +"I have thought," said Julian, with embarrassment, "of a long poem--an +Epic. Virgil wrote of the founding of Rome; her dissolution is as grand +a subject. It would mean years of preparation, and again years in the +writing. The siege and capture of Rome by Alaric--what do you think?" + +"A work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of +wine. But who knows?" + +There was high talk in Walcot Square that evening. All unknown to its +other inhabitants, the poor lodging-house was converted into a temple +of the Muses, and harmonies as from Apollo's lyre throbbed in the +hearts of the two friends. The future was their inexhaustible subject, +the seed-plot of strange hopes and desires. They talked the night into +morning, hardly daunted when perforce they remembered the day's work. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE WAY OUT + + +The ruling spirit of the Academy was Mrs. Tootle. Her husband's +constitutional headache, and yet more constitutional laziness, left to +her almost exclusively the congenial task of guiding the household, and +even of disciplining the school. In lesson-time she would even flit +about the classrooms, and not scruple to administer sharp rebukes to a +teacher whose pupils were disorderly, the effect of this naturally +being to make confusion worse confounded. The boys of course hated her +with the hatred of which schoolboys alone are capable, and many a +practical joke was played at her expense, not, however, with impunity. +Still more pronounced, if possible, was the animus entertained against +Mrs. Tootle's offspring, and it was upon the head of Master Felix that +the full energy of detestation concentrated itself. He was, in truth, +as offensive a young imp as the soil of a middle-class boarding-school +could well produce. If Mrs. Tootle ruled the Academy, he in turn ruled +Mrs. Tootle, and on all occasions showed himself a most exemplary +autocrat. His position, however, as in the case of certain other +autocratic rulers, had its disadvantages; he could never venture to +wander out of earshot of his father or mother, who formed his +body-guard, and the utmost prudence did not suffice to protect him from +an occasional punch on the head, or a nip in a tender part, meant +probably as earnest of more substantial kindnesses to be conferred upon +him at the very earliest opportunity. + +To poor Egger fell the unpleasant duty of instructing these young +Tootles in the elements of the French language. For that purpose he +went up every morning to the class-room on the first floor, and for a +while relieved Miss Enderby of her charge. With anguish of spirit he +felt the approach of the moment which summoned him to this dread duty, +for, in addition to the lively spite of Master Felix and the other +children, he had to face the awful superintendence of Mrs. Tootle +herself; who was invariably present at these lessons. Mrs. Tootle had +somehow conceived the idea that French was a second mother-tongue to +her, and her intercourse with Mr. Egger was invariably carried on in +that language. Now this was a refinement of torture, seeing that it was +often impossible to gather a meaning from her remarks, whilst to show +any such difficulty was to incur her most furious wrath. Egger trembled +when he heard the rustle of her dress outside, the perspiration stood +on his forehead as he rose and bowed before her. + +"Bon jour, Monsieur," she would come in exclaiming. "Quel un beau +matin! Vous trouverez les jeunes dames et messieurs en bons esprits ce +matin." + +The spirits of Master Felix had manifested themselves already in his +skilfully standing a book upright on the teacher's chair, so that when +Egger subsided from his obeisance he sat down on a sharp edge and was +thrown into confusion. + +"Monsieur Felix," cried his mother, "que faites-vous la?--Les jeunes +messieurs anglais sont plus spirituels que les jeunes messieurs +suisses, n'est ce pas, Monsieur Egger?" + +"En effet, madame," muttered the teacher, nervously arranging his books. + +"Monsieur Egger," exclaimed Mrs. Tootle, with a burst of good humour, +"est-ce vrai ce qu'on dit que les Suisses sont si excessivement sujets +a etre _chez-malades_?" + +The awful moment had come. What on earth did _chez-malades_ mean? Was +he to answer yes or no? In his ignorance of her meaning, either reply +might prove offensive. He reddened, fidgeted on his chair, looked about +him with an anguished mute appeal for help. Mrs. Tootle repeated her +question with emphasis and a change of countenance which he knew too +well. The poor fellow had not the tact to appear to understand, and, as +he might easily have done, mystify her by some idiomatic remark. He +stammered out his apologies and excuses, with the effect of making Mrs. +Tootle furious. + +Then followed a terrible hour, at the end of which poor Egger rushed +down to the Masters' Room, covered his head with his hands and wept, +regardless of the boy strumming his exercises on the piano. Waymark +shortly came in to summon him to some other class, whereupon he rose, +and, with gestures of despair, groaned out-- + +"Let me, let me!--I have made my possible; I can no more!" + +Waymark alone feared neither Mrs. Tootle nor her hopeful son, and, in +turn, was held in some little awe by both of them. The lady had at +first tried the effect of interfering in his classes, as she did in +those of the other masters, but the result was not encouraging. + +"Don't you think, Mr. Waymark," she had said one day, as she walked +through the school-room and paused to listen to our friend's +explanation of some rule in English grammar; "don't you think it would +be better to confine yourself to the terms of the doctor's little +compendium? The boys are used to it." + +"In this case," replied Waymark calmly, "I think the terms of the +compendium are rather too technical for the fourth class." + +"Still, it is customary in this school to use the compendium, and it +has never yet been found unsatisfactory. Whilst you are discoursing at +such length, I observe your class gets very disorderly." + +Waymark looked at her, but kept silence. Mrs. Tootle stood still. + +"What are you waiting for, Mr. Waymark?" she asked sharply. + +"Till your presence has ceased to distract the boys' attention, Mrs. +Tootle," was the straightforward reply. + +The woman was disconcerted, and, as Waymark preserved his calm silence, +she had no alternative but to withdraw, after giving him a look not +easily forgotten. + +But there was another person whose sufferings under the tyranny of +mother and children were perhaps keenest of all. Waymark had frequent +opportunities of observing Miss Enderby under persecution, and learned +to recognise in her the signs of acutest misery. Many times he left the +room, rather than add to her pain by his presence; very often it was as +much as he could do to refrain from taking her part, and defending her +against Mrs. Tootle. He had never been formally introduced to Miss +Enderby, and during several weeks held no kind of communication with +her beyond a "good morning" when he entered the room and found her +there. The first quarter of a year was drawing to a close when there +occurred the first conversation between them. Waymark had been giving +some of the children their drawing-lesson, whilst the governess taught +the two youngest. The class-time being over, the youngsters all +scampered off. For a wonder, Mrs. Tootle was not present, anti Waymark +seized the opportunity to exchange a word with the young lady. + +"I fear your pupils give you dreadful trouble," he said, as he stood by +the window pointing a pencil. + +She started at being spoken to. + +"They are full of life," she replied, in the low sad voice which was +natural to her. + +"Which would all seem to be directed towards shortening that of +others," said Waymark, with a smile. + +"They are intelligent," the governess ventured to suggest, after a +silence. "It would be a pleasure to teach them if they--if they were a +little more orderly." + +"Certainly. If their parents had only common sense--" + +He stopped. A flush had risen to the girl's face, and a slight +involuntary motion of her hand seemed to warn him. The reason was that +Mrs. Tootle stood in the doorway, to which he had his back turned. Miss +Enderby said a quick "good morning" and left him. + +He was taking up some papers, preparatory to leaving the room, when he +noticed that the governess had left behind her a little book in which +she was accustomed to jot down lessons for the children. He took it up +and examined it. On the first page was written "Maud Enderby, South +Bank, Regent's Park." He repeated the name to himself several times. +Then he smiled, recalling the way in which the governess had warned him +that Mrs. Tootle could overhear what he said. Somehow, this slight +gesture of the girl's had seemed to bring them closer to each other; +there was an unpremeditated touch of intimacy in the movement, which it +pleased him to think of. This was by no means the first time that he +had stood with thoughts busied about her, but the brief exchange of +words and what had followed gave something of a new complexion to his +feelings. Previously he had been interested in her; her striking +features had made him wonder what was the history which their +expression concealed; but her extreme reticence and the timid coldness +of her look had left his senses unmoved. Now he all at once experienced +the awakening of quite a new interest; there had been something in her +eyes as they met his which seemed to desire sympathy; he was struck +with the possibilities of emotion in the face which this one look had +revealed to him. Her situation seemed, when he thought of it, to affect +him more strongly than hitherto; he felt that it would be more +difficult henceforth to maintain his calmness when he saw her insulted +by Mrs. Tootle or disrespectfully used by the children. + +Nor did the new feelings subside as rapidly as they had arisen. At home +that night he was unable to settle to his usual occupations, and, as a +visit to his friends in the Masters' Room would have been equally +distasteful, he rambled about the streets and so tired himself. His +duties did not take him up to the children's classroom on the following +morning, but he invented an excuse for going there, and felt rewarded +by the very faint smile and the inclination of the head with which Miss +Enderby returned his "good morning." Day after day, he schemed to +obtain an opportunity of speaking with her again, and he fancied that +she herself helped to remove any chances that might have occurred. +Throughout his lessons, his attention remained fixed upon her; he +studied her face intently, and was constantly discovering in it new +meanings. When she caught his eyes thus busy with her, she evinced, for +a moment, trouble and uneasiness; he felt sure that she arranged her +seat so as to have her back to him more frequently than she had been +accustomed to do. Her work appeared to him to be done with less +self-forgetfulness than formerly; the rioting and impertinence of the +children seemed to trouble her more; she bore Mrs. Tootle's +interference with something like fear. Once, when Master Felix had gone +beyond his wonted licence, in his mother's absence, Waymark went so far +as to call him to order. As soon as he had spoken, the girl looked up +at him in a startled way, and seemed silently to beg him to refrain. +All this only strengthened the influence she exercised upon Waymark. + +Since the climax of wretchedness which had resulted in his +advertisement and the forming of Julian Casti's acquaintance, a +moderate cheerfulness had possessed him. Now he once more felt the +clouds sinking about him, was aware of many a threatening portent, the +meaning whereof he too well understood. There had been a week or two of +prevailing bad weather, a state of things which always wrought +harmfully upon him; his thoughts darkened under the dark sky, and the +daily downpour of rain sapped his energies. It was within a few days of +Easter, but the prospect of a holiday had no effect upon him. Night +after night he lay in fever and unrest. He felt as though some voice +were calling upon him to undertake a vaguely hazardous enterprise which +yet he knew not the nature of. + +On one of these evenings, Mr. O'Gree announced to him that Miss Enderby +was going to give up her position at the end of the quarter. Philip had +gathered this from a conversation heard during the day between Dr. +Tootle and his wife. + +"The light of my life will be gone out," exclaimed O'Gree, "when I am +no longer able to catch a glimpse of her as she goes past the +schoolroom door. And I've never even had a chance of speaking to her. +You know the tale of Raleigh and Queen Elizabeth. Suppose I were to +rush out and throw my top-coat on the muddy door-step, just as she's +going out; d'ye think she'd say thank you?" + +"Probably," muttered Waymark, without knowing what he said. It was Mr. +O'Gree's habit to affect this violent devotion to each new governess in +turn, but Waymark did not seem to find the joke amusing at present. + +"Bedad, I'll do it then! Or, rather, I would, if I'd two top-coats. +Hang it! There's no behaving like a gentleman on twenty-five pounds a +year." + +Waymark walked about the streets the greater part of the night, and the +next morning came to school rather late. Dr. Tootle had to consult with +him about some matter as soon as he arrived. + +"You seem indisposed, Mr. Waymark," the doctor remarked, when he had in +vain tried to elicit intelligible replies to his questions. + +"I am a little out of sorts," the other returned carelessly. "Perhaps +we could talk about these things to-morrow." + +"As you please," said Dr. Tootle, a little surprised at his assistant's +indifference. + +It was a drawing-lesson morning. As he went upstairs, his ears apprised +him of the state of things he would find in Miss Enderby's room. The +approach of the Easter holidays was making the youngsters even more +than usually uproarious, and their insubordination had passed beyond +all pretence of attending to tasks. When Waymark entered, his first +glance, as always, was towards the governess. She looked harassed and +ill; was in vain endeavouring to exert some authority with her gentle +voice. Her eyes showed unmistakable gratitude as the teacher appeared, +for his approach meant that she would be relieved from the three elder +children. Waymark called sharply to his pupils to come and take their +places, but without any attention on their part. Master Felix openly +urged the rest to assume a defiant attitude, and began to improvise +melodies on a trumpet formed by rolling up a copy-book. + +"Felix," said Miss Enderby, "give me your copy-book and go to the +drawing-lesson." + +The boy removed the trumpet from his mouth, and, waving it once round +his head, sent it flying across the room at the speaker; it hit her on +the cheek. In the same minute, Waymark had bent across his knee a large +pointer which stood in a corner of the room, and had snapped it into +two pieces. Holding the lighter of these in one hand, with the other +hand he suddenly caught Master Felix by the coat-collar, and in a +second had him out of the room and on to the landing. Then did the +echoes of the Academy wake to such a bellowing as they had probably +never heard before. With a grip impossible even to struggle against, +Waymark held the young imp under his arm, and plied the broken pointer +with great vigour; the stripes were almost as loud as the roarings. +There was a rush from the rooms below in the direction of the +disturbance; all the boys were in a trice leaping about delightedly on +the stairs, and behind them came O'Gree, Egger, and Dr. Tootle himself. +From the room above rushed out all the young Tootles, yelling for help. +Last of all, from still higher regions of the house there swept down a +vision of disordered female attire, dishevelled hair, and glaring eyes; +it was Mrs. Tootle, disturbed at her toilet, forgetting all +considerations of personal appearance at the alarming outcry. Just as +she reached the spot, Waymark's arm dropped in weariness; he flung the +howling young monkey into one corner, the stick into another, and +deliberately pulled his coat-sleeves into position once more. He felt +vastly better for the exercise, and there was even a smile on his +heated face. + +"You brutal ruffian!" shrieked Mrs. Tootle. "How dare you touch my +child? You shall answer for this in the police court, sir." + +"Waymark," cried her husband, who had struggled to the scene through +the crowd of cheering boys, "what's the meaning of this? You forget +yourself, sir. Who gave you authority to use corporal chastisement?" + +"The boy has long deserved a good thrashing," he said, "and I'm glad I +lost my temper sufficiently to give him a portion of his deserts. If +you wish to know the immediate cause, it simply was that he threw a +book at his governess's head and hit her." + +"Mr. O'Gree," called out the doctor, "take your boys back to their +duties, sir! I am quite unable to understand this disgraceful lack of +discipline. Every boy who is not at his seat in one minute will have +five hundred verses of the Psalms to write out!--Mr. Waymark, I shall +be obliged to you if you will step into my study." + +Five minutes after, Waymark was closeted with Dr. Tootle. The latter +had all at once put off his appearance of indignation. + +"Really," he began, "it's a great pity you let yourself be carried away +like that. I think it very probable indeed that Felix deserved +castigation of some kind, but you would have done much better to report +him to me, you know, and let me see to it. You have put me in an +awkward position. I fear you must make an apology to Mrs. Tootle, and +then perhaps the matter can be allowed to blow over." + +"I think not," replied Waymark, whose mind was evidently made up. There +was a look of recklessness on his face which one could at any time have +detected lurking beneath the hard self-control which usually marked +him. "I don't feel disposed to apologise, and I am tired of my position +here. I must give it up." + +Dr. Tootle was annoyed. It would not be easy to get another teacher of +the kind at so cheap a rate. + +"Come, you don't mean this," he said. "You are out of temper for the +moment. Perhaps the apology could be dispensed with; I think I may +promise that it can be. The lad will be no worse for his little +correction. Possibly we can come to some more satisfactory arrangements +for the future--" + +"No," interposed Waymark; "I have quite made up my mind. I mean to give +up teaching altogether; it doesn't suit me. Of course I am willing to +come as usual the next two days." + +"You are aware that this notice should have been given me at the +beginning of the quarter?" hinted the principal. + +"Oh yes. Of course you will legally owe me nothing. I am prepared for +that." + +"Well, I shall have to consider it. But I still think that you--" + +"As far as I am concerned, the matter is decided. I go at Easter." + +"Very well. I think you are blind to your own interest, but of course +you do as you please. If Mrs. Tootle should press me to take out a +summons against you for assault, of course I--" + +"Good morning, Dr. Tootle." + +The summons was not taken out, but Waymark's resolution suffered no +change. There was another interview between him and the principal, from +which he issued with the sum of six pounds ten in his pocket, being +half the quarter's salary. He had not applied for this, but did not +refuse it when it was offered. Seeing that the total amount of cash +previously in his possession was something less than five shillings, he +did wisely, perhaps, to compromise with his dignity, and let Dr. Tootle +come out of the situation with a certain show of generosity. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +BY THE WAYSIDE + + +"So there ends another chapter. How many more to the end of the story? +How many more scenes till the farce is played out? There is something +flattering to one's vanity in this careless playing with fate; it is +edifying, moreover, to sot circumstances at defiance in this way, now +and then, to assert one's freedom. Freedom! What a joke the word must +be to whoever is pulling the wires and making us poor puppets dance at +his pleasure. Pity that we have to pay the piper so heavily for our +involuntary jigging!" + +A passage from the letter Waymark wrote to his friend Casti, on the +evening when his school-work came to an end. That night he sought rest +early, and slept well. The sensations with which he woke next morning +were such as he had not experienced for a long time. He was at +liberty,--with six pounds ten in his pocket. He could do what he liked +and go whither he liked,--till lack of a dinner should remind him that +a man's hardest master is his own body. He dressed leisurely, and, +having dressed, treated himself to an egg for breakfast. Absolutely no +need for hurry; the thought of school-hours dismissed for ever; a +horizon quite free from the vision of hateful toil; in the real sky +overhead a gleam of real sunshine, as if to make credible this sudden +change. His mood was still complete recklessness, a revolt against the +idea of responsibility, indifference to all beyond the moment. + +It was Thursday; the morrow would be Good Friday; after that the +intervention of two clear days before the commencement of a new week In +the meantime the sun was really shining, and the fresh spring air +invited to the open ways. Waymark closed the door of his room behind +him, and went downstairs, whistling to himself. But, before reaching +the bottom, he turned and went back again. It seemed warm enough to sit +in one of the parks and read. He laid his hand on a book, almost at +haphazard, to put in his pocket. Then he walked very leisurely along +Kennington Road, and on, and on, till he had crossed the river. + +Wondering in which direction he should next turn, he suddenly found +himself repeating, with unaccountable transition of thought, the words +"South Bank, Regent's Park." In all likelihood, he said to himself +presently, they were suggested by some inscription on a passing +omnibus, noted unconsciously. The address was that he had read in Miss +Enderby's note-book. Why not ramble in that direction as well as +another, and amuse himself by guessing which house it was that the +governess lived in? He had not seen her since the uproar which had +terminated his connection with the young Tootles. Was it true that she +had then already decided to give up her position? If not, his outbreak +of temper had doubtless resulted unpleasantly for her, seeing that Mrs. +Tootle would almost certainly dismiss her out of mere spite. Several +times during the last two days he had thought of conveying to her a +note by some means, to express in some way or other this fear, and the +regret it caused him; the real motive, he knew well enough, would be a +hope of receiving a reply from her. But now she had perhaps left the +school, and he did not know her exact address. He made his way across +the Park in the direction of St. John's Wood, and had soon reached +South Bank. + +He had walked once the length of the road, and was looking at the +nearest houses before he turned, when a lady came round the corner and +paused to avoid him, as he stood in the middle of the pavement. It was +Miss Enderby herself. Her embarrassment was apparently not as great as +his own. She smiled with friendliness; seemed indeed in a happier frame +of mind than any in which Waymark had as yet seen her. But she did not +offer her hand, and the other, having raised his hat, was almost on the +point of passing on, when he overcame his diffidence and spoke. + +"I came here to try and discover where you lived, Miss Enderby." + +There was something grotesque in this abruptness; his tone only saved +it from impertinence. The girl looked at him with frank surprise. + +"Pray don't misunderstand me," he went on hurriedly. "I wished, if +possible, to--well, to tell you that I feared I acted thoughtlessly the +other day; without regard, I mean, to any consequences it might have +for yourself." + +"Rather I ought to thank you for defending me. It made no difference in +the way you mean. It had already been decided that I should leave. I +did not suit Mrs. Tootle." + +It was very pleasant to look down into her earnest face, and watch it +as she spoke in this unrestrained way. She seemed so slight and frail, +evidently thought so depreciatingly of herself, looked as though her +life had in it so little joy, that Waymark had speedily assumed a +confident attitude, and gazed at her as a man does at one whom he would +gladly guard and cherish. + +"You were certainly unsuited for the work, in every way," he said, with +a smile. "Your efforts were quite wasted there. Still, I am sorry you +have left." + +"I am going into a family," were her next words, spoken almost +cheerfully. "It is in the country, in Essex. There are only two +children, quite young. I think I shall succeed better with them; I hope +so." + +"Then I suppose," Waymark said, moving a little and keeping his eyes +fixed on her with an uneasy look, "I shall--I must say good-bye to you, +for the last time?" + +A scarcely heard "yes" fell from her lips. Her eyes were cast down. + +"I am going to make a bold request," Waymark exclaimed, with a sort of +recklessness, though his voice expressed no less respect than hitherto. +"Will you tell me where you are going to?" + +She told him, without looking up, and with a recurrence to the timid +manner which had marked her in the schoolroom. This gave Waymark +encouragement; his confidence grew as hers diminished. + +"Will you let me write to you--occasionally? Would you let me keep up +our acquaintance in this way,--so that, if you return to London, I +might look forward to meeting you again some time?" + +The girl answered timidly-- + +"I shall be glad to keep up our acquaintance. I shall be glad to hear +from you." + +Then, at once feeling that she had gone too far, her confusion made her +pale. Waymark held out his hand, as if to take leave. + +"Thank you very much," he said warmly. "I am very grateful." + +She gave him a quick "good-bye," and then passed on. Waymark moved at +once in the opposite direction, turning the corner. Then he wished to +go back and notice which house she entered, but would not do so lest +she should observe him. He walked straight forwards. + +How the aspect of the world had changed for him in these few minutes; +what an incredible revolution had come to pass in his own desires and +purposes t The intellectual atmosphere he breathed was of his own +creation; the society of cultured people he had never had an +opportunity of enjoying. A refined and virtuous woman had hitherto +existed for him merely in the sanctuary of his imagination; he had +known not one such. If he passed one in the street, the effect of the +momentary proximity was only to embitter his thoughts, by reminding him +of the hopeless gulf fixed between his world and that in which such +creatures had their being. In revenge, he tried to soil the purity of +his ideals; would have persuaded himself that the difference between +the two spheres was merely in externals, that he was imposed upon by +wealth, education, and superficial refinement of manners. Happily he +had never really succeeded in thus deceiving himself, and the effort +had only served to aggravate his miseries. The habit of mind, however, +had shown itself in the earlier stages of his acquaintance with Miss +Enderby. The first sight of her had moved him somewhat, but scarcely +with any foreshadowing of serious emotion. He felt that she was +different from any woman with whom he had ever stood on an equal +footing; but, at the same time, the very possibility of establishing +more or less intimate relations with her made him distrustful of his +judgment. In spite of himself, he tried to disparage her qualities. She +was pretty, he admitted, but then of such a feeble, characterless type; +doubtless her understanding corresponded with the weakness of her +outward appearance. None the less, he had continued to observe her +keenly, and had noted with pleasure every circumstance which +contradicted his wilful depreciation of her. His state of mind after +the thrashing he gave to young Tootle had been characteristic. What had +been the cause of his violence? Certainly not uncontrollable anger, for +he had in reality been perfectly cool throughout the affair; simply, +then, the pleasure of avenging Miss Enderby. And for this he had +sacrificed his place, and left himself without resources. He had acted +absurdly; certainly would not have repeated the absurdity had the scene +been to act over again. This was not the attitude of one in love, and +he knew it. Moreover, though he had thought of writing to her, it would +in reality have cost him nothing if she had forthwith passed out of his +sight and knowledge. Now how all this had been altered, by a mere +chance meeting. The doubts had left him; she was indeed the being from +a higher world that he would have liked to believe her from the first; +the mysterious note of true sympathy had been struck in that short +exchange of words and looks, and, though they had taken leave of each +other for who could say how long, mutual knowledge was just beginning, +real intercourse about to be established between them. He might write +to her, and of course she would reply. + +He walked without much perception of time or distance, and found +himself at home just before nightfall. He felt disposed for a quiet +evening, to be spent in the companionship of his thoughts. But when he +had made his coffee and eaten with appetite after the day's rambling, +restlessness again possessed him. After all, it was not retirement that +he needed; these strange new Imaginings would consort best with motion +and the liveliness of the streets. So he put out his lamp, and once +more set forth. The night air freshened his spirits; he sang to himself +as he went along. It was long since he had been to a theatre, and just +now he 'vas so hopelessly poor that he could really afford a little +extravagance. So he was soon sitting before the well-known drop of a +favourite play-house, as full of light-hearted expectancy as a boy who +is enjoying a holiday. The evening was delightful, and passed all too +quickly. + +The play over, he was in no mood to go straight home. He lit a cigar +and drifted with the current westward, out of the Strand and into Pall +Mall. A dispute between a cabdriver and his fare induced him to pause +for a moment under the colonnade, and, when the little cluster of +people had moved on, he still stood leaning against one of the pillars, +enjoying the mild air and the scent of his cigar. He felt his elbow +touched, and, looking round with indifference, met the kind of greeting +for which he was prepared. He shook his head and did not reply; then +the sham gaiety of the voice all at once turned to a very real misery, +and the girl began to beg instead of trying to entice him in the +ordinary way. He looked at her again, and was shocked at the ghastly +wretchedness of her daubed face. She was ill, she said, and could +scarcely walk about, but must get money somehow; if she didn't, her +landlady wouldn't let her sleep in the house again, and she had nowhere +else to go to. There could be no mistake about the genuineness of her +story, at all events as far as bodily suffering went. Waymark +contrasted her state with his own, and took out what money he had in +his pocket; it was the change out of a sovereign which he had received +at the theatre, and he gave her it all. She stared, and did not +understand. + +"Are you coming with me?" she asked, feeling obliged to make a hideous +attempt at professional coaxing in return for such generosity. + +"Good God, no!" Waymark exclaimed. "Go home and take care of yourself." + +She thanked him warmly, and turned away at once. As his eye followed +her, he was aware that somebody else had drawn near to him from behind. +This also was a girl, but of a different kind. She was well dressed, +and of graceful, rounded form; a veil almost hid her face, but enough +could be seen to prove that she had good looks. + +"That a friend of yours?" she asked abruptly, and her voice was +remarkably full, clear, and sweet. + +Waymark answered with a negative, looking closely at her. + +"Then why did you give her all that money?" + +"How do you know what I gave her?" + +"I was standing just behind here, and could see." + +"Well?" + +"Nothing; only I should think you are one out of a thousand. You saved +me a sovereign, too; I've watched her begging of nearly a dozen people, +and I couldn't have stood it much longer." + +"You would have given her a sovereign?" + +"I meant to, if she'd failed with you." + +"Is she a friend of yours?" + +"Never saw her before to-night." + +"Then you must be one out of a thousand." + +The girl laughed merrily. + +"In that case," she said, "we ought to know each other, shouldn't we?" + +"If we began by thinking so well of each other," returned Waymark, +smiling, "we should not improbably suffer a grievous disappointment +before long." + +"Well, _you_ might. You have to take my generosity on trust, but I have +proof of yours." + +"You're an original sort of girl," said Waymark, throwing away the end +of his cigar. "Do you talk to everybody in this way?" + +"Pooh, of course not. I shouldn't be worth much if I couldn't suit my +conversation to the man I want to make a fool of. Would you rather have +me talk in the usual way? Shall I say--" + +"I had rather not." + +"Well, I knew that." + +"And how?" + +"Well, _you_ don't wear a veil, if I do." + +"You can read faces?" + +"A little, I flatter myself. Can you?" + +"Give me a chance of trying." + +She raised her veil, and he inspected her for some moments, then looked +away. + +"Excellently well, if God did all," he observed, with a smile. + +"That's out of a play," she replied quickly. "I heard it a little time +ago, but I forget the answer. I'd have given anything to be able to cap +you! Then you'd have put me down for a clever woman, and I should have +lived on the reputation henceforth and for ever. But it's all my own, +indeed; I'm not afraid of crying." + +"_Do_ you ever cry? I can't easily imagine it." + +"Oh yes, sometimes," she answered, sighing, and at the same time +lowering her veil again. "But you haven't read my face for me." + +"It's a face I'm sorry to have seen." + +"Why?" she asked, holding her hands clasped before her, the palms +turned outwards. + +"I shall think of it often after tonight, and imagine it with all its +freshness gone, and marks of suffering and degradation upon it." + +"Suffering, perhaps; degradation, no. Why should I be degraded?" + +"You can't help yourself. The life you have chosen brings its +inevitable consequences." + +"Chosen!" she repeated, with an indignant face. "How do you know I had +any choice in the matter? You have no right to speak contemptuously, +like that." + +"Perhaps not. Certainly not. I should have said--the life you are +evidently leading." + +"Well, I don't know that it makes so much difference. I suppose +everybody has a choice at all events between life and death, and you +mean that I ought to have killed myself rather than come to this. +That's my own business, however, and--" + +A man had just passed behind them, and, catching the sound of the +girl's voice, had turned suddenly to look at her. She, at the same +moment, looked towards him, and stopped all at once in her speech. + +"Are you walking up Regent Street?" she asked Waymark, in quite a +different voice. "Give me your arm, will you?" + +Waymark complied, and they walked together in the direction she +suggested. + +"What is the matter with you?" he asked. "Why are you trembling?" + +"Don't look round. It's that fellow behind us; I know he is following." + +"Somebody you know?" + +"Yes, and hate. Worse than that, I'm afraid of him. Will you keep with +me till he's gone?" + +"Of course I will. What harm can he do you though?" + +"None that I know of. It's a strange stupid feeling I have. I can't +bear the sight of him. Don't look round!" + +"Has he been a--a friend of yours?" + +"No, no; not in that way. But he follows me about. He'll drive me out +of London, I know." + +They had reached Piccadilly Circus. + +"Look back now," she said, "and see if he's following still." + +Waymark turned his head; the man was at a little distance behind. He +stopped when he saw himself observed, and stood on the edge of the +pavement, tapping his boot with his cane. He was a tall and rather +burly fellow, well dressed, with a clean-shaven face. + +"Let's make haste round the corner," the girl said, "and get into the +restaurant. You must have some supper with me." + +"I should be very happy, had I a penny in my pocket." + +"See how easily good deeds are forgotten," returned the other, laughing +in the old way. "Now comes my turn to give proof of generosity. Come +and have some supper all the same." + +"No; that's out of the question." + +"Fiddlestick Surely you won't desert me when I ask your protection? +Come along, and pay me back another time, if you like." + +They walked round the corner, then the girl started and ran at her full +speed. Waymark followed in the same way, somewhat oppressed by a sense +of ridiculousness. They reached the shelter of the restaurant, and the +girl led the way upstairs, laughing immoderately. + +Supper was served to them, and honoured with due attention by both. +Waymark had leisure to observe his companion's face in clearer light. +It was beautiful, and, better still, full of character. + +He presently bent forward to her, and spoke in a low voice. + +"Isn't this the man who followed us just coming in now? Look, he has +gone to the table on the right." + +She looked round hastily, and shuddered, for she had met the man's eyes. + +"Why did you tell me?" she exclaimed impatiently. "Now I can't finish +my supper. Wait till he has given his order, and then we will go." + +Waymark examined this mysterious persecutor. In truth, the countenance +was no good one, and a woman might well dislike to have such eyes +turned upon her. It was a strong face; coarse originally, and, in +addition to the faults of nature, it now bore the plainest traces of +hard living. As soon as he perceived Waymark and his companion, he +fixed them with his eyes, and scarcely looked away as long as they +remained in the room. The girl seemed shrinking under this gaze, though +she sat almost with her back to him. She ceased talking, and, as soon +as she saw that Waymark had finished, made a sign to him to pay quickly +(with a sovereign she pushed across the table) and let them be gone. +They rose, accordingly, and left. The man watched them, but remained +seated. + +"Are you in a hurry to get home?" the girl asked, when they were in the +street again. + +"No; time is of no consequence to me." + +"Do you live far off?" + +"In Kennington. And you?" + +"If you like, I'll show you. Let us walk quickly. I feel rather cold." + +She led the way into the Strand. At no great distance from Temple Bar +she turned off into a small court. + +"This is a queer place to live in," observed Waymark, as he looked up +at the dark houses. + +"Don't be afraid," was the good-humoured reply, as she opened the door +with a latch-key. They went up two flights of stairs, then entered a +room where a bright fire was burning. Waymark's conductor held a piece +of paper to the flame, and lit a lamp. It was a small, pleasantly +furnished sitting-room. + +"Do you play?" Waymark asked, seeing an open piano, with music upon it. + +"I only wish I could. My landlady's daughter is giving me lessons. But +I think I'm getting on. Listen to me do this exercise." + +She sat down, and, with much conscientious effort, went over some +simple bars. Then she looked up at her companion and caught him smiling. + +"Well," she exclaimed, in a pet, "you must begin at the beginning in +everything, mustn't you? Come and let me hear what you can do." + +"Not even so much." + +"Then don't laugh at a poor girl doing her best. You have such a queer +smile too; it seems both ill-natured and good-natured at the same time. +Now wait a minute till I come back." + +She went into an inner room, and closed the door behind her. In five +minutes it opened again. She appeared in a dressing gown and with her +feet in slippers. Her fine hair fell heavily about her shoulders; in +her arms she held a beautiful black cat, with white throat and paws. + +"This is my child. Don't you admire him? Shake hands, Grim." + +"Why Grim?" + +"It's short for Grimalkin. The name of a cat in a hook of fairy tales I +used to be fond of reading. Don't you think he's got a beautiful face, +and a good deal more intelligent than some people we could mention? I +picked him up on our door-step, two months ago. Oh, you never saw such +a wretched little object, dripping with rain, and with such a poor +starved little face, and bones almost coming through the skin. He +looked up at me, and begged me as plain as plain could be to have pity +on him and help him; didn't you, Grimmy? And so I brought him upstairs, +and made him comfortable, and now we shall never part.--Do you like +animals?" + +"Yes." + +The door of the room suddenly opened, and there sprang in a +fresh-coloured young girl in hat and jacket, short, plump, pretty, and +looking about seventeen. She started back on seeing that the room was +occupied. + +"What is it, Sally?" asked Grim's mistress, with a good-natured laugh. + +"Why, Mrs. Walter told me you wasn't in yet; I'm awful sorry, I beg +your pardon." + +She spoke with a strong south-west-country accent. + +"Do you want me?" + +"It's only for Grim," returned Sally, showing something which she held +wrapped up in paper. "I'd brought un home a bit o' fish, a nice bit +without bone; it'll just suit he." + +"Then come and give it he," said the other, with a merry glance at +Waymark. "But he mustn't make a mess on the hearthrug." + +"Oh, trust un for that," cried Sally. "He won't pull it off the paper." + +Grim was accordingly provided with his supper, and Sally ran away with +a "good-night." + +"Who's that?" Waymark asked. "Where on earth does she come from?" + +"She's from Weymouth. They talk queerly there, don't they? She lives in +the house, and goes to business. Sally and I are great friends." + +"Do you come from the country?" Waymark inquired, as she sat down in an +easy-chair and watched the cat eating. + +"No, I'm a London girl. I've never been out of the town since I was a +little child." + +"And how old are you now?" + +"Guess." + +"Not twenty." + +"Eighteen a month ago. All my life before me, isn't it?" + +Waymark kept silence for a moment. + +"How do you like my room?" she asked suddenly, looking round. + +"It's very comfortable. I always thought there were nothing but +business places all about here. I should rather like to live in the +very middle of the town, like this." + +"Should you? That's just what I like. Oh, how I enjoy the noise and the +crowds! I should be ill if I had to live in one of those long, dismal +streets, where the houses are all the same shape, and costermongers go +bawling about all day long. I suppose you live in a place like that?" + +"Very much the same." + +In taking his handkerchief out, Waymark just happened to feel a book in +his overcoat-pocket. He drew it forth to see what it was, having +forgotten entirely that he had been carrying the volume about with him +since morning. + +"What's that?" asked the girl. "Will you let me look? Is it a tale? +Lend it me; will you?" + +"Do you read books?" + +"Oh yes; why not? Let me keep this till you come again. Is this your +name written here--Osmond Waymark?" + +"Yes. And what is your name?" + +"Ida Starr." + +"Ida? That's a beautiful name. I was almost afraid to ask you, for fear +it should be something common." + +"And why shouldn't I have a common name?" + +"Because you are by no means a common girl." + +"You think not? Well, perhaps you are right. But may I keep the book +till I see you again?" + +"I had better give it you, for it isn't very likely you will see me +again." + +"Why not?" + +"My acquaintance would be anything but profitable to you. I often +haven't enough money to live on, and--" + +Ida stooped down and played for a few moments with Grim, who turned +over lazily on to his back, and stroked his mistress's hands delicately +with his soft white paws. + +"But you are a gentleman," she said, rising again, and rustling over +the pages of the book she still held. "Are you in the city?" + +"The Lord deliver me!" + +"What then?" + +"I am nothing." + +"Then you must be rich." + +"It by no means follows. Yesterday I was a teacher in a school. To-day +I am what is called out of work." + +"A teacher. But I suppose you'll get another place." + +"No. I've given it up because I couldn't endure it any longer." + +"And how are you going to live?" + +"I have no idea." + +"Then you must have been very foolish to give away your money like that +to-night." + +"I don't pretend to much wisdom. If I had had another sovereign in my +pocket, no doubt I should have given it you before this, and you +wouldn't have refused it." + +"How do you know?" she asked sharply. "Why should you think me selfish?" + +"Certainly I have no reason to. And by the by, I already owe you money +for the supper. I will send it you to-morrow." + +"Why not bring it?" + +"Better not. I have a good deal of an unpleasant quality which people +call pride, and I don't care to make myself uncomfortable +unnecessarily." + +"You can't have more pride than I have. Look." She held out her hands. +"Will you be my friend, really my friend? You understand me?" + +"I think I understand, but I doubt whether it is possible." + +"Everything is possible. Will you shake hands with me, and, when you +come to see me again, let us meet as if I were a modest girl, and you +had got to know me in a respectable house, and not in the street at +midnight?" + +"You really wish it? You are not joking?" + +"I am in sober earnest, and I wish it. You won't refuse?" + +"If I did I should refuse a great happiness." + +He took her hand and again released it. + +"And now look at the time," said she, pointing to a clock on the +mantelpiece. "Half-past one. How will you get home?" + +"Walk. It won't take me more than an hour. May I light my pipe before I +start?" + +"Of course you may. When shall I see you again?" + +"Shall we say this night next week?" + +"Very well. Come here any time you like in the evening. I will be at +home after six. And then I can give you your book back." + +Waymark lit his pipe, stooped to give Grim a stroke, and buttoned up +his coat. Ida led the way downstairs. They shook hands again, and +parted. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +RENT DAY + + +It was much after his usual hour when Waymark awoke on Good Friday +morning. He had been troubled throughout the night with a strangely +vivid dream, which seemed to have repeated itself several times; when +he at length started into consciousness the anguish of the vision was +still upon him. + +He rose at once, and dressed quickly, doing his best to shake off the +clinging misery of sleep. In a little while it had passed, and he tried +to go over in his mind the events of the preceding day. Were they, too, +only fragments of a long dream? Surely so many and strange events could +not have crowded themselves into one period of twelve hours; and for +him, whose days passed with such dreary monotony. The interview with +Maud Enderby seemed so unnaturally long ago; that with Ida Starr, so +impossibly fresh and recent. Yet both had undoubtedly taken place. He, +who but yesterday morning had felt so bitterly his loneliness in the +world, and, above all, the impossibility of what he most longed +for--woman's companionship--found himself all at once on terms of at +least friendly intimacy with two women, both young, both beautiful, yet +so wholly different. Each answered to an ideal which he cherished, and +the two ideals were so diverse, so mutually exclusive. The experience +had left him in a curious frame of mind. For the present, he felt cool, +almost indifferent, to both his new acquaintances. He had asked and +obtained leave to write to Maud Enderby; what on earth could he write +about? How could he address her? He had promised to go and see Ida +Starr, on a most impracticable footing. Was it not almost certain that, +before the day came round, her caprice would have vanished, and his +reception would prove anything but a flattering one? The feelings which +both girls had at the time excited in him seemed artificial; in his +present mood he in vain tried to resuscitate his interest either in the +one or the other. It was as though he had over-exerted his emotional +powers, and they lay exhausted. Weariness was the only reality of which +he was conscious. He must turn his mind to other things. Having +breakfasted, he remembered what day it was, and presently took down a +volume of his Goethe, opening at the Easter morning scene in Faust, +favourite reading with him. This inspired him with a desire to go into +the open air; it was a bright day, and there would be life in the +streets. Just as he began to prepare himself for walking, there came a +knock at his door, and Julian Casti entered. + +"Halloa!" Waymark cried. "I thought you told me you were engaged with +your cousin to-day." + +"I was, but I sent her a note yesterday to say I was unable to meet +her." + +"Then why didn't you write at the same time and tell me you were +coming? I might have gone out for the day." + +"I had no intention of coming then." + +"What's the matter? You look out of sorts." + +"I don't feel in very good spirits. By the by, I heard from the +publishers yesterday. Here's the note." + +It simply stated that Messrs. So-and-so had given their best attention +to the play of "Stilicho," which Mr. Casti had been so good as to +submit to them, and regretted their inability to make any proposal for +its publication, seeing that its subject was hardly likely to excite +popular interest. They thanked the author for offering it to them, and +begged to return the MS. + +"Well, it's a disappointment," said Waymark, "but we must try again. I +myself am so hardened to this kind of thing that I fear you will think +me unsympathetic. It's like having a tooth out. You never quite get +used to it, but you learn after two or three experiments to gauge the +moment's torture at its true value. Re-direct your parcel, and fresh +hope beats out the old discouragement." + +"It wasn't altogether that which was making me feel restless and +depressed," Casti said, when they had left the house and were walking +along. "I suppose I'm not quite right in health just at present. I seem +to have lost my natural good spirits of late; the worst of it is, I +can't settle to my day's work as I used to. In fact, I have just been +applying for a new place, that of dispenser at the All Saints' +Hospital. If I get it, it would make my life a good deal more +independent. I should live in lodgings of my own, and have much more +time to myself." + +Waymark encouraged the idea strongly. But his companion could not be +roused to the wonted cheerfulness. After a long silence, he all at once +put a strange question, and in an abashed way. + +"Waymark, have you ever been in love?" + +Osmond laughed, and looked at his friend curiously. + +"Many thousand times," was his reply. + +"No, but seriously," urged Julian. + +"With desperate seriousness for two or three days at a time. Never +longer." + +"Well now, answer me in all earnestness. Do you believe it possible to +love a woman whom in almost every respect you regard as your inferior, +who you know can't understand your thoughts and aspirations, who has no +interest in anything above daily needs?" + +"Impossible to say. Is she good-looking?" + +"Suppose she is not; yet not altogether plain." + +"Then does she love you?" + +Julian reddened at the direct application. + +"Suppose she seems to." + +"Seems to, eh?--On the whole, I should say that I couldn't declare it +possible or the contrary till I had seen the girl. I myself should be +very capable of falling desperately in love with a girl who hadn't an +idea in her head, and didn't know her letters. All I should ask would +be passion in return, and--well, yes, a pliant and docile character." + +"You are right; the character would go for much. Never mind, we won't +speak any more of the subject. It was an absurd question to ask you." + +"Nevertheless, you have made me very curious." + +"I will tell you more some other time; not now. Tell me about your own +plans. What decision have you come to?" + +Waymark professed to have formed no plan whatever. This was not +strictly true. For some months now, ever and again, as often indeed as +he had felt the burden of his schoolwork more than usually intolerable, +his thoughts had turned to the one person who could be of any +assistance to him, and upon whom he had any kind of claim; that was +Abraham Woodstock, his father's old friend. He had held no +communication with Mr. Woodstock for four years; did not even know +whether he was living. But of him he still thought, now that absolute +need was close at hand, and, as soon as Julian Casti had left him +to-day, he examined a directory to ascertain whether the accountant +still occupied the house in St. John Street Road. Apparently he did. +And the same evening Waymark made up his mind to visit Mr. Woodstock on +the following day. + +The old gentleman was sitting alone when the servant announced a +visitor. In personal appearance he was scarcely changed since the visit +of his little grand-daughter. Perhaps the eye was not quite so vivid, +the skin on forehead and cheeks a trifle less smooth, but his face had +the same healthy colour; there was the same repose of force in the huge +limbs, and his voice had lost nothing of its resonant firmness. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed, as Waymark entered. "You! I've been wondering where +you were to be found." + +The visitor held out his hand, and Abraham, though he did not rise, +smiled not unpleasantly as he gave his own. + +"You wanted to see me?" Waymark asked. + +"Well, yes. I suppose you've come about the mines." + +"Mines? What mines?" + +"Oh, then you haven't come about them. You didn't know the Llwg Valley +people have begun to pay a dividend?" + +Waymark remembered that one of his father's unfortunate speculations +had been the purchase of certain shares in some Welsh mines. The money +thus invested had remained, for the last nine years, wholly +unproductive. Mr. Woodstock explained that things were looking up with +the company in question, who had just declared a dividend of 4 per +cent. on all their paid-up shares. + +"In other words," exclaimed Waymark eagerly, "they owe me some money?" + +"Which you can do with, eh?" said Abraham, with a twinkle of +good-humoured commiseration in his eye. + +"Perfectly. What are the details?" + +"There are fifty ten-pound shares. Dividend accordingly twenty pounds." + +"By Jingo! How is it to be got at?" + +"Do you feel disposed to sell the shares?" asked the old man, looking +up sideways, and still smiling. + +"No; on the whole I think not." + +"Ho, ho, Osmond, where have you learnt prudence, eh?--Why don't you sit +down?--If you didn't come about the mines, why did you come, eh?" + +"Not to mince matters," said Waymark, taking a chair, and speaking in +an off-hand way which cost him much effort, "I came to ask you to help +me to some way of getting a living." + +"Hollo!" exclaimed the old man, chuckling. "Why, I should have thought +you'd made your fortune by this time. Poetry doesn't pay, it seems?" + +"It doesn't. One has to buy experience. It's no good saying that I +ought to have been guided by you five years ago. Of course I wish I had +been, but it wasn't possible. The question is, do you care to help me +now?" + +"What's your idea?" asked Abraham, playing with his watch-guard, a +smile as of inward triumph flitting about his lips. + +"I have none. I only know that I've been half-starved for years in the +cursed business of teaching, and that I can't stand it any longer. I +want some kind of occupation that will allow me to have three good +meals every day, and leave me my evenings free. That isn't asking much, +I imagine; most men manage to find it. I don't care what the work is, +not a bit. If it's of a kind which gives a prospect of getting on, all +the better; if that's out of the question, well, three good meals and a +roof shall suffice." + +"You're turning out a devilish sensible lad, Osmond," said Mr. +Woodstock, still smiling. "Better late than never, as they say. But I +don't see what you can do. You literary chaps get into the way of +thinking that any fool can make a man of business, and that it's only a +matter of condescending to turn your hands to desk work and the ways +clear before you. It's a mistake, and you're not the first that'll find +it out." + +"This much I know," replied Waymark, with decision. "Set me to anything +that can be learnt, and I'll be perfect in it in a quarter the time it +would take the average man." + +"You want your evenings free?" asked the other, after a short +reflection. "What will you do with them?" + +"I shall give them to literary work." + +"I thought as much. And you think you can be a man of business and a +poet at the same time? No go, my boy. If you take up business, you drop +poetising. Those two horses never yet pulled at the same shaft, and +never will." + +Mr. Woodstock pondered for a few moments. He thrust out his great legs +with feet crossed on the fender, and with his hands jingled coin in his +trouser-pockets. + +"I tell you what," he suddenly began. "There's only one thing I know of +at present that you're likely to be able to do. Suppose I gave you the +job of collecting my rents down east." + +"Weekly rents?" + +"Weekly. It's a rough quarter, and they're a shady lot of customers. +You wouldn't find the job over-pleasant, but you might try, eh?" + +"What would it bring me in,--to go at once to the point?" + +"The rents average twenty-five pounds. Your commission would be seven +per cent. You might reckon, I dare say, on five-and-thirty shillings a +week." + +"What is the day for collecting?" + +"Mondays; but there's lots of 'em you'd have to look up several times +in a week. If you like I'll go round myself on Tuesday--Easter Monday's +no good--and you can come with me." + +"I will go, by all means," exclaimed Waymark + +Talk continued for some half-hour. When Waymark rose at length, he +expressed his gratitude for the assistance promised. + +"Well, well," said the other, "wait till we see how things work. I +shouldn't wonder if you throw it up after a week or two. However, be +here on Tuesday at ten. And prompt, mind: I don't wait for any man." + +Waymark was punctual enough on the following Tuesday, and the two drove +in a hansom eastward. It was rather a foggy morning, and things looked +their worst. After alighting they had a short walk. Mr. Woodstock +stopped at the end of an alley. + +"You see," he said, "that's Litany Lane. There are sixteen houses in +it, and they're all mine. Half way down, on the left, runs off Elm +Court, where there are fourteen houses, and those are all mine, too." + +Waymark looked. Litany Lane was a narrow passage, with houses only on +one side; opposite to them ran a long high wall, apparently the limit +of some manufactory. Two posts set up at the entrance to the Lane +showed that it was no thoroughfare for vehicles. The houses were of +three storeys. There were two or three dirty little shops, but the rest +were ordinary lodging-houses, the front-doors standing wide open as a +matter of course, exhibiting a dusky passage, filthy stairs, with +generally a glimpse right through into the yard in the rear. In Elm +Court the houses were smaller, and had their fronts whitewashed. Under +the archway which led into the Court were fastened up several written +notices of rooms to be let at this or that number. The paving was in +evil repair, forming here and there considerable pools of water, the +stench and the colour whereof led to the supposition that the +inhabitants facilitated domestic operations by emptying casual vessels +out of the windows. The dirty little casements on the ground floor +exhibited without exception a rag of red or white curtain on the one +side, prevailing fashion evidently requiring no corresponding drapery +on the other. The Court was a _cul de sac_, and at the far end stood a +receptacle for ashes, the odour from which was intolerable. Strangely +enough, almost all the window-sills displayed flower-pots, and, despite +the wretched weather, several little bird-cages hung out from the upper +storeys. In one of them a lark was singing briskly. + +They began their progress through the tenements, commencing at the top +of Litany Lane. Many of the rooms were locked, the occupiers being away +at their work, but in such case the rent had generally been left with +some other person in the house, and was forthcoming. But now and then +neither rent nor tenant was to be got at, and dire were the threats +which Abraham bade the neighbours convey to the defaulters on their +return. His way with one and all was curt and vigorous; to Waymark it +seemed needlessly brutal. A woman pleading inability to make up her +total sum would be cut short with a thunderous oath, and the assurance +that, if she did not pay up in a day or two, every stick would be +carried off. Pitiful pleading for time had absolutely no effect upon +Abraham. Here and there e tenant would complain of high rent, and point +out a cracked ceiling, a rotten piece of stairs, or something else +imperatively calling for renovation. "If you don't like the room, clear +out," was the landlord's sole reply to all such speeches. + +In one place they came across an old Irish woman engaged in washing. +The room was hung with reeking clothes from wall to wall. For a time it +was difficult to distinguish objects through the steam, and Waymark, +making his way in, stumbled and almost fell over an open box. From the +box at once proceeded a miserable little wail, broken by as terrible a +cough as a child could be afflicted with; and Waymark then perceived +that the box was being used as a cradle, in which lay a baby gasping in +the agonies of some throat disease, whilst drops from the wet clothing +trickled on to its face. + +On leaving this house, they entered Elm Court. Here, sitting on the +doorstep of the first house, was a child of apparently nine or ten, and +seemingly a girl, though the nondescript attire might have concealed +either sex, and the face was absolutely sexless in its savagery. Her +hair was cut short, and round her neck was a bit of steel chain, +fastened with string. On seeing the two approach, she sprang up, and +disappeared with a bound into the house. + +"That's the most infernal little devil in all London, I do believe," +said Mr. Woodstock, as they began to ascend the stairs. "Her mother +owes two weeks, and if she don't pay something to-day, I'll have her +out. She'll be shamming illness, you'll see. The child ran up to +prepare her." + +The room in question was at the top of the house. It proved to be quite +bare of furniture. On a bundle of straw in one corner was lying a +woman, to all appearances _in extremis_. She lay looking up to the +ceiling, her face distorted into the most ghastly anguish, her lips +foaming; her whole frame shivered incessantly. + +"Ha, I thought so," exclaimed Abraham as he entered. "Are you going to +pay anything this week?" + +The woman seemed to be unconscious. + +"Have you got the rent?" asked Mr. Woodstock, turning to the child, who +had crouched down in another corner. + +"No, we ain't," was the reply, with a terribly fierce glare from eyes +which rather seemed to have looked on ninety years than nine. + +"Then out you go! Come, you, get up now; d' you hear? Very well; come +along, Waymark; you take hold of that foot, and I'll take this. Now, +drag her out on to the landing." + +They dragged her about half-way to the door, when suddenly Waymark felt +the foot he had hold of withdrawn from his grasp, and at once the woman +sprang upright. Then she fell on him, tooth and nail, screaming like +some evil beast. Had not Abraham forthwith come to the rescue, he would +have been seriously torn about the face, but just in time the woman's +arms were seized in a giant grip, and she was flung bodily out of the +room, falling with a crash upon the landing. Then from her and the +child arose a most terrific uproar of commination; both together yelled +such foulness and blasphemy as can only be conceived by those who have +made a special study of this vocabulary, and the vituperation of the +child was, if anything, richer in quality than the mother's. The +former, moreover, did not confine herself to words, but all at once +sent her clenched fist through every pain of glass in the window, +heedless of the fearful cuts she inflicted upon herself, and uttering a +wild yell of triumph at each fracture. Mr. Woodstock was too late to +save his property, but he caught up the creature like a doll, and flung +her out also on to the landing, then coolly locked the door behind him, +put the key in his pocket, and, letting Waymark pass on first, +descended the stairs. The yelling and screeching behind them continued +as long as they were in the Court, but it drew no attention from the +neighbours, who were far too accustomed to this kind of thing to heed +it. + +In the last house they had to enter they came upon a man asleep on a +bare bedstead. It was difficult to wake him. When at length he was +aroused, he glared at them for a moment with one blood-shot eye (the +other was sightless), looking much like a wild beast which doubts +whether to spring or to shrink back. + +"Rent, Slimy," said Mr. Woodstock with more of good humour than usual. + +The man pointed to the mantelpiece, where the pieces of money were +found to be lying. Waymark looked round the room. Besides the bedstead, +a table was the only article of furniture, and on it stood a dirty jug +and a glass. Lying about was a strange collection of miscellaneous +articles, heaps of rags and dirty paper, bottles, boots, bones. There +were one or two chairs in process of being new-caned; there was a +wooden frame for holding glass, such as is carried about by itinerant +glaziers, and, finally, there was a knife-grinding instrument, adapted +for wheeling about the streets. The walls were all scribbled over with +obscene words and drawings. On the inside of the door had been fitted +two enormous bolts, one above and one below. + +"How's trade, Slimy?" inquired Mr. Woodstock. + +"Which trade, Mr. Woodstock?" asked the man in return, in a very husky +voice. + +"Oh, trade in general." + +"There never was sich times since old Scratch died," replied Slimy, +shaking his head. "No chance for a honest man." + +"Then you're in luck. This is the new collector, d'you see." + +"I've been a-looking at him," said Slimy, whose one eye, for all that, +had seemed busy all the time in quite a different direction. "I seen +him somewheres, but I can't just make out where." + +"Not many people you haven't seen, I think," said Abraham, nodding, as +he went out of the room. Waymark followed, and was glad to get into the +open streets again. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +A MAN-TRAP + + +Julian Casti was successful in his application for the post of +dispenser at the All Saints' Hospital, and shortly after Easter he left +the shop in Oxford Street, taking lodgings in Beaufort Street, Chelsea. +His first evening there was spent in Waymark's company, and there was +much talk of the progress his writing would make, now that his hours of +liberty were so considerably extended. For the first time in his life +he was enjoying the sense of independence. Waymark talked of moving +from Walcot Square, in order to be nearer to his friend. He, too, was +possessed of more freedom than had been the case for a long time, and +his head was full of various fancies. They would encourage each other +in their work, afford by mutual appreciation that stimulus which is so +essential to the young artist. + +But in this world, though man may propose, it is woman who disposes. +And at this moment, Julian's future was being disposed of in a manner +he could not well have foreseen. + +Harriet Smales had heard with unconcealed pleasure of his leaving the +shop and taking lodgings of his own. She had been anxious to come and +see the rooms, and, though the following Sunday was appointed for her +visit, she could not wait so long, but, to her cousin's surprise, +presented herself at the house one evening, and was announced by the +landlady, who looked suspicious. Julian, with some nervousness, +hastened to explain that the visitor was a relative, which did not in +the least alter his landlady's preconceived ideas. Harriet sat down and +looked about her with a sigh of satisfaction. If she could but have +such a home! Girls had no chance of getting on as men did. If only her +father could have lived, things would have been different. Now she was +thrown on the world, and had to depend upon her own hard work. Then she +gave way to an hysterical sob, and Julian--who felt sure that the +landlady was listening at the door--could only beg her nervously not to +be so down-hearted. + +"Whatever success I have," he said to her, "you will share it." + +"If I thought so!" she sighed, looking down at the floor, and moving +the point of her umbrella up and down. Harriet had saturated her mind +with the fiction of penny weeklies, and owed to this training all +manner of awkward affectations which she took to be the most becoming +manifestations of a susceptible heart. At times she would express +herself in phrases of the most absurdly high-flown kind, and lately she +had got into the habit of heaving profound sighs between her sentences. +Julian was not blind to the meaning of all this. His active employments +during the past week had kept his thoughts from brooding on the matter, +and he had all but dismissed the trouble it had given him. But this +visit, and Harriet's demeanour throughout it, revived all his +anxieties. He came back from accompanying his cousin part of her way +home in a very uneasy frame of mind. What could he do to disabuse the +poor girl of the unhappy hopes she entertained? The thought of giving +pain to any most humble creature was itself a pain unendurable to +Julian. His was one of those natures to which self-sacrifice is +infinitely easier than the idea of sacrificing another to his own +desires or even necessities, a vice of weakness often more deeply and +widely destructive than the vices of strength. + +The visit having been paid, it was arranged that on the following +Sunday Julian should meet his cousin at the end of Gray's Inn Road as +usual. On that day the weather was fine, but Harriet came out in no +mood for a walk. She had been ailing for a day or two, she said, and +felt incapable of exertion; Mrs. Ogle was away from home for the day, +too, and it would be better they should spend the afternoon together in +the house. Julian of course assented, as always, and they established +themselves in the parlour behind the shop. In the course of talk, the +girl made mention of an engraving Julian had given her a week or two +before, and said that she had had it framed and hung it in her bed-room. + +"Do come up and look at it," she exclaimed; "there's no one in the +house. I want to ask you if you can find a better place for it. It +doesn't show so well where it is." + +Julian hesitated for a moment, but she was already leading the way, and +he could not refuse to follow. They went up to the top of the house, +and entered a little chamber which might have been more tidy, but was +decently furnished. The bed was made in a slovenly way, the mantelpiece +was dusty, and the pictures on the walls hung askew. Harriet closed the +door behind them, and proceeded to point out the new picture, and +discuss the various positions which had occurred to her. Julian would +have decided the question as speedily as possible, and once or twice +moved to return downstairs, but each time the girl found something new +to detain him. Opening a drawer, she took out several paltry little +ornaments, which she wished him to admire, and, in showing them, stood +very close by his side. All at once the door of the room was pushed +open, and a woman ran in. On seeing the stranger present, she darted +back with an exclamation of surprise. + +"Oh, Miss Smales, I didn't know as you wasn't alone! I heard you moving +about, and come just to arst you to lend me--but never mind, I'm so +sorry; why didn't you lock the door?" + +And she bustled out again, apparently in much confusion. + +Harriet had dropped the thing she held in her hand, and stood looking +at her cousin as if dismayed. + +"I never thought any one was in," she said nervously. "It's Miss Mould, +the lodger. She went out before I did, and I never heard her come back. +Whatever will she think!" + +"But of course," he stammered, "you will explain everything to her. She +knows who I am, doesn't she?" + +"I don't think so, and, even if she did--" + +She stopped, and stood with eyes on the ground, doing her best to +display maiden confusion. Then she began to cry. + +"But surely, surely there is no need to trouble yourself," exclaimed +Julian, almost distracted, beginning to be dimly conscious of all +manner of threatening possibilities. "I will speak to the woman myself, +and clear you of every--. Oh, but this is all nonsense. Let us go down +at once, Harriet. What a pity you asked me to come up here!" + +It was the nearest to a reproach that he had ever yet addressed to her. +His face showed clearly how distressed he was, and that on his own +account more than hers, for he could not conceive any blame save on +himself for being so regardless of appearances. + +"Go as quietly as ever you can," Harriet whispered. "The stairs creak +so. Step very softly." + +This was terrible to the poor fellow. To steal down in this guilty way +was as bad as a confession of evil intentions, and he so entirely +innocent of a shadow of evil even in his thought. Yet he could not but +do as she bade him. Even on the stairs she urged him in a very loud +whisper to be yet more cautious. He was out of himself with +mortification; and felt angry with her for bringing him into such +ignominy. In the back parlour once more, he took up his hat at once. + +"You mustn't go yet," whispered Harriet. "I'm sure that woman's +listening on the stairs. You must talk a little. Let's talk so she can +hear us. Suppose she should tell Mrs. Ogle." + +"I can't see that it matters," said Julian, with annoyance. "I will +myself see Mrs. Ogle." + +"No, no! The idea! I should have to leave at once. Whatever shall I do +if she turns me away, and won't give me a reference or anything!" + +Even in a calmer mood, Julian's excessive delicacy would have presented +an affair of this kind in a grave light to him; at present he was +wholly incapable of distinguishing between true and false, or of +gauging these fears at their true value. The mere fact of the girl +making so great a matter out of what should have been so easy to +explain and have done with, caused an exaggeration of the difficulty in +his own mind. He felt that he ought of course to justify himself before +Mrs. Ogle, and would have been capable of doing so had only Harriet +taken the same sensible view; but her apparent distress seemed--even to +him--so much more like conscious guilt than troubled innocence, that +such a task would cost him the acutest suffering. For nearly an hour he +argued with her, trying to convince her how impossible it was that the +woman who had surprised them should harbour any injurious suspicions. + +"But she knows--" began Harriet, and then stopped, her eyes falling. + +"What does she know?" demanded her cousin in surprise; but could get no +reply to his question. However, his arguments seemed at length to have +a calming effect, and, as he took leave, he even affected to laugh at +the whole affair. For all that, he had never suffered such mental +trouble in his life as during this visit and throughout the evening +which followed. The mere thought of having been obliged to discuss such +things with his cousin filled him with inexpressible shame and misery. +Waymark came to spend the evening with him, but found poor +entertainment. Several times Julian was on the point of relating what +had happened, and asking for advice, but he found it impossible to +broach the subject. There was an ever-recurring anger against Harriet +in his mind, too, for which at the same time he reproached himself. He +dreaded the next meeting between them. + +Harriet, though herself quite innocent of fine feeling and nice +complexities of conscience, was well aware of the existence of such +properties in her cousin. She neither admired nor despised him for +possessing them; they were of unknown value, indifferent to her, +indeed, until she became aware of the practical use that might be made +of them. Like most narrow-minded girls, she became a shrewd reader of +character, when her affections and interests were concerned, and could +calculate Julian's motives, and the course wherein they would lead him, +with much precision. She knew too well that he did not care for her in +the way she desired, but at the same time she knew that he was capable +of making almost any sacrifice to spare her humiliation and trouble, +especially if he felt that her unhappiness was in any way caused by +himself. + +Thus it came about that, on the Tuesday evening of the ensuing week, +Julian was startled by his landlady's announcing another visit from +Miss Smales. Harriet came into the room with a veil over her face, and +sank on a chair, sobbing. What she had feared had come to pass. The +lodger had told Mrs. Ogle of what had taken place in her absence on the +Sunday afternoon, and Harriet had received notice that she must find +another place at once. Mrs. Ogle was a woman of severe virtue, and +would not endure the suspicion of wrong-doing under her roof. To whom +could she come for advice and help, but to Julian? + +Julian was overwhelmed. His perfectly sincere nature was incapable of +suspecting a far more palpable fraud. He started up with the intention +of going forthwith to Gray's Inn Road, but Harriet clung to him and +held him back. The idea was vain. The lodger, Miss Mould, had long +entertained a spite against her, Harriet said, and had so exaggerated +this story in relating it to Mrs. Ogle, that the latter, and her +husband, had declared that Casti should not as much as put foot in +their shop again. + +"If you only knew what they've been told!" sobbed the girl, still +clinging to Julian. "They wouldn't listen to a word you said. As if I +could have thought of such a thing happening, and that woman to say all +the bad things of us she can turn her tongue to! I sha'n't never get +another place; I'm thrown out on the wide world!" + +It was a phrase she had got out of her penny fiction; and very +remarkable indeed was the mixture of acting and real sentiment which +marked her utterances throughout. + +Julian's shame and anger began to turn to compassion. A woman in tears +was a sight which always caused him the keenest distress. + +"But," he cried, with tears in his own eyes, "it is impossible that you +should suffer all this through me, and I not even make an attempt to +clear you of such vile charges!" + +"It was my own fault. I was thoughtless. I ought to have known that +people's always ready to think harm. But I think of nothing when I'm +with you, Julian!" + +He had disengaged himself from her hands, and was holding one of them +in his own. But, as she made this last confession, she threw her arms +about his neck and drooped her head against his bosom. + +"Oh, if you only felt to me like I do to you!" she sobbed. + +No man can hear without some return of emotion a confession from a +woman's lips that she loves him. Harriet was the only girl whom Julian +had ever approached in familiar intercourse; she had no rival to fear +amongst living women; the one rival to be dreaded was altogether out of +the sphere of her conceptions,--the ideal love of a poet's heart and +brain. But the ideal is often least present to us when most needed. +Here was love; offer but love to a poet, and does he pause to gauge its +quality? The sudden whirl of conflicting emotions left Julian at the +mercy of the instant's impulse. She was weak; she was suffering through +him; she loved him. + +"Be my wife, then," he whispered, returning her embrace, "and let me +guard you from all who would do you harm." + +She uttered a cry of delight, and the cry was a true one. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +NEAR AND FAR + + +Osmond Waymark was light-hearted; and with him such a state meant +something not at all to be understood by those with whom lightness of +heart is a chronic affection. The man who dwells for long periods face +to face with the bitter truths of life learns so to distrust a fleeting +moment of joy, gives habitually so cold a reception to the tardy +messenger of delight, that, when the bright guest outdares his +churlishness and perforce tarries with him, there ensues a passionate +revulsion unknown to hearts which open readily to every fluttering +illusive bliss. Illusion it of course remains; is ever recognised as +that; but illusion so sweet and powerful that he thanks the god that +blinds him, and counts off with sighs of joy the hours thus brightly +winged. + +He awaited with extreme impatience the evening on which he would again +see Ida. Distrustful always, he could not entirely dismiss the fear +that his first impressions might prove mistaken in the second +interview; yet he tried his best to do so, and amused himself with +imagining for Ida a romantic past, for her and himself together a yet +more romantic future. In spite of the strange nature of their +relations, he did not delude himself with the notion that the girl had +fallen in love with him at first sight, and that she stood before him +to take or reject as he chose. He had a certain awe of her. He divined +in her a strength of character which made her his equal; it might well +be, his superior. Take, for instance, the question of the life she was +at present leading. In the case of an ordinary pretty and good-natured +girl falling in his way as Ida Starr had done, he would have exerted +whatever influence he might acquire over her to persuade her into +better paths. Any such direct guidance was, he felt, out of the +question here. The girl had independence of judgment; she would resent +anything said by him on the assumption of her moral inferiority, and, +for aught he knew, with justice. The chances were at least as great +that he might prove unworthy of her, as that she should prove unworthy +of him. + +When he presented himself at the house in the little court by Temple +Bar, it was the girl Sally who opened the door to him. She beckoned him +to follow, and ran before him upstairs. The sitting-room presented the +same comfortable appearance, and Grim, rising lazily from the +hearthrug, came forward purring a welcome, but Ida was not there. + +"She was obliged to go out," said Sally, in answer to his look of +inquiry. "She won't be long, and she said you was to make yourself +comfortable till she came back." + +On a little side-table stood cups and saucers, and a box of cigars. The +latter Sally brought forward. + +"I was to ask you to smoke, and whether you'd like a cup of coffee with +it?" she asked, with the curious _naivete_ which marked her mode of +speech. + +"The kettle's boiling on the side," she added, seeing that Waymark +hesitated. "I can make it in a minute." + +"In that case, I will." + +"You don't mind me having one as well?" + +"Of course not." + +"Shall I talk, or shall I keep quiet? I'm not a servant here, you +know," she added, with an amusing desire to make her position clear. +"Ida and me's friends, and she'd do just as much for I." + +"Talk by all means," said Waymark, smiling, as he lit his cigar. The +result was that, in a quarter of an hour Sally had related her whole +history. As Ida had said, she came from Weymouth, where her father was +a fisherman, and owner of bum-boats. Her mother kept a laundry, and the +family had all lived together in easy circumstances. She herself had +come to London--well, just for a change. And what was she doing? Oh, +getting her living as best she could. In the day-time she worked in a +city workroom. + +"And how much do you think I earn a week?" she asked. + +"Fifteen shillings or so, I suppose?" + +"Ah, that's all you know about it! Now, last week was the best I've had +yet, and I made seven shillings." + +"What do you do?" + +"Machine work; makin' ulsters. How much do you think we get, now, for +makin' a ulster--one like this?" pointing to one which hung behind the +door. + +"Have no idea." + +"Well,--_fourpence_: there now!" + +"And how many can you make in a day?" + +"I can't make no more than two. Some make three, but it's blessed hard +work. But I get a little job now and then to do at home." + +"But you can't live on seven shillings a week?" + +"I sh'd think not, indeed. We have to make up the rest as best we can, +s'nough." + +"But your employers must know that?" + +"In course. What's the odds? All us girls are the same; we have to keep +on the two jobs at the same time. But I'll give up the day-work before +long, s'nough. I come home at night that tired out I ain't fit for +nothing. I feel all eyes, as the sayin' is. And it's hard to have to go +out into the Strand, when you're like that." + +"But do they know about all this at home?" + +"No fear! If our father knew, he'd be down here precious soon, and the +house wouldn't hold him. But I shall go back some day, when I've got a +good fit-out." + +The door opened quietly, and Ida came in. + +"Well, young people, so you are making yourselves at home." + +The sweet face, the eyes and lips with their contained mirth, the +light, perfect form, the graceful carriage,--Waymark felt his pulses +throb at the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand. + +"You didn't mind waiting a little for me? I really couldn't help it. +And then, after all, I thought you mightn't come." + +"But I promised to." + +"Promises, promises, oh dear!" laughed Ida. "Sally, here's an orange +for you." + +"You _are_ a duck!" was the girl's reply, as she caught it, and, with a +nod to Waymark, left the room. + +"And so you've really come," Ida went on, sitting down and beginning to +draw off her gloves. + +"You find it surprising? To begin with, I have come to pay my debts." + +"Is there another cup of coffee?" she asked, seeming not to have heard. +"I'm too tired to get up and see." + +Waymark felt a keen delight in waiting upon her, in judging to a nicety +the true amount of sugar and cream, in drawing the little table just +within her reach. + +"Mr. Waymark," she exclaimed, all at once, "if you had had supper with +a friend, and your friend had paid the bill, should you take out your +purse and pay him back at your next meeting?" + +"It would depend entirely on circumstances." + +"Just so. Then the present circumstances don't permit anything of the +kind, and there's an end of _that_ matter. Light another cigar, will +you?" + +"You don't dislike the smoke?" + +"If I did, I should say so." + +Having removed her outer garments one by one, she rose and took them +into the inner room. On reappearing, she went to the sitting-room door +and turned the key in the lock. + +"Could you let me have some more books to read?" she asked. + +"I have brought one, thinking you might be ready for it." + +It was "Jane Eyre." She glanced over the pages eagerly. + +"I don't know how it is," she said, "I have grown so hungry for reading +of late. Till just now I never cared for it. When I was a child and +went to school, I didn't like my lessons. Still I learned a good deal, +for a little girl, and it has stayed by me. And oh, it seems so long +ago! Never mind, perhaps I will tell you all about that some day." + +They were together for an hour or so. Waymark, uneasily watching his +companion's every movement, rose as soon as she gave sign of weariness, +and Ida did not seek to detain him. + +"I shall think much of you," he said. + +"The less the better," was Ida's reply. + +For his comfort, yes,--Waymark thought, as he walked homewards. Ida had +already a dangerous hold upon him; she possessed his senses, and set +him on fire with passionate imaginings. Here, as on every hand, his +cursed poverty closed against him the possibilities of happiness. That +she should ever come to love him, seemed very unlikely; the alliance +between them could only be a mere caprice on her part, such as girls of +her kind are very subject to; he might perhaps fill up her intervals of +tedium, but would have no share in her real life. And the thought of +that life fevered him with jealousy. She might say what she liked about +never having known love, but it was of course impossible that she +should not have a preference among her lovers. And to think of the +chances before such a girl, so blessed with rare beauty and endless +charms. In the natural order of events she would become the mistress of +some rich man; might even, as at times happens, be rescued by marriage; +in either case, their acquaintance must cease. And, indeed, what right +had he to endeavour to gain her love having nothing but mere beggarly +devotion to offer her in return? He had not even the excuse of one who +could offer her married life in easy circumstances,--supposing that to +be an improvement on her present position. Would it not be better at +once to break off these impossible relations? How often he had promised +himself, in moments of clear thought, never again to enter on a course +which would obviously involve him in futile suffering. Why had he not +now the strength to obey his reason, and continue to possess his soul +in the calm of which he had enjoyed a brief taste? + +The novel circumstances of the past week had almost driven from his +mind all thought of Maud Enderby. He regretted having asked and +obtained permission to write to her. She seemed so remote from him, +their meeting so long past. What could there be in common between +himself and that dim, quiet little girl, who had excited his sympathy +merely because her pretty face was made sad by the same torments which +had afflicted him? He needed some strong, vehement, original nature, +such as Ida Starr's; how would Maud's timid conventionality--doubtless +she was absolutely conventional--suit with the heresies of which he was +all compact? Still, he could not well ignore what had taken place +between them, and, after all, there would be a certain pleasant +curiosity in awaiting her reply. In any case, he would write just such +a letter as came naturally from him. If she were horrified, well, there +was an end of the matter. + +Accordingly, he sat down on the morning after his visit to Ida, and, +after a little difficulty in beginning, wrote a long letter. It was +mainly occupied with a description of his experiences in Litany Lane +and Elm Court. He made no apology for detailing such unpleasant +matters, and explained that he would henceforth be kept in pretty close +connection with this unknown world. Even this, he asserted, was +preferable to the world of Dr. Tootle's Academy. Then he dwelt a little +on the contrast between this life of his and that which Maud was +doubtless leading in her home on the Essex coast; and finally he hoped +she would write to him when she found leisure, and be able to let him +know that she was no longer so unhappy as formerly. + +This he posted on Friday. On the following Monday morning, the post +brought two letters for him, both addressed in female hand, one bearing +a city, the other a country, post-mark. Waymark smiled as he compared +the two envelopes, on one of which his name stood in firm, upright +characters, on the other in slender, sloping, delicate writing. The +former he pressed to his lips, then tore open eagerly; it was the +promised intimation that Ida would be at home after eight o'clock on +Wednesday and Friday evenings, nothing more. The second letter he +allowed to lie by till he had breakfasted. He could see that it +contained more than one sheet. When at length he opened it, he read +this:-- + + +"DEAR MR. WAYMARK,--I have an hour of freedom this Sunday afternoon, +and I will spend it in replying as well as I can to your very +interesting letter. My life is, as you say, very quiet and commonplace +compared with that you find yourself suddenly entering upon. I have no +such strange and moving things to write about, but I will tell you in +the first place how I live and what I do, then put down some of the +thoughts your letter has excited in me. + +"The family I am with consists of very worthy but commonplace people. +They treat me with more consideration than I imagine governesses +usually get, and I am grateful to them for this, but their +conversation, especially that of Mrs. Epping, I find rather wearisome. +It deals with very trivial concerns of everyday life, in which I vainly +endeavour to interest myself. + +"Then there is the religious formalism of the Eppings and their +friends. They are High Church. They discuss with astonishing vigour and +at dreadful length what seems to me the most immaterial points in the +Church service, and just at present an impulse is given to their zeal +by the fact of their favourite clergyman being threatened with a +prosecution for ritualistic practices. Of course I have to feign a +becoming interest in all this, and to take part in all their religious +forms and ceremonies. And indeed it is all so new to me that I have +scarcely yet got over the first feelings of wonder and curiosity. + +"Have I not, then, you will ask, the courage of my opinions? But indeed +my religious opinions are so strangely different from those which +prevail here, that I fear it would be impossible to make my thoughts +clear to these good people. They would scarcely esteem me a Christian; +and yet I cannot but think that it is they who are widely astray from +Christian belief and practice. The other evening the clergyman dined +with us, and throughout the meal discussions of the rubric alternated +with talk about delicacies of the table! That the rubric should be so +interesting amazes me, but that an earnest Christian should think it +compatible with his religion to show the slightest concern in what he +shall eat or drink is unspeakably strange to me. Surely, if +Christianity means anything it means asceticism. My experience of the +world is so slight. I believe this is the first clergyman I ever met in +private life. Surely they cannot all be thus? + +"I knew well how far the world at large had passed from true +Christianity; that has been impressed upon me from my childhood. But +how strange it seems to me to hear proposed as a remedy the formalism +to which my friends here pin their faith! How often have I burned to +speak up among them, and ask--'What think ye, then, of Christ? Is He, +or is He not, our exemplar? Was not His life meant to exhibit to us the +ideal of the completest severance from the world which is consistent +with human existence? To follow Him, should we not, at least in the +spirit, cast off everything which may tempt us to consider life, as +life, precious?' We cannot worship both God and the world, and yet +nowadays Christians seem to make a merit of doing so. When I conceive a +religious revival, my thought does not in the least concern itself with +forms and ceremonies. I imagine another John the Baptist inciting the +people, with irresistible fervour, to turn from their sins--that is, +from the world and all its concerns--and to purify themselves by +Renunciation. What they call 'Progress,' I take to be the veritable +Kingdom of Antichrist. The world is evil, life is evil; only by +renunciation of the very desire for life can we fulfil the Christian +idea. What then of the civilisation which endeavours to make the world +more and more pleasant as a dwelling-place, life more and more +desirable for its own sake? + +"And so I come to the contents of your own letter. You say you marvel +that these wretched people you visited do not, in a wild burst of +insurrection, overthrow all social order, and seize for themselves a +fair share of the world's goods. I marvel also;--all the more that +their very teachers in religion seem to lay such stress on the joys of +life. And yet what profit would a real Christian preacher draw for them +from this very misery of their existence! He would teach them that +herein lay their supreme blessing, not their curse; that in their +poverty and nakedness lay means of grace and salvation such as the rich +can scarcely by any means attain to; that they should proudly, +devoutly, accept their heritage of woe, and daily thank God for +depriving them of all that can make life dear. Only awaken the spirit +in these poor creatures, and how near might they be to the true Kingdom +of Heaven! And surely such a preacher will yet arise, and there will be +a Reformation very different from the movement we now call by that +name. But I weary you, perhaps. It may be you have no interest in all +this. Yet I think you would wish me to write from what I am. + +"It would interest me to hear your further experiences in the new work. +Believe me to be your sincere friend, + +"MAUD ENDERBY." + + +Waymark read, and thought, and wondered. + +Then it was time to go and collect his rents. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +UP THE RIVER + + +Here is an extract from a letter written by Julian Casti to Waymark in +the month of May. By this time they were living near to each other, but +something was about to happen which Julian preferred to communicate in +writing. + +"This will be the beginning of a new life for me. Already I have felt a +growth in my power of poetical production. Verse runs together in my +thoughts without effort; I feel ready for some really great attempt. +Have you not noticed something of this in me these last few days? Come +and see me to-night, if you can, and rejoice with me." + +This meant that Julian was about to be married. Honeymoon journey was +out of the question for him. He and his wife established themselves in +the lodgings which he was already occupying. And the new life began. + +Waymark had made Harriet's acquaintance a couple of weeks before; +Julian had brought her with him one Sunday to his friend's room. She +was then living alone, having quitted Mrs. Ogle the day after that +decisive call upon Julian. There was really no need for her to have +done so, Mrs. Ogle's part in the comedy being an imaginary one of +Harriet's devising. But Julian was led entirely by his cousin, and, as +she knew quite well, there was not the least danger of his going on his +own account to the shop in Gray's Inn Road; he dreaded the thought of +such an interview. + +Waymark was not charmed with Miss Smales; the more he thought of this +marriage, the more it amazed him; for, of course, he deemed it wholly +of his friend's bringing about. + +The marriage affected their intercourse. Harriet did not like to be +left alone in the evening, so Julian could not go to Waymark's, as he +had been accustomed to, and conversation in Mrs. Casti's presence was, +of course, under restraint. Waymark bore this with impatience, and even +did his best to alter it. One Sunday afternoon, about three weeks after +the marriage, he called and carried Julian off to his room across the +street. Harriet's face sufficiently indicated her opinion of this +proceeding, and Julian had difficulty in appearing at his case. Waymark +understood what was going on, and tried to discuss the matter freely, +but the other shrank from it. + +"I am grievously impatient of domestic arrangements," Waymark said. "I +fancy it would never do for me to marry, unless I had limitless cash, +and my wife were as great a Bohemian as myself. By the by, I have +another letter from Maud. Her pessimism is magnificent. This intense +religiousness is no doubt a mere phase; it will pass, of course; I +wonder how things would arrange themselves if she came back to London. +Why shouldn't she come here to sit and chat, like you do?" + +"That would naturally lead to something definite," said Casti, smiling. + +"Oh, I don't know. Why should it? I'm a believer in friendship between +men and women. Of course there is in it the spice of the difference of +sex, and why not accept that as a pleasant thing? How much better if, +when we met a woman we liked, we could say frankly, 'Now let us amuse +each other without any _arriere pensee_. If I married you to-day, even +though I feel quite ready to, I should ten to one see some one next +week who would make me regret having bound myself. So would you, my +dear. Very well, let us tantalise each other agreeably, and be at ease +in the sense that we are on the right side of the illusion.' You laugh +at the idea?" + +Julian laughed, but not heartily. They passed to other things. + +"I'm making an article out of Elm Court," said Waymark. +"Semi-descriptive, semi-reflective, wholly cynical Maybe it will pay +for my summer holiday. And, apropos of the same subject, I've got great +ideas. This introduction to such phases of life will prove endlessly +advantageous to me, artistically speaking. Let me get a little more +experience, and I will write a novel such as no one has yet ventured to +write, at all events in England. I begin to see my way to magnificent +effects; ye gods, such light and shade! The fact is, the novel of +every-day life is getting worn out. We must dig deeper, get to +untouched social strata. Dickens felt this, but he had not the courage +to face his subjects; his monthly numbers had to lie on the family +tea-table. Not _virginibus puerisque_ will be my book, I assure you, +but for men and women who like to look beneath the surface, and who +understand that only as artistic material has human life any +significance. Yes, that is the conclusion I am working round to. The +artist is the only sane man. Life for its own sake?--no; I would drink +a pint of laudanum to-night. But life as the source of splendid +pictures, inexhaustible material for effects--_that_ can reconcile me +to existence, and that only. It is a delight followed by no bitter +after-taste, and the only such delight I know." + +Harriet was very quiet when Julian returned. She went about getting the +tea with a sort of indifference; she let a cup fall and break, but made +no remark, and left her husband to pick up the pieces. + +"Waymark thinks I'm neglecting him," said Julian, with a laugh, as they +sat down together. + +"It's better to neglect him than to neglect me, I should think," was +Harriet's reply, in a quiet ill-natured tone which she was mistress of. + +"But couldn't we find out some way of doing neither, dear?" went on +Julian, playing with his spoon. "Now suppose I give him a couple of +hours one evening every week? You could spare that, couldn't you? Say, +from eight to ten on Wednesdays?" + +"I suppose you'll go if you want to." said Harriet, rising from the +tea-table, and taking a seat sulkily by the window. + +"Come, come, we won't say any more about it, if it's so disagreeable to +you," said Julian, going up to her, and coaxing her back to her place. +"You don't feel well to-day, do you? I oughtn't to have left you this +afternoon, but it was difficult to refuse, wasn't it?" + +"He had no business to ask you to go. He could see I didn't like it." + +Waymark grew so accustomed to receiving Ida's note each Monday morning, +that when for the first time it failed to conic he was troubled +seriously. It happened, too, that he was able to attach a particular +significance to the omission. When they had last parted, instead of +just pressing her hand as usual, he had raised it to his lips. She +frowned and turned quickly away, saying no word. He had offended her by +this infringement of the conditions of their friendship; for once +before, when he had uttered a word which implied more than she was +willing to allow, Ida had engaged him in the distinct agreement that he +should never do or say anything that approached love-making. As, +moreover, it was distinctly understood that he should never visit her +save at times previously appointed, he could not see her till she chose +to write. After waiting in the vain expectation of some later post +bringing news, he himself wrote, simply asking the cause of her +silence. The reply came speedily. + + +"I have no spare time in the week. I thought you would understand this. + +I. S." + + +It was her custom to write without any formal beginning or ending; yet +Waymark felt that this note was briefer than it would have been, had +all been as usual between them. The jealousy which now often tortured +him awoke with intolerable vehemence. He spent a week of misery. + +But late on Saturday evening came a letter addressed in the well-known +hand. It said-- + + +"Sally and I are going up the river to-morrow, if it is fine. Do you +care to meet us on the boat which reaches Chelsea Pier at 10.30? + +I. S." + + +It seemed he did care; at all events he was half an hour too soon at +the pier. As the boat approached his eye soon singled out two very +quietly-dressed girls, who sat with their backs to him, and neither +turned nor made any sign of expecting any addition to their party. With +like undemonstrativeness he took a seat at Ida's side, and returned +Sally's nod and smile. Ida merely said "Good morning;" there was +nothing of displeasure on her face, however, and when he began to speak +of indifferent things she replied with the usual easy friendliness. + +It was the first time he had seen her by daylight. He had been +uncertain whether she used any artificial colour on her cheeks; +seemingly she did, for now she looked much paler than usual. But the +perfect clearness of her complexion, the lustre of her eyes, appeared +to indicate complete health. She breathed the fresh sun-lit air with +frank enjoyment, and smiled to herself at objects on either side of the +river. + +"By the by," Waymark said, when no words had been exchanged for some +minutes, "you didn't tell me where you were going; so I took no ticket, +and left matters to fate." + +"Are you a good walker?" Ida asked. + +"Fairly good, I flatter myself." + +"Then this is what I propose. It's a plan I carried out two or three +times by myself last summer, and enjoyed. We get off at Putney, walk +through Roehampton, then over the park into Richmond. By that time we +shall be ready for dinner, and I know a place where we can have it in +comfort." + +There was little thought of weariness throughout the delightful walk. +All three gave themselves up for the time to simple enjoyment; their +intercourse became that of children; the troubles of passion, the +miseries of self-consciousness, the strain of mutual observation fell +from them as the city dropped behind; they were once more creatures for +whom the external world alone had reality. There was a glorious June +sky; there were country roads scented with flower and tree; the +wide-gleaming common with its furze and bramble; then the great park, +with felled trunks to rest upon, and prospects of endlessly-varied +green to soothe the eye. The girls exhibited their pleasure each in her +own way. Sally threw off restraint, and sprang about in free happiness, +like one of the young roes, the sight of which made her utter cries +like a delighted child. She remembered scenes of home, and chattered in +her dialect of people and places strange enough to both her companions. +She was in constant expectation of catching a glimpse of the sea; in +spite of all warnings it was a great surprise and disappointment to her +that Richmond Hill did not end in cliffs and breakers. Ida talked less, +but every now and then laughed in her deep enjoyment. She had no +reminiscence of country life it was enough that all about her was new +and fresh and pure; nothing to remind her of Regent Street and the +Strand. Waymark talked of he knew not what, cheerful things that came +by chance to his tongue, trifling stories, descriptions of places, +ideal plans for spending of ideal holidays; but nothing of London, +nothing of what at other times his thoughts most ran upon. He came back +to himself now and then, and smiled as he looked at the girls, but this +happened seldom. + +The appetites of all three were beyond denying when they had passed the +"Star and Garter" and began to walk down into the town. Waymark +wondered whither their guide would lead them, but asked no questions. +To his surprise, Ida stopped at a small inn half way down the hill. + +"You are to go straight in," she said, with a smile, to Waymark, "and +are to tell the first person you meet that three people want dinner. +There's no choice--roast beef and vegetables, and some pudding or other +afterwards. Then you are to walk straight upstairs, as if you knew your +way, and we will follow." + +These directions were obeyed, with the result that all reached an upper +chamber, wherein a table was cleanly and comfortably laid, as if +expecting them. French windows led out on to a quaint little verandah +at the back of the house, and the view thence was perfect. The river +below, winding between wooded banks, and everywhere the same splendour +of varied green which had delighted their eyes all the morning. Just +below the verandah was the tiled roof of an outhouse, whereon lay a +fine black and white cat, basking in the hot sun. Ida clapped her hands. + +"He's like poor old Grim," she cried. Then, turning to Waymark: "If you +are good, you may bring out a chair and smoke a cigar here after +dinner." + +They had just began to eat, when footsteps were heard coining up the +stairs. + +"Oh bother!" exclaimed Sally. "There's some one else a-comin', s'nough." + +There was. The door opened, and two gentlemen walked in. Waymark looked +up, and to his astonishment recognised his old friends O'Gree and +Egger. Mr. O'Gree was mopping his face with a handkerchief, and looked +red and hungry; Mr. Egger was resplendent in a very broad-brimmed straw +hat, the glistening newness of which contrasted with the rest of his +attire, which had known no variation since his first arrival at Dr. +Tootle's. He, too, was perspiring profusely, and, as he entered, was +just in the act of taking out the great yellow handkerchief which +Waymark had seen him chewing so often in the bitterness of his spirit. + +"Hollo, Waymark, is it you?" cried Mr. O'Gree, forgetting the presence +of the strangers in his astonishment. "Sure, and they told us we'd find +a _gentleman_ here." + +"And I was the last person you would have thought of as answering that +description?" + +"Well, no, I didn't mean that. I meant there was no mention of the +ladies." + +Waymark flashed a question at Ida with his eyes, and understood her +assent in the smile and slight motion of the head. + +"Then let me introduce you to the ladies." + +The new-comers accordingly made the acquaintance of Miss Starr and Miss +Fisher (that was Sally's name), and took seats at the table, to await +the arrival of their dinners. Both were on their good behaviour. Mr. +O'Gree managed to place himself at Sally's left hand, and led the +conversation with the natural ease of an Irishman, especially delighted +if Sally herself seemed to appreciate his efforts to be entertaining. + +"Now, who'd have thought of the like of this." he exclaimed. "And we +came in here by the merest chance; sure, there's a fatality in these +things. We've walked all the way from Hammersmith." + +"And we from Putney," said Waymark. + +"You don't mean it? It's been a warm undertaking." + +"How did you find the walk, Mr. Egger?" + +"Bedad," replied that gentleman, who had got hold of his friend's +exclamation, and used it with killing effect; "I made my possible, but, +bedad, I could not much more." + +"You both look warm," Waymark observed, smiling. "I fear you hurried. +You should have been leisurely, as we were." + +"Now that's cruel, Waymark. You needn't have reflected upon our +solitariness. If we'd been blessed with society such as you had, we'd +have come slow enough. As it was, we thought a good deal of our +dinners." + +No fresh guests appeared to disturb the party. When all had appeased +their hunger, Waymark took a chair out on to the verandah for Ida. He +was spared the trouble of providing in the same way for Sally by Mr. +O'Gree's ready offices. Poor Egger, finding himself deserted, opened a +piano there was in the room, and began to run his finger over the keys. + +"Let us have one of your German songs, my boy," cried O'Gree. + +"But it is the Sunday, and we arc still in England," said the Swiss, +hesitating. + +"Pooh, never mind," said Waymark. "We'll shut the door. Sing my +favourite, Mr. Egger,--'_Wenn's Mailufterl_.'" + +When they left the inn, Waymark walked first with Ida, and Mr. O'Gree +followed with Sally. Egger brought up the rear; he had relapsed into a +dreamy mood, and his mind seemed occupied with unearthly things. + +With no little amusement Waymark had noted Sally's demeanour under Mr. +O'Gree's attentions. The girl had evidently made up her mind to be +absolutely proper. The Irishman's respectful delicacy was something so +new to her and so pleasant, and the question with her was how she could +sufficiently show her appreciation without at the same time forfeiting +his good opinion for becoming modesty. All so new to her, accustomed to +make an art of forwardness, and to school herself in the endurance of +brutality. She was constantly blushing in the most unfeigned way at his +neatly-turned little compliments, and, when she spoke, did so with a +pretty air of self-distrust which sat quite charmingly on her. Fain, +fain would O'Gree have proposed to journey back to London by the same +train, but good taste and good sense prevailed with him. At the +ticket-barrier there was a parting. + +"How delightful it would be, Miss Fisher," said Mr. O'Gree, in +something like a whisper, "if this lucky chance happened again. If I +only knew when you were coming again, there's no telling but it might." + +Sally gave her hand, smiled, evidently wished to say something, but +ended by turning away and running after her companions. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +EXAMPLE WITHOUT PRECEPT + + +Waymark was grateful for the help Mr. Woodstock had given him. Indeed, +the two soon began to get on very well together. In a great measure, of +course, this was due to the change in Waymark's philosophy; whereas his +early idealism had been revolted by what he then deemed Mr. Woodstock's +crass materialism and vulgarity, the tolerance which had come with +widened experience now made him regard these characteristics with far +less certainty of condemnation. He was often merely amused at what had +formerly enraged and disgusted him. At the same time, there were +changes in Abraham himself, no doubt--at all events in his manner to +the young man. He, on his side, was also far more tolerant than in the +days when he had growled at Osmond for a conceited young puppy. + +One Sunday morning in early July, Waymark was sitting alone in his +room, when he noticed that a cab stopped before the house. A minute +after, there was a knock at his door, and, to his great surprise, Mr. +Woodstock entered, bearing a huge volume in his arms. Abraham deposited +it on a chair, wiped his forehead, and looked round the room. + +"You smoke poor tobacco," was his first remark, as he sniffed the air. + +"Good tobacco happens to be expensive," was the reply. "Will you sit +down?" + +"Yes, I will." The chair creaked under him. "And so here you hang out, +eh? Only one room?" + +"As you see." + +"Devilish unhealthy, I should think." + +"But economical." + +"Ugh!" + +The grunt meant nothing in particular. Waymark was eyeing the mighty +volume on the chair, and had recognised it Some fortnight previously, +he had come upon Abraham, in the latter's study, turning over a +collection of Hogarth's plates, and greatly amusing himself with the +realism which so distinctly appealed to his taste in art. The book had +been pledged in the shop, and by lapse of time was become Abraham's +property. It was the first time that Waymark had had an opportunity of +examining Hogarth; the pictures harmonised with his mood; they gave him +a fresh impulse in the direction his literary projects were taking. He +spent a couple of hours in turning the leaves, and Mr. Woodstock had +observed his enjoyment. What meant the arrival of the volume here in +Beaufort Street? + +Abraham lit a cigar, still looking about the room. + +"You live alone?" he asked, in a matter-of-fact way. + +"At present." + +"Ha! Didn't know but you might have found it lonely; I used to, at your +age." + +Then, after a short silence-- + +"By-the-by, it's your birthday." + +"How do you know?" + +"Well, I shouldn't have done, but for an old letter I turned up by +chance the other day. How old are you?" + +"Five-and-twenty." + +"H'm. I am sixty-nine. You'll be a wiser man when you get to my +age.--Well, if you can find room anywhere for that book there, perhaps +you'd like to keep it!" + +Waymark looked up in astonishment. + +"A birthday present!" he exclaimed. "It's ten years since I had one. +Upon my word, I don't well know how to thank you!" + +"Do you know what the thing was published at?" asked Abraham in an +off-hand way. + +"No." + +"Fifty pounds." + +"I don't care about the value. It's the kindness. You couldn't have +given me anything, either, that would have delighted me so much." + +"All right; keep it, and there's an end of the matter. And what do you +do with yourself all day, eh? I didn't think it very likely I should +find you in." + +"I'm writing a novel." + +"H'm. Shall you get anything for it?" + +"Can't say. I hope so." + +"Look here. Why don't you go in for politics?" + +"Neither know nor care anything about them." + +"Would you like to go into Parliament?" + +"Wouldn't go if every borough in England called upon me to-morrow?" + +"Why not?" + +"Plainly, I think myself too good for such occupation. If you once +succeed in getting _outside_ the world, you have little desire to go +back and join in its most foolish pranks." + +"That's all damned nonsense! How can any one be too good to be in +Parliament? The better men you have there, the better the country will +be governed, won't it?" + +"Certainly. But the best man, in this case, is the man who sees the +shortest distance before his nose. If you think the world worth all the +trouble it takes to govern it, go in for politics neck and crop, by all +means, and the world will no doubt thank you in its own way." + +Abraham looked puzzled, and half disposed to be angry. + +"Then you think novel-writing better than governing the country?" he +asked. + +"On its own merits, vastly so." + +"And suppose there was no government What about your novels then?" + +"I'd make a magnificent one out of the spectacle of chaos." + +"But you know very well you're talking bosh," exclaimed Abraham, +somewhat discomfited. "There must be government, and there must be +order, say what you like. Its nature that the strong should rule over +the weak, and show them what's for their own good. What else are we +here for? if you're going to be a parson, well and good; then cry down +the world as much as you please, and think only about heaven and hell. +But as far as I can make out, there's government there too. The devil +rebelled and was kicked out. Serve him right If he wasn't strong enough +to hold his own, he'd ought to have kept quiet." + +"You're a Conservative, of course," said Waymark, smiling. "You believe +only in keeping the balance. You don't are about reform." + +"Don't be so sure of that Let me have the chance and he power, and I'd +reform hard enough, many a thing." + +"Well, one might begin on a small scale. Suppose one took in hand +Litany Lane and Elm Court? Suppose we exert our right as the stronger, +and, to begin with, do a little whitewashing? Then sundry stairs and +ceilings might be looked to. No doubt there'd be resistance, but on the +whole it would be for the people's own good. A little fresh draining +mightn't be amiss, or--" + +"What the devil's all this to do with politics?" cried Abraham, whose +face had grown dark. + +"I should imagine, a good deal," returned Waymark, knocking out his +pipe. "If you're for government, yen mustn't be above considering +details." + +"And so you think you have a hit at me, eh? Nothing of the kind. These +are affairs of private contract, and no concern of government at all. +In private contract a man has only a right to what he's strong enough +to exact If a tenant tells me my houses ain't fit to live in, I tell +him to go where he'll be better off' and I don't hinder him; I know +well enough in a day or two there'll come somebody else. Ten to one he +can't go, and he don't. Then why should I be at unnecessary expense in +making the places better? As Boon as I can get no tenants I'll do so; +not till then." + +"You don't believe in works of mere humanity?" + +"What the devil's humanity got to do with business?" cried Abraham. + +"True," was Waymark's rejoinder. + +"See, we won't talk of these kind of things," said Mr. Woodstock. +"That's just what we always used to quarrel about, and I'm getting too +old for quarrelling. Got any engagement this afternoon?" + +"I thought of looking in to see a friend here in the street" + +"Male or female?" + +"Both; man and wife." + +"Oh, then you have got some friends? So had I when I was your age. They +go somehow when you get old. Your father was the last of them, I think. +But you're not much like him, except a little in face. True, he was a +Radical, but you,--well, I don't know what you are. If you'd been a son +of mine, I'd have had you ill Parliament by now, somehow or other." + +"I think you never had a son?" said Way mark, observing the note of +melancholy which every now and then came up in the old man's talk. + +"No." + +"But you had some children, I think?" + +"Yes, yes,--they're dead." + +He had walked to the window, and suddenly turned round with a kind of +impatience. + +"Never mind the friend to-day; come and have some dinner with me. I +seem to want a bit of company." + +This was the first invitation of the kind Waymark had received. He +accepted it, and they went out together. + +"It's a pleasant part this," Mr. Woodstock said, as they walked by the +river. "One might build himself a decent house somewhere about here, +eh?" + +"Do you think of doing so?" + +"I think of doing so! What's the good of a house, and nobody to live in +it?" + +Waymark studied these various traits of the old man's humour, and +constantly felt more of kindness towards him. + +On the following day, just as he had collected his rents, and was on +his way out of Litany Lane, Waymark was surprised at coming face to +face with Mrs. Casti; yet more surprised when he perceived that she had +come out from a public-house. She looked embarrassed, and for a moment +seemed about to pass without recognising him; but he had raised his +hat, and she could not but move her head in reply. She so obviously +wished to avoid speaking, that he walked quickly on in another +direction. He wondered what he could be doing in such a place as this. +It could hardly be that she had acquaintances or connections here. +Julian had not given him any particulars of Harriet's former life, and +his friend's marriage was still a great puzzle to him. He knew well +that the girl had no liking for himself; it was not improbable that +this casual meeting would make their intercourse yet more strained. He +thought for a moment of questioning Julian, but decided that the matter +was no business of his. + +It was so rare for him to meet an acquaintance in the streets, that a +second chance of the same kind, only a few minutes later, surprised him +greatly. This time the meeting as a pleasant one; somebody ran across +to him from over the way, and he saw that it was Sally Fisher. She +looked pleased. The girl had preserved a good deal of her sea-side +complexion through the year and a half of town life, and, when happy, +glowed all over her cheeks with the healthiest hue. She held out her +hand in the usual frank, impulsive way. + +"Oh, I thought it was you! You won't see I no more at the old place." + +"No? How's that?" + +"I'm leavin' un to-morrow. I've got a place in a shop, just by here,--a +chandler's shop, and I'm going to live in." + +"Indeed? Well, I'm glad to hear it. I dare say you'll be better off." + +"Oh, I say,--you know your friend?" + +"The Irishman?" + +"Yes." + +"What about him?" asked the other, smiling as he looked into the girl's +pretty face. + +"Well," said Sally, "I don't mind you telling un where I live now,--if +you like.--Look, there's the address on that paper; you can take it." + +"Oh, I see. In point of fact, you _wish_ me to tell him?" + +"Oh, I don't care. I dessay he don't want to know anything about I. But +you can if you like." + +"I will be sure to, and no doubt he will be delighted. He's been +growing thin since I told him you declined to renew his acquaintance." + +"Oh, don't talk! And now I must be off. Good-bye. I dessay I shall see +you sometimes?" + +"Without doubt. We'll have another Sunday at Richmond soon. Good-bye." + +It was about four in the afternoon when Sally reached home, and she ran +up at once to Ida's room, and burst in, crying out, "I've got it! I've +got it!" with much dancing about and joyous singing. Ida rose with a +faint smile of welcome. She had been sitting at the window, reading a +book lent her by Waymark. + +"They said they liked my appearance," Sally went on, "and 'ud give me a +try. I go in to-morrow. It won't be a over easy place, neither. I've to +do all the cleaning in the house, and there's a baby to look after when +I'm not in the shop." + +"And what will they give you?" + +"Ten shillings a month for the first half-year; then a rise." + +"And you're satisfied?" + +"Oh, it'll do till something better turns up. Oh, I say, I met your +friend just after I'd come away." + +"Did you?" said Ida quietly. + +"Yes; and I told him he could tell his friend where I was, if he liked." + +"His friend?" + +"The Irishman, you know," explained Sally, moving about the room. "I +told you he'd been asking after me." + +Ida seemed all at once to awake from a dream. She uttered a long "Ah!" +under her breath, and for a moment looked at the girl like one who is +struck with an unexpected explanation. Then she turned away to the +window, and again gazed up at the blue sky, standing so for nearly a +minute. + +"Are you engaged to-night?" Sally asked presently. + +"No; will you sit with me?" + +"You're not feeling very well to-day, are you?" + +"I think not," replied Ida, passing her hand over her forehead. "I've +been thinking of going out of London for a few days, perhaps to the +seaside." + +"Go to Weymouth!" cried Sally, delighted at the thought. "Go and see my +people, and tell un how I'm getting on. They'll make you hide with un +all the time you're there, s'nough. It isn't a big house, but it's +comfortable, and see if our mother wouldn't look after you! It's three +weeks since I wrote; if I don't mind there'll be our father up here +looking after I. Now, do go!" + +"No, it's too far. Besides, if I go, I shall want to be quite alone." + +On the following evening Waymark was expected. At his last visit he had +noticed that Ida was not in her usual spirits. To-night he saw that +something was clearly wrong, and when Ida spoke of going to the +seaside, he strongly urged her to do so. + +"Where should you go to?" he asked. + +"I think to Hastings. I went there once, when I was a child, with my +mother--I believe I told you. I had rather go there than anywhere else." + +"I feel the need of a change myself," he said, a moment after, and +without looking at her. "Suppose I were to go to Hastings, too--at the +same time that you're there--would you dislike it?" + +She merely shook her head, almost indifferently. She did not care to +talk much to-night, and frequently nodded instead of replying with +words. + +"But--you would rather I didn't?" he urged. + +"No, indeed," still in the same indifferent way. "I should have +company, if I found it dull." + +"Then let us go down by the same train--will you, Ida?" + +As far as she remembered, it was the first time that he had ever +addressed her thus by her name. She looked up and smiled slightly. + +"If you like," was her answer. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE MISSING YEARS + + +"Why shouldn't life be always like this?" said Waymark, lying on the +upper beach and throwing pebbles into the breakers, which each moment +drew a little further hack and needed a little extra exertion of the +arm to reach them. There was small disturbance by people passing, here +some two miles up the shore eastward from Hastings. A large shawl +spread between two walking-sticks stuck upright gave, at this afternoon +hour, all the shade needful for two persons lying side by side, and, +even in the blaze of unclouded summer, there were pleasant airs +flitting about the edge of the laughing sea. "Why shouldn't life be +always like this? It might be--sunshine or fireside--if men were wise. +Leisure is the one thing that all desire, but they strive for it so +blindly that they frustrate one another's hope. And so at length they +have come to lose the end in the means; are mad enough to set the means +before them as in itself an end." + +"We must work to forget our troubles," said his companion simply. + +"Why, yes, and those very troubles are the fit reward of our folly. We +have not been content to live in the simple happiness of our senses. We +must be learned and wise, forsooth. We were not content to enjoy the +beauty of the greater and the lesser light. We must understand whence +they come and whither they go--after that, what they are made of and +how much they weigh. We thought for such a long time that our toil +would end in something; that we might become as gods, knowing good and +evil. Now we are at the end of our tether, we see clearly enough that +it has all been worse than vain; how good if we could unlearn it all, +scatter the building of phantasmal knowledge in which we dwell so +uncomfortably! It is too late. The gods never take back their gifts; we +wearied them with our prayers into granting us this one, and now they +sit in the clouds and mock us." + +Ida looked, and kept silent; perhaps scarcely understood. + +"People kill themselves in despair," Waymark went on, "that is, when +they have drunk to the very dregs the cup of life's bitterness. If they +were wise, they would die at that moment--if it ever comes--when joy +seems supreme and stable. Life can give nothing further, and it has no +more hellish misery than disillusion following upon delight." + +"Did you ever seriously think of killing yourself?" Ida asked, gazing +at him closely. + +"Yes. I have reached at times the point when I would not have moved a +muscle to escape death, and from that it is not far to suicide. But my +joy had never come, and it is hard to go away without that one +draught.--And you!" + +"I went so far once as to buy poison. But neither had I tasted any +happiness, and I could not help hoping." + +"And you still wait--still hope?" + +Ida made no direct answer. She gazed far off at the indistinguishable +border-land of sea and sky, and when she spoke it was in a softened +tone. + +"When I was here last, I was seven years old. Now I am not quite +nineteen. How long I have lived since then--how long! Yet my life did +not really begin till I was about eleven. Till then I was a happy +child, understanding nothing. Between then and now, if I have +discovered little good either in myself or in others, I have learned by +heart everything that is bad in the world. Nothing in meanness or +vileness or wretchedness is a secret to me. Compare me with other girls +of nineteen--perhaps still at school. What sort of a companion should I +be for one of those, I wonder! What strange thoughts I should have, if +ever I talked with such a girl; how old I should feel myself beside +her!" + +"Your knowledge is better in my eyes than their ignorance. My ideal +woman is the one who, knowing every darkest secret of life, keeps yet a +pure mind--as you do, Ida." + +She was silent so long that Waymark spoke again. + +"Your mother died when you were eleven!" + +"Yes, and that was when my life began. My mother was very poor, but she +managed to send me to a pretty good school. But for that, my life would +have been very different; I should not have understood myself as well +as I always have done. Poor mother,--good, good mother! Oh, if I could +but have her now, and thank her for all her love, and give her but one +year of quiet happiness. To think that I can see her as if she were +standing before me, and yet that she is gone, is nowhere, never to be +brought back to me if I break my heart with longing!" + +Tears stood in her eyes. They meant more than she could ever say to +another, however close and dear to her. The secret of her mother's life +lay in the grave and in her own mind; the one would render it up as +soon as the other. For never would Ida tell in words of that moment +when there had come to her maturing intelligence clear insight into her +mother's history, when the fables of childhood had no longer availed to +blind her, and every recalled circumstance pointed but to one miserable +truth. + +"She's happier than we are," Waymark said solemnly. "Think how long she +has been resting." + +Ida became silent, and presently spoke with a firmer voice. + +"They took her to a hospital in her last illness, and she died there. I +don't know where her grave is." + +"And what became of you? Had you friends to go to?" + +"No one; I was quite alone.--We had been living in lodgings. The +landlady told me that of course I couldn't stay on there; she couldn't +afford to keep me; I must go and find a home somewhere. Try and think +what that meant to me. I was so young and ignorant that such an idea as +that I might one day have to earn my own living had never entered my +mind. I was fed and clothed like every one else,--a good deal better, +indeed, than some of the children at school,--and I didn't know why it +shouldn't always be so. Besides, I was a vain child; I thought myself +clever; I had even begun to look at myself in the glass and think I was +handsome. It seemed quite natural that every one should be kind and +indulgent to me. I shall never forget the feeling I had when the +landlady spoke to me in that hard, sharp way. My whole idea of the +world was overset all at once; I seemed to be in a miserable dream. I +sat in my mother's bedroom hour after hour, and, every step I heard on +the stairs, I thought it must be my mother coming back home to me;--it +was impossible to believe that I was left alone, and could look to no +one for help and comfort." + +"Next morning the landlady came up to me again, and said, if I liked, +she could tell me of a way of earning my living. It was by going as a +servant to an eating-house in a street close by, where they wanted some +one to wash up dishes and do different kinds of work not too hard for a +child like me. I could only do as I was advised; I went at once, and +was engaged. They took off the dress I was wearing, which was far too +good for me then, and gave me a dirty, ragged one; then I was set to +work at once to clean some knives. Nothing was said about wages or +anything of that kind; only I understood that I should live in the +house, and have all given me that I needed. Of course I was very +awkward. I tried my very hardest to do everything that was set me, but +only got scolding for my pains; and it soon came to boxes on the ear, +and even kicks. The place was kept by a man and wife; they had a +daughter older than I, and they treated her just like a hired servant. +I used to sleep with the girl in a wretched kitchen underground, and +the poor thing kept me awake every night with crying and complaining of +her hard life. It was no harder than mine, and I can't think she felt +it more; but I had even then a kind of stubborn pride which kept me +from showing what I suffered. I couldn't have borne to let them see +what a terrible change it was for me, all this drudgery and unkindness; +I felt it would have been like taking them into my confidence, opening +my heart to them, and I despised them too much for that. I even tried +to talk in a rough rude way, as if I had never been used to anything +better--" + +"That was fine, that was heroic!" broke in Waymark admiringly. + +"I only know it was miserable enough. And things got worse instead of +better. The master was a coarse drunken brute, and he and his wife used +to quarrel fearfully. I have seen them throw knives at each other, and +do worse things than that, too. The woman seemed somehow to have a +spite against me from the first, and the way her husband behaved to me +made her hate me still more. Child as I was, he did and said things +which made her jealous. Often when she had gone out of an evening, I +had to defend myself against him, and call the daughter to protect me. +And so it went on, till, what with fear of him, and fear of her, and +misery and weariness, I resolved to go away, become of me what might. +One night, instead of undressing for bed as usual, I told Jane--that +was the daughter--that I couldn't bear it any longer, and was going +away, as soon as I thought the house was quiet. She looked at me in +astonishment, and asked me if I had anywhere to go to. Will you believe +that I said yes, I had? I suppose I spoke in a way which didn't +encourage her to ask questions; she only lay down on the bed and cried +as usual. "Jane," I said, in a little, "if I were you, I'd run away as +well." "I will," she cried out, starting up, "I will this very night! +We'll go out together." It was my turn to ask her if _she_ had anywhere +to go to. She said she knew a girl who lived in a good home at +Tottenham, and who'd do something for her, she thought. At any rate +she'd rather go to the workhouse than stay where she was. So, about one +o'clock, we both crept out by a back way, and ran into Edgware Road. +There we said good-bye, and she went one way, and I another. + +"All that night I walked about, for fear of being noticed loitering by +a policeman. When it was morning, I had come round to Hyde Park, and, +though it was terribly cold--just in March--I went to sleep on a seat. +I woke about ten o'clock, and walked off into the town, seeking a poor +part, where I thought it more likely I might find something to do. Of +course I asked first of all at eating-houses, but no one wanted me. It +was nearly dark, and I hadn't tasted anything. Then I begged of one or +two people--I forgot everything but my hunger--and they gave me a few +coppers. I bought some bread, and still wandered about. There are some +streets into which I can never bear to go now; the thought of walking +about them eight years ago is too terrible to me. Well, I walked till +midnight, and then could stand up no longer. I found myself in a dirty +little street where the house doors stood open all night; I went into +one, and walked up as far as the first landing, and there fell down in +a corner and slept all night." + +"Poor child!" said Waymark, looking into her face, which had become +very animated as the details of the story succeeded each other in her +mind. + +"I must have looked a terrible little savage on that next morning," Ida +went on, smiling sadly. "Oh, how hungry I was! I was awoke by a woman +who came out of one of the rooms, and I asked her if she'd give me +something to eat. She said she would, if I'd light her fire for her, +and clean up the grate. I did this, gladly enough. Then she pretended I +had done it badly, and gave me one miserable little dry crust, and told +me to be off. Well, that day I found another woman who said she'd give +me one meal and twopence a day for helping her to chop wood and wash +vegetables; she had a son who was a costermonger, and the stuff he sold +had to be cleaned each day. I took the work gladly. She never asked me +where I spent the night; the truth was I chose a different house each +night, where I found the door open, and went up and slept on the +stairs. I often found several people doing the same thing, and no one +disturbed us. + +"I lived so for a fortnight, then I was lucky enough to get into +another eating-house. I lived there nearly two months, and had to leave +for the very same reason as at the first place. I only half understood +the meaning of what I had to resist, but my resistance led to other +unbearable cruelties, and again I ran away. I went about eight o'clock +in the evening. The thought of going back to my old sleeping places on +the stairs was horrible. Besides, for some days a strange idea had been +in my head. I had not forgotten my friend Jane, and I wondered whether, +if I went to Tottenham, it would be possible to find her. Perhaps she +might be well off there, and could help me. I had made inquiries about +the way to Tottenham, and the distance, and when I left the +eating-house I had made up my mind to walk straight there. I started +from Hoxton, and went on and on, till I had left the big streets +behind. I kept asking my way, but often went long distances in the +wrong direction. I knew that Tottenham was quite in the country, and my +idea was to find a sleeping-place in some field, then to begin my +search on the next day. It was summer, but still I began to feel cold, +and this drew me away out of my straight road to a fire which I saw +burning a little way off. I thought it would be nice to sit down by it +and rest. I found that the road was being mended, and by the fire lay a +watchman in a big tub. Just as I came up he was eating his supper. He +was a great, rough man, but I looked in his face and thought it seemed +good, so I asked him if he'd let me rest a little. Of course he was +surprised at seeing me there, for it must have been midnight, and when +he asked me about myself I told him the truth, because he spoke in a +kind way. Then he stopped eating and gave me what was left; it was a +bit of fat bacon and some cold potatoes; but how good it was, and how +good _he_ was! To this moment I can see that man's face. He got out of +his tub and made me take his place, and he wrapped me up in something +he had there. Then he sat by the fire, and kept looking at me, I +thought, in a sad sort of way; and he said, over and over again, 'Ay, +it's bad to be born a little girl; it's bad to be born a little girl; +pity you wasn't a boy.' Oh, how well I can hear his voice this moment! +And as he kept saying this, I went off to sleep." + +She stopped, and played with the pebbles. + +"And in the morning?" asked Waymark. + +"Well, when I woke up, it was light, and there were a lot of other men +about, beginning their work on the road. I crept out of the tub, and +when they saw me, they laughed in a kind sort of way, and gave me some +breakfast. I suppose I thanked them, I hope I did; the watchman was +gone, but no doubt he had told the others my story, for they showed me +the way to Tottenham, and wished me luck." + +"And you found your friend Jane!" + +"No, no; how was it likely I should? I wandered about till I could +stand no longer, and then I went up to the door of a house which stood +in a garden, and begged for something to eat. The servant who opened +was sending me away, when her mistress heard, and came to the door. She +stood looking at me for some time, and then told me to come in. I went +into the kitchen, and she asked me all about myself. I told her the +truth; I was too miserable now to do anything else. Well, the result +was--she kept me there." + +"For good?" + +"Indeed, for good. In that very house I lived for six years. Oh; she +was the queerest and kindest little body! At first I helped her servant +in the kitchen,--she lived quite by herself, with one servant,--but +little by little she made me a sort of lady's maid, and I did no more +rough work. You wouldn't believe the ridiculous fancies of that dear +old woman! She thought herself a great beauty, and often told me so +very plainly, and she used to talk to me about her chances of being +married to this and the other person in the neighbourhood. And the +result of all this was that she had to spend I don't know how long +every day in dressing herself, and then looking at herself in the +glass. And I had to learn how to do her hair, and put paint and powder +on her face, and all sorts of wonderful things. She was as good to me +as she could be, and I never wanted for anything. And so six years +passed, and one morning she was found dead in her bed. + +"Well, that was the end of the happiest time of my life. In a day or +two some relatives came to look after things, and I had to go. They +were kind to me, however; they gave me money, and told me I might refer +to them if I needed to. I came to London, and took a room, and wondered +what I should do. + +"I advertised, and answered advertisements, but nothing came. My money +was going, and I should soon be as badly off as ever. I began to do +what I had always thought of as the very last thing, look for +needlework, either for home or in a workroom. I don't know how it is +that I have always hated sewing. For one thing, I really can't sew. I +was never taught as a child, and few girls are as clumsy with a needle +as I am. I've always looked upon a work-girl's life as the most +horrible drudgery; I'd far rather scrub floors. I suppose I've a +rebellious disposition, and just because sewing is looked upon as a +woman's natural slavery, I rebelled against it. + +"By this time I was actually starving. I had one day to tell my +landlady I couldn't pay my rent. She was a very decent woman, and she +talked to me in a kind way. What was better, she gave me help. She had +a sister who kept a laundry, and she thought I might perhaps get +something to do there; at all events she would go and see. The result +was I got work. I was in the laundry nearly six months, and became +quite clever in getting up linen. Now this was a kind of work I liked. +You can't think what a pleasure it was to me to see shirts and collars +turning out so spotless and sweet--" + +Waymark laughed. + +"Oh, but you don't understand. I do so like cleanliness! I have a sort +of feeling when I'm washing anything, that I'm really doing good in the +world, and the dazzling white of linen after I'd ironed it seemed to +thank me for my work." + +"Yes, yes, I understand well enough," said Waymark earnestly. + +"For all that I couldn't stay. I was restless. I had a foolish notion +that I should like to be with a better kind of people again--I mean +people in a higher position. I still kept answering advertisements for +a lady's maid's place, and at last I got what I wanted. Oh yes, I got +it." + +She broke off' laughing bitterly, and remained silent. Waymark would +not urge her to continue. For a minute it seemed as if she would tell +no more; she looked at her watch, and half arose. + +"Oh, I may as well tell you all, now I've begun," she said, falling +back again in a careless way. "You know what the end's going to be; +never mind, at all events I'll try and make you understand how it came. + +"The family I got into was a lady and her two grown-up daughters, and a +son of about five-and-twenty. They lived in a small house at Shepherd's +Bush. My wages were very small, and I soon found out that they were a +kind of people who keep up a great deal of show on very little means. +Of course I had to be let into all the secrets of their miserable +shifts for dressing well on next to nothing at all, and they expected +me--mother and daughters--to do the most wonderful and impossible +things. I had to turn old rags into smart new costumes, to trim +worn-out hats into all manner of gaudy shapes, even to patch up boots +in a way you couldn't imagine. And they used to send me with money to +buy things they were ashamed to go and buy themselves; then, if I +hadn't laid out their few pence with marvellous result, they all but +accused me of having used some of the money for myself. I had +fortunately learnt a great deal with the old lady in Tottenham, or I +couldn't have satisfied them for a day. I'm sure I did what few people +could have done, and for all that they treated me from almost the first +very badly. I had to be housemaid as well as lady's maid; the slavery +left me every night worn out with exhaustion. And I hadn't even enough +to eat. As time went on, they treated me worse and worse. They spoke to +me often in a way that made my heart boil, as if they were so many +queens, and I was some poor mean wretch who was honoured by being +allowed to toil for them. Then they quarrelled among themselves +unceasingly, and of course I had to bear all the bad temper. I never +saw people hate one another like those three did; the sisters even +scratched each other's faces in their fits of jealousy, and sometimes +they both stormed at their mother till she went into hysterics, just +because she couldn't give them more money. The only one in the house +who ever spoke decently to me was the son--Alfred Bolter, his name was. +I suppose I felt grateful to him. Once or twice, when he met me on the +stairs, he kissed me. I was too miserable even to resent it. + +"I went about, day after day, in a dazed state, trying to make up my +mind to leave the people, but I couldn't. I don't know how it was, I +had never felt so afraid of being thrown out into the world again. I +suppose it was bodily weakness, want of proper food, and overwork. I +began to feel that the whole world was wronging me. Was there never to +be anything for me but slaving? Was I never to have any enjoyment of +life, like other people? I felt a need of pleasure, I didn't care how +or what. I was always in a fever; everything was exaggerated to me. +What was going to be my future?--I kept asking myself. Was it only to +be hard work, miserably paid, till I died? And I should die at last +without having known what it was to enjoy my life. When I was allowed +to go out--it was very seldom--I walked aimlessly about the streets, +watching all the girls I passed, and fancying they all looked so happy, +all enjoying their life so. I was growing thin and pale. I coughed, and +began to think I was consumptive. A little more of it and I believe I +should have become so really. + +"It came to an end, suddenly and unexpectedly. All three, mother and +daughters, had been worrying me through a whole morning, and at last +one of them called me a downright fool, and said I wasn't worth the +bread I ate. I turned on them. I can't remember a word I said, but +speak I did, and in a way that astonished them; they shrank back from +me, looking pale and frightened. I felt in that moment that I was a +thousand times their superior; I believe I told them so. Then I rushed +up to my room, packed my box, and went out into the street. + +"I had just turned a corner, when some one came up to me, and it was +Mr. Bolter. He had followed me from the house. He laughed, said I had +done quite right, and asked me if I had any money. I shook my head. He +walked on by me, and talked. The end was, that he found me rooms, and +provided for me. + +"I had not the least affection for him, but he had pleasant, +gentlemanly ways, and it scarcely even occurred to me to refuse his +offers. I was reckless; what happened to me mattered little, as long as +I had not to face hard work. I needed rest. For one in my position +there was, I saw well enough, only one way of getting it. I took that +way." + +Ida had told this in a straightforward, unhesitating manner, not +meeting her companion's gaze, yet not turning away. One would have said +that judgments upon her story were indifferent to her; she simply +related past events. In a moment, she resumed. + +"Do you remember, on the night when you first met me, a man following +us in the street?" + +Waymark nodded. + +"He was a friend of Alfred Bolter's, and sometimes we met him when we +went to the theatre, and such places. That is the only person I ever +hated from the first sight,--hated and dreaded in a way I could not +possibly explain." + +"But why do you mention him?" asked Waymark. "What is his name?" + +"His name is Edwards," returned Ida, pronouncing it as if the sound +excited loathing in her. "I had been living in this way for nearly +half-a-year, when one day this man called and came up to my +sitting-room. He said he had an appointment with Mr. Bolter, who would +come presently. I sat scarcely speaking, but he talked on. Presently, +Mr. Bolter came. He seemed surprised to find the other man with me, and +almost at once turned round and went out again. Edwards followed him, +saying to me that he wondered what it all meant. The meaning was made +clear to me a few hours after. There came a short note from Mr. Bolter, +saying that he had suspected that something was wrong, and that under +the circumstances he could of course only say good-bye. + +I can't say that I was sorry; I can't say that I was glad. I despised +him for his meanness, not even troubling myself to try and make sure of +what had happened. The same night Edwards came to see me again, made +excuses, blamed his friend, shuffled here and there, and gave me +clearly to understand what he wanted. I scarcely spoke, only told him +to go away, and that he need never speak to me anywhere or at any time; +it would be useless. Well, I changed my lodgings for those I now have, +and simply began the life I now--the life I have been leading. Work was +more impossible for me than ever, and I had to feed and clothe myself." + +"How long ago was that?" asked Waymark, without looking up. + +"Four months." + +Ida rose from the beach. The tide had gone down some distance; there +were stretches of smooth sand, already dry in the sunshine. + +"Let us walk back on the sands," she said, pointing. + +"You are going home?" + +"Yes, I want to rest a little. I will meet you again about eight +o'clock, if you like." + +Waymark accompanied her as far as the door, then strolled on to his own +lodgings, which were near at hand. It was only the second day that they +had been in Hastings, yet it seemed to him as if he had been walking +about on the seashore with Ida for weeks. For all that, he felt that he +was not as near to her now as he had been on certain evenings in +London, when his arrival was to her a manifest pleasure, and their talk +unflagging from hour to hour. She did not show the spirit of holiday, +seemed weary from time to time, was too often preoccupied and +indisposed to talk. True, she had at length fulfilled her promise of +telling him the whole of her story, but even this increase of +confidence Waymark's uneasy mind strangely converted into fresh source +of discomfort to himself. She had made this revelation--he half +believed--on purpose to keep up the distance between them, to warn him +how slight occasion had led her from what is called the path of virtue, +that he might not delude himself into exaggerated estimates of her +character. Such a thought could of course only be due to the fact that +Ida's story had indeed produced something of this impression upon her +hearer. Waymark had often busied himself with inventing all manner of +excuses for her, had exerted his imagination to the utmost to hit upon +some most irresistible climax of dolorous circumstances to account for +her downfall. He had yet to realise that circumstances are as relative +in their importance as everything else in this world, and that ofttimes +the greatest tragedies revolve on apparently the most insignificant +outward events--personality being all. + +He spent the hours of her absence in moving from place to place, +fretting in mind. At one moment, he half determined to bring things to +some issue, by disregarding all considerations and urging his love upon +her. Yet this he felt he could not do. Surely--he asked himself angrily +he was not still so much in the thraldom of conventionality as to be +affected by his fresh reminder of her position and antecedents? Perhaps +not quite so much prejudice as experience which disturbed him. He was +well acquainted with the characteristics of girls of this class; he +knew how all but impossible it is for them to tell the truth, the whole +truth, and nothing but the truth. And there was one thing particularly +in Ida's story that he found hard to credit; was it indeed likely that +she had not felt more than she would confess for this man whose +mistress she became so easily? If she had _not_, if what she said were +true, was not this something like a proof of her lack of that refined +sentiment which is, the capacity for love, in its real sense? Torturing +doubts and reasonings of this kind once set going in a brain already +confused with passion, there is no limit to the range of speculation +opened; Waymark found himself--in spite of everything--entertaining all +his old scepticism. In any case, had he the slightest ground for the +hope that she might ever feel to him as warmly as he did to her? He +could not recall one instance of Ida's having betrayed a trace of +fondness in her intercourse with him. The mere fact of their +intercourse he altogether lost sight of. Whereas an outsider would, +under the circumstances, have been justified in laying the utmost +stress on this, Waymark had grown to accept it as a matter of course, +and only occupied himself with Ida's absolute self-control, her perfect +calmness in all situations, the ease with which she met his glance, the +looseness of her hand in his, the indifference with which she heard him +when he had spoken of his loneliness and frequent misery. Where was the +key of her character? She did not care for admiration; it was quite +certain that she was not leading him about just to gratify her own +vanity. Was it not purely an intellectual matter? She was a girl of +superior intellect, and, having found in him some one with whom she +could satisfy her desire for rational converse, did she not on this +account keep up their relations? For the rest--well, she liked ease and +luxury; above all, ease. Of that she would certainly make no sacrifice. +How well he could imagine the half-annoyed, half-contemptuous smile +which would rise to her beautiful face, if he were so foolish as to +become sentimental with her! That, he felt, would be a look not easy to +bear. Humiliation he dreaded. + +When eight o'clock came, he was leaning over the end of the pier, at +the appointed spot, still busy in thought. There came a touch on his +arm. + +"Well, are you thinking how you can make a book out of my story?" + +The touch, the voice, the smile,--how all his sophistry was swept away +in a rush of tenderness and delight! + +"I must wait for the end of it," he returned, holding out his hand, +which she did not take. + +"The end?--Oh, you must invent one. Ends in real life are so +commonplace and uninteresting." + +"Commonplace or not," said Waymark, with some lack of firmness in his +voice, "the end of your story should not be an unhappy one, if I had +the disposing of it. And I might have--but for one thing." + +"What's that?" she asked, with sudden interest. + +"My miserable poverty. If I only had money--money"-- + +"Money!" she exclaimed, turning away almost angrily. Then she added, +with the coldness which she did not often use, but which, when she did, +chilled and checked him--"I don't understand you." + +He pointed with a bitter smile down to the sands. + +"Look at that gold of the sunset in the pools the tide has left. It is +the most glorious colour in nature, but it makes me miserable by +reminding me of the metal it takes its name from." + +She looked at him with eyes which had in them a strange wonder, sad at +first, then full of scorn, of indignation. And then she laughed, +drawing herself away from him. The laugh irritated him. He experienced +a terrible revulsion of feeling, from the warmth and passion which had +possessed him, to that humiliation, which he could not bear. + +And just now a number of people came and took their stands close by, in +a gossiping group. Ida had half turned away, and was looking at the +golden pools. He tried to say something, but his tongue was dry, and +the word would not come. Presently, she faced him again, and said, in +very much her ordinary tone-- + +"I was going to tell you that I have just had news from London, which +makes it necessary for me to go back to-morrow. I shall have to take an +early train." + +"This is because I have offended you," Waymark said, moving nearer to +her. "You had no thought of going before that." + +"I am not surprised that you refuse to believe me," returned Ida, +smiling very faintly. "Still, it is the truth. And now I must go in +again;--I am very tired." + +"No," he exclaimed as she moved away, "you must not go in till--till +you have forgotten me. At least come away to a quiet place, where I can +speak freely to you; these people--" + +"To-morrow morning," she said, waving her hand wearily. "I can't talk +now--and indeed there is no need to speak of this at all. I have +forgotten it." + +"No, you have not; how could you?--And you will not go to-morrow; you +shall not." + +"Yes, I must," she returned firmly. + +"Then I shall go with you." + +"As you like. I shall leave by the express at five minutes past nine." + +"Then I shall be at the station. But at least I may walk home with you?" + +"No, please. If you wish me to think you are sincere,--if you wish us +still to be friends--stay till I have left the pier.--Good night." + +He muttered a return, and stood watching her as she walked quietly away. + +When it was nearly midnight, Ida lay on her bed, dressed, as she had +lain since her return home. For more than an hour she had cried and +sobbed in blank misery, cried as never since the bitter days long ago, +just after her mother's death. Then, the fit over, something like a +reaction of calm followed, and as she lay perfectly still in the +darkness, her regular breathing would have led one to believe her +asleep. But she was only thinking, and in deed very far from sleep The +long day in the open air had so affected her eyes that, as she looked +up at the ceiling, it seemed to her to be a blue space, with light +clouds constantly flitting across it. Presently this impression became +painful, and a growing restlessness made her rise. The heat of the room +was stifling, for just above was the roof, upon which all day the sun +had poured its rays. She threw open the window, and drank in the air. +The night was magnificent, flooded with warm moonlight, and fragrant +with sea breathings. Ida felt an irresistible desire to leave the house +and go down to the shore, which she could not see from her window; the +tide, she remembered, would just now be full, and to walk by it in the +solitude of midnight would bring her that peace and strength of soul +she so much needed. She put on her hat and cloak, and went downstairs. +The front door was only latched, and, as she had her key, no doubt she +would be able to let herself in at any hour. + +The streets were all but deserted, and, when she came to the beach, no +soul was anywhere visible. She walked towards the place where she had +spent the afternoon with Waymark, then onwards still further to the +east, till there was but a narrow space between the water and the +cliffs. Breakers there were none, not more ripple at the clear +tide-edge than on the border of a little lake. So intense was the +silence that every now and then could be distinctly heard a call on one +of the fishing-boats lying some distance from shore. The town was no +longer in sight. + +It was close even here; what little breeze there was brushed the face +like the warm wing of a passing bird. Ida dipped her hands in the water +and sprinkled it upon her forehead. Then she took off her boots and +stockings, and walked with her feet in the ripples. A moment after she +stopped, and looked all around, as if hesitating at some thought, and +wishing to see that her solitude was secure. Just then the sound of a +clock came very faintly across the still air, striking the hour of one. +She stepped from the water a few paces, and began hastily to put off +her clothing; in a moment her feet were again in the ripples, and she +was walking out from the beach, till her gleaming body was hidden. Then +she bathed, breasting the full flow with delight, making the sundered +and broken water flash myriad reflections of the moon and stars. + + * * * * * + +Waymark was at the station next morning half an hour before train-time. +He waited for Ida's arrival before taking his ticket. She did not come. +He walked about in feverish impatience, plaguing himself with all +manner of doubt and apprehension. The train came into the station, and +yet she had not arrived. It started, and no sign of her. + +He waited yet five minutes, then walked hastily into the town, and to +Ida's lodgings. Miss Starr, he was told, had left very early that +morning; if he was Mr. Waymark, there was a note to be delivered to him. + + +"I thought it better that I should go to London by an earlier train, +for we should not have been quite at our ease with each other. I beg +you will not think my leaving you is due to anything but +necessity--indeed it is not. I shall not be living at the old place, +but any letter you send there I shall get. I cannot promise to reply at +once, but hope you will let me do so when I feel able to. + +I. S." + + +Waymark took the next train to town. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE ENDERBYS + + +Some twenty years before the date we have reached, the Rev. Paul +Enderby, a handsome young man, endowed with moral and intellectual +qualities considerably above the average, lived and worked in a certain +small town of Yorkshire. + +He had been here for two years, an unmarried man; now it was made known +that this state of things was to come to an end; moreover, to the +disappointment of not a few households, it was understood that the +future Mrs. Enderby had been chosen from among his own people, in +London. The lady came, and there was a field-day of criticism. Mrs. +Enderby looked very young, and was undeniably pretty; she had +accomplishments, and evidently liked to exhibit them before her homely +visitors. She exaggerated the refinement of her utterance that it might +all the more strike off against the local accent. It soon became clear +that she would be anything but an assistance to her husband in his +parochial work; one or two attempts were made, apparently with good +will, at intercourse with the poor parishioners, but the enterprise was +distinctly a failure; it had to be definitively given up. Presently a +child was born in the parsonage, and for a little while the young +mother's attention was satisfactorily engaged at home. The child was a +girl and received the name of Maud. + +Paul Enderby struggled to bate no jot of his former activity, but a +change was obvious to all. No less obvious the reason of it. Mrs. +Enderby's reckless extravagance had soon involved her husband in great +difficulties. He was growing haggard; his health was failing; his +activity shrank within the narrowest possible limits; he shunned men's +gaze. + +Yet all at once there happened something which revived much of his old +zeal, and, in spite of everything, brought him once more prominently +forward. A calamity had visited the town. By a great explosion in a +neighbouring colliery, numbers of homes had been rendered destitute, +and aid of every kind was imperatively called for on all sides. In +former times, Paul Enderby would have been just the man for this +occasion, and even now he was not wanting. Extensive subscriptions were +raised, and he, as chief man in the committee which had been formed, +had chief control of the funds. People said afterwards that they had +often remarked something singular in his manner as he went about in +these duties. Whether that was true or not, something more than +singular happened when, some two months later, accounts were being +investigated and cleared up. Late one evening, Mr. Enderby left +home,--and never returned to it. It was very soon known that he must +have appropriated to his own use considerable sums which had reached +his hands for charitable purposes, and the scandal was terrific. Mrs. +Enderby and her child disappeared in a day or two. It was said that +ladies from London had come and fetched her away, and she was no more +heard of in that little town. + +Miss Bygrave, an elder sister of Mrs. Enderby, had received a letter +from Paul summoning her to the wife's aid: and this letter, dated from +Liverpool, after disclosing in a few words the whole situation, went on +to say that the writer, though he would never more be seen by those who +knew him, would not fail to send his wife what money he could as often +as he could. And, after half a year, sums had begun to be remitted, in +envelopes bearing a Californian postmark. They were not much use, +however, to Mrs. Enderby. A few days after her arrival at her home in +London, she had been discovered hanging, with a rope round her neck, +from a nail behind her bedroom door. Cut down in time, her life was +saved, but reason had forsaken her. She was taken away to an asylum, +and remained there for five years. + +By that time, she seemed to have quite recovered. Her home was now to +be with her sister, Theresa Bygrave. Her child, Maud Enderby, was +nearly seven years old. Mrs. Enderby returned to the world not quite +the same woman as when she left it. She had never lacked character, and +this now showed itself in one immutable resolution. Having found that +the child had learnt nothing of its parents, she determined that this +ignorance should continue; or rather that it should be exchanged for +the belief that those parents were both long dead. She dwelt apart, +supported by her sister. Finally, after ten years' absence, Paul +Enderby returned to England, and lived again with his wife. But Maud, +their daughter, still believed herself alone in the world, save for her +aunt, Miss Bygrave. + +At the time when Waymark and Ida were together at Hastings, Mrs. +Enderby called one evening at Miss Bygrave's house--the house of Maud's +childhood, still distinguished by the same coldness, bareness and +gloom, the same silence echoing to a strange footfall. Theresa Bygrave +had not greatly altered; tall, upright, clad in the plainest black +garment, she walked into the room with silent dignity, and listened to +a suggestion made by her brother-in-law. + +"We have talked it over again," said Paul, "and we have decided to take +this step." + +He paused and watched the listener's face eagerly, glancing quickly +away as soon as she looked up. + +"And you still wish me to break it to Maud, and in the way you said?" + +"If you will.--But I do so wish you would let me know your own thoughts +about this. You have so much claim to be considered. Maud is in reality +yours far more than she is ours. Will it--do you think now it will +really be for our own happiness? Will the explanation you are able to +give be satisfactory to her? What will be her attitude towards us? You +know her character--you understand her." + +"If the future could be all as calm as the past year has been," said +Miss Bygrave, "I should have nothing to urge against your wishes." + +"And this will contribute to it," exclaimed Enderby. "This would give +Emily the very support she needs." + +Miss Bygrave looked into his face, which had a pleading earnestness, +and a deep pity lay in her eyes. + +"Let it be so," she said with decision. "I myself have much hope from +Maud's influence. I will write and tell her not to renew her +engagement, and she will be with us at the end of September." + +"But you will not tell her anything till she comes?" + +"No." + +Miss Bygrave lived in all but complete severance from the world. When +Maud Enderby was at school, she felt strongly and painfully the +contrast between her own home life and that of her companions. The girl +withdrew into solitary reading and thinking; grew ever more afraid of +the world; and by degrees sought more of her aunt's confidence, feeling +that here was a soul that had long since attained to the peace which +she was vainly seeking. + +But it was with effort that Miss Bygrave brought herself to speak to +another of her form of faith. After that Christmas night when she +addressed Maud for the first time on matters of religion, she had said +no second word; she waited the effect of her teaching, and the girl's +spontaneous recurrence to the subject. There was something in the very +air of the still, chill house favourable to ascetic gravity. A young +girl, living under such circumstances, must either pine away, eating +her own heart, or become a mystic, and find her daily food in religious +meditation. + +Only when her niece was seventeen years old did Miss Bygrave speak to +her of worldly affairs. Her own income, she explained, was but just +sufficient for their needs, and would terminate upon her death; had +Maud thought at all of what course she would choose when the time for +decision came? Naturally, only one thing could suggest itself to the +girl's mind, and that was to become a teacher. To begin with, she took +subordinate work in the school where she had been a pupil; later, she +obtained the engagement at Dr. Tootle's. + +An education of this kind, working upon Maud Enderby's natural +temperament, resulted in an abnormal character, the chief trait of +which was remarkable as being in contradiction to the spirit of her +time. She was oppressed with the consciousness of sin. Every most +natural impulse of her own heart she regarded as a temptation to be +resisted with all her strength. Her ideal was the same as Miss +Bygrave's, but she could not pursue it with the latter's assured calm; +at every moment the voice of her youth spoke within her, and became to +her the voice of the enemy. Her faith was scarcely capable of +formulation in creeds; her sins were not of omission or commission in +the literal sense; it was an attitude of soul which she sought to +attain, though ever falling away. What little she saw of the world in +London, and afterwards at her home by the sea-side, only served to +increase the trouble of her conscience, by making her more aware of her +own weakness. For instance, the matter of her correspondence with +Waymark. In very truth, the chief reason why she had given him the +permission he asked of her was, that before so sudden and unexpected a +demand she found herself confused and helpless; had she been able to +reflect, the temptation would probably have been resisted, for the +pleasantness of the thought made her regard it as a grave temptation. +Casuistry and sophistical reasoning with her own heart ensued, to the +increase of her morbid sensitiveness; she persuaded herself that +greater insight into the world's evil would be of aid in her struggle, +and so the contents of Waymark's first letter led her to a continuance +of the correspondence. A power of strong and gloomy description which +she showed in her letters, and which impressed Waymark, afforded the +key to her sufferings; her soul in reality was that of an artist, and, +whereas the artist should be free from everything like moral +prepossession, Maud's aesthetic sensibilities were in perpetual +conflict with her moral convictions. She could not understand herself, +seeing that her opportunities had never allowed her to obtain an idea +of the artistic character. This irrepressible delight and interest in +the active life of the world, what could it be but the tendency to +evil, most strongly developed? These heart-burnings whenever she +witnessed men and women rejoicing in the exercise of their natural +affections, what could that be but the proneness to evil in its +grossest form? + +It was naturally a great surprise to Maud when she received the letter +from her aunt, which asked her not to continue her engagement into the +new quarter, giving as a reason merely that the writer wished for her +at home. It was even with something of dread and shrinking that she +looked forward to a renewal of the old life. Still, it was enough that +her aunt had need of her. On her return to London, she was met with +strange revelations. Miss Bygrave's story had been agreed upon between +herself and Paul. It had been deemed best to make Mrs. Enderby's +insanity the explanation of Maud's removal from her parents, and the +girl, stricken as she was with painful emotions, seemed to accept this +undoubtingly. + +The five years or so since Paul Enderby's reappearance in England +seemed to have been not unprosperous. The house to which Maud was +welcomed by her father and mother was not a large one, and not in a +very fashionable locality, but it was furnished with elegance. Mrs. +Enderby frequently had her hired brougham, and made use of it to move +about a good deal where people see and are seen. Mr. Enderby's business +was "in the City." How he had surmounted his difficulties was not very +clear; his wife learned that he had brought with him from America a +scheme for the utilisation of waste product in some obscure branch of +manufacture, which had been so far successful as to supply him with a +small capital. He seemed to work hard, leaving home at nine each +morning, getting back to dinner at half-past six, and, as often as not, +spending the evening away from home, and not returning till the small +hours. He had the feverish eye of a man whose subsistence depends upon +speculative acuteness and restless calculation. No doubt he was still +so far the old Paul, that, whatever he undertook, he threw himself into +it with surpassing vigour. + +Mrs. Enderby was in her thirty-eighth year, and still handsome. Most +men, at all events, would have called her so, for most men are +attracted by a face which is long, delicate, characterless, and +preserves late the self-conscious expression of a rather frivolous girl +of seventeen. She had ideals of her own, which she pursued regardless +of the course in which they led her; and these ideals were far from +ignoble. To beauty of all kinds she was passionately sensitive. As a +girl she had played the piano well, and, though the power had gone from +long disuse, music was still her chief passion. Graceful ease, delicacy +in her surroundings, freedom from domestic cares, the bloom of flowers, +sweet scents--such things made up her existence. She loved her husband, +and had once worshipped him; she loved her recovered daughter; but both +affections were in her, so to speak, of aesthetic rather than of moral +quality. + +Intercourse between Maud and her parents, now that they lived together, +was, as might have been expected, not altogether natural or easy. She +came to them with boundless longings, ready to expend in a moment the +love of a lifetime; they, on their side, were scarcely less full of +warm anticipation; yet something prevented the complete expression of +this mutual yearning. The fault was not in the father and mother if +they hung back somewhat; in very truth, Maud's pure, noble countenance +abashed them. This, their child, was so much the superior of them both; +they felt it from the first moment, and could never master the +consciousness. Maud mistook this for coldness; it checked and saddened +her. Yet time brought about better things, though the ideal would never +be attained. In her father, the girl found much to love; her mother she +could not love as she had hoped, but she regarded her with a vast +tenderness, often with deep compassion. Much of sympathy, moreover, +there was between these two. Maud's artistic temperament was inherited +from her mother, but she possessed it in a stronger degree, of purer +quality, and under greater restraint. This restraint, however, did not +long continue to be exercised as hitherto. Life for the first time was +open before her, and the music which began to fill her ears, the +splendour which shone into her eyes, gradually availed to still that +inner voice which had so long spoken to her in dark admonishings. She +could not resign herself absolutely to the new delight; it was still a +conflict; but from the conflict itself she derived a kind of joy, born +of the strength of her imagination. + +Yes, there was one portion of the past which dwelt with her, and by +degrees busied her thoughts more and more. The correspondence with +Waymark had ceased, and by her own negligence. In those days of mental +disturbance which preceded her return to London, his last letter had +reached her, and this she had not replied to. It had been her turn to +write, but she had not felt able to do so; it had seemed to her, +indeed, that, with her return home, the correspondence would naturally +come to an end; with a strange ignorance of herself, such as now and +then darkens us, she had suddenly come to attach little value to the +connection. Not improbably, Waymark's last two letters had been forced +and lacking in interest. He had never said anything which could be +construed into more than an expression of friendly interest, or +intellectual sympathy. It may be that Maud's condition, dimly prophetic +of the coming change, required more than this, and she conceived a +certain dissatisfaction. Then came the great event, and for some weeks +she scarcely thought of her correspondent. One day, however, she +chanced upon the little packet of his letters, and read them through +again. It was with new eyes. Thoughts spoke to her which had not been +there on the first reading. Waymark had touched at times on art and +kindred subjects, and only now could she understand his meaning. She +felt that, in breaking off her connection with him, she had lost the +one person who could give her entire sympathy; to whom she might have +spoken with certainty of being understood, of all the novel ideas which +possessed her; who, indeed, would have been invaluable as a guide in +the unknown land she was treading. It was now almost the end of the +year; more than three months had gone by since she received that last +letter from him. Could she write now, and let him know that she was in +London? She could not but give expression to her altered self; and +would he be able to understand her? Yet,--she needed him; and there was +something of her mother in the fretting to which she was now and then +driven by the balked desire. At length she was on the point of writing +a letter, with whatever result, when chance spared her the trouble. + +One morning in December, she went with her mother to an exhibition of +pictures in Bond Street. Such visits had been common of late; Mrs. +Enderby could rarely occupy herself at home, and pictures, as +everything beautiful, always attracted her. They had been in the +gallery a few minutes only, when Maud recognised Waymark close at hand. +He was looking closely at a canvas, and seemed quite unaware of her +proximity. She laid her hand on her mother's arm, and spoke in a +nervous whisper. + +"Mother, I know that gentleman." + +"This one?" asked Mrs. Enderby, indicating Waymark, with a smile. She +showed no surprise, any more than she would have done had Maud been +only her friend. + +"Yes. If he should notice me, may I introduce him to you? He was at the +school where I taught a year ago." + +"Why, certainly, my love," replied her mother, with cheerful assent. +"It is quite natural that you should have acquaintances I should like +to know. Shall I ask him to come and see us?" + +There was no opportunity of answering. Waymark, in moving on, had +glanced round at the groups of people, and his eye had fallen on Maud. +He seemed uncertain; looked quickly away; glanced again, and, meeting +her eyes, raised his hat, though still without conviction in his face. +Maud came naturally forward a step or two, and they shook hands; then +at once she introduced him to her mother. No one ever experienced +awkward pauses in Mrs. Enderby's presence; conversation linked itself +with perfect ease, and in a minute they were examining the pictures +together. Mrs. Enderby had made up her mind with regard to her new +acquaintance in one or two gleams of her quick eyes, and then talked on +in an eager, intelligent way, full of contagious enthusiasm, which soon +brought out Waymark's best powers. Maud said very little. Whenever it +was possible unobserved, she gazed at Waymark's face. She found herself +thinking that, in external appearance, he had improved since she last +saw him. He had no longer that hungry, discontented look to which she +had grown accustomed in the upper schoolroom at Dr. Tootle's; his eye +seemed at once quieter and keener; his complexion was brighter; the +habitual frown had somewhat smoothed away. Then, he was more careful in +the matter of dress. On the whole, it seemed probable that his +circumstances had changed for the better. + +Waymark, on his side, whilst he talked, was not less full of +speculation about Maud. For the change in her appearance was certainly +much more noticeable than it could be in his own. Not only that she had +put aside her sad-coloured and poor raiment for a costume of tasteful +and attractive simplicity--this, of course, her mother's doing--but the +look of shrinking, almost of fear, which he had been wont to see on her +face, was entirely gone. Her eyes seemed for ever intelligent of new +meanings; she was pale, but with the pallor of eager, joy-bringing +thought. There was something pathetic in this new-born face; the lips +seemed still to speak of past sorrows, or, it might be, to hold +unspoken a sad fate half-foreseen. + +If this renewal of acquaintanceship came just at the right time for +Maud, it was no less welcome to Waymark. When he wrote his last letter +to her, it had proceeded more from a sense of obligation than any +natural impulse. For he was then only just recovering from a period of +something like despair. His pursuit of Ida Starr to London had been +fruitless. It was true that she had left her former abode, and the +landlady professed to be ignorant of her new one, though she admitted +that she had seen Ida scarcely two hours before Waymark's arrival. He +wrote, but had no reply. His only comfort was an ever-rising suspicion +of the truth (as he would learn it later), but fears were, on the +whole, strongest within him. Confidence in her he had not. All the +reflections of that last evening on Hastings pier lived and re-lived in +his mind; outcome of the cynicism which was a marked feature in his +development, and at the same time tending to confirm it. She had been +summoned back suddenly by a letter; who but a simpleton could doubt +what that meant? He thought of Sally, of course, and the step she had +taken; but could he draw conclusions about Ida from Sally, and did ever +two such instances come within a man's experience? To Sally herself he +had naturally had recourse, but in vain. She said that she knew nothing +of the lost girl. So Waymark fought it out, to the result of weariness; +then plunged into his work again, and had regained very much his +ordinary state of mind when Maud Enderby unexpectedly came before him. + +He called upon the Enderbys, and was soon invited to dine, which +necessitated the purchase of a dress suit. On the appointed evening, he +found Maud and her mother in a little drawing-room, which had a +pleasant air of ease and refinement. It was a new sensation for Waymark +as he sank into a soft chair, and, in speaking, lowered his voice, to +suit the quietness of the room. The soft lamp-light spreading through +the coloured shade, the just perceptible odour of scent when Mrs. +Enderby stirred, the crackling of the welcome fire, filled him with a +sense of luxury to which he was not accustomed. He looked at Maud. She +was beautiful in her evening dress; and, marking the grave, sweet +thoughtfulness of her face, the grace of her movements, the air of +purity which clung about her, his mind turned to Ida Starr, and +experienced a shock at the comparison. Where was Ida at this moment? +The mere possibilities which such a question brought before his mind +made him uneasy, almost as if he had forgotten himself and uttered +aloud some word all unfit for ladies' ears. The feeling was a novel +one, and, in afterwards recalling it, he could smile rather +contemptuously, If we are enraptured with one particular flower, shall +we necessarily despise another, whose beauty and perfume happen to be +of quite a different kind? + +Mr. Enderby appeared, followed by another gentleman. Waymark noticed an +unpleasant heat in the hand held out to him; there was a flush in +Paul's cheeks, too, and his eyes were very bright. He greeted the +visitor with somewhat excessive warmth, then turned and introduced his +companion, by the name of Mr. Rudge. + +Waymark observed that this gentleman and his hostess were on terms of +lively intimacy. They talked much throughout the evening. + +During the three months that followed, Waymark's intercourse with the +Enderbys was pretty frequent. Mrs. Enderby asked few questions about +him, and Maud was silent after she had explained Waymark's position, so +far as she was acquainted with it, and how she had come to know him. To +both parents, the fact of Maud's friendship was a quite sufficient +guarantee, so possessed were they with a conviction of the +trustworthiness of her judgment, and the moral value of her impulses. +In Waymark's character there was something which women found very +attractive; strength and individuality are perhaps the words that best +express what it was, though these qualities would not in themselves +have sufficed to give him his influence, without a certain gracefulness +of inward homage which manifested itself when he talked with women, a +suggestion, too, of underlying passion which works subtly on a woman's +imagination. There was nothing commonplace in his appearance and +manner; one divined in him a past out of the ordinary range of +experiences, and felt the promise of a future which would, in one way +or another, be remarkable. + +The more Waymark saw of Maud Enderby the more completely did he yield +to the fascination of her character. In her presence he enjoyed a +strange calm of spirit. For the first time he knew a woman who by no +word or look or motion could stir in him a cynical thought. Here was +something higher than himself, a nature which he had to confess +transcended the limits of his judgment, a soul with insight possibly +for ever denied to himself. He was often pained by the deference with +which she sought his opinion or counsel; the words in which he replied +to her sounded so hollow; he became so often and so keenly sensible of +his insincerity,--a quality which, with others, he could consciously +rely upon as a resource, but which, before Maud, stung him. He was +driven to balance judgments, to hesitate in replies, to search his own +heart, as perhaps never before. + +Artificial good humour, affected interest, mock sympathy, were as far +from her as was the least taint of indelicacy; every word she uttered +rang true, and her very phrases had that musical fall which only +associates itself with beautiful and honest thought. She never +exhibited gaiety, or a spirit of fun, but could raise a smile by an +exquisite shade of humour--humour which, as the best is, was more than +half sadness. Nor was she fond of mixing with people whom she did not +know well; when there was company at dinner, she generally begged to be +allowed to dine alone. Though always anxious to give pleasure to her +parents, she was most happy when nothing drew her from her own room; +there she would read and dream through hours There were times when the +old dreaded feelings took revenge; night-wakings, when she lay in cold +anguish, yearning for the dawn. She was not yet strong enough to face +past and future, secured in attained conviction. As yet, she could not +stir beyond the present, and in the enjoyment of the present was her +strength. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +IN THE MEANTIME + + +It was one Wednesday evening in early April, that Waymark found a +letter awaiting him, addressed in a hand he at once recognised. + + +"Will you come and see me? I am at home after eight o'clock till the +end of the week, and all day on Sunday. + +I. S." + + +No distinct pleasure was aroused in Waymark as he read this. As was +always the case for hours after he had left Maud's presence, her face +and voice lived with him to the exclusion of every other thought. There +was even something of repulsion in the feeling excited by his thus +having the memory of Ida brought suddenly before him; her face came as +an unwelcome intruder upon the calm, grave mood which always possessed +him on these evenings. In returning home each Wednesday night, Waymark +always sought the speediest and quietest route, unwilling to be brought +in contact with that life of the streets which at other times delighted +him. Ida's note seemed a summons from that world which, for the moment, +he held at a distance. But the call was not to be silenced at his will. +He began to wonder about her life during the past half-year. Why had +she written just now, after so long a silence? Where, and under what +circumstances, should he meet her? Did she think to find him the same +as when they last talked together? + +Through the night he woke constantly, and always with thoughts busy +about Ida. In the morning his first impulse was to re-read her message; +received so carelessly, it had in the meantime become of more account, +and Waymark laughed in his wonted way as he saw himself thus swayed +between forces he could not control. The ordinary day's task was +neglected, and he impatiently waited for the hour when he could be sure +of finding Ida at home. The address was at Fulham, and, on reaching it, +he found a large new block of the kind known as model lodging-houses. +Ida's number was up at the very top. When he knocked, the door opened +immediately, and she stood there, holding out her hand to him. + +She wore the same dress that she had worn at Hastings, but the gold +brooch and watch-chain were missing, and her hair was arranged in a +simpler way. She was a trifle pale, perhaps, but that might be due to +the excitement of the moment; her voice shook a little as she spoke. + +Waymark looked about him as he went in. There appeared to be two rooms, +one of them a very small bedroom, the other fitted with a cooking-grate +and oven; the kind of tenement suitable to very poor working-people. +The floors were bare, and there was nothing in the way of furniture +beyond the most indispensable articles: a table, two chairs, and a few +cups, saucers, and plates on a shelf; through the half-open door, he +saw that the bed-room was equally plain. A fire was burning, and a +kettle on it; and in front, on a little square piece of carpet, lay +Ida's inseparable friend, Grim. Grim had lifted his head at Waymark's +entrance, and, with gathering curiosity in his eyes, slowly stood up; +then stretched himself, and, looking first at one, then at the other, +waited in doubt. + +Ida stooped and took him up in her arms. + +"And who's this?" she asked, talking to him as one talks to a child, +whilst she pressed his warm black cheek against her own. "Does Grim +remember who this is? We still keep together," she added, looking at +Waymark. "All day long, whilst I'm away, he keeps house; I'm often +afraid he suffers dreadfully from loneliness, but, you see, I'm obliged +to lock him in. And he knows exactly the time when I come home. I +always find him sitting on that chair by the door, waiting, waiting, oh +so patiently! And I often bring him back something nice, don't I, +Grimmy? You should see how delighted he is as soon as I enter the door." + +Ida was changed, and in many ways. She seemed to have grown younger; in +her voice and manner there was a girlishness which was quite new to +Waymark. Her motions were lighter and nimbler; there was no longer that +slow grace of step and carriage which had expressed absolute leisure, +and with it had gone, perhaps, something of dignity, which used to sit +so well upon her. She laughed from time to time in a free, careless +way; formerly she seldom did more than smile. In the old days, there +was nothing about her suggestive of what are called the domestic +virtues; now she seemed perfectly at home amid these simple +surroundings, and, almost as soon as her visitor had sat down, she +busied herself in laying the table in a quick, ready way, which came of +the habit of waiting upon herself. + +"You'll have a cup of tea with me?" she said, looking at Waymark with +the curiosity which seemed to show that she also found something +changed in him. "I only get home about eight o'clock, and this is the +quietest and pleasantest meal in the day for me." + +"What do you do all day, then?" Waymark asked, softening the bluntness +of his question with a smile. + +She stepped near to him, and held out her hands for him to look at; +then, as he met her eyes again, laughed merrily. + +"Do you guess?" she asked. + +"I believe I can. You have gone back to the laundry again?" + +"Yes." + +"And how long is it since you did so?" + +"How long is it since we last saw each other?" + +"Did you begin at once when you returned to London?" + +"Yes." + +Waymark kept silence, whilst Ida poured out a cup of tea for him, and +then took her seat at the table. + +"Don't you think I'm comfortable here?" Ida said. "It's like having a +house of my own. I see nothing of the other people in the building, and +feel independent." + +"Did you buy the furniture yourself?" + +"Yes; just the things I couldn't do without. I pay only +three-and-sixpence a week, and so long as I can earn that, I'm sure at +all events of a home, where I can be happy or miserable, as I please." + +Waymark wondered. There was no mistaking the genuineness of her tone. +What, then, had been the reason for this astonishing change, a change +extending, it would seem, almost to temperament? What intermediate +phases had led up to this result? He wished to ask her for an +explanation, but to do so would be to refer to the condition she had +left, and that he did not wish to do. All would no doubt explain itself +as they talked; in the meantime she told him how her days were ordered, +and the details of her life. + +"Have you brought your pipe?" she asked, when they had drank their tea. + +"May I smoke?" + +"Of course,--just as you used to." + +"But it is not the same," Waymark said, half to himself. + +"Are you sorry for the change?" Ida asked, as she handed him a box of +matches. + +"What induced you to make it?" + +"Oh, I have strange fancies. The idea came, just like others do. Are +you sorry?" + +"The opposite. Did the idea come whilst we were at Hastings?" + +"Before that. Do you remember my telling you that I had a letter +calling me back to London?" + +Waymark nodded. + +"It was from the laundry, to say I could go to work as soon as I liked." + +"And why didn't you tell me that?" + +Ida seemed about to reply, but altered her intention, and, after being +silent for a moment, asked another question. + +"Did you think you would ever hear from me?" + +"I had given up hope." + +"And did you wonder what had become of me?" + +"Often. Why didn't you write before?" + +"I wasn't ready." + +"What does that mean?" Waymark asked, looking closely at her. + +"Perhaps I shall be able to explain some day. If not, well, it won't +matter." + +"And will you let me see you often?" said Waymark, after thinking a +little. "Are we to be friends again, as we used to be?" + +"If you would care for it." + +Waymark turned away as their eyes met. + +"Certainly I should care for it," he said, feeling all at once a +difficulty in speaking naturally. Then he looked at Ida again; she was +bending down and stroking Grim's ears. There was rather a long silence, +which Waymark at length forced himself to break. + +"Shall I bring you books again?" he said. + +"I have very little time for reading," was Ida's reply. "It's better, +perhaps, that it is so." + +"But why?" + +"Perhaps it would make me discontented with my work, and want all sorts +of things I couldn't have." + +"You have your Sundays free?" Waymark said, after another rather long +silence. + +"Yes." + +"Then we must have some expeditions again, now that the fine days have +come. By the by, do you ever see Sally?" + +Ida looked up with a smile and said, "Yes; do you?" + +"No; but I hear of her." + +"From your friend?" + +"Yes, from O'Gree." + +"Do your other friends still live near you?" Ida asked, speaking +quickly, as if to interrupt what Waymark was about to say. + +"The Castis? Oh yes." + +"What is Mrs. Casti like?" she said, in a tone which attracted +Waymark's attention. + +"Well," he replied, "it's difficult to describe her. There's nothing +very good about her, and I suppose nothing very bad. I see little of +her now; she's almost always ill." + +"What's the matter with her?" + +"Can't say; general weakness and ill health, I think?" + +"But she's so young, isn't she? Has she friends to go and see her?" + +"Very few, I think." + +"It must be dreadful to be like that," said Ida. "I'm thankful that I +have my health, at all events. Loneliness isn't so hard to bear, as it +must be in illness." + +"Do you feel lonely?" + +"A little, sometimes," said Ida. "But it's ungrateful to poor old Grim +to say so." + +"Have you no acquaintances except the people you work with?" + +She shook her head. + +"And you don't read? Wouldn't you like to go on reading as you used to? +You have a better head than most women, and it's a pity not to make use +of it. That's all nonsense about in making you discontented. You won't +always be living like this, I suppose." + +"Why not?" Ida asked simply. + +"Well," said Waymark, without meeting her look, "even if you do, it +will be gain to you to cultivate your mind?" + +"Do you wish me to cultivate my mind?" + +"You know I do." + +Waymark seemed uneasy. He rose and leaned against the mantelpiece. + +"I will do whatever you bid me," Ida said. "I can get an hour or so +each night, and I have all Sunday." + +Waymark felt only too well the effect of the tone he was adopting. The +situation was by this time clear enough to him, and his own +difficulties no less clear. He avoided looking at Ida as much as he +could. A change had again come over her manner; the girlishness was +modified, the old sadder tone was audible at moments. + +"If it's fine on Sunday," he said, "will you go with me to Richmond, +and let us have dinner at the old place?" + +"No," was Ida's reply, with a smile, "I can't afford it." + +"But I invite you. Of course I didn't mean that it should be any +expense." + +She still shook her head. + +"No, I must take my own share, wherever we go." + +"Then I shall certainly refuse your cup of tea next time I come," said +Waymark jestingly. + +"That's quite different," said Ida. "But if you like, we can go in the +afternoon, and walk about Roehampton; that I can afford." + +"As you please. When shall I call for you?" + +"Half-past one." + +She opened the door for him, and held out her hand. Their eyes did not +meet as they said good-bye. The door closed, and Waymark went so slowly +down the stone steps that he seemed at every moment on the point of +stopping and turning back. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +A SUGGESTION + + +Waymark and Julian Casti were sitting together in the former's room. It +was Saturday evening--two days after Waymark's visit to Ida. Julian had +fallen into a sad reverie. + +"How is your wife?" asked his friend, after watching the melancholy +face for a while. + +"She said her headache was worse to-night." + +"Curiously," observed Waymark, with a little acidity, "it always is +when you have to leave home." + +Julian looked up, and seemed to reach a crisis in his thoughts. + +"Waymark," he began, reddening as he still always did when greatly +moved, "I fear I have been behaving very foolishly. Many a time I have +wished to speak out to you plainly, but a sort of delicacy--a wrong +kind of delicacy, I think--prevented me. I can't keep this attitude any +longer. I must tell you how things are going on, and you must give me +what help you can. And perhaps I shall be telling you what you already +know?" + +"I have suspected." + +"Where is the blame?" Julian broke out, with sudden vehemence. "I +cannot think that ever husband was more patient and more indulgent than +I have been. I have refused her nothing that my means could possibly +obtain. I have given up all the old quiet habits of my life that she +mightn't think I slighted her; I scarcely ever open a book at home, +knowing that it irritates her to see me reading; I do my best to amuse +her at all times. How does she reward me? For ever she grumbles that I +can't perform impossibilities,--take her to theatres, buy her new +dresses, procure for her friends and acquaintances. My wishes, +expressed or understood, weigh with her less than the least of her own +caprices. She wantonly does things which she knows will cause me +endless misery. Her companions are gross and depraved people, who +constantly drag her lower and lower, to their own level. The landlady +has told me that, in my absence, women have called to see her who +certainly ought not to enter any decent house. When I entreat her to +give up such associates, her only answer is to accuse me of +selfishness, since I have friends myself, and yet won't permit her to +have any. And things have gone from bad to worse. Several nights of +late, when I have got home, she has been away, and has not returned +till much after midnight. Hour after hour I have sat there in the +extremest misery, waiting, waiting, feeling as though my brain would +burst with its strain! I have no idea where she goes to. If I ask, she +only retorts by asking me where I spend the nights when I am with you, +and laughs contemptuously when I tell her the truth. Her suspicions and +jealousy are incessant, and torture me past endurance. Once or twice, I +confess, I have lost patience, and have spoken angrily, too angrily; +then she has accused me of brutal disregard of her sufferings. It would +hurt me less if she pierced me with a knife. Only this morning there +was a terrible scene; she maddened me past endurance by her wretched +calumnies--accusing me of I know not what disgraceful secrets--and when +words burst from me involuntarily, she fell into hysterics, and +shrieked till all the people in the house ran up in alarm. Can you +understand what this means to one of my temperament? To have my private +affairs forced upon strangers in this way tortures me with the pains of +hell. I am naturally reticent and retiring--too much so, I dare +say--and no misery could have been devised for me more dreadful than +this. Her accusations are atrocious, such as could only come from a +grossly impure mind, or at the suggestion of vile creatures. You she +hates with a rabid hatred--God only knows why. She would hate any one +who was my friend, and whose society relieved me for a moment from my +ghastly torments!" + +He ceased for very exhaustion, so terribly did the things he described +work upon him. + +"What am I to do, Waymark? Can you give me advice?" + +Waymark had listened with his eyes cast down, and he was silent for +some time after Julian ceased. + +"You couldn't well ask for advice in a more difficult case," he said at +length. "There's nothing for it but to strengthen yourself and endure. +Force yourself into work. Try to forget her when she is out of sight." + +"But," broke in Julian, "this amounts to a sentence of death! What of +the life before me, of the years I shall have to spend with her? Work, +forget myself, forget her,--that is just what I _cannot_ do! My nerves +are getting weaker every day; I am beginning to have fits of trembling +and horrible palpitation; my dreams are hideous with vague +apprehensions, only to be realised when I wake. Work! Half my misery is +caused by the thought that my work is at an end for ever. It is all +forsaking me, the delight of imagining great things, what power I had +of putting my fancies into words, the music that used to go with me +through the day's work. It is long since I wrote a line of verse. +Quietness, peace, a calm life of thought, these things are what I +_must_ have; I thought I should have them in a higher degree than ever, +and I find they are irretrievably lost. I feel my own weakness, as I +never could before. When you bid me strengthen myself, you tell me to +alter my character. The resolution needed to preserve the better part +of my nature through such a life as this, will never be within my +reach. It is fearful to think of what I shall become as time goes on. I +dread myself! There have been revealed to me depths of passion and +misery in my own heart which I had not suspected. I shall lose all +self-control, and become as selfish and heedless as she is." + +"No, you will not," said Waymark encouragingly. "This crisis will pass +over, and strength will be developed. We have a wonderful faculty for +accommodating ourselves to wretchedness; how else would the world have +held together so long? When you begin to find your voice again, maybe +you won't sing of the dead world any longer, but of the living and +suffering. Your thoughts were fine; they showed you to be a poet; but I +have never hidden from you how I wished that you had been on my side. +Art, nowadays, must be the mouthpiece of misery, for misery is the +key-note of modern life." + +They talked on, and Julian, so easily moulded by a strong will, became +half courageous. + +"One of her reproaches," he said, "is just; I can't meet it. If I +object to her present companions it is my duty to find her more +suitable ones. She lives too much alone. No doubt it is every husband's +duty to provide his wife with society. But how am I to find it? I am so +isolated, and always have been. I know not a soul who could be a friend +to her." + +Waymark grew thoughtful, and kept silent. + +"One person I know," he said presently, and in a cautious way, "who +might perhaps help you." + +"You do?" cried Julian eagerly. + +"You know that I make all sorts of queer acquaintances in my +wanderings. Well, I happen to know a girl of about your wife's age, +who, if she were willing, would be just the person you want. She is +quite alone, parentless, and almost without friends. She lives by +herself, and supports herself by working in a laundry. For all this, +she is by no means the ordinary London work-girl; you can't call her +educated, but she speaks purely, and has a remarkably good +intelligence. I met her by chance, and kept up her acquaintance. There +has been nothing wrong--bah! how conventional one is, in spite of +oneself!--I mean to say there has been nothing more than a pleasant +friendship between us; absolutely nothing. We see each other from time +to time, and have a walk, perhaps a meal, together, and I lend her +books. Now, do you think there would be any way of getting your wife to +accept her society, say of an evening now and then? Don't do anything +rash; it is of course clear that _you_ must have no hand in this. I +must manage it if it is to be done. Naturally, I can't answer at once +for the girl's readiness; but I believe she would do what I asked her +to. Do you think it is worth entertaining, this idea?" + +"I do, indeed; it would be salvation, I really believe." + +"Don't be too sanguine, Casti; that's another of your faults. Still, I +know very well that this girl could cure your wife of her ill +propensities if any living creature could. She is strong in character, +admirably clear-headed, mild, gentle, womanly; in fact, there is +perhaps no one I respect so much, on the whole." + +"Respect, only?" asked Julian, smiling. + +"Ye-es; yes, I believe I am perfectly honest in saying so, though I +couldn't have been so sure about it some little time ago. Our +relations, no doubt, are peculiar; on her side there is no more warmth +than on mine"--Waymark tried so to believe--"and indeed her clear sight +has no doubt gauged me fairly well at my true value." + +"What is her name?" + +"Ida Starr." + +"What!" cried Julian startled. "That is a strange thing! You have +noticed the scar on Harriet's forehead?" + +"Well?" + +"Why, it was a wound given her at school by a girl of that very name! I +remember the name as well as possible. It was a blow with a slate dealt +in passion--some quarrel or other. They were both children then, and +Ida Starr left the school in consequence." + +"Is it possible that it is the same person?" asked Waymark, wondering +and reflecting. + +"If so, that puts a new difficulty in our way." + +"Removes one, I should have thought" + +"Harriet is not of a very forgiving nature," said Julian gravely. + +"I shouldn't have supposed she was; but a long time has gone by since +then, and, after all, one is generally glad to see an old +school-fellow." + +At this point the conversation was interrupted by a knock at the door, +followed by the announcement that a gentleman named O'Gree wished to +see Mr. Waymark. Waymark smiled at Julian. + +"Don't run away," he said. "You ought to know O'Gree in the flesh." + +The teacher came into the room with a rush, and was much taken aback at +the sight of a stranger present. Perspiration was streaming profusely +from his face, which was aglow with some great intelligence. After +being introduced to Casti, he plunged down on a chair, and mopped +himself with his handkerchief, uttering incoherencies about the state +of the weather. Waymark made an effort to bring about a general +conversation, but failed; O'Gree was so preoccupied that any remark +addressed to him had to be repeated before he understood it, and Julian +was in no mood for making new acquaintances. So, in a few minutes, the +latter took his hat and left, Waymark going with him to the door to +speak a few words of encouragement. + +"The battle's won!" cried O'Gree, with much gesticulation, as soon as +Waymark returned. "The campaign's at an end!--I'm sorry if I've driven +your friend away, but I was bound to tell you." + +"All right. Let me have a description of the manoeuvres." + +"Look here, my boy," said O'Gree, with sudden solemnity, "you've never +been very willing to talk to me about her. Now, before I tell you +anything, I want to know this. _Why_ wouldn't you tell me how you first +got to know her, and so on?" + +"Before I answer, I want to know this: have you found out why I +wouldn't?" + +"Yes, I have--that is, I suppose I have--and from her own lips, too! +You knew her when she lived near the Strand there, eh?" + +"I did." + +"Well now, understand, my boy. I don't want to hear anything +disagreeable; in fact, I won't listen to anything disagreeable;--all I +want to know is, whether I may safely tell you what she has told me. If +you don't know it already, there's no need to talk of it." + +"I understand, and I don't think you can tell me anything I'm not well +aware of." + +"Sure, then, I will tell you, and if there's another girl as brave and +honest as Sally in all this worruld, I'll be obliged if you'll make me +acquainted with her! Well, you know she has a Saturday afternoon off +every month. It hasn't been a very cheerful day, but it couldn't be +missed; and, as it was too rainy to walk about, I couldn't think of any +better place to go to than the British Museum. Of course I wanted to +find a quiet corner, but there were people about everywhere, and the +best we could manage was in the mummy-room. We looked at all the +mummies, and I told her all I knew about them, and I kept thinking to +myself: Now, how can I work round to it? I've tried so often, you know, +and she's always escaped me, somehow, and I couldn't help thinking it +was because I hadn't gone about it in the proper way. Well, we'd been +staring at a mummy for about a quarter of an hour, and neither of us +said anything, when all at once a rare idea came into my head. 'Sally,' +I said, glancing round to see that there was no one by, 'that mummy was +very likely a pretty girl like you, once.' 'Do you think so?' she said, +with that look of hers which makes me feel like a galvanic battery. 'I +do,' I said, 'and what's more, there may once have been another mummy, +a man-mummy, standing by her just as I am standing by you, and wanting +very much to ask her something, and shaking in his shoes for fear he +shouldn't get the right answer.' 'Did the mummies wear shoes when they +were alive?' she asked, all at once. 'Wear shoes!' I cried out. 'I +can't tell you, Sally; but one thing I feel very sure of, and that is +that they had hearts. Now, suppose,' I said, 'we're those two +mummies--' 'I'm sure it's bad luck!' interrupted Sally. 'Oh no, it +isn't,' said I, seeing something in her face which made me think it was +the opposite. 'Let me go on. Now, suppose the one mummy said to the +other, "Sally--"' '_Were_ the girl-mummies called Sally?' she +interrupted again. 'Sure I can't say,' said I, 'but we'll suppose so. +Well, suppose he said, "Sally if I can hit on some means of making a +comfortable home here by the Nile,--that's to say, the Thames, you +know,--will you come and keep it in order for me, and live with me for +all the rest of our lives?' Now what do you think the girl-mummy would +have answered:'" + +Waymark laughed, but O'Gree had become solemn. + +"She didn't answer at once, and there was something very queer in her +face. All at once she said, 'What has Mr. Waymark told you about me?' +'Why, just nothing at all,' I said, rather puzzled. 'And do you know,' +she asked then, without looking at me, 'what sort of a girl I am?' +Well, all at once there came something into my head that I'd never +thought of before, and I was staggered for a moment; I couldn't say +anything. But I got over it. 'I don't want to know anything,' I said. +'All I know is, that I like you better than I ever shall any one else, +and I want you to promise to be my wife, some day.' 'Then you must let +me tell you all my story first,' she said. 'I won't answer till you +know everything.' And so she told me what it seems you know. Well, if I +thought much of her before, I thought a thousand times as much after +that! And do you know what? I believe it was on my account that she +want and took that place in the shop." + +"Precisely," said Waymark. + +"You think so?" cried the other, delighted. + +"I guessed as much when she met me that day and said I might let you +know where she was." + +"Ha!" exclaimed O'Gree, with a long breath. + +"And so the matter is settled?" + +"All but the most important part of it. There's no chance of my being +able to marry for long enough to come. Now, can you give me any advice? +I've quite made up my mind to leave Tootle. The position isn't worthy +of a gentleman; I'm losing my self-respect. The she-Tootle gets worse +and worse. If I don't electrify her, one of these days, with an +outburst of ferocious indignation, she will only have my patience to +thank. Let her beware how she drives the lion to bay!" + +"Couldn't you get a non-resident mastership?" + +"I must try, but the pay is so devilish small." + +"We must talk the matter over." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +DIPLOMACY + + +Waymark had a good deal of frank talk with himself before meeting Ida +again on the Sunday. Such conversation was, as we know, habitual. Under +the circumstances, however, he felt that it behoved him to become +especially clear on one or two points; never mind what course he might +ultimately pursue, it was always needful to him to dissect his own +motives, that he might at least be acting with full consciousness. + +One thing was clear enough. The fiction of a mere friendship between +himself and Ida was impossible to support. It had been impossible under +the very different circumstances of a year ago, and was not likely to +last a week, now that Ida could so little conceal how her own feelings +had changed. What, then, was to be their future? Could he accept her +love, and join their lives without legal bond, thinking only of present +happiness, and content to let things arrange themselves as they would +in the years to come? + +His heart strongly opposed such a step. Clearly Ida had changed her +life for his sake, and was undergoing hardships in the hope of winning +his respect as well as his love. Would she have done all this without +something of a hope that she might regain her place in the every-day +world, and be held by Waymark worthy to become his wife? He could not +certainly know, but there was little doubt that this hope had led her +on. Could he believe her capable of yet nobler ideas; could he think +that only in reverence of the sanctity of love, and without regard to +other things, she had acted in this way; then, regarding her as indeed +his equal, he would open his heart to her and speak somewhat in this +way. "Yes, I do love you; but at the same time I know too well the +uncertainty of love to go through the pretence of binding myself to you +for ever. Will you accept my love in its present sincerity, neither +hoping nor fearing, knowing that whatever happens is beyond our own +control, feeling with me that only an ignoble nature can descend to the +affectation of union when the real links are broken?" Could Waymark but +have felt sure of her answer to such an appeal, it would have gone far +to make his love for Ida all-engrossing. She would then be his ideal +woman, and his devotion to her would have no bounds. + +But he felt too strongly that in thus speaking he would sadden her by +the destruction of her great hope. On the other hand, to offer to make +her his legal wife would be to do her a yet greater injustice, even had +he been willing to so sacrifice himself. The necessity for legal +marriage would be a confession of her inferiority, and the sense of +being thus bound would, he well knew, be the surest means of weakening +his affection. This affection he could not trust. How far was it mere +passion of the senses, which gratification would speedily kill? + +In the case of his feeling towards Maud Enderby there was no such +doubt. Never was his blood so calm as in her presence. She was to him a +spirit, and in the spirit he loved her. With Maud he might look forward +to union at some distant day, a union outwardly of the conventional +kind. It would be so, not on account of any inferiority to his ideal in +Maud, for he felt that there was no height of his own thought whither +she would not in time follow him; but simply because no point of +principle would demand a refusal of the yoke of respectability, with +its attendant social advantages. And the thought of thus binding +himself to Maud had nothing repulsive, for the links between them were +not of the kind which easily yield, and loyalty to a higher and nobler +nature may well be deemed a duty. + +So far logical arguing. But the fact remained that he had not the least +intention of breaking off his intercourse with Ida, despite the +certainty that passion would grow upon him with each of their meetings, +rendering their mutual relations more and more dangerous. Of only one +thing could he be sure: marriage was not to be thought of. It remained, +then, that he was in danger of being led into conduct which would be +the source of grievous unrest to himself, and for Ida would lay the +foundation of much suffering. Waymark was honest enough in his +self-communing to admit that he could not trust himself. Gross +deception he was incapable of, but he would not answer for it that, the +temptation pressing him too hard, he might not be guilty of allowing +Ida to think his love of more worth than it really was. She knew his +contempt of conventional ties, and her faith in him would keep her from +pressing him to any step he disliked; she would trust him without that. +And such trust would be unmerited. + +It was significant that he did not take into account loyalty to Maud as +a help in resisting this temptation. He was too sure of himself as +regarded that purer love; let what might happen, his loyalty to Maud +would be unshaken. It was independent of passion, and passion could not +shake it. + +Then came the subject of the proposed acquaintance between Ida and Mrs. +Casti. An impulse of friendship had led to his conceiving the idea; +together, perhaps, with the recollection of what Ida had said about her +loneliness, and the questions she had asked about Mrs. Casti. Waymark +had little doubt that those questions indicated a desire to become +acquainted with his friends; the desire was natural, under the +circumstances. Still, he regretted what he had done. To introduce Ida +to his friends would be almost equivalent to avowing some conventional +relations between her and himself. And, in the next place, it would be +an obstacle in the way of those relations becoming anything but +conventional. Well, and was not this exactly the kind of aid he needed +in pursuing the course which he felt to be right? Truly; yet-- + +At this point Waymark broke into that half contemptuous, half indulgent +laugh which so frequently interrupted his self-communings, and, it +being nearly one o'clock, set out to call for Ida. The day was fine, +and, when they left the steamer at Putney, they walked on to the heath +in good spirits and with cheerful talk. To be with Ida under these +circumstances, in the sunlight and the fresh breeze, was very different +from sitting with her yonder in the little room, with the lamp burning +on the table, and the quietness of night around. The calm pleasure of +passionless intercourse was realised and sufficing. Ida, too, seemed +content to enjoy the moment; there was not that wistfulness in her eyes +which had been so new to him and so strong in its influence. It was +easy to find indifferent subjects of conversation, and to avoid the +seriousness which would have been fatal. + +When they had found a pleasant spot to rest awhile before turning back, +Waymark made up his mind to fulfil his promise to Julian. + +"It's rather strange," he said, "that you should have been asking me +questions about Mrs. Casti. Since then I've discovered that you +probably know her, or once did." + +Ida looked surprised. + +"Do you remember once having a schoolfellow called Harriet Smales?" + +"Is that _her_ name?" + +"It was, before her marriage." + +Ida became grave, and thought for some moments before speaking again. + +"Yes, I remember her," she said, "and not pleasantly." + +"You wouldn't care to renew her acquaintance then?" said Waymark, half +glad, in spite of himself, that she spoke in this way. + +Ida asked, with earnestness, how he had made this discovery. Waymark +hesitated, but at length told the truth. He explained that Mrs. Casti +suffered from the want of companionship, and that he had mentioned +Ida's name to Julian; whence the discovery. + +"Has _she_ been told about me?" asked Ida. + +"Nothing was to be said till I had spoken to you." + +Waymark paused, but presently continued in a more serious tone. In +recurring to that conversation with Julian, his friend's trouble spoke +strongly to him once more, and overcame selfish thoughts. + +"I said that I had come to know you by chance, and that--strange as it +might sound--we were simply friends." He glanced for an instant at Ida; +her eyes were turned to the ground. "You will believe me," he went on +quickly, "when I tell you that I really said nothing more?" + +"I never doubt a word of yours," was Ida's quiet reply. + +"Casti was overjoyed at the thought of finding such a friend for his +wife. Of course I told him that he must not certainly count either on +your consent or on his wife's. Hers I thought to be perhaps more +doubtful than yours." + +"Could I really be of any use to her," asked Ida, after a silence, +"with so little free time as I have?" + +"Supposing she would welcome you, I really believe you could be of +great use. She is a strange creature, miserably weak in body and mind. +If you could get to regard this as a sort of good work you were called +upon to undertake, you would very likely be little less than an angel +of mercy to both of them. Casti is falling into grievous +unhappiness--why, you will understand sufficiently if you come to know +them." + +"Do you think she bears malice against me?" + +"Of that I know nothing. Casti said she had never spoken of you in that +way. By-the-by, she still has a scar on her forehead, I often wondered +how it came there." + +Ida winced. + +"What a little termagant you must have been!" exclaimed Waymark, +laughing. "How hard it is to fancy you at that age, Ida.--What was the +quarrel all about?" + +"I can't speak of it," she replied, in a low, sad voice. "It is so long +ago; and I want to forget it." + +Waymark kept silence. + +"Do you wish me to be her friend?" Ida asked, suddenly looking up. + +"Certainly not if you dislike the thought." + +"No, no. But you think it would be doing good? you would like me to +help your friend if I can?" + +"Yes, I should," was Waymark's reply. + +"Then I hope she will be willing to let me go and see her. I will do my +very best. Let us lose no time in trying. It is such a strange thing +that we should meet again in this way; perhaps it is something more +than chance." + +Waymark smiled. + +"You think I am superstitious?" she asked quickly. "I often feel so. I +have all sorts of hopes and faiths that you would laugh at." + +Ida's thoughts were busy that night with the past and the future. The +first mention of Harriet's name had given her a shock; it brought back +with vividness the saddest moments of her life; it awoke a bitter +resentment which mere memory had no longer kept the power to revive. +That was only for a moment, however. The more she accustomed herself to +the thought, the easier it seemed to be to bury the past in +forgiveness. Harriet must have changed so much since those days. +Possibly there would never be a mention between them of the old +trouble; practically they would be new acquaintances, and would be very +little helped to an understanding of each other by the recollections of +childhood. And then Ida felt there was so much to be glad of in the new +prospects. She longed for a world more substantial than that of her own +imaginations, and here, as she thought, it would be opened to her. +Above all, by introducing her to his friends, Waymark had strengthened +the relations between her and himself. He was giving her, too, a chance +of showing herself to him in a new light. For the first time he would +see her under the ordinary conditions of a woman's life in a home +circle Ida had passed from one extreme to the other. At present there +was nothing she desired so much as the simple, conventional, every-day +existence of the woman who has never swerved from the beaten track. She +never saw a family group anywhere without envying the happiness which +to her seemed involved in the mere fact of a home and relations. Her +isolation weighed heavily upon her. If there were but some one who +could claim her services, as of right, and in return render her the +simple hum-drum affection which goes for so much in easing the burden +of life. She was weary of her solitary heroism, though she never +regarded it as heroism, but merely as the path in which she was +naturally led by her feelings. Waymark could not but still think of her +very much in the old light, and she wished to prove to him how +completely she was changed. The simple act of making tea for him when +he came to see her had been a pleasure; it was domestic and womanly, +and she had often glanced at his face to see whether he noticed it at +all. Then the fact of Harriet's being an invalid would give her many +opportunities for showing that she could be gentle and patient and +serviceable. Casti would observe these things, and doubtless would +speak of them to Waymark. Thinking in this way, Ida became all +eagerness for the new friendship. There was of course the possibility +that Harriet would refuse to accept her offered kindness, but it seemed +very unlikely, and the disappointment would be so great that she could +not bear to dwell on the thought. Waymark had promised to come as soon +as he had any news. The time would go very slowly till she saw him. + +Waymark had met Harriet very seldom of late. Julian spent regularly one +evening a week with him, but it was only occasionally that Waymark paid +a visit in turn. He knew that he was anything but welcome to Mrs. +Casti, who of course had neither interest nor understanding for the +conversation between himself and Julian. Formerly he had now and then +tried his best to find some common subject for talk with her, but the +effort had been vain; she was hopelessly stupid, and more often than +not in a surly mood, which made her mere presence difficult to be +endured. Of late, whenever he came, she made her illness an excuse for +remaining in her bed-room. And hence arose another trouble. The two +rooms were only divided by folding doors, and when Harriet got +impatient with what she conceived to be the visitor's undue stay, she +would rap on the doors, to summon Julian to her. This rapping would +take place sometimes six or seven times in half an hour, till Waymark +hastened away in annoyance. And indeed there was little possibility of +conversing in Julian's own room. Julian sat for ever in a state of +nervous apprehension, dreading the summons which was sure to come +before long. When he left the room for a moment, in obedience to it, +Waymark could hear Harriet's voice speaking in a peevish or +ill-tempered tone, and Julian would return pale with agitation, unable +to utter consecutive words. It was a little better when the meeting was +at Waymark's, but even then Julian was anything but at his ease. He +would often sit for a long time in gloomy silence, and seldom could +even affect his old cheerfulness. The change which a year had made in +him was painful. His face was growing haggard with ceaseless anxiety. +The slightest unexpected noise made him start nervously. His old +enthusiasms were dying away. His daily work was a burden which grew +more and more oppressive. He always seemed weary, alike in body and +mind. + +Harriet's ailments were not of that unreal kind which hysterical women +often affect, for the mere sake of demanding sympathy, though it was +certain she made the most of them. The scrofulous taint in her +constitution was declaring itself in many ways. The most serious +symptoms took the form of convulsive fits. On Julian's return home one +evening, he had found her stretched upon the floor, unconscious, +foaming at the mouth, and struggling horribly. Since then, he had come +back every night in agonies of miserable anticipation. Her illness, and +his own miseries, were of course much intensified by her self-willed +habits. When she remained away from home till after midnight, Julian +was always in fear lest some accident had happened to her, and once or +twice of late she had declared (whether truly or not it was impossible +to say) that she had had fits in the open street. Weather made no +difference to her; she would leave home on the pretence of making +necessary purchases, and would come back drenched with rain. Protest +availed nothing, save to irritate her. At times her conduct was so +utterly unreasonable that Julian looked at her as if to see whether she +had lost her senses. And all this he bore with a patience which few +could have rivalled. Moments there were when she softened, and, in a +burst of hysterical weeping, begged him to forgive her for some unusual +violence, pleading her illness as the cause; and so sensible was he to +compassion, that he always vowed in his mind to bear anything rather +than deal harshly with her. Love for her, in the true sense, he had +never felt, but his pity often led him to effusions of tenderness which +love could scarcely have exceeded. He was giving up everything for her. +Through whole evenings he would sit by her, as she lay in pain, holding +her hands, and talking in a way which he thought would amuse or +interest her. + +"You're sorry you married me," she would often say at such times. "It's +no good saying no; I'm sure you are." + +That always made Julian think of her father, and of his own promise +always to be a friend to the poor, weak, ailing creature; and he +strengthened himself in his resolution to bear everything. + +Waymark decided that he would venture on the step of going to see +Harriet during the daytime, whilst Julian was away, in order to speak +of Ida. This he did on the Monday, and was lucky enough to find her at +home. She was evidently surprised at his visit, and perhaps still more +so at the kind and friendly way in which he began to speak to her. In a +few minutes he had worked round to his subject. He had, he said, a +friend, a young lady who was very lonely, and for whom he wanted to +find an agreeable companion. It had occurred to him that perhaps he +might ask to be allowed to introduce her. Waymark had concluded that +this would probably be the best way of putting it; Harriet would +perhaps be flattered by being asked to confer the favour of her +acquaintance. And indeed she seemed so; there was even something like a +momentary touch of colour in her pale cheek. + +"Does Julian know her?" she asked, fixing her eyes on his with the +closest scrutiny. + +"No, he does not." + +He would leave her to what conclusion she liked about his relations to +Ida; in reality that mattered little. + +"She is some one," he went on, "for whom I have a great regard. As I +say, she has really no friends, and she earns her own living. I feel +sure you would find her company pleasant; she is sensible and cheerful, +and would be very grateful for any kindness you showed her. Her name, +by-the-by, is Ida Starr." + +"Ida Starr?" + +"Is the name familiar to you?" + +"I used to know some one called that." + +"Indeed? How strange it would be if you knew her already. I have spoken +to her of you, but she didn't tell me she knew your name." + +"Oh no, she wouldn't. It was years and years ago. We used to go to +school together--if it's the same." + +The way in which this was spoken was not very promising, but Waymark +would not be discouraged, having once brought himself to the point of +carrying the scheme through. Harriet went on to ask many questions, all +of which he answered as satisfactorily as he could, and in the end she +expressed herself quite willing to renew Ida's acquaintance. Waymark +had watched her face as closely as she did his, and he was able to read +pretty accurately what was passing in her mind. Curiosity, it was +clear, was her main incentive. Good will there was none; its growth, if +at all possible, would depend upon Ida herself. There was even +something very like a gleam of hate in her dark eyes when Ida's name +was first spoken. + +"When may I bring her!" Waymark asked. "Perhaps you would like to talk +it over with Julian first? By-the-by, perhaps he remembers her as your +schoolfellow?" + +"I don't know, I'm sure," she said, with a pretence of indifference. "I +don't see what he can have to say against it. Bring her as soon as you +like." + +"She is not free till seven at night. Perhaps we had better leave it +till next Sunday?" + +"Why? Why couldn't she come to-morrow night?" + +"It is very good of you. I have no doubt she would be glad." + +With this understanding Waymark took his departure. + +"Do you remember Ida Starr?" was Harriet's first question to her +husband when he returned that evening. + +"Certainly I do," replied Julian, with complete self-control. "Why?" + +"When did you see her last?" followed quickly, whilst she examined him +as keenly as she had done Waymark. + +"See her?" repeated Julian, laughing. "Do you mean the girl you went to +school with?" + +"Of course I do." + +"I don't know that I ever saw her in my life." + +"Well, she's coming here to-morrow night." + +An explanation followed. + +"Hasn't he ever spoken to you about her?" Harriet asked. + +"No," said Julian, smiling. "I suppose he thought it was a private +affair, in which no one else had any interest." + +"I hope you will like her," he said presently. "It will be very nice to +have a friend of that kind, won't it?" + +"Yes,--if she doesn't throw one of my own plates at me." + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +UNDER-CURRENTS + + +"Well, how do you like her?" Julian asked, when their visitors had left +them. + +"Oh, I dare say she's all right," was the reply. "She's got a good deal +to say for herself." + +Julian turned away, and walked about the room. + +"What does she work at?" said Harriet, after glancing at him furtively +once or twice. + +"I have no idea." + +"It's my belief she doesn't work at all." + +"Why should Waymark have said so, then?" asked Julian, standing still +and looking at her. He spoke very quietly, but his face betrayed some +annoyance. + +Harriet merely laughed, her most ill-natured and maliciously suggestive +laugh, and rose from her seat. Julian came up and faced her. + +"Harriet," he said, with perfect gentleness, though his lips trembled, +"why do you always prefer to think the worst of people? I always look +for the good rather than the evil in people I meet." + +"We're different in a good many things, you see," said Harriet, with a +sneer. Her countenance had darkened. Julian had learnt the significance +of her looks and tones only too well. Under the circumstances it would +have been better to keep silence, but something compelled him to speak. + +"I am sure of this," he said. "If you will only meet her in her own +spirit, you will find her a valuable friend--just such a friend as you +need. But of course if you begin with all manner of prejudices and +suspicions, it will be very hard for her to make you believe in her +sincerity. Certainly her kindness, her sympathy, her whole manner, was +perfect to-night." + +"You seemed to notice her a good deal." + +"Naturally I did, being so anxious that you should find a friend and +companion." + +"And who is she, I should like to know?" said Harriet, with perfection +of subdued acrimony. "How can I tell that she's a proper person to be a +friend to me? I know what her mother was, at all events." + +"Her mother? What do you know of her mother?" + +Julian had never known the whole story of that scar on his wife's +forehead. + +"Never mind," said Harriet, nodding significantly. + +"I have no idea what you mean," Julian returned. "At all events I can +trust Waymark, and I know very well he would not have brought her here, +if she hadn't been a proper person for you to know. But come," he added +quickly, making an effort to dismiss the disagreeable tone between +them, "there's surely no need for us to talk like this, Harriet. I am +sure you will like her, when you know her better. Promise me that you +will try, dear. You are so lonely, and it would rejoice me so to feel +that you had a friend to help you and to be a comfort to you. At all +events you will judge her on her own merits, won't you, and put aside +all kind of prejudice?" + +"I haven't said I shouldn't; but I suppose I must get to know her +first?" + +Ominous as such a commencement would have been under any other +circumstances, Julian was so prepared for more decided hostility, that +he was even hopeful. When he met Waymark next, the change in his manner +was obvious; he was almost cheerful once more. And the improvement held +its ground as the next two or three weeks went by. Ida came to Beaufort +Street often, and Julian was able to use the freedom he thus obtained +to spend more time in Waymark's society. The latter noticed the change +in him with surprise. + +"Things go well still?" he would ask, when Julian came in of an evening. + +"Very well indeed. Harriet hasn't been out one night this week." + +"And you think it will last?" + +"I have good hope." + +They did not speak much of Ida, however. It was only when three weeks +had gone by that Julian asked one night, with some hesitation in +putting the question, whether Waymark saw her often. + +"Pretty often," was the reply. "I am her tutor, in a sort of way. We +read together, and that kind of thing." + +"At her lodgings?" + +"Yes. Does it seem a queer arrangement?" + +"She seems very intelligent," said Julian, letting the question pass +by, and speaking with some constraint. "Isn't it a pity that she can't +find some employment better suited to her?" + +"I don't see what is open. Could you suggest anything?" + +Julian was silent. + +"In any case, it won't last very long, I suppose?" he said, looking up +with a smile which was rather a trembling of the lip. + +"Why?" + +They gazed at each other for a moment. + +"No," said Waymark, shaking his head and smiling. "It isn't as you +think. It is perfectly understood between us that we are to be +agreeable company to each other, and absolutely nothing beyond that. I +have no motive for leading you astray in the matter. However things +were, I would tell you frankly." + +There was another silence. + +"Do you think there is anything like confidence between your wife and +her?" Waymark asked. + +"That I hardly know. When I am present, of course they only talk about +ordinary women's interests, household affairs, and so on." + +"Then you have no means of--well, of knowing whether she has spoken +about me to your wife in any particular way?" + +"Nothing of the kind has ever been hinted to me" + +"Waymark," Julian continued, after a pause, "you are a strange fellow." + +"In what respect." + +"Do you mean to tell me honestly that--that you--" + +"Well?--you mean to say, that I am not in love with the girl?" + +"No, I wasn't going to say that," said Julian, with his usual +bashfulness, heightened in this case by some feeling which made him +pale. "I meant, do you really believe that _she_ has no kind of regard +for you beyond mere friendship?" + +"Why? Have you formed any conclusions of your own on the point?" + +"How could I help doing so?" + +"And you look on me," said Waymark, after thinking for a moment, "as an +insensible dog, with a treasure thrown at his feet which he is quite +incapable of appreciating or making use of?" + +"No. I only feel that your position must be a very difficult one. But +perhaps you had rather not speak of these things?" + +"On the contrary. You are perfectly right, and the position is as +difficult as it well could be." + +"You had made your choice, I suppose, before you knew Ida at all?" + +"So far from that, I haven't even made it yet. I am not at all sure +that my chance of ever marrying Maud Enderby is not so utterly remote, +that t ought to put aside all thought of it. In that case--" + +"But this is a strange state of mind," said Julian, with a forced +laugh. "Is it possible to balance feelings in this way?" + +"You, in my position, would have no doubt?" + +"I don't know Miss Enderby," said Julian, reddening. + +Waymark walked up and down the room, with his hands behind his back, +his brows bent. He had never told his friend anything of Ida's earlier +history; but now he felt half-tempted to let him know everything. To do +so, might possibly give him that additional motive to a clear and +speedy decision in the difficulties which grew ever more pressing. Yet +was it just to Ida to speak of these things even to one who would +certainly not repeat a word? Once or twice he all but began, yet in the +end a variety of motives kept him silent. + +"Well," he exclaimed shortly, "we'll talk about this another time. +Perhaps I shall have more to tell you. Don't be gloomy. Look, here I am +just upon the end of my novel. If all goes smoothly I shall finish it +in a fortnight, and then I will read it to you." + +"I hope you may have better luck with it than I had," said Julian. + +"Oh, your time is yet to come. And it's very likely I shall be no +better off. There are things in the book which will scarcely recommend +it to the British parent. But it shall be published, if it is at my own +expense. If it comes to the worst, I shall sell my mining shares to +Woodstock." + +"After all," said Julian, smiling, "you are a capitalist." + +"Yes, and much good it does me." + +Since that first evening Julian had refrained from speaking to his wife +about Ida, beyond casual remarks and questions which could carry no +significance. Harriet likewise had been silent. As far as could be +observed, however, she seemed to take a pleasure in Ida's society, and, +as Julian said, with apparently good result to herself. She was more at +home than formerly, and her health even seemed to profit by the change. +Still, there was something not altogether natural in all this, and +Julian could scarcely bring himself to believe in the happy turn things +seemed to be taking. In Harriet herself there was no corresponding +growth of cheerfulness or good-nature. She was quiet, but with a +quietness not altogether pleasant; it was as though her thoughts were +constantly occupied, as never hitherto; and her own moral condition was +hardly likely to be the subject of these meditations. Julian, when he +sat reading, sometimes became desperately aware of her eyes being fixed +on him for many minutes at a time. Once, on this happening, he looked +up with a smile. + +"What is it, dear?" he asked, turning round to her. "You are very +quiet. Shall I put away the book and talk?" + +"No; I'm all right." + +"You've been much better lately, haven't you?" he said, taking her hand +playfully. "Let me feel your pulse; you know I'm half a doctor." + +She drew it away peevishly. But Julian, whom a peaceful hour had made +full of kindness, went on in the same gentle way. + +"You don't know how happy it makes me to see you and Ida such good +friends. I was sure it would be so. Don't you feel there is something +soothing in her society? She speaks so gently, and always brings a sort +of sunshine with her." + +Harriet's lips curled, very slightly, but she said nothing. + +"When are you going to see her again? It's hardly fair to let the +visiting be always on her side, is it?" + +"I shall go when I feel able. Perhaps to-morrow." + +Julian presently went back to his book again. If he could have seen the +look Harriet turned upon him when his face was averted, he would not +have read so calmly. + +That same evening Harriet herself was the subject of a short +conversation between Ida and Waymark, as they sat together in the usual +way. + +"I fear there will never be anything like confidence between us," Ida +was saying. "Do you know that I am sometimes almost afraid of her; +sometimes she looks and speaks as if she hated me." + +"She is a poor, ill-conditioned creature," Waymark re plied, rather +contemptuously. + +"Can you explain," asked Ida, "how it was that Mr. Casti married her?" + +"For my life, I can't! I half believe it was out of mere pity; I +shouldn't wonder if the proposal came from her side. Casti might once +have done something; but I'm afraid he never will now." + +"And he is so very good to her. I pity him from my heart whenever I see +them together. Often I have been so discouraged by her cold suspicious +ways, that I half-thought I should have to give it up, but I felt it +would be cruel to desert him so. I met him in the street the other +night just as I was going to her, and he thanked me for what I was +doing in a way that almost made me cry." + +"By-the-by," said Waymark, "you know her too well to venture upon +anything like direct criticism of her behaviour, when you talk +together!" + +"Indeed, I scarcely venture to speak of herself at all. It would be +hard to say what we talk about." + +"Of course," Waymark said, after a short silence, "there are limits to +self-devotion. So long as it seems to you that there is any chance of +doing some good, well, persevere. But you mustn't be sacrificed to such +a situation. The time you give her is so much absolute loss to +yourself." + +"Oh, but I work hard to make up for it. You are not dissatisfied with +me?" + +"And what if I were? Would it matter much?" + +This was one of the things that Waymark was ever and again saying, in +spite of himself. He could not resist the temptation of proving his +power in this way; it is so sweet to be assured of love, even though +every voice within cries out against the temptation to enjoy it, and +condemns every word or act that could encourage it to hope. Ida +generally met such remarks with silence; but in this instance she +looked up steadily, and said-- + +"Yes, it _would_ matter much." Waymark drew in his breath, half turned +away--and spoke of some quite different matter. + +Harriet carried out her intention of visiting Ida on the following day. +In these three weeks she had only been to Ida's lodgings once. The +present visit was unexpected. She waited about the pavement for Ida's +return from work, and shortly saw her approaching. + +"This is kind of you," Ida said. "We'll have some tea, and then, if +you're not too tired, we might go into the park. It will be cool then." + +She dreaded the thought of sitting alone with Harriet. But the latter +said she must get home early, and would only have time to sit for half +an hour. When Ida had lit her fire, and put the kettle on, she found +that the milk which she had kept since the morning for Grim and herself +had gone sour; so she had to run out to a dairy to fetch some. + +"You won't mind being left alone for a minute?" she said. + +"Oh, no; I'll amuse myself with Grim." + +As soon as she was alone, Harriet went into the bed-room, and began to +examine everything. Grim had followed her, and came up to rub +affectionately against her feet, but she kicked him, muttering, "Get +off; you black beast!" Having scrutinised the articles which lay about, +she quickly searched the pockets of a dress which hung on the door, but +found nothing except a handkerchief. All the time she listened for any +footfall on the stone steps without. Next she went to the chest of +drawers, and was pleased to find that they were unlocked. In the first +she drew out there were some books and papers. These she rummaged +through very quickly, and at length, underneath them, came upon a +little bundle of pawn-tickets. On finding these, she laughed to +herself, and carefully inspected every one of them. "Gold chain," she +muttered; "bracelet; seal-skin;--what was she doing with all those +things, I wonder? Ho, ho, Miss Starr?" + +She started; there was a step on the stairs. In a second everything was +replaced, and she was back in the sitting-room, stooping over Grim, who +took her endearments with passive indignation. + +"Have I been long?" panted Ida, as she came in. "The kettle won't be a +minute. You'll take your things off?" + +Harriet removed her hat only. As Ida went about, preparing the tea, +Harriet watched her with eyes in which there was a new light. She +spoke, too, in almost a cheerful way, and even showed a better appetite +than usual when they sat down together. + +"You are better to-day?" Ida said to her. + +"Perhaps so; but it doesn't last long." + +"Oh, you must be more hopeful. Try not to look so much on the dark side +of things. How would you be," she added, with a good-humoured laugh, +"if you had to work all day, like me? I'm sure you've a great deal to +make you feel happy and thankful." + +"I don't know what," returned Harriet coldly. + +"But your husband, your home, your long, free days?" + +The other laughed peevishly. Ida turned her head away for a moment; she +was irritated by this wretched humour, and, as had often been the case +of late, found it difficult to restrain some rather trenchant remark. + +"It may sound strange," she said, with a smile, "but I think I should +be very willing to endure bad health for a position something like +yours." + +Harriet laughed again, and still more unpleasantly. + +Later in the evening Harriet went to call upon her friend Mrs. Sprowl. +Something of an amusing kind seemed to be going forward in front of the +house. On drawing near and pressing into the crowd of loitering people, +she beheld a spectacle familiar to her, and one which brought a smile +to her face. A man of wretched appearance, in vile semblance of +clothing which barely clung together about him, was standing on his +head upon the pavement, and, in that attitude, drawling out what was +meant for a song, while those around made merry and indulged in +practical jokes at his expense. One such put a sudden end to the +exhibition. A young ragamuffin drew near with a handful of rich mud, +and carefully cast it right into the singer's inverted mouth. The man +was on his feet in an instant, and pursuing the assailant, who, +however, succeeded in escaping down an alley hard by. Returning, the +man went from one to another in the crowd, holding out his hand. +Harriet passed on into the bar. + +"Slimy's up to his larks to-night," exclaimed Mrs. Sprowl, with a +laugh, as she welcomed her visitor in the bar-parlour. "He'll be losin' +his sweet temper just now, see if he don't, an' then one o' them chaps +'ll get a bash i' the eye." + +"I always like to see him singing on his head," said Harriet, who +seemed at once thoroughly at her ease in the atmosphere of beer and +pipes. + +"It's funny, ain't it? And 'ow's the world been a-usin' you, Harriet? +Seen anything more o' that affectionate friend o' yourn?" + +This was said with a grin, and a significant wink. + +"Have you found out anything about her?" asked Harriet eagerly. + +"Why yes, I have; somethin' as 'll amuse you. It's just as I thought." + +"How do you mean?" + +"Why, Bella, was in 'ere th' other night, so I says to her, 'Bella,' I +says, 'didn't you never hear of a girl called Ida Starr?' I says. +'Course I did,' she says. 'One o' the 'igh an' 'aughty lot, an' she +lived by herself somewhere in the Strand.' So it's just as I told you." + +"But what is she doing now?" + +"You say she's turned modest." + +"I can't make her out quite," said Harriet, reflecting, with her head +on one side. "I've been at her lodgings tonight, and, whilst she was +out of the room, I happened to get sight of a lot of pawn-tickets, for +gold chains and sealskins, and I don't know what." + +"Spouted 'em all when she threw up the job, I s'pose," suggested Mrs. +Sprowl. "You're sure she does go to work?" + +"Yes, I've had somebody to follow her and watch her. There's Waymark +goes to see her often, and I shouldn't wonder if she half keeps him; +he's just that kind of fellow." + +"You haven't caught no one else going there?" asked Mrs. Sprowl, with +another of her intense winks. + +"No, I haven't, not yet," replied Harriet, with sudden vehemence, "but +I believe he does go there, or else sees her somewhere else." + +"Well," said the landlady, with an air of generous wisdom, "I told you +from the first as I 'adn't much opinion of men as is so anxious to have +their wives friendly with other women. There's always something at the +bottom of it, you may bet. It's my belief he's one too many for you, +Harriet; you're too simple-minded to catch him." + +"I'll have a good try, though," cried the girl, deadly pale with +passion. "Perhaps I'm not so simple as you think. I'm pretty quick in +tumbling to things--no fear. If they think I don't notice what goes on, +they must take me for a damned silly fool, that's all! Why, I've seen +them wink at each other, when they thought I wasn't looking." + +"You're not such a fool as to leave them alone together?" said the +woman, who seemed to have a pleasure in working upon Harriet's jealousy. + +"No fear! But they understand each other; I can see that well enough. +And he writes to her; I'm dead sure he writes to her. Let me get hold +of a letter just once, that's all!" + +"And he's orful good-natured to her, ain't he? Looks after her when she +has tea with you, and so on?" + +"I should think he did. It's all--'Won't Miss Starr have this?' and +'Won't Miss Starr have that?' He scarcely takes his eyes off of her, +all the time." + +"I know, I know; it's allus the same! You keep your eyes open, Harriet, +and you'll 'ave your reward, as the Scriptures says." + +When she reached home, Julian was in the uneasy condition always +brought about by these late absences. To a remark he made about the +time, she vouchsafed no answer. + +"Have you been with Ida all the evening?" he asked. + +"No, I haven't," was her reply. + +She went into the bed-room, and was absent for a few minutes, then +reappeared. + +"Do you know where my silver spoon is?" she asked, looking closely at +him. + +"Your silver spoon?" he returned, in surprise. "Have you lost it?" + +The article in question, together with a fork, hod been a +wedding-present from Mrs. Sprowl, whose character had in it a sort of +vulgar generosity, displayed at times in gifts to Harriet. + +"I can't find it," Harriet said. "I was showing it to Ida Starr when +she was here on Sunday, and now I come to look for it, it's gone." + +"Oh, it can't be very far off," said Julian. "You'll find it if you +look." + +"But I tell you I've looked everywhere. It's gone, that's all I know." + +"Well, but--what do you mean? How can it have gone?" + +"I don't know. I only know I was showing it her on Sunday." + +"And what connection is there between the two things?" asked Julian, +almost sternly. "You don't wish me to understand that Ida Starr knows +anything about the spoon?" + +"How can I tell? It's gone." + +"Come," exclaimed Julian, with a laugh, "this is too absurd, Harriet! +You must have taken leave of your senses. If it's gone, then some one +in the house has taken it." + +"And why not Ida Starr?" + +Julian stared at her with mingled anger and alarm. + +"Why not? Simply because she is incapable of such a thing." + +"Perhaps _you_ think so, no doubt. You think a good deal of her, it +seems to me. Perhaps you don't know quite as much about her as I do." + +"I fancy I know much more," exclaimed Julian indignantly. + +"Oh, do you?" + +"If you think her capable of stealing your spoon, you show complete +ignorance of her character. What do you know of her that you should +have such suspicions?" + +"Never mind," said Harriet, nodding her head obstinately. + +There was again a long silence. Julian reflected. + +"We will talk about this again to-morrow," he said, "when you have had +time to think. You are under some strange delusion. After all, I expect +you will find the spoon, and then you'll be sorry for having been so +hasty." + +Harriet became obstinately silent. She cut a piece of bread and butter, +and took it into the other room. Julian paced up and down. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE OPPORTUNITY + + +One or two days after this, Ida Starr came home from work with a heavy +heart. Quite without notice, and without explanation, her employer had +paid her a week's wages and dismissed her. Her first astonished +questions having been met with silence by the honest but hard-grained +woman who kept the laundry, Ida had not condescended to any further +appeal. The fact was that the laundress had received a visit from a +certain Mrs. Sprowl, who, under pretence of making inquiries for the +protection of a young female friend, revealed the damaging points of +Ida's story, and gained the end plotted with Harriet Casti. + +Several circumstances united to make this event disastrous to Ida. Her +wages were very little more than she needed for her week to week +existence, yet she had managed to save a shilling or two now and then. +The greater part of these small savings she had just laid out in some +new clothing, the reason for the expense being not so much necessity, +as a desire to be rather better dressed when she accompanied Waymark on +those little country excursions which had reestablished themselves of +late. By no means the smallest part of Ida's heroism was that involved +in this matter of external appearance. A beautiful woman can never be +indifferent to the way in which her beauty is arrayed. That Waymark was +not indifferent to such things she knew well, and often she suffered +from the thought that one strong means of attraction was lost to her. +If at one moment Ida was conscious of her claim to inspire a noble +enthusiasm, at another she fell into the saddest self-distrust, and, in +her hunger for love, would gladly have sought every humblest aid of +grace and adornment. So she had yielded to the needs of her heart, and +only this morning was gladdened by the charm of some new clothing which +became her well, and which Waymark would see in a day or two. It lay +there before her now that she returned home, and, in the first onset of +trouble, she sat down and cried over it. + +She suffered the more, too, that there had been something of a falling +off of late in the good health she generally enjoyed. The day's work +seemed long and hard; she felt an unwonted need of rest. And these +things caused trouble of the mind. With scarcely an hour of depression +she had worked on through those months of solitude, supported by the +sense that every day brought an accession of the strength of purity, +that the dark time was left one more stage behind, and that trust in +herself was growing assured. + +But it was harder than she had foreseen, to maintain reserve and +reticence when her heart was throbbing with passion; the effect upon +her of Waymark's comparative coldness was so much harder to bear than +she had imagined. Her mind tortured itself incessantly with the fear +that some new love had taken possession of him. And now there had +befallen her this new misfortune, which, it might be, would once more +bring about a crisis in her life. + +Of course she must forthwith set about finding new work. It would be +difficult, seeing that she had now no reference to give. Reflection had +convinced her that it must have been some discovery of her former life +which had led to her sudden dismissal, and this increased her +despondency. Yet she would not give way to it. On the following morning +she began her search for employment, and day after day faced without +result the hateful ordeal. Hope failed as she saw her +painfully-eked-out coins become fewer and fewer. In a day or two she +would have nothing, and what would happen then? + +When she returned to London to begin a new life, now nearly a year ago, +she had sold some and pawned the rest of such possessions as would in +future be useful to her. Part of the money thus obtained had bought the +furniture of her rooms; what remained had gone for a few months to +supplement her weekly wages, thus making the winter less a time of +hardship than it must otherwise have been. One or two articles yet +remained capable of being turned into small sums, and these she now +disposed of at a neighbouring pawnbroker's--the same she had previously +visited on the occasion of pawning one or two of the things, the +tickets for which Harriet Casti had so carefully inspected. She spoke +to no one of her position. Yet now the time was quickly coming when she +must either have help from some quarter or else give up her lodgings. +In food she was already stinting herself to the verge of starvation. +And through all this she had to meet her friends as hitherto, if +possible without allowing any trace of her suffering to become visible. +Harriet, strange to say, had been of late a rather frequent visitor, +and was more pressing than formerly in her invitations. Ida dreaded her +coming, as it involved the unwarrantable expense of obtaining luxuries +now unknown in her cupboard, such as tea and butter. And, on the other +hand, it was almost impossible to affect cheerfulness in the company of +the Castis. At times she caught Julian's eyes fixed upon her, and felt +that he noticed some change in her appearance. She had a sense of guilt +in their presence, as if she were there on false pretences. For, +together with her daily work, much of her confidence had gone; an +inexplicable shame constantly troubled her. She longed to hide herself +away, and be alone with her wretchedness. + +If it came to asking for help, of whom could she ask it but of Waymark? +Yet for some time she felt she could not bring herself to that. In the +consciousness of her own attitude towards him, it seemed to her that +Waymark might well doubt the genuineness of her need, might think it a +mere feint to draw him into nearer relations. She could not doubt that +he knew her love for him; she did not desire to hide it, even had she +been able. But him she could not understand. A struggle often seemed +going on within him in her presence; he appeared to repress his +impulses; he was afraid of her. At times passion urged her to break +through this barrier between them, to bring about a situation which +would end in clear mutual understanding, cost her what it might. At +other times she was driven to despair by the thought that she had made +herself too cheap in his eyes. Could she put off the last vestige of +her independence, and, in so many words, ask him to give her money? + +This evening she expected Waymark, but the usual time of his coming +went by. She sat in the twilight, listening with painful intentness to +every step on the stairs; again and again her heart leaped at some +footfall far below, only to be deceived. She had not even now made up +her mind how to speak to him, or whether to speak to him at all; but +she longed passionately to see him. The alternations of hope and +disappointment made her feverish. Illusions began to possess her. Once +she heard distinctly the familiar knock. It seemed to rouse her from +slumber: she sprang to the door and opened it, but no one was there. +She ran half way down the stairs, but saw no one. It was now nearly +midnight. The movement had dispelled for a little the lethargy which +was growing upon her, and she suddenly came to a resolution. Taking a +sheet of note-paper, she wrote this:-- + + +"I have been without work for a fortnight. All my money is done, and I +am in want. Can you send me some, for present help, till I get more +work? _Do not bring it yourself, and do not speak a word of this when +you see me, I beg you earnestly_. If I shall fail to get work, I will +speak to you of my own accord. + +I. S." + + +She went out and posted this, though she had no stamp to put on the +envelope; then, returning, she threw herself as she was on to the bed, +and before long passed into unconsciousness. + +Waymark's absence that evening had been voluntary. His work had come to +a standstill; his waking hours were passed in a restless misery which +threatened to make him ill. And to-night he had not dared to go to Ida; +in his present state the visit could have but one result, and even yet +he hoped that such a result might not come about. He left home and +wandered about the streets till early morning. All manner of projects +occupied him. He all but made up his mind to write a long letter to Ida +and explain his position without reserve. But he feared lest the result +of that might be to make Ida hide away from him once more, and to this +loss he could not reconcile himself. Yet he was further than ever from +the thought of giving himself wholly to her, for the intenser his +feeling grew, the more clearly he recognised its character. This was +not love he suffered from, but mere desire. To let it have its way +would be to degrade Ida. Love might or might not follow, and how could +he place her at the mercy of such a chance as that? Her faith and trust +in him were absolute; could he take advantage of it for his own ends? +And, for all these fine arguments, Waymark saw with perfect clearness +how the matter would end. Self would triumph, and Ida, if the fates so +willed it, would be sacrificed. It was detestable, but a fact; as good +already as an accomplished fact. + +And on the following morning Ida's note reached him. It was final. Her +entreaty that he would merely send money had no weight with him for a +moment; he felt that there was a contradiction between her words and +her wishes. This note explained the strangeness he had noticed in her +on their last evening together. He pitied her, and, as is so often the +case, pity was but fuel to passion. He swept from his mind all +obstinate debatings. Passion should be a law unto itself. Let the +future bring things about as it would. + +He had risen late, and by the time he had finished a hasty breakfast it +was eleven o'clock. Half an hour after he went up the stairs of the +lodging-house and knocked at the familiar door. + +But his knock met with no answer. Ida herself had left home an hour +before. Upon waking, and recalling what she had done, she foresaw that +Waymark would himself come, in spite of her request. She could not face +him. For all that her exhaustion was so great that walking was slow and +weary, she went out and strayed at first with no aim; but presently she +took the direction of Chelsea, and so came to Beaufort Street. She +would go in and see Harriet, who would give her something to eat. She +cared little now for letting it be known that she had left her +employment; with the step which she had at last taken, her position was +quite changed; she had only kept silence lest Waymark should come to +know. Harriet was at first surprised to see her then seemed glad. + +"I've only a minute ago sent a note, asking you to be sure to come +round to-night. I wanted you to help me with this new hat; you have +such good taste in trimming." + +Ida would have been astonished at another time; for Harriet to be +paying compliments was indeed something novel. There was a flush on the +latter's usually sallow face; she did not sit down, and kept moving +aimlessly about. + +"Give me your hat and jacket," she said, "and let me take them into the +other room." + +She took them away, and returned. Ida was not looking at her; otherwise +she must surely have noticed that weird pallor which had all at once +succeeded to the unhealthy flush, and the unwonted gleaming of her +eyes. Of what passed during those next two hours Ida had afterwards no +recollection. They ate together, and they talked, Ida as if in a dream, +Harriet preoccupied in a way quite out of her habit. Ida explained that +she was out of employment, news which could scarcely be news to the +listener, who would in that case have heard it with far less composure. +There were long silences, generally brought to an end by some outburst +of forced merriment from Harriet. Ida was without consciousness of +time, but her restless imagination at length compelled her to go forth +again. Harriet did not urge her to stay, but rose and watched her as +she went into the other room to put her things on. In a few moments +they had parted. + +The instant Harriet, from the head of the stairs, heard the front-door +close, she ran back into her bed-room, put on her hat, and darted down. +Opening the door, she saw Ida moving away at a short distance. Turning +her eyes in the opposite direction, she perceived a policeman coming +slowly down the street. She ran towards him. + +"I've caught her at last," she exclaimed, as she met him, pointing +eagerly after Ida. "She's taken a brooch of mine. I put it in a +particular place in my bed-room, and it's gone." + +"Was she alone in the room?" inquired the constable, looking keenly at +Harriet, then down the street. + +"Yes, she went in alone to put her things on. Be quick, or she'll be +off!" + +"I understand you give her in charge?" + +"Of course I do." + +A brisk walk of two or three minutes, and they had caught up Ida, who +turned at the sound of the quick footsteps, and stood in surprise. + +"This lady charges you with stealing some articles of hers," said the +constable, looking from face to face. "You must come with me to the +station." + +Ida blanched. When the policeman had spoken, she turned to Harriet, and +gazed at her fixedly. She could neither speak nor move. The constable +touched her arm impatiently. Her eyes turned to him, and she began to +walk along by his side. + +Harriet followed in silence. There were not many people on the way to +the police-station in King's Road, and they reached it speedily. They +came before the inspector, and the constable made his report. + +"Have you got this brooch?" asked the inspector, looking at Ida. + +Ida put her hand into one of her jacket-pockets, then into the other, +and from the second brought out the object in question. It was of gold, +and had been given by Julian to his wife just after their marriage. As +she laid it before her on the desk, she seemed about to speak, but her +breath failed, and she clutched with her hands at the nearest support. + +"Look out," exclaimed the inspector. "Don't let her fall." + +Five or six times, throughout the day and evening, Waymark had knocked +at Ida's door. About seven o'clock he had called at the Castis', but +found neither of them at home. Returning thence to Fulham, he had +walked for hours up and down, in vain expectation of Ida's coming. +There was no light at her window. + +Just before midnight he reached home, having on his way posted a letter +with money in it. As he reached his door, Julian stood there, about to +knock. + +"Anything amiss?" Waymark asked, examining his friend by the light of +the street-lamp. + +Julian only made a sign to him to open the door. They went upstairs +together, and Waymark speedily obtained a light. Julian had seated +himself on the couch. His face was ghastly. + +"What's the matter?" Waymark asked anxiously. "Do you know anything +about Ida?" + +"She's locked up in the police cells," was the reply. "My wife has +accused her of stealing things from our rooms." + +Waymark stared at him. + +"Cacti, what's the matter with you?" he exclaimed, overcome with fear, +in spite of his strong self-command. "Are you ill? Do you know what +you're saying?" + +Julian rose and made an effort to control himself. + +"I know what I'm saying, Waymark I've only just heard it. She has come +back home from somewhere--only just now--she seems to have been +drinking. It happened in the middle of the day, whilst I was at the +hospital. She gave her in charge to a policeman in the street, and a +brooch was found on her." + +"A brooch found on her? Your wife's?" + +"Yes. When she came in, she railed at me like a fury, and charged me +with the most monstrous things. I can't and won't go back there +to-night! I shall go mad if I hear her voice. I will walk about the +streets till morning." + +"And you tell me that Ida Starr is in custody?" + +"She is. My wife accuses her of stealing several things." + +"And you believe this?" asked Waymark, under his voice, whilst his +thoughts pictured Ida's poverty, of which he had known nothing, and led +him through a long train of miserable sequences. + +"I don't know. I can't say. She says that Ida confessed, and, gave the +brooch up at once. But her devilish malice is equal to anything. I see +into her character as I never did before. Good God, if you could have +seen her face as she told me! And Ida, Ida! I am afraid of myself, +Waymark. If I had stayed to listen another moment, I should have struck +her. It seemed as if every vein was bursting. How am I ever to live +with her again? I dare not! I should kill her in some moment of +madness! What will happen to Ida?" + +He flung himself upon the couch, and burst into tears. Sobs convulsed +him; he writhed in an anguish of conflicting passions. Waymark seemed +scarcely to observe him, standing absorbed in speculation and the +devising of a course to be pursued. + +"I must go to the police-station," he said at length, when the violence +of the paroxysm had passed and left Julian in the still exhaustion of +despair. "You, I think, had better stay here. Is there any danger of +her coming to seek you?" + +Julian made a motion with his hand, otherwise lay still, his pale face +turned upwards. + +"I shall be back very quickly," Waymark added, taking his hat. Then, +turning back for a moment, "You mustn't give way like this, old fellow; +this is horrible weakness. Dare I leave you alone?" + +Julian stretched out his hand, and Waymark pressed it. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +JUSTICE + + +Waymark received from the police a confirmation of all that Julian had +said, and returned home. Julian still lay on the couch, calmer, but +like one in despair. He begged Waymark to let him remain where he was +through the night, declaring that in any case sleep was impossible for +him, and that perhaps he might try to pass the hours in reading. They +talked together for a time; then Waymark lay down on the bed and +shortly slept. + +He was to be at the police court in the morning. Julian would go to the +hospital as usual. + +"Shall you call at home on your way?" Waymark asked him. + +"No." + +"But what do you mean to do?" + +"I must think during the day. I shall come to-night, and you will tell +me what has happened." + +So they parted, and Waymark somehow or other whiled away the time till +it was the hour for going to the court. He found it difficult to +realise the situation; so startling and brought about so suddenly. +Julian had been the first to put into words the suspicion of them both, +that it was all a deliberate plot of Harriet's; but he had not been +able to speak of his own position freely enough to let Waymark +understand the train of circumstances which could lead Harriet to such +resoluteness of infamy. Waymark doubted. But for the unfortunate fact +of Ida's secret necessities, he could perhaps scarcely have entertained +the thought of her guilt. What was the explanation of her being without +employment? Why had she hesitated to tell him, as soon as she lost her +work? Was there not some mystery at the bottom of this, arguing a lack +of complete frankness on Ida's part from the first? + +The actual pain caused by Ida's danger was, strange to say, a far less +important item in his state of mind than the interest which the +situation inspired. Through the night he had thought more of Julian +than of Ida. What he had for some time suspected had now found +confirmation; Julian was in love with Ida, in love for the first time, +and under circumstances which, as Julian himself had said, might well +suffice to change his whole nature. Waymark had never beheld such +terrible suffering as that depicted on his friend's face during those +hours of talk in the night. Something of jealousy had been aroused in +him by the spectacle; not jealousy of the ordinary gross kind, but +rather a sense of humiliation in the thought that he himself had never +experienced, was perhaps incapable of, such passion as racked Julian in +every nerve. This was the passion which Ida was worthy of inspiring, +and Waymark contrasted it with his own feelings on the previous day, +and now since the calamity had fallen. He had to confess that there was +even an element of relief in the sensations the event had caused in +him. He had been saved from himself; a position of affairs which had +become intolerable was got rid of without his own exertion. Whatever +might now happen, the old state of things would never be restored. +There was relief and pleasure in the thought of such a change, were it +only for the sake of the opening up of new vistas of observation and +experience. Such thoughts as these indicated very strongly the course +which Waymark's development was taking, and he profited by them to +obtain a clearer understanding of himself. + +The proceedings in the court that morning were brief. Waymark, from his +seat on the public benches, saw Ida brought forward, and heard her +remanded for a week. She did not see him; seemed, indeed, to see +nothing. The aspect of her standing there in the dock, her head bowed +under intolerable shame, made a tumult within him. Blind anger and +scorn against all who surrounded her were his first emotions; there was +something of martyrdom in her position; she, essentially so good and +noble, to be dragged here before these narrow-natured slaves of an +ignoble social order, in all probability to be condemned to miserable +torment by men who had no shadow of understanding of her character and +her circumstances. + +Waymark was able, whilst in court, to make up his mind as to how he +should act. When he left he took his way northwards, having in view St. +John Street Road, and Mr. Woodstock's house. + +When he had waited about half an hour, the old man appeared. He gave +his hand in silence. Something seemed to be preoccupying him; he went +to his chair in a mechanical way. + +"I have come on rather serious business," Waymark began. "I want to ask +your advice in a very disagreeable matter--a criminal case, in fact." + +Abraham did not at once pay attention, but the last words presently had +their effect, and he looked up with some surprise. + +"What have you been up to?" he asked, with rather a grim smile, leaning +back and thrusting his hands in his pockets in the usual way. + +"It only concerns myself indirectly. It's all about a girl, who is +charged with a theft she is perhaps quite innocent of. If so, she is +being made the victim of a conspiracy, or something of the kind. She +was remanded to-day at Westminster for a week." + +"A girl, eh? And what's your interest in the business?" + +"Well, if you don't mind I shall have to go a little into detail. You +are at liberty?" + +"Go on." + +"She is a friend of mine. No, I mean what I say; there is absolutely +nothing else between us, and never has been. I should like to know +whether you are satisfied to believe that; much depends on it." + +"Age and appearance?" + +"About twenty--not quite so much--and strikingly handsome." + +"H'm. Position in life?" + +"A year ago was on the streets, to put it plainly; since then has been +getting her living at laundry-work." + +"H'm. Name?" + +"Ida Starr." + +Mr. Woodstock had been gazing at the toes of his boots, still the same +smile on his face. When he heard the name he ceased to smile, but did +not move at all. Nor did he look up as he asked the next question. + +"Is that her real name?" + +"I believe so." + +The old man drew up his feet, threw one leg over the other, and began +to tap upon his knee with the fingers of one hand. He was silent for a +minute at least. + +"What do you know about her?" he then inquired, looking steadily at +Waymark, with a gravity which surprised the latter. "I mean, of her +earlier life. Do you know who she is at all?" + +"She has told me her whole story--a rather uncommon one, full of good +situations." + +"What do you mean?" + +The words were uttered with such harsh impatience that Waymark started. + +"What annoys you?" he asked, with surprise. + +"Tell me something of the story," said the other, regaining his +composure, and apparently wishing to affect indifference. "I have a +twinge of that damned rheumatism every now and then, and it makes me +rather crusty. Do you think her story is to be depended upon?" + +"Yes, I believe it is." + +And Waymark linked briefly the chief points of Ida's history, as he +knew it, the old man continually interrupting him with questions. + +"Now go on," said Abraham, when he had heard all that Waymark knew, +"and explain the scrape she's got into." + +Waymark did so. + +"And you mean to tell me," Abraham said, before the story was quite +finished, "that there's been nothing more between you than that?" + +"Absolutely nothing." + +"I don't believe you." + +It was said angrily, and with a blow of the clenched fist on the table. +The old man could no longer conceal the emotion that possessed him. +Waymark looked at him in astonishment, unable to comprehend his +behaviour. + +"Well if you don't believe me, of course I can offer no proof; and I +know well enough that every presumption is against me. Still, I tell +you the plain fact; and what reason have I for hiding the truth? If I +had been living with the girl, I should have said so, as an extra +reason for asking your help in the matter." + +"What help can I give?" asked Woodstock, again cooling down, though his +eyes had in them a most unwonted light. He spoke as if simply asking +for information. + +"I thought you might suggest something as to modes of defence, and the +like. The expenses I would somehow or other meet myself. It appears +that she will plead not guilty." + +"And what's your belief?" + +"I can't make up my mind." + +"In that case, it seems to me, you ought to give her the benefit of the +doubt; especially as you seem to have made up your mind pretty clearly +about this Mrs. What's-her-name." + +Waymark was silent, looking at Mr. Woodstock, and reflecting. + +"What are your intentions with regard to the girl?" Abraham asked, with +a change in his voice, the usual friendliness coming back. He looked at +the young man in a curious way; one would almost have said, with +apprehensive expectation. + +"I have no intentions." + +"You would have had, but for this affair?" + +"No; you are mistaken. I know the position is difficult to realise." + +"Have you intentions, then, in any other quarter?" + +"Well, perhaps yes." + +"I've never heard anything of this." + +"I could scarcely talk of a matter so uncertain." + +There was silence. A sort of agitation came upon the old man ever and +again, in talking. He now grew absorbed in thought, and remained thus +for several minutes, Waymark looking at him the while. When at length +Abraham raised his eyes, and they met Waymark's, he turned them away at +once, and rose from the chair. + +"I'll look into the business," he said, taking out a bunch of keys, and +putting one into the lock of a drawer in his desk. "Yes, I'll go and +make inquiries." He half pulled out the drawer and rustled among some +papers. + +"Look here," he said, on the point of taking something out; but, even +in speaking, he altered his mind. "No; it don't matter. I'll go and +make inquiries. You can go now, if you like;--I mean to say, I suppose +you've told me all that's necessary.--Yes, you'd better go, and look in +again tomorrow morning." + +Waymark went straight to Fulham. Reaching the block of tenements which +had been Ida's home, he sought out the porter. When the door opened at +his knock, the first face that greeted him was that of Grim, who had +pushed between the man's legs and was peering up, as if in search of +some familiar aspect. + +From the porter he learned that the police had made that afternoon an +inspection of Ida's rooms, though with what result was not known. The +couple had clearly formed their own opinion as to Waymark's interest in +the accused girl, but took the position in a very matter-of-fact way, +and were eager to hear more than they succeeded in getting out of the +police. + +"My main object in coming," Waymark explained, "was to look after her +cat. I see you have been good enough to anticipate me." + +"The poor thing takes on sadly," said the woman. "Of course I shouldn't +have known nothing if the hofficers hadn't come, and it 'ud just have +starved to death. It seems to know you, sir?" + +"Yes, yes, I dare say. Do you think you could make it convenient to +keep the cat for the present, if I paid you for its food?" + +"Well, I don't see why not, sir; we ain't got none of our own." + +"And you would promise me to be kind to it? I don't mind the expense; +keep it well, and let me know what you spend. And of course I should +consider your trouble." + +So that matter was satisfactorily arranged, and Waymark went home. + +Julian spent his day at the hospital as usual, finding relief in fixing +his attention upon outward things. It was only when he left his work in +the evening that he became aware how exhausted he was in mind and body. +And the dread which he had hitherto kept off came back upon him, the +dread of seeing his wife's face and hearing her voice. When he parted +with Waymark in the morning, he had thought that he would be able to +come to some resolution during the day as to his behaviour with regard +to her. But no such decision had been formed, and his overtaxed mind +could do no more than dwell with dull persistency on a long prospect of +wretchedness. Fear and hatred moved him in turns, and the fear was as +much of himself as of the object of his hate. + +As he approached the door, a man came out whom he did not know, but +whose business he suspected. He had little doubt that it was a police +officer in plain clothes. He had to stand a moment and rest, before he +could use his latchkey to admit himself. When he entered the +sitting-room, he found the table spread as usual. Harriet was sitting +with sewing upon her lap. She did not look at him. + +He sat down, and closed his eyes. There seemed to be a ringing of great +bells about him, overpowering every other sound; all his muscles had +become relaxed and powerless; he half forgot where and under what +circumstances he was, in a kind of deadly drowsiness. Presently this +passed, and he grew aware that Harriet was preparing tea. When it was +ready, he went to the table, and drank two or three cups, for he was +parched with thirst. He could not look at Harriet, but he understood +the mood she was in, and knew she would not be the first to speak. He +rose, walked about for a few minutes, then stood still before her. + +"What proof have you to offer," he said, speaking in a slow but +indistinct tone, "that she is guilty of this, and that it isn't a plot +you have laid against her?" + +"You can believe what you like," she replied sullenly. "Of course I +know you'll do your worst against me." + +"I wish you to answer my question. If I choose to suspect that you +yourself put this brooch in her pocket--and if other people choose to +suspect the same, knowing your enmity against her, what proof can you +give that she is guilty?" + +"It isn't the first thing she's stolen." + +"What proof have you that she took those other things?" + +"Quite enough, I think. At all events, they've found a pawn-ticket for +the spoon at her lodgings, among a whole lot of other tickets for +things she can't have come by honestly." + +Julian became silent, and, as Harriet looked up at him with eyes full +of triumphant spite, he turned pale. He could have crushed the hateful +face beneath his feet. + +"You're a good husband, you are," Harriet went on, with a sudden change +to anger; "taking part against your own wife, and trying to make her +out all that's bad. But I think you've had things your own way long +enough. You thought I was a fool, did you, and couldn't see what was +going on? You and your Ida Starr, indeed! Oh, she would be such a good +friend to me, wouldn't she? She would do me so much good; you thought +so highly of her; she was just the very girl to be my companion; how +lucky we found her! I'm much obliged to you, but I think I might have +better friends than thieves and street-walkers." + +"What do you mean?" asked Julian, starting at the last word, and +turning a ghastly countenance on her. + +"I mean what I say. As if you didn't know, indeed!" + +"Explain what you mean," Julian repeated, almost with violence. "Who +has said anything of that kind against her?" + +"Who has? Why I can bring half a dozen people who knew her when she was +on the streets, before Waymark kept her. And you knew it, well +enough--no fear!" + +"It's a lie, a cursed lie! No one can say a word against her purity. +Only a foul mind could imagine such things." + +"Purity! Oh yes, she's very pure--you know that, don't you? No doubt +you'll be a witness, and give evidence for her, and against me;--let +everybody know how perfect she is, and what a beast and a liar I am! +You and your Ida Starr!" + +Julian rushed out of the room. + +Waymark could not but observe peculiarities in Mr. Woodstock's +behaviour during the conversation about Ida. At first it had occurred +to him--knowing a good deal of Abraham's mode of life--that there must +be some disagreeable secret at the bottom, and for a moment the +ever-recurring distrust of Ida rose again. But he had soon observed +that the listener was especially interested in the girl's earliest +years, and this pointed to possibilities of a different kind. What was +it that was being taken from the drawer to show him, when the old man +suddenly altered his mind? Mr. Woodstock had perhaps known Ida's +parents. Waymark waited with some curiosity for the interview on the +morrow. + +Accordingly, he was surprised when, on presenting himself, Mr. +Woodstock did not at first appear to remember what he had called about. + +"Oh, ay, the girl!" Abraham exclaimed, on being reminded. "What did you +say her name was? Ida something--" + +Waymark was puzzled and suspicious, and showed both feelings in his +looks, but Mr. Woodstock preserved a stolid indifference which it was +very difficult to believe feigned. + +"I've been busy," said the latter. "Never mind; there's time. She was +remanded for a week, you said? I'll go and see Helter about her. May as +well come along with me, and put the case in 'artistic' form." + +It was a word frequently on Waymark's lips, and he recognised the +unwonted touch of satire with a smile, but was yet more puzzled. They +set out together to the office of the solicitor who did Abraham's legal +business, and held with him a long colloquy. Waymark stated all he knew +or could surmise with perfect frankness. He had heard from Julian the +night before of the discovery which it was said the police had made at +Ida's lodgings, and this had strengthened his fear that Harriet's +accusation was genuine. + +"How did this girl lose her place at the laundry?" asked Mr. Helter. + +Waymark could not say; for all he knew it was through her own fault. + +"And that's all you can tell us, Waymark?" observed Mr. Woodstock, who +had listened with a show of indifference. "Well, I have no more time at +present. Look the thing up, Helter." + +On reaching home, Waymark wrote a few lines to Ida, merely to say that +Grim was provided for, and assure her that she was not forgotten. In a +day or two he received a reply. The official envelope almost startled +him at first. Inside was written this: + + +"You have been kind. I thank you for everything. Try to think kindly of +me, whatever happens; I shall be conscious of it, and it will give me +strength. + +I. S." + + +The week went by, and Ida again appeared in court. Mr. Woodstock went +with Waymark, out of curiosity, he said. The statement of the case +against the prisoner sounded very grave. What Harriet had said about +the discovery of the pawn-ticket for her silver spoon was true. Ida's +face was calm, but paler yet and thinner. When she caught sight of +Harriet Casti, she turned her eyes away quickly, and with a look of +trouble. She desired to ask no question, simply gave her low and +distinct "Not guilty." She was committed for trial. + +Waymark watched Mr. Woodstock, who was examining Ida all the time; he +felt sure that he heard something like a catching of the breath when +the girl's face first became visible. + +"And what's your opinion?" asked Waymark. + +"I couldn't see the girl very well," said the old man coldly. + +"She hasn't quite a fortnight to wait." + +"No." + +"You're sure Helter will do all that can be done?" + +"Yes." + +Mr. Woodstock nodded his head, and walked off by himself. + +Julian Casti was ill. With difficulty he had dragged himself to the +court, and his sufferings as he sat there were horribly evident on his +white face. Waymark met him just as Mr. Woodstock walked off; and the +two went home together by omnibus, not speaking on the way. + +"She will be convicted," was Julian's first utterance, when he had sat +for a few minutes in Waymark's room, whilst Waymark himself paced up +and down. The latter turned, and saw that tears were on his friend's +hollow cheeks. + +"Did you sleep better last night?" he asked. + +"Good God, no! I never closed my eyes. That's the third night without +rest. Waymark, get me an opiate of some kind, or I shall kill myself; +and let me sleep here." + +"What will your wife say?" + +"What do I care what she says!" cried Julian, with sudden excitement, +his muscles quivering, and his cheeks flaming all at once. "Don't use +that word 'wife,' it is profanation; I can't bear it! If I see her +to-night, I can't answer for what I may do. Curse her to all eternity!" + +He sank beck in exhaustion. + +"Julian," said Waymark, using his friend's first name by exception, "if +this goes on, you will be ill. What the deuce shall we do then?" + +"No, I shall not be ill. It will be all right if I can get sleep." + +He was silent for a little, then spoke, with his eyes on the ground. + +"Waymark, is this true they say about her--about the former time?" + +"Yes; it is true." + +Waymark in turn was silent. + +"I suppose," he continued presently, "I owe you an apology." + +"None. It was right of you to act as you did." + +He was going to say something else, but checked himself. Waymark +noticed this, watched his face for a moment, and spoke with some +earnestness. + +"But it was in that only I misled you. Do you believe me when I repeat +that she and I were never anything but friends!" + +Julian looked up with a gleam of gratitude in his eyes. + +"Yes, I believe you!" + +"And be sure of this," Waymark went on, "whether or not this accusation +is true, it does not in the least affect the nobility of her character. +You and I are sufficiently honest, in the true sense of the word, to +understand this." + +Waymark only saw Mr. Woodstock once or twice in the next fortnight, and +very slight mention was made between them of the coming trial. He +himself was not to be involved in the case in any way; as a witness on +Ida's side he could do no good, and probably would prejudice her yet +more in the eyes of the jury. It troubled him a little to find with +what complete calmness he could await the result; often he said to +himself that he must be sadly lacking in human sympathy. Julian Casti, +on the other hand, had passed into a state of miserable deadness; +Waymark in vain tried to excite hope in him. He came to his friend's +every evening, and sat there for hours in dark reverie. + +"What will become of her!" Julian asked once. "In either case--what +will become of her!" + +"Woodstock shall help us in that," Waymark replied. "She must get a +place of some kind." + +"How dreadfully she is suffering, and how dark life will be before her!" + +And so the day of the trial came. The pawnbroker's evidence was +damaging. The silver spoon had been pledged, he asserted, at the same +time with another article for which Ida possessed the duplicate. The +inscriptions on the duplicates supported him in this, and he professed +to have not the least doubt as to the prisoner's identity. Pressed in +cross-examination, he certainly threw some suspicion on the +trustworthiness of his assertions. "You positively swear that these two +articles were pledged by the prisoner, and at the same time!" asked the +cross-examiner. "Well," was the impatient reply, "there's the same date +and name, and both in my writing." But even thus much of doubt he +speedily retracted, and his evidence could not be practically +undermined. + +Harriet's examination was long and searching, but she bore it without +the slightest damage to her credit. Plain, straightforward, and +stubborn were all her replies and assertions; she did not contradict +herself once. Waymark marvelled at her appearance and manner. The venom +of malice had acted upon her as a tonic, strengthening her intellect, +and bracing her nerves. Once she looked directly into Ida's face and +smiled. + +Mrs. Sprowl had been summoned, and appeared in all the magnificence of +accumulated rings, bracelets, necklaces, and watch-chains. Helter hoped +to make good use of her. + +"Did you on a certain occasion go to the person in whose employ the +prisoner was, and, by means of certain representations with regard to +the prisoner's antecedents, become the cause of her dismissal?" + +"I did. I told all I knew about her, and I consider I'd a right to do +so." + +Mrs. Sprowl was not to be robbed of her self-assurance by any array of +judicial dignity. + +"What led you to do this?" + +"A good enough one, I think. She'd been imposed on Mr. Casti and his +wife as a respectable character, and she was causing trouble between +them. She had to be got rid of somehow, and this was one step to it." + +"Was Mrs. Casti aware of your intention to take this step?" + +"No, she wasn't." + +"But you told her when you had done it?" + +"Yes, I did." + +The frankness of all this had its effect, of course. The case was +attracting much interest in court, and the public seats were quite +full. Mrs. Sprowl looked round in evident enjoyment of her position. +There was a slight pause, and then the examination continued. + +"Of what nature was the trouble you speak of, caused by the prisoner +between this lady and her husband?" + +"Mr. Casti began to pay a good deal too much attention to her." + +There was a sound of whispers and a murmuring. + +"Did Mrs. Casti impart to you her suspicions of the prisoner as soon as +she missed the first of these articles alleged to be stolen?" + +"Yes, she did." + +"And did you give any advice as to how she should proceed?" + +"I told her to be on the look-out." + +"No doubt you laid stress on the advantage, from a domestic point of +view, of securing this prisoner's detection?" + +"Certainly I did, and I hoped and prayed as she might caught!" + +Mrs. Sprowl was very shortly allowed to retire. For the defence there +was but one witness, and that was the laundress who had employed Ida. +Personal fault with Ida she had one at all to find; the sole cause of +her dismissal was the information given by Mrs. Sprowl. Perhaps she had +acted hastily and unkindly, but she had young girls working in the +laundry, and it behoved her to be careful of them. + +Julian's part in the trial had been limited to an examination as to his +knowledge of Ida's alleged thefts. He declared that he knew nothing +save from his wife's statements to him. He had observed nothing in the +least suspicious. + +A verdict was returned of "Guilty." + +Had the prisoner anything to say? Nothing whatever. There was a pause, +a longer pause than seemed necessary. Then, without remark, she was +sentenced to be imprisoned for six months with hard labour. + +Waymark had been drawn to the court in spite of himself. Strangely +quiet hitherto, a fear fell upon him the night be fore the trial. From +an early hour in the morning he walked about the streets, circling ever +nearer to the hateful place. All at once he found himself facing Mr. +Woodstock. The old man's face was darkly anxious, and he could not +change its expression quickly enough. + +"Are you going in?" he said sharply. + +"Are you?" + +"Yes." + +"Then I shall not," said Waymark. "I'll go to your place, and wait +there." + +But when Abraham, whose eyes had not moved from the prisoner throughout +the proceedings, rose at length to leave, a step or two brought him to +a man who was leaning against the wall, powerless from conflicting +excitement, and deadly pale. It was Waymark. Mr. Woodstock took him by +the arm and led him out. + +"Why couldn't you keep away?" the old man exclaimed hoarsely, and with +more of age in his voice than any one had ever yet heard in it. + +Waymark shook himself free, and laughed as one laughs under torment. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +ART AND MISERY + + +One Monday afternoon at the end of October--three months had gone by +since the trial--Waymark carried his rents to St. John Street Road as +usual. + +"I'm going to Tottenham," said Mr. Woodstock. "You may as well come +with me." + +"By the by, I finished my novel the other day," Waymark said, as they +drove northward. + +"That's right. No doubt you're on your way to glory, as the hymn says." + +Abraham was in good spirits. One would have said that he had grown +younger of late. That heaviness and tendency to absent brooding which +not long ago seemed to indicate the tightening grip of age, was +disappearing; he was once more active and loud and full of his old +interests. + +"How's Casti?" Mr. Woodstock went on to ask. + +"A good deal better, I think, but shaky. Of course things will be as +bad as ever when his wife comes out of the hospital." + +"Pity she can't come out heels first," muttered Abraham. + +Waymark found that the purpose of their journey was to inspect a large +vacant house, with a good garden and some fine trees about it. The old +man wished for his opinion, and, by degrees, let it be known that he +thought of buying the property. + +"I suppose you think me an old fool to want a house like this at my +time of life, eh?" + +There was a twinkle in his eye, and a moment after he fairly burst into +a laugh of pleasure. Waymark asked no questions, and received no more +information; but a thought rose in his mind which occupied him for the +rest of the day. + +In the evening Julian came. He looked like one who had recovered from a +long illness, very pale and thin, and his voice had tremblings and +uncertainties of key. In fact, a feverish disorder had been upon him +for some weeks, never severe enough to prevent his getting about, but +weakening him to a serious degree. It would doubtless have developed +into some more pronounced illness, but for the period of comparative +rest and quietness which had begun shortly after the miseries of the +trial. Harriet's ailments had all at once taken such a decided turn for +the worse--her fits becoming incessant, and other disorders traceable +to the same source suddenly taking hold upon her--that Julian had +obtained her admission to the hospital, where she still remained. He +went to see her in the ward two or three times a week, though he +dreaded the necessity. From little incidents which occurred at such +times, he was convinced that all her fellow-patients, as well as the +"sister" and nurses of the wards, had been prejudiced against him by +her reports and accusations. To meet their looks occasioned him the +most acute suffering. Sometimes he sat by the bedside for half an hour +without speaking, then rose and hastened away to hide himself and be +alone with his misery. + +He was earnest and eager to-night in his praise of Waymark's book, +which he had just read in manuscript. + +"It is horrible," he exclaimed; "often hideous and revolting to me; but +I feel its absolute truth. Such a book will do more good than half a +dozen religious societies." + +"If only people can be got to read it. Yet I care nothing for that +aspect of the thing. Is it artistically strong? Is it good as a +picture? There was a time when I might have written in this way with a +declared social object. That is all gone by. I have no longer a spark +of social enthusiasm. Art is all I now care for, and as art I wish my +work to be judged." + +"One would have thought," said Julian, "that increased knowledge of +these fearful things would have had just the opposite effect." + +"Yes," exclaimed the other, with the smile which always prefaced some +piece of self-dissection, "and so it would in the case of a man born to +be a radical. I often amuse myself with taking to pieces my former +self. I was not a conscious hypocrite in those days of violent +radicalism, working-man's-club lecturing, and the like; the fault was +that I understood myself as yet so imperfectly. That zeal on behalf of +the suffering masses was nothing more nor less than disguised zeal on +behalf of my own starved passions. I was poor and desperate, life had +no pleasures, the future seemed hopeless, yet I was overflowing with +vehement desires, every nerve in me was a hunger which cried to be +appeased. I identified myself with the poor and ignorant; I did not +make their cause my own, but my own cause theirs. I raved for freedom +because I was myself in the bondage of unsatisfiable longing." + +"Well," he went on, after regarding his listener with still the same +smile, "I have come out of all that, in proportion as my artistic +self-consciousness has developed. For one thing, I am not so miserable +as I was then, personally; then again, I have found my vocation. You +know pretty well the phases I have passed through. Upon ranting +radicalism followed a period of philosophical study. My philosophy, I +have come to see, was worth nothing; what philosophy is worth anything? +It had its use for myself, however; it made me by degrees +self-conscious, and brought me to see that in art alone I could find +full satisfaction." + +"Yet," urged Julian, "the old direction still shows itself in your +choice of subjects. Granting that this is pure art, it is a kind of art +only possible to an age in which the social question is predominant." + +"True, very likely. Every strong individuality is more or less the +expression of its age. This direction may be imposed upon me; for all +that, I understand why I pursue it." + +After reflecting, Julian spoke in another tone. "Imagine yourself in my +position. Could you appreciate the artistic effect of your own +circumstances?" + +"Probably not. And it is because I recognise that, that I grow more and +more careful to hold aloof from situations that would threaten my peace +of mind. My artistic egotism bids fair to ally itself with vulgar +selfishness. That tendency I must resist. For the artist _ought_ to be +able to make material of his own sufferings, even while the suffering +is at its height. To what other end does he suffer? In very deed, he is +the only man whose misery finds justification in apparent result." + +"I am not an artist," sighed Julian. + +"On the contrary, I firmly believe that you are. And it makes me angry +to see the impulse dying in you." + +"What am I to do?" Julian cried, almost with a voice of anguish. "I am +so helpless, so hopelessly fettered! Release is impossible. No words +could express the desperate struggles I go through when I recognise how +my life is being wasted and my powers, whatever they may be, numbed and +crushed. Something I might do, if I were free; I feel that! But there +is no hope of freedom. I shall fall into darker and darker depths of +weakness and ruin, always conscious of what I am losing. What will be +the end?" + +"What the end will be, under the present circumstances, is only too +clear to me. But it might easily be averted?" + +"How? Give me some practical advice, Waymark! Let us talk of the matter +freely. Tell me what you would do!" + +Waymark thought for a moment. + +"Does there seem any chance of her health being permanently improved?" +he asked. + +"I can't say. She says she is better. It's no use my asking the +doctors; they despise me, and would not think of treating me with any +consideration." + +"Why don't you do this?" began Waymark, after another pause. "Use all +means to find some convalescent home where she can be received when she +leaves the hospital. Then, if her fits and the rest of it still +continue, find some permanent place for her. You can afford it. Never +mind if it reduces you for a time to a garret and a crust." + +"She would refuse to go to such places," said Julian despondently. + +"Then refuse to take her back! Sell your furniture; take one room for +yourself; and tell her she must live where she likes on a sufficient +allowance from you." + +"I dare not. It is impossible. She would never leave me in peace." + +"You will have to do this ultimately, if you are to continue to live. +Of that there is no doubt. So why not now?" + +"I must think; it is impossible to make up my mind to such a thing at +once. I know you advise what is best; I have thought of it myself. But +I shall never have the courage! I am so miserably weak. If only I could +get my health back! Good God, how I suffer!" + +Waymark did his best to familiarise Julian with the thought, and to +foster in him something of resoluteness, but he had small hope of +succeeding. The poor fellow was so incapable of anything which at all +resembled selfishness, and so dreaded the results of any such severity +on his part as that proposed. There were moments when indignation +almost nerved him to independence, but there returned so soon the souse +of pity, and, oftener still, the thought of that promise made to +Harriet's father, long ago, in the dark little parlour which smelt of +drugs. The poor chemist, whose own life was full of misery, had been +everything to him; but for Mr. Smales, he might now have been an +ignorant, coarse-handed working man, if not worse. Was Harriet past all +rescue? Was there not even yet a chance of saving her from herself and +those hateful friends of hers? + +This was the natural reaction after listening to Waymark's remorseless +counsel. Going home, Julian fought once more the battle with himself, +till the usual troubled sleep severed his thoughts into fragments of +horrible dreams. The next day he felt differently; Waymark's advice +seemed more practical. In the afternoon he should have visited Harriet +in the ward, but an insuperable repulsion kept him away, and for the +first time. It was a bleak, cheerless day; the air was cold with the +breath of the nearing winter; At night he found it impossible to sit in +his own room, and dreaded to talk with any one. His thoughts were fixed +upon one place; a great longing drew him forth, into the darkness and +the rain of the streets, onwards in a fixed direction. It brought him +to Westminster, and to the gate of Tothill Fields Prison. The fetters +upon the great doors were hideous in the light of the lamps above them; +the mean houses around the gaol seemed to be rotting in its accursed +shadow. A deadly stillness possessed the air; there was blight in the +dropping of the rain. + +He leaned against the great, gloomy wall, and thought of Ida. At this +hour she was most likely asleep, unless sorrow kept her waking. What +unimagined horrors did she suffer day after day in that accursed +prison-house? How did she bear her torments? Was she well or ill? What +brutality might she not be subjected to? He pictured her face wasted +with secret tears, those eyes which were the light of his soul fixed on +the walls of the cell, hour after hour, in changeless despair, the fire +of passionate resentment feeding at her life's core. + +The night became calmer. The rained ceased, and a sudden gleam made him +look up, to behold the moon breaking her way through billows of +darkness. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +STRAYING + + +The Enderbys were at Brighton during the autumn. Mr. Enderby only +remained with them two or three days at a time, business requiring his +frequent presence in town. Maud would have been glad to spend her +holidays at some far quieter place, but her mother enjoyed Brighton, +and threw herself into its amusements of the place with spirits which +seemed to grow younger. They occupied handsome rooms, and altogether +lived in a more expensive way than when at home. + +Maud was glad to see her mother happy, but could not be at ease herself +in this kind of life. It was soon arranged that she should live in her +own way, withholding from the social riot which she dreaded, and +seeking rest in out-of-the-way parts of the shore, where more of nature +was to be found and less of fashion. Maud feared lest her mother should +feel this as an unkind desertion, but Mrs. Enderby was far from any +such trouble; it relieved her from the occasional disadvantage of +having by her side a grown-up daughter, whose beauty so strongly +contrasted with her own. So Maud spent her days very frequently in +exploring the Downs, or in seeking out retired nooks beneath the +cliffs, where there was no sound in her ears but that of the waves. She +would sit for hours with no companion save her thoughts, which were +unconsciously led from phase to phase by the moving lights and shadows +upon the sea, and the soft beauty of unstable clouds. + +Even before leaving London, she had begun to experience a frequent +sadness of mood, tending at times to weariness and depression, which +foreshadowed new changes in her inner life. The fresh delight in nature +and art had worn off in some degree; she read less, and her thoughts +took the habit of musing upon the people and circumstances about her, +also upon the secrets of the years to come. She grew more conscious of +the mystery in her own earlier life, and in the conditions which now +surrounded her. A sense which at times besets all imaginative minds +came upon her now and then with painful force; a fantastic unreality +would suddenly possess all she saw and heard; it seemed as if she had +been of a sudden transported out of the old existence into this new and +unrealised position; if any person spoke to her, it was difficult to +feel that she was really addressed and must reply; was it not all a +mere vision she was beholding, out of which she would presently awake! +Such moments were followed by dark melancholy. This life she was +leading could not last, but would pass away in some fearful shock of +soul. Once she half believed herself endowed with the curse of a +hideous second-sight. Sitting with her father and mother, silence all +at once fell upon the room, and everything was transfigured in a +ghostly light. Distinctly she saw her mother throw her head back and +raise to her throat what seemed to be a sharp, glistening piece of +steel; then came a cry, and all was darkened before her eyes in a rush +of crimson mist. The cry she had herself uttered, much to her parents' +alarm; what her mother held was in reality only a paper-knife, with +which she had been tapping her lips in thought. A slight attack of +illness followed on this disturbance, and it was some days before she +recovered from the shock; she kept to herself, however, the horrible +picture which her imagination had conjured up. + +She began to pay more frequent visits to her aunt Theresa, whom at +first she had seen very seldom. There was not the old confidence +between them. Maud shrank from any direct reference to the change in +herself, and Miss Bygrave spoke no word which could suggest a +comparison between past and present. Maud tried once more to draw near +to the pale, austere woman, whose life ever remained the same. She was +not repelled, but neither did any movement respond to her yearning. She +always came away with a sad heart. + +One evening in the week she looked forward to with eagerness; it was +that on which Waymark was generally expected. In Waymark's presence she +could forget those dark spirits that hovered about her; she could +forget herself, and be at rest in the contemplation of strength and +confidence. There was a ring in his voice which inspired faith; +whatever might be his own doubts and difficulties--and his face +testified to his knowledge of both--it was so certain that he had power +to overcome them. This characteristic grew stronger in him to her +observation; he was a far other man now than when she first knew him; +the darkness had passed from his eyes, which seemed always to look +straight forward, and with perception of an end he was nearing. Why +could she not make opportunities of speaking freely with him, alone +with him? They were less near to each other, it seemed, after a year of +constant meeting, than in the times when, personally all but strangers, +they had corresponded so frankly and unconventionally. Of course he +came to the house for her sake; it could not but be so; yet at times he +seemed to pay so little attention to her. Her mother often monopolised +him through a whole evening, and not apparently to his annoyance. And +all the time he had in his heart the message for which she longed; +support and comfort were waiting for her there, she felt sure, could he +but speak unrestrainedly. In herself was no salvation; but he had +already overcome, and why could she not ask him for the secret of his +confidence? Often, as the evening drew to an end, and he was preparing +to leave, an impatience scarcely to be repressed took hold upon her; +her face grew hot, her hands trembled, she would have followed him from +the room and begged for one word to herself had it been possible. And +when he was gone, there came the weakest moments her life had yet +known; a childish petulance, a tearful fretting, an irritable misery of +which she was ashamed. She went to her room to suffer in silence, and +often to read through that packet of his letters, till the night was +far spent. + +It had cost her much to leave London. She feared lest, during her +absence, something should occur to break off the wonted course of +things, and that Waymark might not resume his visits on their return. +After the feverish interval of those first weeks, she tried sometimes +to distract her thoughts by reading, and got from a library a book +which Waymark had recommended to her at their last meeting--Rossetti's +poems. These gave her much help in restoring her mind to quietness. +Their perfect beauty entranced her, and the rapturous purity of ideal +passion, the mystic delicacies of emotion, which made every verse gleam +like a star, held her for the time high above that gloomy cloudland of +her being, rife with weird shapes and muffled voices. That Beauty is +solace of life, and Love the end of being,--this faith she would cling +to in spite of all; she grasped it with the desperate force of one who +dreaded lest it should fade and fail from her. Beauty alone would not +suffice; too often it was perceived as a mere mask, veiling horrors; +but in the passion and the worship of love was surely a never-failing +fountain of growth and power; this the draught that would leave no +bitter aftertaste, its enjoyment the final and all-sufficient answer to +the riddle of life. Rossetti put into utterance for her so much that +she had not dared to entrust even to the voice of thought. Her spirit +and flesh became one and indivisible; the old antagonism seemed at an +end for ever. + +Such dreamings as these naturally heightened Maud's dislike for the +kind of life her mother led, and she longed unspeakably for the time of +her return to London. They had been at Brighton already nearly a month, +when a new circumstance was added to her discomfort. As she walked with +her mother one day, they met their acquaintance, Mr. Budge. This +gentleman dined with them that evening at Mrs. Enderby's invitation, +and persuaded the latter to join a party he had made up for an +excursion on the following day. Maud excused herself. She did not like +Mr. Budge, and his demeanour during the evening only strengthened her +prejudice. He was unduly excited and fervent, and allowed himself a +certain freedom in his conversation with Mrs. Enderby which Maud +resented strongly. + +When they were once more in London, Maud did not win back the former +quiet of mind. Waymark came again as usual, but if anything the +distance between him and herself seemed more hopeless. He appeared +preoccupied; his talk, when he spoke with her, was of a more general +kind than formerly; she was conscious that her presence did not affect +him as it had done. She sank again into despondency; books were +insipid, and society irritated her. She began the habit of taking long +walks, an aimless wandering about the streets and parks within her +reach. One evening, wending wearily homewards, she was attracted by the +lights in a church in Marylebone Road, and, partly for a few minutes' +rest, partly out of a sudden attraction to a religious service, she +entered. It was the church of Our Lady of the Rosary. She had not +noticed that it was a Roman Catholic place of worship, but the +discovery gave her an unexpected pleasure. She was soothed and filled +with a sense of repose. Sinking into the attitude of prayer, she let +her thoughts carry her whither they would; they showed her nothing but +images of beauty and peace. It was with reluctance that she arose and +went back into the dark street, where the world met her with a chill +blast, sleet-laden. + +Our Lady of the Rosary received her frequently after this. But there +were days when the thought of repose was far from her. At one such +time, on an evening in November, a sudden desire possessed her mind; +she would go out into the streets of the town and see something of that +life which she knew only in imagination, the traffic of highway and +byway after dark, the masque of pleasure and misery of sin of which a +young girl can know nothing, save from hints here and there in her +reading, or from the occasional whispers and head-shakings of society's +gossip. Her freedom was complete; her absence, if noticed, would entail +no questions; her mother doubtless would conclude that she was at her +aunt Theresa's. So she clad herself in walking attire of a kind not +likely to attract observation, and set forth. The tumult which had been +in her blood all day received fresh impulse from the excitement of the +adventure. She had veiled her face, but the veil hindered her +observation, and she threw it back. First into Edgware Road, then down +Oxford Street. Her thoughts pointed to an eastern district, though she +feared the distance would be too great; she had frequently talked with +Waymark of his work in Litany Lane and Elm Court, and a great curiosity +possessed her to see these places. She entered an omnibus, and so +reached the remote neighbourhood. Here, by inquiry of likely people, +she found her way to Litany Lane, and would have penetrated its +darkness, but was arrested by a sudden event characteristic of the +locality. + +Forth from the alley, just before her, rushed a woman of hideous +aspect, pursued by another, younger, but, if possible, yet more foul, +who shrieked curses and threats. In the way of the fugitive was a +costermonger's stall; unable to check herself, the woman rushed against +this, overturning it, and herself falling among the ruin. The one in +pursuit, with a yell of triumph, sprang upon her prostrate enemy, and +attacked her with fearful violence, leaping on her body, dashing her +head against the pavement, seemingly bent on murder. In a moment there +was a thick crowd rushing round, amid which Maud was crushed and swayed +without possibility of disengaging herself. The screams of the one +woman, and the terrific objurgations of the other, echoed through the +street. From the words of those about her, Maud understood that the two +women were mother and daughter, and that it was no rare occurrence for +the younger woman to fall just short of killing her parent. But only +for a moment or two could Maud understand anything; horror and physical +oppression overcame her senses. Her fainting caused a diversion in the +crowd, and she was dragged without much delay to the nearest doorstep. + +She was not long unconscious, and presently so far recovered as to know +that she was being helped to enter a cab. The cab began to drive off. +Then she saw that some one was sitting opposite her. "Who is it?" she +asked, trying to command herself, and to see clearly by the light of +the street lamps. At the sound of the voice which answered, she +started, and, looking again, at length recognised Waymark. + +"Do you feel better?" he asked. "Are you able to go on homewards?" + +"Quite able," she answered, leaning back again, and speaking with +strange calmness. + +"What on earth is the meaning of this?" was Waymark's next inquiry. +"How came you here at this time?" + +"Curiosity brought me," Maud answered, with the same unnatural +composure. + +"Had you been there long?" + +"No; I had asked my way to Litany Lane, and all at once found myself in +the crowd." + +"Thank goodness I happened to be by! I had just been looking up a +defaulting tenant. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you lying in +that doorway. Why didn't you ask me to come with you, and show you +these places?" + +"It would have been better," she said, with her eyes closed. Waymark +leaned back. Conversation was difficult in the noise of the vehicle, +and for a long time neither spoke. + +"I told the man to drive to Edgware Road," Waymark said then. "Shall he +go on to the house?" + +"No; I had rather walk the last part." + +They talked brokenly of the Lane and its inhabitants. When at length +Maud alighted Waymark offered his arm, and she just laid her hand upon +it. + +"I have seen dreadful things to-night," she said, in a voice that still +trembled; "seen and heard things that will haunt me." + +"You give too much weight to the impressions of the moment. That world +is farther removed from yours than the farthest star; you must forget +this glimpse of it." + +"Oh, I fear you do not know me; I do not know myself." + +He made no reply, and, on their coming near to the house, Maud paused. + +"Mother's sending you a note this evening," she said, as she held out +her hand, "to ask you to come on Thursday instead of to-morrow. She +will be from home to-morrow night." + +"Shall you also be from home?" + +"I? No." + +"Then may I not come and see you?--Not if it would be troublesome." + +"It would not, at all." + +"It is good of you. I will come." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +THE WILL TO LIVE + + +Waymark made his way to Paddington at the usual time on the following +evening, and found Maud alone. There was agitation in her manner as she +welcomed him, and she resumed her seat as if the attitude of rest was +needful to her. In reply to his inquiries about her health, she assured +him she was well, and that she felt no painful results from the +previous evening. Waymark also showed an unusual embarrassment. He +stood for some moments by the table, turning over the leaves of a book. + +"I didn't know you had Rossetti," he said, without looking up. "You +never mentioned him." + +"I seem to have had no opportunity." + +"No. I too have many things that I have wanted to speak to you about, +but opportunity was wanting. I have sometimes been on the point of +asking you to let me write to you again." + +He glanced inquiringly at her. Her eyes fell, and she tried to speak, +but failed. Waymark went to a seat at a little distance from her. + +"You do not look as well as when I met you in the summer," he said. "I +have feared you might be studying too hard. I hope you threw away your +books whilst you were at the sea-side." + +"I did, but it was because I found little pleasure in them. It was not +rest that took the place of reading." + +"Are your difficulties of a kind you could speak of to me?" he asked, +with some hesitation. + +She kept her eyes lowered, and her fingers writhed nervously on the arm +of the chair. + +"My only fear would be lest you should think my troubles unreal. Indeed +it is so hard to make them appear anything more than morbid fancies. +They are traceable, no doubt, to my earliest years. To explain them +fully, I should have to tell you circumstances of my life which could +have little interest for you." + +"Tell me--do," Waymark replied earnestly. + +"Will you let me?" she said, with a timid pleasure in her voice. "I +believe you could understand me. I have a feeling that you must have +experienced something of these troubles yourself, and have overcome +them. Perhaps you could help me to understand myself." + +"If I thought I could, it would give me great happiness." + +She was silent a little, then, with diffidence which lessened as she +went on, she related the history, as far as she knew it, of her +childhood, and described the growth of her mind up to the time when she +had left home to begin life as a governess. It was all very simply, but +very vividly, told; that natural command of impressive language which +had so struck Waymark in her letters displayed itself as soon as she +had gained confidence. Glimpses of her experience Waymark had already +had, but now for the first time he understood the full significance of +her early years. Whilst she spoke, he did not move his eyes from her +face. He was putting himself in her position, and imagining himself to +be telling his own story in the same way. His relation, he knew, would +have been a piece of more or less clever acting, howsoever true; he +would have been considering, all the time, the effect of what he said, +and, indeed, could not, on this account, have allowed himself to be +quite truthful. How far was this the case with Maud Enderby? Could he +have surprised the faintest touch of insincerity in look or accent, it +would have made a world's difference in his position towards _her_. His +instinct was unfailing in the detection of the note of affected +feeling; so much the stronger the impression produced upon him by a +soul unveiling itself in the _naivete_ of genuine emotion. That all was +sincere he could have no doubt. Gradually he lost his critical +attitude, and at moments surprised himself under the influence of a +sympathetic instinct. Then he would lose consciousness of her words for +an interval, during which he pondered her face, and was wrought upon by +its strange beauty. The pure and touching spirituality of Maud's +countenance had never been so present to him as now; she was pale with +very earnestness, her eyes seemed larger than their wont, there was +more than womanly sweetness in the voice which so unconsciously +modulated itself to the perfect expression of all she uttered. Towards +the end, he could but yield himself completely to the spell, and, when +she ceased, he, like Adam at the end of the angel's speech, did not at +once perceive that her voice was silent. + +"It was long," she said, after telling the outward circumstances of her +life with her aunt, "before I came to understand how differently I had +been brought up from other children. Partly I began to see it at the +school where we first met; but it only grew quite clear to me when I +shared in the home life of my pupils in the country. I found I had an +entirely different view of the world from what was usual. That which +was my evil, I discovered to be often others' good; and my good, their +abhorrence. My aunt's system was held to be utterly unchristian. Little +things which I sometimes said, in perfect innocence, excited grave +disapproval. All this frightened me, and made me even more reserved +than I should have been naturally. + +"In my letters to you I began to venture for the first time to speak of +things which were making my life restless. I did little more than hint +my opinions; I wonder, in looking back, that I had the courage to do +even that. But I already knew that your mind was broader and richer +than mine, and I suppose I caught with a certain desperation at the +chance of being understood. It was the first opportunity I had ever had +of discussing intellectual things. With my aunt I had never ventured to +discuss anything; I reverenced her too much for that; she spoke, and I +received all she said. I thought that from you I should obtain +confirmation where I needed it, but your influence was of the opposite +kind. Your letters so abounded with suggestion that was quite new to +me, referred so familiarly to beliefs and interests of which I was +quite ignorant, showed such a boldness in judging all things, that I +drifted further and further from certainty. The result of it all was +that I fell ill. + +"You see now what it is that has burdened me from the day when I first +began to ask myself about my beliefs. I was taught to believe that the +world was sin, and that the soul only freed itself from sin in +proportion as it learned to live apart from and independently of the +world. Everything was dark because of sin; only in the still, secret +places of the soul was the light of purity and salvation. + +"I thought I had passed out of this. When I returned to London, and +began this new life, the burden seemed all at once lifted from me. I +could look here and there with freedom; the sky was bright above me; +human existence was cheerful and noble and justified in itself. I began +to learn a thousand things. Above all, my mind fixed on Art; in that I +thought I had found a support that would never fail me. + +"Oh, why could it not last? The clouds began to darken over me again. I +heard voices once which I had hoped were for ever silenced. That sense +of sin and horror came upon me last night in the streets. I suffered +dreadfully." + +She was silent, and, meeting Waymark's eyes so fixed on her own, became +conscious of the eagerness and fervour with which she had spoken. + +"Have you any experience of such things?" she asked nervously. "Did you +ever suffer in the same way?" + +"It is all very strange," he said, without answering her question. +"This overpowering consciousness of sin is an anachronism in our time. +But, from the way in which you express yourself, I should have thought +you had been studying Schopenhauer. I suppose you know nothing of him?" + +"Nothing." + +"Some of your phrases were precisely his. Your doctrine is simply +Pessimism, with an element of dogmatic faith added. With Schopenhauer, +the will to live is the root of sin; mortify this, deny the first +instincts of your being, and you approach righteousness. Buddhism has +the same system. And, in deducing all this from the plain teachings of +Christianity, I am disposed to think you are right and consistent. +Christianity _is_ pessimism, so far as this world is concerned; we see +that in such things as the thanksgiving for a' person's death in the +burial service, and the prayer that the end of the world may soon come." + +He paused, and thought for a moment. + +"But all this," he resumed, rising from his seat, and going to stand +with one arm upon the mantelpiece, "is of course, with me, mere matter +of speculation. There are two allegories, which define Pessimism and +Optimism. First that of Adam and Christ. Adam falls through eating of +the tree of knowledge; in other words, sin only comes with +self-consciousness, sin _is_ the conscious enjoyment of life. And, +according to this creed, it can only be overcome by abnegation, by the +denial of the will to live. Accordingly, Christ enters the world, and, +representing Humanity, as Adam had done, saves the world by denial, of +Himself, even to death. The other allegory is that of Prometheus. He +also represents mankind, and his stealing of the fire means man's +acquirement of a conscious soul, whereby he makes himself capable of +sin. The gods put him in bondage and torment, representing the +subjection to the flesh. But Prometheus is saved in a different way +from Adam; not by renunciation, but by the prowess of Hercules, that is +to say, the triumphant aspiration of Humanity. Man triumphs by +asserting his right to do so. Self-consciousness he claims as a good +thing, and embraces the world as his birthright. Here, you see, there +is no room for the crushing sense of sin. Sin, if anything, is +weakness. Let us rejoice in our strength, whilst we have it. The end of +course will come, but it is a wise man's part not to heed the +inevitable. Let us live whilst it is called to-day; we shall go to +sleep with all the better conscience for having used the hours of +daylight." + +Maud listened with head bent. + +"My own temperament," Waymark went on, "is, I suppose, exceptional, at +all events among men who have an inner life. I never knew what goes by +the name of religious feeling; impulses of devotion, in the common +sense of the phrase, have always been strange to me. I have known fear +at the prospect of death; religious consolation, never. Sin, above all, +has been a word without significance to me. As a boy, it was so; it is +so still, now that I am self-conscious. I have never been a deep +student of philosophy, but the doctrine of philosophical necessity, the +idea of Fate, is with me an instinct. I know that I could not have +acted otherwise than I did in any juncture of my life; I know that the +future is beyond my control. I shall do this, and avoid that, simply +owing to a preponderance of motives, which I can gauge, but not +control. Certain things I hate and shrink from; but I try to avoid, +even in thought, such words as vice and crime; the murderer could not +help himself, and the saint has no merit in his sanctity. Does all this +seem horrible to you?" + +Maud raised her eyes, and looked steadily at him, but did not speak. It +was the gaze of one who tries humbly to understand, and longs to +sympathise. But there was a shadow of something like fear upon her face. + +Waymark spoke with more earnestness. + +"You will not think me incapable of what we call noble thought and +feeling? I have in me the elements of an enthusiast; they might have +led me to strange developments, but for that cold, critical spirit +which makes me so intensely self-conscious. This restless scepticism +has often been to me a torment in something the same way as that burden +of which you speak. Often, often, I would so gladly surrender myself to +my instincts of passion and delight. I may change; I may perhaps some +day attain rest in an absolute ideal. If I do, it will be through the +help of one who shall become to me that ideal personified, who shall +embody all the purer elements of my nature, and speak to me as with the +voice of my own soul." + +She hung upon his words, and an involuntary sigh, born of the intensity +of the moment, trembled on her lips. + +"I have spoken to you," he said, after what seemed a long silence, +"with a sincerity which was the due return for your own. I could have +shown myself in a more pleasing light. You see how little able I am to +help you; the centre-thought of your being is wholly strange to me. And +for all that--may I speak my thought?--we are nearer to each other than +before." + +"Yes, nearer," she repeated, under her breath. + +"You think that? You feel that? I have not repelled you?" + +"You have not" + +"And if I stood before you, now, as you know me--egotistic, sceptical, +calm--and told you that you are the only being in whom I have ever felt +complete confidence, whose word and thought I felt to be one; that you +exercise more power over me than any other ever did or shall; that life +in your companionship might gain the unity I long for; that in your +presence I feel myself face to face with a higher and nobler nature +than my own, one capable of sustaining me in effort and leading me to +great results--" + +He became silent, for her face had turned deadly pale. But this passed, +and in her eyes, as they met his, trouble grew to a calm joy. Without +speaking, she held her hand to him. + +"You are not afraid," Waymark said, "to link your fate with mine? My +life is made up of uncertainties. I have no position; it may be a long +time before I can see even the promise of success in my work. I have +chosen that work, however, and by it I stand or fall. Have you +sufficient faith in me to wait with confidence?" + +"I have absolute faith in you. I ask no greater happiness than to have +a share in your aims. It will give me the strength I need, and make my +life full of hope." + +It had come then, and just as he had foreseen it would. It was no +result of deliberate decision, he had given up the effort to discover +his true path, knowing sufficiently that neither reason nor true +preponderance of inclination was likely to turn the balance. The +gathering emotion of the hour had united with opportunity to decide his +future. The decision was a relief; as he walked homewards, he was +lighthearted. + +On the way, he thought over everything once more, reviewing former +doubts from his present position. On the whole, he felt that fate had +worked for his happiness. + +And yet there was discontent. He had never known, felt that perhaps he +might never know, that sustained energy of imaginative and sensual +longing which ideal passion demands. The respectable make-believe which +takes the form of domestic sentiment, that everyday love, which, become +the servant of habit, suffices to cement the ordinary household, is not +the state in which such men as Waymark seek or find repose; the very +possibility of falling into it unawares is a dread to them. If he could +but feel at all times as he had felt at moments in Maud's presence. It +might be that the growth of intimacy, of mutual knowledge, would make +his love for her a more real motive in his life. He would endeavour +that it should be so. Yet there remained that fatal conviction of the +unreality of every self-persuasion save in relation to the influences +of the moment. To love was easy, inevitable; to concentrate love +finally on one object might well prove, in his case, an impossibility. +Clear enough to him already was the likelihood of a strong revulsion of +feeling when Ida once more came back, and the old life--if it could +be--was resumed. Compassion would speak so loudly for her; her face, +pale and illuminated with sorrow, would throw a stronger spell than +ever upon his senses. Well, there was no help. Whatever would be, would +be. It availed nothing to foresee and scheme and resolve. + +And, in the same hour, Maud was upon her knees, in the silence of her +own chamber, shedding tears which were at once both sweet and bitter, +in her heart a tumult of emotion, joy and thanksgiving at strife with +those dark powers which shadowed her existence. _She_ had do doubts of +the completeness and persistency of her love. But was not this love a +sin, and its very strength the testimony of her soul's loss? + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +SLIMY'S DAY + + +Waymark had written to Ida just after her imprisonment began, a few +words of such comfort as he could send. No answer came; perhaps the +prison rules prevented it. When the term was drawing to a close, he +wrote again, to let her know that he would meet her on the morning of +her release. + +It would be on a Tuesday morning. As the time drew near, Waymark did +his best to think of the matter quietly. The girl had no one else to +help her; it would have been brutality to withdraw and leave her to her +fate, merely because he just a little feared the effect upon himself of +such a meeting. And the feeling on her side? Well, that he could not +pretend to be ignorant of, and, in spite of everything, there was still +the same half-acknowledged pleasure in the thought. He tried to +persuade himself that he should have the moral courage to let her as +soon as possible understand his new position; he also tried to believe +that this would not involve any serious shock to Ida. For all that, he +knew only too well that man is "_ein erbarmlicher Schuft_," and there +was always the possibility that he might say nothing of what had +happened, and let things take their course. + +On the Monday he was already looking forward to the meeting with +restlessness. Could he have foreseen that anything would occur to +prevent his keeping his promise, it would have caused him extreme +anxiety. But such a possibility never entered his thoughts, and, +shortly before mid-day, he went down to collect his rents as usual. + +The effect of a hard winter was seen in the decrease of the collector's +weekly receipts. The misery of cold and starvation was growing familiar +to Waymark's eyes, and scarcely excited the same feelings as formerly; +yet there were some cases in which he had not the heart to press for +the payment of rent, and his representations to Mr. Woodstock on behalf +of the poor creatures were more frequently successful than in former +times. Still, in the absence of then but eviction, and Waymark more +than once knew what ideal philanthropy, there was nothing for it every +now and it was to be cursed to his face by suffering wretches whom +despair made incapable of discrimination. "Where are we to go?" was the +oft-repeated question, and the only reply was a shrug of the shoulders; +impossible to express oneself otherwise. They clung desperately to +habitations so vile that brutes would have forsaken them for cleaner +and warmer retreats in archway and by roadside. One family of seven, a +man and wife (both ill) with five children, could not be got out, even +when a man had been sent by Mr. Woodstock to remove the window-frames +and take the door away, furniture having already been seized; only by +force at length were they thrown into the street, to find their way to +perdition as best they might. Waymark did not relish all this; it cost +him a dark hour now and then. But it was rich material; every item was +stored up for future use. + +Among others, the man named Slimy just managed to hold his footing. +Times were hard with Slimy, that was clear; still, he somehow contrived +to keep no more than a fortnight behind with his rent. Waymark was +studying this creature, and found in him the strangest matter for +observation; in Slimy there were depths beyond Caliban, and, at the +same time, curious points of contact with average humanity, +unexpectedly occurring. He was not ungrateful for the collector's +frequent forbearance, and, when able to speak coherently, tried at +times to show this. Waymark had got into the habit of sitting with him +in his room for a little time, whenever he found him at home. Of late, +Slimy had seemed not quite in his usual health; this exhibited itself +much as it would in some repulsive animal, which suffers in captivity, +and tries to find a remote corner when pains come on. At times Waymark +experienced a certain fear in the man's presence; if ever he met the +dull glare of that one bleared blood-shot eye, a chill ran through him +for a moment, and he drew back a little. Personal uncleanliness made +Slimy's proximity at all times unpleasant; and occasionally his gaunt, +grimed face grew to an expression suggestive of disagreeable +possibilities. + +On the present day, Waymark was told by a woman who lived on the +ground-floor that Slimy had gone out, but had left word with her, in +case the collector called, that he should be back in less than +half-an-hour. Doubtless this meant that the rent was not forthcoming. +The people who lived on the first floor were out as usual, but had left +their rent. Of the two rooms at the top, one was just now vacant. +Waymark went on to the two or three houses that remained. On turning +back, he met Slimy at the door; the man nodded in his wonted way, +grinning like a grisly phantom, and beckoned Waymark to follow him +upstairs. The woman below had closed her door again, and in all +probability no one observed the two entering together. + +Waymark sat down amid the collection of nondescript articles which +always filled the room, and waited for the tenant to produce his rent. +Slimy seemed to have other things in mind. After closing the door, he +too had taken a seat, upon a heap of filthy sacking, and was running +his fingers through the shock of black hair which made his beard. +Waymark examined him. There was no sign of intoxication, but something +was evidently working in the man's mind, and his breath came quickly, +with a kind of asthmatic pant, from between his thin lips, still parted +in the uncanny grin. + +"Mr. Waymark," he began at length. + +"Well?" + +"I ain't got no rent." + +"That's bad. You're two weeks behind, you know." + +"Mr. Waymark." + +The single eye fixed itself on Waymark's face in a way which made the +latter feel uncomfortable. + +"Well?" + +"I ain't a-gem' to pay you no more rent, nor yet no one else, maybe." + +"How's that?" + +"'Cos I ain't, and 'cos I'm tired o' payin' rent." + +"I'm afraid you'll find it difficult to get on without, though," said +Waymark, trying to get into the jocular tone he sometimes adopted with +Slimy, but scarcely succeeding. + +"Mr. Waymark." + +There was clearly something wrong. Waymark rose to his feet. Slimy rose +also, and at the same time took up a heavy piece of wood, looking like +a piece of a cart-shaft, which had lain on the floor beside him. His +exclamation elicited no answer, and he spoke again, hoarsely as always, +but with a calmness which contrasted strangely with the words he +uttered. + +"Do you believe in the devil and hell?" + +"Why?" returned Waymark, trying hard to command himself, and to face +down the man as a wild beast has been known to be out-gazed. + +"'Cos, by the devil himself, as 'll have me before many weeks is over, +and by the fires of hell, as 'll burn me, if you stir a step, or speak +a word above your breath, I'll bring you down just like they do the +bullocks. Y' understand!" + +Waymark saw that the threat was no idle one. He could scarcely have +spoken, had he wished. Slimy grinned at the effect he had produced, and +continued in the same matter-of-fact way. + +"It takes you back a bit, don't it! Never mind; you'll get over it. I +don't mean you no 'arm, Mr. Waymark, but I'll have to put you to a +little ill-convenience, that's all. See now; here's a bit o' stout +rope. With this 'ere, I'm a-goin' jist to tie you up, 'and an' foot, +you see. As I said before, if you give me any trouble, well, I'll 'ave +to knock the senses out o' you fust, that's all." + +Vain to think of grappling with the man, whose strength Waymark knew to +be extraordinary. For a moment, the shock of alarm had deprived him of +thought and power of movement; but this passed, and he was able to +consider his position. He looked keenly into Slimy's face. Had the man +gone mad! His manner was scarcely consistent with that supposition. As +the alternative before him was of such a kind, Waymark could but choose +the lesser evil. He allowed Slimy to remove from his shoulders the +satchel which contained the sums of money he had just collected. It was +quietly put aside. + +"Now," said Slimy, with the same deliberation, "I have to arst you just +to lay down on the floor, just 'ere, see. It's better to lay down quiet +than to be knocked down, you see." + +Waymark mentally agreed that it was. His behaviour might seem cowardly, +but--to say nothing of the loathsomeness of a wrestle with Slimy--he +knew very well that any struggle, or a shout for help, would mean his +death. He hesitated, felt ashamed, but looked at Slimy's red eye, and +lay down. In taking the position indicated, he noticed that three very +large iron hooks had been driven firmly into the floor, in a triangular +shape. Just beside the lower one of these his feet had to rest; his +head lay between the other two. Slimy now proceeded to bind his +captive's feet together with strong cord, and then attach them firmly +to the hook; then bidding him sit up for a moment, he made his hands +fast behind his back; lastly, Waymark being again recumbent, a rope was +passed once round his neck, and each end of it firmly fastened to one +of the remaining hooks. This was not a pleasant moment, but, the +operation completed, Waymark found that, though he could not move his +head an inch, there was no danger of strangulation as long as he +remained quiet. In short, he was bound as effectually as a man could +be, yet without much pain. The only question was, how long he would +have to remain thus. + +Slimy examined his work, and nodded with satisfaction. Then he took up +the satchel again, opened it, and for a few moments kept diving his +long black fingers into the coins, whilst his face was transformed to +an expression of grim joy. Presently, having satisfied himself with the +feel of the money, he transferred it all to a pocket inside his ragged +coat. + +"Now, Mr. Waymark," he recommenced, seating himself on the chair +Waymark had previously occupied, "I ain't quite done with +ill-conveniencin' you. I'm sorry to say I'll 'ave jist to put a bit of +a gag on, to prevent you from 'ollerin' out too soon; but before I do +that, I've jist got a word or two to say. Let's spend our last time +together in a friendly way." + +In spite of his alarm, Waymark observed with astonishment the change +which had come over the man's mode of speech. In all their previous +intercourse, Slimy had shown himself barely articulate; for the most +part it was difficult to collect meaning from his grunts and snarls. +His voice was still dreadfully husky, and indeed seemed unused to the +task of uttering so many words, but for all that he spoke without +hesitation, and with a reserve of force which made his utterances all +the more impressive. Having bespoken his hearer's attention in this +deliberate way, he became silent, and for a while sat brooding, his +fingers still busy among the coins in his pocket. + +"I don't rightly know how old I may be," he began at length, "but it's +most like about fifty; we'll say fifty. For fifty years I've lived in +this world, and in all that time I can't remember not one single 'appy +day, not one. I never knowed neither father nor mother; I never knowed +not a soul as belonged to me. Friends I '_ave_ had; four of 'em; and +their names was Brandy, Whisky, Rum, an' Gin. But they've cost me a +good deal, an' somehow they ain't quite what they used to be. They used +to make me merry for a while, now and then; but they've taken now to +burnin' up my inside, an' filling my 'ead with devils; an' I'm gettin' +afeard of 'em, an' they'll 'ave to see me through to the end. + +"Fifty year," he resumed, after another interval of brooding, "an' not +one 'appy day. I was a-thinkin' of it over to myself, and, says I, +'What's the reason on it?' The reason is, 'cos I ain't never 'ad money. +Money means 'appiness, an' them as never 'as money, 'll never be 'appy, +live as long as they may. Well, I went on a-sayin' to myself, 'Ain't I +to 'ave not _one_ 'appy day in all my life?' An' it come to me all at +once, with a flash like, that money was to be 'ad for the trouble o' +takin' it--money an' 'appiness." + +The bleared eye rolled with a sort of self-congratulation, and the +coins jingled more loudly. + +"A pound ain't no use; nor yet two pound; nor yet five pound. An' five +pound's what I never 'ad in fifty year. There's a good deal more than +five pound 'ere now, Mr. Waymark; I've reckoned it up in my 'cad. What +d' you think I'm a-goin' for to do with it?" + +He asked this question after a pause, with his head bent forward, his +countenance screwed into the most hideous expression of cunning and +gratified desire. + +"I'm a-goin'," he said, with the emphasis of a hoarse whisper, "I +a-goin' to drink myself dead! That's what I'm a-goin' to do, Mr. +Waymark. My four friends ain't what they used for to be, an' 'cos I +ain't got enough of 'em. It's unsatisfaction, that's what it is, as +brings the burnin' i' th' inside, an' the devils in the 'cad. Now I've +got money, an' for wunst in my life I'll be satisfied an' 'appy. And +then I'll go where there's _real_ burnin', an' _real_ devils--an' let +'em make the most o' Slimy!" + +Waymark felt his blood chill with horror. For years after, the face of +Slimy, as it thus glared at him, haunted him in dreamful nights. Dante +saw nothing more fearful in any circle of hell. + +"Well, I've said my say," Slimy remarked, rising from his seat. "An' +now, I'm sorry I'll 'ave to ill-convenience you, Mr. Waymark. You've +behaved better to me than most has, and I wouldn't pay you in +ill-convenience, if I could help it. But I must have time enough to get +off clear. I'll 'ave jist to keep you from 'ollerin'--this way, +see--but I won't hurt you; the nose is good enough for breathin'. I'll +see as some one comes to let you out before to-morrow mornin'. An' now +I'll say good-bye, Mr. Waymark. You won't see Slimy in this world +again, an' if I only knowed 'ow to say a prayer, why, I'd pray as you +mightn't never see him in the next." + +With one more look, a look at once of wild anticipation and friendly +regret, Slimy disappeared. + +The relief consequent upon the certainty that no worse could happen had +brought Waymark into a state of mind in which he could regard his +position with equanimity. The loss of the money seemed now to be the +most serious result of the affair. Slimy had promised that release +should come before the morning, and would doubtless keep his word +Waymark had a certain confidence in this, which a less interested +person would perhaps have deemed scarcely warrantable. In the meantime, +the discomfort was not extreme to lie gagged and bound on a +garret-floor for some few hours was, after all, a situation which a +philosopher might patiently endure, and to an artist it might well be +suggestive of hints. Breathing, to be sure, was not easy, but became +more so by degrees. + +But with the complete recollection of his faculties came back the +thought of what was involved in the question of release before the +following day. Early in the morning he had to be at the door of Tothill +Fields' Prison. How if his release were delayed, through Slimy's +neglect or that of the agent he might employ? As the first hour passed +slowly by, this became the chief anxiety in Waymark's mind. It made him +forgetful of the aching in his arms, caused by the bind ing together of +his hands behind him, and left no room for anticipation of the other +sufferings which would result from his being left thus for an +indefinite period. What would Ida do, if she came out and found no one +to meet her? + +His absence would make no one anxious, at all events not till more than +a day had gone by. Hitherto he had always taken his rents at once to +Mr. Woodstock's office, but the old gentleman was not likely to be +disturbed by his non appearance; it would be accounted for in some +simple way, and his coming expected on the following morning. Then it +was as good as certain that no one would come to Slimy's room. And, by +the by, had not there been a sound of the turning of a key when Slimy +took his departure? He could not be quite sure of this; just then he +had noticed all things so imperfectly. Was it impossible to free a +limb, or to ungag his mouth? He tried to turn his head, but it was +clear that throttling would be the only result of any such effort; and +the bonds on hands and feet were immoveable. No escape, save by Slimy's +aid. + +He determined not to face the possibility of Slimy's failing in his +word; otherwise, anxiety would make him desperate. He recognised now, +for the first time fully, how much it meant to him, that meeting with +Ida. The shock he had experienced on hearing her sentence and beholding +her face as she left the court had not, apparently, produced lasting +results; his weakness surprised him when he looked back upon it. In a +day or two he had come to regard the event as finally severing him from +Ida, and a certain calm ensuing hereupon led to the phase which +ultimately brought him to Maud once more. But Waymark's introspection +was at fault; he understood himself less in proportion as he felt that +the ground was growing firmer under his feet. Even when he wrote the +letter to the prison, promising to meet Ida, he had acted as if out of +mere humanity. It needed a chance such as the present to open his eyes. +That she should quit the prison, and, not finding him, wander away in +blank misery and hopelessness, most likely embittered by the thought +that he had carelessly neglected to meet her, and so driven to +despair--such a possibility was intolerable. The fear of it began to +goad him in flesh and spirit. With a sudden violent stringing of all +his sinews, he wrenched at the bonds, but only with the effect of +exhausting himself and making the walls and ceiling reel before his +eyes. The attempt to utter cries resulted in nothing but muffled +moaning. Then, mastering himself once more, he resolved to be patient. +Slimy would not fail him. + +He tried not to think of Ida in any way, but this was beyond his power. +Again and again she came before his mind. When he endeavoured to +supplant her by the image of Maud Enderby, the latter's face only +irritated him. Till now, it had been just the reverse; the thought of +Maud had always brought quietness; Ida he had recognised as the +disturbing element of his life, and had learned to associate her with +his least noble instincts. Thinking of this now, he began to marvel how +it could have been so. Was it true that Maud was his good angel, that +in her he had found his ideal? He had forced himself to believe this, +now that he was in honour bound to her; yet she had never made his +pulse quicken, as it had often done when he had approached Ida. True, +that warmth of feeling had come to represent merely a temptation to +him; but was not that the consequence of his own ambiguous attitude? +Suppose he had not known Maud Enderby, how would he then have regarded +Ida, and his relations to her? Were these in very deed founded on +nothing but selfish feeling? Then he reviewed all his acquaintanceship +with her from the first, and every detail of the story grew to a new +aspect. + +Thinking of Ida, he found himself wondering how it was that Mr. +Woodstock appeared to take so much interest in her fate. Several times +during the past six months the old man had referred to her, generally +inquiring whether Waymark had written to or heard from her. And, only +two days ago, he had shown that he remembered the exact date of her +release, in asking whether Waymark meant to do anything. Waymark +replying that he intended to meet her, and give her what assistance he +could, the old gentleman had signified his strong approval, and had +even gone on to mention a house in the neighbourhood of the office, +where Ida could be lodged at first. A room had accordingly been secured +beforehand, and it was arranged that Waymark should take her directly +thither on the Tuesday morning. In reviewing all this, Waymark found it +more significant than he had imagined. Why, he wondered, had Mr. +Woodstock grown so philanthrophic all at once? Why had he been so +particular in making sure that Waymark would meet the girl? Indeed, +from the very beginning of this affair, he had behaved with regard to +it in a manner quite unlike himself. Waymark had leisure now to ponder +these things, but could only conjecture explanations. + +The hours went by; a church clock kept him aware of their progress. The +aching in his arms became severe; he suffered from cold. The floor was +swept by a draught which seemed strong and keen as a blast of east +wind; it made his eyes smart, and he kept them closed, with some slight +hope that this might also have the effect of inducing sleep. Sleep, +however, held far aloof from him. When he had wearied his brain with +other thoughts, his attention began to turn to sounds in the court +below. There, just as it grew dusk, some children were playing, and he +tried to get amusement from their games. One of them was this. A little +girl would say to the rest:--"I sent my daughter to the oil-shop, and +the first thing she saw was C;" and the task was to guess for what +article this initial stood. "Carrots!" cried one, but was laughed to +scorn. "Candles!" cried another, and triumphed. Then there were games +which consisted in the saying of strange incantations. The children +would go round and round, as was evident from the sound of their feet, +chanting the while:--"Sally, Sally Wallflower, Sprinkle in a pan; Rise, +Sally Wallflower, And choose your young man. Choose for the fairest +one, Choose for the best, Choose for the rarest one, That you love +best!" Upon this followed words and movements only half understood; +then at length broke out a sort of hymeneal chorus:--"Here stands a +young couple, Just married and settled: Their father and mother they +must obey. They love one another like sister and brother. So pray, +young couple, come kiss together!" Lastly, laughter and screams and +confusion. This went on till it was quite dark. + +Pitch dark in Slimy's room; only the faintest reflection on a portion +of the ceiling of lamplight from without. Waymark's sufferings became +extreme. The rope about his neck seemed to work itself tighter; there +were moments when he had to struggle for the scant breath which the gag +allowed him. He feared lest he should become insensible, and so perhaps +be suffocated. His arms were entirely numbed; he could not feel that he +was lying on them. Surely Slimy's emissary would come before midnight. + +"One, two, three, four--twelve!" How was it that e had lost all count +of the hours since eight o'clock? Whether that had been sleep or +insensibility, Waymark could not decide. Intensity of cold must have +brought back consciousness; his whole body seemed to be frozen; his +eyes ached insufferably. Continuous thought had somehow become an +impossibility; he knew that Ida was constantly in his mind, and her +image clear at times in the dark before him, but he could not think +about her as he wished and tried to do. Who was it that seemed to come +between her and him?--some one he knew, yet could not identify. Then +the hours sounded uncertainly; some he appeared to have missed. There, +at length, was seven. Why, this was morning; and Slimy had promised +that he should be set free before this. What was it that tortured his +struggling brain so? A thought he strove in vain for a time to grasp. +The meaning flashed upon him. By a great effort he regained complete +consciousness; mind alone seemed to be left to him, his body was dead. +Was he, then, really to be prevented from keeping his promise to Ida? +All the suffering of his previous life amassed was nothing to what +Waymark endured during the successive quarters of this hour. His brain +burned: his eyes had no power to gather the growing daylight. That one +name was his single perception; the sound of it, uttered incessantly in +thought, alone seemed to keep him conscious. He could feel something +slightly warm on his cheeks, but did not know that it was the streaming +of tears from his darkened eyes. Then he lost consciousness once more. + +The clock struck eight. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +FREEDOM + + +Mr. Woodstock was not so indifferent with regard to Waymark's failure +to bring the rents as the young man supposed. Under ordinary +circumstances he probably would have waited without any anxiety till +the following day; already on a previous occasion Waymark had collected +on Tuesday instead of Monday, though not without notice of his +intention to do so. But Mr. Woodstock had quite special reasons for +wishing to see his agent before the following morning; he desired to +assure himself once more that Waymark would not fail to be at the +prison punctually. When the afternoon passed without the usual visit, +he grew uneasy; he was incapable of attending to matters of business, +and walked up and down his office with impatient step. Such a mood was +extraordinary in Mr. Woodstock; he had often waxed restive in this or +that business difficulty; was, indeed, anything but remarkable for +equanimity under trial; but his state of mind was quite different at +present, and exhibited itself in entirely different ways. He neither +swore nor looked black; his was the anxiety of a man who has some grave +interest at stake wherein the better part of his nature is concerned. + +At five o'clock he took a cab, and went off to Waymark's lodgings in +Chelsea. Here he learned that Waymark had left home at the usual time, +and had not yet returned. Just as he was speaking with the landlady at +the door, another gentleman came up on the same errand. Mr. Woodstock +remembered Julian Casti, and held out his hand to him. Casti looked +ill; his handsome features had wasted, and his fair complexion was +turned to a dull, unhealthy, yellowish hue. It was a comparatively warm +day for the season, but his thin frame was closely muffled up, and +still he seemed to be shrinking under the air. + +"Have you any idea where he can be?" Mr. Woodstock asked, as they +turned away together. + +"None whatever. I must see him to-night, though, if possible." + +"Ha! And I too." + +As he spoke Mr. Woodstock looked at the other keenly, and something +seemed to suggest itself to him. + +"I'm going to see if he's been for the rents as usual. Would you care +to come with me?" + +Julian looked surprised, but assented. They got into the cab together, +and alighted at the end of Litany Lane, having scarcely spoken on the +way. Inquiries here showed that the collector had gone his rounds, and +departed, it was said, in the ordinary way. + +"Have you an hour to spare, Mr. Casti?" asked the old gentleman, +turning suddenly after a moment's reflection. + +"Certainly." + +"Then I wish you'd just come on with me to St. John's Street Road. It's +possible you may have it in your power to do me a great service, if +Waymark doesn't turn up. And yet, ten to one, I shall find him waiting +for me. Never mind, come along if you can spare the time; you'll find +him the sooner." + +Mr. Woodstock tried to pooh-pooh his own uneasiness; yet, totally +improbable as it seemed that Waymark should disappear at such a +juncture, the impatience of the afternoon had worked him into a most +unwonted fit of nervousness. Doubts and suspicions which would +ordinarily never have occurred to him filled his mind. He was again +quite silent till his office was reached. + +Waymark had not been. They walked upstairs together, and Mr. Woodstock +asked his companion to be seated. He himself stood, and began to poke +the fire. + +"Do you live in Chelsea still?" he suddenly asked. + +"Yes." + +"I have left word at Waymark's lodgings that he is to come straight +here whenever he returns. If he's not here by midnight, should I find +you up if I called--say at half-past twelve or so?" + +"I would in any case wait up for you, with pleasure?" + +"Really," said Mr. Woodstock, who could behave with much courtesy when +he chose, "I must apologise for taking such liberties. Our acquaintance +is so slight. And yet I believe you would willingly serve me in the +matter in hand. Perhaps you guess what it is. Never mind; I could speak +of that when I came to you, if I have to come." + +Julian's pale cheek had flushed with a sudden warmth. He looked at the +other, and faced steadily the gaze that met his own. + +"I am absolutely at your disposal," he said, in a voice which he tried +to make firm, though with small success. + +"I am obliged to you. And now you will come and have something to eat +with me; it is my usual time." + +Julian declined, however, and almost immediately took his leave. He +walked all the way to Chelsea, regarding nothing that he passed. When +he found himself in his lodgings he put a match to the ready-laid fire, +and presently made himself some tea. Then he sat idly through the +evening, for the most part staring into the glowing coals, occasionally +taking up a book for a few minutes, and throwing it aside again with a +sigh of weariness. As it got late he shivered so with cold, in spite of +the fire, that he had to sit in his overcoat. When it was past midnight +he began to pace the room, making impatient gestures, and often resting +his head upon his hands as if it ached. It must have been about a +quarter to one when there was the sound of a vehicle pulling up in the +street below, followed by a knock at the door. Julian went down +himself, and admitted Mr. Woodstock. + +"What can it mean?" he asked anxiously, when they had walked up to the +room together. "What has become of him?" + +"Don't know. I stopped at his place on the way here." + +"Don't you fear some mischance? With all that money--" + +"Pooh! It's some absurd freak of his, I'll warrant. He doesn't care how +much anxiety he gives other people." + +Mr. Woodstock was excited and angry. + +"But he will certainly go--go _there_ in the morning, wherever he is," +said Julian. + +"I'm not so sure of that. I believe it's on that very account that he's +keeping out of the way!" + +He smote his fist on the palm of the other hand with the emphasis of +conviction. Julian looked at him with an expression of wonder. There +was a short silence, and then Mr. Woodstock began to speak more calmly. +The conversation lasted only about a quarter of an hour. Mr. Woodstock +then returned to his cab, which had waited, and Julian bade him good +night at the door. + +At six o'clock Julian arose. It was still quite dark when he left the +house, and the air was piercing. But he did not mind the weather this +morning. His step had a vigour very different from the trailing +weariness of the night before, and he looked straight before him as he +walked. There was a heat on his forehead which the raw breath of the +morning could not allay. Before he had gone half a mile, he flung open +his overcoat, as if it oppressed him. It was in the direction of +Westminster that he walked. Out of Victoria Street he took the same +turn as on one miserable night, one which he had taken on many a night +since then. But he was far too early at the prison gate. He strayed +about the little streets of the neighbourhood, his eyes gazing absently +in this or that direction, his hot breath steaming up in the grey +light. When it was drawing near the time, he made some inquiries from a +policeman whom he passed. Then he went to the spot whither he was +directed, and watched. Two or three people, of poor appearance, were +also standing about, waiting. Julian kept apart from them. First, a +miserable old woman, huddling herself in a dirty shawl; looking on all +sides with a greedy eye; hastening off no one knew whither. Then two +young girls, laughing aloud at their recovered liberty; they repaired +at once to the nearest public-house. Then a figure of quite different +appearance, coming quickly forward, hesitating, gazing around; a +beautiful face, calm with too great self-control, sad, pale. Towards +her Julian advanced. + +"Mr. Waymark was unavoidably prevented from coming," he said quickly. +"But he has taken rooms for you. You will let me go with you, and show +you the house?" + +"Thank you," was Ida's only reply. + +They walked together into the main street, and Julian stopped the first +empty cab that passed. As he sat opposite to her, his eyes, in spite of +himself, kept straying to her face. Gazing at her, Casti's eyes grew +dim. He forced himself not to look at her again till the cab stopped. + +"They are prepared for you here," he said, as they stood on the +pavement. "Just give your name. And--you will not go away? You will +wait till some one calls?" + +Ida nodded. + +"No; but your word," Julian urged anxiously. "Promise me." + +"I promise." + +She went up to the door and knocked. Julian walked quickly away. At the +end of the street Mr. Woodstock was waiting. + +"What's the matter?" he asked, examining the young man anxiously. + +"Nothing--nothing!" + +"Does she seem well?" + +"I think so; yes," Casti replied, in a stifled voice. Then he asked +hurriedly, "Where can Waymark be? What does it all mean?" + +Mr. Woodstock shook his head, looking annoyed. + +"I am convinced," Julian said, "that something is wrong. Surely it's +time to make inquiries." + +"Yes, yes; I will do so. But you look downright ill. Do you feel able +to get home? If I'd thought it would upset you like this--" + +Mr. Woodstock was puzzled, and kept scrutinising the other's face. + +"I shall go home and have a little rest," Julian said. "I didn't get +much sleep last night, that's all. But I must hear about Waymark." + +"You shall. I'll warrant he turns up in the course of the day. Don't be +anxious: I'll get to work as soon as possible to find him; but, depend +upon it, the fellow's all right." + +They shook hands, and Julian took his way homewards. Mr. Woodstock went +to the house which Ida had just entered. He knocked lightly, and a +woman opened to him and led him into a sitting-room on the ground-floor. + +"I'll just have a cup of coffee, Mrs. Sims," he said. "Does she seem to +care for her breakfast?" + +"I'm afraid not, sir; she looks tired out, and poorly like." + +"Yes, yes; the long journey and her troubles. Make her as comfortable +as you can. I'll make myself at home with the paper here for an hour or +so. Just see if she cares to lie down for a little; If so I won't +disturb her." + +Abraham did not devote much attention to the news. He sat before the +fire, a cup of coffee within reach on the mantel piece, his legs fully +stretched out before him, his favourite attitude when thinking. In +spite of his fresh complexion and active limbs, you would have seen, +had you watched him in his present mood, that Mr. Woodstock was +beginning to age. Outwardly he was well-preserved--few men of his years +anything like so well. But let the inner man become visible during a +fit of brooding, and his features made evident the progress of years. +His present phase of countenance was a recent development; the relaxed +lines brought to light a human kindliness not easily discoverable in +the set expression of wide-awake hours. At present there was even +tenderness in his eyes, and something of sad recollection. His strong +mouth twitched a little at times, and his brows contracted, as if in +self-reproach. When he returned to himself, it was with a sigh. He sat +for about an hour; then the woman presented herself again, and told him +that Miss Starr had been persuaded to lie down. It seemed likely she +might sleep. + +"Very well," said Mr. Woodstock, rising. "I'll go to the office. Send +some one round when she's stirring, will you?" + +Ida, to get rid of her troublesome though well-meaning attendant, had +promised to lie down, but she had no need of sleep. Alone, she still +kept her chair by the fire, sitting like one worn out with fatigue, her +hands upon her lap, her head drooping, her eyes fixed on vacancy. She +was trying to think, but thoughts refused to come consecutively, and a +dull annoyance at this inability to reason upon her position fretted +her consciousness. Not with impunity can the human mind surrender +itself for half a year to unvaried brooding upon one vast misery; the +neglected faculties revenge themselves by rusting, and will not respond +when at length summoned. For months Ida's thoughts had gone round and +round about one centre of anguish, like a wailing bird circling over a +ravaged nest. The image of her mental state had been presented by an +outward experience with which she became familiar. Waking long before +daylight, she would lie with her eyes directed to the little barred +window, and watch till there came the first glimmer of dawn. Even so +was it her sole relief in the deep night of her misery to look forward +for that narrow gleam of hope--her ultimate release. As the day +approached, she made it the business of her thoughts to construct a +picture of the events it would bring. Even before hearing from Waymark, +she had been sure that he would meet her; Waymark and freedom grew +identical images; to be free meant to see him awaiting her and to put +herself absolutely in his hands. Now that everything had turned out +differently from what she had grown to anticipate with certainty, she +found herself powerless to face the unexpected. Why had Waymark failed +her?--she could do no more than repeat the question a thousand times, +till the faculty of self-communing forsook her. It was as though the +sun should fail one morning to rise upon the world, and men should +stand hopeless of day for ever. + +She wondered vaguely whither she had been brought. At one moment she +seemed to have been waiting an eternity in this unknown room, Julian's +face and voice unspeakably remote; then again she would look round and +wonder that she no longer saw the hare walls and barred window of her +cell, the present seeming only a dream. All the processes of her mind +were slow, sinewless. She tried to hope for something, to expect that +something would happen, but could not summon the energy. Resentment, +revolt, bitterness of spirit, of these things she knew just as little. +They had been strong enough within her at first, but how long ago that +seemed! She had no thought of time in the present; to sit waiting for +an hour meant as little as to wait five minutes; such was the habit +that had become impressed upon her by interminable days and nights. +When at length she heard a knock at the door it filled her with fear; +she started to her feet and looked with unintelligent eyes at the woman +who again presented herself. + +"Do you feel better, 'm?" the landlady asked. "Have you rested +yourself?" + +"Yes, thank you." + +The woman went away; then came another knock, and Mr. Woodstock entered +the room. He closed the door behind him, and drew near. She had again +started up, and did not move her eyes from his face. + +"Have you any recollection of me?" Abraham asked, much embarrassed in +her presence, his voice failing to be as gentle as he wished through +his difficulty in commanding it. + +Ida had recognised him at once. He had undergone no change since that +day when she saw him last in Milton Street, and at this moment it was +much easier for her to concentrate her thoughts upon bygone things than +to realise the present. + +"You are Abraham Woodstock," she said very coldly, the resentment +associated with the thought of him being yet stronger than the dead +habit which had but now oppressed her. + +"Yes, I am. And I am a friend of Osmond Waymark. I should like to talk +a little with you, if you'll let me." + +The old man found it so hard to give expression to the feelings that +possessed him. Ida concluded at once that he came with some hostile +purpose, and the name of Waymark was an incentive to her numbed +faculties. + +"How can you be a friend of Osmond Waymark?" she asked, with cold +suspicion. + +"Didn't he ever mention my name to you?" + +"Never." + +Waymark had in truth always kept silence with Ida about his +occupations, though he had spoken so freely of them to Maud. He could +not easily have explained to himself why he had made this difference, +though it had a significance. Mr. Woodstock was almost at a loss how to +proceed. He coughed, and moved his foot uneasily. + +"I have known him all his life, for all that," he said. "And it was +through him I found you." + +"Found me?" + +"It'll seem very strange, what I have to tell you.--You were a little +girl when I saw you last, and you refused to come with me. Had you any +idea why I asked you?" + +"I hadn't then." + +"But you have thought of it since?" + +Ida looked at him sternly, and turned her eyes away again. The belief +that he was her father had always increased the resentment with which +she recalled his face. + +"I am your grandfather," Abraham said gravely. "Your mother was my +daughter." + +A change came over her countenance; she gazed at him with wonder. + +"Who did you think I was?" he asked. + +She hesitated for a moment, then, instead of replying, said: + +"You behaved cruelly to my poor mother." + +"I won't deny it," the old man returned, mastering his voice with +difficulty. "I ought to have been more patient with her. But she +refused to obey me, and I can't help my nature. I repented it when it +was too late." + +Ida could not know what it cost him to utter these abrupt sentences. He +seemed harsh, even in confining his harshness. She was as far from him +as ever. + +"I can't do anything for _her_," Mr. Woodstock continued, trying to +look her in the face. "But you are her child, and I want to do now what +I ought to have done long ago. I've come here to ask you if you'll live +in my house, and be like a child of my own." + +"I don't feel to you as a child ought," Ida said, her voice changing to +sadness. "You've left it too late." + +"No, it isn't too late!" exclaimed the other, with emotion he could not +control. "You mustn't think of yourself, but of me. You have all your +life before you, but I'm drawing near to the end of mine. There's no +one in the world belonging to me but you. I have a _right_ to--" + +"No right! no right!" Ida interrupted him almost passionately. + +"Then _you_ have a duty," said Abraham, with lowered voice. "My mind +isn't at ease, and it's in your power to help me. Don't imitate me, and +put off doing good till it is too late. I don't ask you to feel kindly +to me; all I want is that you'll let me take you to my home and do all +I can for you, both now and after I'm gone." + +There was pathos in the speech, and Ida felt it. + +"Do you know where I came from this morning?" she asked, when both had +been silent for some moments. + +"I know all about it. I was at the trial, and I did my best for you +then." + +"Do you believe that I robbed that woman?" Ida asked, leaning forward +with eager eyes and quickened breath. + +"Believe it! Not I! No one believes it who knows anything about her. +Waymark said he wouldn't have believed it if all the courts in England +found you guilty." + +"_He_ said that?" she exclaimed. Then, as if suddenly becoming clearer +about her position: "Where is Mr. Waymark? Why didn't he meet me as he +promised?" + +Abraham hesitated, but speedily made up his mind that it would be best +to speak the truth. + +"I know as little as you do. He ought to have come to me yesterday, but +he didn't, and I can't discover him. I got Mr. Casti to meet you +instead." + +The keenest trouble manifested itself on Ida's countenance. She asked +questions in rapid succession, and thus elicited an explanation of all +the circumstances hitherto unknown to her. + +"Have you been through the houses?" she inquired, all her native energy +restored by apprehension. "Haven't you thought that he may have been +robbed and--" + +She stopped, overcome by sudden weakness, and sank into the chair. + +"Come, come, it isn't so bad as all that," said the old man, observing +her closely. "He may turn up at any moment; all sorts of unexpected +things may have happened. But I'll go again to his lodgings, and if I +can't hear anything there, I'll set the police to work. Will you +promise me to wait here quietly?" + +"No, that I can't do. I want to move about; I must do something. Let me +go with you to look for him." + +"No, no; that'll never do, Ida." + +The power of speaking tenderly seemed to have been given to him all at +once; this and his calling her "Ida," struck so upon the girl's +agitated feelings that she began to sob. + +"Let me, let me go with you! I will forget everything--I will be your +child--I will try to love you.--" + +She was as weak as water, and would have sunk to the ground if Abraham +had not given her his support just in time. He could not find words to +soothe her, but passed his hand very tenderly over her head. + +"We are losing time!" she exclaimed, forcing herself into an appearance +of calmness. "Come at once." + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +ELM COURT + + +In Beaufort Street they only learnt that Waymark had not yet been home. +Thence they drove to the east, and stopped at a police-station, where +Abraham saw the inspector. The latter suggested that Mr. Woodstock +should go through all the houses which Waymark would have visited; if +that search proved fruitless, the police would pursue the matter. Ida +insisted on being allowed to accompanying him when the cab stopped at +the end of Litany Lane. She gazed about her like one who had been +suddenly set down in a new country; this squalor and vileness, so +familiar to her of old, affected her strangely under the present +conditions. The faces of people at whom she looked remained fresh in +her memory for years after; the long confinement and the excitement +which now possessed her resulted in preternatural acuteness of +observation. Abraham spoke first with several people whom he had +already questioned about Waymark, but they had heard nothing since. + +"Are you strong enough for this?" he asked Ida. "Hadn't you better go +back to the cab and wait for me!" + +"Don't ask me to do that!" she entreated earnestly. "I _must_ be +active. I have strength now for anything." + +Just as she spoke, Mr. Woodstock became aware of a disturbance of some +kind in a duty little tobacconist's shop close at hand. There was a +small crowd at the door, and the sound of wrangling voices came from +within. Such an occurrence was too ordinary to suggest any special +significance, but Abraham would not pass without making some inquiry. +Begging Ida to stand where he left her, he pushed his way into the shop +and listened to what was going on. A lad, well known in these parts as +"Lushy Dick," was, it appeared, charging the tobacconist with cheating +him; he alleged that he had deposited half a sovereign on the counter +in payment for a cigar, and the shopman had given him change as if for +sixpence, maintaining stoutly that sixpence had been the coin given +him, and no half-sovereign at all. When Mr. Woodstock entered, the +quarrel had reached a high pitch. + +"Arf a quid!" the tobacconist was exclaiming contemptuously. "I'd like +to know where such as you's likely to git arf a quid from." + +Lushy Dick, stung to recklessness by a succession of such remarks, +broke out in vehement self-justification. + +"_Would_ yer like to know, y' old ----! Then yer shall, ---- soon! I'm +---- if I don't tell jist the ---- truth, an' take the ---- +consequences. It was Slimy as give it me, an' if yer want to know where +Slimy got it, yer 'll 'ave to ---- well find out, 'cos I don't know +myself." + +"And how came Slimy to give you half a sovereign?" Mr. Woodstock at +once interposed, speaking with authority. + +"Is that you, Mr. Woodstock?" exclaimed the boy, turning round suddenly +at the sound of the voice. "Now, look 'ere, I'm a-goin' to make a ---- +clean breast of it. This 'ere ---- bloke's been a ringin' the changes +on me; I'll show him up, an' ---- well chance it. Slimy give me a quid +afore he took his ---- hook." + +The lad had clearly been drinking, but had not yet reached the +incoherent stage. He spoke in great excitement, repeating constantly +his determination to be revenged upon the tobacconist at all costs. It +was with difficulty that Mr. Woodstock kept him to the point. + +"Why Slimy give it me? Well, I'll jist tell yer, Mr. Woodstock. It was +to do a job for him, which I never done it after all. Slimy told me as +'ow I was to go to your orffice at ten o'clock last night, 'an tell you +from him as he'd no more 'casion for his room, so he'd sent yer the +key, an' yer'd better come as soon as possible an' see as he'd left +everything square behind him, an' 'cos he was afraid he'd locked in a +friend o' yourn by mistake an' in his hurry." + +"And why the devil didn't you come?" exclaimed Abraham, looking at him +in angry surprise. + +"'Cos why, Mr. Woodstock? Well, I'll tell yer just the bloomin' truth, +an' charnce it. I loss the key out o' my pocket, through 'avin' a ---- +hole in it, so I thought as 'ow I'd best just say nothink about neither +Slimy nor his room, an' there y'ave it!" + +Abraham was out of the shop again on the instant. + +"I've found him," he said to Ida. "A house round there in the court." + +She walked quickly by his side, a cluster of people following them. +Fortunately, a policeman was just coming from the opposite end of +Litany Lane, and Mr. Woodstock secured his services to keep the mob +from entering the house where Slimy had lived. As soon as they got +inside, the old man begged Ida to remain in a room on the ground floor +whilst he went upstairs, and this she consented to do. Reaching the +garret, he tried the handle of the door, without effect. Knocking and +calling produced no response, and within all was perfectly quiet. +Hesitating no longer, he drew back as far as the wall would allow him, +and ran with his foot against the door. The rotten woodwork cracked, +and a second onset forced the lock away. In the middle of the floor +Waymark lay, just as Slimy had left him nearly twenty-four hours ago. +Abraham scarcely ventured to draw near; there was no motion in the +fettered body, and he dreaded to look closely at the face. Before he +could overcome this momentary fear, there was a quick step behind him, +and, with a smothered cry, Ida had rushed into the room. She was on her +knees beside Waymark, her face close down to his. + +"He is alive!" she cried. "His eyes have opened. A knife! Cut these +cords!" + +That was soon accomplished, but Waymark lay motionless; he showed that +he understood what was going on, but he was quite blind, his voice had +all but gone, and a dead man could as soon have risen. Ida still knelt +by him, chafing one of his hands; when he tried to speak, she gently +raised his head and let it rest upon her lap. In a few minutes Abraham +had procured a glass of spirits, and, after drinking this, Waymark was +able to make himself understood. + +"Who is touching me?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. "It is all dark. +Whose hand is this?" + +"It's Ida," Abraham said, when she herself remained silent. "She and I +have had a rare hunt for you." + +"Ida?" + +He endeavoured to raise himself, but in vain. All he could do was to +press her hand to his heart. In the meantime the policeman had come up, +and with his help Waymark was carried downstairs, out into the court, +and thence to the end of Litany Lane, where the cab still waited. + + * * * * * + +Four days after this the following paragraph appeared in the morning +papers:-- + +"The man wanted on a charge of robbery with violence in the East End, +and who appears to be known only by the nickname of Slimy, was +yesterday afternoon discovered by the police in a cellar in Limehouse. +He seems to have been in hiding there since the perpetration of the +crime, only going out from time to time to purchase liquor at +public-houses in the neighbourhood. Information given by the landlord +of one of these houses led to his arrest. He was found lying on the +stone floor, with empty bottles about him, also a quantity of gold and +silver coins, which appeared to have rolled out of his pocket. He was +carried to the police-station in an insensible state, but on being +taken to the cell, came to himself, and exhibited symptoms of delirium +tremens. Two officers remained with him, but the assistance of a third +shortly became necessary, owing to the violence of his struggles. +Towards midnight his fury lessened, and, after a very brief interval of +unconsciousness, the wretched creature expired." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +NEW PROSPECTS + + +Mr. Woodstock's house at Tottenham was a cheerful abode when the months +of early summer came round, and there was thick leafage within the +shelter of the old brick wall which shut it off from the road. + +For the first time in his life he understood the attractions of +domesticity. During the early months of the year, slippers and the +fireside after dinner; now that the sunset-time was growing warm and +fragrant, a musing saunter about the garden walks; these were the +things to which his imagination grew fond of turning. Nor to these +only; blended with such visions of bodily comfort, perchance lending to +them their chief attraction, was the light of a young face, grave +always, often sad, speaking with its beautiful eyes to those simpler +and tenderer instincts of his nature which had hitherto slept. In the +presence of Ida (who was now known, by his wish, as Miss Woodstock) +Abraham's hard voice found for itself a more modest and musical key. + +He began--novel sensation--to look upon himself as a respectable old +gentleman; the grey patches on his head were grateful to him from that +point of view. If only he had been able to gather round his +granddaughter and himself a circle of equally respectable friends and +acquaintances, he would have enjoyed complete satisfaction. Two or +three at most there were, whom he could venture to bring over with him +from the old life to the new. For Ida he could as yet provide no +companionship at all. + +But Ida did not feel the want. Since the day of her coming to the new +house her life had been very full; so much was passing within, that she +desired to escape, rather than discover, new distractions in the world +around her. For the week or so during which Waymark had lain ill, her +courage had triumphed over the sufferings to which she was herself a +prey; the beginning of his recovery brought about a reaction in her +state, and for some days she fell into a depressed feebleness almost as +extreme as on the first morning of her freedom. It distressed her to be +spoken to, and her own lips were all but mute. Mr. Woodstock sometimes +sat by her whilst she slept, or seemed to be sleeping; when she stirred +and showed consciousness of his presence, he left her, so great was his +fear of annoying her, and thus losing the ground he had gained. Once, +when he was rising to quit the room, Ida held out her hand as if to +stay him. She was lying on a sofa, and had enjoyed a very quiet sleep. + +"Grandfather," she murmured, turning to face him. It was the first time +she had addressed him thus, and the old man's eyes brightened at the +sound. + +"Are you better for the sleep, Ida?" he asked, taking the hand she had +extended. + +"Much; much better. How the sun shines!" + +"Yes, it's a fine day. Don't you think you could go out a little?" + +"I think I should like to, but I can't walk very far, I'm afraid." + +"You needn't walk at all, my dear. Your carriage shall be here whenever +you like to order it." + +"My carriage?" + +The exclamation was like a child's pleased wonder. She coloured a +little, and seemed ashamed. + +"How is Mr. Waymark?" was her next question. + +"Nothing much amiss now, I think. His eyes are painful, he says, and he +mustn't leave the room yet, but it won't last much longer. Shall we go +together and see him?" + +She hesitated, but decided to wait till he could come down. + +"But you'll go out, Ida, if I order the carriage?" + +"Thank you, I should like to." + +That first drive had been to Ida a joy unspeakable. To-day for the +first time she was able to sweep her mind clear of the dread shadow of +brooding, and give herself up to simple enjoyment of the hour. + +Abraham went and told Waymark of all this as soon as they got back. In +the exuberance of his spirits he was half angry with the invalid for +being gloomy. Waymark had by this time shaken off all effects of his +disagreeable adventure, with the exception of a weakness of the eyes; +but convalescence did not work upon him as in Ida's case. He was +morose, often apparently sunk in hopeless wretchedness. When Abraham +spoke to him of Ida, he could scarcely be got to reply. Above all, he +showed an extreme impatience to recover his health and go back to the +ordinary life. + +"I shall be able to go for the rents next Monday," he said to Mr. +Woodstock one day. + +"I should have thought you'd had enough of that. I've found another man +for the job." + +"Then what on earth am I to do?" Waymark exclaimed impatiently. "How am +I to get my living if you take that work away from me?" + +"Never mind; we'll find something," Abraham returned. "Why are you in +such a hurry to get away, I should like to know?" + +"Simply because I can't always live here, and I hate uncertainty." + +There was something in the young man's behaviour which puzzled Mr. +Woodstock; but the key to the puzzle was very shortly given him. On the +evening of the same day he presented himself once more in Waymark's +room. The latter could not see him, but the first sound of his voice +was a warning of trouble. + +"Do you feel able to talk?" Abraham asked, rather gruffly. + +"Yes. Why?" + +"Because I want to ask you a few questions. I've just had a call from +that friend of yours, Mr. Enderby, and something came out in talk that +I wasn't exactly prepared for." + +Waymark rose from his chair. + +"Why didn't you tell me," pursued Mr. Woodstock, "that you were engaged +to his daughter?" + +"I scarcely thought it necessary." + +"Not when I told you who Ida was?" + +This disclosure had been made whilst Waymark was still confined to his +bed; partly because Abraham had a difficulty in keeping the matter to +himself; partly because he thought it might help the other through his +illness. Waymark had said very little at the time, and there had been +no conversation on the matter between them since. + +"I don't see that it made any difference," Waymark replied gloomily. + +The old man was silent. He had been, it seemed, under a complete +delusion, and could not immediately make up his mind whether he had +indeed ground of complaint against Waymark. + +"Why did Mr. Enderby call?" the latter inquired. + +"Very naturally, it seems to me, to know what had become of you. He +didn't see the report in the paper, and went searching for you." + +"Does Ida know of this?" he asked, after a pause, during which Waymark +had remained standing with his arms crossed on the back of the chair. + +"I have never told her. Why should I have done? Perhaps now you will +believe what I insisted upon before the trial, that there had been +nothing whatever--" + +He spoke irritably, and was interrupted by the other with yet more +irritation. + +"Never mention that again to me as long as you live, Waymark If you do, +we shall quarrel, understand!" + +"I have no more pleasure in referring to it than you have," said +Waymark, more calmly; "but I must justify myself when you attack me." + +"How long has this been going on?" asked the other, after a silence. + +"Some three months--perhaps more." + +"Well, I think it would have been better if you'd been straightforward +about it, that's all. I don't know that I've anything more to say. We +know what we're about, and there's an end of it." + +So saying, the old man went out of the room. There was a difference in +him henceforth, something which Ida noticed, though she could not +explain it. On the following day he spoke with her on a matter she was +surprised to hear him mention, her education. He had been thinking, he +said, that she ought to learn to play the piano, and be taught foreign +languages. Wouldn't she like him to find some lady who could live in +the house and teach her all these things? Ida's thoughts at once ran to +the conclusion that this had been suggested by Waymark, and, when she +found that her grandfather really wished it, gave a ready assent. A +week or two later the suitable person had been discovered--a lady of +some thirty years of age, by name Miss Hurst. She was agreeable and +refined, endowed, moreover, with the tact which was desirable in one +undertaking an office such as this. Ida found her companionship +pleasant, and Mr. Woodstock con gratulated himself on having taken the +right step. + +At the same time that the governess came to the house, Waymark left it. +He returned to his old lodgings, and, with an independence which was +partly his own impulse, partly the natural result of the slight +coolness towards him which had shown itself in Mr. Woodstock, set to +work to find a means of earning his living. This he was fortunate +enough to discover without any great delay; he obtained a place as +assistant in a circulating library. The payment was small, but he still +had his evenings free. + +Ida did not conceal her disappointment when Abraham conveyed this news +to her; she had been hoping for better things. Her intercourse with +Waymark between his recovery and his leaving the house had been +difficult, full of evident constraint on both sides. It was the desire +of both not to meet alone, and in Mr. Woodstock's presence they talked +of indifferent things, with an artificiality which it was difficult to +support, yet impossible to abandon. They shunned each other's eyes. +Waymark was even less at his ease than Ida, knowing that Mr. Woodstock +observed him closely at all times. With her grandfather Ida tried to +speak freely of their friend, but she too was troubled by the +consciousness that the old man did not seem as friendly to Waymark as +formerly. + +"This will of course only be for a time?" she said, when told of +Waymark's new employment. + +"I don't know," Abraham replied indifferently. "I should think it will +suit him as well as anything else." + +"But he is clever; he writes books. Don't you think he will make +himself known some day?" + +"That kind of thing isn't much to be depended on, it seems to me. It's +a doubtful business to look forward to for a living." + +Ida kept silence on the subject after that. She did not seem to brood +any longer over sad thoughts, yet it was seldom she behaved or spoke +light-heartedly; her face often indicated an absent mind, but it was +the calm musing of one whose thoughts look to the future and strengthen +themselves with hope. Times there were when she drew away into +solitude, and these were the intervals of doubt and self-questioning. +With her grandfather she was reconciled; she had become convinced of +his kindness to her, and the far-off past was now seldom in her mind. +The trouble originated in the deepest workings of her nature. When she +found herself comparing her position now with that of former days, it +excited in her a restive mood to think that chance alone had thus +raised her out of misery, that the conscious strength and purity of her +soul would never have availed to help her to the things which were now +within her grasp. The old sense of the world's injustice excited anger +and revolt in her heart. Chance, chance alone befriended her, and the +reflection injured her pride. What of those numberless struggling +creatures to whom such happy fortune could never come, who, be their +aspirations and capabilities what they might, must struggle vainly, +agonise, and in the end despair? She had been lifted out of hell, not +risen therefrom by her own strength. Sometimes it half seemed to her +that it would have been the nobler lot to remain as she was, to share +the misery of that dread realm of darkness with those poor disinherited +ones, to cherish that spirit of noble rebellion, the consciousness of +which had been as a pure fire on the altar of her being. What was to be +her future? Would she insensibly forget her past self, let her strength +subside in refinement--it might be, even lose the passion which had +made her what she was? + +But hope predominated. Forget! Could she ever forget those faces in the +slums on the day when she bade farewell to poverty and all its +attendant wretchedness? Litany Lane and Elm Court were names which +already symbolised a purpose. If ever she still looked at her +grandfather with a remnant of distrust, it was because she thought of +him as drawing money from such a source, enjoying his life of ease in +disregard of the responsibilities laid upon him. The day would come +when she could find courage to speak to him. She waited and prepared +herself. + +Prepared herself, for that, and for so much else. Waymark's behaviour +would have cost her the bitterest misery, had she not been able to +explain it to her own satisfaction. There could be but one reason why +he held aloof from her, and that an all-sufficient one. In her new +position, it was impossible for him to be more than just friendly to +her. If that had been his attitude in the old days, how could his +self-respect allow him to show the slightest change? In his anxiety not +to do so, he had even fallen short of the former kindness. No +forgiveness was needed, when she felt that she understood him so well. +But all the more did it behove her to make herself worthy of him in all +things. She had still so much to learn; she was so far his inferior in +culture and understanding. Her studies with Miss Hurst were fruitful. +Nor were her domestic duties forgotten. Mr. Woodstock had supplied her +with a good housekeeper, to help her inexperience, but Ida took an +adequate burden on her own shoulders. This again was a new and keen joy. + +Waymark dined with them one Sunday in June, and, in the course of the +evening, went with Abraham to the smoking-room for some private +conversation. + +"Do you remember," he began, "once offering to buy those shares of +mine?" + +"Yes, I do," replied Mr. Woodstock, narrowing his eyes. + +"Does the offer still hold good?" + +"Yes, yes; if you're anxious to realise." + +"I am. I want money--for two purposes." + +"What are they?" Abraham asked bluntly. + +"One is a private matter, which I don't think I need speak of; but the +other I can explain. I have found a courageous publisher who has +offered to bring my book out if I take a certain risk. This I have made +up my mind to do. I want to get the thing out, if only for the sake of +hearing Mrs. Grundy lift up her voice; and if it can't be otherwise, I +must publish at my own expense." + +"Will it repay you?" Mr. Woodstock asked. + +"Ultimately, I have no doubt; but I don't care so much about that." + +"H'm. I should think that's the chief matter to be considered. And you +won't tell me what the other speculation is?" + +"I'm going to lend a friend some money, but I don't wish to go into +detail." + +The old man looked at him shrewdly. + +"Very well," he said presently. "I'll let you have the cash. Could you +manage to look in at the office to-morrow at mid-day?" + +This was arranged, and Waymark rose, but Mr. Woodstock motioned to him +to resume his seat. + +"As we're talking," he began, "I may as well have over something that's +on my mind. Why haven't you told Ida yet about that engagement of +yours?" + +"Haven't _you_ done so?" Waymark asked, in surprise. + +"Did you think I had?" + +"Why, yes, I did." + +"I've done nothing of the kind," Abraham returned, pretending to be +surprised at the supposition, though he knew it was a perfectly natural +one. + +Waymark was silent. + +"Don't you think," the other pursued, "it's about time something was +said to her?" + +"I can't see that it matters, and--" + +"But I _can_ see. As long as that isn't known you're here, to speak +plainly, on false pretences." + +"Then I won't come here at all!" + +"Very good," exclaimed the old man irritably, "so long as you explain +to her first." + +Waymark turned away, and stood gazing gloomily at the floor. Abraham +regarded him, and a change came over his hard face. + +"Now, look here," he said, "there's something in all this I can't make +out. Is this engagement a serious one?" + +"Serious?" returned the other, with a look of misery. "How can it be +otherwise?" + +"Very well; in that case you're bound to let Ida know about it, and at +once. Damn it all, don't you know your own mind?" + +Waymark collected himself, and spoke gravely. + +"I, of course, understand why you press so for this explanation. You +take it for granted that Ida regards me as something more than a +friend. If so, my manner since she has been here must have clearly +shown her that, on my side, I have not the least thought of offering +more than friendship. You yourself will grant so much, I believe. For +all that, I don't deny that our relations have always been unusual; and +it would cost me very much to tell her of my engagement. I ask you to +relieve me of the painful task, on the understanding that I never come +here again. I can't make you understand my position. You say my +behaviour has not been straightforward. In the ordinary sense of the +word it has not;--there let it rest. Tell Ida what you will of me, and +let me disappear from her world." + +"The plain English of all which," cried Abraham angrily, "is, that, as +far as you are concerned, you would be quite willing to let the girl +live on false hopes, just to have the pleasure of her society as long +as you care for it." + +"Not so, not so at all! I value Ida's friendship as I value that of no +other woman, and I am persuaded that, if I were free with her, I could +reconcile her entirely to our connection remaining one of friendship, +and nothing more." + +Waymark, in his desperate straits, all but persuaded himself that he +told the truth. Mr. Woodstock gazed at him in doubt. He would give him +to the end of July to make up his mind; by that time Waymark must +either present himself as a free man, or allow Ida to be informed of +his position. In the meanwhile he must come to Tottenham not oftener +than once a week. To this Waymark agreed, glad of any respite. + +He returned to his lodgings in a state of nervous misery. Fortunately, +he was not left to his thoughts; in a few minutes a knock at his door +announced a visitor in the person of Mr. O'Gree. The Irishman exhibited +his wonted liveliness, and at once began to relate an incident to the +disadvantage of his archenemy. + +"Faith," he cried, "I'd have given a trifle if ye could have heard the +conversation between Tootle and me, just after breakfast yesterday. The +boys were filing out of the room, when, 'Mr. O'Gree!' cries +Pendy.--'Sir!' I reply.--'The boys were called late this morning, I +hear.'--'No such thing, sir,' I assure 'um. 'Half-past six to the +minute, by my watch.'--'Oh, _your_ watch, Mr. O'Gree,' cries the old +reprobate. 'I fear your watch doesn't keep very good time.'--'Sure, +you're in the right, sir,' said I;' it's been losing a little of late; +so only last night I stopped it at half-past six, to make sure it would +show me the right calling-time this morning.' And, when I'd said that, +I just nod my head, as much as to say, 'There's one for ye, me boy!' +and walk off as jaunty as a Limerick bantam." + +Then, after a burst of merriment, O'Gree suddenly fixed his face in a +very grave expression. + +"I'm resolved, Waymark, I'm resolved!" he exclaimed. "At midsummer I +break my chains, and stand erect in the dignity of a free man. I've +said it often, but now I mean it. Sally urges me to do ut, and Sally +never utters a worrud that isn't pure wisdom." + +"Well, I think she's right. I myself should prefer a scavenger's +existence, on the whole. But have you thought any further of the other +scheme?" + +"The commercial undertaking? We were talking it over the other night. +Sally says: Borrow the money and risk ut. And I think she's in the +right. If you enter the world of commerce, you must be prepared for +speculation. We looked over the advertisements in a newspaper, just to +get an idea, and we calculated the concern could be set afloat for +seventy-five pounds. Out of that we could pay a quarter's rent, and +stock the shop. Sally's been behind the counter a good bit of late, and +she's getting an insight into that kind of thing. Wonderful girl, +Sally! Put her in Downing Street for a week, and she'd be competent to +supplant the Premier!" + +"You have decided for a chandler's?" + +"Yes; we neither of us know much about tobacco, and tobacco perhaps +isn't quits the thing for a man of education. But to be a chandler is +something worthy of any man's ambition. You supply at once the solids +and the luxuries of life; you range from boiled ham and pickles to +mixed biscuits and preserves. You are the focus of a whole street. The +father comes to you for his mid-day bread and cheese, the mother for +her half-ounce of tea, the child for its farthing's-worth of sweets. +For years I've been leading a useless life; once let me get into my +shop, and I become a column of the social system. Faith, it's as good +as done!" + +"From whom shall you borrow the cash?" + +"Sally's going to think about that point. I suppose we shall go to a +loan office, and make some kind of arrangement. I'm rather vague on +these things, but Sally will find it out." + +"I understand," said Waymark, checking his amusement, that you are +perfectly serious in this plan?" + +"As serious as I was in the moment of my birth! There's no other +chance." + +"Very well, then, suppose I offer to lend you the money." + +"You, Waymark?" + +"No less a person." + +And he went on to explain how it was that he was able to make the +offer, adding that any sum up to a hundred pounds was at his friend's +disposal. + +"Ye mean it, Waymark!" cried O'Gree, leaping round the room in ecstasy. +"Bedad, you are a man and a brother, and no mistake! Ye're the first +that ever offered to lend me a penny; ye're the first that ever had +faith in me! You shall come with me to see Sally on Saturday, and tell +her this yourself, and I shouldn't be surprised if she gives you a +kiss!" + +O'Gree exhausted himself in capering and vociferation, then sat down +and began to exercise his luxuriant imagination in picturing unheard-of +prosperity. + +"We'll take a shop in a new neighbourhood, where we shall have the +monopoly. The people 'll get to know Sally; she'll be like a magnet +behind the counter. I shall go to the wholesale houses, and impress +them with a sense of my financial stability; I flatter myself I shall +look the prosperous shopkeeper, eh? Who knows what we may come to? Why, +in a few years we may transfer our business to Oxford Street or +Piccadilly, and call ourselves Italian warehousemen; and bedad, we'll +turn out in the end another Crosse and Blackwell, see if we don't!" + +At the utmost limit of the time allowed him by the rules of The +Academy, the future man of business took his leave, in spirits +extravagant even for him. + +"Faith," he exclaimed, when he was already at the door, "who d'ye think +I saw last Sunday? As I was free in the afternoon, I took a walk, and, +coming back, I went into a little coffee-shop for a cup of tea. A man +in an apron came up to serve me, and, by me soul, if it wasn't poor old +Egger! I've heard not a word of him since he left last Christmas. He +was ashamed of himself, poor devil; but I did my best to make him easy. +After all, he's better off than in the scholastic line." + +Waymark laughed at this incident, and stood watching O'Gree's progress +down the street for a minute or two. Then he went to his room again, +and sitting down with a sigh, fell into deep brooding. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +A VISION OF SIN + + +Maud Enderby's life at home became ever more solitary. Such daily +intercourse as had been established between her mother and herself grew +less and less fruitful of real intimacy, till at length it was felt by +both to be mere form. Maud strove against this, but there was no +corresponding effort on the other side; Mrs. Enderby showed no dislike +for her daughter, yet unmistakably shunned her. If she chanced to enter +the sitting-room whilst Maud was there, she would, if possible, retreat +unobserved; or else she would feign to have come in quest of something, +and at once go away with it. Maud could not fail to observe this, and +its recurrence struck a chill to her heart. She had not the courage to +speak to her mother; a deadweight of trouble, a restless spirit of +apprehension, made her life one of passive endurance; she feared to +have the unnatural conditions of their home openly recognised. Very +often her thoughts turned to the time when she had found refuge from +herself in the daily occupation of teaching, and, had she dared, she +would gladly have gone away once more as a governess. But she could not +bring herself to propose such a step. To do so would necessitate +explanations, and that was what she dreaded most of all. Whole days, +with the exception of meal-times, she spent in her own room, and there +no one ever disturbed her. Sometimes she read, but most often sat in +prolonged brooding, heedless of the hours. + +Her father was now constantly away from home. He told her that he +travelled on business. It scarcely seemed to be a relief to him to rest +awhile in his chair; indeed, Paul had grown incapable of resting. Time +was deepening the lines of anxiety on his sallow face. His mind seemed +for ever racked with painful calculation. Mrs. Enderby, too, spent much +time away from the house, and Maud knew nothing of her engagements. One +thing, however, Maud could not help noticing, and that was that her +mother was clearly very extravagant in her mode of living. New and +costly dresses were constantly being purchased, as well as articles of +luxury for the house. Mrs. Enderby had of late provided herself with a +_femme de chambre_, a young woman who arrayed herself with magnificence +in her mistresses castoff dresses, and whose appearance and demeanour +had something the reverse of domestic. Maud almost feared her. Then +there was a hired brougham constantly in use. Whenever Mrs. Enderby +spent an evening at home, company was sure to be entertained; noisy and +showy people filled the drawing-room, and remained till late hours. +Maud did not even see their faces, but the voices of one or two men and +women became only too familiar to her; even in the retirement of her +room she could not avoid hearing these voices, and they made her +shudder. Especially she was conscious of Mr. Rudge's presence; she knew +his very step on the stairs, and waited in feverish apprehension for +the first notes of an accompaniment on the piano, which warned her that +he was going to sing. He had a good voice, and it was often in request. +Sometimes the inexplicable dread of his singing was more than she could +bear; she would hurry on her walking-attire, and, stealing like a +shadow down the stairs, would seek refuge in pacing about the streets +of the neighbourhood, heedless of weather or the hour. + +Mrs. Enderby never came down to breakfast. One morning, when Paul +happened to be at home, he and Maud had finished that meal in silence, +and Maud was rising to leave the room, when her father checked her. He +leaned over the table towards her, and spoke in an anxious undertone. + +"Have you noticed anything a little--a little strange in your mother +lately, Maud? Anything in her way of speaking, I mean--her general +manner?" + +The girl met his look, and shook her head. The approach to such a +conversation affected her as with a shock; she could not speak. + +"She has very bad nights, you know," Paul went on, still in a tone just +above a whisper, "and of late she has been taking chloral. It's against +my wish, but the relief makes it an irresistible temptation. I fear--I +am afraid it is having some deleterious effect upon her; she seemed to +be a little--just a little delirious in the night, I thought." + +There was something horrible in his voice and face as he uttered these +words; he shuddered slightly, and his tongue seemed to labour for +utterance, as though he dreaded the sound of his own speech. + +Maud sat unmoving and silent. + +"I thought, also," Paul went on, "that she appeared a little strange +last evening, when the people were here.--You weren't in the +drawing-room?" + +Maud shook her head again. + +"Do you--do you think," he asked, "she is having too much excitement? I +know she needs a life of constant variety; it is essential to her. I'm +sure you understand that, Maud? You--you don't misjudge her?" + +"No, no; it is necessary to her," said the girl mechanically. + +"But," her father pursued, with still lower voice, "there is always the +danger lest she should over-exert herself. Last night I--I thought I +noticed--but it was scarcely worth speaking of; I am so easily alarmed, +you know." + +Maud tried to say something, but in vain. + +"You--you won't desert her--quite--Maud?" said her father in a tone of +pleading. "I am obliged to be so muck away--God knows I can't help it. +And then I--I wonder whether you have noticed? I seem to have little +influence with her." + +He stopped, but the next moment forced himself to utter what was in his +mind. + +"Can't you help me a little more, Maud? Couldn't you induce her to live +a little more--more restfully at times?" + +She rose, pushing the chair back behind her. + +"Father, I can't!" she cried; then burst into a passion of tears. + +"God help us!" her father breathed, rising and looking at her in blank +misery. But in a moment she had recovered herself. They faced each +other for an instant, but neither ventured to speak again, and Maud +turned and left him. + +Waymark came as usual, but now he seldom saw Mrs. Enderby. Maud +received him alone. There was little that was lover-like in these hours +spent together. They kissed each other at meeting and parting, but, +with this exception, the manner of both was very slightly different +from what it had been before their engagement. They sat apart, and +talked of art, literature, religion, seldom of each other. It had come +to this by degrees; at first there had been more warmth, but passion +never. Waymark's self-consciousness often weighed upon his tongue, and +made his conversation but a string of commonplaces; Maud was often +silent for long intervals. Their eyes never met in a steady gaze. + +Waymark often asked himself whether Maud's was a passionless nature, or +whether it was possible that her reserve had the same origin as his +own. The latter he felt to be unlikely; sometimes there was a pressure +of her hands as their lips just touched, the indication, he believed, +of feeling held in restraint for uncertain reasons. She welcomed him, +too, with a look which he in vain endeavoured to respond to--a look of +sudden relief from weariness, of gentle illumination; it smote him like +a reproach. When the summer had set in, he was glad to change the still +room for the open air; they walked frequently about Regent's Park, and +lingered till after sunset. + +One evening, when it was dull and threatened rain, they returned to the +house sooner than usual. Waymark would have taken his leave at the +door, as he ordinarily did, but Maud begged him to enter, if only for a +few minutes. It was not quite nine o'clock, and Mrs. Enderby was from +home. + +He seated himself, but Maud remained standing irresolutely. Waymark +glanced at her from under his eyebrows. He did not find it easy to +speak; they had both been silent since they left the park, with the +exception of the few words exchanged at the door. + +"Will you let me sit here?" Maud asked suddenly, pushing a footstool +near to his chair, and kneeling upon it. + +He smiled and nodded. + +"When will they begin the printing?" she asked, referring to his book, +which was now in the hands of the publisher who had undertaken it. + +"Not for some months. It can't come out till the winter season." + +"If it should succeed, it will make a great difference in your +position, won't it?" + +"It might," he replied, looking away. + +She sat with her eyes fixed on the ground. She wished to continue, but +something stayed her. + +"I don't much count upon it," Waymark said, when he could no longer +endure the silence. "We mustn't base any hopes on that." + +He rose; the need of changing his attitude seemed imperative. + +"Must you go?" Maud asked, looking up at him with eyes which spoke all +that her voice failed to utter. + +He moved his head affirmatively, and held out his hand to raise her. +She obeyed his summons, and stood up before him; her eyes had fixed +themselves upon his; he could not avoid their strange gaze. + +"Good-bye," he said. + +Her free hand rose to his shoulder, upon which it scarcely rested. He +could not escape her eyes, though to meet them tortured him. Her lips +were moving, but he could distinguish no syllable; they moved again, +and he could just gather the sense of her whisper. + +"Do you love me?" + +An immense pity thrilled through him. He put his arm about her, held +her closely, and pressed his lips against her cheek. She reddened, and +hid her face against him. Waymark touched her hair caressingly, then +freed his other hand, and went from the room. + +Maud sat in thought till a loud ring at the door-bell made her start +and flee upstairs. The room in which she and Waymark sat when they were +by themselves was in no danger of invasion, but she feared the +possibility of meeting her mother to-night. Her father was away from +home, as usual, but the days of his return were always uncertain, and +Mrs. Enderby might perchance open the door of the little sitting-room +just to see whether he was there, as it was here he ordinarily employed +himself when in the house. From her bedroom Maud could hear several +people ascend the stairs. It was ten o'clock, but an influx of visitors +at such an hour was nothing remarkable. She could hear her mother's +laugh, and then the voice of a man, a voice she knew but too well--that +of Mr. Budge. + +Her nerves were excited. The night was close, and there were mutterings +of thunder at times; the cloud whence they came seemed to her to spread +its doleful blackness over this one roof. An impulse seized her; she +took paper and sat down at her desk to write. It was a letter to +Waymark, a letter such as she had never addressed to him, and which, +even in writing it, she was conscious she could not send. Her hand +trembled as she filled the pages with burning words. She panted for +more than he had given her; this calm, half-brotherly love of his was +just now like a single drop of water to one dying of thirst; she cried +to him for a deeper draught of the joy of life. The words came to her +without need of thought; tears fell hot from her eyes and blotted what +she wrote. + +The tears brought her relief; she was able to throw her writing aside, +and by degrees to resume that dull, vacant mood of habitual suffering +which at all events could be endured. From this, too, there was at +times a retreat possible with the help of a book. She had no mind to +sleep, and on looking round, she remembered that the book she had been +reading in the early part of the day was downstairs. It was after +midnight, and she seemed to have a recollection of hearing the visitors +leave the house a little while ago; it would be safe to venture as far +as the sitting-room below. + +She began to descend the stairs quietly. There was still a light in the +hall, but the quietness of the house reassured her. On turning an angle +of the stairs, however, she saw that the door of the drawing-room was +open, and that just within stood two figures--her mother and Mr. Rudge. +They seemed to be whispering together, and in the same moment their +lips met. Then the man came out and went downstairs. Mrs. Enderby +turned back into the drawing-room. + +Maud stood fixed to the spot. Darkness had closed in around her, and +she clung to the banisters to save herself from the gulf which seemed +to yawn before her feet. The ringing of a bell, the drawing-room bell +summoning Mrs. Enderby's maid, brought her back to consciousness, and +with trembling limbs she regained her room. It was as though some +ghastly vision of the night had shaken her soul. The habit of her mind +overwhelmed her with the conviction that she knew at last the meaning +of that mystery of horror which had of late been strengthening its hold +upon her imagination. The black cloud which lowered above the house had +indeed its significance; the voices which wailed to her of sin and woe +were the true expression of things amid which she had been moving +unconsciously. That instinct which made her shrink from her mother's +presence was not without its justification; the dark powers which +circled her existence had not vainly forced their influence upon her. +Her first impulse was to flee from the house; the air breathed +pestilence and death, death of the soul. Looking about her in the +anguish of conflicting thoughts, her eyes fell upon the pages she had +written. These now came before her as a proof of contagion which had +seized upon her own nature; she tore the letter hastily into fragments, +and, striking fire with a match, consumed them in the grate. As she +watched the sparks go out, there came a rustling of dresses past her +door. She flung herself upon her knees and sought refuge in wild, +wordless prayer. + +A fortnight after this Maud went late in the evening to the room where +she knew her father was sitting alone. Paul Enderby looked up from his +papers in surprise; it was some time since Maud had sought private +conversation with him. As he met her pale, resolute face, he knew that +she had a serious purpose in thus visiting him, and his look changed to +one of nervous anticipation. + +"Do I disturb you, father?" Maud asked. "Could you spare me a few +minutes?" + +Paul nodded, and she took a seat near him. + +"Father, I am going to leave home, going to be a governess again." + +He drew a sigh of relief; he had expected something worse than this. +Yet the relief was only for a moment, and then he looked at her with +eyes which made her soul fail for very compassion. + +"You will desert me, Maud?" he asked, trying to convey in his look that +which he could not utter in words. + +"Father, I can be of no help, and I feel that I must not remain here." + +"Have you found a place?" + +"This afternoon I engaged myself to go to Paris with a French family. +They have been in England some time, and want to take back an English +governess for their children." + +Paul was silent. + +"I leave the day after to-morrow," she added; at first she had feared +to say how soon she was to go. + +"You are right," her father said, shifting some papers about with a +tremulous hand. "You are right to leave us. You at least will be safe." + +"Safe?" she asked, under her breath. + +He looked at her in the same despairing way, but said nothing. + +"Father," she began, her lips quivering in the intensity of her inward +struggle, "can you not go away from here? Can you not take mother away?" + +They gazed at each other, each trying to divine what it was that made +the other so pale. Did her father know?--Maud asked herself. Did Maud +know something more than he himself?--was the doubt in Paul's mind. But +they were thinking of different things. + +"I can't, I can't!" the wretched man exclaimed, spreading out his arms +on the desk. "Perhaps in a few months--but I doubt. I can do nothing +now; I am helpless; I am not my own master. O God, if I could but go +and leave it all behind me!" + +Maud could only guess at the meaning of this. He had already hinted to +her of business troubles which were crushing him. But this was a matter +of no moment in her sight. There was something more terrible, and she +could not force her tongue to speak of it. + +"You fear for her?" Paul went on. "You have noticed her strangeness?" +He lowered his voice. "What can I do, Maud?" + +"You are so much away," she said hurriedly, laying her hand on his arm. +"Her visitors--she has so many temptations--" + +"Temptations?" + +"Father, help her against herself!" + +"My help is vain. There is a curse on her life, and on mine. I can only +stand by and wait for the worst." + +She could not speak. It was her duty, clearly her imperative duty, yet +she durst not fulfil it. She had come down from her room with the fixed +purpose, attained after nights of sleepless struggle, of telling him +what she had seen. She found herself alone again, the task unfulfilled. +And she knew that she could not face him again. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +A GARDEN-PARTY + + +Waymark received with astonishment Maud's letter from Paris. He had +seen her only two days before, and their conversation had been of the +ordinary kind; Maud had given him no hint of her purpose, not even when +he spoke to her of the coming holiday season, and the necessity of her +having a change. She confessed she was not well. Sometimes, when they +had both sat for some minutes in silence, she would raise her eyes and +meet his gaze steadily, seeming to search for something. Waymark could +not face this look; it drove him to break the suspense by any kind of +remark on an indifferent subject. He remembered now that she had gazed +at him in that way persistently on the last evening that they were +together. When he was saying good-bye, and as he bent to kiss her, she +held him back for a moment, and seemed to wish to say something. +Doubtless she had been on the point of telling him that she was going +away; but she let him leave in silence. + +It was not a long letter that she wrote; she merely said that change +had become indispensable to body and soul, and that it had seemed best +to make it suddenly. + +"I hope," she wrote in conclusion, "that you will see my father as +often as you can; he is very much in need of friendly company, and I +should like you to be able to send me news of him. Do not fear for me; +I feel already better. I am always with you in spirit, and in the +spirit I love you; God help me to keep my love pure!" + +Waymark put away the letter carelessly; the first sensation of surprise +over, he did not even care to speculate on the reasons which had led +Maud to leave home. It was but seldom now that his thoughts busied +themselves with Maud; the unreal importance which she had for a time +assumed in his life was only a recollection; her very face was +ghostlike in his mind's eye, dim, always vanishing. If the news of her +departure from England moved him at all, it was with a slight sense of +satisfaction; it would be so much easier to write letters to her than +to speak face to face. Yet, in the days that followed, the ghostlike +countenance hovered more persistently before him than was its wont; +there was a far-off pleading in its look, and sometimes that shadow of +reproach which our uneasy conscience will cast upon the faces of those +we have wronged. This passed, however, and another image, one which had +ever grown in clearness and persistency of presentment in proportion as +Maud's faded away, glided before him in the hours of summer sunlight, +and shone forth with the beauty of a rising star against the clouded +heaven of his dreams. + +Waymark's mood was bitter, but, in spite of himself, it was no longer +cynical. He could not indulge himself in that pessimistic scepticism +which had aided him in bearing his poverty, and the restless craving of +sense and spirit which had accompanied it. His enthusiasm for art was +falling away; as a faith it had failed him in his hour of need. In its +stead another faith had come to him, a faith which he felt to be +all-powerful, and the sole stay of a man's life amid the shifting +shadows of intellectual creeds. And it had been revealed too late. Led +by perverse motives, now no longer intelligible, he had reached a goal +of mere frustration; between him and the true end of his being there +was a great gulf fixed. + +To Ida, in the meanwhile, these weeks of early summer were bringing +health of body and cheerfulness of mind. She spent very much of her +time in the open air. Whenever it was possible she and Miss Hurst took +their books out into the garden, and let the shadows of the rose-bushes +mark the hours for them. Ida's natural vigour throve on the +strength-giving properties of sun and breeze the last traces of +unwholesome pallor passed from her face, and exercise sent her home +flushed like the dawn. + +One afternoon she went to sit with her grandfather on a bench beneath +an apple-tree. The old man had his pipe and a newspaper. Ida was quiet, +and glancing at her presently, Abraham found her eyes fixed upon him. + +"Grandfather," she said, in her gentlest voice, "will you let me give a +garden-party some day next week?" + +"A party?" Mr. Woodstock raised his brows in astonishment. "Who are you +going to invite?" + +"You'll think it a strange notion.--I wonder whether I can make it seem +as delightful to you as it does to me. Suppose we went to those houses +of yours, and got together as many poor little girls as we could, and +brought them all here to spend an afternoon in the garden. Think what +an unheard-of thing it would be to them! And then we would give them +some tea, and take them back again before dark." + +The proposal filled Mr. Woodstock with dismay, and the habitual +hardness of his face suggested a displeasure he did not in reality feel. + +"As you say, it's a strange notion," he remarked, smiling very +slightly. "I don't know why you shouldn't have your own way, Ida, +but--it'll cost you a good deal of trouble, you know." + +"You are mistaking me, grandfather. You think this a curious whim I +have got into my head, and your kindness would tempt you to let me do a +silly thing just for the sake of having my way. It is no foolish fancy. +It's not for my sake, but for the children's." + +Her eyes were aglow with earnestness, and her voice trembled. + +"Do you think they'd care for it?" asked her grandfather, impressed by +something in her which he had never seen before. + +"Care for it!--Imagine a poor little thing that has been born in a +wretched, poverty-stricken, disorderly home, a home that is no home, +and growing up with no knowledge of anything but those four hateful +walls and the street outside. No toys, no treats, no change of air; +playing in the gutter, never seeing a beautiful thing, never hearing of +the pleasures which rich people's children would pine and die without +And a child for all that." + +Mr. Woodstock cleared his throat and smoothed the newspaper upon his +knee. + +"How will you get them here, Ida?" + +"Oh, leave that to me! Let us choose a day; wouldn't Saturday be best! +I will go there myself, and pick out the children, and get their +mothers to promise to have them ready. Then I'll arrange to have one of +those carts you see at Sunday-school treats. Why, the ride here, that +alone! And you'll let me have tea for them,--just bread and butter and +a bun,--it will cost not half as much as my new dress this week, not +_half_ as much--" + +"Come, come, I can't stand this!" growled out Abraham, getting up from +the seat. "I'd _give_ them the garden, for good and all, rather than +see you like that. Say Saturday, if it's fine; if not, Monday, or when +you like." + +On the following morning the details were arranged, and the next day +Ida went to Litany Lane. She preferred to go alone, and on this errand +Mr. Woodstock would have found a difficulty in accompanying her. Ida +knew exactly the nature of the task she had taken in hand, and found it +easier than it would have been to the ordinary young lady. She jotted +down the names of some twenty little girls, selecting such as were +between the ages of eight and twelve, and obtained promises that all +should be ready at a fixed hour next Saturday. She met with doubts and +objections and difficulties enough, but only failed in one or two +instances. Then followed fresh talks with her grandfather, and all the +details were arranged. + +There was rain on the Thursday and Friday, but when Ida drew up her +blind at six o'clock on Saturday morning, the sky gave promise of good +things. She was walking in the garden long before breakfast-time, and +gladdened to rapture as she watched the sun gain power, till it +streamed gloriously athwart cloudless blue. By one o'clock she was at +the end of Litany Lane, where the cart with long seats was already +waiting; its arrival had become known to the little ones, and very few +needed summoning. Of course there were disappointments now and again. +In spite of mothers' promises, half the children had their usual dirty +faces, and showed no sign of any preparation. Five or six of them had +nothing to put on their heads; two had bare feet. It was too late to +see to these things now; as they were, the children clambered, or were +lifted, on to the cart, and Ida took her seat among them. Then a crack +of the driver's whip, and amid the shouts of envious brothers and +sisters, and before the wondering stare of the rest of the population, +off they drove away. + +"Who'd like an apple?" Ida asked, as soon as they were well clear of +the narrow streets. There was a general scream of delight, and from a +hamper by her side she brought out apples and distributed them. Only +for a minute or two had there been anything like shyness in Ida's +presence; she knew how to talk and behave to these poor little waifs. +Her eyes filled with tears as she listened to their chatter among +themselves, and recognised so many a fragment of her own past life. One +child, who sat close by her, had been spending the morning in washing +vegetables for the Saturday-night market. Did not that call to mind +something?--so far off; so far, yet nearer to her than many things +which had intervened. How they all laughed, as the big, black houses +gave way to brighter streets, and these again began to open upon +glimpses of field or garden! Not one of them had the slightest +conception of whither they were being taken, or what was to happen to +them at length. But they had confidence in "the lady." She was a +sorceress in their eyes; what limit could there be to her powers? +Something good and joyous awaited them; that was all they knew or +cared; leagues of happiness, stretching away to the remote limits of +the day's glory; a present rapture beyond knowledge, and a memory for +ever. + +Mr. Woodstock stood within the gate of the garden, his hands in his +pockets, and as the vehicle came in sight he drew just a little back. + +They streamed along the carriage-drive, and in a minute or two were all +clustered upon the lawn behind the house. What was expected of them? +Had an angel taken them by he hand and led them straight from Litany +Lane through the portals of paradise, they could not have been more +awed and bewildered. Trees and rose-bushes, turf and beds of flowers, +seats in the shade, skipping-ropes thrown about on the open--and there, +hark, a hand-organ, a better one than ever they danced to on the +pavement, striking up to make them merry. That was the happiest +thought! It was something not too unfamiliar; the one joyful thing of +which they had experience meeting them here to smooth over the first +introduction to a new world. Ida knew it well, the effect of that +organ; had it not lightened her heart many and many a time in the +by-gone darkness? Two of the girls had caught each other by the waist +at the first sounds. Might they? Would "the lady" like it? + +Miss Hurst had come out as soon as the music began, and Ida ran to talk +with her. There was whispering between them, and pointing to one and +another of the children, and then the governess, with a pleased face, +disappeared again. She was away some time, but on her return two of the +children were called into the house. Bare-footed they went in, but came +forth again with shoes and stockings on, hardly able to comprehend what +had happened to them. Then were summoned those who had nothing on their +heads, and to each of these a straw hat was given, a less wonderful +possession than the shoes and stockings, but a source of gladness and +pride. + +In the meantime, however, marvels had accumulated on the lawn. Whilst +yet the organ was playing, there appeared two men, one of them carrying +a big drum, the other hidden under a Punch and Judy show. Of a sudden +there sounded a shrill note, high above the organ, a fluting from the +bottom to the top of the gamut, the immemorial summons to children, the +overture to the primitive drama. It was drowned in a scream of welcome, +which, in its turn, was outdone by thunderous peals upon the drum. + +Mr. Woodstock said little during the whole afternoon. Perhaps he +thought the more. + +Tables had been fixed in one part of the garden, and as the drama of +Punch drew to an end, its interest found a serious rival in the +spectacle of piled plates of cake. But there was to intervene nearly +half-an-hour before the tea-urns were ready to make an appearance. The +skipping-ropes came into requisition outside, but in the house was +proceeding simultaneously a rather more serious pastime, which fell to +Ida's share to carry out. Choosing the little girl whose face was the +dirtiest and hair the untidiest of any she could see, she led her +gently away to a place where a good bowl of warm water and plenty of +soap were at hand, and, with the air of bestowing the greatest kindness +of all, fell to work to such purpose that in a few minutes the child +went back to the garden a resplendent being, positively clean and kempt +for the first time in her life. + +"I know you'll feel uncomfortable for a little, dear," Ida said, +dismissing the astonished maiden with a kiss, "but the strangeness will +wear off; and you'll see how much nicer it is." + +One after another, all were dealt with in this way, presently with a +good-natured servant-girl's assistance, as time pressed. The result was +that a transformed company sat down to tea. The feeling wore off, as +Ida said, but at first cleanliness meant positive discomfort, taking +the form of loss of identity and difficulty of mutual recognition. They +looked at their hands, and were amazed at the whiteness that had come +upon them; they kept feeling their faces and their ordered hair. But +the appetite of one and all was improved by the process. + +"How I wish Mr. Waymark was here!" Ida said to her grandfather, as they +stood together, watching the feast. "He would enjoy it. We must give +him a full account to-morrow, mustn't we?" + +"I forgot," replied the other. "I had a note from him this morning, +saying he thought he shouldn't be able to come." + +The first shadow of disappointment which this day had brought fell upon +the girl's countenance. She made no reply, and presently went to help +one or the youngest children, who had spilt her tea and was in evident +distress. + +After tea the organ struck up again, and again there was dancing on the +lawn. Then a gathering of flowers by Ida and Miss Hurst, and one given +to each of the children, with injunctions to put it in water on +reaching home, and keep it as long as possible in memory of the day. +Already the sun was westering, and Litany Lane must be reached before +dusk. + +"Poor children!" Ida sighed to herself. "If they had but homes to go +to!" And added, in her thought, "We shall see, we shall see!" + +Every bit as joyous as the ride out was the return to town. With +foresight, Ida made the two youngest sit on each side of her; soon the +little heads were drooping in her lap, subdued by the very weariness of +bliss. Miss Hurst had offered to accompany Ida, that she might not have +to come back alone, but Ida wanted her friends all to herself, and was +rewarded by the familiarity with which they gossipped to her all the +way. + +"Hands up, all those who _haven't_ enjoyed themselves!" she exclaimed, +just as they were entering the noisy streets. + +There was a moment's doubt, then a burst of merry laughter. + +"Hands up, all those who would like to come again!" + +All held up both arms--except the two children who were asleep. + +"Well, you've all been good, and I'm very pleased with you, and you +_shall_ come again!" + +It was the culmination of the day's delight. For the first time in +their lives the children of Litany Lane and Elm Court had something to +look forward to. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +A LATE REVENGE + + +Ida clung to the possibility of Waymark's paying his usual visit on the +Sunday, but she was disappointed. This absence had no reason beyond +Waymark's choice. It was the last Sunday but one of the month; a week +more, and he must keep his word with Mr. Woodstock. The evil day had +been put off, and to what purpose? There had been some scarcely +confessed hope. Maud's sudden departure from England, and her strange +letter, might perhaps mean a change in her which would bring about his +freedom; he himself might possibly be driven by his wretchedness to the +point of writing to her in a way which would hasten her decision, if +indeed she were doubting. + +All was over between Ida and himself, so why undergo the torment of +still seeing her. In sending his note to Mr. Woodstock, he was on the +point of surrendering the week that remained, and begging that Ida +might be told at once, but his hand refused to write the words. Through +the week that ensued he had no moment's rest. At night he went to +places of amusement, to seek distraction; he wished and dreaded the +coming of the Sunday. How would Ida receive the revelation? Should he +write to her and try to make her understand him? Yet in that he could +scarcely succeed, and failure would bring upon him her contempt. The +only safety lay in never seeing or communicating with her again. + +Even on Saturday night he had not made up his mind how to act. He went +to the theatre, but left before the play was half over, and walked +slowly homewards. As he drew near to his lodgings, some one hastened +towards him with both hands held out. It was Maud Enderby. + +"Oh, I have waited so long! I wanted to see you to-night." She was +exhausted with fatigue and distress, and still held his hands, as if +needing their support. To Waymark, in his then state of mind, she came +like an apparition. He could only look at her in astonishment. + +"Last night," she said, "I had a telegram from father. He told me to +come back at once; he had had to leave, and mother was alone. I was to +call for a letter at a place in the city. I was in time to catch the +night boat, and when I got his letter it told me dreadful things. +Something has happened which compelled him to leave England at once. He +could do nothing, make no arrangements. Mother, he said, had a little +money; we must sell everything and manage to live somewhere for a +little; he would try to send us what he could. Then I went home. There +was a police-officer in the house, and mother had gone away, I can't +tell where. Father has done something, and--Oh, what shall I do? You +can help me, can't you?" + +Waymark, whom this news overwhelmed with blank despair, could at first +say nothing; but the very greatness of the blow gradually produced in +him the strength to bear it. He saw that fate had taken the future out +of his hands; there was no longer even the appearance of choice. To +Maud he must now devote himself, aiding her with all his strength in +the present and through the days to come. + +"Shall I go back home with you?" he asked, pressing her hands to +comfort her, and speaking with the calmness of one who had made up his +mind. + +"Yes; perhaps mother will have returned. But what shall we do? What +will happen to father? Do you know anything of all this?" + +"Nothing whatever. Walk with me to the top of the street, and we will +take a cab." + +She hung upon his arm, trembling violently; and during the drive to +Paddington, she lay back with her eyes closed, holding Waymark's hands +in her own, which burned with fever. On alighting, they found that Mrs. +Enderby had indeed returned; the servant told them so, and at the same +time whispered something to Maud. They went up into the drawing-room, +and there found Mrs. Enderby lying upon the couch. She could not +understand when she was spoken to, but nodded her head and looked at +them with large, woebegone, wandering eyes. Every effort to rouse her +was vain. + +It was a dreadful night. + +The early dawn was in the sky when Waymark reached Beaufort Street. +With no thought of sleep, he sat down at once and wrote to Mr. +Woodstock, relating what had happened. "So, you see," he concluded, +"with the end of July has come the decision of my fate, as we agreed it +should. If I had seen you to-morrow, as I proposed, I know not what +folly I might have been guilty of. Tell Ida everything at once; I shall +never see her again. But do you, if you can, be my friend still. I need +your help in this horrible situation. Meet me--will you?--at the office +to-morrow night, say at eight o'clock." + +This letter would reach Tottenham on Monday morning. Waymark went to +the office at the hour he had mentioned, and waited till ten o'clock. +But Mr. Woodstock had not been in St. John Street Road that day, and +the waiting was in vain. + +The garden-party had not been without its effect upon Mr. Woodstock. On +the following day, when he was sitting again with Ida in the garden, he +recurred to the conversation of a week ago, and seemed desirous of +leading the girl to speak freely on the subjects which had such power +to stir her. Ida had been waiting for this; she rejoiced at the promise +it held out, and unburdened her heart. Would he not do yet more for the +poor people in his houses I could not their homes in some way be made +more fit for human beings? With careful observation of his mood, she +led him on to entertain thoughts he had never dreamt of, and before +they parted she had all but obtained a promise that he would go over +the whole of his property and really see what could be done. Ida's +influence over him had by this time become very great; the old man was +ready to do much for the sake of pleasing her. + +On the following Tuesday he went down into Litany Lane in company with +a builder, and proceeded to investigate each of the houses. In many +instances the repairs, to be of any use, would have to be considerable; +there would be a difficulty in executing them whilst the tenants +remained in possession. One possibility occurred to him in the course +of examination, and he determined to make use of it; he would create +room by getting rid of the worst tenants, all those, in fact, whose +presence was pollution to the neighbourhood, and whom it was hopeless +to think of reforming. In this way he would be able to shift about the +remaining lodgers without too great a loss to himself, and avoid the +necessity of turning helpless people into the street. + +Mr. Woodstock had considerably more knowledge of the state of his +property, and of the tenants inhabiting it, than is usual with +landlords of his kind; for all that, the present examination brought to +light not a few things which were startling even to him. Since Waymark +had ceased to act as his collector, the office had been filled by an +agent of the ordinary kind, and Mr. Woodstock had, till just now, taken +less interest in the property than formerly. Things had got worse on +the whole. Whereas Waymark had here and there been successful in +suppressing the grosser forms of uncleanliness by threats of expulsion, +and at times by the actual enforcement of his threat, no such +supervision had of late been exercised. There were very few houses in +which the air was at all tolerable; in many instances the vilest odours +hung about the open door-ways. To pass out of Elm Court into the wider +streets around was like a change to the freshness of woods and fields. +And the sources of this miasma were only too obvious. + +The larger houses which made up Litany Lane had underground cellars; in +the court there were fortunately no such retreats. On entering one of +these former houses, the two were aware of an especially offensive +odour rising from below the stairs. Pursuing, however, their plan of +beginning at the garrets, they went up together. In the room at the top +they came upon a miserable spectacle. On something which, for want of +another name, was probably called a bed, there lay a woman either +already dead or in a state of coma, and on the floor sat two very young +children, amusing themselves with a dead kitten, their only toy. Mr. +Woodstock bent over the woman and examined her. He found that she was +breathing, though in a slow and scarcely perceptible way; her eyes were +open, but expressed no consciousness. The slightly-parted lips were +almost black, and here and there on her face there seemed to be a kind +of rash. Mr. Woodstock's companion, after taking one glance, drew +hastily back. + +"Looks like small-pox," he said, in an alarmed voice. "I wouldn't stand +so near, sir, if I was you." + +"Isn't there any one to look to her?" said Abraham. Then turning to one +of the children, "Where's your father?" he asked. + +"Dono," was the little fellow's indifferent reply. + +"Are you alone?" + +"Dono." + +They went down to the floor below, and there found a woman standing at +her door. + +"What's the matter with her up there?" asked Mr. Woodstock. + +"She's very bad, sir. Her Susan's gone to get a order for the parish +doctor, I b'lieve. I was just a-goin' to look after the children when +you came up. I've only just come 'ome myself, you see." + +"What's that horrible stench down below?" + +"I didn't notice nothink, sir," said the woman, looking over the +banisters as if the odour might be seen. + +"Any one living in the kitchen?" + +"There _was_ some one, I b'lieve, sir, but I don't exac'ly know if +they's there yet." + +Presently they reached the region below. In absolute darkness they +descended steps which were covered with a sort of slime, and then, by +striking a light, found themselves in front of a closed door. Opening +this, they entered a vile hole where it could scarcely be said to be +daylight, so thickly was the little window patched with filth. Groping +about in the stifling atmosphere, they discovered in one corner a mass +of indescribable matter, from which arose, seemingly, the worst of the +effluvia. + +"What is it?" asked Mr. Woodstock, holding a lighted match. + +"Rotten fish, it seems to me," said the other, holding his nose. + +Abraham turned away; then, as if his eye had suddenly caught something, +strode to another corner. There lay the body of a dead child, all but +naked, upon a piece of sacking. + +"We'd better get out of this, sir," said the builder. "We shall be +poisoned. Wonder they haven't the plague here." + +"Seems to me they have," returned Mr. Woodstock. + +They went out into the street, and hailed the first policeman in sight. +Then, giving up his investigations for that morning, Mr. Woodstock +repaired to the police-station, and after a good deal of trouble, +succeeded in getting the attendance of a medical man, with the result +that the woman they had seen up in the garret was found to be in truth +dying of small-pox. If the contagion spread, as probably it had by this +time begun to, there would be a pleasant state of things in Litany Lane. + +In the evening, before going home, Abraham had a bath. He was not a +nervous man, but the possibilities of the risk he had run were not +agreeable to contemplate. Two or three days went by without any +alarming symptoms, but as he learnt that another case of small-pox had +declared itself in the Lane, he postponed his personal activity there +for the present, and remained a good deal at home. On the Sunday +morning--when Waymark's letter had already been posted--he awoke with a +headache, continued from the night before. It grew worse during the +day, and he went to bed early with a dull pain across the forehead, +which prevented him from sleeping. On the following morning the +headache still remained; he felt a disinclination to rise, and now, for +the first time, began to be troubled with vague fears, which blended +themselves with his various pre-occupations in a confusing way. The +letter which arrived from Waymark was taken up to him. It caused him +extreme irritation, which was followed by uneasy dozing, the pain +across his forehead growing worse the while. A doctor was summoned. + +The same day Ida and Miss Hurst left the house, to occupy lodgings hard +by; it was done at Mr. Woodstock's peremptory bidding. Ida at once +wrote to Waymark, begging him to come; he arrived early next morning, +and learnt the state of things. + +"The doctor tells me," said Ida, "there is a case in Litany Lane. It is +very cruel. Grandfather went to make arrangements for having the houses +repaired." + +"There I recognise your hand," Waymark observed, as she made a pause. + +"Why have you so deserted us?" Ida asked. "Why do we see you so seldom?" + +"It is so late every evening before I leave the library, and I am busy +with all sorts of things." + +They had little to say to each other, Waymark promised to communicate +at once with a friend of Mr. Woodstock's, a man of business, and to +come again as soon as possible, to give any help he could. Whether Ida +had been told of his position remained uncertain. + +For Ida they were sad, long days. Troubles which she had previously +managed to keep in the background now again beset her. She had attached +herself to her grandfather; gratitude for all that he was doing at her +wish strengthened her affection, and she awaited each new day with +fear. Waymark seemed colder to her in these days than he had ever been +formerly. The occasion ought, she felt, to have brought them nearer +together; but on his side there appeared to be no such feeling. The +time hung very heavily on her hands. She tried to go on with her +studies, but it was a mere pretence. + +Soon, she learnt that there was no hope; the sick man had sunk into a +state of unconsciousness from which he would probably not awake. She +haunted the neighbourhood of the house, or, in her lodging, sat like +one who waits, and the waiting was for she knew not what. There was +once more to be a great change in her life, but of what kind she could +not foresee. She wished her suffering had been more acute; her only +relative was dying, yet no tear would come to her eyes; it was +heartless, and to weep would have brought relief to her. She could only +sit and wait. + +When Waymark came, on the evening of the next day, he heard that all +was over. Ida saw him, but only for a few minutes. In going away, he +paused by the gates of the silent house. + +"The slums have avenged themselves," he said to himself sadly, "though +late." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +HOUSE-WARMING + + +On a Sunday afternoon in October, when Abraham Woodstock had lain in +his grave for three months, Waymark met Julian Casti by appointment in +Sloane Square, and they set forth together on a journey to Peckham. +They were going thither by invitation, and, to judge from the laughter +which accompanied their talk, their visit was likely to afford them +entertainment. The merriment on Julian's side was not very natural; he +looked indeed too ill to enjoy mirth of any kind. As they stood in the +Square, waiting for an omnibus, he kept glancing uneasily about him, +especially in the direction whence they had come. It had the appearance +of a habit, but before they had stood much more than a minute, he +started and exclaimed in a low voice to his companion-- + +"I told you so. She is just behind there. She has come round by the +back streets, just to see if I'd told her the truth." + +Waymark glanced back and shrugged his shoulders. + +"Pooh! Never mind," he said. "You're used to it." + +"Used to it! Yes," Julian returned, his face flushing suddenly a deep +red, the effect of extraordinary excitement; "and it is driving me mad." + +Then, after a fit of coughing-- + +"She found my poem last night, and burnt it." + +"Burnt it?" + +"Yes; simply because she could not understand it. She said she thought +it was waste paper, but I saw, I saw." + +The 'bus they waited for came up, and they went on their way. On +reaching the neighbourhood of Peckham, they struck off through a +complex of small new streets, apparently familiar to Waymark, and came +at length to a little shop, also very new, the windows of which +displayed a fresh-looking assortment of miscellaneous goods. There was +half a large cheese, marked by the incisions of the tasting-knife; a +boiled ham, garlanded; a cone of brawn; a truncated pyramid of spiced +beef, released from its American tin; also German sausage and other +dainties of the kind. Then there were canisters of tea and coffee, tins +of mustard, a basket of eggs, some onions, boxes of baking-powder and +of blacking; all arranged so as to make an impression on the +passers-by; everything clean and bright. Above the window stood in +imposing gilt letters the name of the proprietor: O'Gree. + +They entered. The shop was very small and did not contain much stock. +The new shelves showed a row of biscuit-tins, but little else, and from +the ceiling hung balls of string. On the counter lay an inviting round +of boiled beef. Odours of provisions and of fresh paint were strong in +the air. Every thing gleamed from resent scrubbing and polishing; the +floor only emphasised its purity by a little track where a child's +shoes had brought in mud from the street; doubtless it had been washed +over since the Sunday morning's custom had subsided. Wherever the walls +would have confessed their bareness the enterprising tradesman had hung +gorgeous advertising cards. At the sound of the visitors' footsteps, +the door leading out of the shop into the parlour behind opened +briskly, a head having previously appeared over the red curtain, and +Mr. O'Gree, in the glory of Sunday attire, rushed forward with eager +hands. His welcome was obstreperous. + +"Waymark, you're a brick! Mr. Casti, I'm rejoiced to receive you in my +establishment! You're neither a minute too soon nor a minute too late. +Mrs. O'Gree only this moment called out from the kitchen that the +kettle was boiling and the crumpets at the point of perfection! I knew +your punctuality of old, Waymark. Mr. Casti, how does it strike you? +Roaring trade, Waymark! Done two shillings and threepence three +farthings this Sunday morning. Look here, me boy,--ho, ho!" + +He drew out the till behind the counter, and jingled his hand in +coppers. Then he rushed about in the wildest fervour from object to +object, opening tins which he had forgotten were empty, making passes +at the beef and the ham with a formidable carving-knife, demonstrating +the use of a sugar-chopper and a coffee-grinder, and, lastly, calling +attention with infinite glee to a bad halfpenny which he had detected +on the previous afternoon, and had forthwith nailed down to the +counter, _in terrorem_. Then he lifted with much solemnity a hinged +portion of the counter, and requested his visitors to pass into the +back-parlour. Here there was the same perfect cleanliness, though the +furniture was scant and very simple. The round table was laid for tea, +with a spotless cloth, plates of a very demonstrative pattern, and +knives and forks which seemed only just to have left the ironmonger's +shop. + +"We pass, you observe, Mr. Casti," cried the ex-teacher, "from the +region of commerce to that of domestic intimacy. Here Mrs. O'Gree +reigns supreme, as indeed she does in the other department, as far as +presiding genius goes. She's in all places at once, like a birrud! Mr. +Casti," in a whisper, "I shall have the pleasure of introducing you to +one of the most remarkable women it was ever your lot to meet; a +phenomenon of--" + +The inner door opened, and the lady herself interrupted these eulogies. +Sally was charming. Her trim little body attired in the trimmest of +homely dresses, her sharp little face shining and just a little red +with excitement, her quick movements, her laughing eyes, her restless +hands graced with the new wedding-ring--all made up a picture of which +her husband might well be proud. He stood and gazed at her in frank +admiration; only when she sprang forward to shake hands with Waymark +did he recover himself sufficiently to go through the ceremony of +introducing Julian. It was done with all stateliness. + +"An improvement this on the masters' room, eh, Waymark?" cried Mr. +O'Gree. Then, suddenly interrupting him self, "And that reminds me! +We've got a lodger." + +"Already?" + +"And who d'ye think? Who d'ye think? You wouldn't guess if you went on +till Christmas. Ho, ho, ho! I'm hanged if I tell you. Wait and see!" + +"Shall I call him down?" asked Sally, who in the meantime had brought +in the tea-pot, and the crumpets, and a dish of slices from the round +of beef on the counter, and boiled eggs, and sundry other dainties. + +O'Gree, unable to speak for mirth, nodded his head, and presently Sally +returned, followed by--Mr. Egger. Waymark scarcely recognised his old +friend, so much had the latter changed: instead of the old woe-begone +look, Egger's face wore a joyous smile, and his outer man was so vastly +improved that he had evidently fallen on a more lucrative profession. +Waymark remembered O'Gree's chance meeting with the Swiss, but had +heard nothing of him since; nor indeed had O'Gree till a day or two ago. + +"How do things go?" Waymark inquired heartily. "Found a better school?" + +"No, no, my friend," returned Egger, in his very bad English. "At the +school I made my possible; I did till I could no more. I have made like +Mr. O'Gree; it is to say, quite a change in my life. I am waiter at a +restaurant. And see me; am I not the better quite? No fear!" This +cockneyism came in with comical effect. "I have enough to eat and to +drink, and money in my pocket. The school may go to ----" + +O'Gree coughed violently to cover the last word, and looked +reproachfully at his old colleague. Poor Egger, who had been carried +away by his joyous fervour, was abashed, and glanced timidly at Sally, +who replied by giving him half a dozen thick rounds of German sausage. +On his requesting mustard, she fetched some from the shop and mixed it, +but, in doing so, had the misfortune to pour too much water. + +"There!" she exclaimed; "I've doubted the miller's eye." + +O'Gree laughed when he saw Waymark looking for an explanation. + +"That's a piece of Weymouth," he remarked. "Mrs. O'Gree comes from the +south-west of England," he added, leaning towards Casti. "She's +constantly teaching me new and interesting things. Now, if I was to +spill the salt here--" + +He put his Ii and on the salt-cellar, as if to do so, but Sally rapped +his knuckles with a fork. + +"None of your nonsense, sir! Give Mr. Casti some more meat, instead." + +It was a merry party. The noise of talk grew so loud that it was only +the keenness of habitual attention on Sally's part which enabled her to +observe that a customer was knocking on the counter. She darted out, +but returned with a disappointed look on her face. + +"Pickles?" asked her husband, frowning. + +Sally nodded. + +"Now, look here, Waymark," cried O'Gree, rising in indignation from his +seat. "Look here, Mr. Casti. The one drop of bitterness in our cup +is--pickles; the one thing that threatens to poison our happiness +is--pickles. We're always being asked for pickles; just as if the +people knew about it, and came on purpose!" + +"Knew About what?" asked Waymark, in astonishment. + +"Why, that we mayn't sell 'em! A few doors off there's a scoundrel of a +grocer. Now, his landlord's the same as ours, and when we took this +shop there was one condition attached. Because the grocer sells +pickles, and makes a good thing of them, we had to undertake that, in +that branch of commerce, we wouldn't compete with him. Pickles are +forbidden." + +Waymark burst into a most unsympathetic roar of laughter, but with +O'Gree the grievance was evidently a serious one, and it was some few +moments before he recovered his equanimity. Indeed it was not quite +restored till the entrance of another customer, who purchased two +ounces of butter. When, in the dead silence which ensued, Sally was +heard weighing out the order, O'Gree's face beamed; and when there +followed the chink of coins in the till, he brought his fist down with +a triumphant crash upon the table. + +When tea was over, O'Gree managed to get Waymark apart from the rest, +and showed him a small photograph of Sally which had recently been +taken. + +"Sally's great ambition," he whispered, "is to be taken cabinet-size, +and in a snow-storm. You've seen the kind of thing in the shop-windows? +We'll manage that before long, but this will do for the present. You +don't see a face like that every day; eh, Waymark?" + +Sally, her housewifery duly accomplished in the invisible regions, came +back and sat by the fireside. She had exchanged her work-a-day costume +for one rather more ornate. Noticeable was a delicate gold chain which +hung about her neck, and Waymark smiled when he presently saw her take +out her watch and seem to compare its time with that of the clock on +the mantelpiece. It was a wedding present from Ida. + +Sally caught the smile, and almost immediately came over to a seat by +Waymark; and, whilst the others were engaged in loud talk, spoke with +him privately. + +"Have you seen her lately?" she asked. + +"Not for some weeks," the other replied, shaking his head. + +"Well, it's the queerest thing I ever knew, s'nough! But, there," she +added, with an arch glance, "some men are that stupid--" + +Waymark laughed slightly, and again shook his head. + +"All a mistake," he said. + +"Yes, that's just what it is, you may depend upon it. I more'n half +believe you're telling fibs." + +Tumblers of whisky were soon smoking on the table, and all except Casti +laughed and talked to their heart's content. Casti was no kill-joy; he +smiled at all that went on, now and then putting in a friendly word; +but the vitality of the others was lacking in him, and the weight which +crushed him night and day could not so easily be thrown aside. O'Gree +was abundant in reminiscences of academic days, and it would not have +been easy to resist altogether the comical vigour of his stories, all +without one touch of real bitterness or malice. + +"Bedad," he cried, "I sent old Pendy a business prospectus, with my +compliments written on the bottom of it. I thought he might perhaps be +disposed to give me a contract for victualling the Academy. I wish he +had, for the boys' sake." + +Then, to bring back completely the old times, Mr. Egger was prevailed +upon to sing one of his _Volkslieder_, that which had been Waymark's +especial favourite, and which he had sung--on an occasion memorable to +Sally and her husband--in the little dining-room at Richmond. + +"_Die Schwalb'n flieg'n fort, doch sie zieh'n wieder her; Der Mensch +wenn er fortgeht, er kommt nimmermehr!_" + +Waymark was silent for a little after that. + +When it was nearly eleven o'clock, Casti looked once or twice meaningly +at Waymark, and the friends at length rose to take their leave, in +spite of much protest. O'Gree accompanied them as far as the spot where +they would meet the omnibus, then, with assurances that to-night had +been but the beginning of glorious times, sent them on their way. +Julian was silent during the journey home; he looked very wearied. For +lack of a timely conveyance the last mile or so had to be walked. +Julian's cough had been bad during the evening, and now the cold +night-air seemed to give him much trouble. Presently, just as they +turned a corner, a severe blast of wind met them full in the face. +Julian began coughing violently, and all at once became so weak that he +had to lean against a palisading. Waymark, looking closer in alarm, saw +that the handkerchief which the poor fellow was holding to his mouth +was covered with blood. + +"We must have a cab," he exclaimed. "It is impossible for you to walk +in this state." + +Julian resisted, with assurances that the worst was over for the time. +If Waymark would give the support of his arm, he would get on quite +well. There was no overcoming his resolution to proceed. + +"There's no misunderstanding this, old fellow," he said, with a laugh, +when they had walked a few paces. + +Waymark made no reply. + +"You'll laugh at me," Julian went on, "but isn't there a certain +resemblance between my case and that of Keats? He too was a +drug-pounder; he liked it as little as I do; and he died young of +consumption. I suppose a dying man may speak the truth about himself. I +too might have been a poet, if life had dealt more kindly with me. I +think you would have liked the thing I was writing; I'd finished some +three hundred lines; but now you'll never see it. Well, I don't know +that it matters." + +Waymark tried to speak in a tone of hopefulness, but it was hard to +give his words the semblance of sincerity. + +"Do you remember," Casti continued, "when all my talk used to be about +Rome, and how I planned to see it one day--see it again. I should say? +Strange to think that I really was born in Rome. I used to call myself +a Roman, you know, and grow hot with pride when I thought of it. Those +were dreams. Oh, I was to do wonderful things! Poetry was to make me +rich, and then I would go and live in Italy, and fill my lungs with the +breath of the Forum, and write my great Epic. How good that we can't +foresee our lives!" + +"I wish to heaven," Waymark exclaimed, when they were parting, "that +you would be a man and shake this monstrous yoke from off your neck! It +is that that is killing you. Give yourself a chance. Defy everything +and make yourself free." + +Julian shook his head sadly. + +"Too late! I haven't the courage. My mind weakens with my body." + +He went to his lodgings, and, as he anticipated, found that Harriet had +not yet come home. She was almost always out very late, and he had +learnt too well what t expect on her return. In spite of her illness, +of which she made the most when it suited her purpose, she was able t +wander about at all hours with the acquaintances her husband did not +even know by name, and Julian had no longer the strength even to +implore her to have pity on him. He absence racked him with nervous +fears; her presence tortured him to agony. Weakness in him had reached +a criminal degree. Once or twice he had all but made up his mind to +flee secretly, and only let her know his determination when he had +gone; but his poverty interposed such obstacles that he ended by +accepting them as excuses for his hesitation. The mere thought of +fulfilling the duty which he owed to himself, of speaking out with +manly firmness, and telling her that here at length all ended between +them--that was a terror to his soul. So he stayed on and allowed her to +kill him by slow torment. He was at least carrying out to the letter +the promise he had made to her father, and this thought supplied him +with a flattering unction which, such was his disposition, at times +even brought him a moment's solace. + +There was no fire in the room; he sank upon a chair and waited. Every +sound in the street below sent the blood back upon his heart. At length +there came the fumbling of a latch-key--he could hear it plainly--and +then the heavy foot ascending the stairs. Her glazed eyes and red +cheeks told the familiar tale. She sat down opposite him and was silent +for a minute, half dozing; then she seemed suddenly to become conscious +of his presence, and the words began to flow from her tongue, every one +cutting him to the quick, poisoning his soul with their venom of +jealousy and vulgar spite. Contention was the breath of her nostrils; +the prime impulse of her heart was suspicion. Little by little she came +round to the wonted topic. Had he been to see his friend the thief? Was +she in prison again yet? Whom had she been stealing from of late? Oh, +she was innocence itself, of course; too good for this evil-speaking +world. + +Tonight he could not bear it. He rose from his chair like a drunken +man, and staggered to the door. She sprang after him, but he was just +in time to escape her grasp and spring down the stairs; then, out into +the night. Once before, not quite a month ago, he had been driven thus +in terror from the sound of her voice, and had slept at a coffeehouse. +Now, as soon as he had got out of the street and saw that he was not +being pursued, he discovered that he had given away his last copper for +the omnibus fare. No matter; the air was pleasant upon his throbbing +temples. It was too late to think of knocking at the house where +Waymark lodged. Nothing remained but to walk about the streets all +night, resting on a stone when he became too weary to go further, +sheltering a little here or there when the wind cut him too keenly. +Rather this, oh, a thousand times rather, than the hell behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +NO WAY BUT THIS + + +In the early days of October, Waymark's book appeared. It excited no +special attention. Here and there a reviewer was found who ventured to +hint that there was powerful writing in this new novel, but no one +dared to heartily recommend it to public attention. By some it was +classed with the "unsavoury productions of the so-called naturalist +school;" others passed it by with a few lines of unfavourable comment. +Clearly it was destined to bring the author neither fame nor fortune. + +Waymark was surprised at his own indifference. Having given a copy to +Casti, and one to Maud, he thought very little more of the production. +It had ceased to interest him; he felt that if he were to write again +it would be in a very different way and of different people. Even when +he prided himself most upon his self-knowledge he had been most +ignorant of the direction in which his character was developing. +Unconsciously, he had struggled to the extremity of weariness, and now +he cared only to let things take their course, standing aside from +every shadow of new onset. Above all, he kept away as much as possible +from the house at Tottenham, where Ida was still living. To go there +meant only a renewal of torment. This was in fact the commonplace +period of his life. He had no energy above that of the ordinary young +man who is making his living in a commonplace way, and his higher +faculties lay dormant. + +In one respect, and that, after all, perhaps the most important, his +position would soon be changed. Mr. Woodstock's will, when affairs were +settled, would make him richer by one thousand pounds; he might, if he +chose, presently give up his employment, and either trust to +literature, or look out for something less precarious. A year ago, this +state of things would have filed him with exultation. As it was, he +only saw in it an accident compelling him to a certain fateful duty. +There was now no reason why his marriage should be long delayed. For +Maud's sake the step was clearly desirable. At present she and her +mother were living with Miss Bygrave in the weird old house. Of Paul +there had come no tidings. Their home was of course broken up, and they +had no income of their own to depend upon. Maud herself, though of +course aware of Waymark's prospects, seemed to shrink from speaking of +the future. She grew more and more uncertain as to her real thoughts +and desires. + +And what of Ida? It was hard for her to realise her position; for a +time she was conscious only of an overwhelming sense of loneliness. The +interval of life with her grandfather was dreamlike as she looked back +upon it; yet harder to grasp was the situation in which she now found +herself, surrounded by luxuries which had come to her as if from the +clouds, her own mistress, free to form wishes merely for the sake of +satisfying them. She cared little to realise the minor possibilities of +wealth. The great purpose, the noble end to which her active life had +shaped itself, was sternly present before her; she would not shirk its +demands. But there was lacking the inspiration of joy. Could she harden +herself to every personal desire, and forget, in devotion to others, +the sickness of one great hope deferred? Did her ideal require this of +her? + +Would he come, now that she was free to give herself where she would, +now that she was so alone? The distance between them had increased ever +since the beginning of her new life. She knew well the sort of pride he +was capable of; but was there not something else, something she dreaded +to observe too closely, in the manner of his speech? Did he think so +meanly of her as to deem such precautions necessary against her +misconstruction? Nay, _could_ he have guarded himself in that way if he +really loved her? Would it not have been to degrade her too much in his +own eyes? + +He loved her once. Had she in any way grown less noble in his eyes, by +those very things which she regarded as help and strengthening? Did he +perchance think she had too readily accepted ease when it was offered +her, sacrificing the independence which he most regarded? If so, all +the more would he shrink from losing for her his own independence. + +She imagined herself wedded to him; at liberty to stand before him and +confess all the thoughts which now consumed her in the silence of vain +longing. "Why did I break free from the fetters of a shameful life? +Because I loved, and loved _you_. What gave me the strength to pass +from idle luxury, poisoning the energies of the soul, to that life of +lonely toil and misery? My love, and my love for _you_. I kept apart +from you then; I would not even let you know what I was enduring; only +because you had spoken a hasty, thoughtless word to me, which showed me +with terrible distinctness the meaning of all I had escaped, and filled +me with a determination to prove to myself that I had not lost all my +better nature, that there was still enough of purity in my being to +save me finally. What was it that afflicted me with agony beyond all +words when I was made the victim of a cruel and base accusation? Not +the fear of its consequences; only the dread lest _you_ should believe +me guilty, and no longer deem me worthy of a thought. It is no +arrogance to say that I am become a pure woman; not my own merits, but +love of you has made me so. I love you as a woman loves only once; if +you asked me to give up my life to prove it, I am capable of doing no +less a thing than that. Flesh and spirit I lay before you--all yours; +do you still think the offering unworthy?" + +And yet she knew that she could never thus speak to him; her humility +was too great. At moments she might feel this glow of conscious virtue, +but for the most part the weight of all the past was so heavy upon her. + +Fortunately, her time did not long remain unoccupied. As her +grandfather's heiress she found herself owner of the East-end property, +and, as soon as it was assured that she would incur no danger, she went +over the houses in the company of the builder whom Abraham had chosen +to carry out his proposed restorations. The improvements were proceeded +with at once, greatly to the astonishment of the tenants, to whom such +changes inevitably suggested increase of rent. These fears Ida did her +best to dispel. Dressed in the simplest possible way, and with that +kind, quiet manner which was natural to her, she went about from room +to room, and did her best to become intimately acquainted with the +woman-kind of the Lane and the Court. It was not an easy end to +compass. She was received at first with extreme suspicion; her +appearance aroused that distrust which with the uneducated attaches to +everything novel. In many instances she found it difficult to get it +believed' that she was really the "landlord." But when this idea had +been gradually mastered, and when, moreover, it was discovered that she +brought no tracts, spoke not at all of religious matters, was not +impertinently curious, and showed indeed that she knew a good deal of +what she talked about, something like respect for her began to spring +up here and there, and she was spoken of as "the right sort." + +Ida was excellently fitted for the work she had undertaken. She knew so +well, from her own early experience, the nature of the people with whom +she was brought in contact, and had that instinctive sympathy with +their lives without which it is so vain to attempt practical social +reform. She started with no theory, and as yet had no very definite end +in view; it simply appeared to her that, as owner of these slums, +honesty and regard for her own credit required that she should make +them decent human habitations, and give what other help she could to +people obviously so much in need of it. The best was that she +understood how and when such help could be afforded. To native +practicality and prudence she added a keen recollection of the wants +and difficulties she had struggled through in childhood; there was no +danger of her being foolishly lavish in charity, when she could foresee +with sympathy all the evil results which would ensue. Her only +temptation to imprudence was when, as so often happened, she saw some +little girl in a position which reminded her strongly of her own dark +days; all such she would have liked to take home with her and somehow +provide for, saving them from the wretched alternatives which were all +that life had to offer them. So, little by little, she was brought to +think in a broader way of problems puzzling enough to wiser heads than +hers. Social miseries, which she had previously regarded as mere +matters of fact, having never enjoyed the opportunities of comparison +which alone can present them in any other light, began to move her to +indignation. Often it was with a keen sense of shame that she took the +weekly rent, a sum scraped together Heaven knew how, representing so +much deduction from the food of the family. She knew that it would be +impossible to remit the rent altogether, but at all events there was +the power of reducing it, and this she did in many cases. + +The children she came to regard as her peculiar care. Her strong common +sense taught her that it was with these that most could be done. The +parents could not be reformed; at best they might be kept from that +darkest depth of poverty which corrupts soul and body alike. But might +not the girls be somehow put into the way of earning a decent +livelihood? Ida knew so well the effect upon them of the occupations to +which they mostly turned, occupations degrading to womanhood, blighting +every hope. Even to give them the means of remaining at home would not +greatly help them; there they still breathed a vile atmosphere. To +remove them altogether was the only efficient way, and how could that +be done? + +The months of late summer and autumn saw several more garden-parties. +These, Ida knew, were very useful, but more enduring things must be +devised. Miss Hurst was the only person with whom she could consult, +and that lady's notions were not very practical. If only she could have +spoken freely with Waymark; but that she could no longer on any +subject, least of all on this. As winter set in, he had almost forsaken +her. He showed no interest in her life, beyond asking occasionally what +she was reading, and taking the opportunity to talk of books. +Throughout November she neither saw him nor heard from him. Then one +evening he came. + +She was alone when the servant announced him; with her sat her old +companion, Grim. As Waymark entered, she looked at him with friendly +smile, and said quietly-- + +"I thought you would never come again" + +"I have not kept away through thoughtlessness," he replied. "Believe +that; it is the truth. And to-night I have only come to say good-bye. I +am going to leave London." + +"You used to say nothing would induce you to leave London, and that you +couldn't live anywhere else." + +"Yes; that was one of my old fancies. I am going right away into the +country, at all events for a year or two. I suppose I shall write +novels." + +He moved uneasily under her gaze, and affected a cheerfulness which +could not deceive her. + +"Has your book been a success?" Ida asked. + +"No; it fell dead." + +"Why didn't you give me a copy?" + +"I thought too little of it. It's poor stuff. Better you shouldn't read +it." + +"But I have read it." + +"Got it from the library, did you?" + +"No; I bought it." + +"What a pity to waste so much money!" + +"Why do you speak like that? You know how anything of yours would +interest me." + +"Oh yes, in a certain way, of course." + +"For its own sake, too. I can't criticise, but I know it held me as +nothing else ever did. It was horrible in many parts, but I was the +better for reading it." + +He could not help showing pleasure, and grew more natural. Ida had +purposely refrained from speaking of the book when she read it, more +than a month ago, always hoping that he would be the first to say +something about it. But the news he had brought her to-night put an end +to reticence on her side. She must speak out her heart, cost her what +it might. + +"Who should read it, if not I?" she said, as he remained silent. "Who +can possibly understand it half so well as I do?" + +"Yes," he remarked, with wilful misunderstanding, "you have seen the +places and the people. And I hear you are going on with the work your +grandfather began?" + +"I am trying to do something. If you had been able to give me a little +time now and then, I should have asked you to advise and help me. It is +hard to work there single-handed." + +"You are too good for that; I should have liked to think of you as far +apart from those vile scenes." + +"Too good for it?" Her voice trembled. "How can any one be too good to +help the miserable? If you had said that I was not worthy of such a +privilege--Can you, knowing me as no one else does or ever will, think +that I could live here in peace, whilst those poor creatures stint and +starve themselves every week to provide me with comforts? Do I seem to +you such a woman?" + +He only smiled, his lips tortured to hold their peace. + +"I had hoped you understood me better than that. Is that why you have +left me to myself? Do you doubt my sincerity? Why do you speak so +cruelly, saying I am too good, when your real thoughts must be so +different? You mean that I am incapable of really doing anything; you +have no faith in me. I seem to you too weak to pursue any high end. You +would not even speak to me of your book, because you felt I should not +appreciate it. And yet you do know me--" + +"Yes; I know you well," Waymark said. + +Ida looked steadily at him. "If you are speaking to me for the last +time, won't you be sincere, and tell me of my faults? Do you think I +could not bear it? You can say nothing to me--nothing from your +heart--that I won't accept in all humility. Are we no longer even +friends?" + +"You mistake me altogether." + +"And you are still my friend?" she uttered warmly. "But why do you +think me unfit for good work?" + +"I had no such thought. You know how my ideals oppose each other. I +spoke on the impulse of the moment; I often find it so hard to +reconcile myself to anything in life that is not, still and calm and +beautiful. I am just now bent on forgetting all the things about which +you are so earnest." + +"Earnest? Yes. But I cannot give my whole self to the work. I am so +lonely." + +"You will not be so for long," he answered with more cheerfulness. "You +have every opportunity of making for yourself a good social position. +You will soon have friends, if only you seek them. Your goodness will +make you respected. Indeed I wonder at your remaining so isolated. It +need not be; I am sure it need not. Your wealth--I have no thought of +speaking cynically--your wealth must--" + +"My wealth! What is it to me? What do I care for all the friends it +might bring? They are nothing to me in my misery. But you ... I would +give all I possess for one kind word from you." + +Flushing over forehead and cheeks, she compelled herself to meet his +look. It was her wealth that stood between her and him. Her position +was not like that of other women. Conventionalities were meaningless, +set against a life. + +"I have tried hard to make myself ever so little worthy of you," she +murmured, when her voice would again obey her will. "Am I still--still +too far beneath you?" + +He stood like one detected in a crime, and stammered the words. + +"Ida, I am not free." + +He had risen. Ida sprang up, and moved towards him. + +"_This_ was your secret? Tell me, then. Look--_I_ am strong! Tell me +about it. I might have thought of this. I thought only of myself. I +might have known there was good reason for the distance you put between +us. Forgive me--oh, forgive the pain I have caused you! + +"You asking for forgiveness? How you must despise me." + +"Why should I despise you? You have never said a word to me that any +friend, any near friend, might not have said, never since I myself, in +my folly, forbade you to. You were not bound to tell me--" + +"I had told your grandfather," Waymark said in a broken voice. "In a +letter I wrote the very day he was taken ill, I begged him to let you +know that I had bound myself." + +As he spoke he knew that he was excusing himself with a truth which +implied a falsehood, and before it was too late his soul revolted +against the unworthiness. + +"But it was my own fault that it was left so long. I would not let him +tell you when he wished to; I put off the day as long as I could." + +"Since you first knew me?" she asked, in a low voice. + +"No! Since you came to live here. I was free before." + +It was the part of his confession which cost him most to utter, and the +hearing of it chilled Ida's heart. Whilst she had been living through +her bitterest shame and misery, he had given his love to another woman, +forgetful of her. For the first time, weakness overcame her. + +"I thought you loved me," she sobbed, bowing her head. + +"I did--and I do. I can't understand myself, and it would be worse than +vain to try to show you how it came about. I have brought a curse upon +my life, and worse than my own despair is your misery." + +"Is she a good woman you are going to marry?" Ida asked simply and +kindly. + +"Only less noble than yourself." + +"And she loves you--no, she cannot love as I do--but she loves you +worthily and with all her soul?" + +"Worthily and with all her soul--the greater my despair." + +"Then I dare not think of her one unkind thought. We must remember her, +and be strong for her sake. You will leave London and forget me +soon,--yes, yes, you will _try_ to forget me. You owe it to her; it is +your duty." + +"Duty!" he broke out passionately. "What have I to do with duty? Was it +not my duty to be true to you? Was it not my duty to confess my hateful +weakness, when I had taken the fatal step? Duty has no meaning for me. +I have set it aside at every turn. Even now there would be no +obligation on me to keep my word, but that I am too great a coward to +revoke it." + +She stood near to him. + +"Dear,--I will call you so, it is for the last time,--you think these +things in the worst moment of our suffering; afterwards you will thank +me for having been strong enough, or cold enough, to be your +conscience. There _is_ such a thing as duty; it speaks in your heart +and in mine, and tells us that we must part." + +"You speak so lightly of parting. If you felt all that I--" + +"My love is no shadow less than yours," she said, with earnestness +which was well nigh severity. "I have never wavered from you since I +knew you first." + +"Ida!" + +"I meant no reproach, but it will perhaps help you to think of that. +You _did_ love her, if it was only for a day, and that love will +return." + +She moved from him, and he too rose. + +"You shame me," he said, under his breath. "I am not worthy to touch +your hand." + +"Yes," she returned, smiling amid her tears, "very worthy of all the +love I have given you, and of the love with which _she_ will make you +happy. I shall suffer, but the thought of your happiness will help me +to bear up and try to live a life you would not call ignoble. You will +do great things, and I shall hear of them, and be glad. Yes; I know +that is before you. You are one of those who cannot rest till they have +won a high place. I, too, have my work, and--" + +Her voice failed. + +"Shall we never see each other again, Ida?" + +"Perhaps. In a few years we might meet, and be friends. But I dare not +think of that now." + +They clasped hands, for one dread moment resisted the lure of eyes and +lips, and so parted. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +FORBIDDEN + + +December was half through, and it was the eve of Maud Enderby's +marriage-day. Everything was ready for the morrow. Waymark had been +away in the South, and the house to which he would take his wife now +awaited their coming. + +It was a foggy night. Maud had been for an hour to Our Lady of the +Rosary, and found it difficult to make her way back. The street lamps +were mere luminous blurs upon the clinging darkness, and the suspension +of the wonted traffic made the air strangely still. It was cold, that +kind of cold which wraps the limbs like a cloth soaked in icy water. +When she knocked at the door of her aunt's house, and it was opened to +her, wreaths of mist swept in and hung about the lighted hall. It +seemed colder within than without. Footsteps echoed here in the old +way, and voices lost themselves in a muffled resonance along the bare +white walls. The house was more tomb-like than ever on such a night as +thin To Maud's eyes the intruding fog shaped itself into ghostly +visages, which looked upon her with weird and woeful compassion. She +shuddered, and hastened upstairs to her mother's room. + +After her husband's disappearance, Mrs. Enderby had passed her days in +a morbid apathy, contrasting strangely with the restless excitement +which had so long possessed her. But a change came over her from the +day when she was told of Maud's approaching marriage. It was her +delight to have Maud sit by her bed, or her couch, and talk over the +details of the wedding and the new life that would follow upon it. Her +interest in Waymark, which had fallen off during the past half-year, +all at once revived; she conversed with him as she had been used to do +when she first made his acquaintance, and the publication of his book +afforded her endless matter for gossip. She began to speak of herself +as an old woman, and of spending her last years happily in the country. +To all appearances she had dismissed from her mind the calamity which +had befallen her; her husband might have been long dead for any thought +she seemed to give him. She was wholly taken up with childish joy in +trivial matters. The dress in which Maud should be married gave her +thoughts constant occupation, and she fretted at any opposition to her +ideas. Still, like a child, she allowed herself to be brought round to +others' views, and was ultimately led to consent that the costume +should be a very simple one, merely a new dress, in fact, which Maud +would be able to wear subsequently with little change. Even thus, every +detail of it was as important to her as if it had been the most +elaborate piece of bridal attire. In talking with Maud, too, she had +lost that kind of awe which had formerly restrained her; it was as +though she had been an affectionate mother ever since her daughter's +birth. She called her by pet names, often caressed her, and wished for +loving words and acts in return. Of Miss Bygrave's presence in the +house she appeared scarcely conscious, never referring to her, and +suffering a vague trouble if her sister entered the room where she was, +which Theresa did very seldom. + +The new dress had come home finished this evening whilst Maud was away. +On the latter's return, her mother insisted on seeing her at once in +it, and Maud obeyed. A strange bride, rather as one who was about to +wed herself to Heaven beneath the veil, than preparing to be led to the +altar. + +Having resumed her ordinary dregs, Maud went downstairs to the parlour +where her aunt was sitting. Miss Bygrave laid down a book as she +entered. + +"We shall not see each other after tonight," Theresa said, breaking the +stillness with her grave but not unkind voice. "Is there anything more +you would like to say to me, Maud?" + +"Only that I shall always think of you, and grieve that we are parted." + +"You are going into the world," said the other sadly, "my thoughts +cannot follow you there. But your purer spirit will often be with me." + +"And your spirit with me. If I had been permitted to share your life, +that would have been my greatest joy. I am consciously choosing what my +soul would set aside. For a time I thought I had reconciled myself to +the world; I found delight in it, and came to look on the promptings of +the spirit as morbid fancies. That has passed. I know the highest, but +between me and it there is a gulf which it may be I shall never pass." + +"It is only to few," said Theresa, looking at Maud with her smile of +assured peace, "that it is given to persevere and attain." + +As they sat once more in silence, there suddenly came a light knock at +the house-door. At this moment Maud's thoughts had wandered back to a +Christmas of her childhood, when she had sat just as to-night with her +aunt, and had for the first time listened to those teachings which had +moulded her life. The intervening years were swept away, and she was +once more the thoughtful, wondering child, conscious of the great +difference between herself and her companions; in spite of herself +learning to regard the world in which they moved as something in which +she had no part. Of those school companions a few came back to her +mind, and, before all, the poor girl named Ida Starr, whom she had +loved and admired. What had become of Ida, after she had been sent away +from Miss Rutherford's school? She remembered that last meeting with +her in the street, on the evening of Christmas Day, and could see her +face. + +The house door was opened, and Maud heard a voice outside which held +her to the spot where she stood. Then Theresa re-entered the room, and +after her came Paul Enderby. + +He seemed to be wearing a disguise; at all events his clothing was that +of a working man, poor and worn, and his face was changed by the growth +of a beard. He shivered with cold, and, as Miss Bygrave closed the door +behind him, stood with eyes sunk to the ground, in an attitude of +misery and shame. Maud, recovering quickly from the shock his entrance +had caused her, approached him and took his hand. + +"Father," she said gently. Her voice overcame him; he burst into tears +and stood hiding his face with the rough cap he held. Maud turned to +her aunt, who remained at a little distance, unmoving, her eyes cast +down. Before any other word was said, the door opened quickly, and Mrs. +Enderby ran in with a smothered cry. Throwing her arms about her +husband, she clung to him in a passion of grief and tenderness. In a +moment she had been changed from the listless, childish woman of the +last few months to a creature instinct with violent emotion. Her +mingled excess of joy and anguish could not have displayed itself more +vehemently had she been sorrowing night and day for her husband's loss. +Maud was terrified at the scene, and shrunk to Theresa's side. Without +heeding either, the distracted woman led Paul from the room, and +upstairs to her own chamber. Drawing him to a chair, she fell on her +knees beside him and wept agonisingly. + +"You will stay with me now?" she cried, when her voice could form +words. "You won't leave me again, Paul? We will hide you here.--No, no; +I am for getting. You will go away with us, away from London to a safe +place. Maud is going to be married to-morrow, and we will live with her +in her new home. You have suffered dreadfully; you look so changed, so +ill. You shall rest, and I will nurse you. Oh, I will be a good wife to +you, Paul. Speak to me, do speak to me: speak kindly, dear! How long is +it since I lost you?" + +"I daren't stay, Emily," he replied, in a hoarse and broken voice. "I +should be discovered. I must get away from England, that is my only +chance. I have scarcely left the house where I was hiding all this +time. It wouldn't have been safe to try and escape, even if I had had +any money. I have hungered for days, and I am weaker than a child." + +He sobbed again in the extremity of his wretchedness. + +"It was all for my sake!" she cried, clinging around his neck. "I am +your curse. I have brought you to ruin a second time. I am a bad, +wretched woman; if you drove me from you with blows it would be less +than I deserve! You can never forgive me; but let me be your slave, let +me suffer something dreadful for your sake! Why did I ever recover from +my madness, only to bring that upon you!" + +He could speak little, but leaned back, holding her to him with one arm. + +"No, it is not your fault, Emily," he said. "Only my own weakness and +folly. Your love repays me for all I have undergone; that was all I +ever wanted." + +When she had exhausted herself in passionate consolation, she left him +for a few moments to get him food, and he ate of it like a famished man. + +"If I can only get money enough to leave the country, I am saved," he +said. "If I stay here, I shall be found, and they will imprison me for +years. I had rather kill myself! + +"Mr. Waymark will give us the money," was the reply, "and we will go +away together." + +"That would betray me; it would be folly to face such a risk. If I can +escape, then you shall come to me." + +"Oh, you will leave me!" she cried. "I shall lose you, as I did before, +but this time for ever! You don't love me, Paul! And how can I expect +you should? But let me go as your servant. Let me dress like a man, and +follow you. Who will notice then?" + +He shook his head. + +"I love you, Emily, and shall love you as long as I breathe. To hear +you speak to me like this has almost the power to make me happy. If I +had known it, I shouldn't have stayed so long away from you; I hadn't +the courage to come, and I thought the sight of me would only be misery +to you. I have lived a terrible life, among the poorest people, getting +my bread as they did; oftener starving. Not one of my acquaintances was +to be trusted. I have not seen one face I knew since I first heard of +my danger and escaped. But I had rather live on like that than fall +into the hands of the police; I should never know freedom again. The +thought maddens me with fear." + +"You are safe here, love, quite safe!" she urged soothingly. "Who could +know that you are here? Who could know that Maud and I were living +here?" + +There was a tap at the door. Mrs. Enderby started to it, turned the +key, and then asked who was there. + +"Emily," said Miss Bygrave's voice, "let me come in--or let Paul come +out here and speak to me." + +There was something unusual in the speaker's tone; it was quick and +nervous. Paul himself went to the door, and, putting his wife's hand +aside, opened it. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +She beckoned him to leave the room, then whispered: + +"Some one I don't know is at the front door. I opened it with the chain +on, and a man said he must see Mr. Enderby." + +"Can't I go out by the back?" Paul asked, all but voiceless with +terror. "I daren't hide in the rooms; they will search them all. How +did they know that I was here? O God, I am lost!" + +They could hear the knocking below repeated. Paul hurried down the +stairs, followed by his wife, whom Theresa in vain tried to hold back +He knew the way to the door which led into the garden, and opening +this, sprang into the darkness. Scarcely had he taken a step, when +strong arms seized him. + +"Hold on!" said a voice. "You must come back with me into the house." + +At the same moment there was a shriek close at hand, and, as they +turned to the open door, Paul and his captor saw Emily prostrate on the +threshold, and Miss Bygrave stooping over her. + +"Better open the front door, ma'am," said the police officer, "and ask +my friend there to come through. We've got all we want." + +This was done, and when Emily had been carried into the house, Paul was +led thither also by his captor. As they stood in the hall, the second +officer drew from his pocket a warrant, and read it out with official +gravity. + +"You'll go quietly with us, I suppose?" he then said. + +Paul nodded, and all three departed by the front door. + +It was midnight and before Mrs. Enderby showed any signs of returning +consciousness. Miss Bygrave and Maud sat by her bed together, and at +length one of them noticed that she had opened her eyes and was looking +about her, though without moving her head. + +"Mother," Maud asked, bending over her, "are you better? Do you know +me?" + +Emily nodded. There was no touch of natural colour in her face, and its +muscles seemed paralysed. And she lay thus for hours, conscious +apparently, but paying no attention to those in the room. Early in the +morning a medical man was summoned, but his assistance made no change. +The fog was still heavy, and only towards noon was it possible to +dispense with lamp-light; then there gleamed for an hour or two a weird +mockery of day, and again it was nightfall. With the darkness came rain. + +Waymark had come to the house about ten o'clock. But this was to be no +wedding-day. Maud begged him through her aunt not to see her, and he +returned as he came. Miss Bygrave had told him all that had happened. + +Mrs. Enderby seemed to sleep for some hours, but just after nightfall +the previous condition returned; she lay with her eyes open, and just +nodded when spoken to. From eight o'clock to midnight Maud tried to +rest in her own room, but sleep was far from her, and when she returned +to the sick-chamber to relieve her aunt, she was almost as worn and +ghastly in countenance as the one they tended. She took her place by +the fire, and sat listening to the sad rain, which fell heavily upon +the soaked garden-ground below. It had a lulling effect. Weariness +overcame her, and before she could suspect the inclination, she had +fallen asleep. + +Suddenly she was awake again, wide awake, it seemed to her, without any +interval of half-consciousness, and staring horror-struck at the scene +before her. The shaded lamp stood on the chest of drawers at one side +of the room, and by its light she saw her mother in front of the +looking-glass, her raised hand holding something that glistened. She +could not move a limb; her tongue was powerless to utter a sound. There +was a wild laugh, a quick motion of the raised hand--then it seemed to +Maud as if the room were filled with a crimson light, followed by the +eternal darkness. + + * * * * * + +A fortnight later Miss Bygrave was sitting in the early morning by the +bed where Maud lay ill. For some days it had been feared that the +girl's reason would fail, and though this worst possibility seemed at +length averted, her condition was still full of danger. She had +recognised her aunt the preceding evening, but a relapse had followed. +Now she unexpectedly turned to the watcher, and spoke feebly, but with +perfect self-control. + +"Aunt, is madness hereditary?" + +Miss Bygrave, who had thought her asleep, bent over her and tried to +turn her mind to other thoughts. But the sick girl would speak only of +this subject. + +"I am quite myself," she said, "and I feel better. Yes, I remember +reading somewhere that it was hereditary." + +She was quiet for a little. + +"Aunt," she then said, "I shall never be married. It would be wrong to +him. I am afraid of myself." + +She did not recur to the subject till she had risen, two or three weeks +after, and was strong enough to move about the room. Waymark had called +every day during her illness. As soon as he heard that she was up, he +desired to see her, but Maud begged him, through her aunt, to wait yet +a day or two. In the night which followed she wrote to him, and the +letter was this: + +"If I had seen you when you called yesterday, I should have had to face +a task beyond my strength. Yet it would be wrong to keep from you any +longer what I have to say. I must write it, and hope your knowledge of +me will help you to understand what I can only imperfectly express. + +"I ask you to let me break my promise to you. I have not ceased to love +you; to me you are still all that is best and dearest in the world. You +would have made my life very happy. But happiness is now what I dare +not wish for. I am too weak to make that use of it which, I do not +doubt, is permitted us; it would enslave my soul. With a nature such as +mine, there is only one path of safety: I must renounce all. You know +me to be no hypocrite, and to you, in this moment, I need not fear to +speak my whole thought, The sacrifice has cost me much To break my +faith to you, and to put aside for ever all the world's joys--the +strength for this has only come after hours of bitterest striving. Try +to be glad that I have won; it is all behind me, and I stand upon the +threshold of peace. + +"You know how from a child I have suffered. What to others was pure and +lawful joy became to me a temptation. But God was not unjust; if He so +framed me, He gave me at the same time the power to understand and to +choose. All those warnings which I have, in my blindness, spoken of so +lightly to you, I now recall with humbler and truer mind. If the shadow +of sin darkened my path, it was that I might look well to my steps, +and, alas, I have failed so, have gone so grievously astray! God, in +His righteous anger, has terribly visited me. The most fearful form of +death has risen before me; I have been cast into abysses of horror, and +only saved from frenzy by the mercy which brought all this upon me for +my good. A few months ago I had also a warning. I did not disregard it, +but I could not overcome the love which bound me to you. But for that +love, how much easier it would have been to me to overcome the world +and myself. + +"You will forgive me, for you will understand me. Do not write in +reply; spare me, I entreat you, a renewal of that dark hour I have +passed through. With my aunt I am going to leave London. We shall +remain together, and she will strengthen me in the new life. May God +bless you here and hereafter. MAUD ENDERBY." + +After an interval of a day Waymark wrote as follows to Miss Bygrave:-- + +"Doubtless you know that Maud has written desiring me to release her. I +cannot but remember that she is scarcely yet recovered from a severe +illness, and her letter must not be final. She entreats me not to write +to her or see her. Accordingly I address myself to you, and beg that +you will not allow Maud to take any irrevocable step till she is +perfectly well, and has had time to reflect. I shall still deem her +promise to me binding. If after the lapse of six months from now she +still desires to be released, I must know it, either from herself or +from you. Write to me at the old address." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +ORDERS OF RELEASE + + +Waymark and Casti spent their Christmas Eve together. They spoke freely +of each other's affairs, saving that there was no mention of Ida. +Waymark had of course said nothing of that parting between Ida and +himself. Of the hope which supported him he could not speak to his +friend. + +A month had told upon Julian as months do when the end draws so near. +In spite of his suffering he still discharged his duties at the +hospital, but it was plain that he would not be able to do so much +longer. And what would happen then? + +"Casti," Waymark exclaimed suddenly, when a hint of this thought had +brought both of them to a pause, "come away with me." + +Julian looked up in bewilderment. + +"Where to?" + +"Anywhere. To some place where the sun shines." + +"What an impossible idea! How am I to get my living? And how is she to +live?" + +"Look here," Waymark said, smiling, "my will is a little stronger than +yours, and in the present case I mean to exercise it. I have said, and +there's an end of it. You say she'll be away from home to-morrow. Good. +We go together, pack up your books and things in half an hour or so, +bring them here,--and then off! _Sic volo, sic jubeo, sit pro ratione +voluntas!_" + +And it was done, though not till Waymark had overcome the other's +opposition by the most determined effort. Julian understood perfectly +well the full significance of the scheme, for all Waymark's kind +endeavour to put a hopeful and commonplace aspect on his proposal. He +resisted as long as his strength would allow, then put himself in his +friend's hands. + +It was some time before Julian could set his mind at rest with regard +to the desertion of his wife. Though no one capable of judging the +situation could have cast upon him a shadow of blame, the first +experience of peace mingled itself in his mind with self-reproach. +Waymark showed him how utterly baseless any such feeling was. Harriet +had proved herself unworthy of a moment's consideration, and it was +certain that, as long as she received her weekly remittance--paid +through an agent in London,--she would trouble herself very little +about the rest; or, at all events, any feeling that might possess her +would be wholly undeserving of respect. Gradually Julian accustomed +himself to this thought. + +They were in the Isle of Wight; comfortably housed, with the sea before +their eyes, and the boon of sunshine which Casti had so longed for. + +Waymark gave himself wholly to the invalid. He had no impulse to resume +literary work; anything was welcome which enabled him to fill up the +day and reach the morrow. Whilst Julian lay on the couch, which was +drawn up to the fireside, Waymark read aloud anything that could lead +them to forget themselves. At other times, Julian either read to +himself or wrote verse, which, however, he did not show to his friend. +Before springtime came he found it difficult even to maintain a sitting +attitude for long. His cough still racked him terribly. Waymark often +lay awake in the night, listening to that fearful sound in the next +room. At such times he tried to fancy himself in the dying man's +position, and then the sweat of horror came upon his brow. Deeply he +sympathised with the misery he could do so little to allay. Yet he was +doing what he might to make the end a quiet one, and the consciousness +of this brought him many a calm moment. + +However it might be in those fearful vigils, Julian's days did not seem +unhappy. He was resigning himself to the inevitable, in the strength of +that quiet which sometimes ensues upon despair. Now and then he could +even be, to all appearances, light-hearted. + +With the early May he had a revival of inspiration. Strangely losing +sight of his desperate condition, he spoke once more of beginning the +great poem planned long ago. It was living within his mind and heart, +he said. Waymark listened to him whilst he unfolded book after book of +glorious vision; listened, and wondered. + +There was a splendid sunset one evening at this time, and the two +watched it together from the room in which they always sat. Seas of +molten gold, strands and promontories of jasper and amethyst, +illimitable mountain-ranges, cities of unimagined splendour, all were +there in that extent of evening sky. They watched it till the vision +wasted before the breath of night. + +"What shall I read?" Waymark asked, when the lamp was lit. + +"Read that passage in the Georgics which glorifies Italy," Julian +replied. "It will suit my mood to-night." + +Waymark took down his Virgil. + + "Sed neque Medorum silvae, ditissima terra, + Nec pulcher Ganges atque auro turbibus Hermus + Laudibus Italiae certent, non Bactra, neque Indi, + Totaque turiferis Panchaia pinguis arenis." + +Julian's eyes glistened as the melody rolled on, and when it ceased, +both were quiet for a time. + +"Waymark," Julian said presently, a gentle tremor in his voice, "why do +we never speak of her?" + +"_Can_ we speak of her?" Waymark returned, knowing well who was meant. + +"A short time ago I could not; now I feel the need. It will give me no +pain, but great happiness.', + +"That is all gone by," he continued, with a solemn smile. "To me she is +no longer anything but a remembrance, an ideal I once knew. The noblest +and sweetest woman I have known, or shall know, on earth." + +They talked of her with subdued voices, reverently and tenderly. +Waymark described what he knew or divined of the life she was now +leading, her beneficent activity, her perfect adaptation to the new +place she filled. + +"In a little while," Julian said, when they had fallen into thought +again, "you will have your second letter. And then?" + +There was no answer. Julian waited a moment, then rose and, clasping +his friend's hand, bade him good night. + +Waymark awoke once or twice before morning, but there was no coughing +in the next room. He felt glad, and wondered whether there was indeed +any improvement in the invalid's health. But at the usual +breakfast-time Julian did not appear. Waymark knocked at his door, with +no result. He turned the handle and entered. + +On this same day, Ida was visiting her houses. Litany lane and Elm +Court now wore a changed appearance. At present it was possible to +breathe even in the inmost recesses of the Court. There the fronts of +the houses were fresh white-washed; in the Lane they were new-painted. +Even the pavement and the road-way exhibited an improvement. If you +penetrated into garrets and cellars you no longer found squalor and +dilapidation; poverty in plenty, but at all events an attempt at +cleanliness everywhere, as far, that is to say, as a landlord's care +could ensure it. The stair-cases had ceased to be rotten pit-falls; the +ceilings showed traces of recent care; the walls no longer dripped with +moisture or were foul with patches of filth. Not much change, it is +true, in the appearance of the inhabitants; yet close inquiry would +have elicited comforting assurances of progressing reform, results of a +supervision which was never offensive, never thoughtlessly exaggerated. +Especially in the condition of the children improvement was +discernible. Lodgers in the Lane and the Court had come to understand +that not even punctual payment of weekly rent was sufficient to +guarantee them stability of tenure. Under this singular lady-landlord +something more than that was expected and required, and, whilst those +who were capable of adjusting themselves to the new _regime_ found, on +the whole, that things went vastly better with them, such as could by +no means overcome their love of filth, moral and material, troubled +themselves little when the notice to quit came, together with a little +sum of ready money to cover the expenses of removal. + +Among those whom Ida called upon this afternoon was an old woman who, +in addition to her own voluminous troubles, was always in a position to +give a _compte-rendu_ of the general distress of the neighbourhood. +People had discovered that her eloquence could be profitably made use +of in their own service, and not infrequently, when speaking with Ida, +she was in reality holding a brief from this or that neighbour, marked, +not indeed in guineas, but in "twos" of strong beverage, obtainable at +her favourite house of call. To-day she held such a brief, and was more +than usually urgent in the representation of a deserving case. + +"Oh, Miss Woodstock, mem, there's a poor young 'oman a-lyin' at the +Clock 'Ouse, as it really makes one's 'art bleed to tell of her! For +all she's so young, she's a widder, an' pr'aps it's as well she should +be, seein' how shockin' her 'usband treated her afore he was took where +no doubt he's bein' done as he did by. It's fair cruel, Miss Woodstock, +mem, to see her sufferin's. She has fits, an' falls down everywheres; +it's a mercy as she 'asn't been run over in the public street long ago. +They're hepiplectic fits, I'm told, an' laws o' me! the way she foams +at the mouth! No doubt as they was brought on by her 'usband's +etrocious treatment. I understand as he was a man as called hisself a +gentleman. He was allus that jealous of the pore innocent thing, +mem--castin' in her teeth things as I couldn't bring myself not even to +'int at in your presence, Miss Woodstock, mem. Many's the time he's +beat her black an' blue, when she jist went out to get a bit o' +somethink for his tea at night, 'cos he would 'ave it she'd been +a-doin' what she 'adn't ought--" + +"Where is she?" Ida asked, thinking she had now gathered enough of the +features of the case. + +"I said at the Clock 'Ouse, mem. Mrs. Sprowl's took her in' mem, and is +be'avin' to her like a mother. She knew her, did Mrs. Sprowl, in the +pore thing's 'appy days, before ever she married. But of course it +ain't likely as Mrs. Sprowl can keep her as long as her pore life +lasts; not to speak of the expense; its a terrible responsibility, +owin' to the hepiplectic ailment, mem, as of course you understand." + +"Can't she get into any hospital!" + +"She only just came out, mem, not two weeks ago. They couldn't do no +more for the pore creature, and so she had to go. An' she 'asn't not a +friend in the world, 'ceptin' Mrs. Sprowl, as is no less than a mother +to her." + +"Do you know her name?" + +"Mrs. Casty, mem. It's a Irish name, I b'lieve, an' I can't say as I'm +partial to the Irish, but--" + +"Very well," Ida broke in hastily. "I'll see if I can do anything." + +Paying no attention to the blessings showered upon her by the counsel +in this case, blessings to which she was accustomed, and of which she +well understood the value, Ida went out into the Lane, and walked away +quickly. She did not pause at the Clock House, but walked as far as a +quiet street some little distance off, and then paced the pavement for +a while, in thought. Who this "Mrs. Casty" was she could have little +doubt. The calumnies against her husband were just such as Harriet +Casti would be likely to circulate. + +For a moment it had seemed possible to go to the public-house and make +personal inquiries, but reflection showed her that this would be a +needless imprudence, even had she been able to overcome herself +sufficiently for such an interview. She went home instead, and at once +despatched Miss Hurst to the Clock House to discover whether it was +indeed Harriet Casti who lay there, and, if so, what her real condition +was. That lady returned with evidence establishing the sick woman's +identity. Harriet, she reported, was indeed in a sad state, clearly +incapable of supporting herself by any kind of work. Her husband--Miss +Hurst was told--had deserted her, leaving her entirely without means, +and now, but for Mrs. Sprowl's charity, she would have been in the +workhouse. This story sounded very strangely to Ida. It might mean that +Julian was dead. She wrote a few lines to Waymark, at the old address, +and had a speedy reply. Yes, Julian Casti was dead, but the grave had +not yet closed over him. Harriet had been in receipt of money, and need +have wanted for nothing; but _now_ she must expect no more. + +The result of it all was that, in the course of a week, Harriet was +informed by Miss Hurst that a place was open to her in a hospital near +London, where she could remain as long as her ailments rendered it +necessary; the expense would be provided for by a lady who had been +told of the case, and wished to give what aid she could. The offer was +rejected, and with insult. When next she visited Litany Lane, Ida +learnt that "pore Mrs. Casty," after a quarrel with her friend Mrs. +Sprowl, had fallen downstairs in a fit and broken her neck. + +Waymark lived on in the Isle of Wight, until a day when there came to +him a letter from Miss Bygrave. It told him that Maud's resolve was +immutable, and added that aunt and niece, having become members of "the +true Church," were about to join a sisterhood in a midland town, where +their lives would be devoted to work of charity. + +Not many days after this, Ida, in London, received a letter, addressed +in a hand she knew well. There was a flush on her face as she began to +read; but presently came the pallor of a sudden joy almost too great to +be borne. The letter was a long one, containing the story of several +years of the writer's life, related with unflinching sincerity, bad and +good impartially set down, and all leading up to words which danced in +golden sunlight before her tear-dimmed eyes. + +For an hour she sat alone, scarce moving. Yet it seemed to her that +only a few minutes were allowed to pass before she took her pen and +wrote. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Unclassed, by George Gissing + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE UNCLASSED *** + +***** This file should be named 4305.txt or 4305.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/4/3/0/4305/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Hart +and may be reprinted only when these Etexts are free of all fees.] +[Project Gutenberg is a TradeMark and may not be used in any sales +of Project Gutenberg Etexts or other materials be they hardware or +software or any other related product without express permission.] + +*END THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.10/04/01*END* + + + + +Edited by Charles Aldarondo (aldarondo@yahoo.com) + +George Gissing + +The Unclassed + + + + + +CHAPTER I + +SCHOOL + + + + +There was strange disorder in Miss Rutherford's schoolroom, wont to +be the abode of decorum. True, it was the gathering-time after the +dinner-hour, and Miss Rutherford herself was as yet out of sight; +but things seemed to be going forward of a somewhat more serious +kind than a game of romps among the children. There were screams and +sobbings, hysterical cries for help; some of the little girls were +crowding round an object in one corner of the room, others appeared +to be getting as far away from it as possible, hiding their pale +faces in their hands, or looking at one another with terrified eyes. +At length one more thoughtful than the rest sped away out of the +room, and stood at the bottom of the stairs, calling out her +teacher's name as loud as she could. A moment, and Miss Rutherford +came hastening down, with alarmed aspect, begging to be told what +was the matter. But the summoner had turned and fled at the first +sight of the lady's garments. Miss Rutherford darted into the +schoolroom, and at once there was quietness, save for half-choked +sobs here and there, and a more ominous kind of moaning from the +crowded corner. + +"Gracious goodness, children, what is it? Who's that lying on the +floor? Harriet Smales! What _ever_ has happened?" + +The cluster of children had fallen aside, exposing a strange +picture. On the ground lay a girl of twelve, her face deadly pale, +save in the places where it was dabbled with fresh blood, which +still streamed from a gash on the right side of her forehead. Her +eyes were half opened; she was just recovering consciousness; a moan +came from her at intervals. She had for support the lap and arms of +a little girl, perhaps two years younger than herself. Heedless of +the flowing blood, this child was pressing her pale cheek against +that of the wounded one, whose name she kept murmuring in pitiful +accents, mixed with endearing epithets. So unconscious was she of +all around, that the falling back of the other children did not +cause her to raise her eyes; neither was she aware of Miss +Rutherford's first exclamations, nor yet of the question which was +next addressed to her by the horrified schoolmistress. + +"How did it happen? Some of you run at once for a doctor--Dr. +Williams in Grove Road--Oh, quick!--Ida Starr, how _did_ it +happen?" + +Ida did not move, but seemed to tighten her embrace. The other +pupils all looked fearfully hither and thither, but none ventured to +speak. + +"Ida!" repeated Miss Rutherford, dropping on her knees by the two, +and beginning to wipe away some of the blood with her handkerchief. +"Speak, child! Has some one gone for the doctor? How was it done?" + +The face at length turned upon the questioner was almost as ghastly +and red-stained as that it had been pressed against. But it had +become self-controlled; the dark eyes looked straight forward with +an expression marvellously full of meaning in one so young; the lips +did not tremble as they spoke. + +"I did it, Miss Rutherford. I have killed Harriet. I, and nobody +else." + +"You? How, child?" + +"I killed her with the slate, Miss Rutherford; this slate, look." + +She pointed to a slate without a frame which lay on the floor. There +were sums worked on the uppermost side, and the pencil-marks were +half obliterated. For a moment the schoolmistress's amazement held +her motionless, but fresh and louder moans recalled her to the +immediate necessities of the case. She pushed Ida Starr aside, and, +with the help of a servant-girl who had by this time appeared in the +room, raised the sufferer into a chair, and began to apply what +remedies suggested themselves. The surgeon, whom several of the +children had hastened to seek, only lived a few yards away, and his +assistant was speedily present. Harriet Smales had quite recovered +consciousness, and was very soon able to give her own account of the +incident. After listening to her, Miss Rutherford turned to the +schoolchildren, who were now seated in the usual order on benches, +and spoke to them with some degree of calm. + +"I am going to take Harriet home. Lucy Wood, you will please to see +that order is preserved in my absence; I shall only be away twenty +minutes, at the most. Ida Starr, you will go up into my +sitting-room, and remain there till I come to you. All take out your +copy-books; I shall examine the lines written whilst I am away." + +The servant, who had been despatched for a cab, appeared at the +door. Harriet Smales was led out. Before leaving the house, Miss +Rutherford whispered to the servant an order to occupy herself in +the sitting-room, so as to keep Ida Starr in sight. + +Miss Rutherford, strict disciplinarian when her nerves were not +unstrung, was as good as her promise with regard to the copy-books. +She had returned within the twenty minutes, and the first thing she +did was to walk along all the benches, making a comment here, a +correction there, in another place giving a word of praise. Then she +took her place at the raised desk whence she was wont to survey the +little room. + +There were present thirteen pupils, the oldest of them turned +fifteen, the youngest scarcely six. They appeared to be the +daughters of respectable people, probably of tradesmen in the +neighbourhood. This school was in Lisson Grove, in the north-west of +London; a spot not to be pictured from its name by those ignorant of +the locality; in point of fact a dingy street, with a mixture of +shops and private houses. On the front door was a plate displaying +Miss Rutherford's name,--nothing more. That lady herself was +middle-aged, grave at all times, kindly, and, be it added, fairly +competent as things go in the world of school. The room was rather +bare, but the good fire necessitated by the winter season was not +wanting, and the plain boarding of the floor showed itself no +stranger to scrubbings. A clock hanging on the wall ticked very +loudly in the perfect stillness as the schoolmistress took her seat. + +She appeared to examine a book for a few moments, then raised her +head, looked at the faces before her with a troubled expression, and +began to speak. + +"I wish to know who can give me any account of the way in which +Harriet Smales received her hurt. Stop! Hands only, please. And only +those raise their hands who actually saw the blow struck, and +overheard _all_ that led to it. You understand, now? One, two, three +--seven altogether, that is quite enough. Those seven will wait in +the room at four o'clock till the others have all gone. Now I will +give the first class their sums." + +The afternoon passed Very slowly to teacher and pupils alike. When +the clock struck four, work was put away with more than the usual +noise and hurry. Miss Rutherford seemed for a time to be on the +point of making some new address to the school before the children +departed, but eventually she decided to keep silence, and the +dismissal was got over as quickly as possible. The seven witnesses +remained, solemnly seated at their desks, all anxious-looking. + +"Lucy Wood," Miss Rutherford began, when the door was closed and +quiet, "you are the eldest. Please tell me all you can of this sad +affair." + +There was one of the seven faces far more discomposed than the rest, +a sweet and spiritual little countenance; it was tear-stained, +red-eyed; the eager look, the trembling lips spoke some intimate +cause of sympathy. Before the girl addressed had time to begin her +answer, this other, one would have said in spite of herself, +intervened with an almost agonised question. + +"Oh, Miss Rutherford, is Harriet really dead?" + +"Hush, hush!" said the lady, with a shocked look. "No, my dear, she +is only badly hurt." + +"And she really won't die?" pleaded the child, with an instant +brightening of look. + +"Certainly not, certainly not. Now be quiet, Maud, and let Lucy +begin." + +Lucy, a sensible and matter-of-fact girl, made a straightforward +narration, the facts of which were concurred in by her companions. +Harriet Smales, it seemed, had been exercising upon Ida for some +days her utmost powers of irritation, teasing her, as Lucy put it, +"beyond all bearing." The cause of this was not unknown in the +school, and Miss Rutherford remembered the incident from which the +malice dated. Harriet had copied a sum in class from Ida's slate-- +she was always copying from somebody--and the teacher, who had +somehow detected her, asked Ida plainly whether such was not the +case. Ida made no reply, would not speak, which of course was taken +as confirmatory evidence, and the culprit had accordingly received +an imposition. Her spleen, thus aroused, Harriet vented upon the +other girl, who, she maintained, ought to have stoutly denied the +possibility of the alleged deceit, and so have saved her. She gave +poor Ida no rest, and her persecution had culminated this afternoon; +she began to "call Ida's mother names," the result of which was that +the assailed one suddenly snatched up her slate, and, in an +uncontrollable fit of passion, struck her tormentor a blow with it +upon the forehead. + +"What did she call Ida's mother?" inquired Miss Rutherford, all at +once changing her look curiously. + +"She called her a bad woman." + +"Was that all?" + +"No, please, Miss Rutherford," put in Maud eagerly. "She said she +got her living in the streets. And it isn't true. Ida's mother's a +lady, and doesn't sell things in the streets!" + +The teacher looked down and was silent. + +"I don't think I need ask any more questions," she said presently. +"Run away home all of you. What is it, my dear?" + +Maud, she was about eleven, and small for her age, had remained +behind, and was looking anxiously up into Miss Rutherford's face. + +"May I wait for Ida, please," she asked, "and--and walk home with +her? We go the same way." + +"Not to-night, dear; no, not to-night. Ida Starr is in disgrace. She +will not go home just yet. Run away, now, there's a good girl." + +Sadly, sadly was the command obeyed, and very slowly did Maud +Enderby walk along the streets homeward, ever turning back to see +whether perchance Ida might not be behind her. + +Miss Rutherford ascended to her sitting-room. The culprit was +standing in a corner with her face to the wall. + +"Why do you stand so?" asked the teacher gravely, but not very +severely. + +"I thought you'd want me to, Miss Rutherford." + +"Come here to me, child." + +Ida had clearly been crying for a long time, and there was still +blood on her face. She seemed to have made up her mind that the +punishment awaiting her must be dreadful, and she resolved to bear +it humbly. She came up, still holding her hands behind her, and +stood with downcast eyes. The hair which hung down over her +shoulders was dark brown, her eye-brows strongly marked, the eyes +themselves rather deep-set. She wore a pretty plum-coloured dress, +with a dainty little apron in front; her whole appearance bespeaking +a certain taste and love of elegance in the person who had the care +of her. + +"You will be glad to hear," said Miss Rutherford, "that Harriet's +hurt is not as serious as we feared at first. But she will have to +stay at home for some days." + +There was no motion. or reply. + +"Do you know that I am quite afraid of you, Ida? I had no idea that +you were so passionate. Had you no thought what harm you might do +when you struck that terrible blow?" + +But Ida could not converse; no word was to be got from her. + +"You must go home now," went on the schoolmistress after a pause, +"and not come back till I send for you. Tell your mother just what +you have done, and say that I will write to her about you. You +understand what I say, my child?" + +The punishment had come upon her. Nothing worse than this had Ida +imagined; nay, nothing so bad. She drew in her breath, her fingers +wreathed themselves violently together behind her back. She half +raised her face, but could not resolve to meet her teacher's eyes. +On the permission to go being repeated, she left the room in +silence, descended the stairs with the slow steps of an old person, +dressed herself mechanically, and went out into the street. Miss +Rutherford stood for some time in profound and troubled thought, +then sighed as she returned to her usual engagements. + +The following day was Saturday, and therefore a half-holiday. After +dinner, Miss Rutherford prepared herself for walking, and left home. +A quarter of an hour brought her to a little out-of-the-way +thoroughfare called Boston Street, close to the west side of +Regent's Park, and here she entered a chemist's shop, over which +stood the name Smales. A middle-aged man of very haggard and feeble +appearance stood behind the counter, and his manner to the lady as +she addressed him was painfully subservient. He spoke very little +above a whisper, and as though suffering from a severe sore throat, +but it was his natural voice. + +"She's better, I thank you, madam; much better, I hope and believe; +yes, much better." + +He repeated his words nervously, rubbing his hands together +feverishly the while, and making his eye-brows go up and down in a +curious way. + +"Might I see her for a few moments?" + +"She would be happy, madam, very happy: oh yes, I am sure, very +happy If--if you would have the kindness to come round, yes, round +here, madam, and--and to excuse our poor sitting-room. Thank you, +thank you. Harriet, my dear, Miss Rutherford has had the great, the +very great, goodness to visit you--to visit you personally--yes. +I will leave you, if--if you please--h'm, yes." + +He shuffled away in the same distressingly nervous manner, and +closed the door behind him. The schoolmistress found herself in a +dark little parlour, which smelt even more of drugs than the shop +itself. The window looked out into a dirty back-yard, and was almost +concealed with heavy red curtains. As the eyes got accustomed to the +dimness, one observed that the floor was covered with very old +oil-cloth, and that the articles of furniture were few, only the +most indispensable, and all very shabby. Everything seemed to be +dusty and musty. The only approach to an ornament was a framed +diploma hanging over the mantelpiece, certifying that John Alfred +Smales was a duly qualified pharmaceutical chemist. A low fire +burned in the grate, and before it, in a chair which would probably +have claimed the title of easy, sat the girl Harriet Smales, her +head in bandages. + +She received Miss Rutherford rather sulkily, and as she moved, +groaned in a way which did not seem the genuine utterance of pain. +After a few sympathetic remarks, the teacher began to touch upon the +real object of her visit. + +"I have no intention of blaming you, Harriet; I should not speak of +this at all, if it were not necessary. But I must ask you plainly +what reason you had for speaking of Ida Starr's mother as they say +you did. Why did you say she was a bad woman?" + +"It's only what she is," returned Harriet sullenly, and with much +inward venom. + +"What do you mean by that? Who has told you anything about her?" + +Only after some little questioning the fact was elicited that +Harriet owed her ideas on the subject to a servant girl in the +house, whose name was Sarah. + +"What does Sarah say, then?" asked Miss Rutherford. + +"She says she isn't respectable, and that she goes about with men, +and she's only a common street-woman," answered the girl, speaking +evidently with a very clear understanding of what these accusations +meant. The schoolmistress looked away with a rather shocked +expression, and thought a little before speaking again. + +"Well, that's all I wanted to ask you, Harriet," she said. "I won't +blame you, but I trust you will do as I wish, and never say such +things about any one again, whoever may tell you. It is our duty +never to speak ill of others, you know; least of all when we know +that to do so will be the cause of much pain and trouble. I hope you +will very soon be able to come back again to us. And now I will say +good-bye." + +In the shop Miss Rutherford renewed to the chemist her sincere +regret for what had taken place. + +"Of course I cannot risk the recurrence of such a thing," she said. +"The child who did it will not return to me, Mr. Smales." + +Mr. Smales uttered incoherent excuses, apologies, and thanks, and +shufflingly escorted the lady to his shop-door. + +Miss Rutherford went home in trouble. She did not doubt the truth of +what Harriet Smales had told her, for she herself had already +entertained uneasy suspicions, dating indeed from the one interview +she had had with Mrs. Starr, when Ida was first brought to the +school, and deriving confirmation from a chance meeting in the +street only a few days ago. It was only too plain what she must do, +and the necessity grieved her. Ida had not shown any especial +brilliancy at her books, but the child's character was a remarkable +one, and displayed a strength which might eventually operate either +for good or for evil. With careful training, it seemed at present +very probable that the good would predominate. But the task was not +such as the schoolmistress felt able to undertake, bearing in mind +the necessity of an irreproachable character for her school if it +were to be kept together at all. The disagreeable secret had begun +to spread; all the children would relate the events of yesterday in +their own homes; to pass the thing over was impossible. She +sincerely regretted the step she must take, and to which she would +not have felt herself driven by any ill-placed prudery of her own. +On Monday morning it must be stated to the girls that Ida Starr had +left. + +In the meantime, it only remained to write to Mrs. Starr, and make +known this determination. Miss Rutherford thought for a little while +of going to see Ida's mother, but felt that this would be both +painful and useless. It was difficult even to write, desirous as she +was of somehow mitigating the harshness of this sentence of +expulsion. After half-an-hour spent in efforts to pen a suitable +note, she gave up the attempt to write as she would have wished, and +announced the necessity she was under in the fewest possible words. + + + + + +CHAPTER II + +MOTHER AND CHILD + + + + +Ida Starr, dismissed by the schoolmistress, ran quickly homewards. +She was unusually late, and her mother would be anxious. Still, when +she came within sight of the door, she stopped and stood panting. +How should she tell of her disgrace? It was not fear that made her +shrink from repeating Miss Rutherford's message; nor yet shame, +though she would gladly have hidden herself away somewhere in the +dark from every eye; her overwhelming concern was for the pain she +knew she was going to cause one who had always cherished her with +faultless tenderness,--tenderness which it had become her nature +to repay with a child's unreflecting devotion. + +Her home was in Milton Street. On the front-door was a brass-plate +which bore the inscription: "Mrs. Ledward, Dressmaker;" in the +window of the ground-floor was a large card announcing that +"Apartments" were vacant. The only light was one which appeared in +the top storey, and there Ida knew that her mother was waiting for +her, with tea ready on the table as usual. Mrs. Starr was seldom at +home during the child's dinner-hour, and Ida had not seen her at all +to-day. For it was only occasionally that she shared her mother's +bedroom; it was the rule for her to sleep with Mrs. Ledward, the +landlady, who was a widow and without children. The arrangement had +held ever since Ida could remember; when she had become old enough +to ask for an explanation of this, among other singularities in +their mode of life, she was told that her mother slept badly, and +must have the bed to herself. + +But the night had come on, and every moment of delay doubtless +increased the anxiety she was causing. Ida went up to the door, +stood on tiptoe to reach the knocker, and gave her usual two +distinct raps. Mrs. Ledward opened the door to her in person; a +large woman, with pressed lips and eyes that squinted very badly; +attired, however, neatly, and looking as good-natured as a woman who +was at once landlady and dressmaker could be expected to look. + +"How 's 't you're so late?" she asked, without looking at the child; +her eyes, as far as one could guess, fixed upon the houses opposite, +her hands in the little pocket on each side of her apron. "Your +mother's poorly." + +"Oh, then I shall sleep with her to-night?" exclaimed Ida, +forgetting her trouble for the moment in this happy foresight + +"Dessay," returned Mrs. Ledward laconically. + +Ida left her still standing in the doorway, and ran stairs. The +chamber she went into--after knocking and receiving permission to +enter, according to the rule which had been impressed upon her-- +was a tolerably-furnished bedroom, which, with its bright fire, +tasteful little lamp, white coverlets and general air of fresh +orderliness, made a comfortable appearance. The air was scented, +too, with some pleasant odour of a not too pungent kind. But the +table lacked one customary feature; no tea was laid as it was wont +to be at this hour. The child gazed round in surprise. Her mother +was in bed, lying back on raised pillows, and with a restless, +half-pettish look on her face. + +"Where have you been?" she asked querulously, her voice husky and +feeble, as if from a severe cold. "Why are you so late?" + +Ida did not answer at once, but went straight to the bed and offered +the accustomed kiss. Her mother waved her off. + +"No, no; don't kiss me. Can't you see what a sore throat I've got? +You might catch it. And I haven't got you any tea," she went on, her +face growing to a calmer expression as she gazed at the child "Ain't +I a naughty mother? But it serves you half right for being late. +Come and kiss me; I don't think it's catching. No, perhaps you'd +better not." + +But Ida started forward at the granted leave, and kissed her warmly. + +"There now," went on the hoarse voice complainingly, "I shouldn't +wonder if you catch it, and we shall both be laid up at once. Oh, +Ida, I do feel that poorly, I do! It's the draught under the door; +what else can it be? I do, I do feel that poorly!" + +She began to cry miserably. Ida forgot all about the tale she had to +tell; her own eyes overflowed in sympathy. She put her arm under her +mother's neck, and pressed cheek to cheek tenderly. + +"Oh, how hot you are, mother! Shall I get you a cup of tea, dear? +Wouldn't it make your throat better?" + +"Perhaps it would; I don't know. Don't go away, not just yet. You'll +have to be a mother to me to-night, Ida. I almost feel I could go to +sleep, if you held me like that." + +She closed her eyes, but only for a moment, then started up +anxiously. + +"What am I thinking about! Of course you want your tea." + +"No, no; indeed I don't, mother." + +"Nonsense; of course you do. See, the kettle is on the bob, and I +think it's full. Go away; you make me hotter. Let me see you get +your tea, and then perhaps it'll make me feel I could drink a cup. +There, you've put your hair all out of order; let me smooth it. +Don't trouble to lay the cloth; just use the tray; it's in the +cupboard." + +Ida obeyed, and set about the preparations. Compare her face with +that which rested sideways upon the pillows, and the resemblance was +as strong as could exist between two people of such different ages: +the same rich-brown hair, the same strongly-pencilled eye-brows; the +deep-set and very dark eyes, the fine lips, the somewhat prominent +jaw-bones, alike in both. The mother was twenty-eight, the daughter +ten, yet the face on the pillow was the more childish at present. In +the mother's eyes was a helpless look, a gaze of unintelligent +misery, such as one could not conceive on Ida's countenance; her +lips, too, were weakly parted, and seemed trembling to a sob, whilst +sorrow only made the child close hers the firmer. In the one case a +pallor not merely of present illness, but that wasting whiteness +which is only seen on faces accustomed to borrow artificial hues; in +the other, a healthy pearl-tint, the gleamings and gradations of a +perfect complexion. The one a child long lost on weary, woful ways, +knowing, yet untaught by, the misery of desolation; the other a +child still standing upon the misty threshold of unknown lands, +looking around for guidance, yet already half feeling that the sole +guide and comforter was within. + +It was strange that talk which followed between mother and daughter. +Lotty Starr (that was the name of the elder child, and it became her +much better than any more matronly appellation), would not remain +silent, in spite of the efforts it cost her to speak, and her +conversation ran on the most trivial topics. Except at occasional +moments, she spoke to Ida as to one of her own age, with curious +neglect of the relationship between them; at times she gave herself +up to the luxury of feeling like an infant dependent on another's +care; and cried just for the pleasure of being petted and consoled. +Ida had made up her mind to leave her disclosure till the next +morning; impossible to grieve her mother with such shocking news +when she was so poorly. Yet the little girl with difficulty kept a +cheerful countenance; as often as a moment's silence left her to her +own reflections she was reminded of the heaviness of heart which +made speaking an effort. To bear up under the secret thought of her +crime and its consequences required in Ida Starr a courage different +alike in quality and degree from that of which children are +ordinarily capable. One compensation alone helped her; it was still +early in the evening, and she knew there were before her long hours +to be spent by her mother's side. + +"Do you like me to be with you, mother?" she asked, when a timid +question had at length elicited assurance of this joy. "Does it make +you feel better?" + +"Yes, yes. But it's my throat, and you can't make that better; I +only wish you could. But you are a comfort to me, for all that; I +don't know what I should do without you. Oh, I sha'n't be able to +speak a word soon, I sha'n't!" + +"Don't, don't talk, dear. I'll talk instead, and you listen. Don't +you think, mother dear, I could--could always sleep with you? I +wouldn't disturb you; indeed, indeed I wouldn't! You don't know how +quiet I lie. If I'm wakeful ever I seem to have such a lot to think +about, and I lie so still and quiet, you can't think. I never wake +Mrs. Led ward, indeed. Do let me, mother; just try me!" + +Lotty broke out into passionate weeping, wrung her hands, and hid +her face in the pillow. Ida was terrified, and exerted every effort +to console this strange grief. The outburst only endured a minute or +two, however; then a mood of vexed impatience grew out of the +anguish and despair, and Lotty pushed away the child fretfully. + +"I've often told you, you can't, you mustn't bother me. There, +there; you don't mean any harm, but you put me out, bothering me, +Ida. Tell me, what do you think about when you lay awake? Don't you +think you'd give anything to get off to sleep again? I know I do; I +can't bear to think; it makes my head ache so." + +"Oh, I like it. Sometimes I think over what I've been reading, in +the animal book, and the geography-book; and--and then I begin my +wishing-thoughts. And oh, I've such lots of wishing-thoughts, you +couldn't believe!" + +"And what are the wishing-thoughts about?" inquired the mother, in a +matter-of-fact way. + +"I often wish I was grown up. I feel tired of being a child; I want +to be a woman. Then I should know so much more, and I should be able +to understand all the things you tell me I can't now. I don't care +for playing at games and going to school." + +"You'll be a woman soon enough, Ida," said Lotty, with a quiet +sadness unusual in her. "But go on; what else?" + +"And then I often wish I was a boy. It must be so much nicer to be a +boy. They're stronger than girls, and they know more. Don't you wish +I was a boy, mother?" + +"Yes, I do, I often do!" exclaimed Lotty. "Boys aren't such a +trouble, and they can go out and shift for themselves." + +"Oh, but I won't be a trouble to you," exclaimed Ida. "When I'm old +enough to leave school--" + +She interrupted herself, for the moment she had actually forgotten +the misfortune which had come upon her. But her mother did not +observe the falling of her countenance, nor yet the incomplete +sentence. + +"Ida, have I been a bad mother to you?" Lotty sobbed out presently. +"If I was to die, would you be sorry?" + +"Mother!" + +"I've done my best, indeed I've done my best for yon! How many +mothers like me would have brought you up as I've done? How many, +I'd like to know? And some day you'll hate me; oh yes, you will! +Some day you'll wish to forget all about me, and you'll never come +to see where I'm buried, and you'll get rid of everything that could +remind you of me. How I wish I'd never been born!" + +Ida had often to comfort her mother in the latter's fits of low +spirits, but had never heard such sad words as these before. The +poor child could say nothing in reply; the terrible thought that she +herself was bringing new woes to be endured almost broke her heart +She clung about her mother's neck and wept passionately. + +Lotty shortly after took a draught from a bottle which the child +reached out of a drawer for her, and lay pretty still till +drowsiness came on. Ida undressed and crept to her side. They had a +troubled night, and, when the daylight came again, Lotty was no +better. Ida rose in anguish of spirit, torturing herself to find a +way of telling what must be told. Yet she had another respite; her +mother said that, as it was Saturday, she might as well stay away +from school and be a little nurse. And the dull day wore through; +the confession being still postponed. + +But by the last post at night came Miss Rutherford's letter. Ida was +still sitting up, and Lotty had fallen into a doze, when the +landlady brought the letter upstairs. The child took it in, answered +an inquiry about her mother in a whisper, and returned to the +bedside. She knew the handwriting on the envelope. The dreaded +moment had come. + +She must have stood more than a quarter of an hour, motionless, +gazing on her mother's face, conscious of nothing but an agonised +expectation of seeing the sleeper's eyes open. They did open at +length, and quickly saw the letter. + +"It's from Miss Rutherford, mother," said Ida, her own voice +sounding very strange to herself. + +"Oh, is it?" said Lotty, in the hoarse whisper which was all she +could command "I suppose she wants to know why you didn't go. Read +it to me." + +Ida read, and, in reading, suffered as she never did again +throughout her life. + +"DEAR MRS. STARR,--I am very sorry to have to say that Ida must not +return to school. I had better leave the explanation to herself; she +is truthful, and will tell you what has compelled me to take this +step. I grieve to lose her, but have really no choice.--I am, yours +truly, + +H. RUTHERFORD." + +No tears rose; her voice was as firm as though she had been reading +in class; but she was pale and cold as death. + +Lotty rose in bed and stared wildly. + +"What have you done, child?--what ever have you done? Is--is it +anything--about _me_" + +"I hit Harriet Smales with a slate, and covered her all over with +blood, and I thought I'd killed her." + +She could not meet her mother's eyes; stood with head hung down, and +her hands clasped behind her. + +"What made you do it?" asked Lotty in amazement. + +"I couldn't help it, mother; she--she said you were a bad woman." + +Ida had raised her eyes with a look of love and proud confidence. +Lotty shrank before her, clutched convulsively at the bed-clothes, +then half raised herself and dashed her head with fearful violence +against the wall by which the bed stood. She fell back, half +stunned, and lay on the pillows, whilst the child, with outstretched +hands, gazed horror-struck. But in a moment Ida had her arms around +the distraught woman, pressing the dazed head against her breast. +Lotty began to utter incoherent self-reproaches, unintelligible to +her little comforter; her voice had become the merest whisper; she +seemed to have quite exhausted herself. Just now there came a knock +at the door, and Ida was relieved to see Mrs. Ledward, whose help +she begged. In a few minutes Lotty had come to herself again, and +whispered that she wished to speak to the landlady alone. The latter +persuaded Ida to go downstairs for a while, and the child, whose +tears had begun to flow, left the room, sobbing in anguish. + +"Ain't you better then?" asked the woman, with an apparent effort to +speak in a sympathetic tone which did not come easily to her. + +"I'm very bad," whispered the other, drawing her breath as if in +pain. + +"Ay, you've got a bad cold, that's what it is. I'll make you some +gruel presently, and put some rum in it. You don't take care of +yourself: I told you how it 'ud be when you came in with those +wringin' things on, on Thursday night." + +"They've found out about me at the school," gasped Lotty, with a +despairing look, "and Ida's got sent away." + +"She has? Well, never mind, you can find another, I suppose. I can't +see myself what she wants with so much schoolin', but I suppose you +know best about your own affairs." + +"Oh, I feel that bad! If I get over this, I'll give it up--God help +me, I will! I'll get my living honest, if there's any way. I never +felt so bad as I do now." + +"Pooh!" exclaimed the woman. "Wait a bit till you get rid of your +sore throat, and you'll think different. Poorly people gets all +sorts o' fancies. Keep a bit quiet now, and don't put yourself out +so." + +"What are we to do? I've only got a few shillings--" + +"Well, you'll have money again some time, I suppose. You don't +suppose I'll turn you out in the streets? Write to Fred on Monday, +and he'll send you something." + +They talked till Lotty exhausted herself again, then Ida was allowed +to re-enter the room. Mrs. Ledward kept coming and going till her +own bed-time, giving what help and comfort she could in her hard, +half-indifferent way. Another night passed, and in the morning Lotty +seemed a little better. Her throat was not so painful, but she +breathed with difficulty, and had a cough. Ida sat holding her +mother's hand. It was a sunny morning, and the bells of neighbouring +churches began to ring out clearly on the frosty air. + +"Ida," said the sick woman, raising herself suddenly, "get me some +note-paper and an envelope out of the box; and go and borrow pen and +ink, there's a good child." + +The materials were procured, and, with a great effort, Lotty managed +to arrange herself so as to be able to write. She covered four pages +with a sad scrawl, closed the envelope, and was about to direct it, +but paused. + +"The bells have stopped," she said, listening. "It's half-past +eleven. Put on your things, Ida." + +The child obeyed, wondering. + +"Give me my purse out of the drawer. See, there's a shilling. Now, +say this after me: Mr. Abra'm Woodstock, Number--, St. John Street +Road." + +Ida repeated the address. + +"Now, listen, Ida. You put this letter in your pocket; you go down +into the Mary'bone road; you ask for a 'bus to the Angel. When you +get to the Angel, you ask your way to Number--, St. John Street +Road; it isn't far off. Knock at the door, and ask if Mr. Abra'm +Woodstock is in. If he is, say you want to see him, and then give +him this letter,--into his own hands, and nobody else's. If he +isn't in, ask when he will be, and, if it won't be long, wait." + +Ida promised, and then, after a long gaze, her mother dropped back +again on the pillow, and turned her face away. A cough shook her for +a few moments. Ida waited. + +"Well, ain't you gone?" asked Lotty faintly. + +"Kiss me, mother." + +They held each other in a passionate embrace, and then the child +went away. + +She reached Islington without difficulty, and among the bustling and +loitering crowd which obstructs the corner at the Angel, found some +one to direct her to the street she sought. She had to walk some +distance down St. John Street Road, in the direction of the City, +before discovering the house she desired to find. When she reached +it, it proved to be a very dingy tenement, the ground-floor +apparently used as offices; a much-worn plate on the door exhibited +the name of the gentleman to whom her visit was, with his +professional description added. Mr. Woodstock was an accountant. + +She rang the bell, and a girl appeared. Yes, Mr. Woodstock was at +home. Ida was told to enter the passage, and wait. + +A door at her right hand as she entered was slightly ajar, and +voices could be heard from the other side of it. One of these voices +very shortly raised itself in a harsh and angry tone, and Ida could +catch what was said. + +"Well, Mr. What's-your-name, I suppose I know my own business rather +better than you can teach me. It's pretty clear you've been doing +your best for some time to set the people against me, and I'm damned +if I'll have it! You go to the place on religious pretences, and +what your real object may be I don't know; but I do know one thing, +and that is, I won't have you hanging about any longer. I'll meet +you there myself, and if it's a third-floor window you get pitched +out of, well, it won't be my fault. Now I don't want any more talk +with you. This is most folks' praying-time; I wonder you're not at +it. It's _my_ time for writing letters, and I'd rather have your +room than your company. I'm a plain-spoken man, you see, a man of +business, and I don't mince matters. To come and dictate to me about +the state of my houses and of my tenants ain't a business-like +proceeding, and you'll excuse me if I don't take it kindly. There's +the door, and good morning to you!" + +The door opened, and a young man, looking pale and dismayed, came +out quickly, and at once left the house. Behind him came the last +speaker. At the sight of the waiting child he stood still, and the +expression of his face changed from sour annoyance to annoyed +surprise. + +"Eh? Well?" he exclaimed, looking closely at Ida, his eye-brows +contracting. + +"I have a letter for Mr. Abra'm Woodstock, sir." + +"Well, give it here. Who's it from?" + +"Mrs. Starr, sir." + +"Who's Mrs. Starr? Come in here, will you?" + +His short and somewhat angry tone was evidently in some degree the +result of the interview that had just closed, but also pretty +clearly an indication of his general manner to strangers. He let the +child pass him, and followed her into the room with the letter in +his hand. He did not seem able to remove his eyes from her face. +Ida, on her side, did not dare to look up at him. He was a massively +built, grey-headed man of something more than sixty. Everything +about him expressed strength and determination, power alike of body +and mind. His features were large and heavy, but the forehead would +have become a man of strong intellect; the eyes were full of +astonishing vital force, and the chin was a physiognomical study, so +strikingly did its moulding express energy of character. He was +clean-shaven, and scarcely a seam or wrinkle anywhere broke the +hard, smooth surface of his visage, its complexion clear and rosy as +that of a child. + +Still regarding Ida, he tore open the envelope. At the sight of the +writing he, not exactly started, but moved his head rather suddenly, +and again turned his eyes upon the messenger. + +"Sit down," he said, pointing to a chair. The room was an +uncomfortable office, with no fire. He himself took a seat +deliberately at a desk, whence he could watch Ida, and began to +read. As he did so, his face remained unmoved, but he looked away +occasionally, as if to reflect. + +"What's your name?" he asked, when he had finished, beginning, at +the same time, to tear the letter into very small pieces, which he +threw into a waste-paper basket. + +"Ida, sir,--Ida Starr." + +"Starr, eh?" He looked at her very keenly, and, still looking, and +still tearing up the letter, went on in a hard, unmodulated voice. +"Well, Ida Starr, it seems your mother wants to put you in the way +of earning your living." The child looked up in fear and +astonishment. "You can carry a message? You'll say to your mother +that I'll undertake to do what I can for you, on one condition, and +that is that she puts you in my hands and never sees you again." + +"Oh, I can't leave mother!" burst from the child's lips +involuntarily, her horror overcoming her fear of the speaker. + +"I didn't ask you if you could," remarked Mr. Woodstock, with +something like a sneer, tapping the desk with the fingers of his +right hand. "I asked whether you could carry a message. Can you, or +not?" + +"Yes, I can," stammered Ida. + +"Then take _that_ message, and tell your mother it's all I've got to +say. Run away." + +He rose and stood with his hands behind him, watching her. Ida made +what haste she could to the door, and sped out into the street. + + + + + +CHAPTER III + +ANTECEDENTS + + + + +It would not have been easy to find another instance of a union of +keen intellect and cold heart so singular as that displayed in the +character of Abraham Woodstock. The man s life had been strongly +consistent from the beginning; from boyhood a powerful will had +borne him triumphantly over every difficulty, and in each decisive +instance his will had been directed by a shrewd intelligence which +knew at once the strength of its own resources and the multiplied +weaknesses of the vast majority of men. In the pursuit of his ends +he would tolerate no obstacle which his strength would suffice to +remove. In boyhood and early manhood the exuberance of his physical +power was wont to manifest itself in brutal self-assertion. At +school he was the worst kind of bully, his ferociousness tempered by +no cowardice. Later on, he learned that a too demonstrative bearing +would on many occasions interfere with his success in life; he toned +down his love of muscular victory, and only allowed himself an +outbreak every now and then, when he felt he could afford the +indulgence. Put early into an accountant's office, and losing his +father about the same time (the parent, who had a diseased heart, +was killed by an outburst of fury to which Abraham gave way on some +trivial occasion), he had henceforth to fight his own battle, and +showed himself very capable of winning it. In many strange ways he +accumulated a little capital, and the development of commercial +genius put him at a comparatively early age on the road to fortune. +He kept to the business of an accountant, and by degrees added +several other distinct callings. He became a lender of money in +several shapes, keeping both a loan-office and a pawnbroker's shop. +In middle age he frequented the race-course, but, for sufficient +reasons, dropped that pursuit entirely before he had turned his +fiftieth year. As a youth he had made a good thing of games of +skill, but did not pursue them as a means of profit when he no +longer needed the resource. + +He married at the age of thirty. This, like every other step he +took, was well planned; his wife brought him several thousand +pounds, being the daughter of a retired publican with whom Woodstock +had had business relations. + +Two years after his marriage was born his first and only child, a +girl whom they called Lotty. Lotty, as she grew up, gradually +developed an unfortunate combination of her parents' qualities; she +had her mother's weakness of mind, without her mother's moral sense, +and from her father she derived an ingrained stubbornness, which had +nothing in common with strength of character. Doubly unhappy was it +that she lost her mother so early; the loss deprived her of gentle +guidance during her youth, and left her without resource against her +father's coldness or harshness. The result was that the softer +elements of her character unavoidably degenerated and found +expression in qualities not at all admirable, whilst her obstinacy +grew the ally of the weakness from which she had most to fear. + +Lotty was sent to a day-school till the age of thirteen, then had to +become her father's housekeeper. Her friends were very few, none of +them likely to be of use to her. Left very much to her own control, +she made an acquaintance which led to secret intimacy and open +disaster. Rather than face her father with such a disclosure, she +left home, and threw herself upon the mercy of the man who had +assisted her to go astray. He was generous enough to support her for +about a year, during which time her child was born. Then his help +ceased. + +The familiar choice lay before her--home again, the streets, or +starvation. Hardship she could not bear; the second alternative she +shrank from on account of her child; she determined to face her +father. For him she had no affection, and knew that he did not love +her; only desperation could drive her back. She came one Sunday +evening, found Mr. Woodstock at home, and, without letting the +servant say who was come, went up and entered his presence, the +child in her arms. Abraham rose and looked at her calmly. Her +disappearance had not troubled him, though he had exerted himself to +discover why and whither she was gone, and her return did not +visibly affect him. She was a rebel against his authority--so he +viewed the matter--and consequently quite beyond the range of his +sympathies. He listened to all she had to say, beheld unmoved her +miserable tears, and, when she became silent, coolly delivered his +ultimatum. For her he would procure a situation, whereby she could +earn her living, and therewith his relations to her would end; the +child he would put into other hands and have it cared for, but Lotty +would lose sight of it for ever. The girl hesitated, but the +maternal instinct was very strong in her; the little one began to +cry, as if fearing separation from its mother; she decided to +refuse. + +"Then I shall go on the streets!" she exclaimed passionately. +"There's nothing else left for me." + +"You can go where you please," returned Abraham. + +She tried to obtain work, of course fruitlessly. She got into debt +with her landlady, and only took the fatal step when at length +absolutely turned adrift. + +That was not quite ten years gone by; she was then but eighteen. Let +her have lost her child, and she would speedily have fallen into the +last stages of degradation. But the little one lived. She had called +it Ida, a name chosen from some tale in the penny weeklies, which +were the solace of her misery. She herself took the name of Starr, +also from a page of fiction. + +Balancing the good and evil of this life in her dark little mind, +Lotty determined that one thing there was for which it was worth +while to make sacrifices, one end which she felt strong enough to +keep persistently in view. Ida should be brought up "respectably"-- +it was her own word; she should be kept absolutely free from the +contamination of her mother's way of living; nay, should, when the +time came, go to school, and have good chances. And at the end of +all this was a far-off hope, a dim vision of possibilities, a vague +trust that her daughter might perchance prove for her a means of +returning to that world of "respectability" from which she was at +present so hopelessly shut out. She would keep making efforts to get +into an honest livelihood as often as an occasion presented itself; +and Ida should always live with "respectable" people, cost what it +might. + +The last resolution was only adhered to for a few months. Lotty +could not do without her little one, and eventually brought it back +to her own home. It is not an infrequent thing to find little +children living in disorderly houses. In the profession Lotty had +chosen there are, as in all professions, grades and differences. She +was by no means a vicious girl, she had no love of riot for its own +sake; she would greatly have preferred a decent mode of life, had it +seemed practicable. Hence she did not associate herself with the +rank and file of abandoned women; her resorts were not the crowded +centres; her abode was not in the quarters consecrated to her +business. In all parts of London there are quiet by-streets of +houses given up to lodging-letting, wherein are to be found many +landladies, who, good easy souls, trouble little about the private +morals of their lodgers, so long as no positive disorder comes about +and no public scandal is occasioned. A girl who says that she is +occupied in a workroom is never presumed to be able to afford the +luxury of strict virtue, and if such a one, on taking a room, says +that "she supposes she may have friends come to see her?" the +landlady will understand quite well what is meant, and will either +accept or refuse her for a lodger as she sees good. To such houses +as these Lotty confined herself. After some three or four years of +various experiences, she hit upon the abode in Milton Street, and +there had dwelt ever since. She got on well with Mrs. Ledward, and +had been able to make comfortable arrangements for Ida. The other +lodgers in the house were generally very quiet and orderly people, +and she herself was quite successful in arranging her affairs so as +to create no disturbance. She had her regular _elientele_; she +frequented the roads about Regent's Park and Primrose Hill; and she +supported herself and her child. + +Ida Starr's bringing up was in no respect inferior to that she would +have received in the home of the average London artisan or small +tradesman. At five years old she had begun to go to school; Mrs. +Ledward's daughter, a girl of seventeen, took her backwards and +forwards every day. At this school she remained three years and a +half; then her mother took her away, and put her under the care of +Miss Rutherford, a better teacher. When at home, she either amused +herself in Lotty's room, or, when that was engaged, made herself +comfortable with Mrs. Ledward's family, with one or other of whom +she generally passed the night. She heard no bad language, saw +nothing improper, listened to no worse conversation than any of the +other children at Miss Rutherford's. Even at her present age of ten +it never occurred to her to inquire how her mother supported +herself. The charges brought by Harriet Smales conveyed to her mind +no conception of their true meaning; they were to her mere general +calumnies of vague application. Her mother "bad," indeed! If so, +then what was the meaning of goodness? For poor Lotty's devotion to +the child had received its due reward herein, that she was loved as +purely and intensely as any most virtuous parent could hope to be; +so little regard has nature for social codes, so utterly is she +often opposed to all the precepts of respectability. This phrase of +Harriet's was the very first breathing against her mother's +character that Ida had ever heard. Lotty had invented fables, for +the child's amusement, about her own earlier days. The legend was, +that her husband had died about a year after marriage. Of course Ida +implicitly believed all this. Her mind contained pictures of a +beautiful little house just outside London in which her mother had +once lived, and her imagination busied itself with the time when +they would both live in just that same way. She was going to be a +teacher, so it had been decided in confidential chats, and would one +day have a school of her own. In such a future Lotty herself really +believed. The child seemed to her extraordinarily clover, and in +four more years she would be as old as a girl who had assisted with +the little ones in the first school she went to. Lotty was +ambitious. Offers of Mrs. Ledward to teach Ida dressmaking, she had +put aside; it was not good enough. + +Yet Ida was not in reality remarkable either for industry or +quickness in learning. At both schools she had frequently to be +dealt with somewhat severely. Ability she showed from time to time, +but in application she was sadly lacking. Books were distasteful to +her, more even than to most children; she learned sometimes by +listening to the teacher, but seldom the lessons given her to +prepare. At home there were no books to tempt her to read for +herself; her mother never read, and would not have known how to set +about giving her child a love for such occupation, even had she +deemed it needful. And yet Ida always seemed to have abundance to +think about; she would sit by herself for hours, without any +childlike employment, and still not seem weary. When asked what her +thoughts ran upon, she could not give very satisfactory answers; she +was always rather slow in expressing herself, and never chattered, +even to her mother. One queer and most unchildlike habit she had, +which, as if thinking it wrong, she only indulged when quite alone; +she loved to sit before a looking-glass and gaze into her own face. +At such times her little countenance became very sad without any +understood reason. + +The past summer had been to her a time of happiness, for there had +come comparatively little bad weather, and sunshine was like wine to +Ida. The proximity of the park was a great advantage. During the +weeks of summer holiday, she spent whole days wandering about the +large, grassy tracts by herself, rejoicing in the sensation of +freedom from task-work. If she were especially in luck, a dog would +come and play about her, deserting for a minute its lawful master or +mistress, and the child would roll upon the grass in delighted +sport. Or she would find out a warm, shady nook quite near to the +borders of the Zoological Gardens, and would lie there with ear +eager to catch the occasional sounds from the animals within. The +roar of the lion thrilled her with an exquisite trembling; the calls +of the birds made her laugh with joy. Once, three years ago, her +mother had taken her to Hastings for a week, and when she now caught +the cry of the captive sea-gulls, it brought back marvellous +memories of the ocean flashing in the sun, of the music of breakers, +of the fresh smell of the brine. + +Now there had come upon her the first great grief. She had caused +her mother bitter suffering, and her own heart was filled with a +commensurate pain. Had she been a little older she would already +have been troubled by another anxiety; for the last two years her +mother's health had been falling away; every now and then had come a +fit of illness, and at other times Lotty suffered from a depression +of spirits which left her no energy to move about. Ida knew that her +mother was often unhappy, but naturally could not dwell long on this +as soon as each successive occasion had passed away. Indeed, in her +heart, she almost welcomed such times, since she was then allowed to +sleep upstairs, one of her greatest joys. Lotty was only too well +aware of the physical weakness which was gaining upon her. She was +mentally troubled, moreover. Ida was growing up; there would come a +time, and that very shortly, when it would be necessary either for +them to part, or else for herself to change her mode of life. +Indeed, she had never from the first quite lost sight of her +intention to seek for an honest means of support; and of late years +the consciousness of her hopeless position had grown to an +ever-recurring trouble. She knew the proposed step was in reality +impossible to her, yet she persistently thought and talked of it. To +Mrs. Ledward she confided at least once a week, generally when she +paid her rent, her settled intention to go and find work of some +kind in the course of the next two or three days; till at length +this had become a standing joke with the landlady, who laughed +merrily as often as the subject was mentioned. Lotty had of late let +her thoughts turn to her father, whom she had never seen since their +parting. Not with any affection did she think of him, but, in her +despairing moments, it seemed to her impossible that he should still +refuse aid if she appealed to him for it. Several times of late she +had been on the point of putting her conviction to the test. She had +passed his house from time to time, and knew that he still lived +there. Perhaps the real reason of her hesitation was, not fear of +him, but a dread, which she would not confess to herself, lest he +should indeed prove obdurate, and so put an end to her last hope. +For what would become of her and of Ida if her health absolutely +failed? The poor creature shrank from the thought in horror. The +hope connected with her father grew more and more strong. But it +needed some very decided crisis to bring her to the point of +overcoming all the apprehensions which lay in the way of an appeal +to the stern old man This crisis had arrived. The illness which was +now upon her she felt to be more serious than any she had yet +suffered. Suppose she were to die, and Ida to be left alone in the +world Even before she heard of the child's dismissal from school she +had all but made up her mind to write to her father, and the shock +of that event gave her the last impulse. She wrote a letter of +pitiful entreaty. Would he help her to some means of earning a +living for herself and her child? She could not part from Ida. +Perhaps she had not long to live, and to ask her to give up her +child would be too cruel. She would do anything, would go into +service, perform the hardest and coarsest toil. She told him how Ida +had been brought up, and implored his pity for the child, who at all +events was innocent. + +When Ida reached home from her visit to the City, she saw her mother +risen and sitting by the fire. Lotty had found the suspense +insupportable as she lay still, and, though the pains in her chest +grew worse and the feeling of lassitude was gaining upon her, she +had half-dressed, and even tried to move about. Just before the +child's appearance, she seemed to have sunk into something of a doze +on her chair, for, as the door opened, she started and looked about +her in doubt. + +"Where have you been so long?" she asked impatiently. + +"I got back as quickly as I could, mother," said Ida, in some +surprise. + +"Got back? Is school over?" + +"From the--the place you sent me to, mother." + +"What am I thinking of!" exclaimed Lotty, starting to consciousness. +"Come here, and tell me. Did you see--see him, Ida? Mr. Woodstock, +you know." + +"Yes, mother," began the child, with pale face, "and he--he said I +was to tell you--" + +She burst into tears, and flew to her mother's neck. + +"Oh, you won't send me away from you, mother dear? I can't go away +from you!" + +Lotty felt she knew what this meant. Fear and trouble wrought with +her physical weakness to drive her almost distracted. She sprang up, +caught the child by the shoulders, and shook her as if in anger. + +"Tell me, can't you?" she cried, straining her weak voice. "What did +he say? Don't be a little fool! Can't the child speak?" + +She fell back again, seized with a cough which choked her. Ida +stayed her sobbing, and looked on in terror. Her mother motioned +constantly to her to proceed. + +"The gentleman said," Ida continued, with calm which was the result +of extreme self-control, "that he would take me; but that you were +never to see me again." + +"Did he say anything else about me?" whispered Lotty. + +"No, nothing else." + +"Go--go and tell him you'll come,--you'll leave me." + +Ida stood in anguish, speechless and motionless. All at once her +mother seemed to forget what she was saying, and sat still, staring +into the fire. Several times she shivered. Her hands lay listlessly +on her lap; she breathed with difficulty. + +Shortly afterwards, the landlady came into the room. She was alarmed +at Lotty's condition. Her attempts to arouse the sick woman to +consciousness were only partly successful. She went downstairs +again, and returned with another woman, a lodger in the house. These +two talked together in low tones. The result of their colloquy was +that Mrs. Ledward dressed Lotty as well as she could, whilst the +other left the house and returned with a cab. + +"We're going to take your mother to the hospital," said Mrs. Ledward +to the child. "You wait here till we come back, there's a good girl. +Now, hold up a bit, Lotty; try and walk downstairs. That's better, +my girl." + +Ida was left alone. + + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +CHRISTMAS IN TWO HOMES + + + + +When Ida Starr was dismissed from school it wanted but a few days to +the vacations. The day which followed her mother's removal to the +hospital was Christmas Eve. For two hours on the afternoon of +Christmas Day, Ida sat in silence by the bedside in the ward, +holding her mother's hand. The patient was not allowed to speak, +seemed indeed unable to do so. The child might not even kiss her. +The Sister and the nurse looked pityingly at Ida when they passed +by, and, when the visitors' time was at an end, and she had to rise +and go, the Sister put an orange into her hand, and spoke a few +hopeful words. + +Night was setting in as she walked homewards; it was cold, and the +sky threatened snow. She had only gone a few yards, when there came +by a little girl of her own age, walking with some one who looked +like a nurse-maid. They were passing; but all at once the child +sprang to Ida's side with a cry of recognition. It was little Maud +Enderby. + +"Where have you been, Ida? Where are you going? Oh, I'm so glad; I +wanted so to see you. Miss Rutherford told us you'd left school, and +you weren't coming back again. Aren't you really? And sha'n't I see +you?" + +"I don't know, I think not," said Ida. In her premature trouble she +seemed so much older than her friend. + +"I told Miss Rutherford you weren't to blame," went on Maud eagerly. +"I told her it was Harriet's own fault, and how shockingly she'd +behaved to you. I expect you'll come back again after the holidays, +don't you?" + +Ida shook her head, and said nothing. + +"But I shall see you again?" pleaded the little maid. "You know +we're always going to be friends, aren't we? Who shall I tell all my +dreams to, if I lose you?" + +Dreams, in the literal sense of the word. Seldom a week went by, but +Maud had some weird vision of the night to recount to her friend, +the meaning of which they would together try to puzzle out; for it +was an article of faith with both that there were meanings to be +discovered, and deep ones. + +Ida promised that she would not allow herself to be lost to her +friend, and they kissed, and went their several ways. + +Throughout the day the door of Mr. Smales's shop had been open, +though the shutters were up. But at nightfall it was closed, and the +family drew around the tea-table in the parlour which smelt so of +drugs. It was their only sitting-room, for as much of the house as +could be was let to another family. Besides Mr. Smales and his +daughter Harriet, there sat at the table a lad of about thirteen, +with a dark, handsome face, which had something of a foreign cast +His eyes gleamed at all times with the light of a frank joyousness; +he laughed with the unrestraint of a perfectly happy nature. His +countenance was capable, too, of a thoughtfulness beyond his years, +a gravity which seemed to come of high thoughts or rich imagination. +He bore no trace of resemblance to either the chemist or his +daughter, yet was their relative. Mr. Smales had had a sister, who +at an early age became a public singer, and so far prospered as to +gain some little distinction in two or three opera seasons. Whilst +thus engaged, she made the acquaintance of an Italian, Casti by +name, fell in love with him, and subsequently followed him to Italy. +Her courage was rewarded, for there she became the singer's wife. +They travelled for two years, during which time a son was born to +them. The mother's health failed; she was unable henceforth to +travel with her husband, and, after living in Rome for nearly four +years, she died there. The boy was shortly brought back to England +by his father, and placed in the care of Mr. Smales, on the +understanding that a sum of money should be paid yearly for his +support and education. From that day to the present nothing more had +been heard of Signor Casti, and all the care of his sister's child +had fallen upon poor Smales, who was not too well provided with +means to support his own small household. However, he had not failed +in the duty, and Julian (his name had been Englished) was still +going to school at his uncle's expense. It was by this time +understood that, on leaving school, he should come into the shop, +and there qualify himself for the business of a chemist. + +Had it not been for Julian, the back parlour would have seen but +little cheerfulness to-night. Mr. Smales himself was always +depressed in mind and ailing in body. Life had proved too much for +him; the burden of the recurring daylight was beyond his strength. +There was plainly no lack of kindliness in his disposition, and this +never failed to come strongly into his countenance as often as he +looked at Harriet. She was his only child. Her mother had died of +consumption early in their married life, and it was his perpetual +dread lest he should discover in Harriet a disposition to the same +malady. + +His fears had but too much stimulus to keep them alive. Harriet had +passed through a sickly childhood, and was growing up with a feeble +constitution. Body and mind were alike unhealthy. Of all the people +who came in contact with her, her father alone was blind to her +distorted sense of right, her baseless resentments, her malicious +pleasures, her depraved intellect. His affection she repaid with +indifference. At present, the only person she appeared to really +like was the servant Sarah, a girl of vicious character. + +Harriet had suffered more from Ida's blow than had at first appeared +likely. The wound would not heal well, and she had had several +feverish nights. For her convenience, the couch had been drawn up +between the fire and the table; and, reclining here, she every now +and then threw out a petulant word in reply to her father's or +Julian's well-meant cheerfulness. But for the boy, the gloomy +silence would seldom have been broken. He, however, was full +to-night of a favourite subject, and kept up a steady flow of bright +narrative. At school he was much engaged just now with the history +of Rome, and it was his greatest delight to tell the listeners at +home the glorious stories which were his latest acquisitions. All +to-day he had been reading Plutarch. The enthusiasm with which he +spoke of these old heroes and their deeds went beyond mere boyish +admiration of valour and delight in bloodshed; he seemed to be +strongly sensible of the real features of greatness in these men's +lives, and invested his stories with a glow of poetical colour which +found little appreciation in either of his hearers. + +"And I was born in Rome, wasn't I, uncle?" he exclaimed at last. +"_I_ am a Roman; _Romanus sum_!" + +Then he laughed with his wonted bright gleefulness. It was half in +jest, but for all that there was a genuine warmth on his cheek, and +lustre in his fine eyes. + +"Some day I will go to Rome again," he said, "and both of you shall +go with me. We shall see the Forum and the Capitol! Sha'n't you +shout when you see the Capitol, uncle?" + +Poor Smales only smiled sadly and shook his head. It was a long way +from Marylebone to Rome; greater still the distance between the +boy's mind and that of his uncle. + +Sarah took Harriet to bed early. Julian had got hold of his Plutarch +again, and read snatches of it aloud every now and then. His uncle +paid no heed, was sunk in dull reverie. When they had sat thus for +more than an hour, Mr. Smales began to exhibit a wish to talk. + +"Put the book away, and draw up to the fire, my boy," he said, with +as near an approach to heartiness as he was capable of. "It's +Christmas time, and Christmas only comes once a year." + +He rubbed his palms together, then began to twist the corners of his +handkerchief. + +"Well, Julian," he went on, leaning feebly forward to the fire, "a +year more school, I suppose, and then--business; what?" + +"Yes, uncle." + +The boy spoke cheerfully, but yet not in the same natural way as +before. + +"I wish I could afford to make you something better, my lad; you +ought to be something better by rights. And I don't well know what +you'll find to do in this little shop. The business might be better; +yes, might be better. You won't have much practice in dispensing, +I'm afraid, unless things improve. It is mostly hair-oil,--and the +patent medicines. It's a poor look-out for you, Julian." + +There was a silence. + +"Harriet isn't quite well yet, is she?" Smales went on, half to +himself. + +"No, she looked poorly to-night." + +"Julian," began the other, but paused, rubbing his hands more +nervously than ever. + +"Yes, uncle?" + +"I wonder what 'ud become of her if I--if I died now? You're +growing up, and you're a clever lad; you'll soon be able to shift +for yourself. But what'll Harriet do? If only she had her health. +And I shall have nothing to leave either her or you, Julian,-- +nothing,--nothing! She'll have to get her living somehow. I must +think of some easy business for her, I must. She might be a teacher, +but her head isn't strong enough, I fear. Julian--" + +"Yes, uncle?" + +"You--you are old enough to understand things, my boy," went on +his uncle, with quavering voice. "Suppose, after I'm dead and gone, +Harriet should want help. She won't make many friends, I fear, and +she'll have bad health. Suppose she was in want of any kind,-- +you'd stand by her, Julian, wouldn't you? You'd be a friend to her, +--always?" + +"Indeed I would, uncle!" exclaimed the boy stoutly. + +"You promise me that, Julian, this Christmas night?--you promise +it?" + +"Yes, I promise, uncle. You've always been kind and good to me, and +see if I'm not the same to Harriet." + +His voice trembled with generous emotion. + +"No, I sha'n't see it, my boy," said Smales, shaking his head +drearily; "but the promise will be a comfort to me at the end, a +comfort to me. You're a good lad, Julian!" + +Silence came upon them again. + +In the same district, in one of a row of semi-detached houses +standing in gardens, lived Ida's little friend, Maud Enderby, with +her aunt, Miss Bygrave, a lady of forty-two or forty-three. The +rooms were small and dark; the furniture sparse, old-fashioned, and +much worn; there were no ornaments in any of the rooms, with the +exception of a few pictures representing the saddest incidents in +the life of Christ. On entering the front door you were oppressed by +the chill, damp atmosphere, and by a certain unnatural stillness. +The stairs were not carpeted, but stained a dark colour; a footfall +upon them, however light, echoed strangely as if from empty chambers +above. There was no sign of lack of repair; perfect order and +cleanliness wherever the eye penetrated; yet the general effect was +an unspeakable desolation. + +Maud Enderby, on reaching home after her meeting with Ida, entered +the front parlour, and sat down in silence near the window, where +faint daylight yet glimmered. The room was without fire. Over the +mantelpiece hung an engraving of the Crucifixion; on the opposite +wall were the Agony in the Garden, and an Entombment; all after old +masters. The centre table, a few chairs, and a small sideboard were +the sole articles of furniture. The table was spread with a white +cloth; upon it were a loaf of bread, a pitcher containing milk, two +plates, and two glasses. + +Maud sat in the cold room for a quarter of an hour; it became quite +dark. Then was heard a soft footstep descending the stairs; the door +opened, and a lady came in, bearing a lighted lamp, which she stood +upon the table. She was tall, very slender, and with a face which a +painter might have used to personify the spiritual life. Its +outlines were of severe perfection; its expression a confirmed +grief, subdued by, and made subordinate to, the consciousness of an +inward strength which could convert suffering into triumph. Her +garment was black, of the simplest possible design. In looking at +Maud, as the child rose from the chair, it was scarcely affection +that her eyes expressed, rather a grave compassion. Maud took a seat +at the table without speaking; her aunt sat down over against her. +In perfect silence they partook of the milk and the bread. Miss +Bygrave then cleared the table with her own hands, and took the +things out of the room. Maud still kept her place. The child's +manner was not at all constrained; she was evidently behaving in her +wonted way. Her eyes wandered about the room with rather a dreamy +gaze, and, as often as they fell upon her aunt's face, became very +serious, though in no degree expressive of fear or even awe. + +Miss Bygrave returned, and seated herself near the little girl; then +remained thoughtful for some minutes. The breath from their lips was +plainly visible on the air. Maud almost shivered now and then, but +forced herself to suppress the impulse. Her aunt presently broke the +silence, speaking m a low voice, which had nothing of tenderness, +but was most impressive in its earnest calm. + +"I wish to speak to you before you go upstairs, Maud; to speak of +things which you cannot understand fully as yet, but which you are +old enough to begin to think about." + +Maud was surprised. It was the first time that her aunt had ever +addressed her in this serious way. She was used to being all but +ignored, though never in a manner which made her feel that she was +treated unkindly. There was nothing like confidence between them; +only in care for her bodily wants did Miss Bygrave fill the place of +the mother whose affection the child had never known. Maud crossed +her hands on her lap, and looked up with respectful attention upon +her pale sweet little face. + +"Do you wonder at all," Miss Bygrave went on, "why we never spend +Christmas like your friends do in their homes, with eating and +drinking and all sorts of merriment?" + +"Yes, aunt, I do." + +It was evidently the truth, and given with the simple directness +which characterised the child. + +"You know what Christmas Day means, Maud?" + +"It is the day on which Christ was born." + +"And for what purpose did Christ come as a child on earth?" + +Maud thought for a moment. She had never had any direct religious +teaching; all she knew of these matters was gathered from her +regular attendance at church. She replied in a phrase which had +rested in her mind, though probably conveying little if any meaning +to her. + +"He came to make us free from sin." + +"And so we should rejoice at His coming. But would it please Him, do +you think, to see us showing our joy by indulging in those very sins +from which He came to free us?" + +Maud looked with puzzled countenance. + +"Is it a sin to like cake and sweet things, aunt?" + +The gravity of the question brought a smile to Miss Bygrave's close, +strong lips. + +"Listen, Maud," she said, "and I will tell you what I mean. For you +to like such things is no sin, as long as you are still too young to +have it explained to you why you should overcome that liking. As I +said, you are now old enough to begin to think of more than a +child's foolishness, to ask yourself what is the meaning of the life +which has been given you, what duties you must set before yourself +as you grow up to be a woman. When once these duties have become +clear to you, when you understand what the end of life is, and how +you should seek to gain it, then many things become sinful which +were not so before, and many duties must be performed which +previously you were not ready for." + +Miss Bygrave spoke with effort, as if she found it difficult to +express herself in sufficiently simple phraseology. Speaking, she +did not look at the child; and, when the pause came, her eyes were +still fixed absently on the picture above the mantelpiece. + +"Keep in mind what I shall tell you," she proceeded with growing +solemnity, "and some day you will better understand its meaning than +you can now. The sin which Christ came to free us from was-- +fondness for the world, enjoyment of what we call pleasure, desire +for happiness on earth. He Himself came to set us the example of one +to whom the world was nothing, who could put aside every joy, and +make His life a life of sorrows. Even that was not enough. When the +time had come, and He had finished His teaching of the disciples +whom He chose, He willingly underwent the most cruel of all deaths, +to prove that His teaching had been the truth, and to show us that +we must face any most dreadful suffering rather than desert what we +believe to be right." + +She pointed to the crucified figure, and Maud followed the direction +of her hand with awed gaze. + +"And this," said Miss Bygrave, "is why I think it wrong to make +Christmas a time of merriment. In the true Christian, every +enjoyment which comes from the body is a sin. If you feel you _like_ +this or that, it is a sign that you must renounce it, give it up. If +you feel fond of life, you must force yourself to hate it; for life +is sin. Life is given to us that we may conquer ourselves. We are +placed in the midst of sin that we may struggle against its +temptations. There is temptation in the very breath you draw, since +you feel a dread if it is checked. You must live so as to be ready +at any moment to give up your life with gladness, as a burden which +it has been appointed you to bear for a time. There is temptation in +the love you feel for those around you; it makes you cling to life; +you are tempted to grieve if you lose them, whereas death is the +greatest blessing in the gift of God. And just because it is so, we +must not snatch at it before our time; it would be a sin to kill +ourselves, since that would be to escape from the tasks set us. Many +pleasures would seem to be innocent, but even these it is better to +renounce, since for that purpose does every pleasure exist. I speak +of the pleasures of the world. One joy there is which we may and +must pursue, the joy of sacrifice. The more the body suffers, the +greater should be the delight of the soul; and the only moment of +perfect happiness should be that when the world grows dark around +us, and we feel the hand of death upon our hearts." + +She was silent, and both sat in the cold room without word or +motion. + + + + + +CHAPTER V + +POSSIBILITIES + + + + +Christmas passed, and the beginning of the New Year drew nigh. And, +one morning, as Mr. Woodstock was glancing up and down the pages of +a ledger, a telegram was delivered to him. It was from a hospital in +the north-west of London. "Your daughter is dying, and wishes to see +you. Please come at once." + +Lotty's ailment had declared itself as pneumonia. She was frequently +delirious, and the substance of her talk at such times led the +attendant Sister to ask her, when reason returned, whether she did +not wish any relative to be sent for. Lotty was frightened, but, as +long as she was told that there was still hope of recovery, declined +to mention any name. The stubborn independence which had supported +her through these long years asserted itself again, as a reaction +after her fruitless appeal; at moments she felt that she could die +with her lips closed, and let what might happen to her child. But +when she at length read upon the faces of those about her that her +fate hung in the balance, and when she saw the face of little Ida, +come there she knew not how, looking upon her from the bedside, then +her purpose yielded, and in a whisper she told her father's address, +and begged that he might be apprised of her state. + +Abraham Woodstock arrived at the hospital, but to no purpose. Lotty +had lost her consciousness. He waited for some hours; there was no +return of sensibility. When it had been long dark, and he had +withdrawn from the ward for a little, he was all at once hastily +summoned back. He stood by the bedside, his hands behind his back, +his face set in a hard gaze upon the pale features on the pillow. +Opposite to him stood the medical man, and a screen placed around +the bed shut them off from the rest of the ward. All at once Lotty's +eyes opened. It seemed as though she recognised her father, for a +look of surprise came to her countenance. Then there was a gasping +for breath, a struggle, and the eyes saw no more, for all their +staring. + +Mr. Woodstock left the hospital. At the first public-house he +reached he entered and drank a glass of whisky. The barman had +forgotten the piece of lemon, and was rewarded with an oath +considerably stronger than the occasion seemed to warrant. Arrived +at certain cross-ways, Mr. Woodstock paused. His eyes were turned +downwards; he did not seem dubious of his way, so much as in +hesitation as to a choice of directions. He took a few steps hither, +then back; began to wend thither, and again turned. When he at +length decided, his road brought him to Milton Street, and up to the +door on which stood the name of Mrs. Ledward. + +He knocked loudly, and the landlady herself opened. + +"A Mrs. Starr lived here, I believe?" he asked. + +"She does live here, sir, but she's in the orspital at present, I'm +sorry to say." + +"Is her child at home?" + +"She is, sir." + +"Let me see her, will you? In some room, if you please." + +Mrs. Ledward's squinting eyes took shrewd stock of this gentleman, +and, with much politeness, she showed him into her own parlour. Then +she summoned Ida from upstairs, and, the door being closed upon the +two, she held her ear as closely as possible to the keyhole. + +Ida recognised her visitor with a start, and drew back a little. +There were both fear and dislike in her face, fear perhaps +predominating. + +"You remember coming to see me," said Mr. Woodstock, looking down +upon the child, and a trifle askance. + +"Yes, sir," was Ida's reply. + +"I have just been at the hospital. Your mother is dead." + +His voice gave way a little between the first and the last letter of +the last word. Perhaps the sound was more to his ear than the +thought had been to his mind. Perhaps, also, he felt when it was too +late that he ought to have made this announcement with something +more of preparation. Ida's eyes were fixed upon his face, and seemed +expanding as they gazed; her lips had parted; she was the image of +sudden dread. He tried to look away from her, but somehow could not. +Then two great tears dropped upon her cheeks, and her mouth began to +quiver. She put her hands up to her face, and sobbed as a grown +woman might have done. + +Mr. Woodstock turned away for a minute, and fingered a china +ornament on the mantelpiece. He heard the sobs forcibly checked, +and, when there was silence, again faced his grandchild. + +"You'll be left all alone now, you see," he said, his voice less +hard. "I was a friend of your mother's, and I'll do what I can for +you. You'd better come with me to my house." + +Ida looked at him in surprise, tempered with indignation. + +"If you were a friend of mother's," she said, "why did you want to +take me away from her and never let her see me again?" + +"Well, you've nothing to do with that," said Abraham roughly. "Go +and put your things on, and come with me." + +"No," replied Ida firmly. "I don't want to go with you." + +"What you want has nothing to do with it. You will do as I tell +you." + +Abraham felt strangely in this interview. It was as though time were +repeating itself, and he was once more at issue with his daughter's +childish wilfulness. + +Ida did not move. + +"Why won't you come?" asked Mr. Woodstock sharply. + +"I don't want to," was Ida's answer. + +"Look here, then," said the other, after a brief consideration. "You +have the choice, and you're old enough to see what it means. You can +either come with me and be well cared for, or stay here and shift as +best you can; now, be sharp and make up your mind." + +"I don't wish to go with you, I'll stay here and do my best." + +"Very well." + +Mr. Woodstock whistled a bar of an air, stepped from the room, and +thence out into the streets. + +It was not his intention really to go at once. Irritation had made +it impossible for him to speak longer with the child; he would walk +the length of the street and return to give her one more chance. +Distracted in purpose as he had never been in his life before, he +reached Marylebone Road; rain was just beginning to fall, and he had +no umbrella with him. He stood and looked back. Ida once out of his +sight, that impatient tenderness which her face inspired failed +before the recollection of her stubbornness. She had matched her +will with his, as bad an omen as well could be. What was the child +to him, or he to her? He did not feel capable of trying to make her +like him; what good in renewing the old conflicts and upsetting the +position of freedom he had attained? Doubtless she inherited a fatal +disposition. In his mind lurked the foreknowledge that he might come +to be fond of this little outcast, but Woodstock was incapable as +yet of understanding that love must and will be its own reward. The +rain fell heavier, and at this moment an omnibus came up. He hailed +it, saying to himself that he would think the matter over and come +back on the morrow. The first part of his purpose he fulfilled; but +to Milton Street he never returned. + +As soon as he had left the house, Mrs. Ledward bounced into the room +where Ida stood. + +"You little idjot!" she exclaimed. "What do you mean by refusing a +offer like that!--Why, the gentleman's your own father." + +"My father!" repeated Ida, in scornful astonishment. "My father died +when I was a baby. Mother's told me so often." + +"If you believe all your mother told you,--Well, well, you have +been a little wooden-head. What made you behave like that to him?-- +Where does he live, eh?" + +"I don't know." + +"You do know. Why, I heard him say you'd been to see him. And what +are you going to do, I'd like to know? You dont expect me to keep +you, I s'pose. Tell me at once where the gentleman lives, and let me +take you there. The idea of your turning against your own father!" + +"He's _not_ my father!" cried Ida passionately. "My father is dead; +and now mother's dead, and I'm alone." She turned and went from the +room, weeping bitterly. + + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +AN ADVERTISEMENT + + + + +In a morning newspaper of March 187--, that is to chapter, appeared a +singular advertisement. + +"WANTED, human companionship. A young man of four-and-twenty wishes +to find a congenial associate of about his own age. He is a student +of ancient and modern literatures, a free-thinker in religion, a +lover of art in all its forms, a hater of conventionalism. Would +like to correspond in the first instance. Address O. W., City News +Rooms, W.C." + +An advertisement which, naturally, might mean much or little, might +be the outcome of an idle whim, or the despairing cry of a hungry +heart. It could not be expected to elicit many replies; and brought +indeed but one. + +Behind the counter of a chemist's shop in Oxford Street there +served, day after day, a young assistant much observed of female +customers. The young man was handsome, and not with that vulgar +handsomeness which is fairly common among the better kind of +shop-walkers and counter-keepers. He had rather long black hair, +which arranged itself in silky ripples about a face of perfectly +clear, though rather dark, complexion. When he smiled, as he +frequently did, the effect was very pleasant. He spoke, too, with +that musical intonation which is always more or less suggestive of +musical thought. He did not seem by any means ideally adapted to the +place he occupied here, yet filled it without suspicion of +constraint or uneasiness: there was nothing in him to make one +suppose that he had ever been accustomed to a better sphere of life. + +He lived in the house above the shop, and had done so for about two +years; previously he had held a like position in a more modest +establishment. His bed-room, which had to serve him as sitting-room +also during his free hours, gave indications of a taste not +ordinarily found in chemists' assistants. On the walls were several +engravings of views in Rome, ancient and modern; and there were two +bookcases filled with literature which had evidently known the +second-hand stall,--most of the Latin poets, a few Italian books, +and some English classics. Not a trace anywhere of the habits and +predilections not unfairly associated with the youth of the shop, +not even a pipe or a cigar-holder. It was while sitting alone here +one evening, half musing, half engaged in glancing over the +advertisements in a paper two days old, that the assistant had been +attracted by the insertion just quoted. He read and re-read it, +became more thoughtful, sighed slightly. Then he moved to the table +and took some note-paper out of a writing-case. Still he seemed to +be in doubt, hesitated in pressing a pen against his thumb-nail, was +on the point of putting the note-paper away again. Ultimately, +however, he sat down to write. He covered four pages with a letter, +which he then proceeded deliberately to correct and alter, till he +had cut it down by about half. Then came another period of doubt +before he decided to make a fair copy. But it was finally made, and +the signature at the foot was: Julian Casti. + +He went out at once to the post. + +Two days later he received a reply, somewhat longer than his own +epistle. The writer was clearly keeping himself in a tentative +attitude. Still, he wrote something about his own position and his +needs. He was a teacher in a school in South London, living in +lodgings, with his evenings mostly unoccupied. His habits, he +declared, were Bohemian. Suppose, by way of testing each other's +dispositions, they were to interchange views on some book with which +both were likely to be acquainted: say, Keats's poems? In +conclusion, the "O. W." of the advertisement signed himself Osmond +Waymark. + +The result was that, a week after, Casti received an invitation to +call on Waymark, at the latter's lodgings in Walcot Square, +Kennington. He arrived on a Saturday evening, just after eight +o'clock. The house he sought proved to be one of very modest +appearance; small, apparently not too clean, generally uninviting. +But a decent-looking woman opened the door, and said that Mr. +Waymark would be found in response to a knock at the first-floor +front. The visitor made his way up the dark, narrow stair-case, and +knocked as bidden. A firm voice summoned him to enter. + +From a seat by a table which was placed as near as possible to a +very large fire rose a young man whose age might have been either +twenty-three or twenty-six. Most people would have inclined to give +him the latter figure. He was rather above the average stature, and +showed well-hung limbs, with a habit of holding himself which +suggested considerable toughness of sinews; he moved gracefully, and +with head well held up. His attire spoke sedentary habits; would +have been decidedly shabby, but for its evident adaptation to +easy-chair and fireside. The pure linen and general tone of +cleanliness were reassuring; the hand, too, which he extended, was +soft, delicate, and finely formed. The head was striking, strongly +individual, set solidly on a rather long and shapely neck; a fine +forehead, irregular nose, rather prominent jaw-bones, lips just a +little sensual, but speaking good-humour and intellectual character. +A heavy moustache; no beard. Eyes dark, keen, very capable of +tenderness, but perhaps more often shrewdly discerning or cynically +speculative. One felt that the present expression of genial +friendliness was unfamiliar to the face, though it by no means +failed in pleasantness. The lips had the look of being frequently +gnawed in intense thought or strong feeling. In the cheeks no +healthy colour, but an extreme sallowness on all the features. +Smiling, he showed imperfect teeth. Altogether, a young man upon +whom one felt it difficult to pronounce in the earlier stages of +acquaintance; whose intimacy but few men would exert themselves to +seek; who in all likelihood was chary of exhibiting his true self +save when secure of being understood. + +Julian Casti was timid with strangers; his eyes fell before the +other's look, and he shook hands without speaking. The contrast in +mere appearance between the two was very pronounced; both seemed in +some degree to be aware of it. Waymark seemed more rugged than in +ordinary companionship; the slightly effeminate beauty of Casti, and +his diffident, shyly graceful manners, were more noticeable than +usual. Waymark inspected his visitor closely and directly; the +latter only ventured upon one or two quick side glances. Yet the +results were, on the whole, mutually satisfactory. + +Julian's eyes glistened at the sight of two goodly bookcases, +reaching from floor to ceiling. There were, too, pictures of other +than the lodging-house type; engraved heads of the great in art and +science, and a few reproductions in pencil or chalk of known +subjects, perchance their possessor's own work. On the table lay +traces of literary occupation, sheets of manuscript, open books, and +the like. On another table stood a tray, with cups and saucers. A +kettle was boiling on the fire. + +Waymark helped the conversation by offering a cup of coffee, which +he himself made. + +"You smoke, I hope?" he asked, reaching some cigars from the +mantelpiece. + +Julian shook his head, with a smile. + +"No? How on earth do you support existence?--At all events, you +don't, as the railway-carriage phrase has it, object to smoking?" + +"Not at all. I like the scent, but was never tempted to go further." + +Waymark filled his pipe, and made himself conformable in a low +cane-bottom chair, which had stood folded-up against the wall. Talk +began to range over very various topics, Waymark leading the way, +his visitor only gradually venturing to take the initiative. +Theatres were mentioned, but Julian knew little of them; recent +books, but with these he had small acquaintance; politics, but in +these he had clearly no interest. + +"That's a point of contact, at all events," exclaimed Waymark. "I +detest the very name of Parliament, and could as soon read Todhunter +on Conic Sections as the reports of a debate. Perhaps you're a +mathematician?" This with a smile. + +"By no means," was the reply. "In fact," Casti went on, "I'm afraid +you begin to think my interests are very narrow indeed. My +opportunities have been small. I left a very ordinary school at +fourteen, and what knowledge I have since got has come from my own +efforts. I am sure the profit from our intercourse would be entirely +on my side. I have the wish to go in for many things, however,--" + +"Oh," broke in the other, "don't suppose that I am a scholar in any +sense of the word, or a man of more than average culture. My own +regular education came to an end pretty much at the same age, and +only a certain stubbornness has forced me into an intellectual life, +if you can call it so. Not much intellect required in my every-day +business, at all events. The school in which I teach is a fair type +of the middle-class commercial 'academy;' the headmaster a +nincompoop and charlatan, my fellow-assistants poor creatures, who +must live, I suppose,--though one doesn't well understand why. I +had always a liking for Greek and Latin and can make shift to read +both in a way satisfactory to myself, though I dare say it wouldn't +go for much with college examiners. Then, as for my scribbling, +well, it has scarcely yet passed the amateur stage. It will some +day; simply because I've made up my mind that it shall; but as yet I +haven't got beyond a couple of weak articles in weak magazines, and +I don't exactly feel sure of my way. I rather think we shall +approach most nearly in our taste for poetry. I liked much what you +had to say about Keats. It decided me that we ought to go on." + +Julian looked up with a bright smile. + +"What did you think at first of my advertisement, eh?" cried +Waymark, with a sudden burst of loud laughter. "Queer idea, wasn't +it?" + +"It came upon me curiously. It was so like a frequent thought of my +own actually carried out." + +"It was? You have felt that same desperate need of congenial +society?" + +"I have felt it very strongly indeed. I live so very much alone, and +have always done so. Fortunately I am of a very cheerful +disposition, or I might have suffered much. The young fellows I see +every day haven't much intellect, it must be confessed. I used to +try to get them under the influence of my own enthusiasms, but they +didn't seem to understand me. They care only for things which either +repel me, or are utterly without interest." + +"Ha! you understand what that means!" Waymark had risen from his low +chair, and stood with his back to the fire. His eyes had a new life, +and he spoke in a strong, emphatic way which suited well with his +countenance. "You know what it is to have to do exclusively with +fools and brutes, to rave under the vile restraints of Philistine +surroundings? Then you can form some notion of the state I was in +when I took the step of writing that advertisement; I was, I firmly +believe, on the verge of lunacy! For two or three days I had come +back home from the school only to pace up and down the room in an +indescribable condition. I get often like that, but this time things +seemed reaching a head. Why, I positively cried with misery, absurd +as it may sound. My blood seemed too hot, seemed to be swelling out +the veins beyond endurance. As a rule I get over these moods by +furious walking about the streets half through the night, but I +couldn't even do that. I had no money to go in for dissipation: that +often helps me. Every book was loathsome to me. My landlady must +have overheard something, for she came in and began a conversation +about God knows what; I fear I mortally offended her; I could have +pitched the poor old woman out of the window! Heavens, how did I get +through those nights?" + +"And the fit has passed?" inquired Julian when the other ceased. + +"The Lord be praised; yes!" Waymark laughed half-scornfully. "There +came an editor's note, accepting a thing that had been going from +magazine to magazine for three months. This snatched me up into +furious spirits. I rushed out to a theatre, drank more than was good +for me, made a fool of myself in general,--and then received your +letter. Good luck never comes singly." + +Julian had watched the strange workings of Waymark's face with close +interest. When the latter suddenly turned his eyes, as if to see the +effect of all his frankness, Casti coloured slightly and looked +away, but with a look of friendly sympathy. + +"Do I shock you?" asked the other. "Do you think me rather too much +of an animal, for all my spiritual longings?" + +"Certainly not, I can well understand you, I believe." + +The conversation passed to quieter things. Julian seemed afraid of +saying too much about his own experiences, but found opportunities +of showing his acquaintance with English poetry, which was quite as +extensive as that of his new friend, excepting in the case of a few +writers of the day, whom he had not been able to procure. He had +taught himself Italian, too, and had read considerably in that +language. He explained that his father was an Italian, but had died +when he himself was still an infant. + +"You have been in Italy?" asked Waymark, with interest. + +A strange look came over Julian's features, a look at once bright +and melancholy; his fine eyes gleamed as was their wont eight years +ago, in the back-parlour in Boston Street, when he was telling tales +from Plutarch. + +"Not," he said, in a low voice charged with feeling, "since I was +three years old.--You will think it strange, but I don't so much +long for the modern Italy, for the beautiful scenery and climate, +not even for the Italy of Raphael, or of Dante. I think most of +classical Italy. I am no scholar, but I love the Latin writers, and +can forget myself for hours, working through Livy or Tacitus. I want +to see the ruins of Rome; I want to see the Tiber, the Clitumnus, +the Aufidus, the Alban Hills, Lake Trasimenus,--a thousand places! +It is strange how those old times have taken hold upon me. The mere +names in Roman history make my blood warm.--And there is so little +chance that I shall ever be able to go there; so little chance." + +Waymark had watched the glowing face with some surprise. + +"Why, this is famous!" he exclaimed. "We shall suit each other +splendidly. Who knows? We may see Italy together, and look back upon +these times of miserable struggle. By the by, have you ever written +verses?" + +Julian reddened, like a girl. + +"I have tried to," he said. + +"And do still?" + +"Sometimes." + +"I thought as much. Some day you shall let me hear them; won't you? +And I will read you some of my own. But mine are in the savage vein, +a mere railing against the universe, altogether too furious to be +anything like poetry; I know that well enough. I have long since +made up my mind to stick to prose; it is the true medium for a +polemical egotist. I want to find some new form of satire; I feel +capabilities that way which shall by no means rust unused. It has +pleased Heaven to give me a splenetic disposition, and some day or +other I shall find the tongue." + +It was midnight before Julian rose to leave, and he was surprised +when he discovered how time had flown. Waymark insisted on his +guest's having some supper before setting out on his walk home; he +brought out of a cupboard a tin of Australian mutton, which, with +bread and pickles, afforded a very tolerable meal after four hours' +talk. They then left the house together, and Waymark accompanied his +friend as far as Westminster Bridge. + +"It's too bad to have brought you so far at this hour," said Julian, +as they parted. + +"Oh, it is my hour for walking," was the reply. "London streets at +night are my element. Depend upon it, Rome was poor in comparison!" + +He went off laughing and waving his hand. + + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +BETWEEN OLD AND NEW + + + + +Julian Casti's uncle had been three years dead. It was well for him +that he lived no longer; his business had continued to dwindle, and +the last months of the poor man's life were embittered by the +prospect of inevitable bankruptcy. He died of an overdose of some +opiate, which the anguish of sleeplessness brought him into the +habit of taking. Suicide it might have been, yet that was scarcely +probable; he was too anxious on his daughter's account to abandon +her in this way, for certainly his death could be nothing to her +profit. Julian was then already eighteen, and quickly succeeded in +getting a situation. Harriet Smales left London, and went to live +with her sole relative, except Julian, an aunt who kept a +stationer's shop in Colchester. She was taught the business, and +assisted her aunt for more than two years, when, growing tired of +the life of a country town, she returned to London, and succeeded in +getting a place at a stationer's in Gray's Inn Road. This was six +months ago. Having thus established herself, she wrote to Julian, +and told him where she was. + +Julian never forgot the promise he had made to his uncle that +Christmas night, eight years ago, when he was a lad of thirteen. +Harriet he had always regarded as his sister, and never yet had he +failed in brotherly duty to her. When the girl left Colchester, she +was on rather bad terms with her aunt, and the latter wrote to +Julian, saying that she knew nothing of Harriet's object in going to +London, but that it was certainly advisable that some friend should +be at hand, if possible, to give her advice; though advice (she went +on to say) was seldom acceptable to Harriet. This letter alarmed +Julian, as it was the first he had heard of his cousin's new step; +the letter from herself at the end of a week's time greatly relieved +him, and he went off as soon as possible to see her. He found her +living in the house where she was engaged, apparently with decent +people, and moderately contented; more than this could never be said +of the girl. Since then, he had seen her at least once every week. +Sometimes he visited her at the shop; when the weather was fine, +they spent the Sunday afternoon in walking together. Harriet's +health seemed to have improved since her return to town. Previously, +as in her childhood, she had always been more or less ailing. From +both father and mother she had inherited an unhealthy body; there +was a scrofulous tendency in her constitution, and the slightest +casual ill-health, a cold or any trifling accident, always +threatened her with serious results. She was of mind corresponding +to her body; restless, self-willed, discontented, sour-tempered, +querulous. She certainly used no special pains to hide these faults +from Julian, perhaps was not herself sufficiently conscious of them, +but the young man did not seem to be repelled by her imperfections; +he invariably treated her with gentle forbearance, pitied her +sufferings, did many a graceful little kindness in hope of pleasing +her. + +The first interview between Julian and Waymark was followed by a +second a few days after, when it was agreed that they should spend +each Sunday evening together in Kennington; Julian had no room in +which he could well receive visitors. The next Sunday proved fine; +Julian planned to take Harriet for a walk in the afternoon, then, +after accompanying her home, to proceed to Walcot Square. As was +usual on these occasions, he was to meet his cousin at the Holborn +end of Gray's Inn Road, and, as also was the rule, Harriet came some +twenty minutes late. Julian was scrupulously punctual, and waiting +irritated him not a little, but he never allowed himself to show his +annoyance. There was always the same kind smile on his handsome +face, and the pressure of his hand was warm. + +Harriet Smales was about a year younger than her cousin. Her dress +showed moderately good taste, with the usual fault of a desire to +imitate an elegance which she could not in reality afford. She wore +a black jacket, fur-trimmed, over a light grey dress; her black +straw hat had a few flowers in front. Her figure was good and her +movements graceful; she was nearly as tall as Julian. Her face, +however, could not be called attractive; it was hollow and of a +sickly hue, even the lips scarcely red. Grey eyes, beneath which +were dark circles, looked about with a quick, suspicious glance; the +eye-brows made almost a straight line. The nose was of a coarse +type, the lips heavy and indicative of ill-temper. The disagreeable +effect of these lineaments was heightened by a long scar over her +right temple; she evidently did her best to conceal it by letting +her hair come forward very much on each side, an arrangement in +itself unsuited to her countenance. + +"I think I'm going to leave my place," was her first remark to-day, +as they turned to walk westward. She spoke in a dogged way with +which Julian was familiar enough, holding her eyes down, and, as she +walked, swinging her arms impatiently. + +"I hope not," said her cousin, looking at her anxiously. "What has +happened?" + +"Oh, I don't know; it's always the same; people treat you as if you +was so much dirt. I haven't been accustomed to it, and I don't see +why I should begin now. I can soon enough get a new shop." + +"Has Mrs. Ogle been unkind to you?" + +"Oh, I don't know, and I don't much care. You're expected to slave +just the same, day after day, whether you're feeling well or not." + +This indirect and querulous mode of making known her grievances was +characteristic of the girl. Julian bore with it very patiently. + +"Haven't you been feeling well?" he asked, with the same kindness. + +"Well, no, I haven't. My head fairly splits now, and this sun isn't +likely to make it any better." + +"Let us cross to the shady side." + +"'Twon't make any difference; I can't run to get out of the way of +horses." + +Julian was silent for a little. + +"Why didn't you write to me in the week?" she asked presently. "I'm +sure it would be a relief to hear from somebody sometimes. It's like +a year from one Sunday to another." + +"Did I promise to write? I really didn't remember having done so; +I'm very sorry. I might have told you about a new friend I've got." + +Harriet looked sharply into his face. Julian had made no mention of +Waymark on the preceding Sunday; it had been a rainy day, and they +had only spent a few minutes together in the parlour which Mrs. +Ogle, the keeper of the shop, allowed them to use on these +occasions. + +"What sort of a friend?" the girl inquired rather sourly. + +"A very pleasant fellow, rather older than myself; I made his +acquaintance by chance." + +Julian avoided reference to the real circumstances. He knew well the +difficulty of making Harriet understand them. + +"We are going to see each other every Sunday," he went on. + +"Then I suppose you'll give up coming for me?" + +"Oh no, not at all. I shall see him at night always, after I have +left you." + +"Where does he live?" + +"Rather far off; in Kennington." + +"What is he?" + +"A teacher in a school. I hope to get good from being with him; +we're going to read together, and so on. I wish you could find some +pleasant companion of the same kind, Harriet; you wouldn't feel so +lonely." + +"I dare say I'm better off without anybody. I shouldn't suit them. +It's very few people I do suit, or else people don't suit me, one or +the other. What's his name, your new friend's?" + +"Waymark." + +"And he lives in Kennington? Whereabouts?" + +"In Walcot Square. I don't think you know that part, do you?" + +"What number?" + +Julian looked at her with some surprise. He found her eyes fixed +with penetrating observation upon his face. He mentioned the number, +and she evidently made a mental note of it. She was silent for some +minutes. + +"I suppose you'll go out at nights with him?" was her next remark. + +"It is scarcely likely. Where should we go to?" + +"Oh, I don't know, and I don't suppose it matters much, to me." + +"You seem vexed at this, Harriet. I'm very sorry. Really, it's the +first friend I've ever had. I've often felt the need of some such +companionship." + +"I'm nobody?" she said, with a laugh, the first today. + +Julian's face registered very perfectly the many subtle phases of +thought and emotion which succeeded each other in his mind. This +last remark distressed him for a moment; he could not bear to hurt +another's feelings. + +"Of course I meant male friend," he said quickly. "You are my +sister." + +"No, I'm not," was the reply; and, as she spoke, Harriet glanced +sideways at him in a particularly unpleasant manner. She herself +meant it to be pleasant. + +"Oh yes, you are, Harriet," he insisted good-humouredly. "We've been +brother and sister ever since we can remember, haven't we?" + +"But we aren't really, for all that," said the girl, looking away. +"Well, now you've got somebody else to take you up, I know very well +I shall see less of you. You'll be making excuses to get out of the +rides when the summer comes again." + +"Pray don't say or think anything of the kind, Harriet," urged +Julian with feeling. "I should not think of letting anything put a +stop to our picnics. It will soon be getting warm enough to think of +the river, won't it? And then, if you would like it, there is no +reason why my friend shouldn't come with us, sometimes." + +"Oh, nonsense! Why, you'd be ashamed to let him know me." + +"Ashamed! How can you possibly think so? But you don't mean it; you +are joking." + +"I'm sure I'm not. I should make mistakes in talking, and all sorts +of things. You don't think much of me, as it is, and that would make +you like me worse still." + +She tossed her head nervously, and swung her arms with the awkward +restlessness which always denoted some strong feeling in her. + +"Come, Harriet, this is too bad," Julian exclaimed, smiling. "Why, I +shall have to quarrel with you, to prove that we're good friends." + +"I wish you _would_ quarrel with me sometimes," said the girl, +laughing in a forced way. "You take all my bad-temper always just in +the same quiet way. I'd far rather you fell out with me. It's +treating me too like a child, as if it didn't matter how I went on, +and I wasn't anything to you." + +Of late, Harriet had been getting much into the habit of this +ambiguous kind of remark when in her cousin's company. Julian +noticed it, and it made him a trifle uneasy. He attributed it, +however, to the girl's strangely irritable disposition, and never +failed to meet such outbreaks with increased warmth and kindness of +tone. To-day, Harriet's vagaries seemed to affect him somewhat +unusually. He became silent at times, and then tried to laugh away +the unpleasantness, but the laughter was not exactly spontaneous. At +length he brought back the conversation to the point from which it +had started, and asked if she had any serious intention of leaving +Mrs. Ogle. + +"I'm tired of being ordered about by people!" Harriet exclaimed. "I +know I sha'n't put up with it much longer. I only wish I'd a few +pounds to start a shop for myself." + +"I heartily wish I had the money to give you," was Julian's reply. + +"Don't you save anything at all?" asked his cousin, with affected +indifference. + +"A little; very little. At all events, I think we shall be able to +have our week at the seaside when the time comes. Have you thought +where you'd like to go to?" + +"No; I haven't thought anything about it. What time shall you get +back home to-night?" + +"Rather late, I dare say. We sit talking and forget the time. It may +be after twelve o'clock." + +Harriet became silent again. They reached Hyde Park, and joined the +crowds of people going in all directions about the walks. Harriet +had always a number of ill-natured comments to make on the dress and +general appearance of people they passed. Julian smiled, but with no +genuine pleasure. As always, he did his best to lead the girl's +thoughts away from their incessant object, hers, elf. + +They were back again at the end of Gray's Inn Road by half-past +four. + +"Well, I won't keep you," said Harriet, with the sour smile. "I know +you're in a hurry to be off. Are you going to walk?" + +"Yes; I can do it in about an hour." + +The girl turned away without further leave-taking, and Julian walked +southwards with a troubled face. + +Waymark expected him to tea. At this, their third meeting, the two +were already on very easy terms. Waymark did the greater share of +the talking, for Julian was naturally of fewer words; from the +beginning it was clear that the elder of the friends would have the +initiative in most things. Waymark unconsciously displayed something +of that egoism which is inseparable from force of character, and to +the other this was far from disagreeable; Julian liked the novel +sensation of having a strong nature to rely upon. Already he was +being led by his natural tendency to hero-worship into a fervid +admiration for his friend. + +"What have you' been doing with yourself this fine day?" Waymark +asked, as they sat down to table. + +"I always spend Sunday afternoon with a cousin of mine," replied +Julian, with the unhesitating frankness which was natural to him. + +"Male or female?" + +"Female." There was a touch of colour on his face as he met the +other's eye, and he continued rather quickly. "We lived together +always as children, and were only separated at my uncle's death, +three years ago. She is engaged at a stationer's shop." + +"What is a fellow to do to get money?" Waymark exclaimed, when his +pipe was well alight. "I'm growing sick of this hand-to-mouth +existence. Now if one had a bare competency, what glorious +possibilities would open out. The vulgar saying has it that 'time is +money;' like most vulgar sayings putting the thing just the wrong +way about. 'Money is time,' I prefer to say; it means leisure, and +all that follows. Why don't you write a poem on Money, Casti? I +almost feel capable of it myself. what can claim precedence, in all +this world, over hard cash? It is the fruitful soil wherein is +nourished the root of the tree of life; it is the vivifying +principle of human activity. Upon it luxuriate art, letters, +science; rob them of its sustenance, and they droop like withering +leaves. Money means virtue; the lack of it is vice. The devil loves +no lurking-place like an empty purse. Give me a thousand pounds +to-morrow, and I become the most virtuous man in England. I satisfy +all my instincts freely, openly, with no petty makeshifts and vile +hypocrisies. To scorn and revile wealth is the mere resource of +splenetic poverty. What cannot be purchased with coin of the realm? +First and foremost, freedom. The moneyed man is the sole king; the +herds of the penniless are but as slaves before his footstool. He +breathes with a sense of proprietorship in the whole +globe-enveloping atmosphere; for is it not in his power to inhale it +wheresoever he pleases? He puts his hand in his pocket, and bids +with security for every joy of body and mind; even death he faces +with the comforting consciousness that his defeat will only coincide +with that of human science. He buys culture, he buys peace of mind, +he buys love.--You think not! I don't use the word cynically, but +in very virtuous earnest. Make me a millionaire, and I will purchase +the passionate devotion of any free-hearted woman the world +contains!" + +Waymark's pipe had gone out; he re-lit it, with the half-mocking +smile which always followed upon any more vehement utterance. + +"That I am poor," he went on presently, "is the result of my own +pigheadedness. My father was a stock-broker, in anything but +flourishing circumstances. He went in for some cursed foreign loan +or other,--I know nothing of such things,--and ruined himself +completely. He had to take a subordinate position, and died in it. I +was about seventeen then, and found myself alone in the world. A +friend of my father's, also a city man, Woodstock by name, was left +my guardian. He wanted me to begin a business career, and, like a +fool, I wouldn't hear of it. Mr. Woodstock and I quarrelled; he +showed himself worthy of his name, and told me plainly that, if I +didn't choose to take his advice, I must shift for myself. That I +professed myself perfectly ready to do; I was bent on an +intellectual life, forsooth; couldn't see that the natural order of +things was to make money first and be intellectual afterwards. So, +lad as I was, I got a place as a teacher, and that's been my +business ever since." + +Waymark threw himself back and laughed carelessly. He strummed a +little with his fingers on the arm of the chair, and resumed: + +"I interested myself in religion and philosophy; I became an +aggressive disciple of free-thought, as it is called. Radicalism of +every kind broke out in me, like an ailment. I bought cheap +free-thought literature; to one or two papers of the kind I even +contributed. I keep these effusions carefully locked up, for +salutary self-humiliation at some future day, when I shall have +grown conceited. Nay, I went further. I delivered lectures at +working-men's clubs, lectures with violent titles. One, I remember, +was called 'The Gospel of Rationalism.' And I was enthusiastic in +the cause, with an enthusiasm such as I shall never experience +again. Can I imagine myself writing and speaking such things +now-a-days? Scarcely: yet the spirit remains, it is only the +manifestations which have changed. I am by nature combative; I feel +the need of attacking the cherished prejudices of society; I have a +joy in outraging what are called the proprieties. And I wait for my +opportunity, which has yet to come." + +"How commonplace my life has been, in comparison," said Julian, +after an interval of thoughtfulness. + +"Your nature, I believe, is very pure, and therefore very happy. _I_ +am what Browning somewhere calls a 'beast with a speckled hide,' and +happiness, I take it, I shall never know." + +Julian could begin to see that his friend took something of a +pleasure in showing and dwelling upon the worst side of his own +character. + +"You will be happy," he said, "when you once find your true work, +and feel that you are doing it well." + +"But the motives, the motives!--Never mind, I've talked enough of +myself for one sitting. Don't think I've told you everything. Plenty +more confessions to come, when time and place shall serve. Little by +little you will get to know me, and by then will most likely have +had enough of me." + +"That is not at all likely; rather the opposite." + +When they left the house together, shortly after eleven, Julian's +eye fell upon the dark figure of a girl, standing by a gas-lamp on +the opposite side of the way. The figure held his gaze. Waymark +moved on, and he had to follow, but still looked back. The girl had +a veil half down upon her face; she was gazing after the two. She +moved, and the resemblance to Harriet was so striking that Julian +again stopped. As he did so, the figure turned away, and walked in +the opposite direction, till it was lost in the darkness. + +Julian went on, and for a time was very silent. + + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +ACADEMICAL + + + + +The school in which Osmond Waymark taught was situated in "a +pleasant suburb of southern London" (Brixton, to wit); had its +"spacious playground and gymnasium" (the former a tolerable +back-yard, the latter a disused coach-house); and, as to educational +features, offered, at the choice of parents and guardians, either +the solid foundation desirable for those youths predestined to a +commercial career, or the more liberal training adapted to minds of +a professional bias. Anything further in the way of information was +to be obtained by applying to the headmaster, Dr. Tootle. + +At present the number of resident pupils was something under forty. +The marvel was how so many could be accommodated in so small a +house. Two fair-sized bedrooms, and a garret in which the servants +could not be persuaded to sleep, served as dormitories for the whole +school; the younger children sleeping two together. + +Waymark did not reside on the premises. For a stipulated sum of +thirteen pounds per quarter he taught daily from nine till five, +with an interval of an hour and a half at dinner-time, when he +walked home to Walcot Square for such meal as the state of his +exchequer would allow. Waymark occupied a prominent place in Dr. +Tootle's prospectus. As Osmond Waymark, B.A.,--the degree was a +_bona fide_ one, of London University,--he filled the +position of Senior Classical Master; anonymously he figured as a +teacher of drawing and lecturer on experimental chemistry. The other +two masters, resident, were Mr. O'Gree and Herr Egger; the former, +teacher of mathematics, assistant classical master, and professor of +gymnastics; the latter, teacher of foreign languages, of music, and +of dancing. Dr. Tootle took upon himself the English branches, and, +of course, the arduous duty of general superintendence. He was a +very tall, thin, cadaverous, bald-headed man. Somehow or other he +had the reputation of having, at an earlier stage in his career, +grievously over-exerted his brain in literary labour; parents were +found, on the whole, ready to accept this fact as an incontestable +proof of the doctor's fitness to fill his present office, though it +resulted in entire weeks of retreat from the school-room under the +excuse of fearful headaches. The only known product of the literary +toil which had had such sad results was a very small English +Grammar, of course used in the school, and always referred to by the +doctor as "my little compendium." + +Now and then, Waymark sought refuge from the loneliness of his room +in a visit to his colleagues at the Academy. The masters' +sitting-room was not remarkable for cosiness, even when a fire burnt +in the grate and the world of school was for the time shut out. The +floor was uncarpeted, the walls illustrated only with a few maps and +diagrams. There was a piano, whereon Herr Egger gave his music +lessons. Few rooms in existence could have excelled this for +draughts; at all times there came beneath the door a current of wind +which pierced the legs like a knife; impossible to leave loose +papers anywhere with a chance of finding them in the same place two +minutes after. + +When Waymark entered this evening, he found his colleagues seated +together in silence. Mr. Philip Q'Gree--"fill-up" was his own +pronunciation of the name--would have been worse than +insignificant in appearance, but for the expression of good-humour +and geniality which possessed his irregular features. He was +red-headed, and had large red whiskers. + +Herr Egger was a gentleman of very different exterior. Tall, thick, +ungainly, with a very heavy, stupid face, coarse hands, outrageous +lower extremities. A mass of coal-black hair seemed to weigh down +his head. His attire was un-English, and, one might suspect, had +been manufactured in some lonely cottage away in the remote Swiss +valley which had till lately been the poor fellow's home. Dr. Tootle +never kept his foreign masters long. His plan was to get hold of +some foreigner without means, and ignorant of English, who would +come and teach French or German in return for mere board and +lodging; when the man had learnt a little English, and was in a +position to demand a salary, he was dismissed, and a new professor +obtained. Egger had lately, under the influence of some desperate +delusion, come to our hospitable clime in search of his fortune. Of +languages he could not be said to know any; his French and his +German were of barbarisms all compact; English as yet he could use +only in a most primitive manner. He must have been the most unhappy +man in all London. Finding himself face to face with large classes +of youngsters accustomed to no kind of discipline, in whom every +word he uttered merely excited outrageous mirth, he was hourly +brought to the very verge of despair. Constitutionally he was +lachrymose; tears came from him freely when distress had reached a +climax, and the contrast between his unwieldy form and this weakness +of demeanour supplied inexhaustible occasion for mirth throughout +the school. His hours of freedom were spent in abysmal brooding. + +Waymark entered in good spirits. At the sight of him, Mr. O'Gree +started from the fireside, snatched up the poker, brandished it +wildly about his head, and burst into vehement exclamations. + +"Ha! ha! you've come in time, sir; you've come in time to hear my +resolution. I can't stand ut any longer; I won't stand ut a day +longer! Mr. Waymark, you're a witness of the outrageous way in which +I'm treated in this academy--the way in which I'm treated both by +Dr. Tootle and by Mrs. Tootle. You were witness of his insulting +behaviour this very afternoon. He openly takes the side of the boys +against me; he ridicules my accent; he treats me as no gentleman can +treat another, unless one of them's no gentleman at all! And, Mr. +Waymark, I won't stand ut!" + +Mr. O'Gree's accent was very strong indeed, especially in his +present mood. Waymark listened with what gravity he could command. + +"You're quite right," he said in reply. "Tootle's behaviour was +especially scandalous to-day. I should certainly take some kind of +notice of it." + +"Notuss, sir, notuss! I'll take that amount of notuss of it that all +the metropoluss shall hear of my wrongs. I'll assault 'um, sir; I'll +assault 'um in the face of the school,--the very next time he +dares to provoke me! I'll rise in my might, and smite his bald crown +with his own ruler! I'm not a tall man, Mr. Waymark, but I can reach +his crown, and that he shall be aware of before he knows ut. He sets +me at naught in my own class, sir; he pooh-poohs my mathematical +demonstrations, sir; he encourages my pupils in insubordination! And +Mrs. Tootle! Bedad, if I don't invent some device for revenging +myself on that supercilious woman. The very next time she presumes +to address me disrespectfully at the dinner-table, sir, I'll rise in +my might, sir,--see if I don't!--and I'll say to her, 'Mrs. +Tootle, ma'am, you seem to forget that I'm a gentleman, and have a +gentleman's susceptibilities. When I treat _you_ with disrespect, +ma'am, pray tell me of ut, and I'll inform you you speak an +untruth!'" + +Waymark smiled, with the result that the expression of furious wrath +immediately passed from his colleague's countenance, giving place to +a broad grin. + +"Waymark, look here!" exclaimed the Irishman, snatching up a piece +of chalk, and proceeding to draw certain outlines upon a +black-board. "Here's Tootle, a veritable Goliath;--here's me, as +it were David. Observe; Tootle holds in his hand his 'little +compendium,' raised in haughty superciliousness. Observe me with the +ruler!--I am on tiptoe; I am taking aim; there is wrath in every +sinew of my arrum! My arrum descends on the very centre of Tootle's +bald pate--" + +"Mr. O'Gree!" + +The tableau was most effective. Unnoticed by either the Irishman or +Waymark, the door had opened behind them, and there had appeared a +little red-faced woman, in slatternly dress. It was Mrs. Tootle. She +had overheard almost the whole of O'Gree's vivid comment upon his +graphic illustration, in silence, until at length she could hold her +peace no longer, and gave utterance to the teacher's name in a voice +which trembled with rage and mortification. + +"Mr. O'Gree! Are you aware of my presence, sir?" + +The chalk dropped from O'Gree's fingers, but otherwise his attitude +remained unaltered; struck motionless with horror, he stood pointing +to the drawing on the board, his face pale, his eyes fascinated by +those of Mrs. Tootle. The latter went on in a high note. + +"Well, sir, as soon as you have had enough of your insulting +buffoonery, perhaps you will have the goodness to attend to me, and +to your duty! What do you mean by allowing the dormitories to get +into this state of uproar? There's been a pillow-fight going on for +the last half-hour, and you pay no sort of attention; the very house +is shaking?" + +"I protest I had not heard a sound, ma'am, or I should have--" + +"Perhaps you hear nothing now, sir,--and the doctor suffering from +one of his very worst headaches, utterly unable to rest even if the +house were perfectly quiet!" + +O'Gree darted to the door, past Mrs. Tootle, and was lost to sight. +There was indeed a desperate uproar in the higher regions of the +house. In a moment the noise increased considerably. O'Gree had +rushed up without a light, and was battling desperately in the +darkness with a score of pillow-fighters, roaring out threats the +while at the top of his voice. Mrs. Tootle retired from the masters' +room with much affectation of dignity, leaving the door open behind +her. + +Waymark slammed it to, and turned with a laugh to the poor Swiss. + +"In low spirits to-night, I'm afraid, Mr. Egger?" + +Egger let his chair tilt forward, rose slowly, drew a yellow +handkerchief from his mouth and wiped his eyes with it, then +exclaimed, in the most pitiful voice-- + +"Mr. Waymark, I have made my possible!--I can no more!" + +It was his regular phrase on these occasions; Waymark had always +much ado to refrain from laughter when he heard it repeated, but he +did his best to be seriously sympathetic, and to attempt consolation +in such German as was at his command. Egger's despondency only +increased, and he wept afresh to hear accents which were +intelligible to him. Mr. O'Gree re-entered the room, and the Swiss +retired to his comer. + +Philip was hot with excitement and bodily exertion; he came in +mopping his forehead, and, without turning to Waymark, stood with +eyes fixed on the chalk caricatures. Very gradually he turned round. +Waymark was watching him, on his face an expression of subdued +mirth. Their looks met, and both exploded in laughter. + +"Bedad, my boy," exclaimed O'Gree, "I'm devilish sorry! I wouldn't +have had it happen for a quarter's salary,--though I sadly need a +new pair of breeches. She's a supercilious cat-o-mountain, and she +loses no opportunity of insulting me, but after all she's a woman." + +"By-the-by, Waymark," he added in a moment, "what a stunner the new +governess is! You're a lucky dog, to sit in the same room with her. +What's her name, I say?" + +"Miss Enderby. You've seen her, have you?" + +"I caught a glimpse of her as she came downstairs; it was quite +enough; she floored me. She's never been out of my thoughts for a +minute since I saw her. 'I love her, I love her, and who shall dare, +to chide me for loving that teacher fair!'" + +"Well, yes," said Waymark, "she has a tolerable face; seems to me a +long way too good to be teaching those unlicked cubs. The dragon +wasn't too civil to her, though it was the first day." + +"Not civil to her? If I were present, and heard that woman breathe +the slight eat incivility, I'd--" + +He broke off in the midst of his vehemence with a startled look +towards the door. + +"Mr. Egger," he exclaimed, "a song; I beg, a song. Come, I'll lead +off. + +'Miss Enderby hath a beaming eye'-- + +Bah! I'm not in voice to-night." + +Egger was persuaded to sit down to the piano. It was a mournful +instrument, reduced to discordant wheeziness by five-finger +exercises, but the touch of the Swiss could still evoke from it some +kind of harmony. He sang a Volkslied, and in a way which showed that +there was poetry in the man's nature, though his outward appearance +gave so little promise of it. His voice was very fair, and well +suited to express the tender pathos of these inimitable melodies. +Waymark always enjoyed this singing; his eyes brightened, and a fine +emotion played about his lips. And as he walked along the dark ways +to his lodgings, Egger's voice was still in his ears-- + +"_Der Mensch wenn er fortgeht, der kommt nimmermefr_." + +"Heaven be thanked, no!" the young man said to himself. + +Poverty was his familiar companion, and had been so for years. His +rent paid each week, there often remained a sum quite insufficient +for the absolute necessities of existence; for anything more, he had +to look to chance pupils in the evenings, and what little he could +earn with his pen. He wrote constantly, but as yet had only +succeeded in getting two articles printed. Then, it was a necessity +of his existence to mix from time to time in the life of the town, +and a stroll into the Strand after nightfall inevitably led to the +expenditure of whatever cash his pocket contained. He was +passionately found of the theatre; the lights about the open +entrance drew him on irresistibly, and if, as so often, he had to +choose between a meal and a seat in the gallery, the meal was +sacrificed. Hunger, indeed, was his normal state; semi-starvation, +alternating with surfeits of cheap and unwholesome food, brought +about an unhealthy condition of body. Often he returned to Walcot +Square from his day-long drudgery, and threw himself upon the bed, +too exhausted to light a fire and make his tea,--for he was his +own servant in all things except the weekly cleaning-out of the +room. Those were dark hours, and they had to be struggled through in +solitude. + +Weary as he was he seldom went to bed before midnight, sometimes +long after, for he clung to those few hours of freedom with +something like savage obstinacy; during this small portion of each +day at least, he would possess his own soul, be free to think and +read. Then came the penalty of anguish unutterable when the morning +had to be faced. These dark, foggy February mornings crushed him +with a recurring misery which often drove him to the verge of mania. +His head throbbing with the torture of insufficient sleep, he lay in +dull half-conscious misery till there was no longer time to prepare +breakfast, and he had to hasten off to school after a mouthful of +dry bread which choked him. There had been moments when his strength +failed, and he found his eyes filling with tears of wretchedness. To +face the hideous drudgery of the day's teaching often cost him more +than it had cost many men to face the scaffold. The hours between +nine and one, the hours between half-past two and five, Waymark +cursed them minute by minute, as their awful length was measured by +the crawling hands of the school-clock. He tried sometimes, in mere +self-defence, to force himself into an interest in his work, that +the time might go the quicker; but the effort was miserably vain. +His senses reeled amid the din and rattle of classes where +discipline was unknown and intelligence almost indiscoverable. Not +seldom his temper got the better even of sick lassitude; his face at +such times paled with passion, and in ungoverned fury he raved at +his tormentors. He awed them, too, but only for the moment, and the +waste of misery swallowed him up once more. + +Was this to be his life?--he asked himself. Would this last for +ever? + +For some reason, the morning after the visit to the masters' room +just spoken of found him in rather better spirits than usual. +Perhaps it was that he had slept fairly well; a gleam of unwonted +sunshine had doubtless something to do with it. Yet there was +another reason, though he would scarcely admit it to himself. It was +the day on which he gave a drawing-lesson to Dr. Tootle's two eldest +children. These drawing-lessons were always given in a room +upstairs, which was also appropriated to the governess who came +every morning to teach three other young Tootles, two girls and a +boy, the latter considered not yet old enough to go into the school. +On the previous day, Waymark had been engaged in the room for half +an hour touching up some drawings of boys in the school, which were +about to be sent home. He knew that he should find a fresh governess +busy with the children, the lady hitherto employed having gone at a +moment's notice after a violent quarrel with Mrs. Tootle, an +incident which had happened not infrequently before. When he entered +the room, he saw a young woman seated with her back to him, penning +a copy, whilst the children jumped and rioted about her in their +usual fashion. The late governess had been a mature person of +features rather serviceable than handsome; that her successor was of +a different type appeared sufficiently from the fair round head, the +gracefully handed neck, the perfect shoulders, the slight, beautiful +form. Waymark took his place and waited with some curiosity till she +moved. When she did so, and, rising, suddenly became aware of his +presence, there was a little start on both sides; Miss Enderby--so +Waymark soon heard her called by the pupils--had not been aware, +owing to the noise, of a stranger's entrance, and Waymark on his +side was so struck with the face presented to him. He had expected, +at the most, a pretty girl of the commonplace kind: he saw a +countenance in which refinement was as conspicuous as beauty. She +was probably not more than eighteen or nineteen. In speaking with +the children she rarely if ever smiled, but exhibited a gentle +forbearance which had something touching in it; it was almost as +though she appealed for gentleness in return, and feared a harsh +word or look. + +"That's Mr. Waymark," cried out Master Percy Tootle, when his +overquick eyes perceived that the two had seen each other. "He's our +drawing-master. Do you like the look of him?" + +Miss Enderby reddened, and laid her hand on the boy's arm, trying to +direct his attention to a book. But the youngster shook off her +gentle touch, and looked at his brothers and sisters with a much too +knowing grin. Waymark had contented himself with a slight bow, and +at once bent again over his work. + +Very shortly the two eldest children, both girls, came in, and with +them their mother. The latter paid no attention to Waymark, but +proceeded to cross-examine the new governess as to her methods of +teaching, her experience, and so on, in the coarse and loud manner +which characterised Mrs. Tootle. + +"You'll find my children clever," said Mrs. Tootle, "at least, that +has been the opinion of all their teachers hitherto. If they don't +make progress, it certainly will not be their own fault. At the same +time, they are high-spirited, and require to be discreetly managed. +This, as I previously informed you, must be done without the help of +punishment in any shape; I disapprove of those methods altogether. +Now let me hear you give them a lesson in geography." + +Waymark retired at this juncture; he felt that it would be nothing +less than cruelty to remain. The episode, however, had lightened his +day with an interest of a very unusual kind. And so it was that, on +the following morning, not only the gleam of watery sunshine, but +also the thought of an hour to be spent in the presence of that +timid face, brought him on his way to the school with an unwonted +resignation. Unfortunately his drawing lessons were only given on +two mornings in the week. Still, there would be something in future +to look forward to, a novel sensation at The Academy. + + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE COUSINS + + + + +Harriet Smales had left home in a bad temper that Sunday afternoon, +and when she came back to tea, after her walk with Julian, her state +of mind did not appear to have undergone any improvement. She took +her place at the tea-table in silence. She and Mrs. Ogle were alone +this evening; the latter's husband--he was a journeyman printer, +and left entirely in his wife's hands the management of the shop in +Gray's Inn Road--happened to be away. Mrs. Ogle was a decent, +cheerful woman, of motherly appearance. She made one or two attempts +to engage Harriet in conversation, but, failing, subsided into +silence, only looking askance at the girl from time to time. When +she had finished her tea and bread-and-butter, Harriet coughed, and, +without facing her companion, spoke in rather a cold way. + +"I may be late back to-night, Mrs. Ogle. You won't lock the door?" + +"I sha'n't go to bed till eleven myself," was the reply. + +"But it may be after twelve when I get back." + +"Where are you going to, Harriet?" + +"If you must know always, Mrs. Ogle, I'm going to see my friend in +Westminster." + +"Well, it ain't no business of mine, my girl," returned the woman, +not unkindly, "but I think it's only right I should have some idea +where you spend your nights. As long as you live in my house, I'm +responsible for you, in a way." + +"I don't want any one to be responsible for me, Mrs. Ogle." + +"Maybe not, my girl. But young people ain't always the best judges +of what's good for them, and what isn't. I don't think your cousin +'ud approve of your being out so late. I shall sit up for you, and +you mustn't be after twelve." + +It was said very decidedly. Harriet made no reply, but speedily +dressed and went out. She took an omnibus eastward, and sought a +neighbourhood which most decently dressed people would have been +chary of entering after nightfall, or indeed at any other time, +unless compelled to do so. The girl found the object of her walk in +a dirty little public-house at the corner of two foul and narrow +by-ways. She entered by a private door, and passed into a parlour, +which was behind the bar. + +A woman was sitting in the room, beguiling her leisure with a Sunday +paper. She was dressed with vulgar showiness, and made a lavish +display of jewellery, more or less valuable. Eight years ago she was +a servant in Mr. Smales's house, and her name was Sarah. She had +married in the meanwhile, and become Mrs. Sprowl. + +She welcomed her visitor with a friendly nod, but did not rise. + +"I thought it likely you'd look in, as you missed larst week. How's +things goin' in your part o' the world?" + +"Very badly," returned Harriet, throwing off her hat and cloak, and +going to warm her hands and feet at the fire. "It won't last much +longer, that's the truth of it." + +"Eh well, it's all in a life; we all has our little trials an' +troubles, as the sayin' is." + +"How's the baby?" asked Harriet looking towards a bundle of wrappers +which lay on a sofa. + +"I doubt it's too good for this world," returned the mother, +grinning in a way which made her ugly face peculiarly revolting. +"Dessay it'll join its little brother an' sister before long. Mike +put it in the club yes'day." + +The burial-club, Mrs. Sprowl meant, and Harriet evidently understood +the allusion. + +"Have you walked?" went on the woman, doubling up her paper, and +then throwing it aside. "Dessay you could do with somethin' to take +the cold orff yer chest.--Liz," she called out to some one behind +the bar, with which the parlour communicated by an open door; "two +Irish!" + +The liquor was brought. Presently some one called to Mrs. Sprowl, +who went out. Leaning on the counter, in one of the compartments, +was something which a philanthropist might perhaps have had the +courage to claim as a human being; a very tall creature, with bent +shoulders, and head seeming to grow straight out of its chest; +thick, grizzled hair hiding almost every vestige of feature, with +the exception of one dreadful red eye, its fellow being dead and +sightless. He had laid on the counter, with palms downward as if +concealing something, two huge hairy paws. Mrs. Sprowl seemed +familiar with the appearance of this monster; she addressed him +rather bad-temperedly, but otherwise much as she would have spoken +to any other customer. + +"No, you don't, Slimy! No, you don't! What you have in this house +you pay for in coppers, so you know. Next time I catch you tryin' to +ring the changes, I'll have you run in, and then you'll get a warm +bath, which you wouldn't partic'lar care for." + +The creature spoke, in hoarse, jumbled words, not easy to catch +unless you listened closely. + +"If you've any accusion to make agin me, Mrs. Sprowl, p'r'aps you'll +wait till you can prove it. I want change for arf a suvrin: ain't +that straight, now?" + +"Straight or not, you won't get no change over this counter, so +there you've the straight tip. Now sling yer 'ook, Slimy, an' get it +somewhere else." + +"If you've any accusion to make--" + +"Hold yer noise!--What's he ordered, Liz?" + +"Pot o' old six," answered the girl. + +"Got sixpence, Slimy?" + +"No, I ain't, Mrs. Sprowl," muttered the creature. "I've got arf a +suvrin." + +"Then go an' get change for it. Now, once more, sling yer 'ook." + +The man moved away, sending back a horrible glare from his one fiery +eyeball. + +Mrs. Sprowl re-entered the parlour. + +"I wish you'd take me on as barmaid, Sarah," Harriet said, when she +had drunk her glass of spirits. + +"Take you on?" exclaimed the other, with surprise. "Why, have you +fallen out with your cousin? I thought you was goin' to be married +soon." + +"I didn't say for sure that I was; I only said I might be. Any way +it won't be just yet, and I'm tired of my place in the shop." + +"Don't you be a fool, Harriet," said the other, with genial +frankness. "You're well enough off. You stick where you are till you +get married. You wouldn't make nothin' at our business; 'tain't all +sugar an' lemon, an' sittin' drinkin' twos o' whisky till further +orders. You want a quiet, easy business, you do, an' you've got it. +If you keep worritin' yerself this way, you won't never make old +bones, an' that's the truth. You wait a bit, an' give yer cousin a +chance to arst you,--if that's what you're troublin' about" + +"I've given him lots o' chances," said Harriet peevishly. + +"Eh well, give him lots more, an' it'll all come right. We're all +born, but we're not buried.--Hev' another Irish?" + +Harriet allowed herself to be persuaded to take another glass. + +When the clock pointed to half-past nine, she rose and prepared to +depart. She had told Mrs. Sprowl that she would take the 'bus and go +straight home; but something seemed to have led her to alter her +purpose, for she made her way to Westminster Bridge, and crossed the +river. Then she made some inquiries of a policeman, and, in +consequence, got into a Kennington omnibus. Very shortly she was set +down close by Walcot Square. She walked about till, with some +difficulty in the darkness, she had discovered the number at which +Julian had told her his friend lived. The house found, she began to +pace up and down on the opposite pavement, always keeping her eyes +fixed on the same door. She was soon shivering in the cold night +air, and quickened her walk. It was rather more than an hour before +the door she was watching at length opened, and two friends came out +together. Harriet followed them as closely as she could, until she +saw that she herself was observed. Thereupon she walked away, and, +by a circuit, ultimately came back into the main road, where she +took a 'bus going northwards. + +Harriet's cousin, when alone of an evening, sat in his bedroom, the +world shut out, his thoughts in long past times, rebuilding the +ruins of a fallen Empire. + +When he was eighteen, the lad had the good luck to light upon a +cheap copy of Gibbon in a second-hand book-shop. It was the first +edition; six noble quarto volumes, clean and firm in the old +bindings. Often he had turned longing eyes upon newer copies of the +great book, but the price had always put them beyond his reach. That +very night he solemnly laid open the first volume at the first page, +propping it on a couple of meaner books, and, after glancing through +the short Preface, began to read with a mind as devoutly disposed as +that of any pious believer poring upon his Bible. "In the second +century of the Christian AEra, the empire of Rome comprehended +the fairest part of the earth, and the most civilised portion of +mankind. The frontiers of that extensive monarchy were guarded by +ancient renown and disciplined valour." With what a grand epic roll, +with what anticipations of solemn music, did the noble history +begin! Far, far into the night Julian turned over page after page, +thoughtless of sleep and the commonplace duties of the morrow. + +Since then he had mastered his Gibbon, knew him from end to end, and +joyed in him more than ever. Whenever he had a chance of obtaining +any of the writers, ancient or modern, to whom Gibbon refers, he +read them and added to his knowledge. About a year ago, he had +picked up an old Claudian, and the reading of the poet had settled +him to a task which he had before that doubtfully sought. He wanted +to write either a poem or a drama on some subject taken from the +"Decline and Fall," and now, with Claudian's help, he fixed upon +Stilicho for his hero. The form, he then decided, should be +dramatic. Upon "Stilicho" he had now been engaged for a year, and +to-night he is writing the last words of the last scene. Shortly +after twelve he has finished it, and, throwing down his pen, he +paces about the room with enviable feelings. + +He had not as yet mentioned to Waymark the work he was engaged upon, +though he had confessed that he wrote verses at times. He wished to +complete it, and then read it to his friend. It was now only the +middle of the week, and though he had decided previously to wait +till his visit to Walcot Square next Sunday before saying a word +about "Stilicho," he could not refrain now from hastily penning a +note to Waymark, and going out to post it at once. + +When the day came, the weather would not allow the usual walk with +Harriet, and Julian could not help feeling glad that it was so. He +was too pre-occupied to talk in the usual way with the girl, and he +knew how vain it would be to try and make her understand his state +of mind. Still, he went to see her as usual, and sat for an hour in +Mrs. Ogle's parlour. At times, throughout the week, he had thought +of the curious resemblance between Harriet and the girl he had +noticed on leaving Waymark's house last Sunday, and now he asked +her, in a half-jesting way, whether it had really been she. + +"How could it be?" said Harriet carelessly. "I can't be in two +places at once." + +"Did you stay at home that evening?" + +"No,--not all the evening." + +"What friends are they you go to, when you are out at night, +Harriet?" + +"Oh, some relations of the Colchester people.--I suppose you've +been spending most of your time in Kennington since Sunday?" + +"I haven't left home. In fact, I've been very busy. I've just +finished some work that has occupied me for nearly a year." + +After all, he could not refrain from speaking of it, though he had +made up his mind not to do so. + +"Work? What work?" asked Harriet, with the suspicious look which +came into her grey eyes whenever she heard something she could not +understand. + +"Some writing. I've written a play." + +"A play? Will it be acted?" + +"Oh no, it isn't meant for acting." + +"What's the good of it then?" + +"It's written in verse. I shall perhaps try to get it published." + +"Shall you get money for it?" + +"That is scarcely likely. In all probability I shall not be able to +get it printed at all." + +"Then what's the good of it?" repeated Harriet, still suspicious, +and a little contemptuous. + +"It has given me pleasure, that's all." + +Julian was glad when at length he could take his leave. Waymark +received him with a pleased smile, and much questioning. + +"Why did you keep it such a secret? I shall try my hand at a play +some day or other, but, as you can guess, the material will scarcely +be sought in Gibbon. It will be desperately modern, and possibly not +altogether in accordance with the views of the Lord Chamberlain. +What's the time? Four o'clock. We'll have a cup of coffee and then +fall to. I'm eager to hear your 'deep-chested music,' your 'hollow +oes and aes.'" + +The reading took some three hours; Waymark smoked a vast number of +pipes the while, and was silent till the close. Then he got up from +his easy-chair, took a step forward, and held out his hand. His face +shone with the frankest enthusiasm. He could not express himself +with sufficient vehemence. Julian sat with the manuscript rolled up +in his hands, on his face a glow of delight. + +"It's very kind of you to speak in this way," he faltered at length. + +"Kind! How the deuce should I speak? But come, we will have this off +to a publisher's forth with. Have you any ideas for the next work?" + +"Yes; but so daring that they hardly bear putting into words." + +"Try the effect on me." + +"I have thought," said Julian, with embarrassment, "of a long poem +--an Epic. Virgil wrote of the founding of Rome; her dissolution is +as grand a subject. It would mean years of preparation, and again +years in the writing. The siege and capture of Rome by Alaric-- +what do you think?" + +"A work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the vapours of +wine. But who knows?" + +There was high talk in Walcot Square that evening. All unknown to +its other inhabitants, the poor lodging-house was converted into a +temple of the Muses, and harmonies as from Apollo's lyre throbbed in +the hearts of the two friends. The future was their inexhaustible +subject, the seed-plot of strange hopes and desires. They talked the +night into morning, hardly daunted when perforce they remembered the +day's work. + + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE WAY OUT + + + + +The ruling spirit of the Academy was Mrs. Tootle. Her husband's +constitutional headache, and yet more constitutional laziness, left +to her almost exclusively the congenial task of guiding the +household, and even of disciplining the school. In lesson-time she +would even flit about the classrooms, and not scruple to administer +sharp rebukes to a teacher whose pupils were disorderly, the effect +of this naturally being to make confusion worse confounded. The boys +of course hated her with the hatred of which schoolboys alone are +capable, and many a practical joke was played at her expense, not, +however, with impunity. Still more pronounced, if possible, was the +animus entertained against Mrs. Tootle's offspring, and it was upon +the head of Master Felix that the full energy of detestation +concentrated itself. He was, in truth, as offensive a young imp as +the soil of a middle-class boarding-school could well produce. If +Mrs. Tootle ruled the Academy, he in turn ruled Mrs. Tootle, and on +all occasions showed himself a most exemplary autocrat. his +position, however, as in the case of certain other autocratic +rulers, had its disadvantages; he could never venture to wander out +of earshot of his father or mother, who formed his body-guard, and +the utmost prudence did not suffice to protect him from an +occasional punch on the head, or a nip in a tender part, meant +probably as earnest of more substantial kindnesses to be conferred +upon him at the very earliest opportunity. + +To poor Egger fell the unpleasant duty of instructing these young +Tootles in the elements of the French language. For that purpose he +went up every morning to the class-room on the first floor, and for +a while relieved Miss Enderby of her charge. With anguish of spirit +he felt the approach of the moment which summoned him to this dread +duty, for, in addition to the lively spite of Master Felix and the +other children, he had to face the awful superintendence of Mrs. +Tootle herself; who was invariably present at these lessons. Mrs. +Tootle had somehow conceived the idea that French was a second +mother-tongue to her, and her intercourse with Mr. Egger was +invariably carried on in that language. Now this was a refinement of +torture, seeing that it was often impossible to gather a meaning +from her remarks, whilst to show any such difficulty was to incur +her most furious wrath. Egger trembled when he heard the rustle of +her dress outside, the perspiration stood on his forehead as he rose +and bowed before her. + +"Bon jour, Monsieur," she would come in exclaiming. "Quel un beau +matin! Vous trouverez les jeunes dames et messieurs en bons eaprits +ce matin." + +The spirits of Master Felix had manifested themselves already in his +skilfully standing a book upright on the teacher's chair, so that +when Egger subsided from his obeisance he sat down on a sharp edge +and was thrown into confusion. + +"Monsieur Felix," cried his mother, "que faites-vous la?--Les +jeunes messieurs anglais sont plus spirituels que les jeunes +messieurs suisses, n'est ce pas, Monsieur Egger?" + +"En effet, madame," muttered the teacher, nervously arranging his +books. + +"Monsieur Egger," exclaimed Mrs. Tootle, with a burst of good +humour, "est-ce vrai ce qu'on dit que les Suisses sont si +excessivement sujets a etre _chez-malades_?" + +The awful moment had come. What on earth did _chez-malades_ mean? +Was he to answer yes or no? In his ignorance of her meaning, either +reply might prove offensive. He reddened, fidgeted on his chair, +looked about him with an anguished mute appeal for help. Mrs. Tootle +repeated her question with emphasis and a change of countenance +which he knew too well. The poor fellow had not the tact to appear +to understand, and, as he might easily have done, mystify her by +some idiomatic remark. He stammered out his apologies and excuses, +with the effect of making Mrs. Tootle furious. + +Then followed a terrible hour, at the end of which poor Egger rushed +down to the Masters' Room, covered his head with his hands and wept, +regardless of the boy strumming his exercises on the piano. Waymark +shortly came in to summon him to some other class, whereupon he +rose, and, with gestures of despair, groaned out-- + +"Let me, let me!--I have made my possible; I can no more!" + +Waymark alone feared neither Mrs. Tootle nor her hopeful son, and, +in turn, was held in some little awe by both of them. The lady had +at first tried the effect of interfering in his classes, as she did +in those of the other masters, but the result was not encouraging. + +"Don't you think, Mr. Waymark," she had said one day, as she walked +through the school-room and paused to listen to our friend's +explanation of some rule in English grammar; "don't you think it +would be better to confine yourself to the terms of the doctor's +little compendium? The boys are used to it." + +"In this case," replied Waymark calmly, "I think the terms of the +compendium are rather too technical for the fourth class." + +"Still, it is customary in this school to use the compendium, and it +has never yet been found unsatisfactory. Whilst you are discoursing +at such length, I observe your class gets very disorderly." + +Waymark looked at her, but kept silence. Mrs. Tootle stood still. + +"What are you waiting for, Mr. Waymark?" she asked sharply. + +"Till your presence has ceased to distract the boys' attention, Mrs. +Tootle," was the straightforward reply. + +The woman was disconcerted, and, as Waymark preserved his calm +silence, she had no alternative but to withdraw, after giving him a +look not easily forgotten. + +But there was another person whose sufferings under the tyranny of +mother and children were perhaps keenest of all. Waymark had +frequent opportunities of observing Miss Enderby under persecution, +and learned to recognise in her the signs of acutest misery. Many +times he left the room, rather than add to her pain by his presence; +very often it was as much as he could do to refrain from taking her +part, and defending her against Mrs. Tootle. He had never been +formally introduced to Miss Enderby, and during several weeks held +no kind of communication with her beyond a "good morning" when he +entered the room and found her there. The first quarter of a year +was drawing to a close when there occurred the first conversation +between them. Waymark had been giving some of the children their +drawing-lesson, whilst the governess taught the two youngest. The +class-time being over, the youngsters all scampered off. For a +wonder, Mrs. Tootle was not present, anti Waymark seized the +opportunity to exchange a word with the young lady. + +"I fear your pupils give you dreadful trouble," he said, as he stood +by the window pointing a pencil. + +She started at being spoken to. + +"They are full of life," she replied, in the low sad voice which was +natural to her. + +"Which would all seem to be directed towards shortening that of +others," said Waymark, with a smile. + +"They are intelligent," the governess ventured to suggest, after a +silence. "It would be a pleasure to teach them if they--if they +were a little more orderly." + +"Certainly. If their parents had only common sense--" + +He stopped. A flush had risen to the girl's face, and a slight +involuntary motion of her hand seemed to warn him. The reason was +that Mrs. Tootle stood in the doorway, to which he had his back +turned. Miss Enderby said a quick "good morning" and left him. + +He was taking up some papers, preparatory to leaving the room, when +he noticed that the governess had left behind her a little book in +which she was accustomed to jot down lessons for the children. He +took it up and examined it. On the first page was written "Maud +Enderby, South Bank, Regent's Park." He repeated the name to himself +several times. Then he smiled, recalling the way in which the +governess had warned him that Mrs. Tootle could overhear what he +said. Somehow, this slight gesture of the girl's had seemed to bring +them closer to each other; there was an unpremeditated touch of +intimacy in the movement, which it pleased him to think of. This was +by no means the first time that he had stood with thoughts busied +about her, but the brief exchange of words and what had followed +gave something of a new complexion to his feelings. Previously he +had been interested in her; her striking features had made him +wonder what was the history which their expression concealed; but +her extreme reticence and the timid coldness of her look had left +his senses unmoved. Now he all at once experienced the awakening of +quite a new interest; there had been something in her eyes as they +met his which seemed to desire sympathy; he was struck with the +possibilities of emotion in the face which this one look had +revealed to him. Her situation seemed, when he thought of it, to +affect him more strongly than hitherto; he felt that it would be +more difficult henceforth to maintain his calmness when he saw her +insulted by Mrs. Tootle or disrespectfully used by the children. + +Nor did the new feelings subside as rapidly as they had arisen. At +home that night he was unable to settle to his usual occupations, +and, as a visit to his friends in the Masters' Room would have been +equally distasteful, he rambled about the streets and so tired +himself. His duties did not take him up to the children's classroom +on the following morning, but he invented an excuse for going there, +and felt rewarded by the very faint smile and the inclination of the +head with which Miss Enderby returned his "good morning." Day after +day, he schemed to obtain an opportunity of speaking with her again, +and he fancied that she herself helped to remove any chances that +might have occurred. Throughout his lessons, his attention remained +fixed upon her; he studied her face intently, and was constantly +discovering in it new meanings. When she caught his eyes thus busy +with her, she evinced, for a moment, trouble and uneasiness; he felt +sure that she arranged her seat so as to have her back to him more +frequently than she had been accustomed to do. Her work appeared to +him to be done with less self-forgetfulness than formerly; the +rioting and impertinence of the children seemed to trouble her more; +she bore Mrs. Tootle's interference with something like fear. Once, +when Master Felix had gone beyond his wonted licence, in his +mother's absence, Waymark went so far as to call him to order. As +soon as he had spoken, the girl looked up at him in a startled way, +and seemed silently to beg him to refrain. All this only +strengthened the influence she exercised upon Waymark. + +Since the climax of wretchedness which had resulted in his +advertisement and the forming of Julian Casti's acquaintance, a +moderate cheerfulness had possessed him. Now he once more felt the +clouds sinking about him, was aware of many a threatening portent, +the meaning whereof he too well understood. There had been a week or +two of prevailing bad weather, a state of things which always +wrought harmfully upon him; his thoughts darkened under the dark +sky, and the daily downpour of rain sapped his energies. It was +within a few days of Easter, but the prospect of a holiday had no +effect upon him. Night after night he lay in fever and unrest. He +felt as though some voice were calling upon him to undertake a +vaguely hazardous enterprise which yet he knew not the nature of. + +On one of these evenings, Mr. O'Gree announced to him that Miss +Enderby was going to give up her position at the end of the quarter. +Philip had gathered this from a conversation heard during the day +between Dr. Tootle and his wife. + +"The light of my life will be gone out," exclaimed O'Gree, "when I +am no longer able to catch a glimpse of her as she goes past the +schoolroom door. And I've never even had a chance of speaking to +her. You know the tale of Raleigh and Queen Elizabeth. Suppose I +were to rush out and throw my top-coat on the muddy door-step, just +as she's going out; d'ye think she'd say thank you?" + +"Probably," muttered Waymark, without knowing what he said. It was +Mr. O'Gree's habit to affect this violent devotion to each new +governess in turn, but Waymark did not seem to find the joke amusing +at present. + +"Bedad, I'll do it then! Or, rather, I would, if I'd two top-coats. +Hang it! There's no behaving like a gentleman on twenty-five pounds +a year." + +Waymark walked about the streets the greater part of the night, and +the next morning came to school rather late. Dr. Tootle had to +consult with him about some matter as soon as he arrived. + +"You seem indisposed, Mr. Waymark," the doctor remarked, when he had +in vain tried to elicit intelligible replies to his questions. + +"I am a little out of sorts," the other returned carelessly. +"Perhaps we could talk about these things to-morrow." + +"As you please," said Dr. Tootle, a little surprised at his +assistant's indifference. + +It was a drawing-lesson morning. As he went upstairs, his ears +apprised him of the state of things he would find m Miss Enderby's +room. The approach of the Easter holidays was making the youngsters +even more than usually uproarious, and their insubordination had +passed beyond all pretence of attending to tasks. When Waymark +entered, his first glance, as always, was towards the governess. She +looked harassed and ill; was in vain endeavouring to exert some +authority with her gentle voice. Her eyes showed unmistakable +gratitude as the teacher appeared, for his approach meant that she +would be relieved from the three elder children. Waymark called +sharply to his pupils to come and take their places, but without any +attention on their part. Master Felix openly urged the rest to +assume a defiant attitude, and began to improvise melodies on a +trumpet formed by rolling up a copy-book. + +"Felix," said Miss Enderby, "give me your copy-book and go to the +drawing-lesson." + +The boy removed the trumpet from his mouth, and, waving it once +round his head, sent it flying across the room at the speaker; it +hit her on the cheek. In the same minute, Waymark had bent across +his knee a large pointer which stood in a corner of the room, and +had snapped it into two pieces. Holding the lighter of these in one +hand, with the other hand he suddenly caught Master Felix by the +coat-collar, and in a second had him out of the room and on to the +landing. Then did the echoes of the Academy wake to such a bellowing +as they had probably never heard before. With a grip impossible even +to struggle against, Waymark held the young imp under his arm, and +plied the broken pointer with great vigour; the stripes were almost +as loud as the roarings. There was a rush from the rooms below in +the direction of the disturbance; all the boys were in a trice +leaping about delightedly on the stairs, and behind them came +O'Gree, Egger, and Dr. Tootle himself. From the room above rushed +out all the young Tootles, yelling for help. Last of all, from still +higher regions of the house there swept down a vision of disordered +female attire, dishevelled hair, and glaring eyes; it was Mrs. +Tootle, disturbed at her toilet, forgetting all considerations of +personal appearance at the alarming outcry. Just as she reached the +spot, Waymark's arm dropped in weariness; he flung the howling young +monkey into one corner, the stick into another, and deliberately +pulled his coat-sleeves into position once more. He felt vastly +better for the exercise, and there was even a smile on his heated +face. + +"You brutal ruffian!" shrieked Mrs. Tootle. "How dare you touch my +child? You shall answer for this in the police court, sir." + +"Waymark," cried her husband, who had struggled to the scene through +the crowd of cheering boys, "what's the meaning of this? You forget +yourself, sir. Who gave you authority to use corporal chastisement?" + +"The boy has long deserved a good thrashing," he said, "and I'm glad +I lost my temper sufficiently to give him a portion of his deserts. +If you wish to know the immediate cause, it simply was that he threw +a book at his governess's head and hit her." + +"Mr. O'Gree," called out the doctor, "take your boys back to their +duties, sir! I am quite unable to understand this disgraceful lack +of discipline. Every boy who is not at his seat in one minute will +have five hundred verses of the Psalms to write out!--Mr. Waymark, +I shall be obliged to you if you will step into my study." + +Five minutes after, Waymark was closeted with Dr. Tootle. The latter +had all at once put off his appearance of indignation. + +"Really," he began, "it's a great pity you let yourself be carried +away like that. I think it very probable indeed that Felix deserved +castigation of some kind, but you would have done much better to +report him to me, you know, and let me see to it. You have put me in +an awkward position. I fear you must make an apology to Mrs. Tootle, +and then perhaps the matter can be allowed to blow over." + +"I think not," replied Waymark, whose mind was evidently made up. +There was a look of recklessness on his face which one could at any +time have detected lurking beneath the hard self-control which +usually marked him. "I don't feel disposed to apologise, and I am +tired of my position here. I must give it up." + +Dr. Tootle was annoyed. It would not be easy to get another teacher +of the kind at so cheap a rate. + +"Come, you don't mean this," he said. "You are out of temper for the +moment. Perhaps the apology could be dispensed with; I think I may +promise that it can be. The lad will be no worse for his little +correction. Possibly we can come to some more satisfactory +arrangements for the future--" + +"No," interposed Waymark; "I have quite made up my mind. I mean to +give up teaching altogether; it doesn't suit me. Of course I am +willing to come as usual the next two days." + +"You are aware that this notice should have been given me at the +beginning of the quarter?" hinted the principal. + +"Oh yes. Of course you will legally owe me nothing. I am prepared +for that." + +"Well, I shall have to consider it. But I still think that you--" + +"As far as I am concerned, the matter is decided. I go at Easter." + +"Very well. I think you are blind to your own interest, but of +course you do as you please. If Mrs. Tootle should press me to take +out a summons against you for assault, of course I--" + +"Good morning, Dr. Tootle." + +The summons was not taken out, but Waymark's resolution suffered no +change. There was another interview between him and the principal, +from which he issued with the sum of six pounds ten in his pocket, +being half the quarter's salary. He had not applied for this, but +did not refuse it when it was offered. Seeing that the total amount +of cash previously in his possession was something less than five +shillings, he did wisely, perhaps, to compromise with his dignity, +and let Dr. Tootle come out of the situation with a certain show of +generosity. + + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +BY THE WAYSIDE + + + + + +"So there ends another chapter. How many more to the end of the +story? How many more scenes till the farce is played out? There is +something flattering to one's vanity in this careless playing with +fate; it is edifying, moreover, to sot circumstances at defiance in +this way, now and then, to assert one's freedom. Freedom! What a +joke the word must be to whoever is pulling the wires and making us +poor puppets dance at his pleasure. Pity that we have to pay the +piper so heavily for our involuntary jigging!" + +A passage from the letter Waymark wrote to his friend Casti, on the +evening when his school-work came to an end. That night he sought +rest early, and slept well. The sensations with which he woke next +morning were such as he had not experienced for a long time. He was +at liberty,--with six pounds ten in his pocket. He could do what +he liked and go whither he liked,--till lack of a dinner should +remind him that a man's hardest master is his own body. He dressed +leisurely, and, having dressed, treated himself to an egg for +breakfast. Absolutely no need for hurry; the thought of school-hours +dismissed for ever; a horizon quite free from the vision of hateful +toil; in the real sky overhead a gleam of real sunshine, as if to +make credible this sudden change. His mood was still complete +recklessness, a revolt against the idea of responsibility, +indifference to all beyond the moment. + +It was Thursday; the morrow would be Good Friday; after that the +intervention of two clear days before the commencement of a new week +In the meantime the sun was really shining, and the fresh spring air +invited to the open ways. Waymark closed the door of his room behind +him, and went downstairs, whistling to himself. But, before reaching +the bottom, he turned and went back again. It seemed warm enough to +sit in one of the parks and read. He laid his hand on a book, almost +at haphazard, to put in his pocket. Then he walked very leisurely +along Kennington Road, and on, and on, till he had crossed the +river. + +Wondering in which direction he should next turn, he suddenly found +himself repeating, with unaccountable transition of thought, the +words "South Bank, Regent's Park." In all likelihood, he said to +himself presently, they were suggested by some inscription on a +passing omnibus, noted unconsciously. The address was that he had +read in Miss Enderby's note-book. Why not ramble in that direction +as well as another, and amuse himself by guessing which house it was +that the governess lived in? He had not seen her since the uproar +which had terminated his connection with the young Tootles. Was it +true that she had then already decided to give up her position? If +not, his outbreak of temper had doubtless resulted unpleasantly for +her, seeing that Mrs. Tootle would almost certainly dismiss her out +of mere spite. Several times during the last two days he had thought +of conveying to her a note by some means, to express in some way or +other this fear, and the regret it caused him; the real motive, he +knew well enough, would be a hope of receiving a reply from her. But +now she had perhaps left the school, and he did not know her exact +address. He made his way across the Park in the direction of St. +John's Wood, and had soon reached South Bank. + +He had walked once the length of the road, and was looking at the +nearest houses before he turned, when a lady came round the corner +and paused to avoid him, as he stood in the middle of the pavement. +It was Miss Enderby herself. Her embarrassment was apparently not as +great as his own. She smiled with friendliness; seemed indeed in a +happier frame of mind than any in which Waymark had as yet seen her. +But she did not offer her hand, and the other, having raised his +hat, was almost on the point of passing on, when he overcame his +diffidence and spoke. + +"I came here to try and discover where you lived, Miss Enderby." + +There was something grotesque in this abruptness; his tone only +saved it from impertinence. The girl looked at him with frank +surprise. + +"Pray don't misunderstand me," he went on hurriedly. "I wished, if +possible, to--well, to tell you that I feared I acted +thoughtlessly the other day; without regard, I mean, to any +consequences it might have for yourself." + +"Rather I ought to thank you for defending me. It made no difference +in the way you mean. It had already been decided that I should +leave. I did not suit Mrs. Tootle." + +It was very pleasant to look down into her earnest face, and watch +it as she spoke in this unrestrained way. She seemed so slight and +frail, evidently thought so depreciatingly of herself, looked as +though her life had in it so little joy, that Waymark had speedily +assumed a confident attitude, and gazed at her as a man does at one +whom he would gladly guard and cherish. + +"You were certainly unsuited for the work, in every way," he said, +with a smile. "Your efforts were quite wasted there. Still, I am +sorry you have left." + +"I am going into a family," were her next words, spoken almost +cheerfully. "It is in the country, in Essex. There are only two +children, quite young. I think I shall succeed better with them; I +hope so." + +"Then I suppose," Waymark said, moving a little and keeping his eyes +fixed on her with an uneasy look, "I shall--I must say good-bye to +you, for the last time?" + +A scarcely heard "yes" fell from her lips. Her eyes were cast down. + +"I am going to make a bold request," Waymark exclaimed, with a sort +of recklessness, though his voice expressed no less respect than +hitherto. "Will you tell me where you are going to?" + +She told him, without looking up, and with a recurrence to the timid +manner which had marked her in the schoolroom. This gave Waymark +encouragement; his confidence grew as hers diminished. + +"Will you let me write to you--occasionally? Would you let me keep +up our acquaintance in this way,--so that, if you return to +London, I might look forward to meeting you again some time?" + +The girl answered timidly-- + +"I shall be glad to keep up our acquaintance. I shall be glad to +hear from you." + +Then, at once feeling that she had gone too far, her confusion made +her pale. Waymark held out his hand, as if to take leave. + +"Thank you very much," he said warmly. "I am very grateful." + +She gave him a quick "good-bye," and then passed on. Waymark moved +at once in the opposite direction, turning the corner. Then he +wished to go back and notice which house she entered, but would not +do so lest she should observe him. He walked straight forwards. + +How the aspect of the world had changed for him in these few +minutes; what an incredible revolution had come to pass in his own +desires and purposes t The intellectual atmosphere he breathed was +of his own creation; the society of cultured people he had never had +an opportunity of enjoying. A refined and virtuous woman had +hitherto existed for him merely in the sanctuary of his imagination; +he had known not one such. If he passed one in the street, the +effect of the momentary proximity was only to embitter his thoughts, +by reminding him of the hopeless gulf fixed between his world and +that in which such creatures had their being. In revenge, he tried +to soil the purity of his ideals; would have persuaded himself that +the difference between the two spheres was merely in externals, that +he was imposed upon by wealth, education, and superficial refinement +of manners. Happily he had never really succeeded in thus deceiving +himself, and the effort had only served to aggravate his miseries. +The habit of mind, however, had shown itself in the earlier stages +of his acquaintance with Miss Enderby. The first sight of her had +moved him somewhat, but scarcely with any foreshadowing of serious +emotion. He felt that she was different from any woman with whom he +had ever stood on an equal footing; but, at the same time, the very +possibility of establishing more or less intimate relations with her +made him distrustful of his judgment. In spite of himself, he tried +to disparage her qualities. She was pretty, he admitted, but then of +such a feeble, characterless type; doubtless her understanding +corresponded with the weakness of her outward appearance. None the +less, he had continued to observe her keenly, and had noted with +pleasure every circumstance which contradicted his wilful +depreciation of her. His state of mind after the thrashing he gave +to young Tootle had been characteristic. What had been the cause of +his violence? Certainly not uncontrollable anger, for he had in +reality been perfectly cool throughout the affair; simply, then, the +pleasure of avenging Miss Enderby. And for this he had sacrificed +his place, and left himself without resources. He had acted +absurdly; certainly would not have repeated the absurdity had the +scene been to act over again. This was not the attitude of one in +love, and he knew it. Moreover, though he had thought of writing to +her, it would in reality have cost him nothing if she had forthwith +passed out of his sight and knowledge. Now how all this had been +altered, by a mere chance meeting. The doubts had left him; she was +indeed the being from a higher world that he would have liked to +believe her from the first; the mysterious note of true sympathy had +been struck in that short exchange of words and looks, and, though +they had taken leave of each other for who could say how long, +mutual knowledge was just beginning, real intercourse about to be +established between them. He might write to her, and of course she +would reply. + +He walked without much perception of time or distance, and found +himself at home just before nightfall. He felt disposed for a quiet +evening, to be spent in the companionship of his thoughts. But when +he had made his coffee and eaten with appetite after the day's +rambling, restlessness again possessed him. After all, it was not +retirement that he needed; these strange new Imaginings would +consort best with motion and the liveliness of the streets. So he +put out his lamp, and once more set forth. The night air freshened +his spirits; he sang to himself as he went along. It was long since +he had been to a theatre, and just now he 'vas so hopelessly poor +that he could really afford a little extravagance. So he was soon +sitting before the well-known drop of a favourite play-house, as +full of light-hearted expectancy as a boy who is enjoying a holiday. +The evening was delightful, and passed all too quickly. + +The play over, he was in no mood to go straight home. He lit a cigar +and drifted with the current westward, out of the Strand and into +Pall Mall. A dispute between a cabdriver and his fare induced him to +pause for a moment under the colonnade, and, when the little cluster +of people had moved on, he still stood leaning against one of the +pillars, enjoying the mild air and the scent of his cigar. He felt +his elbow touched, and, looking round with indifference, met the +kind of greeting for which he was prepared. He shook his head and +did not reply; then the sham gaiety of the voice all at once turned +to a very real misery, and the girl began to beg instead of trying +to entice him in the ordinary way. He looked at her again, and was +shocked at the ghastly wretchedness of her daubed face. She was ill, +she said, and could scarcely walk about, but must get money somehow; +if she didn't, her landlady wouldn't let her sleep in the house +again, and she had nowhere else to go to. There could be no mistake +about the genuineness of her story, at all events as far as bodily +suffering went. Waymark contrasted her state with his own, and took +out what money he had in his pocket; it was the change out of a +sovereign which he had received at the theatre, and he gave her it +all. She stared, and did not understand. + +"Are you coming with me?" she asked, feeling obliged to make a +hideous attempt at professional coaxing in return for such +generosity. + +"Good God, no!" Waymark exclaimed. "Go home and take care of +yourself." + +She thanked him warmly, and turned away at once. As his eye followed +her, he was aware that somebody else had drawn near to him from +behind. This also was a girl, but of a different kind. She was well +dressed, and of graceful, rounded form; a veil almost hid her face, +but enough could be seen to prove that she had good looks. + +"That a friend of yours?" she asked abruptly, and her voice was +remarkably full, clear, and sweet. + +Waymark answered with a negative, looking closely at her. + +"Then why did you give her all that money?" + +"How do you know what I gave her?" + +"I was standing just behind here, and could see." + +"Well?" + +"Nothing; only I should think you are one out of a thousand. You +saved me a sovereign, too; I've watched her begging of nearly a +dozen people, and I couldn't have stood it much longer." + +"You would have given her a sovereign?" + +"I meant to, if she'd failed with you." + +"Is she a friend of yours?" + +"Never saw her before to-night." + +"Then you must be one out of a thousand." + +The girl laughed merrily. + +"In that case," she said, "we ought to know each other, shouldn't +we?" + +"If we began by thinking so well of each other," returned Waymark, +smiling, "we should not improbably suffer a grievous disappointment +before long." + +"Well, _you_ might. You have to take my generosity on trust, but I +have proof of yours." + +"You're an original sort of girl," said Waymark, throwing away the +end of his cigar. "Do you talk to everybody in this way?" + +"Pooh, of course not. I shouldn't be worth much if I couldn't suit +my conversation to the man I want to make a fool of. Would you +rather have me talk in the usual way? Shall I say--" + +"I had rather not." + +"Well, I knew that." + +"And how?" + +"Well, _you_ don't wear a veil, if I do." + +"You can read faces?" + +"A little, I flatter myself. Can you?" + +"Give me a chance of trying." + +She raised her veil, and he inspected her for some moments, then +looked away. + +"Excellently well, if God did all," he observed, with a smile. + +"That's out of a play," she replied quickly. "I heard it a little +time ago, but I forget the answer. I'd have given anything to be +able to cap you! Then you'd have put me down for a clever woman, and +I should have lived on the reputation henceforth and for ever. But +it's all my own, indeed; I'm not afraid of crying." + +"_Do_ you ever cry? I can't easily imagine it." + +"Oh yes, sometimes," she answered, sighing, and at the same time +lowering her veil again. "But you haven't read my face for me." + +"It's a face I'm sorry to have seen." + +"Why?" she asked, holding her hands clasped before her, the palms +turned outwards. + +"I shall think of it often after tonight, and imagine it with all +its freshness gone, and marks of suffering and degradation upon it." + +"Suffering, perhaps; degradation, no. Why should I be degraded?" + +"You can't help yourself. The life you have chosen brings its +inevitable consequences." + +"Chosen!" she repeated, with an indignant face. "How do you know I +had any choice in the matter? You have no right to speak +contemptuously, like that." + +"Perhaps not. Certainly not. I should have said--the life you are +evidently leading." + +"Well, I don't know that it makes so much difference. I suppose +everybody has a choice at all events between life and death, and you +mean that I ought to have killed myself rather than come to this. +That's my own business, however, and--" + +A man had just passed behind them, and, catching the sound of the +girl's voice, had turned suddenly to look at her. She, at the same +moment, looked towards him, and stopped all at once in her speech. + +"Are you walking up Regent Street?" she asked Waymark, in quite a +different voice. "Give me your arm, will you?" + +Waymark complied, and they walked together in the direction she +suggested. + +"What is the matter with you?" he asked. "Why are you trembling?" + +"Don't look round. It's that fellow behind us; I know he is +following." + +"Somebody you know?" + +"Yes, and hate. Worse than that, I'm afraid of him. Will you keep +with me till he's gone?" + +"Of course I will. What harm can he do you though?" + +"None that I know of. It's a strange stupid feeling I have. I can't +bear the sight of him. Don't look round!" + +"Has he been a--a friend of yours?" + +"No, no; not in that way. But he follows me about. He'll drive me +out of London, I know." + +They had reached Piccadilly Circus. + +"Look back now," she said, "and see if he's following still." + +Waymark turned his head; the man was at a little distance behind. He +stopped when be saw himself observed, and stood on the edge of the +pavement, tapping his boot with his cane. He was a tall and rather +burly fellow, well dressed, with a clean-shaven face. + +"Let's make haste round the corner," the girl said, "and get into +the restaurant. You must have some supper with me." + +"I should be very happy, had I a penny in my pocket." + +"See how easily good deeds are forgotten," returned the other, +laughing in the old way. "Now comes my turn to give proof of +generosity. Come and have some supper all the same." + +"No; that's out of the question." + +"Fiddlestick Surely you won't desert me when I ask your protection? +Come along, and pay me back another time, if you like." + +They walked round the corner, then the girl started and ran at her +full speed. Waymark followed in the same way, somewhat oppressed by +a sense of ridiculousness. They reached the shelter of the +restaurant, and the girl led the way upstairs, laughing +immoderately. + +Supper was served to them, and honoured with due attention by both. +Waymark had leisure to observe his companion's face in clearer +light. It was beautiful, and, better still, full of character. + +He presently bent forward to her, and spoke in a low voice. + +"Isn't this the man who followed us just coming in now? Look, he has +gone to the table on the right." + +She looked round hastily, and shuddered, for she had met the man's +eyes. + +"Why did you tell me?" she exclaimed impatiently. "Now I can't +finish my supper. Wait till he has given his order, and then we will +go." + +Waymark examined this mysterious persecutor. In truth, the +countenance was no good one, and a woman might well dislike to have +such eyes turned upon her. It was a strong face; coarse originally, +and, in addition to the faults of nature, it now bore the plainest +traces of hard living. As soon as he perceived Waymark and his +companion, he fixed them with his eyes, and scarcely looked away as +long as they remained in the room. The girl seemed shrinking under +this gaze, though she sat almost with her back to him. She ceased +talking, and, as soon as she saw that Waymark had finished, made a +sign to him to pay quickly (with a sovereign she pushed across the +table) and let them be gone. They rose, accordingly, and left. The +man watched them, but remained seated. + +"Are you in a hurry to get home?" the girl asked, when they were in +the street again. + +"No; time is of no consequence to me." + +"Do you live far off?" + +"In Kennington. And you?" + +"If you like, I'll show you. Let us walk quickly. I feel rather +cold." + +She led the way into the Strand. At no great distance from Temple +Bar she turned off into a small court. + +"This is a queer place to live in," observed Waymark, as he looked +up at the dark houses. + +"Don't be afraid," was the good-humoured reply, as she opened the +door with a latch-key. They went up two flights of stairs, then +entered a room where a bright fire was burning. Waymark's conductor +held a piece of paper to the flame, and lit a lamp. It was a small, +pleasantly furnished sitting-room. + +"Do you play?" Waymark asked, seeing an open piano, with music upon +it. + +"I only wish I could. My landlady's daughter is giving me lessons. +But I think I'm getting on. Listen to me do this exercise." + +She sat down, and, with much conscientious effort, went over some +simple bars. Then she looked up at her companion and caught him +smiling. + +"Well," she exclaimed, in a pet, "you must begin at the beginning in +everything, mustn't you? Come and let me hear what you can do." + +"Not even so much." + +"Then don't laugh at a poor girl doing her best. You have such a +queer smile too; it seems both ill-natured and good-natured at the +same time. Now wait a minute till I come back." + +She went into an inner room, and closed the door behind her. In five +minutes it opened again. She appeared in a dressing gown and with +her feet in slippers. Her fine hair fell heavily about her +shoulders; in her arms she held a beautiful black cat, with white +throat and paws. + +"This is my child. Don't you admire him? Shake hands, Grim." + +"Why Grim?" + +"It's short for Grimalkin. the name of a cat in a hook of fairy +tales I used to be fond of reading. Don't you think he's got a +beautiful face, and a good deal more intelligent than some people we +could mention? I picked him up on our door-step, two months ago. Oh, +you never saw such a wretched little object, dripping with rain, and +with such a poor starved little face, and bones almost coming +through the skin. He looked up at me, and begged me as plain as +plain could be to have pity on him and help him; didn't you, Grimmy? +And so I brought him upstairs, and made him comfortable, and now we +shall never part.--Do you like animals?" + +"Yes." + +The door of the room suddenly opened, and there sprang in a +fresh-coloured young girl in hat and jacket, short, plump, pretty, +and looking about seventeen. She started back on seeing that the +room was occupied. + +"What is it, Sally?" asked Grim's mistress, with a good-natured +laugh. + +"Why, Mrs. Walter told me you wasn't in yet; I'm awful sorry, I beg +your pardon." + +She spoke with a strong south-west-country accent. + +"Do you want me?" + +"It's only for Grim," returned Sally. showing something which she +held wrapped up in paper. "I'd brought un home a bit o' fish, a nice +bit without bone; it'll just suit he." + +"Then come and give it he," said the other, with a merry glance at +Waymark. "But he mustn't make a mess on the hearthrug." + +"Oh, trust un for that," cried Sally. "He won't pull it off the +paper." + +Grim was accordingly provided with his supper, and Sally ran away +with a "good-night." + +"Who's that?" Waymark asked. "Where on earth does she come from?" + +"She's from Weymouth. They talk queerly there, don't they? She lives +in the house, and goes to business. Sally and I are great friends." + +"Do you come from the country?" Waymark inquired, as she sat down in +an easy-chair and watched the cat eating. + +"No, I'm a London girl. I've never been out of the town since I was +a little child." + +"And how old are you now?" + +"Guess." + +"Not twenty." + +"Eighteen a month ago. All my life before me, isn't it?" + +Waymark kept silence for a moment. + +"How do you like my room?" she asked suddenly, looking round. + +"It's very comfortable. I always thought there were nothing but +business places all about here. I should rather like to live in the +very middle of the town, like this." + +"Should you? That's just what I like. Oh, how I enjoy the noise and +the crowds! I should be ill if I had to live in one of those long, +dismal streets, where the houses are all the same shape, and +costermongers go bawling about all day long. I suppose you live in a +place like that?" + +"Very much the same." + +In taking his handkerchief out, Waymark just happened to feel a book +in his overcoat-pocket. He drew it forth to see what it was, having +forgotten entirely that he had been carrying the volume about with +him since morning. + +"What's that?" asked the girl. "Will you let me look? Is it a tale? +Lend it me; will you?" + +"Do you read books?" + +"Oh yes; why not? Let me keep this till you come again. Is this your +name written here--Osmond Waymark?" + +"Yes. And what is your name?" + +"Ida Starr." + +"Ida? That's a beautiful name. I was almost afraid to ask you, for +fear it should be something common." + +"And why shouldn't I have a common name?" + +"Because you are by no means a common girl." + +"You think not? Well, perhaps you are right. But may I keep the book +till I see you again?" + +"I had better give it you, for it isn't very likely you will see me +again." + +"Why not?" + +"My acquaintance would be anything but profitable to you. I often +haven't enough money to live on, and--" + +Ida stooped down and played for a few moments with Grim, who turned +over lazily on to his back, and stroked his mistress's hands +delicately with his soft white paws. + +"But you are a gentleman," she said, rising again, and rustling over +the pages of the book she still held. "Are you in the city?" + +"The Lord deliver me!" + +"What then?" + +"I am nothing." + +"Then you must be rich." + +"It by no means follows. Yesterday I was a teacher in a school. +To-day I am what is called out of work." + +"A teacher. But I suppose you'll get another place." + +"No. I've given it up because I couldn't endure it any longer." + +"And how are you going to live?" + +"I have no idea." + +"Then you must have been very foolish to give away your money like +that to-night." + +"I don't pretend to much wisdom. If I had had another sovereign in +my pocket, no doubt I should have given it you before this, and you +wouldn't have refused it." + +"How do you know?" she asked sharply. "Why should you think me +selfish?" + +"Certainly I have no reason to. And by the by, I already owe you +money for the supper. I will send it you to-morrow." + +"Why not bring it?" + +"Better not. I have a good deal of an unpleasant quality which +people call pride, and I don't care to make myself uncomfortable +unnecessarily." + +"You can't have more pride than I have. Look." She held out her +hands. "Will you be my friend, really my friend? You understand me?" + +"I think I understand, but I doubt whether it is possible." + +"Everything is possible. Will you shake hands with me, and, when you +come to see me again, let us meet as if I were a modest girl, and +you had got to know me in a respectable house, and not in the street +at midnight?" + +"You really wish it? You are not joking?" + +"I am in sober earnest, and I wish it. You won't refuse?" + +"If I did I should refuse a great happiness." + +He took her hand and again released it. + +"And now look at the time," said she, pointing to a clock on the +mantelpiece. "Half-past one. How will you get home?" + +"Walk. It won't take me more than an hour. May I light my pipe +before I start?" + +"Of course you may. When shall I see you again?" + +"Shall we say this night next week?" + +"Very well. Come here any time you like in the evening. I will be at +home after six. And then I can give you your book back." + +Waymark lit his pipe, stooped to give Grim a stroke, and buttoned up +his coat. Ida led the way downstairs. They shook hands again, and +parted. + + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +RENT DAY + + + + +It was much after his usual hour when Waymark awoke on Good Friday +morning. He had been troubled throughout the night with a strangely +vivid dream, which seemed to have repeated itself several times; +when he at length started into consciousness the anguish of the +vision was still upon him. + +He rose at once, and dressed quickly, doing his best to shake off +the clinging misery of sleep. In a little while it had passed, and +he tried to go over in his mind the events of the preceding day. +Were they, too, only fragments of a long dream? Surely so many and +strange events could not have crowded themselves into one period of +twelve hours; and for him, whose days passed with such dreary +monotony. The interview with Maud Enderby seemed so unnaturally long +ago; that with Ida Starr, so impossibly fresh and recent. Yet both +had undoubtedly taken place. He, who but yesterday morning had felt +so bitterly his loneliness in the world, and, above all, the +impossibility of what he most longed for--woman's companionship-- +found himself all at once on terms of at least friendly intimacy +with two women, both young, both beautiful, yet so wholly different. +Each answered to an ideal which he cherished, and the two ideals +were so diverse, so mutually exclusive. The experience had left him +in a curious frame of mind. For the present, he felt cool, almost +indifferent, to both his new acquaintances. He had asked and +obtained leave to write to Maud Enderby; what on earth could he +write about? How could he address her? He had promised to go and see +Ida Starr, on a most impracticable footing. Was it not almost +certain that, before the day came round, her caprice would have +vanished, and his reception would prove anything but a flattering +one? The feelings which both girls had at the time excited in him +seemed artificial; in his present mood he in vain tried to +resuscitate his interest either in the one or the other. It was as +though he had over-exerted his emotional powers, and they lay +exhausted. Weariness was the only reality of which he was conscious. +He must turn his mind to other things. Having breakfasted, he +remembered what day it was, and presently took down a volume of his +Goethe, opening at the Easter morning scene in Faust, favourite +reading with him. This inspired him with a desire to go into the +open air; it was a bright day, and there would be life in the +streets. Just as he began to prepare himself for walking, there came +a knock at his door, and Julian Casti entered. + +"Halloa!" Waymark cried. "I thought you told me you were engaged +with your cousin to-day." + +"I was, but I sent her a note yesterday to say I was unable to meet +her." + +"Then why didn't you write at the same time and tell me you were +coming? I might have gone out for the day." + +"I had no intention of coming then." + +"What's the matter? You look out of sorts." + +"I don't feel in very good spirits. By the by, I heard from the +publishers yesterday. Here's the note." + +It simply stated that Messrs. So-and-so had given their best +attention to the play of "Stilicho," which Mr. Casti had been so +good as to submit to them, and regretted their inability to make any +proposal for its publication, seeing that its subject was hardly +likely to excite popular interest. They thanked the author for +offering it to them, and begged to return the MS. + +"Well, it's a disappointment," said Waymark, "but we must try again. +I myself am so hardened to this kind of thing that I fear you will +think me unsympathetic. It's like having a tooth out. You never +quite get used to it, but you learn after two or three experiments +to gauge the moment's torture at its true value. Re-direct your +parcel, and fresh hope beats out the old discouragement" + +"It wasn't altogether that which was making me feel restless and +depressed," Casti said, when they had left the house and were +walking along. "I suppose I'm not quite right in health just at +present. I seem to have lost my natural good spirits of late; the +worst of it is, I can't settle to my day's work as I used to. In +fact, I have just been applying for a new place, that of dispenser +at the All Saints' Hospital. If I get it, it would make my life a +good deal more independent. I should live in lodgings of my own, and +have much more time to myself." + +Waymark encouraged the idea strongly. But his companion could not be +roused to the wonted cheerfulness. After a long silence, he all at +once put a strange question, and in an abashed way. + +"Waymark, have you ever been in love?" + +Osmond laughed, and looked at his friend curiously. + +"Many thousand times," was his reply. + +"No, but seriously," urged Julian. + +"With desperate seriousness for two or three days at a time. Never +longer." + +"Well now, answer me in all earnestness. Do you believe it possible +to love a woman whom in almost every respect you regard as your +inferior, who you know can't understand your thoughts and +aspirations, who has no interest in anything above daily needs?" + +"Impossible to say. Is she good-looking?" + +"Suppose she is not; yet not altogether plain." + +"Then does she love you?" + +Julian reddened at the direct application. + +"Suppose she seems to." + +"Seems to, eh?--On the whole, I should say that I couldn't declare +it possible or the contrary till I had seen the girl. I myself +should be very capable of falling desperately in love with a girl +who hadn't an idea in her head, and didn't know her letters. All I +should ask would be passion in return, and--well, yes, a pliant +and docile character." + +"You are right; the character would go for much. Never mind, we +won't speak any more of the subject. It was an absurd question to +ask you." + +"Nevertheless, you have made me very curious." + +"I will tell you more some other time; not now. Tell me about your +own plans. What decision have you come to?" + +Waymark professed to have formed no plan whatever. This was not +strictly true. For some months now, ever and again, as often indeed +as he had felt the burden of his schoolwork more than usually +intolerable, his thoughts had turned to the one person who could be +of any assistance to him, and upon whom he had any kind of claim; +that was Abraham Woodstock, his father's old friend. He had held no +communication with Mr. Woodstock for four years; did not even know +whether he was living. But of him he still thought, now that +absolute need was close at hand, and, as soon as Julian Casti had +left him to-day, he examined a directory to ascertain whether the +accountant still occupied the house in St. John Street Road. +Apparently he did. And the same evening Waymark made up his mind to +visit Mr. Woodstock on the following day. + +The old gentleman was sitting alone when the servant announced a +visitor. In personal appearance he was scarcely changed since the +visit of his little grand-daughter. Perhaps the eye was not quite so +vivid, the skin on forehead and cheeks a trifle less smooth, but his +face had the same healthy colour; there was the same repose of force +in the huge limbs, and his voice had lost nothing of its resonant +firmness. + +"Ah!" he exclaimed, as Waymark entered. "You! I've been wondering +where you were to be found." + +The visitor held out his hand, and Abraham, though he did not rise, +smiled not unpleasantly as he gave his own. + +"You wanted to see me?" Waymark asked. + +"Well, yes. I suppose you've come about the mines." + +"Mines? What mines?" + +"Oh, then you haven't come about them. You didn't know the Llwg +Valley people have begun to pay a dividend?" + +Waymark remembered that one of his father's unfortunate speculations +had been the purchase of certain shares in some Welsh mines. The +money thus invested had remained, for the last nine years, wholly +unproductive. Mr. Woodstock explained that things were looking up +with the company in question, who had just declared a dividend of 4 +per cent. on all their paid-up shares. + +"In other words," exclaimed Waymark eagerly, "they owe me some +money?" + +"Which you can do with, eh?" said Abraham, with a twinkle of +good-humoured commiseration in his eye. + +"Perfectly. What are the details?" + +"There are fifty ten-pound shares. Dividend accordingly twenty +pounds." + +"By Jingo! How is it to be got at?" + +"Do you feel disposed to sell the shares?" asked the old man, +looking up sideways, and still smiling. + +"No; on the whole I think not." + +"Ho, ho, Osmond, where have you learnt prudence, eh?--Why don't +you sit down?--If you didn't come about the mines, why did you +come, eh?" + +"Not to mince matters," said Waymark, taking a chair, and speaking +in an off-hand way which cost him much effort, "I came to ask you to +help me to some way of getting a living." + +"Hollo!" exclaimed the old man, chuckling. "Why, I should have +thought you'd made your fortune by this time. Poetry doesn't pay, it +seems?" + +"It doesn't. One has to buy experience. It's no good saying that I +ought to have been guided by you five years ago. Of course I wish I +had been, but it wasn't possible. The question is, do you care to +help me now?" + +"What's your idea?" asked Abraham, playing with his watch-guard, a +smile as of inward triumph flitting about his lips. + +"I have none. I only know that I've been half-starved for years in +the cursed business of teaching, and that I can't stand it any +longer. I want some kind of occupation that will allow me to have +three good meals every day, and leave me my evenings free. That +isn't asking much, I imagine; most men manage to find it. I don't +care what the work is, not a bit. If it's of a kind which gives a +prospect of getting on, all the better; if that's out of the +question, well, three good meals and a roof shall suffice." + +"You're turning out a devilish sensible lad, Osmond," said Mr. +Woodstock, still smiling. "Better late than never, as they say. But +I don't see what you can do. You literary chaps get into the way of +thinking that any fool can make a man of business, and that it's +only a matter of condescending to turn your hands to desk work and +the ways clear before you. It's a mistake, and you're not the first +that'll find it out." + +"This much I know," replied Waymark, with decision. "Set me to +anything that can be learnt, and I'll be perfect in it in a quarter +the time it would take the average man." + +"You want your evenings free?" asked the other, after a short +reflection. "What will you do with them?" + +"I shall give them to literary work." + +"I thought as much. And you think you can be a man of business and a +poet at the same time? No go, my boy. If you take up business, you +drop poetising. Those two horses never yet pulled at the same shaft, +and never will." + +Mr. Woodstock pondered for a few moments. He thrust out his great +legs with feet crossed on the fender, and with his hands jingled +coin in his trouser-pockets. + +"I tell you what," he suddenly began. "There's only one thing I know +of at present that you're likely to be able to do. Suppose I gave +you the job of collecting my rents down east." + +"Weekly rents?" + +"Weekly. It's a rough quarter, and they're a shady lot of customers. +You wouldn't find the job over-pleasant, but you might try, eh?" + +"What would it bring me in,--to go at once to the point?" + +"The rents average twenty-five pounds. Your commission would be +seven per cent. You might reckon, I dare say, on five-and-thirty +shillings a week." + +"What is the day for collecting?" + +"Mondays; but there's lots of 'em you'd have to look up several +times in a week. If you like I'll go round myself on Tuesday-- +Easter Monday's no good--and you can come with me." + +"I will go, by all means," exclaimed Waymark + +Talk continued for some half-hour. When Waymark rose at length, he +expressed his gratitude for the assistance promised. + +"Well, well," said the other, "wait till we see how things work. I +shouldn't wonder if you throw it up after a week or two. However, be +here on Tuesday at ten. And prompt, mind: I don't wait for any man." + +Waymark was punctual enough on the following Tuesday, and the two +drove in a hansom eastward. It was rather a foggy morning, and +things looked their worst. After alighting they had a short walk. +Mr. Woodstock stopped at the end of an alley. + +"You see," he said, "that's Litany Lane. There are sixteen houses in +it, and they're all mine. Half way down, on the left, runs off Elm +Court, where there are fourteen houses, and those are all mine, +too." + +Waymark looked. Litany Lane was a narrow passage, with houses only +on one side; opposite to them ran a long high wall, apparently the +limit of some manufactory. Two posts set up at the entrance to the +Lane showed that it was no thoroughfare for vehicles. The houses +were of three storeys. There were two or three dirty little shops, +but the rest were ordinary lodging-houses, the front-doors standing +wide open as a matter of course, exhibiting a dusky passage, filthy +stairs, with generally a glimpse right through into the yard in the +rear. In Elm Court the houses were smaller, and had their fronts +whitewashed. Under the archway which led into the Court were +fastened up several written notices of rooms to be let at this or +that number. The paving was in evil repair, forming here and there +considerable pools of water, the stench and the colour whereof led +to the supposition that the inhabitants facilitated domestic +operations by emptying casual vessels out of the windows. The dirty +little casements on the ground floor exhibited without exception a +rag of red or white curtain on the one side, prevailing fashion +evidently requiring no corresponding drapery on the other. The Court +was a _cul de sac_, and at the far end stood a receptacle for ashes, +the odour from which was intolerable. Strangely enough, almost all +the window-sills displayed flower-pots, and, despite the wretched +weather, several little bird-cages hung out from the upper storeys. +In one of them a lark was singing briskly. + +They began their progress through the tenements, commencing at the +top of Litany Lane. Many of the rooms were locked, the occupiers +being away at their work, but in such case the rent had generally +been left with some other person in the house, and was forthcoming. +But now and then neither rent nor tenant was to be got at, and dire +were the threats which Abraham bade the neighbours convey to the +defaulters on their return. His way with one and all was curt and +vigorous; to Waymark it seemed needlessly brutal. A woman pleading +inability to make up her total sum would be cut short with a +thunderous oath, and the assurance that, if she did not pay up in a +day or two, every stick would be carried off. Pitiful pleading for +time had absolutely no effect upon Abraham. Here and there e tenant +would complain of high rent, and point out a cracked ceiling, a +rotten piece of stairs, or something else imperatively calling for +renovation. "If you don't like the room, clear out," was the +landlord's sole reply to all such speeches. + +In one place they came across an old Irish woman engaged in washing. +The room was hung with reeking clothes from wall to wall. For a time +it was difficult to distinguish objects through the steam, and +Waymark, making his way in, stumbled and almost fell over an open +box. From the box at once proceeded a miserable little wail, broken +by as terrible a cough as a child could be afflicted with; and +Waymark then perceived that the box was being used as a cradle, in +which lay a baby gasping in the agonies of some throat disease, +whilst drops from the wet clothing trickled on to its face. + +On leaving this house, they entered Elm Court. Here, sitting on the +doorstep of the first house, was a child of apparently nine or ten, +and seemingly a girl, though the nondescript attire might have +concealed either sex, and the face was absolutely sexless in its +savagery. Her hair was cut short, and round her neck was a bit of +steel chain, fastened with string. On seeing the two approach, she +sprang up, and disappeared with a bound into the house. + +"That's the most infernal little devil in all London, I do believe," +said Mr. Woodstock, as they began to ascend the stairs. "Her mother +owes two weeks, and if she don't pay something to-day, I'll have her +out. She'll be shamming illness, you'll see. The child ran up to +prepare her." + +The room in question was at the top of the house. It proved to be +quite bare of furniture. On a bundle of straw in one corner was +lying a woman, to all appearances _in extremis_. She lay looking up +to the ceiling, her face distorted into the most ghastly anguish, +her lips foaming; her whole frame shivered incessantly. + +"Ha, I thought so," exclaimed Abraham as he entered. "Are you going +to pay anything this week?" + +The woman seemed to be unconscious. + +"Have you got the rent?" asked Mr. Woodstock, turning to the child, +who had crouched down in another corner. + +"No, we ain't," was the reply, with a terribly fierce glare from +eyes which rather seemed to have looked on ninety years than nine. + +"Then out you go! Come, you, get up now; d' you hear? Very well; +come along, Waymark; you take hold of that foot, and I'll take this. +Now, drag her out on to the landing." + +They dragged her about half-way to the door, when suddenly Waymark +felt the foot he had hold of withdrawn from his grasp, and at once +the woman sprang upright. Then she fell on him, tooth and nail, +screaming like some evil beast. Had not Abraham forthwith come to +the rescue, he would have been seriously torn about the face, but +just in time the woman's arms were seized in a giant grip, and she +was flung bodily out of the room, falling with a crash upon the +landing. Then from her and the child arose a most terrific uproar of +commination; both together yelled such foulness and blasphemy as can +only be conceived by those who have made a special study of this +vocabulary, and the vituperation of the child was, if anything, +richer in quality than the mother's. The former, moreover, did not +confine herself to words, but all at once sent her clenched fist +through every pain of glass in the window, heedless of the fearful +cuts she inflicted upon herself, and uttering a wild yell of triumph +at each fracture. Mr. Woodstock was too late to save his property, +but he caught up the creature like a doll, and flung her out also on +to the landing, then coolly locked the door behind him, put the key +in his pocket, and, letting Waymark pass on first, descended the +stairs. The yelling and screeching behind them continued as long as +they were in the Court, but it drew no attention from the +neighbours, who were far too accustomed to this kind of thing to +heed it. + +In the last house they had to enter they came upon a man asleep on a +bare bedstead. It was difficult to wake him. When at length he was +aroused, he glared at them for a moment with one blood-shot eye (the +other was sightless), looking much like a wild beast which doubts +whether to spring or to shrink back. + +"Rent, Slimy," said Mr. Woodstock with more of good humour than +usual. + +The man pointed to the mantelpiece, where the pieces of money were +found to be lying. Waymark looked round the room. Besides the +bedstead, a table was the only article of furniture, and on it stood +a dirty jug and a glass. Lying about was a strange collection of +miscellaneous articles, heaps of rags and dirty paper, bottles, +boots, bones. There were one or two chairs in process of being +new-caned; there was a wooden frame for holding glass, such as is +carried about by itinerant glaziers, and, finally, there was a +knife-grinding instrument, adapted for wheeling about the streets. +The walls were all scribbled over with obscene words and drawings. +On the inside of the door had been fitted two enormous bolts, one +above and one below. + +"How's trade, Slimy?" inquired Mr. Woodstock. + +"Which trade, Mr. Woodstock?" asked the man in return, in a very +husky voice. + +"Oh, trade in general." + +"There never was sich times since old Scratch died," replied Slimy, +shaking his head. "No chance for a honest man." + +"Then you're in luck. This is the new collector, d'you see." + +"I've been a-looking at him," said Slimy, whose one eye, for all +that, had seemed busy all the time in quite a different direction. +"I seen him somewheres, but I can't just make out where." + +"Not many people you haven't seen, I think," said Abraham, nodding, +as he went out of the room. Waymark followed, and was glad to get +into the open streets again. + + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +A MAN-TRAP + + + + +Julian Casti was successful in his application for the post of +dispenser at the All Saints' Hospital, and shortly after Easter he +left the shop in Oxford Street, taking lodgings in Beaufort Street, +Chelsea. His first evening there was spent in Waymark's company, and +there was much talk of the progress his writing would make, now that +his hours of liberty were so considerably extended. For the first +time in his life he was enjoying the sense of independence. Waymark +talked of moving from Walcot Square, in order to be nearer to his +friend. He, too, was possessed of more freedom than had been the +case for a long time, and his head was full of various fancies. They +would encourage each other in their work, afford by mutual +appreciation that stimulus which is so essential to the young +artist. + +But in this world, though man may propose, it is woman who disposes. +And at this moment, Julian's future was being disposed of in a +manner he could not well have foreseen. + +Harriet Smales had heard with unconcealed pleasure of his leaving +the shop and taking lodgings of his own. She had been anxious to +come and see the rooms, and, though the following Sunday was +appointed for her visit, she could not wait so long, but, to her +cousin's surprise, presented herself at the house one evening, and +was announced by the landlady, who looked suspicious. Julian, with +some nervousness, hastened to explain that the visitor was a +relative, which did not in the least alter his landlady's +preconceived ideas. Harriet sat down and looked about her with a +sigh of satisfaction. If she could but have such a home! Girls had +no chance of getting on as men did. If only her father could have +lived, things would have been different. Now she was thrown on the +world, and had to depend upon her own hard work. Then she gave way +to an hysterical sob, and Julian--who felt sure that the landlady +was listening at the door--could only beg her nervously not to be +so down-hearted. + +"Whatever success I have," he said to her, "you will share it." + +"If I thought so!" she sighed, looking down at the floor, and moving +the point of her umbrella up and down. Harriet had saturated her +mind with the fiction of penny weeklies, and owed to this training +all manner of awkward affectations which she took to be the most +becoming manifestations of a susceptible heart. At times she would +express herself in phrases of the most absurdly high-flown kind, and +lately she had got into the habit of heaving profound sighs between +her sentences. Julian was not blind to the meaning of all this. His +active employments during the past week had kept his thoughts from +brooding on the matter, and he had all but dismissed the trouble it +had given him. But this visit, and Harriet's demeanour throughout +it, revived all his anxieties. He came back from accompanying his +cousin part of her way home in a very uneasy frame of mind. What +could he do to disabuse the poor girl of the unhappy hopes she +entertained? The thought of giving pain to any most humble creature +was itself a pain unendurable to Julian. His was one of those +natures to which self-sacrifice is infinitely easier than the idea +of sacrificing another to his own desires or even necessities, a +vice of weakness often more deeply and widely destructive than the +vices of strength. + +The visit having been paid, it was arranged that on the following +Sunday Julian should meet his cousin at the end of Gray's Inn Road +as usual. On that day the weather was fine, but Harriet came out in +no mood for a walk. She had been ailing for a day or two, she said, +and felt incapable of exertion; Mrs. Ogle was away from home for the +day, too, and it would be better they should spend the afternoon +together in the house. Julian of course assented, as always, and +they established themselves in the parlour behind the shop. In the +course of talk, the girl made mention of an engraving Julian had +given her a week or two before, and said that she had had it framed +and hung it in her bed-room. + +"Do come up and look at it," she exclaimed; "there's no one in the +house. I want to ask you if you can find a better place for it. It +doesn't show so well where it is." + +Julian hesitated for a moment, but she was already leading the way, +and he could not refuse to follow. They went up to the top of the +house, and entered a little chamber which might have been more tidy, +but was decently furnished. The bed was made in a slovenly way, the +mantelpiece was dusty, and the pictures on the walls hung askew. +Harriet closed the door behind them, and proceeded to point out the +new picture, and discuss the various positions which had occurred to +her. Julian would have decided the question as speedily as possible, +and once or twice moved to return downstairs, but each time the girl +found something new to detain him. Opening a drawer, she took out +several paltry little ornaments, which she wished him to admire, +and, in showing them, stood very close by his side. All at once the +door of the room was pushed open, and a woman ran in. On seeing the +stranger present, she darted back with an exclamation of surprise. + +"Oh, Miss Smales, I didn't know as you wasn't alone! I heard you +moving about, and come just to arst you to lend me--but never +mind, I'm so sorry; why didn't you lock the door?" + +And she bustled out again, apparently in much confusion. + +Harriet had dropped the thing she held in her hand, and stood +looking at her cousin as if dismayed. + +"I never thought any one was in," she said nervously. "It's Miss +Mould, the lodger. She went out before I did, and I never heard her +come back. Whatever will she think!" + +"But of course," he stammered, "you will explain everything to her. +She knows who I am, doesn't she?" + +"I don't think so, and, even if she did--" + +She stopped, and stood with eyes on the ground, doing her best to +display maiden confusion. Then she began to cry. + +"But surely, surely there is no need to trouble yourself," exclaimed +Julian, almost distracted, beginning to be dimly conscious of all +manner of threatening possibilities. "I will speak to the woman +myself, and clear you of every--. Oh, but this is all nonsense. +Let us go down at once, Harriet. What a pity you asked me to come up +here!" + +It was the nearest to a reproach that he had ever yet addressed to +her. His face showed clearly how distressed he was, and that on his +own account more than hers, for he could not conceive any blame save +on himself for being so regardless of appearances. + +"Go as quietly as ever you can," Harriet whispered. "The stairs +creak so. Step very softly." + +This was terrible to the poor fellow. To steal down in this guilty +way was as bad as a confession of evil intentions, and he so +entirely innocent of a shadow of evil even in his thought. Yet he +could not but do as she bade him. Even on the stairs she urged him +in a very loud whisper to be yet more cautious. He was out of +himself with mortification; and felt angry with her for bringing him +into such ignominy. In the back parlour once more, he took up his +hat at once. + +"You mustn't go yet," whispered Harriet. "I'm sure that woman's +listening on the stairs. You must talk a little. Let's talk so she +can hear us. Suppose she should tell Mrs. Ogle." + +"I can't see that it matters," said Julian, with annoyance. "I will +myself see Mrs. Ogle." + +"No, no! The idea! I should have to leave at once. Whatever shall I +do if she turns me away, and won't give me a reference or anything!" + +Even in a calmer mood, Julian's excessive delicacy would have +presented an affair of this kind in a grave light to him; at present +he was wholly incapable of distinguishing between true and false, or +of gauging these fears at their true value. The mere fact of the +girl making so great a matter out of what should have been so easy +to explain and have done with, caused an exaggeration of the +difficulty in his own mind. He felt that he ought of course to +justify himself before Mrs. Ogle, and would have been capable of +doing so had only Harriet taken the same sensible view; but her +apparent distress seemed--even to him--so much more like +conscious guilt than troubled innocence, that such a task would cost +him the acutest suffering. For nearly an hour he argued with her, +trying to convince her how impossible it was that the woman who had +surprised them should harbour any injurious suspicions. + +"But she knows--" began Harriet, and then stopped, her eyes +falling. + +"What does she know?" demanded her cousin in surprise; but could get +no reply to his question. However, his arguments seemed at length to +have a calming effect, and, as he took leave, he even affected to +laugh at the whole affair. For all that, he had never suffered such +mental trouble in his life as during this visit and throughout the +evening which followed. The mere thought of having been obliged to +discuss such things with his cousin filled him with inexpressible +shame and misery. Waymark came to spend the evening with him, but +found poor entertainment. Several times Julian was on the point of +relating what had happened, and asking for advice, but he found it +impossible to broach the subject. There was an ever-recurring anger +against Harriet in his mind, too, for which at the same time he +reproached himself. He dreaded the next meeting between them. + +Harriet, though herself quite innocent of fine feeling and nice +complexities of conscience, was well aware of the existence of such +properties in her cousin. She neither admired nor despised him for +possessing them; they were of unknown value, indifferent to her, +indeed, until she became aware of the practical use that might be +made of them. Like most narrow-minded girls, she became a shrewd +reader of character, when her affections and interests were +concerned, and could calculate Julian's motives, and the course +wherein they would lead him, with much precision. She knew too well +that he did not care for her in the way she desired, but at the same +time she knew that he was capable of making almost any sacrifice to +spare her humiliation and trouble, especially if he felt that her +unhappiness was in any way caused by himself. + +Thus it came about that, on the Tuesday evening of the ensuing week, +Julian was startled by his landlady's announcing another visit from +Miss Smales. Harriet came into the room with a veil over her face, +and sank on a chair, sobbing. What she had feared had come to pass. +The lodger had told Mrs. Ogle of what had taken place in her absence +on the Sunday afternoon, and Harriet had received notice that she +must find another place at once. Mrs. Ogle was a woman of severe +virtue, and would not endure the suspicion of wrong-doing under her +roof. To whom could she come for advice and help, but to Julian? + +Julian was overwhelmed. His perfectly sincere nature was incapable +of suspecting a far more palpable fraud. He started up with the +intention of going forthwith to Gray's Inn Road, but Harriet clung +to him and held him back. The idea was vain. The lodger, Miss Mould, +had long entertained a spite against her, Harriet said, and had so +exaggerated this story in relating it to Mrs. Ogle, that the latter, +and her husband, had declared that Casti should not as much as put +foot in their shop again. + +"If you only knew what they've been told!" sobbed the girl, still +clinging to Julian. "They wouldn't listen to a word you said. As if +I could have thought of such a thing happening, and that woman to +say all the bad things of us she can turn her tongue to! I sha'n't +never get another place; I'm thrown out on the wide world!" + +It was a phrase she had got out of her penny fiction; and very +remarkable indeed was the mixture of acting and real sentiment which +marked her utterances throughout. + +Julian's shame and anger began to turn to compassion. A woman in +tears was a sight which always caused him the keenest distress. + +"But," he cried, with tears in his own eyes, "it is impossible that +you should suffer all this through me, and I not even make an +attempt to clear you of such vile charges!" + +"It was my own fault. I was thoughtless. I ought to have known that +people's always ready to think harm. But I think of nothing when I'm +with you, Julian!" + +He had disengaged himself from her hands, and was holding one of +them in his own. But, as she made this last confession, she threw +her arms about his neck and drooped her head against his bosom. + +"Oh, if you only felt to me like I do to you!" she sobbed. + +No man can hear without some return of emotion a confession from a +woman's lips that she loves him. Harriet was the only girl whom +Julian had ever approached in familiar intercourse; she had no rival +to fear amongst living women; the one rival to be dreaded was +altogether out of the sphere of her conceptions,--the ideal love +of a poet's heart and brain. But the ideal is often least present to +us when most needed. Here was love; offer but love to a poet, and +does he pause to gauge its quality? The sudden whirl of conflicting +emotions left Julian at the mercy of the instant's impulse. She was +weak; she was suffering through him; she loved him. + +"Be my wife, then," he whispered, returning her embrace, "and let me +guard you from all who would do you harm." + +She uttered a cry of delight, and the cry was a true one. + + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +NEAR AND FAR + + + + +Osmond Waymark was light-hearted; and with him such a state meant +something not at all to be understood by those with whom lightness +of heart is a chronic affection. The man who dwells for long periods +face to face with the bitter truths of life learns so to distrust a +fleeting moment of joy, gives habitually so cold a reception to the +tardy messenger of delight, that, when the bright guest outdares his +churlishness and perforce tarries with him, there ensues a +passionate revulsion unknown to hearts which open readily to every +fluttering illusive bliss. Illusion it of course remains; is ever +recognised as that; but illusion so sweet and powerful that he +thanks the god that blinds him, and counts off with sighs of joy the +hours thus brightly winged. + +He awaited with extreme impatience the evening on which he would +again see Ida. Distrustful always, he could not entirely dismiss the +fear that his first impressions might prove mistaken in the second +interview; yet he tried his best to do so, and amused himself with +imagining for Ida a romantic past, for her and himself together a +yet more romantic future. In spite of the strange nature of their +relations, he did not delude himself with the notion that the girl +had fallen in love with him at first sight, and that she stood +before him to take or reject as he chose. He had a certain awe of +her. He divined in her a strength of character which made her his +equal; it might well be, his superior. Take, for instance, the +question of the life she was at present leading. In the case of an +ordinary pretty and good-natured girl falling in his way as Ida +Starr had done, he would have exerted whatever influence he might +acquire over her to persuade her into better paths. Any such direct +guidance was, he felt, out of the question here. The girl had +independence of judgment; she would resent anything said by him on +the assumption of her moral inferiority, and, for aught he knew, +with justice. The chances were at least as great that he might prove +unworthy of her, as that she should prove unworthy of him. + +When he presented himself at the house in the little court by Temple +Bar, it was the girl Sally who opened the door to him. She beckoned +him to follow, and ran before him upstairs. The sitting-room +presented the same comfortable appearance, and Grim, rising lazily +from the hearthrug, came forward purring a welcome, but Ida was not +there. + +"She was obliged to go out," said Sally, in answer to his look of +inquiry. "She won't be long, and she said you was to make yourself +comfortable till she came back." + +On a little side-table stood cups and saucers, and a box of cigars. +The latter Sally brought forward. + +"I was to ask you to smoke, and whether you'd like a cup of coffee +with it?" she asked, with the curious _naivete_ which marked her +mode of speech. + +"The kettle's boiling on the side," she added, seeing that Waymark +hesitated. "I can make it in a minute." + +"In that case, I will." + +"You don't mind me having one as well?" + +"Of course not." + +"Shall I talk, or shall I keep quiet? I'm not a servant here, you +know," she added, with an amusing desire to make her position clear. +"Ida and me's friends, and she'd do just as much for I." + +"Talk by all means," said Waymark, smiling, as he lit his cigar. The +result was that, in a quarter of an hour Sally had related her whole +history. As Ida had said, she came from Weymouth, where her father +was a fisherman, and owner of bum-boats. Her mother kept a laundry, +and the family had all lived together in easy circumstances. She +herself had come to London--well, just for a change. And what was +she doing? Oh, getting her living as best she could. In the day-time +she worked in a city workroom. + +"And how much do you think I earn a week?" she asked. + +"Fifteen shillings or so, I suppose?" + +"Ah, that's all you know about it! Now, last week was the best I've +had yet, and I made seven shillings." + +"What do you do?" + +"Machine work; makin' ulsters. How much do you think we get, now, +for makin' a ulster--one like this?" pointing to one which hung +behind the door. + +"Have no idea." + +"Well,--_fourpence_: there now!" + +"And how many can you make in a day?" + +"I can't make no more than two. Some make three, but it's blessed +hard work. But I get a little job now and then to do at home." + +"But you can't live on seven shillings a week?" + +"I sh'd think not, indeed. We have to make up the rest as best we +can, s'nough." + +"But your employers must know that?" + +"In course. What's the odds? All us girls are the same; we have to +keep on the two jobs at the same time. But I'll give up the day-work +before long, s'nough. I come home at night that tired out I ain't +fit for nothing. I feel all eyes, as the sayin' is. And it's hard to +have to go out into the Strand, when you're like that." + +"But do they know about all this at home?" + +"No fear! If our father knew, he'd be down here precious soon, and +the house wouldn't hold him. But I shall go back some day, when I've +got a good fit-out." + +The door opened quietly, and Ida came in. + +"Well, young people, so you are making yourselves at home." + +The sweet face, the eyes and lips with their contained mirth, the +light, perfect form, the graceful carriage,--Waymark felt his +pulses throb at the sound of her voice and the touch of her hand. + +"You didn't mind waiting a little for me? I really couldn't help it. +And then, after all, I thought you mightn't come." + +"But I promised to." + +"Promises, promises, oh dear!" laughed Ida. "Sally, here's an orange +for you." + +"You _are_ a duck!" was the girl's reply, as she caught it, and, +with a nod to Waymark, left the room. + +"And so you've really come," Ida went on, sitting down and beginning +to draw off her gloves. + +"You find it surprising? To begin with, I have come to pay my +debts." + +"Is there another cup of coffee?" she asked, seeming not to have +heard. "I'm too tired to get up and see." + +Waymark felt a keen delight in waiting upon her, in judging to a +nicety the true amount of sugar and cream, in drawing the little +table just within her reach. + +"Mr. Waymark," she exclaimed, all at once, "if you had had supper +with a friend, and your friend had paid the bill, should you take +out your purse and pay him back at your next meeting?" + +"It would depend entirely on circumstances." + +"Just so. Then the present circumstances don't permit anything of +the kind, and there's an end of _that_ matter. Light another cigar, +will you?" + +"You don't dislike the smoke?" + +"If I did, I should say so." + +Having removed her outer garments one by one, she rose and took them +into the inner room. On reappearing, she went to the sitting-room +door and turned the key in the lock. + +"Could you let me have some more books to read?" she asked. + +"I have brought one, thinking you might be ready for it." + +It was "Jane Eyre." She glanced over the pages eagerly. + +"I don't know how it is," she said, "I have grown so hungry for +reading of late. Till just now I never cared for it. When I was a +child and went to school, I didn't like my lessons. Still I learned +a good deal, for a little girl, and it has stayed by me. And oh, it +seems so long ago! Never mind, perhaps I will tell you all about +that some day." + +They were together for an hour or so. Waymark, uneasily watching his +companion's every movement, rose as soon as she gave sign of +weariness, and Ida did not seek to detain him. + +"I shall think much of you," he said. + +"The less the better," was Ida's reply. + +For his comfort, yes,--Waymark thought, as he walked homewards. +Ida had already a dangerous hold upon him; she possessed his senses, +and set him on fire with passionate imaginings. Here, as on every +hand, his cursed poverty closed against him the possibilities of +happiness. That she should ever come to love him, seemed very +unlikely; the alliance between them could only be a mere caprice on +her part, such as girls of her kind are very subject to; he might +perhaps fill up her intervals of tedium, but would have no share in +her real life. And the thought of that life fevered him with +jealousy. She might say what she liked about never having known +love, but it was of course impossible that she should not have a +preference among her lovers. And to think of the chances before such +a girl, so blessed with rare beauty and endless charms. In the +natural order of events she would become the mistress of some rich +man; might even, as at times happens, be rescued by marriage; in +either case, their acquaintance must cease. And, indeed, what right +had he to endeavour to gain her love having nothing but mere +beggarly devotion to offer her in return? He had not even the excuse +of one who could offer her married life in easy circumstances,-- +supposing that to be an improvement on her present position. Would +it not be better at once to break off these impossible relations? +How often he had promised himself, in moments of clear thought, +never again to enter on a course which would obviously involve him +in futile suffering. Why had he not now the strength to obey his +reason, and continue to possess his soul in the calm of which he had +enjoyed a brief taste? + +The novel circumstances of the past week had almost driven from his +mind all thought of Maud Enderby. He regretted having asked and +obtained permission to write to her. She seemed so remote from him, +their meeting so long past. What could there be in common between +himself and that dim, quiet little girl, who had excited his +sympathy merely because her pretty face was made sad by the same +torments which had afflicted him? He needed some strong, vehement, +original nature, such as Ida Starr's; how would Maud's timid +conventionality--doubtless she was absolutely conventional--suit +with the heresies of which he was all compact? Still, he could not +well ignore what had taken place between them, and, after all, there +would be a certain pleasant curiosity in awaiting her reply. In any +case, he would write just such a letter as came naturally from him. +If she were horrified, well, there was an end of the matter. + +Accordingly, he sat down on the morning after his visit to Ida, and, +after a little difficulty in beginning, wrote a long letter. It was +mainly occupied with a description of his experiences in Litany Lane +and Elm Court. He made no apology for detailing such unpleasant +matters, and explained that he would henceforth be kept in pretty +close connection with this unknown world. Even this, he asserted, +was preferable to the world of Dr. Tootle's Academy. Then he dwelt a +little on the contrast between this life of his and that which Maud +was doubtless leading in her home on the Essex coast; and finally he +hoped she would write to him when she found leisure, and be able to +let him know that she was no longer so unhappy as formerly. + +This he posted on Friday. On the following Monday morning, the post +brought two letters for him, both addressed in female hand, one +bearing a city, the other a country, post-mark. Waymark smiled as he +compared the two envelopes, on one of which his name stood in firm, +upright characters, on the other in slender, sloping, delicate +writing. The former he pressed to his lips, then tore open eagerly; +it was the promised intimation that Ida would be at home after eight +o'clock on Wednesday and Friday evenings, nothing more. The second +letter he allowed to lie by till he had breakfasted. He could see +that it contained more than one sheet. When at length he opened it, +he read this:-- + +"DEAR MR. WAYMARK,--I have an hour of freedom this Sunday afternoon, and +I will spend it in replying as well as I can to your very interesting +letter. My life is, as you say, very quiet and commonplace compared with +that you find yourself suddenly entering upon. I have no such strange +and moving things to write about, but I will tell you in the first place +how I live and what I do, then put down some of the thoughts your letter +has excited in me. + +"The family I am with consists of very worthy but commonplace +people. They treat me with more consideration than I imagine +governesses usually get, and I am grateful to them for this, but +their conversation, especially that of Mrs. Epping, I find rather +wearisome. It deals with very trivial concerns of everyday life, in +which I vainly endeavour to interest myself. + +"Then there is the religious formalism of the Eppings and their +friends. They are High Church. They discuss with astonishing vigour +and at dreadful length what seems to me the most immaterial points +in the Church service, and just at present an impulse is given to +their zeal by the fact of their favourite clergyman being threatened +with a prosecution for ritualistic practices. Of course I have to +feign a becoming interest in all this, and to take part in all their +religious forms and ceremonies. And indeed it is all so new to me +that I have scarcely yet got over the first feelings of wonder and +curiosity. + +"Have I not, then, you will ask, the courage of my opinions? But +indeed my religious opinions are so strangely different from those +which prevail here, that I fear it would be impossible to make my +thoughts clear to these good people. They would scarcely esteem me a +Christian; and yet I cannot but think that it is they who are widely +astray from Christian belief and practice. The other evening the +clergyman dined with us, and throughout the meal discussions of the +rubric alternated with talk about delicacies of the table! That the +rubric should be so interesting amazes me, but that an earnest +Christian should think it compatible with his religion to show the +slightest concern in what he shall eat or drink is unspeakably +strange to me. Surely, if Christianity means anything it means +asceticism. My experience of the world is so slight. I believe this +is the first clergyman I ever met in private life. Surely they +cannot all be thus? + +"I knew well how far the world at large had passed from true +Christianity; that has been impressed upon me from my childhood. But +how strange it seems to me to hear proposed as a remedy the +formalism to which my friends here pin their faith! How often have I +burned to speak up among them, and ask--'What think ye, then, of +Christ? Is He, or is He not, our exemplar? Was not His life meant to +exhibit to us the ideal of the completest severance from the world +which is consistent with human existence? To follow Him, should we +not, at least in the spirit, cast off everything which may tempt us +to consider life, as life, precious?' We cannot worship both God and +the world, and yet nowadays Christians seem to make a merit of doing +so. When I conceive a religious revival, my thought does not in the +least concern itself with forms and ceremonies. I imagine another +John the Baptist inciting the people, with irresistible fervour, to +turn from their sins--that is, from the world and all its concerns +--and to purify themselves by Renunciation. What they call +'Progress,' I take to be the veritable Kingdom of Antichrist. The +world is evil, life is evil; only by renunciation of the very desire +for life can we fulfil the Christian idea. What then of the +civilisation which endeavours to make the world more and more +pleasant as a dwelling-place, life more and more desirable for its +own sake? + +"And so I come to the contents of your own letter. You say you +marvel that these wretched people you visited do not, in a wild +burst of insurrection, overthrow all social order, and seize for +themselves a fair share of the world's goods. I marvel also;--all +the more that their very teachers in religion seem to lay such +stress on the joys of life. And yet what profit would a real +Christian preacher draw for them from this very misery of their +existence! He would teach them that herein lay their supreme +blessing, not their curse; that in their poverty and nakedness lay +means of grace and salvation such as the rich can scarcely by any +means attain to; that they should proudly, devoutly, accept their +heritage of woe, and daily thank God for depriving them of all that +can make life dear. Only awaken the spirit in these poor creatures, +and how near might they be to the true Kingdom of Heaven! And surely +such a preacher will yet arise, and there will be a Reformation very +different from the movement we now call by that name. But I weary +you, perhaps. It may be you have no interest in all this. Yet I +think you would wish me to write from what I am. + +"It would interest me to hear your further experiences in the new +work. Believe me to be your sincere friend, + +"MAUD ENDERBY." + +Waymark read, and thought, and wondered. + +Then it was time to go and collect his rents. + + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +UP THE RIVER + + + + +Here is an extract from a letter written by Julian Casti to Waymark +in the month of May. By this time they were living near to each +other, but something was about to happen which Julian preferred to +communicate in writing. + +"This will be the beginning of a new life for me. Already I have +felt a growth in my power of poetical production. Verse runs +together in my thoughts without effort; I feel ready for some really +great attempt. Have you not noticed something of this in me these +last few days? Come and see me to-night, if you can, and rejoice +with me." + +This meant that Julian was about to be married. Honeymoon journey +was out of the question for him. He and his wife established +themselves in the lodgings which he was already occupying. And the +new life began. + +Waymark had made Harriet's acquaintance a couple of weeks before; +Julian had brought her with him one Sunday to his friend's room. She +was then living alone, having quitted Mrs. Ogle the day after that +decisive call upon Julian. There was really no need for her to have +done so, Mrs. Ogle's part in the comedy being an imaginary one of +Harriet's devising. But Julian was led entirely by his cousin, and, +as she knew quite well, there was not the least danger of his going +on his own account to the shop in Gray's Inn Road; he dreaded the +thought of such an interview. + +Waymark was not charmed with Miss Smales; the more he thought of +this marriage, the more it amazed him; for, of course, he deemed it +wholly of his friend's bringing about. + +The marriage affected their intercourse. Harriet did not like to be +left alone in the evening, so Julian could not go to Waymark's, as +he had been accustomed to, and conversation in Mrs. Casti's presence +was, of course, under restraint. Waymark bore this with impatience, +and even did his best to alter it. One Sunday afternoon, about three +weeks after the marriage, he called and carried Julian off to his +room across the street. Harriet's face sufficiently indicated her +opinion of this proceeding, and Julian had difficulty m appearing at +his case. Waymark understood what was going on, and tried to discuss +the matter freely, but the other shrank from it. + +"I am grievously impatient of domestic arrangements," Waymark said. +"I fancy it would never do for me to marry, unless I had limitless +cash, and my wife were as great a Bohemian as myself. By the by, I +have another letter from Maud. Her pessimism is magnificent. This +intense religiousness is no doubt a mere phase; it will pass, of +course; I wonder how things would arrange themselves if she came +back to London. Why shouldn't she come here to sit and chat, like +you do?" + +"That would naturally lead to something definite," said Casti, +smiling. + +"Oh, I don't know. Why should it? I'm a believer in friendship +between men and women. Of course there is in it the spice of the +difference of sex, and why not accept that as a pleasant thing? How +much better if, when we met a woman we liked, we could say frankly, +'Now let us amuse each other without any _arriere pensee_. If I +married you to-day, even though I feel quite ready to, I should ten +to one see some one next week who would make me regret having bound +myself. So would you, my dear. Very well, let us tantalise each +other agreeably, and be at ease in the sense that we are on the +right side of the illusion.' You laugh at the idea?" + +Julian laughed, but not heartily. They passed to other things. + +"I'm making an article out of Elm Court," said Waymark. +"Semi-descriptive, semi-reflective, wholly cynical Maybe it will pay +for my summer holiday. And, apropos of the same subject, I've got +great ideas. This introduction to such phases of life will prove +endlessly advantageous to me, artistically speaking. Let me get a +little more experience, and I will write a novel such as no one has +yet ventured to write, at all events in England. I begin to see my +way to magnificent effects; ye gods, such light and shade! The fact +is, the novel of every-day life is getting worn out. We must dig +deeper, get to untouched social strata. Dickens felt this, but he +had not the courage to face his subjects; his monthly numbers had to +lie on the family tea-table. Not _virginibus puerisque_ will be my +book, I assure you, but for men and women who like to look beneath +the surface, and who understand that only as artistic material has +human life any significance. Yes, that is the conclusion I am +working round to. The artist is the only sane man. Life for its own +sake?--no; I would drink a pint of laudanum to-night. But life as +the source of splendid pictures, inexhaustible material for effects +--_that_ can reconcile me to existence, and that only. It is a +delight followed by no bitter after-taste, and the only such delight +I know." + +Harriet was very quiet when Julian returned. She went about getting +the tea with a sort of indifference; she let a cup fall and break, +but made no remark, and left her husband to pick up the pieces. + +"Waymark thinks I'm neglecting him," said Julian, with a laugh, as +they sat down together. + +"It's better to neglect him than to neglect me, I should think," was +Harriet's reply, in a quiet ill-natured tone which she was mistress +of. + +"But couldn't we find out some way of doing neither, dear?" went on +Julian, playing with his spoon. "Now suppose I give him a couple of +hours one evening every week? You could spare that, couldn't you? +Say, from eight to ten on Wednesdays?" + +"I suppose you'll go if you want to." said Harriet, rising from the +tea-table, and taking a seat sulkily by the window. + +"Come, come, we won't say any more about it, if it's so disagreeable +to you," said Julian, going up to her, and coaxing her back to her +place. "You don't feel well to-day, do you? I oughtn't to have left +you this afternoon, but it was difficult to refuse, wasn't it?" + +"He had no business to ask you to go. He could see I didn't like +it." + +Waymark grew so accustomed to receiving Ida's note each Monday morning, +that when for the first time it failed to conic he was troubled +seriously. It happened, too, that he was able to attach a particular +significance to the omission. When they had last parted, instead of just +pressing her hand as usual, he had raised it to his lips. She frowned +and turned quickly away, saying no word. He had offended her by this +infringement of the conditions of their friendship; for once before, +when he had uttered a word which implied more than she was willing to +allow, Ida had engaged him in the distinct agreement that he should +never do or say anything that approached love-making. As, moreover, it +was distinctly understood that he should never visit her save at times +previously appointed, he could not see her till she chose to write. +After waiting in the vain expectation of some later post bringing news, +he himself wrote, simply asking the cause of her silence. The reply came +speedily. + +"I have no spare time in the week. I thought you would understand this. + +I. S." + +It was her custom to write without any formal beginning or ending; yet +Waymark felt that this note was briefer than it would have been, had all +been as usual between them. The jealousy which now often tortured him +awoke with intolerable vehemence. He spent a week of misery. + +But late on Saturday evening came a letter addressed in the +well-known hand. It said-- + +"Sally and I are going up the river to-morrow, if it is fine. Do you +care to meet us on the boat which reaches Chelsea Pier at 10.30? + +I. S." + +It seemed he did care; at all events he was half an hour too soon at the +pier. As the boat approached his eye soon singled out two very +quietly-dressed girls, who sat with their backs to him, and neither +turned nor made any sign of expecting any addition to their party. With +like undemonstrativeness he took a seat at Ida's side, and returned +Sally's nod and smile. Ida merely said "Good morning;" there was nothing +of displeasure on her face, however, and when he began to speak of +indifferent things she replied with the usual easy friendliness. + +It was the first time he had seen her by daylight. He had been +uncertain whether she used any artificial colour on her cheeks; +seemingly she did, for now she looked much paler than usual. But the +perfect clearness of her complexion, the lustre of her eyes, +appeared to indicate complete health. She breathed the fresh sun-lit +air with frank enjoyment, and smiled to herself at objects on either +side of the river. + +"By the by," Waymark said, when no words had been exchanged for some +minutes, "you didn't tell me where you were going; so I took no +ticket, and left matters to fate." + +"Are you a good walker?" Ida asked. + +"Fairly good, I flatter myself." + +"Then this is what I propose. It's a plan I carried out two or three +times by myself last summer, and enjoyed. We get off at Putney, walk +through Roehampton, then over the park into Richmond. By that time +we shall be ready for dinner, and I know a place where we can have +it in comfort." + +There was little thought of weariness throughout the delightful +walk. All three gave themselves up for the time to simple enjoyment; +their intercourse became that of children; the troubles of passion, +the miseries of self-consciousness, the strain of mutual observation +fell from them as the city dropped behind; they were once more +creatures for whom the external world alone had reality. There was a +glorious June sky; there were country roads scented with flower and +tree; the wide-gleaming common with its furze and bramble; then the +great park, with felled trunks to rest upon, and prospects of +endlessly-varied green to soothe the eye. The girls exhibited their +pleasure each in her own way. Sally threw off restraint, and sprang +about in free happiness, like one of the young roes, the sight of +which made her utter cries like a delighted child. She remembered +scenes of home, and chattered in her dialect of people and places +strange enough to both her companions. She was in constant +expectation of catching a glimpse of the sea; in spite of all +warnings it was a great surprise and disappointment to her that +Richmond Hill did not end in cliffs and breakers. Ida talked less, +but every now and then laughed in her deep enjoyment. She had no +reminiscence of country life it was enough that all about her was +new and fresh and pure; nothing to remind her of Regent Street and +the Strand. Waymark talked of he knew not what, cheerful things that +came by chance to his tongue, trifling stories, descriptions of +places, ideal plans for spending of ideal holidays; but nothing of +London, nothing of what at other times his thoughts most ran upon. +He came back to himself now and then, and smiled as he looked at the +girls, but this happened seldom. + +The appetites of all three were beyond denying when they had passed +the "Star and Garter" and began to walk down into the town. Waymark +wondered whither their guide would lead them, but asked no +questions. To his surprise, Ida stopped at a small inn half way down +the hill. + +"You are to go straight in," she said, with a smile, to Waymark, +"and are to tell the first person you meet that three people want +dinner. There's no choice--roast beef and vegetables, and some +pudding or other afterwards. Then you are to walk straight upstairs, +as if you knew your way, and we will follow." + +These directions were obeyed, with the result that all reached an +upper chamber, wherein a table was cleanly and comfortably laid, as +if expecting them. French windows led out on to a quaint little +verandah at the back of the house, and the view thence was perfect. +The river below, winding between wooded banks, and everywhere the +same splendour of varied green which had delighted their eyes all +the morning. Just below the verandah was the tiled roof of an +outhouse, whereon lay a fine black and white cat, basking in the hot +sun. Ida clapped her hands. + +"He's like poor old Grim," she cried. Then, turning to Waymark: "If +you are good, you may bring out a chair and smoke a cigar here after +dinner." + +They had just began to eat, when footsteps were heard coining up the +stairs. + +"Oh bother!" exclaimed Sally. "There's some one else a-comin', +s'nough." + +There was. The door opened, and two gentlemen walked in. Waymark +looked up, and to his astonishment recognised his old friends O'Gree +and Egger. Mr. O'Gree was mopping his face with a handkerchief, and +looked red and hungry; Mr. Egger was resplendent in a very +broad-brimmed straw hat, the glistening newness of which contrasted +with the rest of his attire, which had known no variation since his +first arrival at Dr. Tootle's. He, too, was perspiring profusely, +and, as he entered, was just in the act of taking out the great +yellow handkerchief which Waymark had seen him chewing so often in +the bitterness of his spirit. + +"Hollo, Waymark, is it you?" cried Mr. O'Gree, forgetting the +presence of the strangers in his astonishment. "Sure, and they told +us we'd find a _gentleman_ here." + +"And I was the last person you would have thought of as answering +that description?" + +"Well, no, I didn't mean that. I meant there was no mention of the +ladies." + +Waymark flashed a question at Ida with his eyes, and understood her +assent in the smile and slight motion of the head. + +"Then let me introduce you to the ladies." + +The new-comers accordingly made the acquaintance of Miss Starr and +Miss Fisher (that was Sally's name), and took seats at the table, to +await the arrival of their dinners. Both were on their good +behaviour. Mr. O'Gree managed to place himself at Sally's left hand, +and led the conversation with the natural ease of an Irishman, +especially delighted if Sally herself seemed to appreciate his +efforts to be entertaining. + +"Now, who'd have thought of the like of this." he exclaimed. "And we +came in here by the merest chance; sure, there's a fatality in these +things. We've walked all the way from Hammersmith." + +"And we from Putney," said Waymark. + +"You don't mean it? It's been a warm undertaking." + +"How did you find the walk, Mr. Egger?" + +"Bedad," replied that gentleman, who had got hold of his friend's +exclamation, and used it with killing effect; "I made my possible, +but, bedad, I could not much more." + +"You both look warm," Waymark observed, smiling. "I fear you +hurried. You should have been leisurely, as we were." + +"Now that's cruel, Waymark. You needn't have reflected upon our +solitariness. If we'd been blessed with society such as you had, +we'd have come slow enough. As it was, we thought a good deal of our +dinners." + +No fresh guests appeared to disturb the party. When all had appeased +their hunger, Waymark took a chair out on to the verandah for Ida. +He was spared the trouble of providing in the same way for Sally by +Mr. O'Gree's ready offices. Poor Egger, finding himself deserted, +opened a piano there was in the room, and began to run his finger +over the keys. + +"Let us have one of your German songs, my boy," cried O'Gree. + +"But it is the Sunday, and we arc still in England," said the Swiss, +hesitating. + +"Pooh, never mind," said Waymark. "We'll shut the door. Sing my +favourite, Mr. Egger,--'_Wenn's Mailufterl_.'" + +When they left the inn, Waymark walked first with Ida, and Mr. +O'Gree followed with Sally. Egger brought up the rear; he had +relapsed into a dreamy mood, and his mind seemed occupied with +unearthly things. + +With no little amusement Waymark had noted Sally's demeanour under +Mr. O'Gree's attentions. The girl had evidently made up her mind to +be absolutely proper. The Irishman's respectful delicacy was +something so new to her and so pleasant, and the question with her +was how she could sufficiently show her appreciation without at the +same time forfeiting his good opinion for becoming modesty. All so +new to her, accustomed to make an art of forwardness, and to school +herself in the endurance of brutality. She was constantly blushing +in the most unfeigned way at his neatly-turned little compliments, +and, when she spoke, did so with a pretty air of self-distrust which +sat quite charmingly on her. Fain, fain would O'Gree have proposed +to journey back to London by the same train, but good taste and good +sense prevailed with him. At the ticket-barrier there was a parting. + +"How delightful it would be, Miss Fisher," said Mr. O'Gree, in +something like a whisper, "if this lucky chance happened again. If I +only knew when you were coming again, there's no telling but it +might." + +Sally gave her hand, smiled, evidently wished to say something, but +ended by turning away and running after her companions. + + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +EXAMPLE WITHOUT PRECEPT + + + + +Waymark was grateful for the help Mr. Woodstock had given him. +Indeed, the two soon began to get on very well together. In a great +measure, of course, this was due to the change in Waymark's +philosophy; whereas his early idealism had been revolted by what he +then deemed Mr. Woodstock's crass materialism and vulgarity, the +tolerance which had come with widened experience now made him regard +these characteristics with far less certainty of condemnation. He +was often merely amused at what had formerly enraged and disgusted +him. At the same time, there were changes in Abraham himself, no +doubt--at all events in his manner to the young man. He, on his +side, was also far more tolerant than in the days when he had +growled at Osmond for a conceited young puppy. + +One Sunday morning in early July, Waymark was sitting alone in his +room, when he noticed that a cab stopped before the house. A minute +after, there was a knock at his door, an d, to his great surprise, +Mr. Woodstock entered, bearing a huge volume in his arms. Abraham +deposited it on a chair, wiped his forehead, and looked round the +room. + +"You smoke poor tobacco," was his first remark, as he sniffed the +air. + +"Good tobacco happens to be expensive," was the reply. "Will you sit +down?" + +"Yes, I will." The chair creaked under him. "And so here you hang +out, eh? Only one room?" + +"As you see." + +"Devilish unhealthy, I should think." + +"But economical." + +"Ugh!" + +The grunt meant nothing in particular. Waymark was eyeing the mighty +volume on the chair, and had recognised it Some fortnight +previously, he had come upon Abraham, in the latter's study, turning +over a collection of Hogarth's plates, and greatly amusing himself +with the realism which so distinctly appealed to his taste in art. +The book had been pledged in the shop, and by lapse of time was +become Abraham's property. It was the first time that Waymark had +had an opportunity of examining Hogarth; the pictures harmonised +with his mood; they gave him a fresh impulse in the direction his +literary projects were taking. He spent a couple of hours in turning +the leaves, and Mr. Woodstock had observed his enjoyment. What meant +the arrival of the volume here in Beaufort Street? + +Abraham lit a cigar, still looking about the room. + +"You live alone?" he asked, in a matter-of-fact way. + +"At present." + +"Ha! Didn't know but you might have found it lonely; I used to, at +your age." + +Then, after a short silence-- + +"By-the-by, it's your birthday." + +"How do you know?" + +"Well, I shouldn't have done, but for an old letter I turned up by +chance the other day. How old are you?" + +"Five-and-twenty." + +"H'm. I am sixty-nine. You'll be a wiser man when you get to my age. +--Well, if you can find room anywhere for that book there, perhaps +you'd like to keep it!" + +Waymark looked up in astonishment. + +"A birthday present!" he exclaimed. "It's ten years since I had one. +Upon my word, I don't well know how to thank you!" + +"Do you know what the thing was published at?" asked Abraham in an +off-hand way. + +"No." + +"Fifty pounds." + +"I don't care about the value. It's the kindness. You couldn't have +given me anything, either, that would have delighted me so much." + +"All right; keep it, and there's an end of the matter. And what do +you do with yourself all day, eh? I didn't think it very likely I +should find you in." + +"I'm writing a novel." + +"H'm. Shall you get anything for it?" + +"Can't say. I hope so." + +"Look here. Why don't you go in for politics?" + +"Neither know nor care anything about them." + +"Would you like to go into Parliament?" + +"Wouldn't go if every borough in England called upon me to-morrow?" + +"Why not?" + +"Plainly, I think myself too good for such occupation. If you once +succeed in getting _outside_ the world, you have little desire to go +back and join in its most foolish pranks." + +"That's all damned nonsense! How can any one be too good to be in +Parliament? The better men you have there, the better the country +will be governed, won't it?" + +"Certainly. But the best man, in this case, is the man who sees the +shortest distance before his nose. If you think the world worth all +the trouble it takes to govern it, go in for politics neck and crop, +by all means, and the world will no doubt thank you in its own way." + +Abraham looked puzzled, and half disposed to be angry. + +"Then you think novel-writing better than governing the country?" he +asked. + +"On its own merits, vastly so." + +"And suppose there was no government What about your novels then?" + +"I'd make a magnificent one out of the spectacle of chaos." + +"But you know very well you're talking bosh," exclaimed Abraham, +somewhat discomfited. "There must be government, and there must be +order, say what you like. Its nature that the strong should rule +over the weak, and show them what's for their own good. What else +are we here for? if you're going to be a parson, well and good; then +cry down the world as much as you please, and think only about +heaven and hell. But as far as I can make out, there's government +there too. The devil rebelled and was kicked out. Serve him right If +he wasn't strong enough to hold his own, he'd ought to have kept +quiet." + +"You're a Conservative, of course," said Waymark, smiling. "You +believe only in keeping the balance. You don't are about reform." + +"Don't be so sure of that Let me have the chance and he power, and +I'd reform hard enough, many a thing." + +"Well, one might begin on a small scale. Suppose one took in hand +Litany Lane and Elm Court? Suppose we exert our right as the +stronger, and, to begin with, do a little whitewashing? Then sundry +stairs and ceilings might be looked to. No doubt there'd be +resistance, but on the whole it would be for the people's own good. +A little fresh draining mightn't be amiss, or--" + +"What the devil's all this to do with politics?" cried Abraham, +whose face had grown dark. + +"I should imagine, a good deal," returned Waymark, knocking out his +pipe. "If you're for government, yen mustn't be above considering +details." + +"And so you think you have a hit at me, eh? Nothing of the kind. +These are affairs of private contract, and no concern of government +at all. In private contract a man has only a right to what he's +strong enough to exact If a tenant tells me my houses ain't fit to +live in, I tell him to go where he'll be better off' and I don't +hinder him; I know well enough in a day or two there'll come +somebody else. Ten to one he can't go, and he don't. Then why should +I be at unnecessary expense in making the places better? As Boon as +I can get no tenants I'll do so; not till then." + +"You don't believe in works of mere humanity?" + +"What the devil's humanity got to do with business?" cried Abraham. + +"True," was Waymark's rejoinder. + +"See, we won't talk of these kind of things," said Mr. Woodstock. +"That's just what we always used to quarrel about, and I'm getting +too old for quarrelling. Got any engagement this afternoon?" + +"I thought of looking in to see a friend here in the street" + +"Male or female?" + +"Both; man and wife." + +"Oh, then you have got some friends? So had I when I was your age. +They go somehow when you get old. Your father was the last of them, +I think. But you're not much like him, except a little in face. +True, he was a Radical, but you,--well, I don't know what you are. +If you'd been a son of mine, I'd have had you ill Parliament by now, +somehow or other." + +"I think you never had a son?" said Way mark, observing the note of +melancholy which every now and then came up in the old man's talk. + +"No." + +"But you had some children, I think?" + +"Yes, yes,--they're dead." + +He had walked to the window, and suddenly turned round with a kind +of impatience. + +"Never mind the friend to-day; come and have some dinner with me. I +seem to want a bit of company." + +This was the first invitation of the kind Waymark had received. He +accepted it, and they went out together. + +"It's a pleasant part this," Mr. Woodstock said, as they walked by +the river. "One might build himself a decent house somewhere about +here, eh?" + +"Do you think of doing so?" + +"I think of doing so! What's the good of a house, and nobody to live +in it?" + +Waymark studied these various traits of the old man's humour, and +constantly felt more of kindness towards him. + +On the following day, just as he had collected his rents, and was on +his way out of Litany Lane, Waymark was surprised at coming face to +face with Mrs. Casti; yet more surprised when he perceived that she +had come out from a public-house. She looked embarrassed, and for a +moment seemed about to pass without recognising him; but he had +raised his hat, and she could not but move her head in reply. She so +obviously wished to avoid speaking, that he walked quickly on in +another direction. He wondered what he could be doing in such a +place as this. It could hardly be that she had acquaintances or +connections here. Julian had not given him any particulars of +Harriet's former life, and his friend's marriage was still a great +puzzle to him. He knew well that the girl had no liking for himself; +it was not improbable that this casual meeting would make their +intercourse yet more strained. He thought for a moment of +questioning Julian, but decided that the matter was no business of +his. + +It was so rare for him to meet an acquaintance in the streets, that +a second chance of the same kind, only a few minutes later, +surprised him greatly. This time the meeting as a pleasant one; +somebody ran across to him from over the way, and he saw that it was +Sally Fisher. She looked pleased. The girl had preserved a good deal +of her sea-side complexion through the year and a half of town life, +and, when happy, glowed all over her cheeks with the healthiest hue. +She held out her hand in the usual frank, impulsive way. + +"Oh, I thought it was you! You won't see I no more at the old +place." + +"No? How's that?" + +"I'm leavin' un to-morrow. I've got a place in a shop, just by here, +--a chandler's shop, and I'm going to live in." + +"Indeed? Well, I'm glad to hear it. I dare say you'll be better +off." + +"Oh, I say,--you know your friend?" + +"The Irishman?" + +"Yes." + +"What about him?" asked the other, smiling as he looked into the +girl's pretty face. + +"Well," said Sally, "I don't mind you telling un where I live now, +--if you like.--Look, there's the address on that paper; you can +take it." + +"Oh, I see. In point of fact, you _wish_ me to tell him?" + +"Oh, I don't care. I dessay he don't want to know anything about I. +But you can if you like." + +"I will be sure to, and no doubt he will be delighted. He's been +growing thin since I told him you declined to renew his +acquaintance." + +"Oh, don't talk! And now I must be off. Good-bye. I dessay I shall +see you sometimes?" + +"Without doubt. We'll have another Sunday at Richmond soon. +Good-bye." + +It was about four in the afternoon when Sally reached home, and she +ran up at once to Ida's room, and burst in, crying out, "I've got +it! I've got it!" with much dancing about and joyous singing. Ida +rose with a faint smile of welcome. She had been sitting at the +window, reading a book lent her by Waymark. + +"They said they liked my appearance," Sally went on, "and 'ud give +me a try. I go in to-morrow. It won't be a over easy place, neither. +I've to do all the cleaning in the house, and there's a baby to look +after when I'm not in the shop." + +"And what will they give you?" + +"Ten shillings a month for the first half-year; then a rise." + +"And you're satisfied?" + +"Oh, it'll do till something better turns up. Oh, I say, I met your +friend just after I'd come away." + +"Did you?" said Ida quietly. + +"Yes; and I told him he could tell his friend where I was, if he +liked." + +"His friend?" + +"The Irishman, you know," explained Sally, moving about the room. "I +told you he'd been asking after me." + +Ida seemed all at once to awake from a dream. She uttered a long +"Ah!" under her breath, and for a moment looked at the girl like one +who is struck with an unexpected explanation. Then she turned away +to the window, and again gazed up at the blue sky, standing so for +nearly a minute. + +"Are you engaged to-night?" Sally asked presently. + +"No; will you sit with me?" + +"You're not feeling very well to-day, are you?" + +"I think not," replied Ida, passing her hand over her forehead. +"I've been thinking of going out of London for a few days, perhaps +to the seaside." + +"Go to Weymouth!" cried Sally, delighted at the thought. "Go and see +my people, and tell un how I'm getting on. They'll make you hide +with un all the time you're there, s'nough. It isn't a big house, +but it's comfortable, and see if our mother wouldn't look after you! +It's three weeks since I wrote; if I don't mind there'll be our +father up here looking after I. Now, do go!" + +"No, it's too far. Besides, if I go, I shall want to be quite +alone." + +On the following evening Waymark was expected. At his last visit he +had noticed that Ida was not in her usual spirits. To-night he saw +that something was clearly wrong, and when Ida spoke of going to the +seaside, he strongly. urged her to do so. + +"Where should you go to?" he asked. + +"I think to Hastings. I went there once, when I was a child, with my +mother--I believe I told you. I had rather go there than anywhere +else." + +"I feel the need of a change myself," he said, a moment after, and +without looking at her. "Suppose I were to go to Hastings, too--at +the same time that you're there--would you dislike it?" + +She merely shook her head, almost indifferently. She did not care to +talk much to-night, and frequently nodded instead of replying with +words. + +"But--you would rather I didn't?" he urged. + +"No, indeed," still in the same indifferent way. "I should have +company, if I found it dull." + +"Then let us go down by the same train--will you, Ida?" + +As far as she remembered, it was the first time that he had ever +addressed her thus by her name. She looked up and smiled slightly. + +"If you like," was her answer. + + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +THE MISSING YEARS + + + + +"Why shouldn't life be always like this?" said Waymark, lying on the +upper beach and throwing pebbles into the breakers, which each +moment drew a little further hack and needed a little extra exertion +of the arm to reach them. There was small disturbance by people +passing, here some two miles up the shore eastward from Hastings. A +large shawl spread between two walking-sticks stuck upright gave, at +this afternoon hour, all the shade needful for two persons lying +side by side, and, even in the blaze of unclouded summer, there were +pleasant airs flitting about the edge of the laughing sea. "Why +shouldn't life be always like this? It might be--sunshine or +fireside--if men were wise. Leisure is the one thing that all +desire, but they strive for it so blindly that they frustrate one +another's hope. And so at length they have come to lose the end in +the means; are mad enough to set the means before them as in itself +an end." + +"We must work to forget our troubles," said his companion simply. + +"Why, yes, and those very troubles are the fit reward of our folly. +We have not been content to live in the simple happiness of our +senses. We must be learned and wise, forsooth. We were not content +to enjoy the beauty of the greater and the lesser light. We must +understand whence they come and whither they go--after that, what +they are made of and how much they weigh. We thought for such a long +time that our toil would end in something; that we might become as +gods, knowing good and evil. Now we are at the end of our tether, we +see clearly enough that it has all been worse than vain; how good if +we could unlearn it all, scatter the building of phantasmal +knowledge in which we dwell so uncomfortably! It is too late. The +gods never take back their gifts; we wearied them with our prayers +into granting us this one, and now they sit in the clouds and mock +us." + +Ida looked, and kept silent; perhaps scarcely understood. + +"People kill themselves in despair," Waymark went on, "that is, when +they have drunk to the very dregs the cup of life's bitterness. If +they were wise, they would die at that moment--if it ever comes-- +when joy seems supreme and stable. Life can give nothing further, +and it has no more hellish misery than disillusion following upon +delight." + +"Did you ever seriously think of killing yourself?" Ida asked, +gazing at him closely. + +"Yes. I have reached at times the point when I would not have moved +a muscle to escape death, and from that it is not far to suicide. +But my joy had never come, and it is hard to go away without that +one draught.--And you!" + +"I went so far once as to buy poison. But neither had I tasted any +happiness, and I could not help hoping." + +"And you still wait--still hope?" + +Ida made no direct answer. She gazed far off at the +indistinguishable border-land of sea and sky, and when she spoke it +was in a softened tone. + +"When I was here last, I was seven years old. Now I am not quite +nineteen. How long I have lived since then--how long! Yet my life +didnot really begin till I was about eleven. Till then I was a +happy child, understanding nothing. Between then and now, if I have +discovered little good either in myself or in others, I have learned +by heart everything that is bad in the world. Nothing in meanness or +vileness or wretchedness is a secret to me. Compare me with other +girls of nineteen--perhaps still at school. What sort of a +companion should I be for one of those, I wonder! What strange +thoughts I should have, if ever I talked with such a girl; how old I +should feel myself beside her!" + +"Your knowledge is better in my eyes than their ignorance. My ideal +woman is the one who, knowing every darkest secret of life, keeps +yet a pure mind--as you do, Ida." + +She was silent so long that Waymark spoke again. + +"Your mother died when you were eleven!" + +"Yes, and that was when my life began. My mother was very poor, but +she managed to send me to a pretty good school. But for that, my +life would have been very different; I should not have understood +myself as well as I always have done. Poor mother,--good, good +mother! Oh, if I could but have her now, and thank her for all her +love, and give her but one year of quiet happiness. To think that I +can see her as if she were standing before me, and yet that she is +gone, is nowhere, never to be brought back to me if I break my heart +with longing!" + +Tears stood in her eyes. They meant more than she could ever say to +another, however close and dear to her. The secret of her mother's +life lay in the grave and in her own mind; the one would render it +up as soon as the other. For never would Ida tell in words of that +moment when there had come to her maturing intelligence clear +insight into her mother's history, when the fables of childhood had +no longer availed to blind her, and every recalled circumstance +pointed but to one miserable truth. + +"She's happier than we are," Waymark said solemnly. "Think how long +she has been resting." + +Ida became silent, and presently spoke with a firmer voice. + +"They took her to a hospital in her last illness, and she died +there. I don't know where her grave is." + +"And what became of you? Had you friends to go to?" + +"No one; I was quite alone.--We had been living in lodgings. The +landlady told me that of course I couldn't stay on there; she +couldn't afford to keep me; I must go and find a home somewhere. Try +and think what that meant to me. I was so young and ignorant that +such an idea as that I might one day have to earn my own living had +never entered my mind. I was fed and clothed like every one else,-- +a good deal better, indeed, than some of the children at school,-- +and I didn't know why it shouldn't always be so. Besides, I was a +vain child; I thought myself clever; I had even begun to look at +myself in the glass and think I was handsome. It seemed quite +natural that every one should be kind and indulgent to me. I shall +never forget the feeling I had when the landlady spoke to me in that +hard, sharp way. My whole idea of the world was overset all at once; +I seemed to be in a miserable dream. I sat in my mother's bedroom +hour after hour, and, every step I heard on the stairs, I thought it +must be my mother coming back home to me;--it was impossible to +believe that I was left alone, and could look to no one for help and +comfort." + +"Next morning the landlady came up to me again, and said, if I +liked, she could tell me of a way of earning my living. It was by +going as a servant to an eating-house in a street close by, where +they wanted some one to wash up dishes and do different kinds of +work not too hard for a child like me. I could only do as I was +advised; I went at once, and was engaged. They took off the dress I +was wearing, which was far too good for me then, and gave me a +dirty, ragged one; then I was set to work at once to clean some +knives. Nothing was said about wages or anything of that kind; only +I understood that I should live in the house, and have all given me +that I needed. Of course I was very awkward. I tried my very hardest +to do everything that was set me, but only got scolding for my +pains; and it soon came to boxes on the ear, and even kicks. The +place was kept by a man and wife; they had a daughter older than I, +and they treated her just like a hired servant. I used to sleep with +the girl in a wretched kitchen underground, and the poor thing kept +me awake every night with crying and complaining of her hard life. +It was no harder than mine, and I can't think she felt it more; but +I had even then a kind of stubborn pride which kept me from showing +what I suffered. I couldn't have borne to let them see what a +terrible change it was for me, all this drudgery and unkindness; I +felt it would have been like taking them into my confidence, opening +my heart to them, and I despised them too much for that. I even +tried to talk in a rough rude way, as if I had never been used to +anything better--" + +"That was fine, that was heroic!" broke in Waymark admiringly. + +"I only know it was miserable enough. And things got worse instead +of better. The master was a coarse drunken brute, and he and his +wife used to quarrel fearfully. I have seen them throw knives at +each other, and do worse things than that, too. The woman seemed +somehow to have a spite against me from the first, and the way her +husband behaved to me made her hate me still more. Child as I was, +he did and said things which made her jealous. Often when she had +gone out of an evening, I had to defend myself against him, and call +the daughter to protect me. And so it went on, till, what with fear +of him, and fear of her, and misery and weariness, I resolved to go +away, become of me what might. One night, instead of undressing for +bed as usual, I told Jane--that was the daughter--that I +couldn't bear it any longer, and was going away, as soon as I +thought the house was quiet. She looked at me in astonishment, and +asked me if I had anywhere to go to. Will you believe that I said +yes, I had? I suppose I spoke in a way which didn't encourage her to +ask questions; she only lay down on the bed and cried as usual. +"Jane," I said, in a little, "if I were you, I'd run away as well." +"I will," she cried out, starting up, "I will this very night! We'll +go out together." It was my turn to ask her if _she_ had anywhere to +go to. She said she knew a girl who lived in a good home at +Tottenham, and who'd do something for her, she thought. At any rate +she'd rather go to the workhouse than stay where she was. So, about +one o'clock, we both crept out by a back way, and ran into Edgware +Road. There we said good-bye, and she went one way, and I another. + +"All that night I walked about, for fear of being noticed loitering +by a policeman. When it was morning, I had come round to Hyde Park, +and, though it was terribly cold--just in March--I went to sleep +on a seat. I woke about ten o'clock, and walked off into the town, +seeking a poor part, where I thought it more likely I might find +something to do. Of course I asked first of all at eating-houses, +but no one wanted me. It was nearly dark, and I hadn't tasted +anything. Then I begged of one or two people--I forgot everything +but my hunger--and they gave me a few coppers. I bought some +bread, and still wandered about. There are some streets into which I +can never bear to go now; the thought of walking about them eight +years ago is too terrible to me. Well, I walked till midnight, and +then could stand up no longer. I found myself in a dirty little +street where the house doors stood open all night; I went into one, +and walked up as far as the first landing, and there fell down in a +corner and slept all night." + +"Poor child!" said Waymark, looking into her face, which had become +very animated as the details of the story succeeded each other in +her mind. + +"I must have looked a terrible little savage on that next morning," +Ida went on, smiling sadly. "Oh, how hungry I was! I was awoke by a +woman who came out of one of the rooms, and I asked her if she'd +give me something to eat. She said she would, if I'd light her fire +for her, and clean up the grate. I did this, gladly enough. Then she +pretended I had done it badly, and gave me one miserable little dry +crust, and told me to be off. Well, that day I found another woman +who said she'd give me one meal and twopence a day for helping her +to chop wood and wash vegetables; she had a son who was a +costermonger, and the stuff he sold had to be cleaned each day. I +took the work gladly. She never asked me where I spent the night; +the truth was I chose a different house each night, where I found +the door open, and went up and slept on the stairs. I often found +several people doing the same thing, and no one disturbed us. + +"I lived so for a fortnight, then I was lucky enough to get into +another eating-house. I lived there nearly two months, and had to +leave for the very same reason as at the first place. I only half +understood the meaning of what I had to resist, but my resistance +led to other unbearable cruelties, and again I ran away. I went +about eight o'clock in the evening. The thought of going back to my +old sleeping places on the stairs was horrible. Besides, for some +days a strange idea had been in my head. I had not forgotten my +friend Jane, and I wondered whether, if I went to Tottenham, it +would be possible to find her. Perhaps she might be well off there, +and could help me. I had made inquiries about the way to Tottenham, +and the distance, and when I left the eating-house I had made up my +mind to walk straight there. I started from Hoxton, and went on and +on, till I had left the big streets behind. I kept asking my way, +but often went long distances in the wrong direction. I knew that +Tottenham was quite in the country, and my idea was to find a +sleeping-place in some field, then to begin my search on the next +day. It was summer, but still I began to feel cold, and this drew me +away out of my straight road to a fire which I saw burning a little +way off. I thought it would be nice to sit down by it and rest. I +found that the road was being mended, and by the fire lay a watchman +in a big tub. Just as I came up he was eating his supper. He was a +great, rough man, but I looked in his face and thought it seemed +good, so I asked him if he'd let me rest a little. Of course he was +surprised at seeing me there, for it must have been midnight, and +when he asked me about myself I told him the truth, because he spoke +in a kind way. Then he stopped eating and gave me what was left; it +was a bit of fat bacon and some cold potatoes; but how good it was, +and how good _he_ was! To this moment I can see that man's face. He +got out of his tub and made me take his place, and he wrapped me up +in something he had there. Then he sat by the fire, and kept looking +at me, I thought, in a sad sort of way; and he said, over and over +again, 'Ay, it's bad to be born a little girl; it's bad to be born a +little girl; pity you wasn't a boy.' Oh, how well I can hear his +voice this moment! And as he kept saying this, I went off to sleep." + +She stopped, and played with the pebbles. + +"And in the morning?" asked Waymark. + +"Well, when I woke up, it was light, and there were a lot of other +men about, beginning their work on the road. I crept out of the tub, +and when they saw me, they laughed in a kind sort of way, and gave +me some breakfast. I supose I thanked them, I hope I did; the +watchman was gone, but no doubt he had told the others my story, for +they showed me the way to Tottenham, and wished me luck." + +"And you found your friend Jane!" + +"No, no; how was it likely I should? I wandered about till I could +stand no longer, and then I went up to the door of a house which +stood in a garden, and begged for something to eat. The servant who +opened was sending me away, when her mistress heard, and came to the +door. She stood looking at me for some time, and then told me to +come in. I went into the kitchen, and she asked me all about myself. +I told her the truth; I was too miserable now to do anything else. +Well, the result was--she kept me there." + +"For good?" + +"Indeed, for good. In that very house I lived for six years. Oh; she +was the queerest and kindest little body! At first I helped her +servant in the kitchen,--she lived quite by herself, with one +servant,--but little by little she made me a sort of lady's maid, +and I did no more rough work. You wouldn't believe the ridiculous +fancies of that dear old woman! She thought herself a great beauty, +and often told me so very plainly, and she used to talk to me about +her chances of being married to this and the other person in the +neighbourhood. And the result of all this was that she had to spend +I don't know how long every day in dressing herself, and then +looking at herself in the glass. And I had to learn how to do her +hair, and put paint and powder on her face, and all sorts of +wonderful things. She was as good to me as she could be, and I never +wanted for anything. And so six years passed, and one morning she +was found dead in her bed. + +"Well, that was the end of the happiest time of my life. In a day or +two some relatives came to look after things, and I had to go. They +were kind to me, however; they gave me money, and told me I might +refer to them if I needed to. I came to London, and took a room, and +wondered what I should do. + +"I advertised, and answered advertisements, but nothing came. My +money was going, and I should soon be as badly off as ever. I began +to do what I had always thought of as the very last thing, look for +needlework, either for home or in a workroom. I don't know how it is +that I have always hated sewing. For one thing, I really can't sew. +I was never taught as a child, and few girls are as clumsy with a +needle as I am. I've always looked upon a work-girl's life as the +most horrible drudgery; I'd far rather scrub floors. I suppose I've +a rebellious disposition, and just because sewing is looked upon as +a woman's natural slavery, I rebelled against it. + +"By this time I was actually starving. I had one day to tell my +landlady I couldn't pay my rent. She was a very decent woman, and +she talked to me in a kind way. What was better, she gave me help. +She had a sister who kept a laundry, and she thought I might perhaps +get something to do there; at all events she would go and see. The +result was I got work. I was in the laundry nearly six months, and +became quite clever in getting up linen. Now this was a kind of work +I liked. You can't think what a pleasure it was to me to see shirts +and collars turning out so spotless and sweet--" + +Waymark laughed. + +"Oh, but you don't understand. I do so like cleanliness! I have a +sort of feeling when I'm washing anything, that I'm really doing +good in the world, and the dazzling white of linen after I'd ironed +it seemed to thank me for my work." + +"Yes, yes, I understand well enough," said Waymark earnestly. + +"For all that I couldn't stay. I was restless. I had a foolish +notion that I should like to be with a better kind of people again +--I mean people in a higher position. I still kept answering +advertisements for a lady's maid's place, and at last I got what I +wanted. Oh yes, I got it." + +She broke off' laughing bitterly, and remained silent. Waymark would +not urge her to continue. For a minute it seemed as if she would +tell no more; she looked at her watch, and half arose. + +"Oh, I may as well tell you all, now I've begun," she said, falling +back again in a careless way. "You know what the end's going to be; +never mind, at all events I'll try and make you understand how it +came. + +"The family I got into was a lady and her two grown-up daughters, +and a son of about five-and-twenty. They lived in a small house at +Shepherd's Bush. My wages were very small, and I soon found out that +they were a kind of people who keep up a great deal of show on very +little means. Of course I had to be let into all the secrets of +their miserable shifts for dressing well on next to nothing at all, +and they expected me--mother and daughters--to do the most +wonderful and impossible things. I had to turn old rags into smart +new costumes, to trim worn-out hats into all manner of gaudy shapes, +even to patch up boots in a way you couldn't imagine. And they used +to send me with money to buy things they were ashamed to go and buy +themselves; then, if I hadn't laid out their few pence with +marvellous result, they all but accused me of having used some of +the money for myself. I had fortunately learnt a great deal with the +old lady in Tottenham, or I couldn't have satisfied them for a day. +I'm sure I did what few people could have done, and for all that +they treated me from almost the first very badly. I had to be +housemaid as well as lady's maid; the slavery left me every night +worn out with exhaustion. And I hadn't even enough to eat. As time +went on, they treated me worse and worse. They spoke to me often in +a way that made my heart boil, as if they were so many queens, and I +was some poor mean wretch who was honoured by being allowed to toil +for them. Then they quarrelled among themselves unceasingly, and of +course I had to bear all the bad temper. I never saw people hate one +another like those three did; the sisters even scratched each +other's faces in their fits of jealousy, and sometimes they both +stormed at their mother till she went into hysterics, just because +she couldn't give them more money. The only one in the house who +ever spoke decently to me was the son--Alfred Bolter, his name +was. I suppose I felt grateful to him. Once or twice, when he met me +on the stairs, he kissed me. I was too miserable even to resent it. + +"I went about, day after day, in a dazed state, trying to make up my +mind to leave the people, but I couldn't. I don't know how it was, I +had never felt so afraid of being thrown out into the world again. I +suppose it was bodily weakness, want of proper food, and overwork. I +began to feel that the whole world was wronging me. Was there never +to be anything for me but slaving? Was I never to have any enjoyment +of life, like other people? I felt a need of pleasure, I didn't care +how or what. I was always in a fever; everything was exaggerated to +me. What was going to be my future?--I kept asking myself. Was it +only to be hard work, miserably paid, till I died? And I should die +at last without having known what it was to enjoy my life. When I +was allowed to go out--it was very seldom--I walked aimlessly +about the streets, watching all the girls I passed, and fancying +they all looked so happy, all enjoying their life so. I was growing +thin and pale. I coughed, and began to think I was consumptive. A +little more of it and I believe I should have become so really. + +"It came to an end, suddenly and unexpectedly. All three, mother and +daughters, had been worrying me through a whole morning, and at last +one of them called me a downright fool, and said I wasn't worth the +bread I ate. I turned on them. I can't remember a word I said, but +speak I did, and in a way that astonished them; they shrank back +from me, looking pale and frightened. I felt in that moment that I +was a thousand times their superior; I believe I told them so. Then +I rushed up to my room, packed my box, and went out into the street. + +"I had just turned a corner, when some one came up to me, and it was +Mr. Bolter. He had followed me from the house. He laughed, said I +had done quite right, and asked me if I had any money. I shook my +head. He walked on by me, and talked. The end was, that he found me +rooms, and provided for me. + +"I had not the least affection for him, but he had pleasant, +gentlemanly ways, and it scarcely even occurred to me to refuse his +offers. I was reckless; what happened to me mattered little, as long +as I had not to face hard work. I needed rest. For one in my +position there was, I saw well enough, only one way of getting it. I +took that way." + +Ida had told this in a straightforward, unhesitating manner, not +meeting her companion's gaze, yet not turning away. One would have +said that judgments upon her story were indifferent to her; she +simply related past events. In a moment, she resumed. + +"Do you remember, on the night when you first met me, a man +following us in the street?" + +Waymark nodded. + +"He was a friend of Alfred Bolter's, and sometimes we met him when +we went to the theatre, and such places. That is the only person I +ever hated from the first sight,--hated and dreaded in a way I +could not possibly explain." + +"But why do you mention him?" asked Waymark. "What is his name?" + +"His name is Edwards," returned Ida, pronouncing it as if the sound +excited loathing in her. "I had been living in this way for nearly +half-a-year, when one day this man called and came up to my +sitting-room. He said he had an appointment with Mr. Bolter, who +would come presently. I sat scarcely speaking, but he talked on. +Presently, Mr. Bolter came. He seemed surprised to find the other +man with me, and almost at once turned round and went out again. +Edwards followed him, saying to me that he wondered what it all +meant. The meaning was made clear to me a few hours after. There +came a short note from Mr. Bolter, saying that he had suspected that +something was wrong, and that under the circumstances he could of +course only say good-bye. + +I can't say that I was sorry; I can't say that I was glad. I +despised him for his meanness, not even troubling myself to try and +make sure of what had happened. The same night Edwards came to see +me again, made excuses, blamed his friend, shuffled here and there, +and gave me clearly to understand what he wanted. I scarcely spoke, +only told him to go away, and that he need never speak to me +anywhere or at any time; it would be useless. Well, I changed my +lodgings for those I now have, and simply began the life I now-- +the life I have been leading. Work was more impossible for me than +ever, and I had to feed and clothe myself." + +"How long ago was that?" asked Waymark, without looking up. + +"Four months." + +Ida rose from the beach. The tide had gone down some distance; there +were stretches of smooth sand, already dry in the sunshine. + +"Let us walk back on the sands," she said, pointing. + +"You are going home?" + +"Yes, I want to rest a little. I will meet you again about eight +o'clock, if you like." + +Waymark accompanied her as far as the door, then strolled on to his +own lodgings, which were near at hand. It was only the second day +that they had been in Hastings, yet it seemed to him as if he had +been walking about on the seashore with Ida for weeks. For all that, +he felt that he was not as near to her now as he had been on certain +evenings in London, when his arrival was to her a manifest pleasure, +and their talk unflagging from hour to hour. She did not show the +spirit of holiday, seemed weary from time to time, was too often +preoccupied and indisposed to talk. True, she had at length +fulfilled her promise of telling him the whole of her story, but +even this increase of confidence Waymark's uneasy mind strangely +converted into fresh source of discomfort to himself. She had made +this revelation--he half believed--on purpose to keep up the +distance between them, to warn him how slight occasion had led her +from what is called the path of virtue, that he might not delude +himself into exaggerated estimates of her character. Such a thought +could of course only be due to the fact that Ida's story had indeed +produced something of this impression upon her hearer. Waymark had +often busied himself with inventing all manner of excuses for her, +had exerted his imagination to the utmost to hit upon some most +irresistible climax of dolorous circumstances to account for her +downfall. He had yet to realise that circumstances are as relative +in their importance as everything else in this world, and that +ofttimes the greatest tragedies revolve on apparently the most +insignificant outward events--personality being all. + +He spent the hours of her absence in moving from place to place, +fretting in mind. At one moment, he half determined to bring things +to some issue, by disregarding all considerations and urging his +love upon her. Yet this he felt he could not do. Surely--he asked +himself angrily he was not still so much in the thraldom of +conventionality as to be affected by his fresh reminder of her +position and antecedents? Perhaps not quite so much prejudice as +experience which disturbed him. He was well acquainted with the +characteristics of girls of this class; he knew how all but +impossible it is for them to tell the truth, the whole truth, and +nothing but the truth. And there was one thing particularly in Ida's +story that he found hard to credit; was it indeed likely that she +had not felt more than she would confess for this man whose mistress +she became so easily? If she had _not_, if what she said were true, +was not this something like a proof of her lack of that refined +sentiment which is, the capacity for love, in its real sense? +Torturing doubts and reasonings of this kind once set going in a +brain already confused with passion, there is no limit to the range +of speculation opened; Waymark found himself--in spite of +everything--entertaining all his old scepticism. In any case, had +he the slightest ground for the hope that she might ever feel to him +as warmly as he did to her? He could not recall one instance of +Ida's having betrayed a trace of fondness in her intercourse with +him. The mere fact of their intercourse he altogether lost sight of. +Whereas an outsider would, under the circumstances, have been +justified in laying the utmost stress on this, Waymark had grown to +accept it as a matter of course, and only occupied himself with +Ida's absolute self-control, her perfect calmness in all situations, +the ease with which she met his glance, the looseness of her hand in +his, the indifference with which she heard him when he had spoken of +his loneliness and frequent misery. Where was the key of her +character? She did not care for admiration; it was quite certain +that she was not leading him about just to gratify her own vanity. +Was it not purely an intellectual matter? She was a girl of superior +intellect, and, having found in him some one with whom she could +satisfy her desire for rational converse, did she not on this +account keep up their relations? For the rest--well, she liked +ease and luxury; above all, ease. Of that she would certainly make +no sacrifice. How well he could imagine the half-annoyed, +half-contemptuous smile which would rise to her beautiful face, if +he were so foolish as to become sentimental with her! That, he felt, +would be a look not easy to bear. Humiliation he dreaded. + +When eight o'clock came, he was leaning over the end of the pier, at +the appointed spot, still busy in thought. There came a touch on his +arm. + +"Well, are you thinking how you can make a book out of my story?" + +The touch, the voice, the smile,--how all his sophistry was swept +away in a rush of tenderness and delight! + +"I must wait for the end of it," he returned, holding out his hand, +which she did not take. + +"The end?--Oh, you must invent one. Ends in real life are so +commonplace and uninteresting." + +"Commonplace or not," said Waymark, with some lack of firmness in +his voice, "the end of your story should not be an unhappy one, if I +had the disposing of it. And I might have--but for one thing." + +"What's that?" she asked, with sudden interest. + +"My miserable poverty. If I only had money--money"-- + +"Money!" she exclaimed, turning away almost angrily. Then she added, +with the coldness which she did not often use, but which, when she +did, chilled and checked him--"I don't understand you." + +He pointed with a bitter smile down to the sands. + +"Look at that gold of the sunset in the pools the tide has left. It +is the most glorious colour in nature, but it makes me miserable by +reminding me of the metal it takes its name from." + +She looked at him with eyes which had in them a strange wonder, sad +at first, then full of scorn, of indignation. And then she laughed, +drawing herself away from him. The laugh irritated him. He +experienced a terrible revulsion of feeling, from the warmth and +passion which had possessed him, to that humiliation, which he could +not bear. + +And just now a number of people came and took their stands close by, +in a gossiping group. Ida had half turned away, and was looking at +the golden pools. He tried to say something, but his tongue was dry, +and the word would not come. Presently, she faced him again, and +said, in very much her ordinary tone-- + +"I was going to tell you that I have just had news from London, +which makes it necessary for me to go back to-morrow. I shall have +to take an early train." + +"This is because I have offended you," Waymark said, moving nearer +to her. "You had no thought of going before that." + +"I am not surprised that you refuse to believe me," returned Ida, +smiling very faintly. "Still, it is the truth. And now I must go in +again;--I am very tired." + +"No," he exclaimed as she moved away, "you must not go in till-- +till you have forgotten me. At least come away to a quiet place, +where I can speak freely to you; these people--" + +"To-morrow morning," she said, waving her hand wearily. "I can't +talk now--and indeed there is no need to speak of this at all. I +have forgotten it." + +"No, you have not; how could you?--And you will not go to-morrow; +you shall not." + +"Yes, I must," she returned firmly. + +"Then I shall go with you." + +"As you like. I shall leave by the express at five minutes past +nine." + +"Then I shall be at the station. But at least I may walk home with +you?" + +"No, please. If you wish me to think you are sincere,--if you wish +us still to be friends--stay till I have left the pier.--Good +night." + +He muttered a return, and stood watching her as she walked quietly +away. + +When it was nearly midnight, Ida lay on her bed, dressed, as she had +lain since her return home. For more than an hour she had cried and +sobbed in blank misery, cried as never since the bitter days long ago, +just after her mother's death. Then, the fit over, something like a +reaction of calm followed, and as she lay perfectly still in the +darkness, her regular breathing would have led one to believe her +asleep. But she was only thinking, and in deed very far from sleep The +long day in the open air had so affected her eyes that, as she looked up +at the ceiling, it seemed to her to be a blue space, with light clouds +constantly flitting across it. Presently this impression became painful, +and a growing restlessness made her rise. The heat of the room was +stifling, for just above was the roof, upon which all day the sun had +poured its rays. She threw open the window, and drank in the air. The +night was magnificent, flooded with warm moonlight, and fragrant with +sea breathings. Ida felt an irresistible desire to leave the house and +go down to the shore, which she could not see from her window; the tide, +she remembered, would just now be full, and to walk by it in the +solitude of midnight would bring her that peace and strength of soul she +so much needed. She put on her hat and cloak, and went downstairs. The +front door was only latched, and, as she had her key, no doubt she would +be able to let herself in at any hour. + +The streets were all but deserted, and, when she came to the beach, +no soul was anywhere visible. She walked towards the place where she +had spent the afternoon with Waymark, then onwards still further to +the east, till there was but a narrow space between the water and +the cliffs. Breakers there were none, not more ripple at the clear +tide-edge than on the border of a little lake. So intense was the +silence that every now and then could be distinctly heard a call on +one of the fishing-boats lying some distance from shore. The town +was no longer in sight. + +It was close even here; what little breeze there was brushed the +face like the warm wing of a passing bird. Ida dipped her hands in +the water and sprinkled it upon her forehead. Then she took off her +boots and stockings, and walked with her feet in the ripples. A +moment after she stopped, and looked all around, as if hesitating at +some thought, and wishing to see that her solitude was secure. Just +then the sound of a clock came very faintly across the still air, +striking the hour of one. She stepped from the water a few paces, +and began hastily to put off her clothing; in a moment her feet were +again in the ripples, and she was walking out from the beach, till +her gleaming body was hidden. Then she bathed, breasting the full +flow with delight, making the sundered and broken water flash myriad +reflections of the moon and stars. + +. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + +Waymark was at the station next morning half an hour before train-time. +He waited for Ida's arrival before taking his ticket. She did not come. +He walked about in feverish impatience, plaguing himself with all manner +of doubt and apprehension. The train came into the station, and yet she +had not arrived. It started, and no sign of her. + +He waited yet five minutes, then walked hastily into the town, and +to Ida's lodgings. Miss Starr, he was told, had left very early that +morning; if he was Mr. Waymark, there was a note to be delivered to +him. + +"I thought it better that I should go to London by an earlier train, for +we should not have been quite at our ease with each other. I beg you +will not think my leaving you is due to anything but necessity--indeed +it is not. I shall not be living at the old place, but any letter you +send there I shall get. I cannot promise to reply at once, but hope you +will let me do so when I feel able to. + +I. S." + +Waymark took the next train to town. + + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE ENDERBYS + + + + +Some twenty years before the date we have reached, the Rev. Paul +Enderby, a handsome young man, endowed with moral and intellectual +qualities considerably above the average, lived and worked in a +certain small town of Yorkshire. + +He had been here for two years, an unmarried man; now it was made +known that this state of things was to come to an end; moreover, to +the disappointment of not a few households, it was understood that +the future Mrs. Enderby had been chosen from among his own people, +in London. The lady came, and there was a field-day of criticism. +Mrs. Enderby looked very young, and was undeniably pretty; she had +accomplishments, and evidently liked to exhibit them before her +homely visitors. She exaggerated the refinement of her utterance +that it might all the more strike off against the local accent. It +soon became clear that she would be anything but an assistance to +her husband in his parochial work; one or two attempts were made, +apparently with good will, at intercourse with the poor +parishioners, but the enterprise was distinctly a failure; it had to +be definitively given up. Presently a child was born in the +parsonage, and for a little while the young mother's attention was +satisfactorily engaged at home. The child was a girl and received +the name of Maud. + +Paul Enderby struggled to bate no jot of his former activity, but a +change was obvious to all. No less obvious the reason of it. Mrs. +Enderby's reckless extravagance had soon involved her husband in +great difficulties. He was growing haggard; his health was failing; +his activity shrank within the narrowest possible limits; he shunned +men's gaze. + +Yet all at once there happened something which revived much of his +old zeal, and, in spite of everything, brought him once more +prominently forward. A calamity had visited the town. By a great +explosion in a neighbouring colliery, numbers of homes had been +rendered destitute, and aid of every kind was imperatively called +for on all sides. In former times, Paul Enderby would have been just +the man for this occasion, and even now he was not wanting. +Extensive subscriptions were raised, and he, as chief man in the +committee which had been formed, had chief control of the funds. +People said afterwards that they had often remarked something +singular in his manner as he went about in these duties. Whether +that was true or not, something more than singular happened when, +some two months later, accounts were being investigated and cleared +up. Late one evening, Mr. Enderby left home,--and never returned +to it. It was very soon known that he must have appropriated to his +own use considerable sums which had reached his hands for charitable +purposes, and the scandal was terrific. Mrs. Enderby and her child +disappeared in a day or two. It was said that ladies from London had +come and fetched her away, and she was no more heard of in that +little town. + +Miss Bygrave, an elder sister of Mrs. Enderby, had received a letter +from Paul summoning her to the wife's aid: and this letter, dated +from Liverpool, after disclosing in a few words the whole situation, +went on to say that the writer, though he would never more be seen +by those who knew him, would not fail to send his wife what money he +could as often as he could. And, after half a year, sums had begun +to be remitted, in envelopes bearing a Californian postmark. They +were not much use, however, to Mrs. Enderby. A few days after her +arrival at her home in London, she had been discovered hanging, with +a rope round her neck, from a nail behind her bedroom door. Cut down +in time, her life was saved, but reason had forsaken her. She was +taken away to an asylum, and remained there for five years. + +By that time, she seemed to have quite recovered. Her home was now +to be with her sister, Theresa Bygrave. Her child, Maud Enderby, was +nearly seven years old. Mrs. Enderby returned to the world not quite +the same woman as when she left it. She had never lacked character, +and this now showed itself in one immutable resolution. Having found +that the child had learnt nothing of its parents, she determined +that this ignorance should continue; or rather that it should be +exchanged for the belief that those parents were both long dead. She +dwelt apart, supported by her sister. Finally, after ten years' +absence, Paul Enderby returned to England, and lived again with his +wife. But Maud, their daughter, still believed herself alone in the +world, save for her aunt, Miss Bygrave. + +At the time when Waymark and Ida were together at Hastings, Mrs. +Enderby called one evening at Miss Bygrave's house--the house of +Maud's childhood, still distinguished by the same coldness, bareness +and gloom, the same silence echoing to a strange footfall. Theresa +Bygrave had not greatly altered; tall, upright, clad in the plainest +black garment, she walked into the room with silent dignity, and +listened to a suggestion made by her brother-in-law. + +"We have talked it over again," said Paul, "and we have decided to +take this step." + +He paused and watched the listener's face eagerly, glancing quickly +away as soon as she looked up. + +"And you still wish me to break it to Maud, and in the way you +said?" + +"If you will.--But I do so wish you would let me know your own +thoughts about this. You have so much claim to be considered. Maud +is in reality yours far more than she is ours. Will it--do you +think now it will really be for our own happiness? Will the +explanation you are able to give be satisfactory to her? What will +be her attitude towards us? You know her character--you understand +her." + +"If the future could be all as calm as the past year has been," said +Miss Bygrave, "I should have nothing to urge against your wishes." + +"And this will contribute to it," exclaimed Enderby. "This would +give Emily the very support she needs." + +Miss Bygrave looked into his face, which had a pleading earnestness, +and a deep pity lay in her eyes. + +"Let it be so," she said with decision. "I myself have much hope +from Maud's influence. I will write and tell her not to renew her +engagement, and she will be with us at the end of September." + +"But you will not tell her anything till she comes?" + +"No." + +Miss Bygrave lived in all but complete severance from the world. +When Maud Enderby was at school, she felt strongly and painfully the +contrast between her own home life and that of her companions. The +girl withdrew into solitary reading and thinking; grew ever more +afraid of the world; and by degrees sought more of her aunt's +confidence, feeling that here was a soul that had long since +attained to the peace which she was vainly seeking. + +But it was with effort that Miss Bygrave brought herself to speak to +another of her form of faith. After that Christmas night when she +addressed Maud for the first time on matters of religion, she had +said no second word; she waited the effect of her teaching, and the +girl's spontaneous recurrence to the subject. There was something in +the very air of the still, chill house favourable to ascetic +gravity. A young girl, living under such circumstances, must either +pine away, eating her own heart, or become a mystic, and find her +daily food in religious meditation. + +Only when her niece was seventeen years old did Miss Bygrave speak +to her of worldly affairs. Her own income, she explained, was but +just sufficient for their needs, and would terminate upon her death; +had Maud thought at all of what course she would choose when the +time for decision came? Naturally, only one thing could suggest +itself to the girl's mind, and that was to become a teacher. To +begin with, she took subordinate work in the school where she had +been a pupil; later, she obtained the engagement at Dr. Tootle's. + +An education of this kind, working upon Maud Enderby's natural +temperament, resulted in an abnormal character, the chief trait of +which was remarkable as being in contradiction to the spirit of her +time. She was oppressed with the consciousness of sin. Every most +natural impulse of her own heart she regarded as a temptation to be +resisted with all her strength. Her ideal was the same as Miss +Bygrave's, but she could not pursue it with the latter's assured +calm; at every moment the voice of her youth spoke within her, and +became to her the voice of the enemy. Her faith was scarcely capable +of formulation in creeds; her sins were not of omission or +commission in the literal sense; it was an attitude of soul which +she sought to attain, though ever falling away. What little she saw +of the world in London, and afterwards at her home by the sea-side, +only served to increase the trouble of her conscience, by making her +more aware of her own weakness. For instance, the matter of her +correspondence with Waymark. In very truth, the chief reason why she +had given him the permission he asked of her was, that before so +sudden and unexpected a demand she found herself confused and +helpless; had she been able to reflect, the temptation would +probably have been resisted, for the pleasantness of the thought +made her regard it as a grave temptation. Casuistry and sophistical +reasoning with her own heart ensued, to the increase of her morbid +sensitiveness; she persuaded herself that greater insight into the +world's evil would be of aid in her struggle, and so the contents of +Waymark's first letter led her to a continuance of the +correspondence. A power of strong and gloomy description which she +showed in her letters, and which impressed Waymark, afforded the key +to her sufferings; her soul in reality was that of an artist, and, +whereas the artist should be free from everything like moral +prepossession, Maud's aesthetic sensibilities were in perpetual +conflict with her moral convictions. She could not understand +herself, seeing that her opportunities had never allowed her to +obtain an idea of the artistic character. This irrepressible delight +and interest in the active life of the world, what could it be but +the tendency to evil, most strongly developed? These heart-burnings +whenever she witnessed men and women rejoicing in the exercise of +their natural affections, what could that be but the proneness to +evil in its grossest form? + +It was naturally a great surprise to Maud when she received the +letter from her aunt, which asked her not to continue her engagement +into the new quarter, giving as a reason merely that the writer +wished for her at home. It was even with something of dread and +shrinking that she looked forward to a renewal of the old life. +Still, it was enough that her aunt had need of her. On her return to +London, she was met with strange revelations. Miss Bygrave's story +had been agreed upon between herself and Paul. It had been deemed +best to make Mrs. Enderby's insanity the explanation of Maud's +removal from her parents, and the girl, stricken as she was with +painful emotions, seemed to accept this undoubtingly. + +The five years or so since Paul Enderby's reappearance in England +seemed to have been not unprosperous. The house to which Maud was +welcomed by her father and mother was not a large one, and not in a +very fashionable locality, but it was furnished with elegance. Mrs. +Enderby frequently had her hired brougham, and made use of it to +move about a good deal where people see and are seen. Mr. Enderby's +business was "in the City." How he had surmounted his difficulties +was not very clear; his wife learned that he had brought with him +from America a scheme for the utilisation of waste product in some +obscure branch of manufacture, which had been so far successful as +to supply him with a small capital. He seemed to work hard, leaving +home at nine each morning, getting back to dinner at half-past six, +and, as often as not, spending the evening away from home, and not +returning till the small hours. He had the feverish eye of a man +whose subsistence depends upon speculative acuteness and restless +calculation. No doubt he was still so far the old Paul, that, +whatever he undertook, he threw himself into it with surpassing +vigour. + +Mrs. Enderby was in her thirty-eighth year, and still handsome. Most +men, at all events, would have called her so, for most men are +attracted by a face which is long, delicate, characterless, and +preserves late the self-conscious expression of a rather frivolous +girl of seventeen. She had ideals of her own, which she pursued +regardless of the course in which they led her; and these ideals +were far from ignoble. To beauty of all kinds she was passionately +sensitive. As a girl she had played the piano well, and, though the +power had gone from long disuse, music was still her chief passion. +Graceful ease, delicacy in her surroundings, freedom from domestic +cares, the bloom of flowers, sweet scents--such things made up her +existence. She loved her husband, and had once worshipped him; she +loved her recovered daughter; but both affections were in her, so to +speak, of aesthetic rather than of moral quality. + +Intercourse between Maud and her parents, now that they lived +together, was, as might have been expected, not altogether natural +or easy. She came to them with boundless longings, ready to expend +in a moment the love of a lifetime; they, on their side, were +scarcely less full of warm anticipation; yet something prevented the +complete expression of this mutual yearning. The fault was not in +the father and mother if they hung back somewhat; in very truth, +Maud's pure, noble countenance abashed them. This, their child, was +so much the superior of them both; they felt it from the first +moment, and could never master the consciousness. Maud mistook this +for coldness; it checked and saddened her. Yet time brought about +better things, though the ideal would never be attained. In her +father, the girl found much to love; her mother she could not love +as she had hoped, but she regarded her with a vast tenderness, often +with deep compassion. Much of sympathy, moreover, there was between +these two. Maud's artistic temperament was inherited from her +mother, but she possessed it in a stronger degree, of purer quality, +and under greater restraint. This restraint, however, did not long +continue to be exercised as hitherto. Life for the first time was +open before her, and the music which began to fill her ears, the +splendour which shone into her eyes, gradually availed to still that +inner voice which had so long spoken to her in dark admonishings. +She could not resign herself absolutely to the new delight; it was +still a conflict; but from the conflict itself she derived a kind of +joy, born of the strength of her imagination. + +Yes, there was one portion of the past which dwelt with her, and by +degrees busied her thoughts more and more. The correspondence with +Waymark had ceased, and by her own negligence. In those days of +mental disturbance which preceded her return to London, his last +letter had reached her, and this she had not replied to. It had been +her turn to write, but she had not felt able to do so; it had seemed +to her, indeed, that, with her return home, the correspondence would +naturally come to an end; with a strange ignorance of herself, such +as now and then darkens us, she had suddenly come to attach little +value to the connection. Not improbably, Waymark's last two letters +had been forced and lacking in interest. He had never said anything +which could be construed into more than an expression of friendly +interest, or intellectual sympathy. It may be that Maud's condition, +dimly prophetic of the coming change, required more than this, and +she conceived a certain dissatisfaction. Then came the great event, +and for some weeks she scarcely thought of her correspondent. One +day, however, she chanced upon the little packet of his letters, and +read them through again. It was with new eyes. Thoughts spoke to her +which had not been there on the first reading. Waymark had touched +at times on art and kindred subjects, and only now could she +understand his meaning. She felt that, in breaking off her +connection with him, she had lost the one person who could give her +entire sympathy; to whom she might have spoken with certainty of +being understood, of all the novel ideas which possessed her; who, +indeed, would have been invaluable as a guide in the unknown land +she was treading. It was now almost the end of the year; more than +three months had gone by since she received that last letter from +him. Could she write now, and let him know that she was in London? +She could not but give expression to her altered self; and would he +be able to understand her? Yet,--she needed him; and there was +something of her mother in the fretting to which she was now and +then driven by the balked desire. At length she was on the point of +writing a letter, with whatever result, when chance spared her the +trouble. + +One morning in December, she went with her mother to an exhibition +of pictures in Bond Street. Such visits had been common of late; +Mrs. Enderby could rarely occupy herself at home, and pictures, as +everything beautiful, always attracted her. They had been in the +gallery a few minutes only, when Maud recognised Waymark close at +hand. He was looking closely at a canvas, and seemed quite unaware +of her proximity. She laid her hand on her mother's arm, and spoke +in a nervous whisper. + +"Mother, I know that gentleman." + +"This one?" asked Mrs. Enderby, indicating Waymark, with a smile. +She showed no surprise, any more than she would have done had Maud +been only her friend. + +"Yes. If he should notice me, may I introduce him to you? He was at +the school where I taught a year ago." + +"Why, certainly, my love," replied her mother, with cheerful assent. +"It is quite natural that you should have acquaintances I should +like to know. Shall I ask him to come and see us?" + +There was no opportunity of answering. Waymark, in moving on, had +glanced round at the groups of people, and his eye had fallen on +Maud. He seemed uncertain; looked quickly away; glanced again, and, +meeting her eyes, raised his hat, though still without conviction in +his face. Maud came naturally forward a step or two, and they shook +hands; then at once she introduced him to her mother. No one ever +experienced awkward pauses in Mrs. Enderby's presence; conversation +linked itself with perfect ease, and in a minute they were examining +the pictures together. Mrs. Enderby had made up her mind with regard +to her new acquaintance in one or two gleams of her quick eyes, and +then talked on in an eager, intelligent way, full of contagious +enthusiasm, which soon brought out Waymark's best powers. Maud said +very little. Whenever it was possible unobserved, she gazed at +Waymark's face. She found herself thinking that, in external +appearance, he had improved since she last saw him. He had no longer +that hungry, discontented look to which she had grown accustomed in +the upper schoolroom at Dr. Tootle's; his eye seemed at once quieter +and keener; his complexion was brighter; the habitual frown had +somewhat smoothed away. Then, he was more careful in the matter of +dress. On the whole, it seemed probable that his circumstances had +changed for the better. + +Waymark, on his side, whilst he talked, was not less full of +speculation about Maud. For the change in her appearance was +certainly much more noticeable than it could be in his own. Not only +that she had put aside her sad-coloured and poor raiment for a +costume of tasteful and attractive simplicity--this, of course, +her mother's doing--but the look of shrinking, almost of fear, +which he had been wont to see on her face, was entirely gone. Her +eyes seemed for ever intelligent of new meanings; she was pale, but +with the pallor of eager, joy-bringing thought. There was something +pathetic in this new-born face; the lips seemed still to speak of +past sorrows, or, it might be, to hold unspoken a sad fate +half-foreseen. + +If this renewal of acquaintanceship came just at the right time for +Maud, it was no less welcome to Waymark. When he wrote his last +letter to her, it had proceeded more from a sense of obligation than +any natural impulse. For he was then only just recovering from a +period of something like despair. His pursuit of Ida Starr to London +had been fruitless. It was true that she had left her former abode, +and the landlady professed to be ignorant of her new one, though she +admitted that she had seen Ida scarcely two hours before Waymark's +arrival. He wrote, but had no reply. His only comfort was an +ever-rising suspicion of the truth (as he would learn it later), but +fears were, on the whole, strongest within him. Confidence in her he +had not. All the reflections of that last evening on Hastings pier +lived and re-lived in his mind; outcome of the cynicism which was a +marked feature in his development, and at the same time tending to +confirm it. She had been summoned back suddenly by a letter; who but +a simpleton could doubt what that meant? He thought of Sally, of +course, and the step she had taken; but could he draw conclusions +about Ida from Sally, and did ever two such instances come within a +man's experience? To Sally herself he had naturally had recourse, +but in vain. She said that she knew nothing of the lost girl. So +Waymark fought it out, to the result of weariness; then plunged into +his work again, and had regained very much his ordinary state of +mind when Maud Enderby unexpectedly came before him. + +He called upon the Enderbys, and was soon invited to dine, which +necessitated the purchase of a dress suit. On the appointed evening, +he found Maud and her mother in a little drawing-room, which had a +pleasant air of ease and refinement. It was a new sensation for +Waymark as he sank into a soft chair, and, in speaking, lowered his +voice, to suit the quietness of the room. The soft lamp-light +spreading through the coloured shade, the just perceptible odour of +scent when Mrs. Enderby stirred, the crackling of the welcome fire, +filled him with a sense of luxury to which he was not accustomed. He +looked at Maud. She was beautiful in her evening dress; and, marking +the grave, sweet thoughtfulness of her face, the grace of her +movements, the air of purity which clung about her, his mind turned +to Ida Starr, and experienced a shock at the comparison. Where was +Ida at this moment? The mere possibilities which such a question +brought before his mind made him uneasy, almost as if he had +forgotten himself and uttered aloud some word all unfit for ladies' +ears. The feeling was a novel one, and, in afterwards recalling it, +he could smile rather contemptuously, If we are enraptured with one +particular flower, shall we necessarily despise another, whose +beauty and perfume happen to be of quite a different kind? + +Mr. Enderby appeared, followed by another gentleman. Waymark noticed +an unpleasant heat in the hand held out to him; there was a flush in +Paul's cheeks, too, and his eyes were very bright. He greeted the +visitor with somewhat excessive warmth, then turned and introduced +his companion, by the name of Mr. Rudge. + +Waymark observed that this gentleman and his hostess were on terms +of lively intimacy. They talked much throughout the evening. + +During the three months that followed, Waymark's intercourse with +the Enderbys was pretty frequent. Mrs. Enderby asked few questions +about him, and Maud was silent after she had explained Waymark's +position, so far as she was acquainted with it, and how she had come +to know him. To both parents, the fact of Maud's friendship was a +quite sufficient guarantee, so possessed were they with a conviction +of the trustworthiness of her judgment, and the moral value of her +impulses. In Waymark's character there was something which women +found very attractive; strength and individuality are perhaps the +words that best express what it was, though these qualities would +not in themselves have sufficed to give him his influence, without a +certain gracefulness of inward homage which manifested itself when +he talked with women, a suggestion, too, of underlying passion which +works subtly on a woman's imagination. There was nothing commonplace +in his appearance and manner; one divined in him a past out of the +ordinary range of experiences, and felt the promise of a future +which would, in one way or another, be remarkable. + +The more Waymark saw of Maud Enderby the more completely did he +yield to the fascination of her character. In her presence he +enjoyed a strange calm of spirit. For the first time he knew a woman +who by no word or look or motion could stir in him a cynical +thought. Here was something higher than himself, a nature which he +had to confess transcended the limits of his judgment, a soul with +insight possibly for ever denied to himself. He was often pained by +the deference with which she sought his opinion or counsel; the +words in which he replied to her sounded so hollow; he became so +often and so keenly sensible of his insincerity,--a quality which, +with others, he could consciously rely upon as a resource, but +which, before Maud, stung him. He was driven to balance judgments, +to hesitate in replies, to search his own heart, as perhaps never +before. + +Artificial good humour, affected interest, mock sympathy, were as +far from her as was the least taint of indelicacy; every word she +uttered rang true, and her very phrases had that musical fall which +only associates itself with beautiful and honest thought. She never +exhibited gaiety, or a spirit of fun, but could raise a smile by an +exquisite shade of humour--humour which, as the best is, was more +than half sadness. Nor was she fond of mixing with people whom she +did not know well; when there was company at dinner, she generally +begged to be allowed to dine alone. Though always anxious to give +pleasure to her parents, she was most happy when nothing drew her +from her own room; there she would read and dream through hours +There were times when the old dreaded feelings took revenge; +night-wakings, when she lay in cold anguish, yearning for the dawn. +She was not yet strong enough to face past and future, secured in +attained conviction. As yet, she could not stir beyond the present, +and in the enjoyment of the present was her strength. + + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +IN THE MEANTIME + + + + +It was one Wednesday evening in early April, that Waymark found a +letter awaiting him, addressed in a hand he at once recognised. + +"Will you come and see me? I am at home after eight o'clock till the end +of the week, and all day on Sunday. + +I. S." + +No distinct pleasure was aroused in Waymark as he read this. As was +always the case for hours after he had left Maud's presence, her face +and voice lived with him to the exclusion of every other thought. There +was even something of repulsion in the feeling excited by his thus +having the memory of Ida brought suddenly before him; her face came as +an unwelcome intruder upon the calm, grave mood which always possessed +him on these evenings. In returning home each Wednesday night, Waymark +always sought the speediest and quietest route, unwilling to be brought +in contact with that life of the streets which at other times delighted +him. Ida's note seemed a summons from that world which, for the moment, +he held at a distance. But the call was not to be silenced at his will. +He began to wonder about her life during the past half-year. Why had she +written just now, after so long a silence? Where, and under what +circumstances, should he meet her? Did she think to find him the same as +when they last talked together? + +Through the night he woke constantly, and always with thoughts busy +about Ida. In the morning his first impulse was to re-read her +message; received so carelessly, it had in the meantime become of +more account, and Waymark laughed in his wonted way as he saw +himself thus swayed between forces he could not control. The +ordinary day's task was neglected, and he impatiently waited for the +hour when he could be sure of finding Ida at home. The address was +at Fulham, and, on reaching it, he found a large new block of the +kind known as model lodging-houses. Ida's number was up at the very +top. When he knocked, the door opened immediately, and she stood +there, holding out her hand to him. + +She wore the same dress that she had worn at Hastings, but the gold +brooch and watch-chain were missing, and her hair was arranged in a +simpler way. She was a trifle pale, perhaps, but that might be due +to the excitement of the moment; her voice shook a little as she +spoke. + +Waymark looked about him as he went in. There appeared to be two +rooms, one of them a very small bedroom, the other fitted with a +cooking-grate and oven; the kind of tenement suitable to very poor +working-people. The floors were bare, and there was nothing in the +way of furniture beyond the most indispensable articles: a table, +two chairs, and a few cups, saucers, and plates on a shelf; through +the half-open door, he saw that the bed-room was equally plain. A +fire was burning, and a kettle on it; and in front, on a little +square piece of carpet, lay Ida's inseparable friend, Grim. Grim had +lifted his head at Waymark's entrance, and, with gathering curiosity +in his eyes, slowly stood up; then stretched himself, and, looking +first at one, then at the other, waited in doubt. + +Ida stooped and took him up in her arms. + +"And who's this?" she asked, talking to him as one talks to a child, +whilst she pressed his warm black cheek against her own. "Does Grim +remember who this is? We still keep together," she added, looking at +Waymark. "All day long, whilst I'm away, he keeps house; I'm often +afraid he suffers dreadfully from loneliness, but, you see, I'm +obliged to lock him in. And he knows exactly the time when I come +home. I always find him sitting on that chair by the door, waiting, +waiting, oh so patiently! And I often bring him back something nice, +don't I, Grimmy? You should see how delighted he is as soon as I +enter the door." + +Ida was changed, and in many ways. She seemed to have grown younger; +in her voice and manner there was a girlishness which was quite new +to Waymark. Her motions were lighter and nimbler; there was no +longer that slow grace of step and carriage which had expressed +absolute leisure, and with it had gone, perhaps, something of +dignity, which used to sit so well upon her. She laughed from time +to time in a free, careless way; formerly she seldom did more than +smile. In the old days, there was nothing about her suggestive of +what are called the domestic virtues; now she seemed perfectly at +home amid these simple surroundings, and, almost as soon as her +visitor had sat down, she busied herself in laying the table in a +quick, ready way, which came of the habit of waiting upon herself. + +"You'll have a cup of tea with me?" she said, looking at Waymark +with the curiosity which seemed to show that she also found +something changed in him. "I only get home about eight o'clock, and +this is the quietest and pleasantest meal in the day for me." + +"What do you do all day, then?" Waymark asked, softening the +bluntness of his question with a smile. + +She stepped near to him, and held out her hands for him to look at; +then, as he met her eyes again, laughed merrily. + +"Do you guess?" she asked. + +"I believe I can. You have gone back to the laundry again?" + +"Yes." + +"And how long is it since you did so?" + +"How long is it since we last saw each other?" + +"Did you begin at once when you returned to London?" + +"Yes." + +Waymark kept silence, whilst Ida poured out a cup of tea for him, +and then took her seat at the table. + +"Don't you think I'm comfortable here?" Ida said. "It's like having +a house of my own. I see nothing of the other people in the +building, and feel independent." + +"Did you buy the furniture yourself?" + +"Yes; just the things I couldn't do without. I pay only +three-and-sixpence a week, and so long as I can earn that, I'm sure +at all events of a home, where I can be happy or miserable, as I +please." + +Waymark wondered. There was no mistaking the genuineness of her +tone. What, then, had been the reason for this astonishing change, a +change extending, it would seem, almost to temperament? What +intermediate phases had led up to this result? He wished to ask her +for an explanation, but to do so would be to refer to the condition +she had left, and that he did not wish to do. All would no doubt +explain itself as they talked; in the meantime she told him how her +days were ordered, and the details of her life. + +"Have you brought your pipe?" she asked, when they had drank their +tea. + +"May I smoke?" + +"Of course,--just as you used to." + +"But it is not the same," Waymark said, half to himself. + +"Are you sorry for the change?" Ida asked, as she handed him a box +of matches. + +"What induced you to make it?" + +"Oh, I have strange fancies. The idea came, just like others do. Are +you sorry?" + +"The opposite. Did the idea come whilst we were at Hastings?" + +"Before that. Do you remember my telling you that I had a letter +calling me back to London?" + +Waymark nodded. + +"It was from the laundry, to say I could go to work as soon as I +liked." + +"And why didn't you tell me that?" + +Ida seemed about to reply, but altered her intention, and, after +being silent for a moment, asked another question. + +"Did you think you would ever hear from me?" + +"I had given up hope." + +"And did you wonder what had become of me?" + +"Often. Why didn't you write before?" + +"I wasn't ready." + +"What does that mean?" Waymark asked, looking closely at her. + +"Perhaps I shall be able to explain some day. If not, well, it won't +matter." + +"And will you let me see you often?" said Waymark, after thinking a +little. "Are we to be friends again, as we used to be?" + +"If you would care for it." + +Waymark turned away as their eyes met. + +"Certainly I should care for it," he said, feeling all at once a +difficulty in speaking naturally. Then he looked at Ida again; she +was bending down and stroking Grim's ears. There was rather a long +silence, which Waymark at length forced himself to break. + +"Shall I bring you books again?" he said. + +"I have very little time for reading," was Ida's reply. "It's +better, perhaps, that it is so." + +"But why?" + +"Perhaps it would make me discontented with my work, and want all +sorts of things I couldn't have." + +"You have your Sundays free?" Waymark said, after another rather +long silence. + +"Yes." + +"Then we must have some expeditions again, now that the fine days +have come. By the by, do you ever see Sally?" + +Ida looked up with a smile and said, "Yes; do you?" + +"No; but I hear of her." + +"From your friend?" + +"Yes, from O'Gree." + +"Do your other friends still live near you?" Ida asked, speaking +quickly, as if to interrupt what Waymark was about to say. + +"The Castis? Oh yes." + +"What is Mrs. Casti like?" she said, in a tone which attracted +Waymark's attention. + +"Well," he replied, "it's difficult to describe her. There's nothing +very good about her, and I suppose nothing very bad. I see little of +her now; she's almost always ill." + +"What's the matter with her?" + +"Can't say; general weakness and ill health, I think?" + +"But she's so young, isn't she? Has she friends to go and see her?" + +"Very few, I think." + +"It must be dreadful to be like that," said Ida. "I'm thankful that +I have my health, at all events. Loneliness isn't so hard to bear, +as it must he in illness." + +"Do you feel lonely?" + +"A little, sometimes," said Ida. "But it's ungrateful to poor old +Grim to say so." + +"Have you no acquaintances except the people you work with?" + +She shook her head. + +"And you don't read? Wouldn't you like to go on reading as you used +to? You have a better head than most women, and it's a pity not to +make use of it. That's all nonsense about in making you +discontented. You won't always be living like this, I suppose." + +"Why not?" Ida asked simply. + +"Well," said Waymark, without meeting her look, "even if you do, it +will be gain to you to cultivate your mind?" + +"Do you wish me to cultivate my mind?" + +"You know I do." + +Waymark seemed uneasy. He rose and leaned against the mantelpiece. + +"I will do whatever you bid me," Ida said. "I can get an hour or so +each night, and I have all Sunday." + +Waymark felt only too well the effect of the tone he was adopting. +The situation was by this time clear enough to him, and his own +difficulties no less clear. He avoided looking at Ida as much as he +could. A change had again come over her manner; the girlishness was +modified, the old sadder tone was audible at moments. + +"If it's fine on Sunday," he said, "will you go with me to Richmond, +and let us have dinner at the old place?" + +"No," was Ida's reply, with a smile, "I can't afford it." + +"But I invite you. Of course I didn't mean that it should be any +expense." + +She still shook her head. + +"No, I must take my own share, wherever we go." + +"Then I shall certainly refuse your cup of tea next time I come," +said Waymark jestingly. + +"That's quite different," said Ida. "But if you like, we can go in +the afternoon, and walk about Roehampton; that I can afford." + +"As you please. When shall I call for you?" + +"Half-past one." + +She opened the door for him, and held out her hand. Their eyes did +not meet as they said good-bye. The door closed, and Waymark went so +slowly down the stone steps that he seemed at every moment on the +point of stopping and turning back. + + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +A SUGGESTION + + + + +Waymark and Julian Casti were sitting together in the former's room. +It was Saturday evening--two days after Waymark's visit to Ida. +Julian had fallen into a sad reverie. + +"How is your wife?" asked his friend, after watching the melancholy +face for a while. + +"She said her headache was worse to-night." + +"Curiously," observed Waymark, with a little acidity, "it always is +when you have to leave home." + +Julian looked up, and seemed to reach a crisis in his thoughts. + +"Waymark," he began, reddening as he still always did when greatly +moved, "I fear I have been behaving very foolishly. Many a time I +have wished to speak out to you plainly, but a sort of delicacy--a +wrong kind of delicacy, I think--prevented me. I can't keep this +attitude any longer. I must tell you how things are going on, and +you must give me what help you can. And perhaps I shall be telling +you what you already know?" + +"I have suspected." + +"Where is the blame?" Julian broke out, with sudden vehemence. "I +cannot think that ever husband was more patient and more indulgent +than I have been. I have refused her nothing that my means could +possibly obtain. I have given up all the old quiet habits of my life +that she mightn't think I slighted her; I scarcely ever open a book +at home, knowing that it irritates her to see me reading; I do my +best to amuse her at all times. How does she reward me? For ever she +grumbles that I can't perform impossibilities,--take her to +theatres, buy her new dresses, procure for her friends and +acquaintances. My wishes, expressed or understood, weigh with her +less than the least of her own caprices. She wantonly does things +which she knows will cause me endless misery. Her companions are +gross and depraved people, who constantly drag her lower and lower, +to their own level. The landlady has told me that, in my absence, +women have called to see her who certainly ought not to enter any +decent house. When I entreat her to give up such associates, her +only answer is to accuse me of selfishness, since I have friends +myself, and yet won't permit her to have any. And things have gone +from bad to worse. Several nights of late, when I have got home, she +has been away, and has not returned till much after midnight. Hour +after hour I have sat there in the extremest misery, waiting, +waiting, feeling as though my brain would burst with its strain! I +have no idea where she goes to. If I ask, she only retorts by asking +me where I spend the nights when I am with you, and laughs +contemptuously when I tell her the truth. Her suspicions and +jealousy are incessant, and torture me past endurance. Once or +twice, I confess, I have lost patience, and have spoken angrily, too +angrily; then she has accused me of brutal disregard of her +sufferings. It would hurt me less if she pierced me with a knife. +Only this morning there was a terrible scene; she maddened me past +endurance by her wretched calumnies--accusing me of I know not +what disgraceful secrets--and when words burst from me +involuntarily, she fell into hysterics, and shrieked till all the +people in the house ran up in alarm. Can you understand what this +means to one of my temperament? To have my private affairs forced +upon strangers in this way tortures me with the pains of hell. I am +naturally reticent and retiring--too much so, I dare say--and no +misery could have been devised for me more dreadful than this. Her +accusations are atrocious, such as could only come from a grossly +impure mind, or at the suggestion of vile creatures. You she hates +with a rabid hatred--God only knows why. She would hate any one +who was my friend, and whose society relieved me for a moment from +my ghastly torments!" + +He ceased for very exhaustion, so terribly did the things he +described work upon him. + +"What am I to do, Waymark? Can you give me advice?" + +Waymark had listened with his eyes cast down, and he was silent for +some time after Julian ceased. + +"You couldn't well ask for advice in a more difficult case," he said +at length. "There's nothing for it but to strengthen yourself and +endure. Force yourself into work. Try to forget her when she is out +of sight." + +"But," broke in Julian, "this amounts to a sentence of death! What +of the life before me, of the years I shall have to spend with her? +Work, forget myself, forget her,--that is just what I _cannot_ do! +My nerves are getting weaker every day; I am beginning to have fits +of trembling and horrible palpitation; my dreams are hideous with +vague apprehensions, only to be realised when I wake. Work! Half my +misery is caused by the thought that my work is at an end for ever. +It is all forsaking me, the delight of imagining great things, what +power I had of putting my fancies into words, the music that used to +go with me through the day's work. It is long since I wrote a line +of verse. Quietness, peace, a calm life of thought, these things are +what I _must_ have; I thought I should have them in a higher degree +than ever, and I find they are irretrievably lost. I feel my own +weakness, as I never could before. When you bid me strengthen +myself, you tell me to alter my character. The resolution needed to +preserve the better part of my nature through such a life as this, +will never be within my reach. It is fearful to think of what I +shall become as time goes on. I dread myself! There have been +revealed to me depths of passion and misery in my own heart which I +had not suspected. I shall lose all self-control, and become as +selfish and heedless as she is." + +"No, you will not," said Waymark encouragingly. "This crisis will +pass over, and strength will be developed. We have a wonderful +faculty for accommodating ourselves to wretchedness; how else would +the world have held together so long? When you begin to find your +voice again, maybe you won't sing of the dead world any longer, but +of the living and suffering. Your thoughts were fine; they showed +you to be a poet; but I have never hidden from you how I wished that +you had been on my side. Art, nowadays, must be the mouthpiece of +misery, for misery is the key-note of modern life." + +They talked on, and Julian, so easily moulded by a strong will, +became half courageous. + +"One of her reproaches," he said, "is just; I can't meet it. If I +object to her present companions it is my duty to find her more +suitable ones. She lives too much alone. No doubt it is every +husband's duty to provide his wife with society. But how am I to +find it? I am so isolated, and always have been. I know not a soul +who could be a friend to her." + +Waymark grew thoughtful, and kept silent. + +"One person I know," he said presently, and in a cautious way, "who +might perhaps help you." + +"You do?" cried Julian eagerly. + +"You know that I make all sorts of queer acquaintances in my +wanderings. Well, I happen to know a girl of about your wife's age, +who, if she were willing, would be just the person you want. She is +quite alone, parentless, and almost without friends. She lives by +herself, and supports herself by working in a laundry. For all this, +she is by no means the ordinary London work-girl; you can't call her +educated, but she speaks purely, and has a remarkably good +intelligence. I met her by chance, and kept up her acquaintance. +There has been nothing wrong--bah! how conventional one is, in +spite of oneself!--I mean to say there has been nothing more than +a pleasant friendship between us; absolutely nothing. We see each +other from time to time, and have a walk, perhaps a meal, together, +and I lend her books. Now, do you think there would be any way of +getting your wife to accept her society, say of an evening now and +then? Don't do anything rash; it is of course clear that _you_ must +have no hand in this. I must manage it if it is to be done. +Naturally, I can't answer at once for the girl's readiness; but I +believe she would do what I asked her to. Do you think it is worth +entertaining, this idea?" + +"I do, indeed; it would be salvation, I really believe." + +"Don't be too sanguine, Casti; that's another of your faults. Still, +I know very well that this girl could cure your wife of her ill +propensities if any living creature could. She is strong in +character, admirably clear-headed, mild, gentle, womanly; in fact, +there is perhaps no one I respect so much, on the whole." + +"Respect, only?" asked Julian, smiling. + +"Ye-es; yes, I believe I am perfectly honest in saying so, though I +couldn't have been so sure about it some little time ago. Our +relations, no doubt, are peculiar; on her side there is no more +warmth than on mine"--Waymark tried so to believe--"and indeed +her clear sight has no doubt gauged me fairly well at my true +value." + +"What is her name?" + +"Ida Starr." + +"What!" cried Julian startled. "That is a strange thing! You have +noticed the scar on Harriet's forehead?" + +"Well?" + +"Why, it was a wound given her at school by a girl of that very +name! I remember the name as well as possible. It was a blow with a +slate dealt in passion--some quarrel or other. They were both +children then, and Ida Starr left the school in consequence." + +"Is it possible that it is the same person?" asked Waymark, +wondering and reflecting. + +"If so, that puts a new difficulty in our way." + +"Removes one, I should have thought" + +"Harriet is not of a very forgiving nature," said Julian gravely. + +"I shouldn't have supposed she was; but a long time has gone by +since then, and, after all, one is generally glad to see an old +school-fellow." + +At this point the conversation was interrupted by a knock at the +door, followed by the announcement that a gentleman named O'Gree +wished to see Mr. Waymark. Waymark smiled at Julian. + +"Don't run away," he said. "You ought to know O'Gree in the flesh." + +The teacher came into the room with a rush, and was much taken aback +at the sight of a stranger present. Perspiration was streaming +profusely from his face, which was aglow with some great +intelligence. After being introduced to Casti, he plunged down on a +chair, and mopped himself with his handkerchief, uttering +incoherencies about the state of the weather. Waymark made an effort +to bring about a general conversation, but failed; O'Gree was so +preoccupied that any remark addressed to him had to be repeated +before he understood it, and Julian was in no mood for making new +acquaintances. So, in a few minutes, the latter took his hat and +left, Waymark going with him to the door to speak a few words of +encouragement. + +"The battle's won!" cried O'Gree, with much gesticulation, as soon +as Waymark returned. "The campaign's at an end!--I'm sorry if I've +driven your friend away, but I was bound to tell you." + +"All right. Let me have a description of the manoeuvres." + +"Look here, my boy," said O'Gree, with sudden solemnity, "you've +never been very willing to talk to me about her. Now, before I tell +you anything, I want to know this. _Why_ wouldn't you tell me how +you first got to know her, and so on?" + +"Before I answer, I want to know this: have you found out why I +wouldn't?" + +"Yes, I have--that is, I suppose I have--and from her own lips, +too! You knew her when she lived near the Strand there, eh?" + +"I did." + +"Well now, understand, my boy. I don't want to hear anything +disagreeable; in fact, I won't listen to anything disagreeable;-- +all I want to know is, whether I may safely tell you what she has +told me. If you don't know it already, there's no need to talk of +it." + +"I understand, and I don't think you can tell me anything I'm not +well aware of." + +"Sure, then, I will tell you, and if there's another girl as brave +and honest as Sally in all this worruld, I'll be obliged if you'll +make me acquainted with her! Well, you know she has a Saturday +afternoon off every month. It hasn't been a very cheerful day, but it +couldn't be missed; and, as it was too rainy to walk about, I +couldn't think of any better place to go to than the British Museum. +Of course I wanted to find a quiet corner, but there were people +about everywhere, and the best we could manage was in the +mummy-room. We looked at all the mummies, and I told her all I knew +about them, and I kept thinking to myself: Now, how can I work round +to it? I've tried so often, you know, and she's always escaped me, +somehow, and I couldn't help thinking it was because I hadn't gone +about it in the proper way. Well, we'd been staring at a mummy for +about a quarter of an hour, and neither of us said anything, when +all at once a rare idea came into my head. 'Sally,' I said, glancing +round to see that there was no one by, 'that mummy was very likely a +pretty girl like you, once.' 'Do you think so?' she said, with that +look of hers which makes me feel like a galvanic battery. 'I do,' I +said, 'and what's more, there may once have been another mummy, a +man-mummy, standing by her just as I am standing by you, and wanting +very much to ask her something, and shaking in his shoes for fear he +shouldn't get the right answer.' 'Did the mummies wear shoes when +they were alive?' she asked, all at once. 'Wear shoes!' I cried out. +'I can't tell you, Sally; but one thing I feel very sure of, and +that is that they had hearts. Now, suppose,' I said, 'we're those +two mummies--' 'I'm sure it's bad luck!' interrupted Sally. 'Oh no, +it isn't,' said I, seeing something in her face which made me think +it was the opposite. 'Let me go on. Now, suppose the one mummy said +to the other, "Sally--"' '_Were_ the girl-mummies called Sally?' +she interrupted again. 'Sure I can't say,' said I, 'but we'll +suppose so. Well, suppose he said, "Sally if I can hit on some means +of making a comfortable home here by the Nile,--that's to say, the +Thames, you know,--will you come and keep it in order for me, and +live with me for all the rest of our lives?' Now what do you think +the girl-mummy would have answered:'" + +Waymark laughed, but O'Gree had become solemn. + +"She didn't answer at once, and there was something very queer in +her face. All at once she said, 'What has Mr. Waymark told you about +me?' 'Why, just nothing at all,' I said, rather puzzled. 'And do you +know,' she asked then, without looking at me, 'what sort of a girl I +am?' Well, all at once there came something into my head that I'd +never thought of before, and I was staggered for a moment; I +couldn't say anything. But I got over it. 'I don't want to know +anything,' I said. 'All I know is, that I like you better than I +ever shall any one else, and I want you to promise to be my wife, +some day.' 'Then you must let me tell you all my story first,' she +said. 'I won't answer till you know everything.' And so she told me +what it seems you know. Well, if I thought much of her before, I +thought a thousand times as much after that! And do you know what? I +believe it was on my account that she want and took that place in +the shop." + +"Precisely," said Waymark. + +"You think so?" cried the other, delighted. + +"I guessed as much when she met me that day and said I might let you +know where she was." + +"Ha!" exclaimed O'Gree, with a long breath. + +"And so the matter is settled?" + +"All but the most important part of it. There's no chance of my +being able to marry for long enough to come. Now, can you give me +any advice? I've quite made up my mind to leave Tootle. The position +isn't worthy of a gentleman; I'm losing my self-respect. The +she-Tootle gets worse and worse. If I don't electrify her, one of +these days, with an outburst of ferocious indignation, she will only +have my patience to thank. Let her beware how she drives the lion to +bay!" + +"Couldn't you get a non-resident mastership?" + +"I must try, but the pay is so devilish small." + +"We must talk the matter over." + + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +DIPLOMACY + + + + +Waymark had a good deal of frank talk with himself before meeting +Ida again on the Sunday. Such conversation was, as we know, +habitual. Under the circumstances, however, he felt that it behoved +him to become especially clear on one or two points; never mind what +course he might ultimately pursue, it was always needful to him to +dissect his own motives, that he might at least be acting with full +consciousness. + +One thing was clear enough. The fiction of a mere friendship between +himself and Ida was impossible to support. It had been impossible +under the very different circumstances of a year ago, and was not +likely to last a week, now that Ida could so little conceal how her +own feelings had changed. What, then, was to be their future? Could +he accept her love, and join their lives without legal bond, +thinking only of present happiness, and content to let things +arrange themselves as they would in the years to come? + +His heart strongly opposed such a step. Clearly Ida had changed her +life for his sake, and was undergoing hardships in the hope of +winning his respect as well as his love. Would she have done all +this without something of a hope that she might regain her place in +the every-day world, and be held by Waymark worthy to become his +wife? He could not certainly know, but there was little doubt that +this hope had led her on. Could he believe her capable of yet nobler +ideas; could he think that only in reverence of the sanctity of +love, and without regard to other things, she had acted in this way; +then, regarding her as indeed his equal, he would open his heart to +her and speak somewhat in this way. "Yes, I do love you; but at the +same time I know too well the uncertainty of love to go through the +pretence of binding myself to you for ever. Will you accept my love +in its present sincerity, neither hoping nor fearing, knowing that +whatever happens is beyond our own control, feeling with me that +only an ignoble nature can descend to the affectation of union when +the real links are broken?" Could Waymark but have felt sure of her +answer to such an appeal, it would have gone far to make his love +for Ida all-engrossing. She would then be his ideal woman, and his +devotion to her would have no bounds. + +But he felt too strongly that in thus speaking he would sadden her +by the destruction of her great hope. On the other hand, to offer to +make her his legal wife would be to do her a yet greater injustice, +even had he been willing to so sacrifice himself. The necessity for +legal marriage would be a confession of her inferiority, and the +sense of being thus bound would, he well knew, be the surest means +of weakening his affection. This affection he could not trust. How +far was it mere passion of the senses, which gratification would +speedily kill? + +In the case of his feeling towards Maud Enderby there was no such +doubt. Never was his blood so calm as in her presence. She was to +him a spirit, and in the spirit he loved her. With Maud he might +look forward to union at some distant day, a union outwardly of the +conventional kind. It would be so, not on account of any inferiority +to his ideal in Maud, for he felt that there was no height of his +own thought whither she would not in time follow him; but simply +because no point of principle would demand a refusal of the yoke of +respectability, with its attendant social advantages. And the +thought of thus binding himself to Maud had nothing repulsive, for +the links between them were not of the kind which easily yield, and +loyalty to a higher and nobler nature may well be deemed a duty. + +So far logical arguing. But the fact remained that he had not the +least intention of breaking off his intercourse with Ida, despite +the certainty that passion would grow upon him with each of their +meetings, rendering their mutual relations more and more dangerous. +Of only one thing could he be sure: marriage was not to be thought +of. It remained, then, that he was in danger of being led into +conduct which would be the source of grievous unrest to himself, and +for Ida would lay the foundation of much suffering. Waymark was +honest enough in his self-communing to admit that he could not trust +himself. Gross deception he was incapable of, but he would not +answer for it that, the temptation pressing him too hard, he might +not be guilty of allowing Ida to think his love of more worth than +it really was. She knew his contempt of conventional ties, and her +faith in him would keep her from pressing him to any step he +disliked; she would trust him without that. And such trust would be +unmerited. + +It was significant that he did not take into account loyalty to Maud +as a help in resisting this temptation. He was too sure of himself +as regarded that purer love; let what might happen, his loyalty to +Maud would be unshaken. It was independent of passion, and passion +could not shake it. + +Then came the subject of the proposed acquaintance between Ida and +Mrs. Casti. An impulse of friendship had led to his conceiving the +idea; together, perhaps, with the recollection of what Ida had said +about her loneliness, and the questions she had asked about Mrs. +Casti. Waymark had little doubt that those questions indicated a +desire to become acquainted with his friends; the desire was +natural, under the circumstances. Still, he regretted what he had +done. To introduce Ida to his friends would be almost equivalent to +avowing some conventional relations between her and himself. And, in +the next place, it would be an obstacle in the way of those +relations becoming anything but conventional. Well, and was not this +exactly the kind of aid he needed in pursuing the course which he +felt to be right? Truly; yet-- + +At this point Waymark broke into that half contemptuous, half +indulgent laugh which so frequently interrupted his self-communings, +and, it being nearly one o'clock, set out to call for Ida. The day +was fine, and, when they left the steamer at Putney, they walked on +to the heath in good spirits and with cheerful talk. To be with Ida +under these circumstances, in the sunlight and the fresh breeze, was +very different from sitting with her yonder in the little room, with +the lamp burning on the table, and the quietness of night around. +The calm pleasure of passionless intercourse was realised and +sufficing. Ida, too, seemed content to enjoy the moment; there was +not that wistfulness in her eyes which had been so new to him and so +strong in its influence. It was easy to find indifferent subjects of +conversation, and to avoid the seriousness which would have been +fatal. + +When they had found a pleasant spot to rest awhile before turning +back, Waymark made up his mind to fulfil his promise to Julian. + +"It's rather strange," he said, "that you should have been asking me +questions about Mrs. Casti. Since then I've discovered that you +probably know her, or once did." + +Ida looked surprised. + +"Do you remember once having a schoolfellow called Harriet Smales?" + +"Is that _her_ name?" + +"It was, before her marriage." + +Ida became grave, and thought for some moments before speaking +again. + +"Yes, I remember her," she said, "and not pleasantly." + +"You wouldn't care to renew her acquaintance then?" said Waymark, +half glad, in spite of himself, that she spoke in this way. + +Ida asked, with earnestness, how he had made this discovery. Waymark +hesitated, but at length told the truth. He explained that Mrs. +Casti suffered from the want of companionship, and that he had +mentioned Ida's name to Julian; whence the discovery. + +"Has _she_ been told about me?" asked Ida. + +"Nothing was to be said till I had spoken to you." + +Waymark paused, but presently continued in a more serious tone. In +recurring to that conversation with Julian, his friend's trouble +spoke strongly to him once more, and overcame selfish thoughts. + +"I said that I had come to know you by chance, and that--strange +as it might sound--we were simply friends." He glanced for an +instant at Ida; her eyes were turned to the ground. "You will +believe me," he went on quickly, "when I tell you that I really said +nothing more?" + +"I never doubt a word of yours," was Ida's quiet reply. + +"Casti was overjoyed at the thought of finding such a friend for his +wife. Of course I told him that he must not certainly count either +on your consent or on his wife's. Hers I thought to be perhaps more +doubtful than yours." + +"Could I really be of any use to her," asked Ida, after a silence, +"with so little free time as I have?" + +"Supposing she would welcome you, I really believe you could be of +great use. She is a strange creature, miserably weak in body and +mind. If you could get to regard this as a sort of good work you +were called upon to undertake, you would very likely be little less +than an angel of mercy to both of them. Casti is falling into +grievous unhappiness--why, you will understand sufficiently if you +come to know them." + +"Do you think she bears malice against me?" + +"Of that I know nothing. Casti said she had never spoken of you in +that way. By-the-by, she still has a scar on her forehead, I often +wondered how it came there." + +Ida winced. + +"What a little termagant you must have been!" exclaimed Waymark, +laughing. "How hard it is to fancy you at that age, Ida.--What was +the quarrel all about?" + +"I can't speak of it," she replied, in a low, sad voice. "It is so +long ago; and I want to forget it." + +Waymark kept silence. + +"Do you wish me to be her friend?" Ida asked, suddenly looking up. + +"Certainly not if you dislike the thought." + +"No, no. But you think it would be doing good? you would like me to +help your friend if I can?" + +"Yes, I should," was Waymark's reply. + +"Then I hope she will be willing to let me go and see her. I will do +my very best. Let us lose no time in trying. It is such a strange +thing that we should meet again in this way; perhaps it is something +more than chance." + +Waymark smiled. + +"You think I am superstitious?" she asked quickly. "I often feel so. +I have all sorts of hopes and faiths that you would laugh at." + +Ida's thoughts were busy that night with the past and the future. +The first mention of Harriet's name had given her a shock; it +brought back with vividness the saddest moments of her life; it +awoke a bitter resentment which mere memory had no longer kept the +power to revive. That was only for a moment, however. The more she +accustomed herself to the thought, the easier it seemed to be to +bury the past in forgiveness. Harriet must have changed so much +since those days. Possibly there would never be a mention between +them of the old trouble; practically they would be new +acquaintances, and would be very little helped to an understanding +of each other by the recollections of childhood. And then Ida felt +there was so much to be glad of in the new prospects. She longed for +a world more substantial than that of her own imaginations, and +here, as she thought, it would be opened to her. Above all, by +introducing her to his friends, Waymark had strengthened the +relations between her and himself. He was giving her, too, a chance +of showing herself to him in a new light. For the first time he +would see her under the ordinary conditions of a woman's life in a +home circle Ida had passed from one extreme to the other. At present +there was nothing she desired so much as the simple, conventional, +every-day existence of the woman who has never swerved from the +beaten track. She never saw a family group anywhere without envying +the happiness which to her seemed involved in the mere fact of a +home and relations. Her isolation weighed heavily upon her. If there +were but some one who could claim her services, as of right, and in +return render her the simple hum-drum affection which goes for so +much in easing the burden of life. She was weary of her solitary +heroism, though she never regarded it as heroism, but merely as the +path in which she was naturally led by her feelings. Waymark could +not but still think of her very much in the old light, and she +wished to prove to him how completely she was changed. The simple +act of making tea for him when he came to see her had been a +pleasure; it was domestic and womanly, and she had often glanced at +his face to see whether he noticed it at all. Then the fact of +Harriet's being an invalid would give her many opportunities for +showing that she could be gentle and patient and serviceable. Casti +would observe these things, and doubtless would speak of them to +Waymark. Thinking in this way, Ida became all eagerness for the new +friendship. There was of course the possibility that Harriet would +refuse to accept her offered kindness, but it seemed very unlikely, +and the disappointment would be so great that she could not bear to +dwell on the thought. Waymark had promised to come as soon as he had +any news. The time would go very slowly till she saw him. + +Waymark had met Harriet very seldom of late. Julian spent regularly +one evening a week with him, but it was only occasionally that +Waymark paid a visit in turn. He knew that he was anything but +welcome to Mrs. Casti, who of course had neither interest nor +understanding for the conversation between himself and Julian. +Formerly he had now and then tried his best to find some common +subject for talk with her, but the effort had been vain; she was +hopelessly stupid, and more often than not in a surly mood, which +made her mere presence difficult to be endured. Of late, whenever he +came, she made her illness an excuse for remaining in her bed-room. +And hence arose another trouble. The two rooms were only divided by +folding doors, and when Harriet got impatient with what she +conceived to be the visitor's undue stay, she would rap on the +doors, to summon Julian to her. This rapping would take place +sometimes six or seven times in half an hour, till Waymark hastened +away in annoyance. And indeed there was little possibility of +conversing in Julian's own room. Julian sat for ever in a state of +nervous apprehension, dreading the summons which was sure to come +before long. When he left the room for a moment, in obedience to it, +Waymark could hear Harriet's voice speaking in a peevish or +ill-tempered tone, and Julian would return pale with agitation, +unable to utter consecutive words. It was a little better when the +meeting was at Waymark's, but even then Julian was anything but at +his ease. He would often sit for a long time in gloomy silence, and +seldom could even affect his old cheerfulness. The change which a +year had made in him was painful. His face was growing haggard with +ceaseless anxiety. The slightest unexpected noise made him start +nervously. His old enthusiasms were dying away. His daily work was a +burden which grew more and more oppressive. He always seemed weary, +alike in body and mind. + +Harriet's ailments were not of that unreal kind which hysterical +women often affect, for the mere sake of demanding sympathy, though +it was certain she made the most of them. The scrofulous taint in +her constitution was declaring itself in many ways. The most serious +symptoms took the form of convulsive fits. On Julian's return home +one evening, he had found her stretched upon the floor, unconscious, +foaming at the mouth, and struggling horribly. Since then, he had +come back every night in agonies of miserable anticipation. Her +illness, and his own miseries, were of course much intensified by +her self-willed habits. When she remained away from home till after +midnight, Julian was always in fear lest some accident had happened +to her, and once or twice of late she had declared (whether truly or +not it was impossible to say) that she had had fits in the open +street. Weather made no difference to her; she would leave home on +the pretence of making necessary purchases, and would come back +drenched with rain. Protest availed nothing, save to irritate her. +At times her conduct was so utterly unreasonable that Julian looked +at her as if to see whether she had lost her senses. And all this he +bore with a patience which few could have rivalled. Moments there +were when she softened, and, in a burst of hysterical weeping, +begged him to forgive her for some unusual violence, pleading her +illness as the cause; and so sensible was he to compassion, that he +always vowed in his mind to bear anything rather than deal harshly +with her. Love for her, in the true sense, he had never felt, but +his pity often led him to effusions of tenderness which love could +scarcely have exceeded. He was giving up everything for her. Through +whole evenings he would sit by her, as she lay in pain, holding her +hands, and talking in a way which he thought would amuse or interest +her. + +"You're sorry you married me," she would often say at such times. +"It's no good saying no; I'm sure you are." + +That always made Julian think of her father, and of his own promise +always to be a friend to the poor, weak, ailing creature; and he +strengthened himself in his resolution to bear everything. + +Waymark decided that he would venture on the step of going to see +Harriet during the daytime, whilst Julian was away, in order to +speak of Ida. This he did on the Monday, and was lucky enough to +find her at home. She was evidently surprised at his visit, and +perhaps still more so at the kind and friendly way in which he began +to speak to her. In a few minutes he had worked round to his +subject. He had, he said, a friend, a young lady who was very +lonely, and for whom he wanted to find an agreeable companion. It +had occurred to him that perhaps he might ask to be allowed to +introduce her. Waymark had concluded that this would probably be the +best way of putting it; Harriet would perhaps be flattered by being +asked to confer the favour of her acquaintance. And indeed she +seemed so; there was even something like a momentary touch of colour +in her pale cheek. + +"Does Julian know her?" she asked, fixing her eyes on his with the +closest scrutiny. + +"No, he does not." + +He would leave her to what conclusion she liked about his relations +to Ida; in reality that mattered little. + +"She is some one," he went on, "for whom I have a great regard. As I +say, she has really no friends, and she earns her own living. I feel +sure you would find her company pleasant; she is sensible and +cheerful, and would be very grateful for any kindness you showed +her. Her name, by-the-by, is Ida Starr." + +"Ida Starr?" + +"Is the name familiar to you?" + +"I used to know some one called that." + +"Indeed? How strange it would be if you knew her already. I have +spoken to her of you, but she didn't tell me she knew your name." + +"Oh no, she wouldn't. It was years and years ago. We used to go to +school together--if it's the same." + +The way in which this was spoken was not very promising, but Waymark +would not be discouraged, having once brought himself to the point +of carrying the scheme through. Harriet went on to ask many +questions, all of which he answered as satisfactorily as he could, +and in the end she expressed herself quite willing to renew Ida's +acquaintance. Waymark had watched her face as closely as she did +his, and he was able to read pretty accurately what was passing in +her mind. Curiosity, it was clear, was her main incentive. Good will +there was none; its growth, if at all possible, would depend upon +Ida herself. There was even something very like a gleam of hate in +her dark eyes when Ida's name was first spoken. + +"When may I bring her!" Waymark asked. "Perhaps you would like to +talk it over with Julian first? By-the-by, perhaps he remembers her +as your schoolfellow?" + +"I don't know, I'm sure," she said, with a pretence of indifference. +"I don't see what he can have to say against it. Bring her as soon +as you like." + +"She is not free till seven at night. Perhaps we had better leave it +till next Sunday?" + +"Why? Why couldn't she come to-morrow night?" + +"It is very good of you. I have no doubt she would be glad." + +With this understanding Waymark took his departure. + +"Do you remember Ida Starr?" was Harriet's first question to her +husband when he returned that evening. + +"Certainly I do," replied Julian, with complete self-control. "Why?" + +"When did you see her last?" followed quickly, whilst she examined +him as keenly as she had done Waymark. + +"See her?" repeated Julian, laughing. "Do you mean the girl you went +to school with?" + +"Of course I do." + +"I don't know that I ever saw her in my life." + +"Well, she's coming here to-morrow night." + +An explanation followed. + +"Hasn't he ever spoken to you about her?" Harriet asked. + +"No," said Julian, smiling. "I suppose he thought it was a private +affair, in which no one else had any interest." + +"I hope you will like her," he said presently. "It will be very nice +to have a friend of that kind, won't it?" + +"Yes,--if she doesn't throw one of my own plates at me." + + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +UNDER-CURRENTS + + + + +"Well, how do you like her?" Julian asked, when their visitors had +left them. + +"Oh, I dare say she's all right," was the reply. "She's got a good +deal to say for herself." + +Julian turned away, and walked about the room. + +"What does she work at?" said Harriet, after glancing at him +furtively once or twice. + +"I have no idea." + +"It's my belief she doesn't work at all." + +"Why should Waymark have said so, then?" asked Julian, standing +still and looking at her. He spoke very quietly, but his face +betrayed some annoyance. + +Harriet merely laughed, her most ill-natured and maliciously +suggestive laugh, and rose from her seat. Julian came up and faced +her. + +"Harriet," he said, with perfect gentleness, though his lips +trembled, "why do you always prefer to think the worst of people? I +always look for the good rather than the evil in people I meet." + +"We're different in a good many things, you see," said Harriet, with +a sneer. Her countenance had darkened. Julian had learnt the +significance of her looks and tones only too well. Under the +circumstances it would have been better to keep silence, but +something compelled him to speak. + +"I am sure of this," he said. "If you will only meet her in her own +spirit, you will find her a valuable friend--just such a friend as +you need. But of course if you begin with all manner of prejudices +and suspicions, it will be very hard for her to make you believe in +her sincerity. Certainly her kindness, her sympathy, her whole +manner, was perfect to-night." + +"You seemed to notice her a good deal." + +"Naturally I did, being so anxious that you should find a friend and +companion." + +"And who is she, I should like to know?" said Harriet, with +perfection of subdued acrimony. "How can I tell that she's a proper +person to be a friend to me? I know what her mother was, at all +events." + +"Her mother? What do you know of her mother?" + +Julian had never known the whole story of that scar on his wife's +forehead. + +"Never mind," said Harriet, nodding significantly. + +"I have no idea what you mean," Julian returned. "At all events I +can trust Waymark, and I know very well he would not have brought +her here, if she hadn't been a proper person for you to know. But +come," he added quickly, making an effort to dismiss the +disagreeable tone between them, "there's surely no need for us to +talk like this, Harriet. I am sure you will like her, when you know +her better. Promise me that you will try, dear. You are so lonely, +and it would rejoice me so to feel that you had a friend to help you +and to be a comfort to you. At all events you will judge her on her +own merits, won't you, and put aside all kind of prejudice?" + +"I haven't said I shouldn't; but I suppose I must get to know her +first?" + +Ominous as such a commencement would have been under any other +circumstances, Julian was so prepared for more decided hostility, +that he was even hopeful. When he met Waymark next, the change in +his manner was obvious; he was almost cheerful once more. And the +improvement held its ground as the next two or three weeks went by. +Ida came to Beaufort Street often, and Julian was able to use the +freedom he thus obtained to spend more time in Waymark's society. +The latter noticed the change in him with surprise. + +"Things go well still?" he would ask, when Julian came in of an +evening. + +"Very well indeed. Harriet hasn't been out one night this week." + +"And you think it will last?" + +"I have good hope." + +They did not speak much of Ida, however. It was only when three +weeks had gone by that Julian asked one night, with some hesitation +in putting the question, whether Waymark saw her often. + +"Pretty often," was the reply. "I am her tutor, in a sort of way. We +read together, and that kind of thing." + +"At her lodgings?" + +"Yes. Does it seem a queer arrangement?" + +"She seems very intelligent," said Julian, letting the question pass +by, and speaking with some constraint. "Isn't it a pity that she +can't find some employment better suited to her?" + +"I don't see what is open. Could you suggest anything?" + +Julian was silent. + +"In any case, it won't last very long, I suppose?" he said, looking +up with a smile which was rather a trembling of the lip. + +"Why?" + +They gazed at each other for a moment. + +"No," said Waymark, shaking his head and smiling. "It isn't as you +think. It is perfectly understood between us that we are to be +agreeable company to each other, and absolutely nothing beyond that. +I have no motive for leading you astray in the matter. However +things were, I would tell you frankly." + +There was another silence. + +"Do you think there is anything like confidence between your wife +and her?" Waymark asked. + +"That I hardly know. When I am present, of course they only talk +about ordinary women's interests, household affairs, and so on." + +"Then you have no means of--well, of knowing whether she has +spoken about me to your wife in any particular way?" + +"Nothing of the kind has ever been hinted to me" + +"Waymark," Julian continued, after a pause, "you are a strange +fellow." + +"In what respect." + +"Do you mean to tell me honestly that--that you--" + +"Well?--you mean to say, that I am not in love with the girl?" + +"No, I wasn't going to say that," said Julian, with his usual +bashfulness, heightened in this case by some feeling which made him +pale. "I meant, do you really believe that _she_ has no kind of +regard for you beyond mere friendship?" + +"Why? Have you formed any conclusions of your own on the point?" + +"How could I help doing so?" + +"And you look on me," said Waymark, after thinking for a moment, "as +an insensible dog, with a treasure thrown at his feet which he is +quite incapable of appreciating or making use of?" + +"No. I only feel that your position must be a very difficult one. +But perhaps you had rather not speak of these things?" + +"On the contrary. You are perfectly right, and the position is as +difficult as it well could be." + +"You had made your choice, I suppose, before you knew Ida at all?" + +"So far from that, I haven't even made it yet. I am not at all sure +that my chance of ever marrying Maud Enderby is not so utterly +remote, that t ought to put aside all thought of it. In that +case--" + +"But this is a strange state of mind," said Julian, with a forced +laugh. "Is it possible to balance feelings in this way?" + +"You, in my position, would have no doubt?" + +"I don't know Miss Enderby," said Julian, reddening. + +Waymark walked up and down the room, with his hands behind his back, +his brows bent. He had never told his friend anything of Ida's +earlier history; but now he felt half-tempted to let him know +everything. To do so, might possibly give him that additional motive +to a clear and speedy decision in the difficulties which grew ever +more pressing. Yet was it just to Ida to speak of these things even +to one who would certainly not repeat a word? Once or twice he all +but began, yet in the end a variety of motives kept him silent. + +"Well," he exclaimed shortly, "we'll talk about this another time. +Perhaps I shall have more to tell you. Don't be gloomy. Look, here I +am just upon the end of my novel. If all goes smoothly I shall +finish it in a fortnight, and then I will read it to you." + +"I hope you may have better luck with it than I had," said Julian. + +"Oh, your time is yet to come. And it's very likely I shall be no +better off. There are things in the book which will scarcely +recommend it to the British parent. But it shall be published, if it +is at my own expense. If it comes to the worst, I shall sell my +mining shares to Woodstock." + +"After all," said Julian, smiling, "you are a capitalist." + +"Yes, and much good it does me." + +Since that first evening Julian had refrained from speaking to his +wife about Ida, beyond casual remarks and questions which could +carry no significance. Harriet likewise had been silent. As far as +could be observed, however, she seemed to take a pleasure in Ida's +society, and, as Julian said, with apparently good result to +herself. She was more at home than formerly, and her health even +seemed to profit by the change. Still, there was something not +altogether natural in all this, and Julian could scarcely bring +himself to believe in the happy turn things seemed to be taking. In +Harriet herself there was no corresponding growth of cheerfulness or +good-nature. She was quiet, but with a quietness not altogether +pleasant; it was as though her thoughts were constantly occupied, as +never hitherto; and her own moral condition was hardly likely to be +the subject of these meditations. Julian, when he sat reading, +sometimes became desperately aware of her eyes being fixed on him +for many minutes at a time. Once, on this happening, he looked up +with a smile. + +"What is it, dear?" he asked, turning round to her. "You are very +quiet. Shall I put away the book and talk?" + +"No; I'm all right." + +"You've been much better lately, haven't you?" he said, taking her +hand playfully. "Let me feel your pulse; you know I'm half a +doctor." + +She drew it away peevishly. But Julian, whom a peaceful hour had +made full of kindness, went on in the same gentle way. + +"You don't know how happy it makes me to see you and Ida such good +friends. I was sure it would be so. Don't you feel there is +something soothing in her society? She speaks so gently, and always +brings a sort of sunshine with her." + +Harriet's lips curled, very slightly, but she said nothing. + +"When are you going to see her again? It's hardly fair to let the +visiting be always on her side, is it?" + +"I shall go when I feel able. Perhaps to-morrow." + +Julian presently went back to his book again. If he could have seen +the look Harriet turned upon him when his face was averted, he would +not have read so calmly. + +That same evening Harriet herself was the subject of a short +conversation between Ida and Waymark, as they sat together in the +usual way. + +"I fear there will never be anything like confidence between us," +Ida was saying. "Do you know that I am sometimes almost afraid of +her; sometimes she looks and speaks as if she hated me." + +"She is a poor, ill-conditioned creature," Waymark re plied, rather +contemptuously. + +"Can you explain," asked Ida, "how it was that Mr. Casti married +her?" + +"For my life, I can't! I half believe it was out of mere pity; I +shouldn't wonder if the proposal came from her side. Casti might +once have done something; but I'm afraid he never will now." + +"And he is so very good to her. I pity him from my heart whenever I +see them together. Often I have been so discouraged by her cold +suspicious ways, that I half-thought I should have to give it up, +but I felt it would be cruel to desert him so. I met him in the +street the other night just as I was going to her, and he thanked me +for what I was doing in a way that almost made me cry." + +"By-the-by," said Waymark, "you know her too well to venture upon +anything like direct criticism of her behaviour, when you talk +together!" + +"Indeed, I scarcely venture to speak of herself at all. It would be +hard to say what we talk about." + +"Of course," Waymark said, after a short silence, "there are limits +to self-devotion. So long as it seems to you that there is any +chance of doing some good, well, persevere. But you mustn't be +sacrificed to such a situation. The time you give her is so much +absolute loss to yourself." + +"Oh, but I work hard to make up for it. You are not dissatisfied +with me?" + +"And what if I were? Would it matter much?" + +This was one of the things that Waymark was ever and again saying, +in spite of himself. He could not resist the temptation of proving +his power in this way; it is so sweet to be assured of love, even +though every voice within cries out against the temptation to enjoy +it, and condemns every word or act that could encourage it to hope. +Ida generally met such remarks with silence; but in this instance +she looked up steadily, and said-- + +"Yes, it _would_ matter much." Waymark drew in his breath, half +turned away--and spoke of some quite different matter. + +Harriet carried out her intention of visiting Ida on the following +day. In these three weeks she had only been to Ida's lodgings once. +The present visit was unexpected. She waited about the pavement for +Ida's return from work, and shortly saw her approaching. + +"This is kind of you," Ida said. "We'll have some tea, and then, if +you're not too tired, we might go into the park. It will be cool +then." + +She dreaded the thought of sitting alone with Harriet. But the +latter said she must get home early, and would only have time to sit +for half an hour. When Ida had lit her fire, and put the kettle on, +she found that the milk which she had kept since the morning for +Grim and herself had gone sour; so she had to run out to a dairy to +fetch some. + +"You won't mind being left alone for a minute?" she said. + +"Oh, no; I'll amuse myself with Grim." + +As soon as she was alone, Harriet went into the bed-room, and began +to examine everything. Grim had followed her, and came up to rub +affectionately against her feet, but she kicked him, muttering, "Get +off; you black beast!" Having scrutinised the articles which lay +about, she quickly searched the pockets of a dress which hung on the +door, but found nothing except a handkerchief. All the time she +listened for any footfall on the stone steps without. Next she went +to the chest of drawers, and was pleased to find that they were +unlocked. In the first she drew out there were some books and +papers. These she rummaged through very quickly, and at length, +underneath them, came upon a little bundle of pawn-tickets. On +finding these, she laughed to herself, and carefully inspected every +one of them. "Gold chain," she muttered; "bracelet; seal-skin;-- +what was she doing with all those things, I wonder? Ho, ho, Miss +Starr?" + +She started; there was a step on the stairs. In a second everything +was replaced, and she was back in the sitting-room, stooping over +Grim, who took her endearments with passive indignation. + +"Have I been long?" panted Ida, as she came in. "The kettle won't be +a minute. You'll take your things off?" + +Harriet removed her hat only. As Ida went about, preparing the tea, +Harriet watched her with eyes in which there was a new light. She +spoke, too, in almost a cheerful way, and even showed a better +appetite than usual when they sat down together. + +"You are better to-day?" Ida said to her. + +"Perhaps so; but it doesn't last long." + +"Oh, you must be more hopeful. Try not to look so much on the dark +side of things. How would you be," she added, with a good-humoured +laugh, "if you had to work all day, like me? I'm sure you've a great +deal to make you feel happy and thankful." + +"I don't know what," returned Harriet coldly. + +"But your husband, your home, your long, free days?" + +The other laughed peevishly. Ida turned her head away for a moment; +she was irritated by this wretched humour, and, as had often been +the case of late, found it difficult to restrain some rather +trenchant remark. + +"It may sound strange," she said, with a smile, "but I think I +should be very willing to endure bad health for a position something +like yours." + +Harriet laughed again, and still more unpleasantly. + +Later in the evening Harriet went to call upon her friend Mrs. +Sprowl. Something of an amusing kind seemed to be going forward in +front of the house. On drawing near and pressing into the crowd of +loitering people, she beheld a spectacle familiar to her, and one +which brought a smile to her face. A man of wretched appearance, in +vile semblance of clothing which barely clung together about him, +was standing on his head upon the pavement, and, in that attitude, +drawling out what was meant for a song, while those around made +merry and indulged in practical jokes at his expense. One such put a +sudden end to the exhibition. A young ragamuffin drew near with a +handful of rich mud, and carefully cast it right into the singer's +inverted mouth. The man was on his feet in an instant, and pursuing +the assailant, who, however, succeeded in escaping down an alley +hard by. Returning, the man went from one to another in the crowd, +holding out his hand. Harriet passed on into the bar. + +"Slimy's up to his larks to-night," exclaimed Mrs. Sprowl, with a +laugh, as she welcomed her visitor in the bar-parlour. "He'll be +losin' his sweet temper just now, see if he don't, an' then one o' +them chaps 'll get a bash i' the eye." + +"I always like to see him singing on his head," said Harriet, who +seemed at once thoroughly at her ease in the atmosphere of beer and +pipes. + +"It's funny, ain't it? And 'ow's the world been a-usin' you, +Harriet? Seen anything more o' that affectionate friend o' yourn?" + +This was said with a grin, and a significant wink. + +"Have you found out anything about her?" asked Harriet eagerly. + +"Why yes, I have; somethin' as 'll amuse you. It's just as I +thought." + +"How do you mean?" + +"Why, Bella, was in 'ere th' other night, so I says to her, 'Bella,' +I says, 'didn't you never hear of a girl called Ida Starr?' I says. +'Course I did,' she says. 'One o' the 'igh an' 'aughty lot, an' she +lived by herself somewhere in the Strand.' So it's just as I told +you." + +"But what is she doing now?" + +"You say she's turned modest." + +"I can't make her out quite," said Harriet, reflecting, with her +head on one side. "I've been at her lodgings tonight, and, whilst +she was out of the room, I happened to get sight of a lot of +pawn-tickets, for gold chains and sealskins, and I don't know what." + +"Spouted 'em all when she threw up the job, I s'pose," suggested +Mrs. Sprowl. "You're sure she does go to work?" + +"Yes, I've had somebody to follow her and watch her. There's Waymark +goes to see her often, and I shouldn't wonder if she half keeps him; +he's just that kind of fellow." + +"You haven't caught no one else going there?" asked Mrs. Sprowl, +with another of her intense winks. + +"No, I haven't, not yet," replied Harriet, with sudden vehemence, +"but I believe he does go there, or else sees her somewhere else." + +"Well," said the landlady, with an air of generous wisdom, "I told +you from the first as I 'adn't much opinion of men as is so anxious +to have their wives friendly with other women. There's always +something at the bottom of it, you may bet. It's my belief he's one +too many for you, Harriet; you're too simple-minded to catch him." + +"I'll have a good try, though," cried the girl, deadly pale with +passion. "Perhaps I'm not so simple as you think. I'm pretty quick +in tumbling to things--no fear. If they think I don't notice what +goes on, they must take me for a damned silly fool, that's all! Why, +I've seen them wink at each other, when they thought I wasn't +looking." + +"You're not such a fool as to leave them alone together?" said the +woman, who seemed to have a pleasure in working upon Harriet's +jealousy. + +"No fear! But they understand each other; I can see that well +enough. And he writes to her; I'm dead sure he writes to her. Let me +get hold of a letter just once, that's all!" + +"And he's orful good-natured to her, ain't he? Looks after her when +she has tea with you, and so on?" + +"I should think he did. It's all--'Won't Miss Starr have this?' +and 'Won't Miss Starr have that?' He scarcely takes his eyes off of +her, all the time." + +"I know, I know; it's allus the same! You keep your eyes open, +Harriet, and you'll 'ave your reward, as the Scriptures says." + +When she reached home, Julian was in the uneasy condition always +brought about by these late absences. To a remark he made about the +time, she vouchsafed no answer. + +"Have you been with Ida all the evening?" he asked. + +"No, I haven't," was her reply. + +She went into the bed-room, and was absent for a few minutes, then +reappeared. + +"Do you know where my silver spoon is?" she asked, looking closely +at him. + +"Your silver spoon?" he returned, in surprise. "Have you lost it?" + +The article in question, together with a fork, hod been a +wedding-present from Mrs. Sprowl, whose character had in it a sort +of vulgar generosity, displayed at times in gifts to Harriet. + +"I can't find it," Harriet said. "I was showing it to Ida Starr when +she was here on Sunday, and now I come to look for it, it's gone." + +"Oh, it can't be very far off," said Julian. "You'll find it if you +look." + +"But I tell you I've looked everywhere. It's gone, that's all I +know." + +"Well, but--what do you mean? How can it have gone?" + +"I don't know. I only know I was showing it her on Sunday." + +"And what connection is there between the two things?" asked Julian, +almost sternly. "You don't wish me to understand that Ida Starr +knows anything about the spoon?" + +"How can I tell? It's gone." + +"Come," exclaimed Julian, with a laugh, "this is too absurd, +Harriet! You must have taken leave of your senses. If it's gone, +then some one in the house has taken it." + +"And why not Ida Starr?" + +Julian stared at her with mingled anger and alarm. + +"Why not? Simply because she is incapable of such a thing." + +"Perhaps _you_ think so, no doubt. You think a good deal of her, it +seems to me. Perhaps you don't know quite as much about her as I +do." + +"I fancy I know much more," exclaimed Julian indignantly. + +"Oh, do you?" + +"If you think her capable of stealing your spoon, you show complete +ignorance of her character. What do you know of her that you should +have such suspicions?" + +"Never mind," said Harriet, nodding her head obstinately. + +There was again a long silence. Julian reflected. + +"We will talk about this again to-morrow," he said, "when you have +had time to think. You are under some strange delusion. After all, I +expect you will find the spoon, and then you'll be sorry for having +been so hasty." + +Harriet became obstinately silent. She cut a piece of bread and +butter, and took it into the other room. Julian paced up and down. + + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +THE OPPORTUNITY + + + + +One or two days after this, Ida Starr came home from work with a +heavy heart. Quite without notice, and without explanation, her +employer had paid her a week's wages and dismissed her. Her first +astonished questions having been met with silence by the honest but +hard-grained woman who kept the laundry, Ida had not condescended to +any further appeal. The fact was that the laundress had received a +visit from a certain Mrs. Sprowl, who, under pretence of making +inquiries for the protection of a young female friend, revealed the +damaging points of Ida's story, and gained the end plotted with +Harriet Casti. + +Several circumstances united to make this event disastrous to Ida. +Her wages were very little more than she needed for her week to week +existence, yet she had managed to save a shilling or two now and +then. The greater part of these small savings she had just laid out +in some new clothing, the reason for the expense being not so much +necessity, as a desire to be rather better dressed when she +accompanied Waymark on those little country excursions which had +reestablished themselves of late. By no means the smallest part of +Ida's heroism was that involved in this matter of external +appearance. A beautiful woman can never be indifferent to the way in +which her beauty is arrayed. That Waymark was not indifferent to +such things she knew well, and often she suffered from the thought +that one strong means of attraction was lost to her. If at one +moment Ida was conscious of her claim to inspire a noble enthusiasm, +at another she fell into the saddest self-distrust, and, in her +hunger for love, would gladly have sought every humblest aid of +grace and adornment. So she had yielded to the needs of her heart, +and only this morning was gladdened by the charm of some new +clothing which became her well, and which Waymark would see in a day +or two. It lay there before her now that she returned home, and, in +the first onset of trouble, she sat down and cried over it. + +She suffered the more, too, that there had been something of a +falling off of late in the good health she generally enjoyed. The +day's work seemed long and hard; she felt an unwonted need of rest. +And these things caused trouble of the mind. With scarcely an hour +of depression she had worked on through those months of solitude, +supported by the sense that every day brought an accession of the +strength of purity, that the dark time was left one more stage +behind, and that trust in herself was growing assured. + +But it was harder than she had foreseen, to maintain reserve and +reticence when her heart was throbbing with passion; the effect upon +her of Waymark's comparative coldness was so much harder to bear +than she had imagined. Her mind tortured itself incessantly with the +fear that some new love had taken possession of him. And now there +had befallen her this new misfortune, which, it might be, would once +more bring about a crisis in her life. + +Of course she must forthwith set about finding new work. It would be +difficult, seeing that she had now no reference to give. Reflection +had convinced her that it must have been some discovery of her +former life which had led to her sudden dismissal, and this +increased her despondency. Yet she would not give way to it. On the +following morning she began her search for employment, and day after +day faced without result the hateful ordeal. Hope failed as she saw +her painfully-eked-out coins become fewer and fewer. In a day or two +she would have nothing, and what would happen then? + +When she returned to London to begin a new life, now nearly a year +ago, she had sold some and pawned the rest of such possessions as +would in future be useful to her. Part of the money thus obtained +had bought the furniture of her rooms; what remained had gone for a +few months to supplement her weekly wages, thus making the winter +less a time of hardship than it must otherwise have been. One or two +articles yet remained capable of being turned into small sums, and +these she now disposed of at a neighbouring pawnbroker's--the same +she had previously visited on the occasion of pawning one or two of +the things, the tickets for which Harriet Casti had so carefully +inspected. She spoke to no one of her position. Yet now the time was +quickly coming when she must either have help from some quarter or +else give up her lodgings. In food she was already stinting herself +to the verge of starvation. And through all this she had to meet her +friends as hitherto, if possible without allowing any trace of her +suffering to become visible. Harriet, strange to say, had been of +late a rather frequent visitor, and was more pressing than formerly +in her invitations. Ida dreaded her coming, as it involved the +unwarrantable expense of obtaining luxuries now unknown in her +cupboard, such as tea and butter. And, on the other hand, it was +almost impossible to affect cheerfulness in the company of the +Castis. At times she caught Julian's eyes fixed upon her, and felt +that he noticed some change in her appearance. She had a sense of +guilt in their presence, as if she were there on false pretences. +For, together with her daily work, much of her confidence had gone; +an inexplicable shame constantly troubled her. She longed to hide +herself away, and be alone with her wretchedness. + +If it came to asking for help, of whom could she ask it but of +Waymark? Yet for some time she felt she could not bring herself to +that. In the consciousness of her own attitude towards him, it +seemed to her that Waymark might well doubt the genuineness of her +need, might think it a mere feint to draw him into nearer relations. +She could not doubt that he knew her love for him; she did not +desire to hide it, even had she been able. But him she could not +understand. A struggle often seemed going on within him in her +presence; he appeared to repress his impulses; he was afraid of her. +At times passion urged her to break through this barrier between +them, to bring about a situation which would end in clear mutual +understanding, cost her what it might. At other times she was driven +to despair by the thought that she had made herself too cheap in his +eyes. Could she put off the last vestige of her independence, and, +in so many words, ask him to give her money? + +This evening she expected Waymark, but the usual time of his coming +went by. She sat in the twilight, listening with painful intentness +to every step on the stairs; again and again her heart leaped at +some footfall far below, only to be deceived. She had not even now +made up her mind how to speak to him, or whether to speak to him at +all; but she longed passionately to see him. The alternations of +hope and disappointment made her feverish. Illusions began to +possess her. Once she heard distinctly the familiar knock. It seemed +to rouse her from slumber: she sprang to the door and opened it, but +no one was there. She ran half way down the stairs, but saw no one. +It was now nearly midnight. The movement had dispelled for a little +the lethargy which was growing upon her, and she suddenly came to a +resolution. Taking a sheet of note-paper, she wrote this:-- + +"I have been without work for a fortnight. All my money is done, and I +am in want. Can you send me some, for present help, till I get more +work? _Do not bring it yourself, and do not speak a word of this when +you see me, I beg you earnestly_. If I shall fail to get work, I will +speak to you of my own accord. + +I. S." + +She went out and posted this, though she had no stamp to put on the +envelope; then, returning, she threw herself as she was on to the bed, +and before long passed into unconsciousness. + +Waymark's absence that evening had been voluntary. His work had come to +a standstill; his waking hours were passed in a restless misery which +threatened to make him ill. And to-night he had not dared to go to Ida; +in his present state the visit could have but one result, and even yet +he hoped that such a result might not come about. He left home and +wandered about the streets till early morning. All manner of projects +occupied him. He all but made up his mind to write a long letter to Ida +and explain his position without reserve. But he feared lest the result +of that might be to make Ida hide away from him once more, and to this +loss he could not reconcile himself. Yet he was further than ever from +the thought of giving himself wholly to her, for the intenser his +feeling grew, the more clearly he recognised its character. This was not +love he suffered from, but mere desire. To let it have its way would be +to degrade Ida. Love might or might not follow, and how could he place +her at the mercy of such a chance as that? Her faith and trust in him +were absolute; could he take advantage of it for his own ends? And, for +all these fine arguments, Waymark saw with perfect clearness how the +matter would end. Self would triumph, and Ida, if the fates so willed +it, would be sacrificed. It was detestable, but a fact; as good already +as an accomplished fact. + +And on the following morning Ida's note reached him. It was final. +Her entreaty that he would merely send money had no weight with him +for a moment; he felt that there was a contradiction between her +words and her wishes. This note explained the strangeness he had +noticed in her on their last evening together. He pitied her, and, +as is so often the case, pity was but fuel to passion. He swept from +his mind all obstinate debatings. Passion should be a law unto +itself. Let the future bring things about as it would. + +He had risen late, and by the time he had finished a hasty breakfast +it was eleven o'clock. Half an hour after he went up the stairs of +the lodging-house and knocked at the familiar door. + +But his knock met with no answer. Ida herself had left home an hour +before. Upon waking, and recalling what she had done, she foresaw +that Waymark would himself come, in spite of her request. She could +not face him. For all that her exhaustion was so great that walking +was slow and weary, she went out and strayed at first with no aim; +but presently she took the direction of Chelsea, and so came to +Beaufort Street. She would go in and see Harriet, who would give her +something to eat. She cared little now for letting it be known that +she had left her employment; with the step which she had at last +taken, her position was quite changed; she had only kept silence +lest Waymark should come to know. Harriet was at first surprised to +see her then seemed glad. + +"I've only a minute ago sent a note, asking you to be sure to come +round to-night. I wanted you to help me with this new hat; you have +such good taste in trimming." + +Ida would have been astonished at another time; for Harriet to be +paying compliments was indeed something novel. There was a flush on +the latter's usually sallow face; she did not sit down, and kept +moving aimlessly about. + +"Give me your hat and jacket," she said, "and let me take them into +the other room." + +She took them away, and returned. Ida was not looking at her; +otherwise she must surely have noticed that weird pallor which had +all at once succeeded to the unhealthy flush, and the unwonted +gleaming of her eyes. Of what passed during those next two hours Ida +had afterwards no recollection. They ate together, and they talked, +Ida as if in a dream, Harriet preoccupied in a way quite out of her +habit. Ida explained that she was out of employment, news which +could scarcely be news to the listener, who would in that case have +heard it with far less composure. There were long silences, +generally brought to an end by some outburst of forced merriment +from Harriet. Ida was without consciousness of time, but her +restless imagination at length compelled her to go forth again. +Harriet did not urge her to stay, but rose and watched her as she +went into the other room to put her things on. In a few moments they +had parted. + +The instant Harriet, from the head of the stairs, heard the +front-door close, she ran back into her bed-room, put on her hat, +and darted down. Opening the door, she saw Ida moving away at a +short distance. Turning her eyes in the opposite direction, she +perceived a policeman coming slowly down the street. She ran towards +him. + +"I've caught her at last," she exclaimed, as she met him, pointing +eagerly after Ida. "She's taken a brooch of mine. I put it in a +particular place in my bed-room, and it's gone." + +"Was she alone in the room?" inquired the constable, looking keenly +at Harriet, then down the street. + +"Yes, she went in alone to put her things on. Be quick, or she'll be +off!" + +"I understand you give her in charge?" + +"Of course I do." + +A brisk walk of two or three minutes, and they had caught up Ida, +who turned at the sound of the quick footsteps, and stood in +surprise. + +"This lady charges you with stealing some articles of hers," said +the constable, looking from face to face. "You must come with me to +the station." + +Ida blanched. When the policeman had spoken, she turned to Harriet, +and gazed at her fixedly. She could neither speak nor move. The +constable touched her arm impatiently. Her eyes turned to him, and +she began to walk along by his side. + +Harriet followed in silence. There were not many people on the way +to the police-station in King's Road, and they reached it speedily. +They came before the inspector, and the constable made his report. + +"Have you got this brooch?" asked the inspector, looking at Ida. + +Ida put her hand into one of her jacket-pockets, then into the +other, and from the second brought out the object in question. It +was of gold, and had been given by Julian to his wife just after +their marriage. As she laid it before her on the desk, she seemed +about to speak, but her breath failed, and she clutched with her +hands at the nearest support. + +"Look out," exclaimed the inspector. "Don't let her fall." + +Five or six times, throughout the day and evening, Waymark had knocked +at Ida's door. About seven o'clock he had called at the Castis', but +found neither of them at home. Returning thence to Fulham, he had walked +for hours up and down, in vain expectation of Ida's coming. There was no +light at her window. + +Just before midnight he reached home, having on his way posted a +letter with money in it. As he reached his door, Julian stood there, +about to knock. + +"Anything amiss?" Waymark asked, examining his friend by the light +of the street-lamp. + +Julian only made a sign to him to open the door. They went upstairs +together, and Waymark speedily obtained a light. Julian had seated +himself on the couch. His face was ghastly. + +"What's the matter?" Waymark asked anxiously. "Do you know anything +about Ida?" + +"She's locked up in the police cells," was the reply. "My wife has +accused her of stealing things from our rooms." + +Waymark stared at him. + +"Cacti, what's the matter with you?" he exclaimed, overcome with +fear, in spite of his strong self-command. "Are you ill? Do you know +what you're saying?" + +Julian rose and made an effort to control himself. + +"I know what I'm saying, Waymark I've only just heard it. She has +come back home from somewhere--only just now--she seems to have +been drinking. It happened in the middle of the day, whilst I was at +the hospital. She gave her in charge to a policeman in the street, +and a brooch was found on her." + +"A brooch found on her? Your wife's?" + +"Yes. When she came in, she railed at me like a fury, and charged me +with the most monstrous things. I can't and won't go back there +to-night! I shall go mad if I hear her voice. I will walk about the +streets till morning." + +"And you tell me that Ida Starr is in custody?" + +"She is. My wife accuses her of stealing several things." + +"And you believe this?" asked Waymark, under his voice, whilst his +thoughts pictured Ida's poverty, of which he had known nothing, and +led him through a long train of miserable sequences. + +"I don't know. I can't say. She says that Ida confessed, and, gave +the brooch up at once. But her devilish malice is equal to anything. +I see into her character as I never did before. Good God, if you +could have seen her face as she told me! And Ida, Ida! I am afraid +of myself, Waymark. If I had stayed to listen another moment, I +should have struck her. It seemed as if every vein was bursting. How +am I ever to live with her again? I dare not! I should kill her in +some moment of madness! What will happen to Ida?" + +He flung himself upon the couch, and burst into tears. Sobs +convulsed him; he writhed in an anguish of conflicting passions. +Waymark seemed scarcely to observe him, standing absorbed in +speculation and the devising of a course to be pursued. + +"I must go to the police-station," he said at length, when the +violence of the paroxysm had passed and left Julian in the still +exhaustion of despair. "You, I think, had better stay here. Is there +any danger of her coming to seek you?" + +Julian made a motion with his hand, otherwise lay still, his pale +face turned upwards. + +"I shall be back very quickly," Waymark added, taking his hat. Then, +turning back for a moment, "You mustn't give way like this, old +fellow; this is horrible weakness. Dare I leave you alone?" + +Julian stretched out his hand, and Waymark pressed it. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +JUSTICE + + + + +Waymark received from the police a confirmation of all that Julian +had said, and returned home. Julian still lay on the couch, calmer, +but like one in despair. He begged Waymark to let him remain where +he was through the night, declaring that in any case sleep was +impossible for him, and that perhaps he might try to pass the hours +in reading. They talked together for a time; then Waymark lay down +on the bed and shortly slept. + +He was to be at the police court in the morning. Julian would go to +the hospital as usual. + +"Shall you call at home on your way?" Waymark asked him. + +"No." + +"But what do you mean to do?" + +"I must think during the day. I shall come to-night, and you will +tell me what has happened." + +So they parted, and Waymark somehow or other whiled away the time +till it was the hour for going to the court. He found it difficult +to realise the situation; so startling and brought about so +suddenly. Julian had been the first to put into words the suspicion +of them both, that it was all a deliberate plot of Harriet's; but he +had not been able to speak of his own position freely enough to let +Waymark understand the train of circumstances which could lead +Harriet to such resoluteness of infamy. Waymark doubted. But for the +unfortunate fact of Ida's secret necessities, he could perhaps +scarcely have entertained the thought of her guilt. What was the +explanation of her being without employment? Why had she hesitated +to tell him, as soon as she lost her work? Was there not some +mystery at the bottom of this, arguing a lack of complete frankness +on Ida's part from the first? + +The actual pain caused by Ida's danger was, strange to say, a far +less important item in his state of mind than the interest which the +situation inspired. Through the night he had thought more of Julian +than of Ida. What he had for some time suspected had now found +confirmation; Julian was in love with Ida, in love for the first +time, and under circumstances which, as Julian himself had said, +might well suffice to change his whole nature. Waymark had never +beheld such terrible suffering as that depicted on his friend's face +during those hours of talk in the night. Something of jealousy had +been aroused in him by the spectacle; not jealousy of the ordinary +gross kind, but rather a sense of humiliation in the thought that he +himself had never experienced, was perhaps incapable of, such +passion as racked Julian in every nerve. This was the passion which +Ida was worthy of inspiring, and Waymark contrasted it with his own +feelings on the previous day, and now since the calamity had fallen. +He had to confess that there was even an element of relief in the +sensations the event had caused in him. He had been saved from +himself; a position of affairs which had become intolerable was got +rid of without his own exertion. Whatever might now happen, the old +state of things would never be restored. There was relief and +pleasure in the thought of such a change, were it only for the sake +of the opening up of new vistas of observation and experience. Such +thoughts as these indicated very strongly the course which Waymark's +development was taking, and he profited by them to obtain a clearer +understanding of himself. + +The proceedings in the court that morning were brief. Waymark, from +his seat on the public benches, saw Ida brought forward, and heard +her remanded for a week. She did not see him; seemed, indeed, to see +nothing. The aspect of her standing there in the dock, her head +bowed under intolerable shame, made a tumult within him. Blind anger +and scorn against all who surrounded her were his first emotions; +there was something of martyrdom in her position; she, essentially +so good and noble, to be dragged here before these narrow-natured +slaves of an ignoble social order, in all probability to be +condemned to miserable torment by men who had no shadow of +understanding of her character and her circumstances. + +Waymark was able, whilst in court, to make up his mind as to how he +should act. When he left he took his way northwards, having in view +St. John Street Road, and Mr. Woodstock's house. + +When he had waited about half an hour, the old man appeared. He gave +his hand in silence. Something seemed to be preoccupying him; he +went to his chair in a mechanical way. + +"I have come on rather serious business," Waymark began. "I want to +ask your advice in a very disagreeable matter--a criminal case, in +fact." + +Abraham did not at once pay attention, but the last words presently +had their effect, and he looked up with some surprise. + +"What have you been up to?" he asked, with rather a grim smile, +leaning back and thrusting his hands in his pockets in the usual +way. + +"It only concerns myself indirectly. It's all about a girl, who is +charged with a theft she is perhaps quite innocent of. If so, she is +being made the victim of a conspiracy, or something of the kind. She +was remanded to-day at Westminster for a week." + +"A girl, eh? And what's your interest in the business?" + +"Well, if you don't mind I shall have to go a little into detail. +You are at liberty?" + +"Go on." + +"She is a friend of mine. No, I mean what I say; there is absolutely +nothing else between us, and never has been. I should like to know +whether you are satisfied to believe that; much depends on it." + +"Age and appearance?" + +"About twenty--not quite so much--and strikingly handsome." + +"H'm. Position in life?" + +"A year ago was on the streets, to put it plainly; since then has +been getting her living at laundry-work." + +"H'm. Name?" + +"Ida Starr." + +Mr. Woodstock had been gazing at the toes of his boots, still the +same smile on his face. When he heard the name he ceased to smile, +but did not move at all. Nor did he look up as he asked the next +question. + +"Is that her real name?" + +"I believe so." + +The old man drew up his feet, threw one leg over the other, and +began to tap upon his knee with the fingers of one hand. He was +silent for a minute at least. + +"What do you know about her?" he then inquired, looking steadily at +Waymark, with a gravity which surprised the latter. "I mean, of her +earlier life. Do you know who she is at all?" + +"She has told me her whole story--a rather uncommon one, full of +good situations." + +"What do you mean?" + +The words were uttered with such harsh impatience that Waymark +started. + +"What annoys you?" he asked, with surprise. + +"Tell me something of the story," said the other, regaining his +composure, and apparently wishing to affect indifference. "I have a +twinge of that damned rheumatism every now and then, and it makes me +rather crusty. Do you think her story is to be depended upon?" + +"Yes, I believe it is." + +And Waymark linked briefly the chief points of Ida's history, as he +knew it, the old man continually interrupting him with questions. + +"Now go on," said Abraham, when he had heard all that Waymark knew, +"and explain the scrape she's got into." + +Waymark did so. + +"And you mean to tell me," Abraham said, before the story was quite +finished, "that there's been nothing more between you than that?" + +"Absolutely nothing." + +"I don't believe you." + +It was said angrily, and with a blow of the clenched fist on the +table. The old man could no longer conceal the emotion that +possessed him. Waymark looked at him in astonishment, unable to +comprehend his behaviour. + +"Well if you don't believe me, of course I can offer no proof; and I +know well enough that every presumption is against me. Still, I tell +you the plain fact; and what reason have I for hiding the truth? If +I had been living with the girl, I should have said so, as an extra +reason for asking your help in the matter." + +"What help can I give?" asked Woodstock, again cooling down, though +his eyes had in them a most unwonted light. He spoke as if simply +asking for information. + +"I thought you might suggest something as to modes of defence, and +the like. The expenses I would somehow or other meet myself. It +appears that she will plead not guilty." + +"And what's your belief?" + +"I can't make up my mind." + +"In that case, it seems to me, you ought to give her the benefit of +the doubt; especially as you seem to have made up your mind pretty +clearly about this Mrs. What's-her-name." + +Waymark was silent, looking at Mr. Woodstock, and reflecting. + +"What are your intentions with regard to the girl?" Abraham asked, +with a change in his voice, the usual friendliness coming back. He +looked at the young man in a curious way; one would almost have +said, with apprehensive expectation. + +"I have no intentions." + +"You would have had, but for this affair?" + +"No; you are mistaken. I know the position is difficult to realise." + +"Have you intentions, then, in any other quarter?" + +"Well, perhaps yes." + +"I've never heard anything of this." + +"I could scarcely talk of a matter so uncertain." + +There was silence. A sort of agitation came upon the old man ever +and again, in talking. He now grew absorbed in thought, and remained +thus for several minutes, Waymark looking at him the while. When at +length Abraham raised his eyes, and they met Waymark's, he turned +them away at once, and rose from the chair. + +"I'll look into the business," he said, taking out a bunch of keys, +and putting one into the lock of a drawer in his desk. "Yes, I'll go +and make inquiries." He half pulled out the drawer and rustled among +some papers. + +"Look here," he said, on the point of taking something out; but, +even in speaking, he altered his mind. "No; it don't matter. I'll go +and make inquiries. You can go now, if you like;--I mean to say, I +suppose you've told me all that's necessary.--Yes, you'd better +go, and look in again tomorrow morning." + +Waymark went straight to Fulham. Reaching the block of tenements +which had been Ida's home, he sought out the porter. When the door +opened at his knock, the first face that greeted him was that of +Grim, who had pushed between the man's legs and was peering up, as +if in search of some familiar aspect. + +From the porter he learned that the police had made that afternoon +an inspection of Ida's rooms, though with what result was not known. +The couple had clearly formed their own opinion as to Waymark's +interest in the accused girl, but took the position in a very +matter-of-fact way, and were eager to hear more than they succeeded +in getting out of the police. + +"My main object in coming," Waymark explained, "was to look after +her cat. I see you have been good enough to anticipate me." + +"The poor thing takes on sadly," said the woman. "Of course I +shouldn't have known nothing if the hofficers hadn't come, and it +'ud just have starved to death. It seems to know you, sir?" + +"Yes, yes, I dare say. Do you think you could make it convenient to +keep the cat for the present, if I paid you for its food?" + +"Well, I don't see why not, sir; we ain't got none of our own." + +"And you would promise me to be kind to it? I don't mind the +expense; keep it well, and let me know what you spend. And of course +I should consider your trouble." + +So that matter was satisfactorily arranged, and Waymark went home. + +Julian spent his day at the hospital as usual, finding relief in +fixing his attention upon outward things. It was only when he left +his work in the evening that he became aware how exhausted he was in +mind and body. And the dread which he had hitherto kept off came +back upon him, the dread of seeing his wife's face and hearing her +voice. When he parted with Waymark in the morning, he had thought +that he would be able to come to some resolution during the day as +to his behaviour with regard to her. But no such decision had been +formed, and his overtaxed mind could do no more than dwell with dull +persistency on a long prospect of wretchedness. Fear and hatred +moved him in turns, and the fear was as much of himself as of the +object of his hate. + +As he approached the door, a man came out whom he did not know, but +whose business he suspected. He had little doubt that it was a +police officer in plain clothes. He had to stand a moment and rest, +before he could use his latchkey to admit himself. When he entered +the sitting-room, he found the table spread as usual. Harriet was +sitting with sewing upon her lap. She did not look at him. + +He sat down, and closed his eyes. There seemed to be a ringing of +great bells about him, overpowering every other sound; all his +muscles had become relaxed and powerless; he half forgot where and +under what circumstances he was, in a kind of deadly drowsiness. +Presently this passed, and he grew aware that Harriet was preparing +tea. When it was ready, he went to the table, and drank two or three +cups, for he was parched with thirst. He could not look at Harriet, +but he understood the mood she was in, and knew she would not be the +first to speak. He rose, walked about for a few minutes, then stood +still before her. + +"What proof have you to offer," he said, speaking in a slow but +indistinct tone, "that she is guilty of this, and that it isn't a +plot you have laid against her?" + +"You can believe what you like," she replied sullenly. "Of course I +know you'll do your worst against me." + +"I wish you to answer my question. If I choose to suspect that you +yourself put this brooch in her pocket--and if other people choose +to suspect the same, knowing your enmity against her, what proof can +you give that she is guilty?" + +"It isn't the first thing she's stolen." + +"What proof have you that she took those other things?" + +"Quite enough, I think. At all events, they've found a pawn-ticket +for the spoon at her lodgings, among a whole lot of other tickets +for things she can't have come by honestly." + +Julian became silent, and, as Harriet looked up at him with eyes +full of triumphant spite, he turned pale. He could have crushed the +hateful face beneath his feet. + +"You're a good husband, you are," Harriet went on, with a sudden +change to anger; "taking part against your own wife, and trying to +make her out all that's bad. But I think you've had things your own +way long enough. You thought I was a fool, did you, and couldn't see +what was going on? You and your Ida Starr, indeed! Oh, she would be +such a good friend to me, wouldn't she? She would do me so much +good; you thought so highly of her; she was just the very girl to be +my companion; how lucky we found her! I'm much obliged to you, but I +think I might have better friends than thieves and street-walkers." + +"What do you mean?" asked Julian, starting at the last word, and +turning a ghastly countenance on her. + +"I mean what I say. As if you didn't know, indeed!" + +"Explain what you mean," Julian repeated, almost with violence. "Who +has said anything of that kind against her?" + +"Who has? Why I can bring half a dozen people who knew her when she +was on the streets, before Waymark kept her. And you knew it, well +enough--no fear!" + +"It's a lie, a cursed lie! No one can say a word against her purity. +Only a foul mind could imagine such things." + +"Purity! Oh yes, she's very pure--you know that, don't you? No +doubt you'll be a witness, and give evidence for her, and against +me;--let everybody know how perfect she is, and what a beast and a +liar I am! You and your Ida Starr!" + +Julian rushed out of the room. + +Waymark could not but +observe peculiarities in Mr. Woodstock's behaviour during the +conversation about Ida. At first it had occurred to him--knowing a +good deal of Abraham's mode of life--that there must be some +disagreeable secret at the bottom, and for a moment the +ever-recurring distrust of Ida rose again. But he had soon observed +that the listener was especially interested in the girl's earliest +years, and this pointed to possibilities of a different kind. What +was it that was being taken from the drawer to show him, when the +old man suddenly altered his mind? Mr. Woodstock had perhaps known +Ida's parents. Waymark waited with some curiosity for the interview +on the morrow. + +Accordingly, he was surprised when, on presenting himself, Mr. +Woodstock did not at first appear to remember what he had called +about. + +"Oh, ay, the girl!" Abraham exclaimed, on being reminded. "What did +you say her name was? Ida something--" + +Waymark was puzzled and suspicious, and showed both feelings in his +looks, but Mr. Woodstock preserved a stolid indifference which it +was very difficult to believe feigned. + +"I've been busy," said the latter. "Never mind; there's time. She +was remanded for a week, you said? I'll go and see Helter about her. +May as well come along with me, and put the case in 'artistic' +form." + +It was a word frequently on Waymark's lips, and he recognised the +unwonted touch of satire with a smile, but was yet more puzzled. +They set out together to the office of the solicitor who did +Abraham's legal business, and held with him a long colloquy. Waymark +stated all he knew or could surmise with perfect frankness. He had +heard from Julian the night before of the discovery which it was +said the police had made at Ida's lodgings, and this had +strengthened his fear that Harriet's accusation was genuine. + +"How did this girl lose her place at the laundry?" asked Mr. Helter. + +Waymark could not say; for all he knew it was through her own fault. + +"And that's all you can tell us, Waymark?" observed Mr. Woodstock, +who had listened with a show of indifference. "Well, I have no more +time at present. Look the thing up, Helter." + +On reaching home, Waymark wrote a few lines to Ida, merely to say +that Grim was provided for, and assure her that she was not +forgotten. In a day or two he received a reply. The official +envelope almost startled him at first. Inside was written this: + +"You have been kind. I thank you for everything. Try to +think kindly of me, whatever happens; I shall be conscious of it, +and it will give me strength. +I. S." + +The week went by, and Ida again appeared in court. +Mr. Woodstock went with Waymark, out of curiosity, he said. The +statement of the case against the prisoner sounded very grave. What +Harriet had said about the discovery of the pawn-ticket for her +silver spoon was true. Ida's face was calm, but paler yet and +thinner. When she caught sight of Harriet Casti, she turned her eyes +away quickly, and with a look of trouble. She desired to ask no +question, simply gave her low and distinct "Not guilty." She was +committed for trial. + +Waymark watched Mr. Woodstock, who was examining Ida all the time; +he felt sure that he heard something like a catching of the breath +when the girl's face first became visible. + +"And what's your opinion?" asked Waymark. + +"I couldn't see the girl very well," said the old man coldly. + +"She hasn't quite a fortnight to wait." + +"No." + +"You're sure Helter will do all that can he done?" + +"Yes." + +Mr. Woodstock nodded his head, and walked off by himself. + +Julian Casti was ill. With difficulty he had dragged himself to the +court, and his sufferings as he sat there were horribly evident on +his white face. Waymark met him just as Mr. Woodstock walked off; +and the two went home together by omnibus, not speaking on the way. + +"She will be convicted," was Julian's first utterance, when he had +sat for a few minutes in Waymark's room, whilst Waymark himself +paced up and down. The latter turned, and saw that tears were. on +his friends hollow cheeks. + +"Did you sleep better last night?" he asked. + +"Good God, no! I never closed my eyes. That's the third night +without rest. Waymark, get me an opiate of some kind, or I shall +kill myself; and let me sleep here." + +"What will your wife say?" + +"What do I care what she says!" cried Julian, with sudden +excitement, his muscles quivering, and his cheeks flaming all at +once. "Don't use that word 'wife,' it is profanation; I can't bear +it! If I see her to-night, I can't answer for what I may do. Curse +her to all eternity!" + +He sank beck in exhaustion. + +"Julian," said Waymark, using his friend's first name by exception, +"if this goes on, you will be ill. What the deuce shall we do then?" + +"No, I shall not be ill. It will be all right if I can get sleep." + +He was silent for a little, then spoke, with his eyes on the ground. + +"Waymark, is this true they say about her--about the former time?" + +"Yes; it is true." + +Waymark in turn was silent. + +"I suppose," he continued presently, "I owe you an apology." + +"None. It was right of you to act as you did." + +He was going to say something else, but checked himself. Waymark +noticed this, watched his face for a moment, and spoke with some +earnestness. + +"But it was in that only I misled you. Do you believe me when I +repeat that she and I were never anything but friends!" + +Julian looked up with a gleam of gratitude in his eyes. + +"Yes, I believe you!" + +"And be sure of this," Waymark went on, "whether or not this +accusation is true, it does not in the least affect the nobility of +her character. You and I are sufficiently honest, in the true sense +of the word, to understand this." + +Waymark only saw Mr. Woodstock once or twice in the next fortnight, +and very slight mention was made between them of the coming trial. +He himself was not to be involved in the case in any way; as a +witness on Ida's side he could do no good, and probably would +prejudice her yet more in the eyes of the jury. It troubled him a +little to find with what complete calmness he could await the +result; often he said to himself that he must be sadly lacking in +human sympathy. Julian Casti, on the other hand, had passed into a +state of miserable deadness; Waymark in vain tried to excite hope in +him. He came to his friend's every evening, and sat there for hours +in dark reverie. + +"What will become of her!" Julian asked once. "In either case-- +what will become of her!" + +"Woodstock shall help us in that," Waymark replied. "She must get a +place of some kind." + +"How dreadfully she is suffering, and how dark life will be before +her!" + +And so the day of the trial came. The pawnbroker's evidence was +damaging. The silver spoon had been pledged, he asserted, at the +same time with another article for which Ida possessed the +duplicate. The inscriptions on the duplicates supported him in this, +and he professed to have not the least doubt as to the prisoner's +identity. Pressed in cross-examination, he certainly threw some +suspicion on the trustworthiness of his assertions. "You positively +swear that these two articles were pledged by the prisoner, and at +the same time!" asked the cross-examiner. "Well," was the impatient +reply, "there's the same date and name, and both in my writing." But +even thus much of doubt he speedily retracted, and his evidence +could not be practically undermined. + +Harriet's examination was long and searching, but she bore it +without the slightest damage to her credit. Plain, straightforward, +and stubborn were all her replies and assertions; she did not +contradict herself once. Waymark marvelled at her appearance and +manner. The venom of malice had acted upon her as a tonic, +strengthening her intellect, and bracing her nerves. Once she looked +directly into Ida's face and smiled. + +Mrs. Sprowl had been summoned, and appeared in all the magnificence +of accumulated rings, bracelets, necklaces, and watch-chains. Helter +hoped to make good use of her. + +"Did you on a certain occasion go to the person in whose employ the +prisoner was, and, by means of certain representations with regard +to the prisoner's antecedents, become the cause of her dismissal?" + +"I did. I told all I knew about her, and I consider I'd a right to +do so." + +Mrs. Sprowl was not to be robbed of her self-assurance by any array +of judicial dignity. + +"What led you to do this?" + +"A good enough one, I think. She'd been imposed on Mr. Casti and his +wife as a respectable character, and she was causing trouble between +them. She had to be got rid of somehow, and this was one step to +it." + +"Was Mrs. Casti aware of your intention to take this step?" + +"No, she wasn't." + +"But you told her when you had done it?" + +"Yes, I did." + +The frankness of all this had its effect, of course. The case was +attracting much interest in court, and the public seats were quite +full. Mrs. Sprowl looked round in evident enjoyment of her position. +There was a slight pause, and then the examination continued. + +"Of what nature was the trouble you speak of, caused by the prisoner +between this lady and her husband?" + +"Mr. Casti began to pay a good deal too much attention to her." + +There was a sound of whispers and a murmuring. + +"Did Mrs. Casti impart to you her suspicions of the prisoner as soon +as she missed the first of these articles alleged to be stolen?" + +"Yes, she did." + +"And did you give any advice as to how she should proceed?" + +"I told her to be on the look-out." + +"No doubt you laid stress on the advantage, from a domestic point of +view, of securing this prisoner's detection?" + +"Certainly I did, and I hoped and prayed as she might caught!" + +Mrs. Sprowl was very shortly allowed to retire. For the defence +there was but one witness, and that was the laundress who had +employed Ida. Personal fault with Ida she had one at all to find; +the sole cause of her dismissal was the information given by Mrs. +Sprowl. Perhaps she had acted hastily and unkindly, but she had +young girls working in the laundry, and it behoved her to be careful +of them. + +Julian's part in the trial had been limited to an examination as to +his knowledge of Ida's alleged thefts. He declared that he knew +nothing save from his wife's statements to him. He had observed +nothing in the least suspicious. + +A verdict was returned of "Guilty." + +Had the prisoner anything to say? Nothing whatever. There was a +pause, a longer pause than seemed necessary. Then, without remark, +she was sentenced to be imprisoned for six months with hard labour. + +Waymark had been drawn to the court in spite of himself. +Strangely quiet hitherto, a fear fell upon him the night be fore the +trial. From an early hour in the morning he walked about the +streets, circling ever nearer to the hateful place. All at once he +found himself facing Mr. Woodstock. The old man's face was darkly +anxious, and he could not change its expression quickly enough. + +"Are you going in?" he said sharply. + +"Are you?" + +"Yes." + +"Then I shall not," said Waymark. "I'll go to your place, and wait +there." + +But when Abraham, whose eyes had not moved from the prisoner +throughout the proceedings, rose at length to leave, a step or two +brought him to a man who was leaning against the wall, powerless +from conflicting excitement, and deadly pale. It was Waymark. Mr. +Woodstock took him by the arm and led him out. + +"Why couldn't you keep away?" the old man exclaimed hoarsely, and +with more of age in his voice than any one had ever yet heard in it. + +Waymark shook himself free, and laughed as one laughs under torment. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +ART AND MISERY + + + + +One Monday afternoon at the end of October--three months had gone +by since the trial--Waymark carried his rents to St. John Street +Road as usual. + +"I'm going to Tottenham," said Mr. Woodstock. "You may as well come +with me." + +"By the by, I finished my novel the other day," Waymark said, as +they drove northward. + +"That's right. No doubt you're on your way to glory, as the hymn +says." + +Abraham was in good spirits. One would have said that he had grown +younger of late. That heaviness and tendency to absent brooding +which not long ago seemed to indicate the tightening grip of age, +was disappearing; he was once more active and loud and full of his +old interests. + +"How's Casti?" Mr. Woodstock went on to ask. + +"A good deal better, I think, but shaky. Of course things will be as +bad as ever when his wife comes out of the hospital." + +"Pity she can't come out heels first," muttered Abraham. + +Waymark found that the purpose of their journey was to inspect a +large vacant house, with a good garden and some fine trees about it. +The old man wished for his opinion, and, by degrees, let it be known +that he thought of buying the property. + +"I suppose you think me an old fool to want a house like this at my +time of life, eh?" + +There was a twinkle in his eye, and a moment after he fairly burst +into a laugh of pleasure. Waymark asked no questions, and received +no more information; but a thought rose in his mind which occupied +him for the rest of the day. + +In the evening Julian came. He looked like one who had recovered +from a long illness, very pale and thin, and his voice had +tremblings and uncertainties of key. In fact, a feverish disorder +had been upon him for some weeks, never severe enough to prevent his +getting about, but weakening him to a serious degree. It would +doubtless have developed into some more pronounced illness, but for +the period of comparative rest and quietness which had begun shortly +after the miseries of the trial. Harriet's ailments had all at once +taken such a decided turn for the worse--her fits becoming +incessant, and other disorders traceable to the same source suddenly +taking hold upon her--that Julian had obtained her admission to +the hospital, where she still remained. He went to see her in the +ward two or three times a week, though he dreaded the necessity. +From little incidents which occurred at such times, he was convinced +that all her fellow-patients, as well as the "sister" and nurses of +the wards, had been prejudiced against him by her reports and +accusations. To meet their looks occasioned him the most acute +suffering. Sometimes he sat by the bedside for half an hour without +speaking, then rose and hastened away to hide himself and be alone +with his misery. + +He was earnest and eager to-night in his praise of Waymark's book, +which he had just read in manuscript. + +"It is horrible," he exclaimed; "often hideous and revolting to me; +but I feel its absolute truth. Such a book will do more good than +half a dozen religious societies." + +"If only people can be got to read it. Yet I care nothing for that +aspect of the thing. Is it artistically strong? Is it good as a +picture? There was a time when I might have written in this way with +a declared social object. That is all gone by. I have no longer a +spark of social enthusiasm. Art is all I now care for, and as art I +wish my work to be judged." + +"One would have thought," said Julian, "that increased knowledge of +these fearful things would have had just the opposite effect." + +"Yes," exclaimed the other, with the smile which always prefaced +some piece of self-dissection, "and so it would in the case of a man +born to be a radical. I often amuse myself with taking to pieces my +former self. I was not a conscious hypocrite in those days of +violent radicalism, working-man's-club lecturing, and the like; the +fault was that I understood myself as yet so imperfectly. That zeal +on behalf of the suffering masses was nothing more nor less than +disguised zeal on behalf of my own starved passions. I was poor and +desperate, life had no pleasures, the future seemed hopeless, yet I +was overflowing with vehement desires, every nerve in me was a +hunger which cried to be appeased. I identified myself with the poor +and ignorant; I did not make their cause my own, but my own cause +theirs. I raved for freedom because I was myself in the bondage of +unsatisfiable longing." + +"Well," he went on, after regarding his listener with still the same +smile, "I have come out of all that, in proportion as my artistic +self-consciousness has developed. For one thing, I am not so +miserable as I was then, personally; then again, I have found my +vocation. You know pretty well the phases I have passed through. +Upon ranting radicalism followed a period of philosophical study. My +philosophy, I have come to see, was worth nothing; what philosophy +is worth anything? It had its use for myself, however; it made me by +degrees self-conscious, and brought me to see that in art alone I +could find full satisfaction." + +"Yet," urged Julian, "the old direction still shows itself in your +choice of subjects. Granting that this is pure art, it is a kind of +art only possible to an age in which the social question is +predominant." + +"True, very likely. Every strong individuality is more or less the +expression of its age. This direction may be imposed upon me; for +all that, I understand why I pursue it." + +After reflecting, Julian spoke in another tone. "Imagine yourself in +my position. Could you appreciate the artistic effect of your own +circumstances?" + +"Probably not. And it is because I recognise that, that I grow more +and more careful to hold aloof from situations that would threaten +my peace of mind. My artistic egotism bids fair to ally itself with +vulgar selfishness. That tendency I must resist. For the artist +_ought_ to be able to make material of his own sufferings, even +while the suffering is at its height. To what other end does he +suffer? In very deed, he is the only man whose misery finds +justification in apparent result." + +"I am not an artist," sighed Julian. + +"On the contrary, I firmly believe that you are. And it makes me +angry to see the impulse dying in you." + +"What am I to do?" Julian cried, almost with a voice of anguish. "I +am so helpless, so hopelessly fettered! Release is impossible. No +words could express the desperate struggles I go through when I +recognise how my life is being wasted and my powers, whatever they +may be, numbed and crushed. Something I might do, if I were free; I +feel that! But there is no hope of freedom. I shall fall into darker +and darker depths of weakness and ruin, always conscious of what I +am losing. What will be the end?" + +"What the end will be, under the present circumstances, is only too +clear to me. But it might easily be averted?" + +"How? Give me some practical advice, Waymark! Let us talk of the +matter freely. Tell me what you would do!" + +Waymark thought for a moment. + +"Does there seem any chance of her health being permanently +improved?" he asked. + +"I can't say. She says she is better. It's no use my asking the +doctors; they despise me, and would not think of treating me with +any consideration." + +"Why don't you do this?" began Waymark, after another pause. "Use +all means to find some convalescent home where she can be received +when she leaves the hospital. Then, if her fits and the rest of it +still continue, find some permanent place for her. You can afford +it. Never mind if it reduces you for a time to a garret and a +crust." + +"She would refuse to go to such places," said Julian despondently. + +"Then refuse to take her back! Sell your furniture; take one room +for yourself; and tell her she must live where she likes on a +sufficient allowance from you." + +"I dare not. It is impossible. She would never leave me in peace." + +"You will have to do this ultimately, if you are to continue to +live. Of that there is no doubt. So why not now?" + +"I must think; it is impossible to make up my mind to such a thing +at once. I know you advise what is best; I have thought of it +myself. But I shall never have the courage! I am so miserably weak. +If only I could get my health back! Good God, how I suffer!" + +Waymark did his best to familiarise Julian with the thought, and to +foster in him something of resoluteness, but he had small hope of +succeeding. The poor fellow was so incapable of anything which at +all resembled selfishness, and so dreaded the results of any such +severity on his part as that proposed. There were moments when +indignation almost nerved him to independence, but there returned so +soon the souse of pity, and, oftener still, the thought of that +promise made to Harriet's father, long ago, in the dark little +parlour which smelt of drugs. The poor chemist, whose own life was +full of misery, had been everything to him; but for Mr. Smales, he +might now have been an ignorant, coarse-handed working man, if not +worse. Was Harriet past all rescue? Was there not even yet a chance +of saving her from herself and those hateful friends of hers? + +This was the natural reaction after listening to Waymark's +remorseless counsel. Going home, Julian fought once more the battle +with himself, till the usual troubled sleep severed his thoughts +into fragments of horrible dreams. The next day he felt differently; +Waymark's advice seemed more practical. In the afternoon he should +have visited Harriet in the ward, but an insuperable repulsion kept +him away, and for the first time. It was a bleak, cheerless day; the +air was cold with the breath of the nearing winter; At night he +found it impossible to sit in his own room, and dreaded to talk with +any one. His thoughts were fixed upon one place; a great longing +drew him forth, into the darkness and the rain of the streets, +onwards in a fixed direction. It brought him to Westminster, and to +the gate of Tothill Fields Prison. The fetters upon the great doors +were hideous in the light of the lamps above them; the mean houses +around the gaol seemed to be rotting in its accursed shadow. A +deadly stillness possessed the air; there was blight in the dropping +of the rain. + +He leaned against the great, gloomy wall, and thought of Ida. At +this hour she was most likely asleep, unless sorrow kept her waking. +What unimagined horrors did she suffer day after day in that +accursed prison-house? How did she bear her torments? Was she well +or ill? What brutality might she not be subjected to? He pictured +her face wasted with secret tears, those eyes which were the light +of his soul fixed on the walls of the cell, hour after hour, in +changeless despair, the fire of passionate resentment feeding at her +life's core. + +The night became calmer. The rained ceased, and a sudden gleam made +him look up, to behold the moon breaking her way through billows of +darkness. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + +STRAYING + + + + +The Enderbys were at Brighton during the autumn. Mr. Enderby only +remained with them two or three days at a time, business requiring +his frequent presence in town. Maud would have been glad to spend +her holidays at some far quieter place, but her mother enjoyed +Brighton, and threw herself into its amusements of the place with +spirits which seemed to grow younger. They occupied handsome rooms, +and altogether lived in a more expensive way than when at home. + +Maud was glad to see her mother happy, but could not be at ease +herself in this kind of life. It was soon arranged that she should +live in her own way, withholding from the social riot which she +dreaded, and seeking rest in out-of-the-way parts of the shore, +where more of nature was to be found and less of fashion. Maud +feared lest her mother should feel this as an unkind desertion, but +Mrs. Enderby was far from any such trouble; it relieved her from the +occasional disadvantage of having by her side a grown-up daughter, +whose beauty so strongly contrasted with her own. So Maud spent her +days very frequently in exploring the Downs, or in seeking out +retired nooks beneath the cliffs, where there was no sound in her +ears but that of the waves. She would sit for hours with no +companion save her thoughts, which were unconsciously led from phase +to phase by the moving lights and shadows upon the sea, and the soft +beauty of unstable clouds. + +Even before leaving London, she had begun to experience a frequent +sadness of mood, tending at times to weariness and depression, which +foreshadowed new changes in her inner life. The fresh delight in +nature and art had worn off in some degree; she read less, and her +thoughts took the habit of musing upon the people and circumstances +about her, also upon the secrets of the years to come. She grew more +conscious of the mystery in her own earlier life, and in the +conditions which now surrounded her. A sense which at times besets +all imaginative minds came upon her now and then with painful force; +a fantastic unreality would suddenly possess all she saw and heard; +it seemed as if she had been of a sudden transported out of the old +existence into this new and unrealised position; if any person spoke +to her, it was difficult to feel that she was really addressed and +must reply; was it not all a mere vision she was beholding, out of +which she would presently awake! Such moments were followed by dark +melancholy. This life she was leading could not last, but would pass +away in some fearful shock of soul. Once she half believed herself +endowed with the curse of a hideous second-sight. Sitting with her +father and mother, silence all at once fell upon the room, and +everything was transfigured in a ghostly light. Distinctly she saw +her mother throw her head back and raise to her throat what seemed +to be a sharp, glistening piece of steel; then came a cry, and all +was darkened before her eyes in a rush of crimson mist. The cry she +had herself uttered, much to her parents' alarm; what her mother +held was in reality only a paper-knife, with which she had been +tapping her lips in thought. A slight attack of illness followed on +this disturbance, and it was some days before she recovered from the +shock; she kept to herself, however, the horrible picture which her +imagination had conjured up. + +She began to pay more frequent visits to her aunt Theresa, whom at +first she had seen very seldom. There was not the old confidence +between them. Maud shrank from any direct reference to the change in +herself, and Miss Bygrave spoke no word which could suggest a +comparison between past and present. Maud tried once more to draw +near to the pale, austere woman, whose life ever remained the same. +She was not repelled, but neither did any movement respond to her +yearning. She always came away with a sad heart. + +One evening in the week she looked forward to with eagerness; it was +that on which Waymark was generally expected. In Waymark's presence +she could forget those dark spirits that hovered about her; she +could forget herself, and be at rest in the contemplation of +strength and confidence. There was a ring in his voice which +inspired faith; whatever might be his own doubts and difficulties-- +and his face testified to his knowledge of both--it was so certain +that he had power to overcome them. This characteristic grew +stronger in him to her observation; he was a far other man now than +when she first knew him; the darkness had passed from his eyes, +which seemed always to look straight forward, and with perception of +an end he was nearing. Why could she not make opportunities of +speaking freely with him, alone with him? They were less near to +each other, it seemed, after a year of constant meeting, than in the +times when, personally all but strangers, they had corresponded so +frankly and unconventionally. Of course he came to the house for her +sake; it could not but be so; yet at times he seemed to pay so +little attention to her. Her mother often monopolised him through a +whole evening, and not apparently to his annoyance. And all the time +he had in his heart the message for which she longed; support and +comfort were waiting for her there, she felt sure, could he but +speak unrestrainedly. In herself was no salvation; but he had +already overcome, and why could she not ask him for the secret of +his confidence? Often, as the evening drew to an end, and he was +preparing to leave, an impatience scarcely to be repressed took hold +upon her; her face grew hot, her hands trembled, she would have +followed him from the room and begged for one word to herself had it +been possible. And when he was gone, there came the weakest moments +her life had yet known; a childish petulance, a tearful fretting, an +irritable misery of which she was ashamed. She went to her room to +suffer in silence, and often to read through that packet of his +letters, till the night was far spent. + +It had cost her much to leave London. She feared lest, during her +absence, something should occur to break off the wonted course of +things, and that Waymark might not resume his visits on their +return. After the feverish interval of those first weeks, she tried +sometimes to distract her thoughts by reading, and got from a +library a book which Waymark had recommended to her at their last +meeting--Rossetti's poems. These gave her much help in restoring +her mind to quietness. Their perfect beauty entranced her, and the +rapturous purity of ideal passion, the mystic delicacies of emotion, +which made every verse gleam like a star, held her for the time high +above that gloomy cloudland of her being, rife with weird shapes and +muffled voices. That Beauty is solace of life, and Love the end of +being,--this faith she would cling to in spite of all; she grasped +it with the desperate force of one who dreaded lest it should fade +and fail from her. Beauty alone would not suffice; too often it was +perceived as a mere mask, veiling horrors; but in the passion and +the worship of love was surely a never-failing fountain of growth +and power; this the draught that would leave no bitter aftertaste, +its enjoyment the final and all-sufficient answer to the riddle of +life. Rossetti put into utterance for her so much that she had not +dared to entrust even to the voice of thought. Her spirit and flesh +became one and indivisible; the old antagonism seemed at an end for +ever. + +Such dreamings as these naturally heightened Maud's dislike for the +kind of life her mother led, and she longed unspeakably for the time +of her return to London. They had been at Brighton already nearly a +month, when a new circumstance was added to her discomfort. As she +walked with her mother one day, they met their acquaintance, Mr. +Budge. This gentleman dined with them that evening at Mrs. Enderby's +invitation, and persuaded the latter to join a party he had made up +for an excursion on the following day. Maud excused herself. She did +not like Mr. Budge, and his demeanour during the evening only +strengthened her prejudice. He was unduly excited and fervent, and +allowed himself a certain freedom in his conversation with Mrs. +Enderby which Maud resented strongly. + +When they were once more in London, Maud did not win back the former +quiet of mind. Waymark came again as usual, but if anything the +distance between him and herself seemed more hopeless. He appeared +preoccupied; his talk, when he spoke with her, was of a more general +kind than formerly; she was conscious that her presence did not +affect him as it had done. She sank again into despondency; books +were insipid, and society irritated her. She began the habit of +taking long walks, an aimless wandering about the streets and parks +within her reach. One evening, wending wearily homewards, she was +attracted by the lights in a church in Marylebone Road, and, partly +for a few minutes' rest, partly out of a sudden attraction to a +religious service, she entered. It was the church of Our Lady of the +Rosary. She had not noticed that it was a Roman Catholic place of +worship, but the discovery gave her an unexpected pleasure. She was +soothed and filled with a sense of repose. Sinking into the attitude +of prayer, she let her thoughts carry her whither they would; they +showed her nothing but images of beauty and peace. It was with +reluctance that she arose and went back into the dark street, where +the world met her with a chill blast, sleet-laden. + +Our Lady of the Rosary received her frequently after this. But there +were days when the thought of repose was far from her. At one such +time, on an evening in November, a sudden desire possessed her mind; +she would go out into the streets of the town and see something of +that life which she knew only in imagination, the traffic of highway +and byway after dark, the masque of pleasure and misery of sin of +which a young girl can know nothing, save from hints here and there +in her reading, or from the occasional whispers and head-shakings of +society's gossip. Her freedom was complete; her absence, if noticed, +would entail no questions; her mother doubtless would conclude that +she was at her aunt Theresa's. So she clad herself in walking attire +of a kind not likely to attract observation, and set forth. The +tumult which had been in her blood all day received fresh impulse +from the excitement of the adventure. She had veiled her face, but +the veil hindered her observation, and she threw it back. First into +Edgware Road, then down Oxford Street. Her thoughts pointed to an +eastern district, though she feared the distance would be too great; +she had frequently talked with Waymark of his work in Litany Lane +and Elm Court, and a great curiosity possessed her to see these +places. She entered an omnibus, and so reached the remote +neighbourhood. Here, by inquiry of likely people, she found her way +to Litany Lane, and would have penetrated its darkness, but was +arrested by a sudden event characteristic of the locality. + +Forth from the alley, just before her, rushed a woman of hideous +aspect, pursued by another, younger, but, if possible, yet more +foul, who shrieked curses and threats. In the way of the fugitive +was a costermonger's stall; unable to check herself, the woman +rushed against this, overturning it, and herself falling among the +ruin. The one in pursuit, with a yell of triumph, sprang upon her +prostrate enemy, and attacked her with fearful violence, leaping on +her body, dashing her head against the pavement, seemingly bent on +murder. In a moment there was a thick crowd rushing round, amid +which Maud was crushed and swayed without possibility of disengaging +herself. The screams of the one woman, and the terrific objurgations +of the other, echoed through the street. From the words of those +about her, Maud understood that the two women were mother and +daughter, and that it was no rare occurrence for the younger woman +to fall just short of killing her parent. But only for a moment or +two could Maud understand anything; horror and physical oppression +overcame her senses. Her fainting caused a diversion in the crowd, +and she was dragged without much delay to the nearest doorstep. + +She was not long unconscious, and presently so far recovered as to +know that she was being helped to enter a cab. The cab began to +drive off. Then she saw that some one was sitting opposite her. "Who +is it?" she asked, trying to command herself, and to see clearly by +the light of the street lamps. At the sound of the voice which +answered, she started, and, looking again, at length recognised +Waymark. + +"Do you feel better?" he asked. "Are you able to go on homewards?" + +"Quite able," she answered, leaning back again, and speaking with +strange calmness. + +"What on earth is the meaning of this?" was Waymark's next inquiry. +"How came you here at this time?" + +"Curiosity brought me," Maud answered, with the same unnatural +composure. + +"Had you been there long?" + +"No; I had asked my way to Litany Lane, and all at once found myself +in the crowd." + +"Thank goodness I happened to be by! I had just been looking up a +defaulting tenant. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw you lying +in that doorway. Why didn't you ask me to come with you, and show +you these places?" + +"It would have been better," she said, with her eyes closed. Waymark +leaned back. Conversation was difficult in the noise of the vehicle, +and for a long time neither spoke. + +"I told the man to drive to Edgware Road," Waymark said then. "Shall +he go on to the house?" + +"No; I had rather walk the last part." + +They talked brokenly of the Lane and its inhabitants. When at length +Maud alighted Waymark offered his arm, and she just laid her hand +upon it. + +"I have seen dreadful things to-night," she said, in a voice that +still trembled; "seen and heard things that will haunt me." + +"You give too much weight to the impressions of the moment. That +world is farther removed from yours than the farthest star; you must +forget this glimpse of it." + +"Oh, I fear you do not know me; I do not know myself." + +He made no reply, and, on their coming near to the house, Maud +paused. + +"Mother's sending you a note this evening," she said, as she held +out her hand, "to ask you to come on Thursday instead of to-morrow. +She will be from home to-morrow night" + +"Shall you also be from home?" + +"I? No." + +"Then may I not come and see you?--Not if it would be +troublesome." + +"It would not, at all." + +"It is good of you. I will come." + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + +THE WILL TO LIVE + + + + +Waymark made his way to Paddington at the usual time on the +following evening, and found Maud alone. There was agitation in her +manner as she welcomed him, and she resumed her seat as if the +attitude of rest was needful to her. In reply to his inquiries about +her health, she assured him she was well, and that she felt no +painful results from the previous evening. Waymark also showed an +unusual embarrassment. He stood for some moments by the table, +turning over the leaves of a book. + +"I didn't know you had Rossetti," he said, without looking up. "You +never mentioned him." + +"I seem to have had no opportunity." + +"No. I too have many things that I have wanted to speak to you +about, but opportunity was wanting. I have sometimes been on the +point of asking you to let me write to you again." + +He glanced inquiringly at her. Her eyes fell, and she tried to +speak, but failed. Waymark went to a seat at a little distance from +her. + +"You do not look as well as when I met you in the summer," he said. +"I have feared you might be studying too hard. I hope you threw away +your books whilst you were at the sea-side." + +"I did, but it was because I found little pleasure in them. It was +not rest that took the place of reading." + +"Are your difficulties of a kind you could speak of to me?" he +asked, with some hesitation. + +She kept her eyes lowered, and her fingers writhed nervously on the +arm of the chair. + +"My only fear would be lest you should think my troubles unreal. +Indeed it is so hard to make them appear anything more than morbid +fancies. They are traceable, no doubt, to my earliest years. To +explain them fully, I should have to tell you circumstances of my +life which could have little interest for you." + +"Tell me--do," Waymark replied earnestly. + +"Will you let me?" she said, with a timid pleasure in her voice. "I +believe you could understand me. I have a feeling that you must have +experienced something of these troubles yourself, and have overcome +them. Perhaps you could help me to understand myself." + +"If I thought I could, it would give me great happiness." + +She was silent a little, then, with diffidence which lessened as she +went on, she related the history, as far as she knew it, of her +childhood, and described the growth of her mind up to the time when +she had left home to begin life as a governess. It was all very +simply, but very vividly, told; that natural command of impressive +language which had so struck Waymark in her letters displayed itself +as soon as she had gained confidence. Glimpses of her experience +Waymark had already had, but now for the first time he understood +the full significance of her early years. Whilst she spoke, he did +not move his eyes from her face. He was putting himself in her +position, and imagining himself to be telling his own story in the +same way. His relation, he knew, would have been a piece of more or +less clever acting, howsoever true; he would have been considering, +all the time, the effect of what he said, and, indeed, could not, on +this account, have allowed himself to be quite truthful. How far was +this the case with Maud Enderby? Could he have surprised the +faintest touch of insincerity in look or accent, it would have made +a world's difference in his position towards _her_. His instinct was +unfailing in the detection of the note of affected feeling; so much +the stronger the impression produced upon him by a soul unveiling +itself in the _naivete_ of genuine emotion. That all was +sincere he could have no doubt. Gradually he lost his critical +attitude, and at moments surprised himself under the influence of a +sympathetic instinct. Then he would lose consciousness of her words +for an interval, during which he pondered her face, and was wrought +upon by its strange beauty. The pure and touching spirituality of +Maud's countenance had never been so present to him as now; she was +pale with very earnestness, her eyes seemed larger than their wont, +there was more than womanly sweetness in the voice which so +unconsciously modulated itself to the perfect expression of all she +uttered. Towards the end, he could but yield himself completely to +the spell, and, when she ceased, he, like Adam at the end of the +angel's speech, did not at once perceive that her voice was silent. + +"It was long," she said, after telling the outward circumstances of +her life with her aunt, "before I came to understand how differently +I had been brought up from other children. Partly I began to see it +at the school where we first met; but it only grew quite clear to me +when I shared in the home life of my pupils in the country. I found +I had an entirely different view of the world from what was usual. +That which was my evil, I discovered to be often others' good; and +my good, their abhorrence. My aunt's system was held to be utterly +unchristian. Little things which I sometimes said, in perfect +innocence, excited grave disapproval. All this frightened me, and +made me even more reserved than I should have been naturally. + +"In my letters to you I began to venture for the first time to speak +of things which were making my life restless. I did little more than +hint my opinions; I wonder, in looking back, that I had the courage +to do even that. But I already knew that your mind was broader and +richer than mine, and I suppose I caught with a certain desperation +at the chance of being understood. It was the first opportunity I +had ever had of discussing intellectual things. With my aunt I had +never ventured to discuss anything; I reverenced her too much for +that; she spoke, and I received all she said. I thought that from +you I should obtain confirmation where I needed it, but your +influence was of the opposite kind. Your letters so abounded with +suggestion that was quite new to me, referred so familiarly to +beliefs and interests of which I was quite ignorant, showed such a +boldness in judging all things, that I drifted further and further +from certainty. The result of it all was that I fell ill. + +"You see now what it is that has burdened me from the day when I +first began to ask myself about my beliefs. I was taught to believe +that the world was sin, and that the soul only freed itself from sin +in proportion as it learned to live apart from and independently of +the world. Everything was dark because of sin; only in the still, +secret places of the soul was the light of purity and salvation. + +"I thought I had passed out of this. When I returned to London, and +began this new life, the burden seemed all at once lifted from me. I +could look here and there with freedom; the sky was bright above me; +human existence was cheerful and noble and justified in itself. I +began to learn a thousand things. Above all, my mind fixed on Art; +in that I thought I had found a support that would never fail me. + +"Oh, why could it not last? The clouds began to darken over me +again. I heard voices once which I had hoped were for ever silenced. +That sense of sin and horror came upon me last night in the streets. +I suffered dreadfully." + +She was silent, and, meeting Waymark's eyes so fixed on her own, +became conscious of the eagerness and fervour with which she had +spoken. + +"Have you any experience of such things?" she asked nervously. "Did +you ever suffer in the same way?" + +"It is all very strange," he said, without answering her question. +"This overpowering consciousness of sin is an anachronism in our +time. But, from the way in which you express yourself, I should have +thought you had been studying Schopenhauer. I suppose you know +nothing of him?" + +"Nothing." + +"Some of your phrases were precisely his. Your doctrine is simply +Pessimism, with an element of dogmatic faith added. With +Schopenhauer, the will to live is the root of sin; mortify this, +deny the first instincts of your being, and you approach +righteousness. Buddhism has the same system. And, in deducing all +this from the plain teachings of Christianity, I am disposed to +think you are right and consistent. Christianity _is_ pessimism, so +far as this world is concerned; we see that in such things as the +thanksgiving for a' person's death in the burial service, and the +prayer that the end of the world may soon come." + +He paused, and thought for a moment. + +"But all this," he resumed, rising from his seat, and going to stand +with one arm upon the mantelpiece, "is of course, with me, mere +matter of speculation. There are two allegories, which define +Pessimism and Optimism. First that of Adam and Christ. Adam falls +through eating of the tree of knowledge; in other words, sin only +comes with self-consciousness, sin _is_ the conscious enjoyment of +life. And, according to this creed, it can only be overcome by +abnegation, by the denial of the will to live. Accordingly, Christ +enters the world, and, representing Humanity, as Adam had done, +saves the world by denial, of Himself, even to death. The other +allegory is that of Prometheus. He also represents mankind, and his +stealing of the fire means man's acquirement of a conscious soul, +whereby he makes himself capable of sin. The gods put him in bondage +and torment, representing the subjection to the flesh. But +Prometheus is saved in a different way from Adam; not by +renunciation, but by the prowess of Hercules, that is to say, the +triumphant aspiration of Humanity. Man triumphs by asserting his +right to do so. Self-consciousness he claims as a good thing, and +embraces the world as his birthright. Here, you see, there is no +room for the crushing sense of sin. Sin, if anything, is weakness. +Let us rejoice in our strength, whilst we have it. The end of course +will come, but it is a wise man's part not to heed the inevitable. +Let us live whilst it is called to-day; we shall go to sleep with +all the better conscience for having used the hours of daylight." + +Maud listened with head bent. + +"My own temperament," Waymark went on, "is, I suppose, exceptional, +at all events among men who have an inner life. I never knew what +goes by the name of religious feeling; impulses of devotion, in the +common sense of the phrase, have always been strange to me. I have +known fear at the prospect of death; religious consolation, never. +Sin, above all, has been a word without significance to me. As a +boy, it was so; it is so still, now that I am self-conscious. I have +never been a deep student of philosophy, but the doctrine of +philosophical necessity, the idea of Fate, is with me an instinct. I +know that I could not have acted otherwise than I did in any +juncture of my life; I know that the future is beyond my control. I +shall do this, and avoid that, simply owing to a preponderance of +motives, which I can gauge, but not control. Certain things I hate +and shrink from; but I try to avoid, even in thought, such words as +vice and crime; the murderer could not help himself, and the saint +has no merit in his sanctity. Does all this seem horrible to you?" + +Maud raised her eyes, and looked steadily at him, but did not speak. +It was the gaze of one who tries humbly to understand, and longs to +sympathise. But there was a shadow of something like fear upon her +face. + +Waymark spoke with more earnestness. + +"You will not think me incapable of what we call noble thought and +feeling? I have in me the elements of an enthusiast; they might have +led me to strange developments, but for that cold, critical spirit +which makes me so intensely self-conscious. This restless scepticism +has often been to me a torment in something the same way as that +burden of which you speak. Often, often, I would so gladly surrender +myself to my instincts of passion and delight. I may change; I may +perhaps some day attain rest in an absolute ideal. If I do, it will +be through the help of one who shall become to me that ideal +personified, who shall embody all the purer elements of my nature, +and speak to me as with the voice of my own soul." + +She hung upon his words, and an involuntary sigh, born of the +intensity of the moment, trembled on her lips. + +"I have spoken to you," he said, after what seemed a long silence, +"with a sincerity which was the due return for your own. I could +have shown myself in a more pleasing light. You see how little able +I am to help you; the centre-thought of your being is wholly strange +to me. And for all that--may I speak my thought?--we are nearer +to each other than before." + +"Yes, nearer," she repeated, under her breath. + +"You think that? You feel that? I have not repelled you?" + +"You have not" + +"And if I stood before you, now, as you know me--egotistic, +sceptical, calm--and told you that you are the only being in whom +I have ever felt complete confidence, whose word and thought I felt +to be one; that you exercise more power over me than any other ever +did or shall; that life in your companionship might gain the unity I +long for; that in your presence I feel myself face to face with a +higher and nobler nature than my own, one capable of sustaining me +in effort and leading me to great results--" + +He became silent, for her face had turned deadly pale. But this +passed, and in her eyes, as they met his, trouble grew to a calm +joy. Without speaking, she held her hand to him. + +"You are not afraid," Waymark said, "to link your fate with mine? My +life is made up of uncertainties. I have no position; it may be a +long time before I can see even the promise of success in my work. I +have chosen that work, however, and by it I stand or fall. Have you +sufficient faith in me to wait with confidence?" + +"I have absolute faith in you. I ask no greater happiness than to +have a share in your aims. It will give me the strength I need, and +make my life full of hope." + +It had come then, and just as he had foreseen it would. It was no +result of deliberate decision, he had given up the effort to +discover his true path, knowing sufficiently that neither reason nor +true preponderance of inclination was likely to turn the balance. +The gathering emotion of the hour had united with opportunity to +decide his future. The decision was a relief; as he walked +homewards, he was lighthearted. + +On the way, he thought over everything once more, reviewing former +doubts from his present position. On the whole, he felt that fate +had worked for his happiness. + +And yet there was discontent. He had never known, felt that perhaps +he might never know, that sustained energy of imaginative and +sensual longing which ideal passion demands. The respectable +make-believe which takes the form of domestic sentiment, that +everyday love, which, become the servant of habit, suffices to +cement the ordinary household, is not the state in which such men as +Waymark seek or find repose; the very possibility of falling into it +unawares is a dread to them. If he could but feel at all times as he +had felt at moments in Maud's presence. It might be that the growth +of intimacy, of mutual knowledge, would make his love for her a more +real motive in his life. He would endeavour that it should be so. +Yet there remained that fatal conviction of the unreality of every +self-persuasion save in relation to the influences of the moment. To +love was easy, inevitable; to concentrate love finally on one object +might well prove, in his case, an impossibility. Clear enough to him +already was the likelihood of a strong revulsion of feeling when Ida +once more came back, and the old life--if it could be--was +resumed. Compassion would speak so loudly for her; her face, pale +and illuminated with sorrow, would throw a stronger spell than ever +upon his senses. Well, there was no help. Whatever would be, would +be. It availed nothing to foresee and scheme and resolve. + +And, in the same hour, Maud was upon her knees, in the silence of +her own chamber, shedding tears which were at once both sweet and +bitter, in her heart a tumult of emotion, joy and thanksgiving at +strife with those dark powers which shadowed her existence. _She_ +had do doubts of the completeness and persistency of her love. But +was not this love a sin, and its very strength the testimony of her +soul's loss? + + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + +SLIMY'S DAY + + + + +Waymark had written to Ida just after her imprisonment began, a few +words of such comfort as he could send. No answer came; perhaps the +prison rules prevented it. When the term was drawing to a close, he +wrote again, to let her know that he would meet her on the morning +of her release. + +It would be on a Tuesday morning. As the time drew near, Waymark did +his best to think of the matter quietly. The girl had no one else to +help her; it would have been brutality to withdraw and leave her to +her fate, merely because he just a little feared the effect upon +himself of such a meeting. And the feeling on her side? Well, that +he could not pretend to be ignorant of, and, in spite of everything, +there was still the same half-acknowledged pleasure in the thought. +He tried to persuade himself that he should have the moral courage +to let her as soon as possible understand his new position; he also +tried to believe that this would not involve any serious shock to +Ida. For all that, he knew only too well that man is "_ein +erbarmlicher Schuft_," and there was always the possibility +that he might say nothing of what had happened, and let things take +their course. + +On the Monday he was already looking forward to the meeting with +restlessness. Could he have foreseen that anything would occur to +prevent his keeping his promise, it would have caused him extreme +anxiety. But such a possibility never entered his thoughts, and, +shortly before mid-day, he went down to collect his rents as usual. + +The effect of a hard winter was seen in the decrease of the +collector's weekly receipts. The misery of cold and starvation was +growing familiar to Waymark's eyes, and scarcely excited the same +feelings as formerly; yet there were some cases in which he had not +the heart to press for the payment of rent, and his representations +to Mr. Woodstock on behalf of the poor creatures were more +frequently successful than in former times. Still, in the absence of +then but eviction, and Waymark more than once knew what ideal +philanthropy, there was nothing for it every now and it was to be +cursed to his face by suffering wretches whom despair made incapable +of discrimination. "Where are we to go?" was the oft-repeated +question, and the only reply was a shrug of the shoulders; +impossible to express oneself otherwise. They clung desperately to +habitations so vile that brutes would have forsaken them for cleaner +and warmer retreats in archway and by roadside. One family of seven, +a man and wife (both ill) with five children, could not be got out, +even when a man had been sent by Mr. Woodstock to remove the +window-frames and take the door away, furniture having already been +seized; only by force at length were they thrown into the street, to +find their way to perdition as best they might. Waymark did not +relish all this; it cost him a dark hour now and then. But it was +rich material; every item was stored up for future use. + +Among others, the man named Slimy just managed to hold his footing. +Times were hard with Slimy, that was clear; still, he somehow +contrived to keep no more than a fortnight behind with his rent. +Waymark was studying this creature, and found in him the strangest +matter for observation; in Slimy there were depths beyond Caliban, +and, at the same time, curious points of contact with average +humanity, unexpectedly occurring. He was not ungrateful for the +collector's frequent forbearance, and, when able to speak +coherently, tried at times to show this. Waymark had got into the +habit of sitting with him in his room for a little time, whenever he +found him at home. Of late, Slimy had seemed not quite in his usual +health; this exhibited itself much as it would in some repulsive +animal, which suffers in captivity, and tries to find a remote +corner when pains come on. At times Waymark experienced a certain +fear in the man's presence; if ever he met the dull glare of that +one bleared blood-shot eye, a chill ran through him for a moment, +and he drew back a little. Personal uncleanliness made Slimy's +proximity at all times unpleasant; and occasionally his gaunt, +grimed face grew to an expression suggestive of disagreeable +possibilities. + +On the present day, Waymark was told by a woman who lived on the +ground-floor that Slimy had gone out, but had left word with her, in +case the collector called, that he should be back in less than +half-an-hour. Doubtless this meant that the rent was not +forthcoming. The people who lived on the first floor were out as +usual, but had left their rent. Of the two rooms at the top, one was +just now vacant. Waymark went on to the two or three houses that +remained. On turning back, he met Slimy at the door; the man nodded +in his wonted way, grinning like a grisly phantom, and beckoned +Waymark to follow him upstairs. The woman below had closed her door +again, and in all probability no one observed the two entering +together. + +Waymark sat down amid the collection of nondescript articles which +always filled the room, and waited for the tenant to produce his +rent. Slimy seemed to have other things in mind. After closing the +door, he too had taken a seat, upon a heap of filthy sacking, and +was running his fingers through the shock of black hair which made +his beard. Waymark examined him. There was no sign of intoxication, +but something was evidently working in the man's mind, and his +breath came quickly, with a kind of asthmatic pant, from between his +thin lips, still parted in the uncanny grin. + +"Mr. Waymark," he began at length. + +"Well?" + +"I ain't got no rent." + +"That's bad. You're two weeks behind, you know." + +"Mr. Waymark." + +The single eye fixed itself on Waymark's face in a way which made +the latter feel uncomfortable. + +"Well?" + +"I ain't a-gem' to pay you no more rent, nor yet no one else, +maybe." + +"How's that?" + +"'Cos I ain't, and 'cos I'm tired o' payin' rent." + +"I'm afraid you'll find it difficult to get on without, though," +said Waymark, trying to get into the jocular tone he sometimes +adopted with Slimy, but scarcely succeeding. + +"Mr. Waymark." + +There was clearly something wrong. Waymark rose to his feet. Slimy +rose also, and at the same time took up a heavy piece of wood, +looking like a piece of a cart-shaft, which had lain on the floor +beside him. His exclamation elicited no answer, and he spoke again, +hoarsely as always, but with a calmness which contrasted strangely +with the words he uttered. + +"Do you believe in the devil and hell?" + +"Why?" returned Waymark, trying hard to command himself, and to face +down the man as a wild beast has been known to be out-gazed. + +"'Cos, by the devil himself, as 'll have me before many weeks is +over, and by the fires of hell, as 'll burn me, if you stir a step, +or speak a word above your breath, I'll bring you down just like +they do the bullocks. Y' understand!" + +Waymark saw that the threat was no idle one. He could scarcely have +spoken, had he wished. Slimy grinned at the effect he had produced, +and continued in the same matter-of-fact way. + +"It takes you back a bit, don't it! Never mind; you'll get over it. +I don't mean you no 'arm, Mr. Waymark, but I'll have to put you to a +little ill-convenience, that's all. See now; here's a bit o' stout +rope. With this 'ere, I'm a-goin' jist to tie you up, 'and an' foot, +you see. As I said before, if you give me any trouble, well, I'll +'ave to knock the senses out o' you fust, that's all." + +Vain to think of grappling with the man, whose strength Waymark knew +to be extraordinary. For a moment, the shock of alarm had deprived +him of thought and power of movement; but this passed, and he was +able to consider his position. He looked keenly into Slimy's face. +Had the man gone mad! His manner was scarcely consistent with that +supposition. As the alternative before him was of such a kind, +Waymark could but choose the lesser evil. He allowed Slimy to remove +from his shoulders the satchel which contained the sums of money he +had just collected. It was quietly put aside. + +"Now," said Slimy, with the same deliberation, "I have to arst you +just to lay down on the floor, just 'ere, see. It's better to lay +down quiet than to be knocked down, you see." + +Waymark mentally agreed that it was. His behaviour might seem +cowardly, but--to say nothing of the loathsomeness of a wrestle +with Slimy--he knew very well that any struggle, or a shout for +help, would mean his death. He hesitated, felt ashamed, but looked +at Slimy's red eye, and lay down. In taking the position indicated, +he noticed that three very large iron hooks had been driven firmly +into the floor, in a triangular shape. Just beside the lower one of +these his feet had to rest; his head lay between the other two. +Slimy now proceeded to bind his captive's feet together with strong +cord, and then attach them firmly to the hook; then bidding him sit +up for a moment, he made his hands fast behind his back; lastly, +Waymark being again recumbent, a rope was passed once round his +neck, and each end of it firmly fastened to one of the remaining +hooks. This was not a pleasant moment, but, the operation completed, +Waymark found that, though he could not move his head an inch, there +was no danger of strangulation as long as he remained quiet. In +short, he was bound as effectually as a man could be, yet without +much pain. The only question was, how long he would have to remain +thus. + +Slimy examined his work, and nodded with satisfaction. Then he took +up the satchel again, opened it, and for a few moments kept diving +his long black fingers into the coins, whilst his face was +transformed to an expression of grim joy. Presently, having +satisfied himself with the feel of the money, he transferred it all +to a pocket inside his ragged coat. + +"Now, Mr. Waymark," he recommenced, seating himself on the chair +Waymark had previously occupied, "I ain't quite done with +ill-conveniencin' you. I'm sorry to say I'll 'ave jist to put a bit +of a gag on, to prevent you from 'ollerin' out too soon; but before +I do that, I've jist got a word or two to say. Let's spend our last +time together in a friendly way." + +In spite of his alarm, Waymark observed with astonishment the change +which had come over the man's mode of speech. In all their previous +intercourse, Slimy had shown himself barely articulate; for the most +part it was difficult to collect meaning from his grunts and snarls. +His voice was still dreadfully husky, and indeed seemed unused to +the task of uttering so many words, but for all that he spoke +without hesitation, and with a reserve of force which made his +utterances all the more impressive. Having bespoken his hearer's +attention in this deliberate way, he became silent, and for a while +sat brooding, his fingers still busy among the coins in his pocket. + +"I don't rightly know how old I may be," he began at length, "but +it's most like about fifty; we'll say fifty. For fifty years I've +lived in this world, and in all that time I can't remember not one +single 'appy day, not one. I never knowed neither father nor mother; +I never knowed not a soul as belonged to me. Friends I '_ave_ had; +four of 'em; and their names was Brandy, Whisky, Rum, an' Gin. But +they've cost me a good deal, an' somehow they ain't quite what they +used to be. They used to make me merry for a while, now and then; +but they've taken now to burnin' up my inside, an' filling my 'ead +with devils; an' I'm gettin' afeard of 'em, an' they'll 'ave to see +me through to the end. + +"Fifty year," he resumed, after another interval of brooding, "an' +not one 'appy day. I was a-thinkin' of it over to myself, and, says +I, 'What's the reason on it?' The reason is, 'cos I ain't never 'ad +money. Money means 'appiness, an' them as never 'as money, 'll never +be 'appy, live as long as they may. Well, I went on a-sayin' to +myself, 'Ain't I to 'ave not _one_ 'appy day in all my life?' An' it +come to me all at once, with a flash like, that money was to be 'ad +for the trouble o' takin' it--money an' 'appiness." + +The bleared eye rolled with a sort of self-congratulation, and the +coins jingled more loudly. + +"A pound ain't no use; nor yet two pound; nor yet five pound. An' +five pound's what I never 'ad in fifty year. There's a good deal +more than five pound 'ere now, Mr. Waymark; I've reckoned it up in +my 'cad. What d' you think I'm a-goin' for to do with it?" + +He asked this question after a pause, with his head bent forward, +his countenance screwed into the most hideous expression of cunning +and gratified desire. + +"I'm a-goin'," he said, with the emphasis of a hoarse whisper, "I +a-goin' to drink myself dead! That's what I'm a-goin' to do, Mr. +Waymark. My four friends ain't what they used for to be, an' 'cos I +ain't got enough of 'em. It's unsatisfaction, that's what it is, as +brings the burnin' i' th' inside, an' the devils in the 'cad. Now +I've got money, an' for wunst in my life I'll be satisfied an' +'appy. And then I'll go where there's _real_ burnin', an' _real_ +devils--an' let 'em make the most o' Slimy!" + +Waymark felt his blood chill with horror. For years after, the face +of Slimy, as it thus glared at him, haunted him in dreamful nights. +Dante saw nothing more fearful in any circle of hell. + +"Well, I've said my say," Slimy remarked, rising from his seat. "An' +now, I'm sorry I'll 'ave to ill-convenience you, Mr. Waymark. You've +behaved better to me than most has, and I wouldn't pay you in +ill-convenience, if I could help it. But I must have time enough to +get off clear. I'll 'ave jist to keep you from 'ollerin'--this +way, see--but I won't hurt you; the nose is good enough for +breathin'. I'll see as some one comes to let you out before +to-morrow mornin'. An' now I'll say good-bye, Mr. Waymark. You won't +see Slimy in this world again, an' if I only knowed 'ow to say a +prayer, why, I'd pray as you mightn't never see him in the next." + +With one more look, a look at once of wild anticipation and friendly +regret, Slimy disappeared. + +The relief consequent upon the certainty that no worse could happen +had brought Waymark into a state of mind in which he could regard +his position with equanimity. The loss of the money seemed now to be +the most serious result of the affair. Slimy had promised that +release should come before the morning, and would doubtless keep his +word Waymark had a certain confidence in this, which a less +interested person would perhaps have deemed scarcely warrantable. In +the meantime, the discomfort was not extreme to lie gagged and bound +on a garret-floor for some few hours was, after all, a situation +which a philosopher might patiently endure, and to an artist it +might well be suggestive of hints. Breathing, to be sure, was not +easy, but became more so by degrees. + +But with the complete recollection of his faculties came back the +thought of what was involved in the question of release before the +following day. Early in the morning he had to be at the door of +Tothill Fields' Prison. How if his release were delayed, through +Slimy's neglect or that of the agent he might employ? As the first +hour passed slowly by, this became the chief anxiety in Waymark's +mind. It made him forgetful of the aching in his arms, caused by the +bind ing together of his hands behind him, and left no room for +anticipation of the other sufferings which would result from his +being left thus for an indefinite period. What would Ida do, if she +came out and found no one to meet her? + +His absence would make no one anxious, at all events not till more +than a day had gone by. Hitherto he had always taken his rents at +once to Mr. Woodstock's office, but the old gentleman was not likely +to be disturbed by his non appearance; it would be accounted for in +some simple way, and his coming expected on the following morning. +Then it was as good as certain that no one would come to Slimy's +room. And, by the by, had not there been a sound of the turning of a +key when Slimy took his departure? He could not be quite sure of +this; just then he had noticed all things so imperfectly. Was it +impossible to free a limb, or to ungag his mouth? He tried to turn +his head, but it was clear that throttling would be the only result +of any such effort; and the bonds on hands and feet were immoveable. +No escape, save by Slimy's aid. + +He determined not to face the possibility of Slimy's failing in his +word; otherwise, anxiety would make him desperate. He recognised +now, for the first time fully, how much it meant to him, that +meeting with Ida. The shock he had experienced on hearing her +sentence and beholding her face as she left the court had not, +apparently, produced lasting results; his weakness surprised him +when he looked back upon it. In a day or two he had come to regard +the event as finally severing him from Ida, and a certain calm +ensuing hereupon led to the phase which ultimately brought him to +Maud once more. But Waymark's introspection was at fault; he +understood himself less in proportion as he felt that the ground was +growing firmer under his feet. Even when he wrote the letter to the +prison, promising to meet Ida, he had acted as if out of mere +humanity. It needed a chance such as the present to open his eyes. +That she should quit the prison, and, not finding him, wander away +in blank misery and hopelessness, most likely embittered by the +thought that he had carelessly neglected to meet her, and so driven +to despair--such a possibility was intolerable. The fear of it +began to goad him in flesh and spirit. With a sudden violent +stringing of all his sinews, he wrenched at the bonds, but only with +the effect of exhausting himself and making the walls and ceiling +reel before his eyes. The attempt to utter cries resulted in nothing +but muffled moaning. Then, mastering himself once more, he resolved +to be patient. Slimy would not fail him. + +He tried not to think of Ida in any way, but this was beyond his +power. Again and again she came before his mind. When he endeavoured +to supplant her by the image of Maud Enderby, the latter's face only +irritated him. Till now, it had been just the reverse; the thought +of Maud had always brought quietness; Ida he had recognised as the +disturbing element of his life, and had learned to associate her +with his least noble instincts. Thinking of this now, he began to +marvel how it could have been so. Was it true that Maud was his good +angel, that in her he had found his ideal? He had forced himself to +believe this, now that he was in honour bound to her; yet she had +never made his pulse quicken, as it had often done when he had +approached Ida. True, that warmth of feeling had come to represent +merely a temptation to him; but was not that the consequence of his +own ambiguous attitude? Suppose he had not known Maud Enderby, how +would he then have regarded Ida, and his relations to her? Were +these in very deed founded on nothing but selfish feeling? Then he +reviewed all his acquaintanceship with her from the first, and every +detail of the story grew to a new aspect. + +Thinking of Ida, he found himself wondering how it was that Mr. +Woodstock appeared to take so much interest in her fate. Several +times during the past six months the old man had referred to her, +generally inquiring whether Waymark had written to or heard from +her. And, only two days ago, he had shown that he remembered the +exact date of her release, in asking whether Waymark meant to do +anything. Waymark replying that he intended to meet her, and give +her what assistance he could, the old gentleman had signified his +strong approval, and had even gone on to mention a house in the +neighbourhood of the office, where Ida could be lodged at first. A +room had accordingly been secured beforehand, and it was arranged +that Waymark should take her directly thither on the Tuesday +morning. In reviewing all this, Waymark found it more significant +than he had imagined. Why, he wondered, had Mr. Woodstock grown so +philanthrophic all at once? Why had he been so particular in making +sure that Waymark would meet the girl? Indeed, from the very +beginning of this affair, he had behaved with regard to it in a +manner quite unlike himself. Waymark had leisure now to ponder these +things, but could only conjecture explanations. + +The hours went by; a church clock kept him aware of their progress. +The aching in his arms became severe; he suffered from cold. The +floor was swept by a draught which seemed strong and keen as a blast +of east wind; it made his eyes smart, and he kept them closed, with +some slight hope that this might also have the effect of inducing +sleep. Sleep, however, held far aloof from him. When he had wearied +his brain with other thoughts, his attention began to turn to sounds +in the court below. There, just as it grew dusk, some children were +playing, and he tried to get amusement from their games. One of them +was this. A little girl would say to the rest:--"I sent my +daughter to the oil-shop, and the first thing she saw was C;" and +the task was to guess for what article this initial stood. +"Carrots!" cried one, but was laughed to scorn. "Candles!" cried +another, and triumphed. Then there were games which consisted in the +saying of strange incantations. The children would go round and +round, as was evident from the sound of their feet, chanting the +while:--"Sally, Sally Wallflower, Sprinkle in a pan; Rise, Sally +Wallflower, And choose your young man. Choose for the fairest one, +Choose for the best, Choose for the rarest one, That you love best!" +Upon this followed words and movements only half understood; then at +length broke out a sort of hymeneal chorus:--"Here stands a young +couple, Just married and settled: Their father and mother they must +obey. They love one another like sister and brother. So pray, young +couple, come kiss together!" Lastly, laughter and screams and +confusion. This went on till it was quite dark. + +Pitch dark in Slimy's room; only the faintest reflection on a +portion of the ceiling of lamplight from without. Waymark's +sufferings became extreme. The rope about his neck seemed to work +itself tighter; there were moments when he had to struggle for the +scant breath which the gag allowed him. He feared lest he should +become insensible, and so perhaps be suffocated. His arms were +entirely numbed; he could not feel that he was lying on them. Surely +Slimy's emissary would come before midnight. + +"One, two, three, four--twelve!" How was it that e had lost all +count of the hours since eight o'clock? Whether that had been sleep +or insensibility, Waymark could not decide. Intensity of cold must +have brought back consciousness; his whole body seemed to be frozen; +his eyes ached insufferably. Continuous thought had somehow become +an impossibility; he knew that Ida was constantly in his mind, and +her image clear at times in the dark before him, but he could not +think about her as he wished and tried to do. Who was it that seemed +to come between her and him?--some one he knew, yet could not +identify. Then the hours sounded uncertainly; some he appeared to +have missed. There, at length, was seven. Why, this was morning; and +Slimy had promised that he should be set free before this. What was +it that tortured his struggling brain so? A thought he strove in +vain for a time to grasp. The meaning flashed upon him. By a great +effort he regained complete consciousness; mind alone seemed to be +left to him, his body was dead. Was he, then, really to be prevented +from keeping his promise to Ida? All the suffering of his previous +life amassed was nothing to what Waymark endured during the +successive quarters of this hour. His brain burned: his eyes had no +power to gather the growing daylight. That one name was his single +perception; the sound of it, uttered incessantly in thought, alone +seemed to keep him conscious. He could feel something slightly warm +on his cheeks, but did not know that it was the streaming of tears +from his darkened eyes. Then he lost consciousness once more. + +The clock struck eight. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + +FREEDOM + + + + +Mr. Woodstock was not so indifferent with regard to Waymark's +failure to bring the rents as the young man supposed. Under ordinary +circumstances he probably would have waited without any anxiety till +the following day; already on a previous occasion Waymark had +collected on Tuesday instead of Monday, though not without notice of +his intention to do so. But Mr. Woodstock had quite special reasons +for wishing to see his agent before the following morning; he +desired to assure himself once more that Waymark would not fail to +be at the prison punctually. When the afternoon passed without the +usual visit, he grew uneasy; he was incapable of attending to +matters of business, and walked up and down his office with +impatient step. Such a mood was extraordinary in Mr. Woodstock; he +had often waxed restive in this or that business difficulty; was, +indeed, anything but remarkable for equanimity under trial; but his +state of mind was quite different at present, and exhibited itself +in entirely different ways. He neither swore nor looked black; his +was the anxiety of a man who has some grave interest at stake +wherein the better part of his nature is concerned. + +At five o'clock he took a cab, and went off to Waymark's lodgings in +Chelsea. Here he learned that Waymark had left home at the usual +time, and had not yet returned. Just as he was speaking with the +landlady at the door, another gentleman came up on the same errand. +Mr. Woodstock remembered Julian Casti, and held out his hand to him. +Casti looked ill; his handsome features had wasted, and his fair +complexion was turned to a dull, unhealthy, yellowish hue. It was a +comparatively warm day for the season, but his thin frame was +closely muffled up, and still he seemed to be shrinking under the +air. + +"Have you any idea where he can be?" Mr. Woodstock asked, as they +turned away together. + +"None whatever. I must see him to-night, though, if possible." + +"Ha! And I too." + +As he spoke Mr. Woodstock looked at the other keenly, and something +seemed to suggest itself to him. + +"I'm going to see if he's been for the rents as usual. Would you +care to come with me?" + +Julian looked surprised, but assented. They got into the cab +together, and alighted at the end of Litany Lane, having scarcely +spoken on the way. Inquiries here showed that the collector had gone +his rounds, and departed, it was said, in the ordinary way. + +"Have you an hour to spare, Mr. Casti?" asked the old gentleman, +turning suddenly after a moment's reflection. + +"Certainly." + +"Then I wish you'd just come on with me to St. John's Street Road. +It's possible you may have it in your power to do me a great +service, if Waymark doesn't turn up. And yet, ten to one, I shall +find him waiting for me. Never mind, come along if you can spare the +time; you'll find him the sooner." + +Mr. Woodstock tried to pooh-pooh his own uneasiness; yet, totally +improbable as it seemed that Waymark should disappear at such a +juncture, the impatience of the afternoon had worked him into a most +unwonted fit of nervousness. Doubts and suspicions which would +ordinarily never have occurred to him filled his mind. He was again +quite silent till his office was reached. + +Waymark had not been. They walked upstairs together, and Mr. +Woodstock asked his companion to be seated. He himself stood, and +began to poke the fire. + +"Do you live in Chelsea still?" he suddenly asked. + +"Yes." + +"I have left word at Waymark's lodgings that he is to come straight +here whenever he returns. If he's not here by midnight, should I +find you up if I called--say at half-past twelve or so?" + +"I would in any case wait up for you, with pleasure?" + +"Really," said Mr. Woodstock, who could behave with much courtesy +when he chose, "I must apologise for taking such liberties. Our +acquaintance is so slight. And yet I believe you would willingly +serve me in the matter in hand. Perhaps you guess what it is. Never +mind; I could speak of that when I came to you, if I have to come." + +Julian's pale cheek had flushed with a sudden warmth. He looked at +the other, and faced steadily the gaze that met his own. + +"I am absolutely at your disposal," he said, in a voice which he +tried to make firm, though with small success. + +"I am obliged to you. And now you will come and have something to +eat with me; it is my usual time." + +Julian declined, however, and almost immediately took his leave. He +walked all the way to Chelsea, regarding nothing that he passed. +When he found himself in his lodgings he put a match to the +ready-laid fire, and presently made himself some tea. Then he sat +idly through the evening, for the most part staring into the glowing +coals, occasionally taking up a book for a few minutes, and throwing +it aside again with a sigh of weariness. As it got late he shivered +so with cold, in spite of the fire, that he had to sit in his +overcoat. When it was past midnight he began to pace the room, +making impatient gestures, and often resting his head upon his hands +as if it ached. It must have been about a quarter to one when there +was the sound of a vehicle pulling up in the street below, followed +by a knock at the door. Julian went down himself, and admitted Mr. +Woodstock. + +"What can it mean?" he asked anxiously, when they had walked up to +the room together. "What has become of him?" + +"Don't know. I stopped at his place on the way here." + +"Don't you fear some mischance? With all that money--" + +"Pooh! It's some absurd freak of his, I'll warrant. He doesn't care +how much anxiety he gives other people." + +Mr. Woodstock was excited and angry. + +"But he will certainly go--go _there_ in the morning, wherever he +is," said Julian. + +"I'm not so sure of that. I believe it's on that very account that +he's keeping out of the way!" + +He smote his fist on the palm of the other hand with the emphasis of +conviction. Julian looked at him with an expression of wonder. There +was a short silence, and then Mr. Woodstock began to speak more +calmly. The conversation lasted only about a quarter of an hour. Mr. +Woodstock then returned to his cab, which had waited, and Julian +bade him good night at the door. + +At six o'clock Julian arose. It was still quite dark when he left +the house, and the air was piercing. But he did not mind the weather +this morning. His step had a vigour very different from the trailing +weariness of the night before, and he looked straight before him as +he walked. There was a heat on his forehead which the raw breath of +the morning could not allay. Before he had gone half a mile, he +flung open his overcoat, as if it oppressed him. It was in the +direction of Westminster that he walked. Out of Victoria Street he +took the same turn as on one miserable night, one which he had taken +on many a night since then. But he was far too early at the prison +gate. He strayed about the little streets of the neighbourhood, his +eyes gazing absently in this or that direction, his hot breath +steaming up in the grey light. When it was drawing near the time, he +made some inquiries from a policeman whom he passed. Then he went to +the spot whither he was directed, and watched. Two or three people, +of poor appearance, were also standing about, waiting. Julian kept +apart from them. First, a miserable old woman, huddling herself in a +dirty shawl; looking on all sides with a greedy eye; hastening off +no one knew whither. Then two young girls, laughing aloud at their +recovered liberty; they repaired at once to the nearest +public-house. Then a figure of quite different appearance, coming +quickly forward, hesitating, gazing around; a beautiful face, calm +with too great self-control, sad, pale. Towards her Julian advanced. + +"Mr. Waymark was unavoidably prevented from coming," he said +quickly. "But he has taken rooms for you. You will let me go with +you, and show you the house?" + +"Thank you," was Ida's only reply. + +They walked together into the main street, and Julian stopped the +first empty cab that passed. As he sat opposite to her, his eyes, in +spite of himself, kept straying to her face. Gazing at her, Casti's +eyes grew dim. He forced himself not to look at her again till the +cab stopped. + +"They are prepared for you here," he said, as they stood on the +pavement. "Just give your name. And--you will not go away? You +will wait till some one calls?" + +Ida nodded. + +" No; but your word," Julian urged anxiously. "Promise me." + +"I promise." + +She went up to the door and knocked. Julian walked quickly away. At +the end of the street Mr. Woodstock was waiting. + +"What's the matter?" he asked, examining the young man anxiously. + +"Nothing--nothing!" + +"Does she seem well?" + +"I think so; yes," Casti replied, in a stifled voice. Then he asked +hurriedly, "Where can Waymark be? What does it all mean?" + +Mr. Woodstock shook his head, looking annoyed. + +"I am convinced," Julian said, "that something is wrong. Surely it's +time to make inquiries." + +"Yes, yes; I will do so. But you look downright ill. Do you feel +able to get home? If I'd thought it would upset you like this--" + +Mr. Woodstock was puzzled, and kept scrutinising the other's face. + +"I shall go home and have a little rest," Julian said. "I didn't get +much sleep last night, that's all. But I must hear about Waymark." + +"You shall. I'll warrant he turns up in the course of the day. Don't +be anxious: I'll get to work as soon as possible to find him; but, +depend upon it, the fellow's all right." + +They shook hands, and Julian took his way homewards. Mr. Woodstock +went to the house which Ida had just entered. He knocked lightly, +and a woman opened to him and led him into a sitting-room on the +ground-floor. + +"I'll just have a cup of coffee, Mrs. Sims," he said. "Does she seem +to care for her breakfast?" + +"I'm afraid not, sir; she looks tired out, and poorly like." + +"Yes, yes; the long journey and her troubles. Make her as +comfortable as you can. I'll make myself at home with the paper here +for an hour or so. Just see if she cares to lie down for a little; +If so I won't disturb her." + +Abraham did not devote much attention to the news. He sat before the +fire, a cup of coffee within reach on the mantel piece, his legs +fully stretched out before him, his favourite attitude when +thinking. In spite of his fresh complexion and active limbs, you +would have seen, had you watched him in his present mood, that Mr. +Woodstock was beginning to age. Outwardly he was well-preserved-- +few men of his years anything like so well. But let the inner man +become visible during a fit of brooding, and his features made +evident the progress of years. His present phase of countenance was +a recent development; the relaxed lines brought to light a human +kindliness not easily discoverable in the set expression of +wide-awake hours. At present there was even tenderness in his eyes, +and something of sad recollection. His strong mouth twitched a +little at times, and his brows contracted, as if in self-reproach. +When he returned to himself, it was with a sigh. He sat for about an +hour; then the woman presented herself again, and told him that Miss +Starr had been persuaded to lie down. It seemed likely she might +sleep. + +"Very well," said Mr. Woodstock, rising. "I'll go to the office. +Send some one round when she's stirring, will you?" + +Ida, to get rid of her troublesome though well-meaning attendant, +had promised to lie down, but she had no need of sleep. Alone, she +still kept her chair by the fire, sitting like one worn out with +fatigue, her hands upon her lap, her head drooping, her eyes fixed +on vacancy. She was trying to think, but thoughts refused to come +consecutively, and a dull annoyance at this inability to reason upon +her position fretted her consciousness. Not with impunity can the +human mind surrender itself for half a year to unvaried brooding +upon one vast misery; the neglected faculties revenge themselves by +rusting, and will not respond when at length summoned. For months +Ida's thoughts had gone round and round about one centre of anguish, +like a wailing bird circling over a ravaged nest. The image of her +mental state had been presented by an outward experience with which +she became familiar. Waking long before daylight, she would lie with +her eyes directed to the little barred window, and watch till there +came the first glimmer of dawn. Even so was it her sole relief in +the deep night of her misery to look forward for that narrow gleam +of hope--her ultimate release. As the day approached, she made it +the business of her thoughts to construct a picture of the events it +would bring. Even before hearing from Waymark, she had been sure +that he would meet her; Waymark and freedom grew identical images; +to be free meant to see him awaiting her and to put herself +absolutely in his hands. Now that everything had turned out +differently from what she had grown to anticipate with certainty, +she found herself powerless to face the unexpected. Why had Waymark +failed her?--she could do no more than repeat the question a +thousand times, till the faculty of self-communing forsook her. It +was as though the sun should fail one morning to rise upon the +world, and men should stand hopeless of day for ever. + +She wondered vaguely whither she had been brought. At one moment she +seemed to have been waiting an eternity in this unknown room, +Julian's face and voice unspeakably remote; then again she would +look round and wonder that she no longer saw the hare walls and +barred window of her cell, the present seeming only a dream. All the +processes of her mind were slow, sinewless. She tried to hope for +something, to expect that something would happen, but could not +summon the energy. Resentment, revolt, bitterness of spirit, of +these things she knew just as little. They had been strong enough +within her at first, but how long ago that seemed! She had no +thought of time in the present; to sit waiting for an hour meant as +little as to wait five minutes; such was the habit that had become +impressed upon her by interminable days and nights. When at length +she heard a knock at the door it filled her with fear; she started +to her feet and looked with unintelligent eyes at the woman who +again presented herself. + +"Do you feel better, 'm?" the landlady asked. "Have you rested +yourself?" + +"Yes, thank you." + +The woman went away; then came another knock, and Mr. Woodstock +entered the room. He closed the door behind him, and drew near. She +had again started up, and did not move her eyes from his face. + +"Have you any recollection of me?" Abraham asked, much embarrassed +in her presence, his voice failing to be as gentle as he wished +through his difficulty in commanding it. + +Ida had recognised him at once. He had undergone no change since +that day when she saw him last in Milton Street, and at this moment +it was much easier for her to concentrate her thoughts upon bygone +things than to realise the present. + +"You are Abraham Woodstock," she said very coldly, the resentment +associated with the thought of him being yet stronger than the dead +habit which had but now oppressed her. + +"Yes, I am. And I am a friend of Osmond Waymark. I should like to +talk a little with you, if you'll let me." + +The old man found it so hard to give expression to the feelings that +possessed him. Ida concluded at once that he came with some hostile +purpose, and the name of Waymark was an incentive to her numbed +faculties. + +"How can you be a friend of Osmond Waymark?" she asked, with cold +suspicion. + +"Didn't he ever mention my name to you?" + +"Never." + +Waymark had in truth always kept silence with Ida about his +occupations, though he had spoken so freely of them to Maud. He +could not easily have explained to himself why he had made this +difference, though it had a significance. Mr. Woodstock was almost +at a loss how to proceed. He coughed, and moved his foot uneasily. + +"I have known him all his life, for all that," he said. "And it was +through him I found you." + +"Found me?" + +"It'll seem very strange, what I have to tell you.--You were a +little girl when I saw you last, and you refused to come with me. +Had you any idea why I asked you?" + +"I hadn't then." + +"But you have thought of it since?" + +Ida looked at him sternly, and turned her eyes away again. The +belief that he was her father had always increased the resentment +with which she recalled his face. + +"I am your grandfather," Abraham said gravely. "Your mother was my +daughter." + +A change came over her countenance; she gazed at him with wonder. + +"Who did you think I was?" he asked. + +She hesitated for a moment, then, instead of replying, said: + +"You behaved cruelly to my poor mother." + +"I won't deny it," the old man returned, mastering his voice with +difficulty. "I ought to have been more patient with her. But she +refused to obey me, and I can't help my nature. I repented it when +it was too late." + +Ida could not know what it cost him to utter these abrupt sentences. +He seemed harsh, even in confining his harshness. She was as far +from him as ever. + +"I can't do anything for _her_," Mr. Woodstock continued, trying to +look her in the face. "But you are her child, and I want to do now +what I ought to have done long ago. I've come here to ask you if +you'll live in my house, and be like a child of my own." + +"I don't feel to you as a child ought," Ida said, her voice changing +to sadness. "You've left it too late." + +"No, it isn't too late!" exclaimed the other, with emotion he could +not control. "You mustn't think of yourself, but of me. You have all +your life before you, but I'm drawing near to the end of mine. +There's no one in the world belonging to me but you. I have a +_right_ to--" + +"No right! no right!" Ida interrupted him almost passionately. + +"Then _you_ have a duty," said Abraham, with lowered voice. "My mind +isn't at ease, and it's in your power to help me. Don't imitate me, +and put off doing good till it is too late. I don't ask you to feel +kindly to me; all I want is that you'll let me take you to my home +and do all I can for you, both now and after I'm gone." + +There was pathos in the speech, and Ida felt it. + +"Do you know where I came from this morning ?" she asked, when both +had been silent for some moments. + +"I know all about it. I was at the trial, and I did my best for you +then." + +"Do you believe that I robbed that woman?" Ida asked, leaning +forward with eager eyes and quickened breath. + +"Believe it! Not I! No one believes it who knows anything about her. +Waymark said he wouldn't have believed it if all the courts in +England found you guilty." + +"_He_ said that?" she exclaimed. Then, as if suddenly becoming +clearer about her position: "Where is Mr. Waymark? Why didn't he +meet me as he promised?" + +Abraham hesitated, but speedily made up his mind that it would be +best to speak the truth. + +"I know as little as you do. He ought to have come to me yesterday, +but he didn't, and I can't discover him. I got Mr. Casti to meet you +instead." + +The keenest trouble manifested itself on Ida's countenance. She +asked questions in rapid succession, and thus elicited an +explanation of all the circumstances hitherto unknown to her. + +"Have you been through the houses?" she inquired, all her native +energy restored by apprehension. "Haven't you thought that he may +have been robbed and--" + +She stopped, overcome by sudden weakness, and sank into the chair. + +"Come, come, it isn't so bad as all that," said the old man, +observing her closely. "He may turn up at any moment; all sorts of +unexpected things may have happened. But I'll go again to his +lodgings, and if I can't hear anything there, I'll set the police to +work. Will you promise me to wait here quietly?" + +"No, that I can't do. I want to move about; I must do something. Let +me go with you to look for him." + +"No, no; that'll never do, Ida." + +The power of speaking tenderly seemed to have been given to him all +at once; this and his calling her "Ida," struck so upon the girl's +agitated feelings that she began to sob. + +"Let me, let me go with you! I will forget everything--I will be +your child--I will try to love you.--" + +She was as weak as water, and would have sunk to the ground if +Abraham had not given her his support just in time. He could not +find words to soothe her, but passed his hand very tenderly over her +head. + +"We are losing time!" she exclaimed, forcing herself into an +appearance of calmness. "Come at once." + + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + +ELM COURT + + + + +In Beaufort Street they only learnt that Waymark had not yet been +home. Thence they drove to the east, and stopped at a +police-station, where Abraham saw the inspector. The latter +suggested that Mr. Woodstock should go through all the houses which +Waymark would have visited; if that search proved fruitless, the +police would pursue the matter. Ida insisted on being allowed to +accompanying him when the cab stopped at the end of Litany Lane. She +gazed about her like one who had been suddenly set down in a new +country; this squalor and vileness, so familiar to her of old, +affected her strangely under the present conditions. The faces of +people at whom she looked remained fresh in her memory for years +after; the long confinement and the excitement which now possessed +her resulted in preternatural acuteness of observation. Abraham +spoke first with several people whom he had already questioned about +Waymark, but they had heard nothing since. + +"Are you strong enough for this?" he asked Ida. "Hadn't you better +go back to the cab and wait for me!" + +"Don't ask me to do that!" she entreated earnestly. "I _must_ be +active. I have strength now for anything." + +Just as she spoke, Mr. Woodstock became aware of a disturbance of +some kind in a duty little tobacconist's shop close at hand. There +was a small crowd at the door, and the sound of wrangling voices +came from within. Such an occurrence was too ordinary to suggest any +special significance, but Abraham would not pass without making some +inquiry. Begging Ida to stand where he left her, he pushed his way +into the shop and listened to what was going on. A lad, well known +in these parts as "Lushy Dick," was, it appeared, charging the +tobacconist with cheating him; he alleged that he had deposited half +a sovereign on the counter in payment for a cigar, and the shopman +had given him change as if for sixpence, maintaining stoutly that +sixpence had been the coin given him, and no half-sovereign at all. +When Mr. Woodstock entered, the quarrel had reached a high pitch. + +"Arf a quid!" the tobacconist was exclaiming contemptuously. "I'd +like to know where such as you's likely to git arf a quid from." + +Lushy Dick, stung to recklessness by a succession of such remarks, +broke out in vehement self-justification. + +"_Would_ yer like to know, y' old ----! Then yer shall, ---- soon! +I'm ---- if I don't tell jist the ---- truth, an' take the ---- +consequences. It was Slimy as give it me, an' if yer want to know +where Slimy got it, yer 'll 'ave to ---- well find out, 'cos I don't +know myself." + +"And how came Slimy to give you half a sovereign?" Mr. Woodstock at +once interposed, speaking with authority. + +"Is that you, Mr. Woodstock?" exclaimed the boy, turning round +suddenly at the sound of the voice. "Now, look 'ere, I'm a-goin' to +make a ---- clean breast of it. This 'ere ---- bloke's been a +ringin' the changes on me; I'll show him up, an' ---- well chance +it. Slimy give me a quid afore he took his ---- hook." + +The lad had clearly been drinking, but had not yet reached the +incoherent stage. He spoke in great excitement, repeating constantly +his determination to be revenged upon the tobacconist at all costs. +It was with difficulty that Mr. Woodstock kept him to the point. + +"Why Slimy give it me? Well, I'll jist tell yer, Mr. Woodstock. It +was to do a job for him, which I never done it after all. Slimy told +me as 'ow I was to go to your orffice at ten o'clock last night, 'an +tell you from him as he'd no more 'casion for his room, so he'd sent +yer the key, an' yer'd better come as soon as possible an' see as +he'd left everything square behind him, an' 'cos he was afraid he'd +locked in a friend o' yourn by mistake an' in his hurry." + +"And why the devil didn't you come?" exclaimed Abraham, looking at +him in angry surprise. + +"'Cos why, Mr. Woodstock? Well, I'll tell yer just the bloomin' +truth, an' charnce it. I loss the key out o' my pocket, through +'avin' a ---- hole in it, so I thought as 'ow I'd best just say +nothink about neither Slimy nor his room, an' there y'ave it!" + +Abraham was out of the shop again on the instant. + +"I've found him," he said to Ida. "A house round there in the +court." + +She walked quickly by his side, a cluster of people following them. +Fortunately, a policeman was just coming from the opposite end of +Litany Lane, and Mr. Woodstock secured his services to keep the mob +from entering the house where Slimy had lived. As soon as they got +inside, the old man begged Ida to remain in a room on the ground +floor whilst he went upstairs, and this she consented to do. +Reaching the garret, he tried the handle of the door, without +effect. Knocking and calling produced no response, and within all +was perfectly quiet. Hesitating no longer, he drew back as far as +the wall would allow him, and ran with his foot against the door. +The rotten woodwork cracked, and a second onset forced the lock +away. In the middle of the floor Waymark lay, just as Slimy had left +him nearly twenty-four hours ago. Abraham scarcely ventured to draw +near; there was no motion in the fettered body, and he dreaded to +look closely at the face. Before he could overcome this momentary +fear, there was a quick step behind him, and, with a smothered cry, +Ida had rushed into the room. She was on her knees beside Waymark, +her face close down to his. + +"He is alive!" she cried. "His eyes have opened. A knife! Cut these +cords!" + +That was soon accomplished, but Waymark lay motionless; he showed +that he understood what was going on, but he was quite blind, his +voice had all but gone, and a dead man could as soon have risen. Ida +still knelt by him, chafing one of his hands; when he tried to +speak, she gently raised his head and let it rest upon her lap. In a +few minutes Abraham had procured a glass of spirits, and, after +drinking this, Waymark was able to make himself understood. + +"Who is touching me?" he asked in a hoarse whisper. "It is all dark. +Whose hand is this?" + +"It's Ida," Abraham said, when she herself remained silent. "She and +I have had a rare hunt for you." + +"Ida?" + +He endeavoured to raise himself, but in vain. All he could do was to +press her hand to his heart. In the meantime the policeman had come +up, and with his help Waymark was carried downstairs, out into the +court, and thence to the end of Litany Lane, where the cab still +waited. + +. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + +Four days after this the following paragraph appeared in the morning +papers:-- + +"The man wanted on a charge of robbery with violence in the East +End, and who appears to be known only by the nickname of Slimy, was +yesterday afternoon discovered by the police in a cellar in +Limehouse. He seems to have been in hiding there since the +perpetration of the crime, only going out from time to time to +purchase liquor at public-houses in the neighbourhood. Information +given by the landlord of one of these houses led to his arrest. He +was found lying on the stone floor, with empty bottles about him, +also a quantity of gold and silver coins, which appeared to have +rolled out of his pocket. He was carried to the police-station in an +insensible state, but on being taken to the cell, came to himself, +and exhibited symptoms of delirium tremens. Two officers remained +with him, but the assistance of a third shortly became necessary, +owing to the violence of his struggles. Towards midnight his fury +lessened, and. after a very brief interval of unconsciousness, the +wretched creature expired." + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + +NEW PROSPECTS + + + + +Mr. Woodstock's house at Tottenham was a cheerful abode when the +months of early summer came round, and there was thick leafage +within the shelter of the old brick wall which shut it off from the +road. + +For the first time in his life he understood the attractions of +domesticity. During the early months of the year, slippers and the +fireside after dinner; now that the sunset-time was growing warm and +fragrant, a musing saunter about the garden walks; these were the +things to which his imagination grew fond of turning. Nor to these +only; blended with such visions of bodily comfort, perchance lending +to them their chief attraction, was the light of a young face, grave +always, often sad, speaking with its beautiful eyes to those simpler +and tenderer instincts of his nature which had hitherto slept. In +the presence of Ida (who was now known, by his wish, as Miss +Woodstock) Abraham's hard voice found for itself a more modest and +musical key. + +He began--novel sensation--to look upon himself as a respectable +old gentleman; the grey patches on his head were grateful to him +from that point of view. If only he had been able to gather round +his granddaughter and himself a circle of equally respectable +friends and acquaintances, he would have enjoyed complete +satisfaction. Two or three at most there were, whom he could venture +to bring over with him from the old life to the new. For Ida he +could as yet provide no companionship at all. + +But Ida did not feel the want. Since the day of her coming to the +new house her life had been very full; so much was passing within, +that she desired to escape, rather than discover, new distractions +in the world around her. For the week or so during which Waymark had +lain ill, her courage had triumphed over the sufferings to which she +was herself a prey; the beginning of his recovery brought about a +reaction in her state, and for some days she fell into a depressed +feebleness almost as extreme as on the first morning of her freedom. +It distressed her to be spoken to, and her own lips were all but +mute. Mr. Woodstock sometimes sat by her whilst she slept, or seemed +to be sleeping; when she stirred and showed consciousness of his +presence, he left her, so great was his fear of annoying her, and +thus losing the ground he had gained. Once, when he was rising to +quit the room, Ida held out her hand as if to stay him. She was +lying on a sofa, and had enjoyed a very quiet sleep. + +"Grandfather," she murmured, turning to face him. It was the first +time she had addressed him thus, and the old man's eyes brightened +at the sound. + +"Are you better for the sleep, Ida?" he asked, taking the hand she +had extended. + +"Much; much better. How the sun shines!" + +"Yes, it's a fine day. Don't you think you could go out a little?" + +"I think I should like to, but I can't walk very far, I'm afraid." + +"You needn't walk at all, my dear. Your carriage shall be here +whenever you like to order it." + +"My carriage?" + +The exclamation was like a child's pleased wonder. She coloured a +little, and seemed ashamed. + +"How is Mr. Waymark?" was her next question. + +"Nothing much amiss now, I think. His eyes are painful, he says, and +he mustn't leave the room yet, but it won't last much longer. Shall +we go together and see him?" + +She hesitated, but decided to wait till he could come down. + +"But you'll go out, Ida, if I order the carriage?" + +"Thank you, I should like to." + +That first drive had been to Ida a joy unspeakable. To-day for the +first time she was able to sweep her mind clear of the dread shadow +of brooding, and give herself up to simple enjoyment of the hour. + +Abraham went and told Waymark of all this as soon as they got back. +In the exuberance of his spirits he was half angry with the invalid +for being gloomy. Waymark had by this time shaken off all effects of +his disagreeable adventure, with the exception of a weakness of the +eyes; but convalescence did not work upon him as in Ida's case. He +was morose, often apparently sunk in hopeless wretchedness. When +Abraham spoke to him of Ida, he could scarcely be got to reply. +Above all, he showed an extreme impatience to recover his health and +go back to the ordinary life. + +"I shall be able to go for the rents next Monday," he said to Mr. +Woodstock one day. + +"I should have thought you'd had enough of that. I've found another +man for the job." + +"Then what on earth am I to do?" Waymark exclaimed impatiently. "How +am I to get my living if you take that work away from me?" + +"Never mind; we'll find something," Abraham returned. "Why are you +in such a hurry to get away, I should like to know?" + +"Simply because I can't always live here, and I hate uncertainty." + +There was something in the young man's behaviour which puzzled Mr. +Woodstock; but the key to the puzzle was very shortly given him. On +the evening of the same day he presented himself once more in +Waymark's room. The latter could not see him, but the first sound of +his voice was a warning of trouble. + +"Do you feel able to talk?" Abraham asked, rather gruffly. + +"Yes. Why?" + +"Because I want to ask you a few questions. I've just had a call +from that friend of yours, Mr. Enderby, and something came out in +talk that I wasn't exactly prepared for." + +Waymark rose from his chair. + +"Why didn't you tell me," pursued Mr. Woodstock, "that you were +engaged to his daughter?" + +"I scarcely thought it necessary." + +"Not when I told you who Ida was?" + +This disclosure had been made whilst Waymark was still confined to +his bed; partly because Abraham had a difficulty in keeping the +matter to himself; partly because be thought it might help the other +through his illness. Waymark had said very little at the time, and +there had been no conversation on the matter between them since. + +"I don't see that it made any difference," Waymark replied gloomily. + +The old man was silent. He had been, it seemed, under a complete +delusion, and could not immediately make up his mind whether he had +indeed ground of complaint against Waymark. + +"Why did Mr. Enderby call?" the latter inquired. + +"Very naturally, it seems to me, to know what had become of you. He +didn't see the report in the paper, and went searching for you." + +"Does Ida know of this?" he asked, after a pause, during which +Waymark had remained standing with his arms crossed on the back of +the chair. + +"I have never told her. Why should I have done? Perhaps now you will +believe what I insisted upon before the trial, that there had been +nothing whatever--" + +He spoke irritably, and was interrupted by the other with yet more +irritation. + +"Never mention that again to me as long as you live, Waymark If you +do, we shall quarrel, understand!" + +"I have no more pleasure in referring to it than you have," said +Waymark, more calmly; "but I must justify myself when you attack +me." + +"How long has this been going on?" asked the other, after a silence. + +"Some three months--perhaps more." + +"Well, I think it would have been better if you'd been +straightforward about it, that's all. I don't know that I've +anything more to say. We know what we're about, and there's an end +of it." + +So saying, the old man went out of the room. There was a difference +in him henceforth, something which Ida noticed, though she could not +explain it. On the following day he spoke with her on a matter she +was surprised to hear him mention, her education. He had been +thinking, he said, that she ought to learn to play the piano, and be +taught foreign languages. Wouldn't she like him to find some lady +who could live in the house and teach her all these things? Ida's +thoughts at once ran to the conclusion that this had been suggested +by Waymark, and, when she found that her grandfather really wished +it, gave a ready assent. A week or two later the suitable person had +been discovered--a lady of some thirty years of age, by name Miss +Hurst. She was agreeable and refined, endowed. moreover, with the +tact which was desirable in one undertaking an office such as this. +Ida found her companionship pleasant, and Mr. Woodstock con +gratulated himself on having taken the right step. + +At the same time that the governess came to the house, Waymark left +it. He returned to his old lodgings, and, with an independence which +was partly his own impulse, partly the natural result of the slight +coolness towards him which had shown itself in Mr. Woodstock, set to +work to find a means of earning his living. This he was fortunate +enough to discover without any great delay; he obtained a place as +assistant in a circulating library. The payment was small, but be +still had his evenings free. + +Ida did not conceal her disappointment when Abraham conveyed this +news to her; she had been hoping for better things. Her intercourse +with Waymark between his recovery and his leaving the house had been +difficult, full of evident constraint on both sides. It was the +desire of both not to meet alone, and in Mr. Woodstock's presence +they talked of indifferent things, with an artificiality which it +was difficult to support, yet impossible to abandon. They shunned +each other's eyes. Waymark was even less at his ease than Ida, +knowing that Mr. Woodstock observed him closely at all times. With +her grandfather Ida tried to speak freely of their friend, but she +too was troubled by the consciousness that the old man did not seem +as friendly to Waymark as formerly. + +"This will of course only be for a time?" she said, when told of +Waymark's new employment. + +"I don't know," Abraham replied indifferently. "I should think it +will suit him as well as anything else." + +"But he is clever; he writes books. Don't you think he will make +himself known some day?" + +"That kind of thing isn't much to be depended on, it seems to me. +It's a doubtful business to look forward to for a living." + +Ida kept silence on the subject after that. She did not seem to +brood any longer over sad thoughts, yet it was seldom she behaved or +spoke light-heartedly; her face often indicated an absent mind, but +it was the calm musing of one whose thoughts look to the future and +strengthen themselves with hope. Times there were when she drew away +into solitude, and these were the intervals of doubt and +self-questioning. With her grandfather she was reconciled; she had +become convinced of his kindness to her, and the far-off past was +now seldom in her mind. The trouble originated in the deepest +workings of her nature. When she found herself comparing her +position now with that of former days, it excited in her a restive +mood to think that chance alone had thus raised her out of misery, +that the conscious strength and purity of her soul would never have +availed to help her to the things which were now within her grasp. +The old sense of the world's injustice excited anger and revolt in +her heart. Chance, chance alone befriended her, and the reflection +injured her pride. What of those numberless struggling creatures to +whom such happy fortune could never come, who, be their aspirations +and capabilities what they might, must struggle vainly, agonise, and +in the end despair? She had been lifted out of hell, not risen +therefrom by her own strength. Sometimes it half seemed to her that +it would have been the nobler lot to remain as she was, to share the +misery of that dread realm of darkness with those poor disinherited +ones, to cherish that spirit of noble rebellion, the consciousness +of which had been as a pure fire on the altar of her being. What was +to be her future? Would she insensibly forget her past self, let her +strength subside in refinement--it might be, even lose the passion +which had made her what she was? + +But hope predominated. Forget! Could she ever forget those faces in +the slums on the day when she bade farewell to poverty and all its +attendant wretchedness? Litany Lane and Elm Court were names which +already symbolised a purpose. If ever she still looked at her +grandfather with a remnant of distrust, it was because she thought +of him as drawing money from such a source, enjoying his life of +ease in disregard of the responsibilities laid upon him. The day +would come when she could find courage to speak to him. She waited +and prepared herself. + +Prepared herself, for that, and for so much else. Waymark's +behaviour would have cost her the bitterest misery, had she not been +able to explain it to her own satisfaction. There could be but one +reason why he held aloof from her, and that an all-sufficient one. +In her new position, it was impossible for him to be more than just +friendly to her. If that had been his attitude in the old days, how +could his self-respect allow him to show the slightest change? In +his anxiety not to do so, he had even fallen short of the former +kindness. No forgiveness was needed, when she felt that she +understood him so well. But all the more did it behove her to make +herself worthy of him in all things. She had still so much to learn; +she was so far his inferior in culture and understanding. Her +studies with Miss Hurst were fruitful. Nor were her domestic duties +forgotten. Mr. Woodstock had supplied her with a good housekeeper, +to help her inexperience, but Ida took an adequate burden on her own +shoulders. This again was a new and keen joy. + +Waymark dined with them one Sunday in June, and, in the course of +the evening, went with Abraham to the smoking-room for some private +conversation. + +"Do you remember," he began, "once offering to buy those shares of +mine?" + +"Yes, I do," replied Mr. Woodstock, narrowing his eyes. + +"Does the offer still hold good?" + +"Yes, yes; if you're anxious to realise." + +"I am. I want money--for two purposes." + +"What are they?" Abraham asked bluntly. + +"One is a private matter, which I don't think I need speak of; but +the other I can explain. I have found a courageous publisher who has +offered to bring my book out if I take a certain risk. This I have +made up my mind to do. I want to get the thing out, if only for the +sake of hearing Mrs. Grundy lift up her voice; and if it can't be +otherwise, I must publish at my own expense." + +"Will it repay you?" Mr. Woodstock asked. + +"Ultimately, I have no doubt; but I don't care so much about that." + +"H'm. I should think that's the chief matter to be considered. And +you won't tell me what the other speculation is?" + +"I'm going to lend a friend some money, but I don't wish to go into +detail." + +The old man looked at him shrewdly. + +"Very well," he said presently. "I'll let you have the cash. Could +you manage to look in at the office to-morrow at mid-day?" + +This was arranged, and Waymark rose, but Mr. Woodstock motioned to +him to resume his seat. + +"As we're talking," he began, "I may as well have over something +that's on my mind. Why haven't you told Ida yet about that +engagement of yours?" + +"Haven't _you_ done so?" Waymark asked, in surprise. + +"Did you think I had?" + +"Why, yes, I did." + +"I've done nothing of the kind," Abraham returned, pretending to be +surprised at the supposition, though he knew it was a perfectly +natural one. + +Waymark was silent. + +"Don't you think," the other pursued, "it's about time something was +said to her?" + +"I can't see that it matters, and--" + +"But I _can_ see. As long as that isn't known you're here, to speak +plainly, on false pretences." + +"Then I won't come here at all!" + +"Very good," exclaimed the old man irritably, "so long as you +explain to her first." + +Waymark turned away, and stood gazing gloomily at the floor. Abraham +regarded him, and a change came over his hard face. + +"Now, look here," he said, "there's something in all this I can't +make out. Is this engagement a serious one?" + +"Serious?" returned the other, with a look of misery. "How can it be +otherwise?" + +"Very well; in that case you're bound to let Ida know about it, and +at once. Damn it all, don't you know your own mind?" + +Waymark collected himself, and spoke gravely. + +"I, of course, understand why you press so for this explanation. You +take it for granted that Ida regards me as something more than a +friend. If so, my manner since she has been here must have clearly +shown her that, on my side, I have not the least thought of offering +more than friendship. You yourself will grant so much, I believe. +For all that, I don't deny that our relations have always been +unusual; and it would cost me very much to tell her of my +engagement. I ask you to relieve me of the painful task, on the +understanding that I never come here again. I can't make you +understand my position. You say my behaviour has not been +straightforward. In the ordinary sense of the word it has not;-- +there let it rest. Tell Ida what you will of me, and let me +disappear from her world." + +"The plain English of all which," cried Abraham angrily, "is, that, +as far as you are concerned, you would be quite willing to let the +girl live on false hopes, just to have the pleasure of her society +as long as you care for it" + +"Not so, not so at all! I value Ida's friendship as I value that of +no other woman, and I am persuaded that, if I were free with her, I +could reconcile her entirely to our connection remaining one of +friendship, and nothing more." + +Waymark, in his desperate straits, all but persuaded himself that he +told the truth. Mr. Woodstock gazed at him in doubt. He would give +him to the end of July to make up his mind; by that time Waymark +must either present himself as a free man, or allow Ida to be +informed of his position. In the meanwhile he must come to Tottenham +not oftener than once a week. To this Waymark agreed, glad of any +respite. + +He returned to his lodgings in a state of nervous misery. +Fortunately, he was not left to his thoughts; in a few minutes a +knock at his door announced a visitor in the person of Mr. O'Gree. +The Irishman exhibited his wonted liveliness, and at once began to +relate an incident to the disadvantage of his archenemy. + +"Faith," he cried, "I'd have given a trifle if ye could have heard +the conversation between Tootle and me, just after breakfast +yesterday. The boys were filing out of the room, when, 'Mr. O'Gree!' +cries Pendy.--'Sir!' I reply.--'The boys were called late this +morning, I hear.'--'No such thing, sir,' I assure 'um. 'Half-past +six to the minute, by my watch.'--'Oh, _your_ watch, Mr. O'Gree,' +cries the old reprobate. 'I fear your watch doesn't keep very good +time.'--'Sure, you're in the right, sir,' said I;' it's been +losing a little of late; so only last night I stopped it at +half-past six, to make sure it would show me the right calling-time +this morning.' And, when I'd said that, I just nod my head, as much +as to say, 'There's one for ye, me boy!' and walk off as jaunty as a +Limerick bantam." + +Then, after a burst of merriment, O'Gree suddenly fixed his face in +a very grave expression. + +"I'm resolved, Waymark, I'm resolved!" he exclaimed. "At midsummer I +break my chains, and stand erect in the dignity of a free man. I've +said it often, but now I mean it. Sally urges me to do ut, and Sally +never utters a worrud that isn't pure wisdom." + +"Well, I think she's right. I myself should prefer a scavenger's +existence, on the whole. But have you thought any further of the +other scheme?" + +"The commercial undertaking? We were talking it over the other +night. Sally says: Borrow the money and risk ut. And I think she's +in the right. If you enter the world of commerce, you must be +prepared for speculation. We looked over the advertisements in a +newspaper, just to get an idea, and we calculated the concern could +be set afloat for seventy-five pounds. Out of that we could pay a +quarter's rent, and stock the shop. Sally's been behind the counter +a good bit of late, and she's getting an insight into that kind of +thing. Wonderful girl, Sally! Put her in Downing Street for a week, +and she'd be competent to supplant the Premier!" + +'You have decided for a chandler's?" + +"Yes; we neither of us know much about tobacco, and tobacco perhaps +isn't quits the thing for a man of education. But to be a chandler +is something worthy of any man's ambition. You supply at once the +solids and the luxuries of life; you range from boiled ham and +pickles to mixed biscuits and preserves. You are the focus of a +whole street. The father comes to you for his mid-day bread and +cheese, the mother for her half-ounce of tea, the child for its +farthing's-worth of sweets. For years I've been leading a useless +life; once let me get into my shop, and I become a column of the +social system. Faith, it's as good as done!" + +"From whom shall you borrow the cash?" + +"Sally's going to think about that point. I suppose we shall go to a +loan office, and make some kind of arrangement. I'm rather vague on +these things, but Sally will find it out." + +"I understand," said Waymark, checking his amusement, that you are +perfectly serious in this plan?" + +"As serious as I was in the moment of my birth! There's no other +chance." + +"Very well, then, suppose I offer to lend you the money." + +"You, Waymark?" + +"No less a person." + +And he went on to explain how it was that he was able to make the +offer, adding that any sum up to a hundred pounds was at his +friend's disposal. + +"Ye mean it, Waymark!" cried O'Gree, leaping round the room in +ecstasy. "Bedad, you are a man and a brother, and no mistake! Ye're +the first that ever offered to lend me a penny; ye're the first that +ever had faith in me! You shall come with me to see Sally on +Saturday, and tell her this yourself, and I shouldn't be surprised +if she gives you a kiss!" + +O'Gree exhausted himself in capering and vociferation, then sat down +and began to exercise his luxuriant imagination in picturing +unheard-of prosperity. + +"We'll take a shop in a new neighbourhood, where we shall have the +monopoly. The people 'll get to know Sally; she'll be like a magnet +behind the counter. I shall go to the wholesale houses, and impress +them with a sense of my financial stability; I flatter myself I +shall look the prosperous shopkeeper, eh? Who knows what we may come +to? Why, in a few years we may transfer our business to Oxford +Street or Piccadilly, and call ourselves Italian warehousemen; and +bedad, we'll turn out in the end another Crosse and Blackwell, see +if we don't!" + +At the utmost limit of the time allowed him by the rules of The +Academy, the future man of business took his leave, in spirits +extravagant even for him. + +"Faith," he exclaimed, when he was already at the door, "who d'ye +think I saw last Sunday? As I was free in the afternoon, I took a +walk, and, coming back, I went into a little coffee-shop for a cup +of tea. A man in an apron came up to serve me, and, by me soul, if +it wasn't poor old Egger! I've heard not a word of him since he left +last Christmas. He was ashamed of himself, poor devil; but I did my +best to make him easy. After all, he's better off than in the +scholastic line." + +Waymark laughed at this incident, and stood watching Q'Gree's +progress down the street for a minute or two. Then he went to his +room again, and sitting down with a sigh, fell into deep brooding. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + +A VISION OF SIN + + + + +Maud Enderby's life at home became ever more solitary. Such daily +intercourse as had been established between her mother and herself +grew less and less fruitful of real intimacy, till at length it was +felt by both to be mere form. Maud strove against this, but there +was no corresponding effort on the other side; Mrs. Enderby showed +no dislike for her daughter, yet unmistakably shunned her. If she +chanced to enter the sitting-room whilst Maud was there, she would, +if possible, retreat unobserved; or else she would feign to have +come in quest of something, and at once go away with it. Maud could +not fail to observe this, and its recurrence struck a chill to her +heart. She had not the courage to speak to her mother; a deadweight +of trouble, a restless spirit of apprehension, made her life one of +passive endurance; she feared to have the unnatural conditions of +their home openly recognised. Very often her thoughts turned to the +time when she had found refuge from herself in the daily occupation +of teaching, and, had she dared, she would gladly have gone away +once more as a governess. But she could not bring herself to propose +such a step. To do so would necessitate explanations, and that was +what she dreaded most of all. Whole days, with the exception of +meal-times, she spent in her own room, and there no one ever +disturbed her. Sometimes she read, but most often sat in prolonged +brooding, heedless of the hours. + +Her father was now constantly away from home. He told her that he +travelled on business. It scarcely seemed to be a relief to him to +rest awhile in his chair; indeed, Paul had grown incapable of +resting. Time was deepening the lines of anxiety on his sallow face. +His mind seemed for ever racked with painful calculation. Mrs. +Enderby, too, spent much time away from the house, and Maud knew +nothing of her engagements. One thing, however, Maud could not help +noticing, and that was that her mother was clearly very extravagant +in her mode of living. New and costly dresses were constantly being +purchased, as well as articles of luxury for the house. Mrs. Enderby +had of late provided herself with a _femme de chambre_, a young +woman who arrayed herself with magnificence in her mistresses +castoff dresses, and whose appearance and demeanour had something +the reverse of domestic. Maud almost feared her. Then there was a +hired brougham constantly in use. Whenever Mrs. Enderby spent an +evening at home, company was sure to be entertained; noisy and showy +people filled the drawing-room, and remained till late hours. Maud +did not even see their faces, but the voices of one or two men and +women became only too familiar to her; even in the retirement of her +room she could not avoid hearing these voices, and they made her +shudder. Especially she was conscious of Mr. Rudge's presence; she +knew his very step on the stairs, and waited in feverish +apprehension for the first notes of an accompaniment on the piano, +which warned her that he was going to sing. He had a good voice, and +it was often in request. Sometimes the inexplicable dread of his +singing was more than she could bear; she would hurry on her +walking-attire, and, stealing like a shadow down the stairs, would +seek refuge in pacing about the streets of the neighbourhood, +heedless of weather or the hour. + +Mrs. Enderby never came down to breakfast. One morning, when Paul +happened to be at home, he and Maud had finished that meal in +silence, and Maud was rising to leave the room, when her father +checked her. He leaned over the table towards her, and spoke in an +anxious undertone. + +"Have you noticed anything a little--a little strange in your +mother lately, Maud? Anything in her way of speaking, I mean--her +general manner?" + +The girl met his look, and shook her head. The approach to such a +conversation affected her as with a shock; she could not speak. + +"She has very bad nights, you know," Paul went on, still in a tone +just above a whisper, "and of late she has been taking chloral. It's +against my wish, but the relief makes it an irresistible temptation. +I fear--I am afraid it is having some deleterious effect upon her; +she seemed to be a little--just a little delirious in the night, I +thought." + +There was something horrible in his voice and face as he uttered +these words; he shuddered slightly, and his tongue seemed to labour +for utterance, as though he dreaded the sound of his own speech. + +Maud sat unmoving and silent. + +"I thought, also," Paul went on, "that she appeared a little strange +last evening, when the people were here.--You weren't in the +drawing-room?" + +Maud shook her head again. + +"Do you--do you think," he asked, "she is having too much +excitement? I know she needs a life of constant variety; it is +essential to her. I'm sure you understand that, Maud? You--you +don't misjudge her?" + +"No, no; it is necessary to her," said the girl mechanically. + +"But," her father pursued, with still lower voice, "there is always +the danger lest she should over-exert herself. Last night I--I +thought I noticed--but it was scarcely worth speaking of; I am so +easily alarmed, you know." + +Maud tried to say something, but in vain. + +"You--you won't desert her--quite--Maud?" said her father in a +tone of pleading. "I am obliged to be so muck away--God knows I +can't help it. And then I--I wonder whether you have noticed? I +seem to have little influence with her." + +He stopped, but the next moment forced himself to utter what was in +his mind. + +"Can't you help me a little more, Maud? Couldn't you induce her to +live a little more--more restfully at times?" + +She rose, pushing the chair back behind her. + +"Father, I can't!" she cried; then burst into a passion of tears. + +"God help us!" her father breathed, rising and looking at her in +blank misery. But in a moment she had recovered herself. They faced +each other for an instant, but neither ventured to speak again, and +Maud turned and left him. + +Waymark came as usual, but now he seldom saw Mrs. Enderby. Maud +received him alone. There was little that was lover-like in these +hours spent together. They kissed each other at meeting and parting, +but, with this exception, the manner of both was very slightly +different from what it had been before their engagement. They sat +apart, and talked of art, literature, religion, seldom of each +other. It had come to this by degrees; at first there had been more +warmth, but passion never. Waymark's self-consciousness often +weighed upon his tongue, and made his conversation but a string of +commonplaces; Maud was often silent for long intervals. Their eyes +never met in a steady gaze. + +Waymark often asked himself whether Maud's was a passionless nature, +or whether it was possible that her reserve had the same origin as +his own. The latter he felt to be unlikely; sometimes there was a +pressure of her hands as their lips just touched, the indication, he +believed, of feeling held in restraint for uncertain reasons. She +welcomed him, too, with a look which he in vain endeavoured to +respond to--a look of sudden relief from weariness, of gentle +illumination; it smote him like a reproach. When the summer had set +in, he was glad to change the still room for the open air; they +walked frequently about Regent's Park, and lingered till after +sunset. + +One evening, when it was dull and threatened rain, they returned to +the house sooner than usual. Waymark would have taken his leave at +the door, as he ordinarily did, but Maud begged him to enter, if +only for a few minutes. It was not quite nine o'clock, and Mrs. +Enderby was from home. + +He seated himself, but Maud remained standing irresolutely. Waymark +glanced at her from under his eyebrows. He did not find it easy to +speak; they had both been silent since they left the park, with the +exception of the few words exchanged at the door. + +"Will you let me sit here?" Maud asked suddenly, pushing a footstool +near to his chair, and kneeling upon it. + +He smiled and nodded. + +"When will they begin the printing?" she asked, referring to his +book, which was now in the hands of the publisher who had undertaken +it. + +"Not for some months. It can't come out till the winter season." + +"If it should succeed, it will make a great difference in your +position, won't it?" + +"It might," he replied, looking away. + +She sat with her eyes fixed on the ground. She wished to continue, +but something stayed her. + +"I don't much count upon it," Waymark said, when he could no longer +endure the silence. "We mustn't base any hopes on that." + +He rose; the need of changing his attitude seemed imperative. + +"Must you go?" Maud asked, looking up at him with eyes which spoke +all that her voice failed to utter. + +He moved his head affirmatively, and held out his hand to raise her. +She obeyed his summons, and stood up before him; her eyes had fixed +themselves upon his; he could not avoid their strange gaze. + +"Good-bye," he said. + +Her free hand rose to his shoulder, upon which it scarcely rested. +He could not escape her eyes, though to meet them tortured him. Her +lips were moving, but he could distinguish no syllable; they moved +again, and he could just gather the sense of her whisper. + +"Do you love me?" + +An immense pity thrilled through him. He put his arm about her, held +her closely, and pressed his lips against her cheek. She reddened, +and hid her face against him. Waymark touched her hair caressingly, +then freed his other hand, and went from the room. + +Maud sat in thought till a loud ring at the door-bell made her start +and flee upstairs. The room in which she and Waymark sat when they +were by themselves was in no danger of invasion, but she feared the +possibility of meeting her mother to-night. Her father was away from +home, as usual, but the days of his return were always uncertain, +and Mrs. Enderby might perchance open the door of the little +sitting-room just to see whether he was there, as it was here he +ordinarily employed himself when in the house. From her bedroom Maud +could hear several people ascend the stairs. It was ten o'clock, but +an influx of visitors at such an hour was nothing remarkable. She +could hear her mother's laugh, and then the voice of a man, a voice +she knew but too well--that of Mr. Budge. + +Her nerves were excited. The night was close, and there were +mutterings of thunder at times; the cloud whence they came seemed to +her to spread its doleful blackness over this one roof. An impulse +seized her; she took paper and sat down at her desk to write. It was +a letter to Waymark, a letter such as she had never addressed to +him, and which, even in writing it, she was conscious she could not +send. Her hand trembled as she filled the pages with burning words. +She panted for more than he had given her; this calm, half-brotherly +love of his was just now like a single drop of water to one dying of +thirst; she cried to him for a deeper draught of the joy of life. +The words came to her without need of thought; tears fell hot from +her eyes and blotted what she wrote. + +The tears brought her relief; she was able to throw her writing +aside, and by degrees to resume that dull, vacant mood of habitual +suffering which at all events could be endured. From this, too, +there was at times a retreat possible with the help of a book. She +had no mind to sleep, and on looking round, she remembered that the +book she had been reading in the early part of the day was +downstairs. It was after midnight, and she seemed to have a +recollection of hearing the visitors leave the house a little while +ago; it would be safe to venture as far as the sitting-room below. + +She began to descend the stairs quietly. There was still a light in +the hall, but the quietness of the house reassured her. On turning +an angle of the stairs, however, she saw that the door of the +drawing-room was open, and that just within stood two figures--her +mother and Mr. Rudge. They seemed to be whispering together, and in +the same moment their lips met. Then the man came out and went +downstairs. Mrs. Enderby turned back into the drawing-room. + +Maud stood fixed to the spot. Darkness had closed in around her, and +she clung to the banisters to save herself from the gulf which +seemed to yawn before her feet. The ringing of a bell, the +drawing-room bell summoning Mrs. Enderby's maid, brought her back to +consciousness, and with trembling limbs she regained her room. It +was as though some ghastly vision of the night had shaken her soul. +The habit of her mind overwhelmed her with the conviction that she +knew at last the meaning of that mystery of horror which had of late +been strengthening its hold upon her imagination. The black cloud +which lowered above the house had indeed its significance; the +voices which wailed to her of sin and woe were the true expression +of things amid which she had been moving unconsciously. That +instinct which made her shrink from her mother's presence was not +without its justification; the dark powers which circled her +existence had not vainly forced their influence upon her. Her first +impulse was to flee from the house; the air breathed pestilence and +death, death of the soul. Looking about her in the anguish of +conflicting thoughts, her eyes fell upon the pages she had written. +These now came before her as a proof of contagion which had seized +upon her own nature; she tore the letter hastily into fragments, +and, striking fire with a match, consumed them in the grate. As she +watched the sparks go out, there came a rustling of dresses past her +door. She flung herself upon her knees and sought refuge in wild, +wordless prayer. + +A fortnight after this Maud went late in the evening to the room +where she knew her father was sitting alone. Paul Enderby looked up +from his papers in surprise; it was some time since Maud had sought +private conversation with him. As he met her pale, resolute face, he +knew that she had a serious purpose in thus visiting him, and his +look changed to one of nervous anticipation. + +"Do I disturb you, father?" Maud asked. "Could you spare me a few +minutes?" + +Paul nodded, and she took a seat near him. + +"Father, I am going to leave home, going to be a governess again." + +He drew a sigh of relief; he had expected something worse than this. +Yet the relief was only for a moment, and then he looked at her with +eyes which made her soul fail for very compassion. + +"You will desert me, Maud?" he asked, trying to convey in his look +that which he could not utter in words. + +"Father, I can be of no help, and I feel that I must not remain +here." + +"Have you found a place?" + +"This afternoon I engaged myself to go to Paris with a French +family. They have been in England some time, and want to take back +an English governess for their children." + +Paul was silent. + +"I leave the day after to-morrow," she added; at first she had +feared to say how soon she was to go. + +"You are right," her father said, shifting some papers about with a +tremulous hand. "You are right to leave us. You at least will be +safe." + +"Safe?" she asked, under her breath. + +He looked at her in the same despairing way, but said nothing. + +"Father," she began, her lips quivering in the intensity of her +inward struggle, "can you not go away from here? Can you not take +mother away?" + +They gazed at each other, each trying to divine what it was that +made the other so pale. Did her father know?--Maud asked herself. +Did Maud know something more than he himself?--was the doubt in +Paul's mind. But they were thinking of different things. + +"I can't, I can't!" the wretched man exclaimed, spreading out his +arms on the desk. "Perhaps in a few months--but I doubt. I can do +nothing now; I am helpless; I am not my own master. O God, if I +could but go and leave it all behind me!" + +Maud could only guess at the meaning of this. He had already hinted +to her of business troubles which were crushing him. But this was a +matter of no moment in her sight. There was something more terrible, +and she could not force her tongue to speak of it. + +"You fear for her?" Paul went on. "You have noticed her +strangeness?" He lowered his voice. "What can I do, Maud?" + +"You are so much away," she said hurriedly, laying her hand on his +arm. "Her visitors--she has so many temptations--" + +"Temptations?" + +"Father, help her against herself!" + +"My help is vain. There is a curse on her life, and on mine. I can +only stand by and wait for the worst." + +She could not speak. It was her duty, clearly her imperative duty, +yet she durst not fulfil it. She had come down from her room with +the fixed purpose, attained after nights of sleepless struggle, of +telling him what she had seen. She found herself alone again, the +task unfulfilled. And she knew that she could not face him again. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + +A GARDEN-PARTY + + + + +Waymark received with astonishment Maud's letter from Paris. He had +seen her only two days before, and their conversation had been of +the ordinary kind; Maud had given him no hint of her purpose, not +even when he spoke to her of the coming holiday season, and the +necessity of her having a change. She confessed she was not well. +Sometimes, when they had both sat for some minutes in silence, she +would raise her eyes and meet his gaze steadily, seeming to search +for something. Waymark could not face this look; it drove him to +break the suspense by any kind of remark on an indifferent subject. +He remembered now that she had gazed at him in that way persistently +on the last evening that they were together. When he was saying +good-bye, and as he bent to kiss her, she held him back for a +moment, and seemed to wish to say something. Doubtless she had been +on the point of telling him that she was going away; but she let him +leave in silence. + +It was not a long letter that she wrote; she merely said that change +had become indispensable to body and soul, and that it had seemed +best to make it suddenly. + +"I hope," she wrote in conclusion, "that you will see my father as +often as you can; he is very much in need of friendly company, and I +should like you to be able to send me news of him. Do not fear for +me; I feel already better. I am always with you in spirit, and in +the spirit I love you; God help me to keep my love pure!" + +Waymark put away the letter carelessly; the first sensation of +surprise over, he did not even care to speculate on the reasons +which had led Maud to leave home. It was but seldom now that his +thoughts busied themselves with Maud; the unreal importance which +she had for a time assumed in his life was only a recollection; her +very face was ghostlike in his mind's eye, dim, always vanishing. If +the news of her departure from England moved him at all, it was with +a slight sense of satisfaction; it would be so much easier to write +letters to her than to speak face to face. Yet, in the days that +followed, the ghostlike countenance hovered more persistently before +him than was its wont; there was a far-off pleading in its look, and +sometimes that shadow of reproach which our uneasy conscience will +cast upon the faces of those we have wronged. This passed, however, +and another image, one which had ever grown in clearness and +persistency of presentment in proportion as Maud's faded away, +glided before him in the hours of summer sunlight, and shone forth +with the beauty of a rising star against the clouded heaven of his +dreams. + +Waymark's mood was bitter, but, in spite of himself, it was no +longer cynical. He could not indulge himself in that pessimistic +scepticism which had aided him in bearing his poverty, and the +restless craving of sense and spirit which had accompanied it. His +enthusiasm for art was falling away; as a faith it had failed him in +his hour of need. In its stead another faith had come to him, a +faith which he felt to be all-powerful, and the sole stay of a man's +life amid the shifting shadows of intellectual creeds. And it had +been revealed too late. Led by perverse motives, now no longer +intelligible, he had reached a goal of mere frustration; between him +and the true end of his being there was a great gulf fixed. + +To Ida, in the meanwhile, these weeks of early summer were bringing +health of body and cheerfulness of mind. She spent very much of her +time in the open air. Whenever it was possible she and Miss Hurst +took their books out into the garden, and let the shadows of the +rose-bushes mark the hours for them. Ida's natural vigour throve on +the strength-giving properties of sun and breeze the last traces of +unwholesome pallor passed from her face, and exercise sent her home +flushed like the dawn. + +One afternoon she went to sit with her grandfather on a bench +beneath an apple-tree. The old man had his pipe and a newspaper. Ida +was quiet, and glancing at her presently, Abraham found her eyes +fixed upon him. + +"Grandfather," she said, in her gentlest voice, "will you let me +give a garden-party some day next week?" + +"A party?" Mr. Woodstock raised his brows in astonishment. "Who are +you going to invite?" + +"You'll think it a strange notion.--I wonder whether I can make it +seem as delightful to you as it does to me. Suppose we went to those +houses of yours, and got together as many poor little girls as we +could, and brought them all here to spend an afternoon in the +garden. Think what an unheard-of thing it would be to them! And then +we would give them some tea, and take them back again before dark." + +The proposal filled Mr. Woodstock with dismay, and the habitual +hardness of his face suggested a displeasure he did not in reality +feel. + +"As you say, it's a strange notion," he remarked, smiling very +slightly. "I don't know why you shouldn't have your own way, Ida, +but--it'll cost you a good deal of trouble, you know." + +"You are mistaking me, grandfather. You think this a curious whim I +have got into my head, and your kindness would tempt you to let me +do a silly thing just for the sake of having my way. It is no +foolish fancy. It's not for my sake, but for the children's." + +Her eyes were aglow with earnestness, and her voice trembled. + +"Do you think they'd care for it?" asked her grandfather, impressed +by something in her which he had never seen before. + +"Care for it!--Imagine a poor little thing that has been born in a +wretched, poverty-stricken, disorderly home, a home that is no home, +and growing up with no knowledge of anything but those four hateful +walls and the street outside. No toys, no treats, no change of air; +playing in the gutter, never seeing a beautiful thing, never hearing +of the pleasures which rich people's children would pine and die +without And a child for all that." + +Mr. Woodstock cleared his throat and smoothed the newspaper upon his +knee. + +"How will you get them here, Ida?" + +"Oh, leave that to me! Let us choose a day; wouldn't Saturday be +best! I will go there myself, and pick out the children, and get +their mothers to promise to have them ready. Then I'll arrange to +have one of those carts you see at Sunday-school treats. Why, the +ride here, that alone! And you'll let me have tea for them,--just +bread and butter and a bun,--it will cost not half as much as my +new dress this week, not _half_ as much--" + +"Come, come, I can't stand this!" growled out Abraham, getting up +from the seat. "I'd _give_ them the garden, for good and all, rather +than see you like that. Say Saturday, if it's fine; if not, Monday, +or when you like." + +On the following morning the details were arranged, and the next day +Ida went to Litany Lane. She preferred to go alone, and on this +errand Mr. Woodstock would have found a difficulty in accompanying +her. Ida knew exactly the nature of the task she had taken in hand, +and found it easier than it would have been to the ordinary young +lady. She jotted down the names of some twenty little girls, +selecting such as were between the ages of eight and twelve, and +obtained promises that all should be ready at a fixed hour next +Saturday. She met with doubts and objections and difficulties +enough, but only failed in one or two instances. Then followed fresh +talks with her grandfather, and all the details were arranged. + +There was rain on the Thursday and Friday, but when Ida drew up her +blind at six o'clock on Saturday morning, the sky gave promise of +good things. She was walking in the garden long before +breakfast-time, and gladdened to rapture as she watched the sun gain +power, till it streamed gloriously athwart cloudless blue. By one +o'clock she was at the end of Litany Lane, where the cart with long +seats was already waiting; its arrival had become known to the +little ones, and very few needed summoning. Of course there were +disappointments now and again. In spite of mothers' promises, half +the children had their usual dirty faces, and showed no sign of any +preparation. Five or six of them had nothing to put on their heads; +two had bare feet. It was too late to see to these things now; as +they were, the children clambered, or were lifted, on to the cart, +and Ida took her seat among them. Then a crack of the driver's whip, +and amid the shouts of envious brothers and sisters, and before the +wondering stare of the rest of the population, off they drove away. + +"Who'd like an apple?" Ida asked, as soon as they were well clear of +the narrow streets. There was a general scream of delight, and from +a hamper by her side she brought out apples and distributed them. +Only for a minute or two had there been anything like shyness in +Ida's presence; she knew how to talk and behave to these poor little +waifs. Her eyes filled with tears as she listened to their chatter +among themselves, and recognised so many a fragment of her own past +life. One child, who sat close by her, had been spending the morning +in washing vegetables for the Saturday-night market. Did not that +call to mind something?--so far off; so far, yet nearer to her +than many things which had intervened. How they all laughed, as the +big, black houses gave way to brighter streets, and these again +began to open upon glimpses of field or garden! Not one of them had +the slightest conception of whither they were being taken, or what +was to happen to them at length. But they had confidence in "the +lady." She was a sorceress in their eyes; what limit could there be +to her powers? Something good and joyous awaited them; that was all +they knew or cared; leagues of happiness, stretching away to the +remote limits of the day's glory; a present rapture beyond +knowledge, and a memory for ever. + +Mr. Woodstock stood within the gate of the garden, his hands in his +pockets, and as the vehicle came in sight he drew just a little +back. + +They streamed along the carriage-drive, and in a minute or two were +all clustered upon the lawn behind the house. What was expected of +them? Had an angel taken them by he hand and led them straight from +Litany Lane through the portals of paradise, they could not have +been more awed and bewildered. Trees and rose-bushes, turf and beds +of flowers, seats in the shade, skipping-ropes thrown about on the +open--and there, hark, a hand-organ, a better one than ever they +danced to on the pavement, striking up to make them merry. That was +the happiest thought! It was something not too unfamiliar; the one +joyful thing of which they had experience meeting them here to +smooth over the first introduction to a new world. Ida knew it well, +the effect of that organ; had it not lightened her heart many and +many a time in the by-gone darkness? Two of the girls had caught +each other by the waist at the first sounds. Might they? Would "the +lady" like it? + +Miss Hurst had come out as soon as the music began, and Ida ran to +talk with her. There was whispering between them, and pointing to +one and another of the children, and then the governess, with a +pleased face, disappeared again. She was away some time, but on her +return two of the children were called into the house. Bare-footed +they went in, but came forth again with shoes and stockings on, +hardly able to comprehend what had happened to them. Then were +summoned those who had nothing on their heads, and to each of these +a straw hat was given, a less wonderful possession than the shoes +and stockings, but a source of gladness and pride. + +In the meantime, however, marvels had accumulated on the lawn. +Whilst yet the organ was playing, there appeared two men, one of +them carrying a big drum, the other hidden under a Punch and Judy +show. Of a sudden there sounded a shrill note, high above the organ, +a fluting from the bottom to the top of the gamut, the immemorial +summons to children, the overture to the primitive drama. It was +drowned in a scream of welcome, which, in its turn, was outdone by +thunderous peals upon the drum. + +Mr. Woodstock said little during the whole afternoon. Perhaps he +thought the more. + +Tables had been fixed in one part of the garden, and as the drama of +Punch drew to an end, its interest found a serious rival in the +spectacle of piled plates of cake. But there was to intervene nearly +half-an-hour before the tea-urns were ready to make an appearance. +The skipping-ropes came into requisition outside, but in the house +was proceeding simultaneously a rather more serious pastime, which +fell to Ida's share to carry out. Choosing the little girl whose +face was the dirtiest and hair the untidiest of any she could see, +she led her gently away to a place where a good bowl of warm water +and plenty of soap were at hand, and, with the air of bestowing the +greatest kindness of all, fell to work to such purpose that in a few +minutes the child went back to the garden a resplendent being, +positively clean and kempt for the first time in her life. + +"I know you'll feel uncomfortable for a little, dear," Ida said, +dismissing the astonished maiden with a kiss, "but the strangeness +will wear off; and you'll see how much nicer it is." + +One after another, all were dealt with in this way, presently with a +good-natured servant-girl's assistance, as time pressed. The result +was that a transformed company sat down to tea. The feeling wore +off, as Ida said, but at first cleanliness meant positive +discomfort, taking the form of loss of identity and difficulty of +mutual recognition. They looked at their hands, and were amazed at +the whiteness that had come upon them; they kept feeling their faces +and their ordered hair. But the appetite of one and all was improved +by the process. + +"How I wish Mr. Waymark was here!" Ida said to her grandfather, as +they stood together, watching the feast. "He would enjoy it. We must +give him a full account to-morrow, mustn't we?" + +"I forgot," replied the other. "I had a note from him this morning, +saying he thought he shouldn't be able to come." + +The first shadow of disappointment which this day had brought fell +upon the girl's countenance. She made no reply, and presently went +to help one or the youngest children, who had spilt her tea and was +in evident distress. + +After tea the organ struck up again, and again there was dancing on +the lawn. Then a gathering of flowers by Ida and Miss Hurst, and one +given to each of the children, with injunctions to put it in water +on reaching home, and keep it as long as possible in memory of the +day. Already the sun was westering, and Litany Lane must be reached +before dusk. + +"Poor children!" Ida sighed to herself. "If they had but homes to go +to!" And added, in her thought, "We shall see, we shall see!" + +Every bit as joyous as the ride out was the return to town. With +foresight, Ida made the two youngest sit on each side of her; soon +the little heads were drooping in her lap, subdued by the very +weariness of bliss. Miss Hurst had offered to accompany Ida, that +she might not have to come back alone, but Ida wanted her friends +all to herself, and was rewarded by the familiarity with which they +gossipped to her all the way. + +"Hands up, all those who _haven't_ enjoyed themselves!" she +exclaimed, just as they were entering the noisy streets. + +There was a moment's doubt, then a burst of merry laughter. + +"Hands up, all those who would like to come again!" + +All held up both arms--except the two children who were asleep. + +"Well, you've all been good, and I'm very pleased with you, and you +_shall_ come again!" + +It was the culmination of the day's delight. For the first time in +their lives the children of Litany Lane and Elm Court had something +to look forward to. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + +A LATE REVENGE + + + + +Ida clung to the possibility of Waymark's paying his usual visit on +the Sunday, but she was disappointed. This absence had no reason +beyond Waymark's choice. It was the last Sunday but one of the +month; a week more, and he must keep his word with Mr. Woodstock. +The evil day had been put off, and to what purpose? There had been +some scarcely confessed hope. Maud's sudden departure from England, +and her strange letter, might perhaps mean a change in her which +would bring about his freedom; he himself might possibly be driven +by his wretchedness to the point of writing to her in a way which +would hasten her decision, if indeed she were doubting. + +All was over between Ida and himself, so why undergo the torment of +still seeing her. In sending his note to Mr. Woodstock, he was on +the point of surrendering the week that remained, and begging that +Ida might be told at once, but his hand refused to write the words. +Through the week that ensued he had no moment's rest. At night he +went to places of amusement, to seek distraction; he wished and +dreaded the coming of the Sunday. How would Ida receive the +revelation? Should he write to her and try to make her understand +him? Yet in that he could scarcely succeed, and failure would bring +upon him her contempt. The only safety lay in never seeing or +communicating with her again. + +Even on Saturday night he had not made up his mind how to act. He +went to the theatre, but left before the play was half over, and +walked slowly homewards. As he drew near to his lodgings, some one +hastened towards him with both hands held out. It was Maud Enderby. + +"Oh, I have waited so long! I wanted to see you to-night." She was +exhausted with fatigue and distress, and still held his hands, as if +needing their support. To Waymark, in his then state of mind, she +came like an apparition. He could only look at her in astonishment. + +"Last night," she said, "I had a telegram from father. He told me to +come back at once; he had had to leave, and mother was alone. I was +to call for a letter at a place in the city. I was in time to catch +the night boat, and when I got his letter it told me dreadful +things. Something has happened which compelled him to leave England +at once. He could do nothing, make no arrangements. Mother, he said, +had a little money; we must sell everything and manage to live +somewhere for a little; he would try to send us what he could. Then +I went home. There was a police-officer in the house, and mother had +gone away, I can't tell where. Father has done something, and-- +Oh, what shall I do? You can help me, can't you?" + +Waymark, whom this news overwhelmed with blank despair, could at +first say nothing; but the very greatness of the blow gradually +produced in him the strength to bear it. He saw that fate had taken +the future out of his hands; there was no longer even the appearance +of choice. To Maud he must now devote himself, aiding her with all +his strength in the present and through the days to come. + +"Shall I go back home with you?" he asked, pressing her hands to +comfort her, and speaking with the calmness of one who had made up +his mind. + +"Yes; perhaps mother will have returned. But what shall we do? What +will happen to father? Do you know anything of all this?" + +"Nothing whatever. Walk with me to the top of the street, and we +will take a cab." + +She hung upon his arm, trembling violently; and during the drive to +Paddington, she lay back with her eyes closed, holding Waymark's +hands in her own, which burned with fever. On alighting, they found +that Mrs. Enderby had indeed returned; the servant told them so, and +at the same time whispered something to Maud. They went up into the +drawing-room, and there found Mrs. Enderby lying upon the couch. She +could not understand when she was spoken to, but nodded her head and +looked at them with large, woebegone, wandering eyes. Every effort +to rouse her was vain. + +It was a dreadful night. + +The early dawn was in the sky when Waymark reached Beaufort Street. +With no thought of sleep, he sat down at once and wrote to Mr. +Woodstock, relating what had happened. "So, you see," he concluded, +"with the end of July has come the decision of my fate, as we agreed +it should. If I had seen you to-morrow, as I proposed, I know not +what folly I might have been guilty of. Tell Ida everything at once; +I shall never see her again. But do you, if you can, he my friend +still. I need your help in this horrible situation. Meet me--will +you?--at the office to-morrow night, say at eight o'clock." + +This letter would reach Tottenham on Monday morning. Waymark went to +the office at the hour he had mentioned, and waited till ten +o'clock. But Mr. Woodstock had not been in St. John Street Road that +day, and the waiting was in vain. + +The garden-party had not been without its effect upon Mr. Woodstock. +On the following day, when he was sitting again with Ida in the +garden, he recurred to the conversation of a week ago, and seemed +desirous of leading the girl to speak freely on the subjects which +had such power to stir her. Ida had been waiting for this; she +rejoiced at the promise it held out, and unburdened her heart. Would +he not do yet more for the poor people in his houses I could not +their homes in some way be made more fit for human beings? With +careful observation of his mood, she led him on to entertain +thoughts he had never dreamt of, and before they parted she had all +but obtained a promise that he would go over the whole of his +property and really see what could be done. Ida's influence over him +had by this time become very great; the old man was ready to do much +for the sake of pleasing her. + +On the following Tuesday he went down into Litany Lane in company +with a builder, and proceeded to investigate each of the houses. In +many instances the repairs, to be of any use, would have to be +considerable; there would be a difficulty in executing them whilst +the tenants remained in possession. One possibility occurred to him +in the course of examination, and he determined to make use of it; +he would create room by getting rid of the worst tenants, all those, +in fact, whose presence was pollution to the neighbourhood, and whom +it was hopeless to think of reforming. In this way he would be able +to shift about the remaining lodgers without too great a loss to +himself, and avoid the necessity of turning helpless people into the +street. + +Mr. Woodstock had considerably more knowledge of the state of his +property, and of the tenants inhabiting it, than is usual with +landlords of his kind; for all that, the present examination brought +to light not a few things which were startling even to him. Since +Waymark had ceased to act as his collector, the office had been +filled by an agent of the ordinary kind, and Mr. Woodstock had, till +just now, taken less interest in the property than formerly. Things +had got worse on the whole. Whereas Waymark had here and there been +successful in suppressing the grosser forms of uncleanliness by +threats of expulsion, and at times by the actual enforcement of his +threat, no such supervision had of late been exercised. There were +very few houses in which the air was at all tolerable; in many +instances the vilest odours hung about the open door-ways. To pass +out of Elm Court into the wider streets around was like a change to +the freshness of woods and fields. And the sources of this miasma +were only too obvious. + +The larger houses which made up Litany Lane had underground cellars; +in the court there were fortunately no such retreats. On entering +one of these former houses, the two were aware of an especially +offensive odour rising from below the stairs. Pursuing, however, +their plan of beginning at the garrets, they went up together. In +the room at the top they came upon a miserable spectacle. On +something which, for want of another name, was probably called a +bed, there lay a woman either already dead or in a state of coma, +and on the floor sat two very young children, amusing themselves +with a dead kitten, their only toy. Mr. Woodstock bent over the +woman and examined her. He found that she was breathing, though in a +slow and scarcely perceptible way; her eyes were open, but expressed +no consciousness. The slightly-parted lips were almost black, and +here and there on her face there seemed to be a kind of rash. Mr. +Woodstock's companion, after taking one glance, drew hastily back. + +"Looks like small-pox," he said, in an alarmed voice. "I wouldn't +stand so near, sir, if I was you." + +"Isn't there any one to look to her?" said Abraham. Then turning to +one of the children, "Where's your father?" he asked. + +"Dono," was the little fellow's indifferent reply. + +"Are you alone?" + +"Dono." + +They went down to the floor below, and there found a woman standing +at her door. + +"What's the matter with her up there?" asked Mr. Woodstock. + +"She's very bad, sir. Her Susan's gone to get a order for the parish +doctor, I b'lieve. I was just a-goin' to look after the children +when you came up. I've only just come 'ome myself, you see." + +"What's that horrible stench down below?" + +"I didn't notice nothink, sir," said the woman, looking over the +banisters as if the odour might be seen. + +"Any one living in the kitchen?" + +"There _was_ some one, I b'lieve, sir, but I don't exac'ly know if +they's there yet." + +Presently they reached the region below. In absolute darkness they +descended steps which were covered with a sort of slime, and then, +by striking a light, found themselves in front of a closed door. +Opening this, they entered a vile hole where it could scarcely be +said to be daylight, so thickly was the little window patched with +filth. Groping about in the stifling atmosphere, they discovered in +one corner a mass of indescribable matter, from which arose, +seemingly, the worst of the effluvia. + +"What is it?" asked Mr. Woodstock, holding a lighted match. + +"Rotten fish, it seems to me," said the other, holding his nose. + +Abraham turned away; then, as if his eye had suddenly caught +something, strode to another corner. There lay the body of a dead +child, all but naked, upon a piece of sacking. + +"We'd better get out of this, sir," said the builder. "We shall be +poisoned. Wonder they haven't the plague here." + +"Seems to me they have," returned Mr. Woodstock. + +They went out into the street, and hailed the first policeman in +sight. Then, giving up his investigations for that morning, Mr. +Woodstock repaired to the police-station, and after a good deal of +trouble, succeeded in getting the attendance of a medical man, with +the result that the woman they had seen up in the garret was found +to be in truth dying of small-pox. If the contagion spread, as +probably it had by this time begun to, there would be a pleasant +state of things in Litany Lane. + +In the evening, before going home, Abraham had a bath. He was not a +nervous man, but the possibilities of the risk he had run were not +agreeable to contemplate. Two or three days went by without any +alarming symptoms, but as he learnt that another case of small-pox +had declared itself in the Lane, he postponed his personal activity +there for the present, and remained a good deal at home. On the +Sunday morning--when Waymark's letter had already been posted-- +he awoke with a headache, continued from the night before. It grew +worse during the day, and he went to bed early with a dull pain +across the forehead, which prevented him from sleeping. On the +following morning the headache still remained; he felt a +disinclination to rise, and now, for the first time, began to be +troubled with vague fears, which blended themselves with his various +pre-occupations in a confusing way. The letter which arrived from +Waymark was taken up to him. It caused him extreme irritation, which +was followed by uneasy dozing, the pain across his forehead growing +worse the while. A doctor was summoned. + +The same day Ida and Miss Hurst left the house, to occupy lodgings +hard by; it was done at Mr. Woodstock's peremptory bidding. Ida at +once wrote to Waymark, begging him to come; he arrived early next +morning, and learnt the state of things. + +"The doctor tells me," said Ida, "there is a case in Litany Lane. It +is very cruel. Grandfather went to make arrangements for having the +houses repaired." + +"There I recognise your hand," Waymark observed, as she made a +pause. + +"Why have you so deserted us?" Ida asked. "Why do we see you so +seldom?" + +"It is so late every evening before I leave the library, and I am +busy with all sorts of things." + +They had little to say to each other, Waymark promised to +communicate at once with a friend of Mr. Woodstock's, a man of +business, and to come again as soon as possible, to give any help he +could. Whether Ida had been told of his position remained uncertain. + +For Ida they were sad, long days. Troubles which she had previously +managed to keep in the background now again beset her. She had +attached herself to her grandfather; gratitude for all that he was +doing at her wish strengthened her affection, and she awaited each +new day with fear. Waymark seemed colder to her in these days than +he had ever been formerly. The occasion ought, she felt, to have +brought them nearer together; but on his side there appeared to be +no such feeling. The time hung very heavily on her hands. She tried +to go on with her studies, but it was a mere pretence. + +Soon, she learnt that there was no hope; the sick man had sunk into +a state of unconsciousness from which he would probably not awake. +She haunted the neighbourhood of the house, or, in her lodging, sat +like one who waits, and the waiting was for she knew not what. There +was once more to be a great change in her life, but of what kind she +could not foresee. She wished her suffering had been more acute; her +only relative was dying, yet no tear would come to her eyes; it was +heartless, and to weep would have brought relief to her. She could +only sit and wait. + +When Waymark came, on the evening of the next day, he heard that all +was over. Ida saw him, but only for a few minutes. In going away, he +paused by the gates of the silent house. + +"The slums have avenged themselves," he said to himself sadly, +"though late." + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + +HOUSE-WARMING + + + + +On a Sunday afternoon in October, when Abraham Woodstock had lain in +his grave for three months, Waymark met Julian Casti by appointment +in Sloane Square, and they set forth together on a journey to +Peckham. They were going thither by invitation, and, to judge from +the laughter which accompanied their talk, their visit was likely to +afford them entertainment. The merriment on Julian's side was not +very natural; he looked indeed too ill to enjoy mirth of any kind. +As they stood in the Square, waiting for an omnibus, he kept +glancing uneasily about him, especially in the direction whence they +had come. It had the appearance of a habit, but before they had +stood much more than a minute, he started and exclaimed in a low +voice to his companion-- + +"I told you so. She is just behind there. She has come round by the +back streets, just to see if I'd told her the truth." + +Waymark glanced back and shrugged his shoulders. + +"Pooh! Never mind," he said. "You're used to it." + +"Used to it! Yes," Julian returned, his face flushing suddenly a +deep red, the effect of extraordinary excitement; "and it is driving +me mad." + +Then, after a fit of coughing-- + +"She found my poem last night, and burnt it." + +"Burnt it?" + +"Yes; simply because she could not understand it. She said she +thought it was waste paper, but I saw, I saw." + +The 'bus they waited for came up, and they went on their way. On +reaching the neighbourhood of Peckham, they struck off through a +complex of small new streets, apparently familiar to Waymark, and +came at length to a little shop, also very new, the windows of which +displayed a fresh-looking assortment of miscellaneous goods. There +was half a large cheese, marked by the incisions of the +tasting-knife; a boiled ham, garlanded; a cone of brawn; a truncated +pyramid of spiced beef, released from its American tin; also German +sausage and other dainties of the kind. Then there were canisters of +tea and coffee, tins of mustard, a basket of eggs, some onions, +boxes of baking-powder and of blacking; all arranged so as to make +an impression on the passers-by; everything clean and bright. Above +the window stood in imposing gilt letters the name of the +proprietor: O'Gree. + +They entered. The shop was very small and did not contain much +stock. The new shelves showed a row of biscuit-tins, but little +else, and from the ceiling hung balls of string. On the counter lay +an inviting round of boiled beef. Odours of provisions and of fresh +paint were strong in the air. Every thing gleamed from resent +scrubbing and polishing; the floor only emphasised its purity by a +little track where a child's shoes had brought in mud from the +street; doubtless it had been washed over since the Sunday morning's +custom had subsided. Wherever the walls would have confessed their +bareness the enterprising tradesman had hung gorgeous advertising +cards. At the sound of the visitors' footsteps, the door leading out +of the shop into the parlour behind opened briskly, a head having +previously appeared over the red curtain, and Mr. O'Gree, in the +glory of Sunday attire, rushed forward with eager hands. His welcome +was obstreperous. + +"Waymark, you're a brick! Mr. Casti, I'm rejoiced to receive you in +my establishment! You're neither a minute too soon nor a minute too +late. Mrs. O'Gree only this moment called out from the kitchen that +the kettle was boiling and the crumpets at the point of perfection! +I knew your punctuality of old, Waymark. Mr. Casti, how does it +strike you? Roaring trade, Waymark! Done two shillings and +threepence three farthings this Sunday morning. Look here, me boy, +--ho, ho!" + +He drew out the till behind the counter, and jingled his hand in +coppers. Then he rushed about in the wildest fervour from object to +object, opening tins which he had forgotten were empty, making +passes at the beef and the ham with a formidable carving-knife, +demonstrating the use of a sugar-chopper and a coffee-grinder, and, +lastly, calling attention with infinite glee to a bad halfpenny +which he had detected on the previous afternoon, and had forthwith +nailed down to the counter, _in terrorem_. Then he lifted with much +solemnity a hinged portion of the counter, and requested his +visitors to pass into the back-parlour. Here there was the same +perfect cleanliness, though the furniture was scant and very simple. +The round table was laid for tea, with a spotless cloth, plates of a +very demonstrative pattern, and knives and forks which seemed only +just to have left the ironmonger's shop. + +"We pass, you observe, Mr. Casti," cried the ex-teacher, "from the +region of commerce to that of domestic intimacy. Here Mrs. O'Gree +reigns supreme, as indeed she does in the other department, as far +as presiding genius goes. She's in all places at once, like a +birrud! Mr. Casti," in a whisper, "I shall have the pleasure of +introducing you to one of the most remarkable women it was ever your +lot to meet; a phenomenon of--" + +The inner door opened, and the lady herself interrupted these +eulogies. Sally was charming. Her trim little body attired in the +trimmest of homely dresses, her sharp little face shining and just a +little red with excitement, her quick movements, her laughing eyes, +her restless hands graced with the new wedding-ring--all made up a +picture of which her husband might well be proud. He stood and gazed +at her in frank admiration; only when she sprang forward to shake +hands with Waymark did he recover himself sufficiently to go through +the ceremony of introducing Julian. It was done with all +stateliness. + +"An improvement this on the masters' room, eh, Waymark?" cried Mr. +O'Gree. Then, suddenly interrupting him self, "And that reminds me! +We've got a lodger." + +"Already?" + +"And who d'ye think? Who d'ye think? You wouldn't guess if you went +on till Christmas. Ho, ho, ho! I'm hanged if I tell you. Wait and +see!" + +"Shall I call him down?" asked Sally, who in the meantime had +brought in the tea-pot, and the crumpets, and a dish of slices from +the round of beef on the counter, and boiled eggs, and sundry other +dainties. + +O'Gree, unable to speak for mirth, nodded his head, and presently +Sally returned, followed by--Mr. Egger. Waymark scarcely +recognised his old friend, so much had the latter changed: instead +of the old woe-begone look, Egger's face wore a joyous smile, and +his outer man was so vastly improved that he had evidently fallen on +a more lucrative profession. Waymark remembered O'Gree's chance +meeting with the Swiss, but had heard nothing of him since; nor +indeed had O'Gree till a day or two ago. + +"How do things go?" Waymark inquired heartily. "Found a better +school?" + +"No, no, my friend," returned Egger, in his very bad English. "At +the school I made my possible; I did till I could no more. I have +made like Mr. O'Gree; it is to say, quite a change in my life. I am +waiter at a restaurant. And see me; am I not the better quite? No +fear!" This cockneyism came in with comical effect. "I have enough +to eat and to drink, and money in my pocket. The school may go to ----" + +O'Gree coughed violently to cover the last word, and looked +reproachfully at his old colleague. Poor Egger, who had been carried +away by his joyous fervour, was abashed, and glanced timidly at +Sally, who replied by giving him half a dozen thick rounds of German +sausage. On his requesting mustard, she fetched some from the shop +and mixed it, but, in doing so, had the misfortune to pour too much +water. + +"There!" she exclaimed; "I've doubted the miller's eye." + +O'Gree laughed when he saw Waymark looking for an explanation. + +"That's a piece of Weymouth," he remarked. "Mrs. O'Gree comes from +the south-west of England," he added, leaning towards Casti. "She's +constantly teaching me new and interesting things. Now, if I was to +spill the salt here--" + +He put his Ii and on the salt-cellar, as if to do so, but Sally +rapped his knuckles with a fork. + +"None of your nonsense, sir! Give Mr. Casti some more meat, +instead." + +It was a merry party. The noise of talk grew so loud that it was +only the keenness of habitual attention on Sally's part which +enabled her to observe that a customer was knocking on the counter. +She darted out, but returned with a disappointed look on her face. + +"Pickles?" asked her husband, frowning. + +Sally nodded. + +"Now, look here, Waymark," cried O'Gree, rising in indignation from +his seat. "Look here, Mr. Casti. The one drop of bitterness in our +cup is--pickles; the one thing that threatens to poison our +happiness is--pickles. We're always being asked for pickles; just +as if the people knew about it, and came on purpose!" + +"Knew About what?" asked Waymark, in astonishment. + +"Why, that we mayn't sell 'em! A few doors off there's a scoundrel +of a grocer. Now, his landlord's the same as ours, and when we took +this shop there was one condition attached. Because the grocer sells +pickles, and makes a good thing of them, we had to undertake that, +in that branch of commerce, we wouldn't compete with him. Pickles +are forbidden." + +Waymark burst into a most unsympathetic roar of laughter, but with +O'Gree the grievance was evidently a serious one, and it was some +few moments before he recovered his equanimity. Indeed it was not +quite restored till the entrance of another customer, who purchased +two ounces of butter. When, in the dead silence which ensued, Sally +was heard weighing out the order, O'Gree's face beamed; and when +there followed the chink of coins in the till, he brought his fist +down with a triumphant crash upon the table. + +When tea was over, O'Gree managed to get Waymark apart from the +rest, and showed him a small photograph of Sally which had recently +been taken. + +"Sally's great ambition," he whispered, "is to be taken +cabinet-size, and in a snow-storm. You've seen the kind of thing in +the shop-windows? We'll manage that before long, but this will do +for the present. You don't see a face like that every day; eh, +Waymark?" + +Sally, her housewifery duly accomplished in the invisible regions, +came back and sat by the fireside. She had exchanged her work-a-day +costume for one rather more ornate. Noticeable was a delicate gold +chain which hung about her neck, and Waymark smiled when he +presently saw her take out her watch and seem to compare its time +with that of the clock on the mantelpiece. It was a wedding present +from Ida. + +Sally caught the smile, and almost immediately came over to a seat +by Waymark; and, whilst the others were engaged in loud talk, spoke +with him privately. + +"Have you seen her lately?" she asked. + +"Not for some weeks," the other replied, shaking his head. + +"Well, it's the queerest thing I ever knew, s'nough! But, there," +she added, with an arch glance, "some men are that stupid--" + +Waymark laughed slightly, and again shook his head. + +"All a mistake," he said. + +"Yes, that's just what it is, you may depend upon it. I more'n half +believe you're telling fibs." + +Tumblers of whisky were soon smoking on the table, and all except +Casti laughed and talked to their heart's content. Casti was no +kill-joy; he smiled at all that went on, now and then putting in a +friendly word; but the vitality of the others was lacking in him, +and the weight which crushed him night and day could not so easily +be thrown aside. O'Gree was abundant in reminiscences of academic +days, and it would not have been easy to resist altogether the +comical vigour of his stories, all without one touch of real +bitterness or malice. + +"Bedad," he cried, "I sent old Pendy a business prospectus, with my +compliments written on the bottom of it. I thought he might perhaps +be disposed to give me a contract for victualling the Academy. I +wish he had, for the boys' sake." + +Then, to bring back completely the old times, Mr. Egger was +prevailed upon to sing one of his _Volkslieder_, that which had been +Waymark's especial favourite, and which he had sung--on an +occasion memorable to Sally and her husband--in the little +dining-room at Richmond. + +"_Die Schwalb'n flieg'n fort, doch sie zieh'n wieder her; +Der Mensch wenn er fortgeht, er kommt nimmermehr!_" + +Waymark was silent for a little after that. + +When it was nearly eleven o'clock, Casti looked once or twice +meaningly at Waymark, and the friends at length rose to take their +leave, in spite of much protest. O'Gree accompanied them as far as +the spot where they would meet the omnibus, then, with assurances +that to-night had been but the beginning of glorious times, sent +them on their way. Julian was silent during the journey home; he +looked very wearied. For lack of a timely conveyance the last mile +or so had to be walked. Julian's cough had been bad during the +evening, and now the cold night-air seemed to give him much trouble. +Presently, just as they turned a corner, a severe blast of wind met +them full in the face. Julian began coughing violently, and all at +once became so weak that he had to lean against a palisading. +Waymark, looking closer in alarm, saw that the handkerchief which +the poor fellow was holding to his mouth was covered with blood. + +"We must have a cab," he exclaimed. "It is impossible for you to +walk in this state." + +Julian resisted, with assurances that the worst was over for the +time. If Waymark would give the support of his arm, he would get on +quite well. There was no overcoming his resolution to proceed. + +"There's no misunderstanding this, old fellow," he said, with a +laugh, when they had walked a few paces. + +Waymark made no reply. + +"You'll laugh at me," Julian went on, "but isn't there a certain +resemblance between my case and that of Keats? He too was a +drug-pounder; he liked it as little as I do; and he died young of +consumption. I suppose a dying man may speak the truth about +himself. I too might have been a poet, if life had dealt more kindly +with me. I think you would have liked the thing I was writing; I'd +finished some three hundred lines; but now you'll never see it. +Well, I don't know that it matters." + +Waymark tried to speak in a tone of hopefulness, but it was hard to +give his words the semblance of sincerity. + +"Do you remember," Casti continued, "when all my talk used to be +about Rome, and how I planned to see it one day--see it again. I +should say? Strange to think that I really was born in Rome. I used +to call myself a Roman, you know, and grow hot with pride when I +thought of it. Those were dreams. Oh, I was to do wonderful things! +Poetry was to make me rich, and then I would go and live in Italy, +and fill my lungs with the breath of the Forum, and write my great +Epic. How good that we can't foresee our lives!" + +"I wish to heaven," Waymark exclaimed, when they were parting, "that +you would be a man and shake this monstrous yoke from off your neck! +It is that that is killing you. Give yourself a chance. Defy +everything and make yourself free." + +Julian shook his head sadly. + +"Too late! I haven't the courage. My mind weakens with my body." + +He went to his lodgings, and, as he anticipated, found that Harriet +had not yet come home. She was almost always out very late, and he +had learnt too well what t expect on her return. In spite of her +illness, of which she made the most when it suited her purpose, she +was able t wander about at all hours with the acquaintances her +husband did not even know by name, and Julian had no longer the +strength even to implore her to have pity on him. He absence racked +him with nervous fears; her presence tortured him to agony. Weakness +in him had reached a criminal degree. Once or twice he had all but +made up his mind to flee secretly, and only let her know his +determination when he had gone; but his poverty interposed such +obstacles that he ended by accepting them as excuses for his +hesitation. The mere thought of fulfilling the duty which he owed to +himself, of speaking out with manly firmness, and telling her that +here at length all ended between them--that was a terror to his +soul. So he stayed on and allowed her to kill him by slow torment. +He was at least carrying out to the letter the promise he had made +to her father, and this thought supplied him with a flattering +unction which, such was his disposition, at times even brought him a +moment's solace. + +There was no fire in the room; he sank upon a chair and waited. +Every sound in the street below sent the blood back upon his heart. +At length there came the fumbling of a latch-key--he could hear it +plainly--and then the heavy foot ascending the stairs. Her glazed +eyes and red cheeks told the familiar tale. She sat down opposite +him and was silent for a minute, half dozing; then she seemed +suddenly to become conscious of his presence, and the words began to +flow from her tongue, every one cutting him to the quick, poisoning +his soul with their venom of jealousy and vulgar spite. Contention +was the breath of her nostrils; the prime impulse of her heart was +suspicion. Little by little she came round to the wonted topic. Had +he been to see his friend the thief? Was she in prison again yet? +Whom had she been stealing from of late? Oh, she was innocence +itself, of course; too good for this evil-speaking world. + +Tonight he could not bear it. He rose from his chair like a drunken +man, and staggered to the door. She sprang after him, but he was +just in time to escape her grasp and spring down the stairs; then, +out into the night. Once before, not quite a month ago, be had been +driven thus in terror from the sound of her voice, and had slept at +a coffeehouse. Now, as soon as he had got out of the street and saw +that he was not being pursued, he discovered that he had given away +his last copper for the omnibus fare. No matter; the air was +pleasant upon his throbbing temples. It was too late to think of +knocking at the house where Waymark lodged. Nothing remained but to +walk about the streets all night, resting on a stone when he became +too weary to go further, sheltering a little here or there when the +wind cut him too keenly. Rather this, oh, a thousand times rather, +than the hell behind him. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + +NO WAY BUT THIS + + + + +In the early days of October, Waymark's book appeared. It excited no +special attention. Here and there a reviewer was found who ventured +to hint that there was powerful writing in this new novel, but no +one dared to heartily recommend it to public attention. By some it +was classed with the "unsavoury productions of the so-called +naturalist school;" others passed it by with a few lines of +unfavourable comment. Clearly it was destined to bring the author +neither fame nor fortune. + +Waymark was surprised at his own indifference. Having given a copy +to Casti, and one to Maud, he thought very little more of the +production. It had ceased to interest him; he felt that if he were +to write again it would be in a very different way and of different +people. Even when he prided himself most upon his self-knowledge he +had been most ignorant of the direction in which his character was +developing. Unconsciously, he had struggled to the extremity of +weariness, and now he cared only to let things take their course, +standing aside from every shadow of new onset. Above all, he kept +away as much as possible from the house at Tottenham, where Ida was +still living. To go there meant only a renewal of torment. This was +in fact the commonplace period of his life. He had no energy above +that of the ordinary young man who is making his living in a +commonplace way, and his higher faculties lay dormant. + +In one respect, and that, after all, perhaps the most important, his +position would soon be changed. Mr. Woodstock's will, when affairs +were settled, would make him richer by one thousand pounds; he +might, if he chose, presently give up his employment, and either +trust to literature, or look out for something less precarious. A +year ago, this state of things would have filed him with exultation. +As it was, he only saw in it an accident compelling him to a certain +fateful duty. There was now no reason why his marriage should be +long delayed. For Maud's sake the step was clearly desirable. At +present she and her mother were living with Miss Bygrave in the +weird old house. Of Paul there had come no tidings. Their home was +of course broken up, and they had no income of their own to depend +upon. Maud herself, though of course aware of Waymark's prospects, +seemed to shrink from speaking of the future. She grew more and more +uncertain as to her real thoughts and desires. + +And what of Ida? It was hard for her to realise her position; for a +time she was conscious only of an overwhelming sense of loneliness. +The interval of life with her grandfather was dreamlike as she +looked back upon it; yet harder to grasp was the situation in which +she now found herself, surrounded by luxuries which had come to her +as if from the clouds, her own mistress, free to form wishes merely +for the sake of satisfying them. She cared little to realise the +minor possibilities of wealth. The great purpose, the noble end to +which her active life had shaped itself, was sternly present before +her; she would not shirk its demands. But there was lacking the +inspiration of joy. Could she harden herself to every personal +desire, and forget, in devotion to others, the sickness of one great +hope deferred? Did her ideal require this of her? + +Would he come, now that she was free to give herself where she +would, now that she was so alone? The distance between them had +increased ever since the beginning of her new life. She knew well +the sort of pride he was capable of; but was there not something +else, something she dreaded to observe too closely, in the manner of +his speech? Did he think so meanly of her as to deem such +precautions necessary against her misconstruction? Nay, _could_ he +have guarded himself in that way if he really loved her? Would it +not have been to degrade her too much in his own eyes? + +He loved her once. Had she in any way grown less noble in his eyes, +by those very things which she regarded as help and strengthening? +Did he perchance think she had too readily accepted ease when it was +offered her, sacrificing the independence which he most regarded? If +so, all the more would he shrink from losing for her his own +independence. + +She imagined herself wedded to him; at liberty to stand before him +and confess all the thoughts which now consumed her in the silence +of vain longing. "Why did I break free from the fetters of a +shameful life? Because I loved, and loved _you_. What gave me the +strength to pass from idle luxury, poisoning the energies of the +soul, to that life of lonely toil and misery? My love, and my love +for _you_. I kept apart from you then; I would not even let you know +what I was enduring; only because you had spoken a hasty, +thoughtless word to me, which showed me with terrible distinctness +the meaning of all I had escaped, and filled me with a determination +to prove to myself that I had not lost all my better nature, that +there was still enough of purity in my being to save me finally. +What was it that afflicted me with agony beyond all words when I was +made the victim of a cruel and base accusation? Not the fear of its +consequences; only the dread lest _you_ should believe me guilty, +and no longer deem me worthy of a thought. It is no arrogance to say +that I am become a pure woman; not my own merits, but love of you +has made me so. I love you as a woman loves only once; if you asked +me to give up my life to prove it, I am capable of doing no less a +thing than that. Flesh and spirit I lay before you--all yours; do +you still think the offering unworthy?" + +And yet she knew that she could never thus speak to him; her +humility was too great. At moments she might feel this glow of +conscious virtue, but for the most part the weight of all the past +was so heavy upon her. + +Fortunately, her time did not long remain unoccupied. As her +grandfather's heiress she found herself owner of the East-end +property, and, as soon as it was assured that she would incur no +danger, she went over the houses in the company of the builder whom +Abraham had chosen to carry out his proposed restorations. The +improvements were proceeded with at once, greatly to the +astonishment of the tenants, to whom such changes inevitably +suggested increase of rent. These fears Ida did her best to dispel. +Dressed in the simplest possible way, and with that kind, quiet +manner which was natural to her, she went about from room to room, +and did her best to become intimately acquainted with the woman-kind +of the Lane and the Court. It was not an easy end to compass. She +was received at first with extreme suspicion; her appearance aroused +that distrust which with the uneducated attaches to everything +novel. In many instances she found it difficult to get it believed' +that she was really the "landlord." But when this idea had been +gradually mastered, and when, moreover, it was discovered that she +brought no tracts, spoke not at all of religious matters, was not +impertinently curious, and showed indeed that she knew a good deal +of what she talked about, something like respect for her began to +spring up here and there, and she was spoken of as "the right sort." + +Ida was excellently fitted for the work she had undertaken. She knew +so well, from her own early experience, the nature of the people +with whom she was brought in contact, and had that instinctive +sympathy with their lives without which it is so vain to attempt +practical social reform. She started with no theory, and as yet had +no very definite end in view; it simply appeared to her that, as +owner of these slums, honesty and regard for her own credit required +that she should make them decent human habitations, and give what +other help she could to people obviously so much in need of it. The +best was that she understood how and when such help could be +afforded. To native practicality and prudence she added a keen +recollection of the wants and difficulties she had struggled through +in childhood; there was no danger of her being foolishly lavish in +charity, when she could foresee with sympathy all the evil results +which would ensue. Her only temptation to imprudence was when, as so +often happened, she saw some little girl in a position which +reminded her strongly of her own dark days; all such she would have +liked to take home with her and somehow provide for, saving them +from the wretched alternatives which were all that life had to offer +them. So, little by little, she was brought to think in a broader +way of problems puzzling enough to wiser heads than hers. Social +miseries, which she had previously regarded as mere matters of fact, +having never enjoyed the opportunities of comparison which alone can +present them in any other light, began to move her to indignation. +Often it was with a keen sense of shame that she took the weekly +rent, a sum scraped together Heaven knew how, representing so much +deduction from the food of the family. She knew that it would be +impossible to remit the rent altogether, but at all events there was +the power of reducing it, and this she did in many cases. + +The children she came to regard as her peculiar care. Her strong +common sense taught her that it was with these that most could be +done. The parents could not be reformed; at best they might be kept +from that darkest depth of poverty which corrupts soul and body +alike. But might not the girls be somehow put into the way of +earning a decent livelihood? Ida knew so well the effect upon them +of the occupations to which they mostly turned, occupations +degrading to womanhood, blighting every hope. Even to give them the +means of remaining at home would not greatly help them; there they +still breathed a vile atmosphere. To remove them altogether was the +only efficient way, and how could that be done? + +The months of late summer and autumn saw several more +garden-parties. These, Ida knew, were very useful, but more enduring +things must be devised. Miss Hurst was the only person with whom she +could consult, and that lady's notions were not very practical. If +only she could have spoken freely with Waymark; but that she could +no longer on any subject, least of all on this. As winter set in, he +had almost forsaken her. He showed no interest in her life, beyond +asking occasionally what she was reading, and taking the opportunity +to talk of books. Throughout November she neither saw him nor heard +from him. Then one evening he came. + +She was alone when the servant announced him; with her sat her old +companion, Grim. As Waymark entered, she looked at him with friendly +smile, and said quietly-- + +"I thought you would never come again" + +"I have not kept away through thoughtlessness," he replied. "Believe +that; it is the truth. And to-night I have only come to say +good-bye. I am going to leave London." + +You used to say nothing would induce you to leave London, and that +you couldn't live anywhere else." + +"Yes; that was one of my old fancies. I am going right away into the +country, at all events for a year or two. I suppose I shall write +novels." + +He moved uneasily under her gaze, and affected a cheerfulness which +could not deceive her. + +"Has your book been a success?" Ida asked. + +"No; it fell dead." + +"Why didn't you give me a copy?" + +"I thought too little of it. It's poor stuff. Better you shouldn't +read it" + +"But I have read it." + +"Got it from the library, did you?" + +"No; I bought it." + +"What a pity to waste so much money!" + +"Why do you speak like that? You know how anything of yours would +interest me." + +"Oh yes, in a certain way, of course." + +"For its own sake, too. I can't criticise, but I know it held me as +nothing else ever did. It was horrible in many parts, but I was the +better for reading it." + +He could not help showing pleasure, and grew more natural. Ida had +purposely refrained from speaking of the book when she read it, more +than a month ago, always hoping that he would be the first to say +something about it. But the news he had brought her to-night put an +end to reticence on her side. She must speak out her heart, cost her +what it might. + +"Who should read it, if not I?" she said, as he remained silent. +"Who can possibly understand it half so well as I do?" + +"Yes," he remarked, with wilful misunderstanding, "you have seen the +places and the people. And I hear you are going on with the work +your grandfather began?" + +"I am trying to do something. If you had been able to give me a +little time now and then, I should have asked you to advise and help +me. It is hard to work there single-handed." + +"You are too good for that; I should have liked to think of you as +far apart from those vile scenes." + +"Too good for it?" Her voice trembled. "How can any one be too good +to help the miserable? If you had said that I was not worthy of such +a privilege--Can you, knowing me as no one else does or ever will, +think that I could live here in peace, whilst those poor creatures +stint and starve themselves every week to provide me with comforts? +Do I seem to you such a woman?" + +He only smiled, his lips tortured to hold their peace. + +"I had hoped you understood me better than that. Is that why you +have left me to myself? Do you doubt my sincerity? Why do you speak +so cruelly, saying I am too good, when your real thoughts must be so +different? You mean that I am incapable of really doing anything; +you have no faith in me. I seem to you too weak to pursue any high +end. You would not even speak to me of your book, because you felt I +should not appreciate it. And yet you do know me--" + +"Yes; I know you well," Waymark said. + +Ida looked steadily at him. "If you are speaking to me for the last +time, won't you be sincere, and tell me of my faults? Do you think I +could not bear it? You can say nothing to me--nothing from your +heart--that I won't accept in all humility. Are we no longer even +friends?" + +"You mistake me altogether." + +"And you are still my friend?" she uttered warmly. "But why do you +think me unfit for good work?" + +"I had no such thought. You know how my ideals oppose each other. I +spoke on the impulse of the moment; I often find it so hard to +reconcile myself to anything in life that is not, still and calm and +beautiful. I am just now bent on forgetting all the things about +which you are so earnest." + +"Earnest? Yes. But I cannot give my whole self to the work. I am so +lonely." + +"You will not be so for long," he answered with more cheerfulness. +"You have every opportunity of making for yourself a good social +position. You will soon have friends, if only you seek them. Your +goodness will make you respected. Indeed I wonder at your remaining +so isolated. It need not be; I am sure it need not. Your wealth--I +have no thought of speaking cynically--your wealth must--" + +"My wealth! What is it to me? What do I care for all the friends it +might bring? They are nothing to me in my misery. But you . . . I +would give all I possess for one kind word from you." + +Flushing over forehead and cheeks, she compelled herself to meet his +look. It was her wealth that stood between her and him. Her position +was not like that of other women. Conventionalities were +meaningless, set against a life. + +"I have tried hard to make myself ever so little worthy of you," she +murmured, when her voice would again obey her will. "Am I still-- +still too far beneath you?" + +He stood like one detected in a crime, and stammered the words. + +"Ida, I am not free." + +He had risen. Ida sprang up, and moved towards him. + +"_This_ was your secret? Tell me, then. Look--_I_ am strong! Tell +me about it. I might have thought of this. I thought only of myself. +I might have known there was good reason for the distance you put +between us. Forgive me--oh, forgive the pain I have caused you! + +"You asking for forgiveness? How you must despise me." + +"Why should I despise you? You have never said a word to me that any +friend, any near friend, might not have said, never since I myself, +in my folly, forbade you to. You were not bound to tell me--" + +"I had told your grandfather," Waymark said in a broken voice. "In a +letter I wrote the very day he was taken ill, I begged him to let +you know that I had bound myself." + +As he spoke he knew that he was excusing himself with a truth which +implied a falsehood, and before it was too late his soul revolted +against the unworthiness. + +"But it was my own fault that it was left so long. I would not let +him tell you when he wished to; I put off the day as long as I +could." + +"Since you first knew me?" she asked, in a low voice. + +"No! Since you came to live here. I was free before." + +It was the part of his confession which cost him most to utter, and +the hearing of it chilled Ida's heart. Whilst she had been living +through her bitterest shame and misery, he had given his love to +another woman, forgetful of her. For the first time, weakness +overcame her. + +"I thought you loved me," she sobbed, bowing her head. + +"I did--and I do. I can't understand myself, and it would be worse +than vain to try to show you how it came about. I have brought a +curse upon my life, and worse than my own despair is your misery." + +"Is she a good woman you are going to marry?" Ida asked simply and +kindly. + +"Only less noble than yourself." + +"And she loves you--no, she cannot love as I do--but she loves +you worthily and with all her soul?" + +"Worthily and with all her soul--the greater my despair." + +"Then I dare not think of her one unkind thought. We must remember +her, and be strong for her sake. You will leave London and forget me +soon,--yes, yes, you will _try_ to forget me. You owe it to her; +it is your duty." + +"Duty!" he broke out passionately. "What have I to do with duty? Was +it not my duty to be true to you? Was it not my duty to confess my +hateful weakness, when I had taken the fatal step? Duty has no +meaning for me. I have set it aside at every turn. Even now there +would be no obligation on me to keep my word, but that I am too +great a coward to revoke it." + +She stood near to him. + +"Dear,--I will call you so, it is for the last time,--you think +these things in the worst moment of our suffering; afterwards you +will thank me for having been strong enough, or cold enough, to be +your conscience. There _is_ such a thing as duty; it speaks in your +heart and in mine, and tells us that we must part." + +"You speak so lightly of parting. If you felt all that I--" + +"My love is no shadow less than yours," she said, with earnestness +which was well nigh severity. "I have never wavered from you since I +knew you first" + +"Ida!" + +"I meant no reproach, but it will perhaps help you to think of that. +You _did_ love her, if it was only for a day, and that love will +return." + +She moved from him, and he too rose. + +"You shame me," he said, under his breath. "I am not worthy to touch +your hand." + +"Yes," she returned, smiling amid her tears, "very worthy of all the +love I have given you, and of the love with which _she_ will make +you happy. I shall suffer, but the thought of your happiness will +help me to bear up and try to live a life you would not call +ignoble. You will do great things, and I shall hear of them, and be +glad. Yes; I know that is before you. You are one of those who +cannot rest till they have won a high place. I, too, have my work, +and--" + +Her voice failed. + +"Shall we never see each other again, Ida?" + +"Perhaps. In a few years we might meet, and be friends. But I dare +not think of that now." + +They clasped hands, for one dread moment resisted the lure of eyes +and lips, and so parted. + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + +FORBIDDEN + + + + +December was half through, and it was the eve of Maud Enderby's +marriage-day. Everything was ready for the morrow. Waymark had been +away in the South, and the house to which he would take his wife now +awaited their coming. + +It was a foggy night. Maud had been for an hour to Our Lady of the +Rosary, and found it difficult to make her way back. The street +lamps were mere luminous blurs upon the clinging darkness, and the +suspension of the wonted traffic made the air strangely still. It +was cold, that kind of cold which wraps the limbs like a cloth +soaked in icy water. When she knocked at the door of her aunt's +house, and it was opened to her, wreaths of mist swept in and hung +about the lighted hall. It seemed colder within than without. +Footsteps echoed here in the old way, and voices lost themselves in +a muffled resonance along the bare white walls. The house was more +tomb-like than ever on such a night as thin To Maud's eyes the +intruding fog shaped itself into ghostly visages, which looked upon +her with weird and woeful compassion. She shuddered, and hastened +upstairs to her mother's room. + +After her husband's disappearance, Mrs. Enderby had passed her days +in a morbid apathy, contrasting strangely with the restless +excitement which had so long possessed her. But a change came over +her from the day when she was told of Maud's approaching marriage. +It was her delight to have Maud sit by her bed, or her couch, and +talk over the details of the wedding and the new life that would +follow upon it. Her interest in Waymark, which had fallen off during +the past half-year, all at once revived; she conversed with him as +she had been used to do when she first made his acquaintance, and +the publication of his book afforded her endless matter for gossip. +She began to speak of herself as an old woman, and of spending her +last years happily in the country. To all appearances she had +dismissed from her mind the calamity which had befallen her; her +husband might have been long dead for any thought she seemed to give +him. She was wholly taken up with childish joy in trivial matters. +The dress in which Maud should be married gave her thoughts constant +occupation, and she fretted at any opposition to her ideas. Still, +like a child, she allowed herself to be brought round to others' +views, and was ultimately led to consent that the costume should be +a very simple one, merely a new dress, in fact, which Maud would be +able to wear subsequently with little change. Even thus, every +detail of it was as important to her as if it had been the most +elaborate piece of bridal attire. In talking with Maud, too, she had +lost that kind of awe which had formerly restrained her; it was as +though she had been an affectionate mother ever since her daughter's +birth. She called her by pet names, often caressed her, and wished +for loving words and acts in return. Of Miss Bygrave's presence in +the house she appeared scarcely conscious, never referring to her, +and suffering a vague trouble if her sister entered the room where +she was, which Theresa did very seldom. + +The new dress had come home finished this evening whilst Maud was +away. On the latter's return, her mother insisted on seeing her at +once in it, and Maud obeyed. A strange bride, rather as one who was +about to wed herself to Heaven beneath the veil, than preparing to +be led to the altar. + +Having resumed her ordinary dregs, Maud went downstairs to the +parlour where her aunt was sitting. Miss Bygrave laid down a book as +she entered. + +"We shall not see each other after tonight," Theresa said, breaking +the stillness with her grave but not unkind voice. "Is there +anything more you would like to say to me, Maud?" + +"Only that I shall always think of you, and grieve that we are +parted." + +"You are going into the world," said the other sadly, "my thoughts +cannot follow you there. But your purer spirit will often be with +me." + +"And your spirit with me. If I had been permitted to share your +life, that would have been my greatest joy. I am consciously +choosing what my soul would set aside. For a time I thought I had +reconciled myself to the world; I found delight in it, and came to +look on the promptings of the spirit as morbid fancies. That has +passed. I know the highest, but between me and it there is a gulf +which it may be I shall never pass." + +"It is only to few," said Theresa, looking at Maud with her smile of +assured peace, "that it is given to persevere and attain." + +As they sat once more in silence, there suddenly came a light knock +at the house-door. At this moment Maud's thoughts had wandered back +to a Christmas of her childhood, when she had sat just as to-night +with her aunt, and had for the first time listened to those +teachings which had moulded her life. The intervening years were +swept away, and she was once more the thoughtful, wondering child, +conscious of the great difference between herself and her +companions; in spite of herself learning to regard the world in +which they moved as something in which she had no part. Of those +school companions a few came back to her mind, and, before all, the +poor girl named Ida Starr, whom she had loved and admired. What had +become of Ida, after she had been sent away from Miss Rutherford's +school? She remembered that last meeting with her in the street, on +the evening of Christmas Day, and could see her face. + +The house door was opened, and Maud heard a voice outside which held +her to the spot where she stood. Then Theresa re-entered the room, +and after her came Paul Enderby. + +He seemed to be wearing a disguise; at all events his clothing was +that of a working man, poor and worn, and his face was changed by +the growth of a beard. He shivered with cold, and, as Miss Bygrave +closed the door behind him, stood with eyes sunk to the ground, in +an attitude of misery and shame. Maud, recovering quickly from the +shock his entrance had caused her, approached him and took his hand. + +"Father," she said gently. Her voice overcame him; he burst into +tears and stood hiding his face with the rough cap he held. Maud +turned to her aunt, who remained at a little distance, unmoving, her +eyes cast down. Before any other word was said, the door opened +quickly, and Mrs. Enderby ran in with a smothered cry. Throwing her +arms about her husband, she clung to him in a passion of grief and +tenderness. In a moment she had been changed from the listless, +childish woman of the last few months to a creature instinct with +violent emotion. Her mingled excess of joy and anguish could not +have displayed itself more vehemently had she been sorrowing night +and day for her husband's loss. Maud was terrified at the scene, and +shrunk to Theresa's side. Without heeding either, the distracted +woman led Paul from the room, and upstairs to her own chamber. +Drawing him to a chair, she fell on her knees beside him and wept +agonisingly. + +"You will stay with me now?" she cried, when her voice could form +words. "You won't leave me again, Paul? We will hide you here.-- +No, no; I am for getting. You will go away with us, away from London +to a safe place. Maud is going to be married to-morrow, and we will +live with her in her new home. You have suffered dreadfully; you +look so changed, so ill. You shall rest, and I will nurse you. Oh, I +will be a good wife to you, Paul. Speak to me, do speak to me: speak +kindly, dear! How long is it since I lost you?" + +"I daren't stay, Emily," he replied, in a hoarse and broken voice. +"I should be discovered. I must get away from England, that is my +only chance. I have scarcely left the house where I was hiding all +this time. It wouldn't have been safe to try and escape, even if I +had had any money. I have hungered for days, and I am weaker than a +child." + +He sobbed again in the extremity of his wretchedness. + +"It was all for my sake!" she cried, clinging around his neck. "I am +your curse. I have brought you to ruin a second time. I am a bad, +wretched woman; if you drove me from you with blows it would be less +than I deserve! You can never forgive me; but let me be your slave, +let me suffer something dreadful for your sake! Why did I ever +recover from my madness, only to bring that upon you!" + +He could speak little, but leaned back, holding her to him with one +arm. + +"No, it is not your fault, Emily," he said. "Only my own weakness +and folly. Your love repays me for all I have undergone; that was +all I ever wanted." + +When she had exhausted herself in passionate consolation, she left +him for a few moments to get him food, and he ate of it like a +famished man. + +"If I can only get money enough to leave the country, I am saved," +he said. "If I stay here, I shall be found, and they will imprison +me for years. I had rather kill myself! + +"Mr. Waymark will give us the money," was the reply, "and we will go +away together." + +"That would betray me; it would be folly to face such a risk. If I +can escape, then you shall come to me." + +"Oh, you will leave me!" she cried. "I shall lose you, as I did +before, but this time for ever! You don't love me, Paul! And how can +I expect you should? But let me go as your servant. Let me dress +like a man, and follow you. Who will notice then?" + +He shook his head. + +"I love you, Emily, and shall love you as long as I breathe. To hear +you speak to me like this has almost the power to make me happy. If +I had known it, I shouldn't have stayed so long away from you; I +hadn't the courage to come, and I thought the sight of me would only +be misery to you. I have lived a terrible life, among the poorest +people, getting my bread as they did; oftener starving. Not one of +my acquaintances was to be trusted. I have not seen one face I knew +since I first heard of my danger and escaped. But I had rather live +on like that than fall into the hands of the police; I should never +know freedom again. The thought maddens me with fear." + +"You are safe here, love, quite safe!" she urged soothingly. "Who +could know that you are here? Who could know that Maud and I were +living here?" + +There was a tap at the door. Mrs. Enderby started to it, turned the +key, and then asked who was there. + +"Emily," said Miss Bygrave's voice, "let me come in--or let Paul +come out here and speak to me." + +There was something unusual in the speaker's tone; it was quick and +nervous. Paul himself went to the door, and, putting his wife's hand +aside, opened it. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +She beckoned him to leave the room, then whispered: + +"Some one I don't know is at the front door. I opened it with the +chain on, and a man said he must see Mr. Enderby." + +"Can't I go out by the back?" Paul asked, all but voiceless with +terror. "I daren't hide in the rooms; they will search them all. How +did they know that I was here? O God, I am lost!" + +They could hear the knocking below repeated. Paul hurried down the +stairs, followed by his wife, whom Theresa in vain tried to hold +back He knew the way to the door which led into the garden, and +opening this, sprang into the darkness. Scarcely had he taken a +step, when strong arms seized him. + +"Hold on!" said a voice. "You must come back with me into the +house." + +At the same moment there was a shriek close at hand, and, as they +turned to the open door, Paul and his captor saw Emily prostrate on +the threshold, and Miss Bygrave stooping over her. + +"Better open the front door, ma'am," said the police officer, "and +ask my friend there to come through. We've got all we want." + +This was done, and when Emily had been carried into the house, Paul +was led thither also by his captor. As they stood in the hall, the +second officer drew from his pocket a warrant, and read it out with +official gravity. + +"You'll go quietly with us, I suppose?" he then said. + +Paul nodded, and all three departed by the front door. + +It was midnight and before Mrs. Enderby showed any signs of +returning consciousness. Miss Bygrave and Maud sat by her bed +together, and at length one of them noticed that she had opened her +eyes and was looking about her, though without moving her head. + +"Mother," Maud asked, bending over her, "are you better? Do you know +me?" + +Emily nodded. There was no touch of natural colour in her face, and +its muscles seemed paralysed. And she lay thus for hours, conscious +apparently, but paying no attention to those in the room. Early in +the morning a medical man was summoned, but his assistance made no +change. The fog was still heavy, and only towards noon was it +possible to dispense with lamp-light; then there gleamed for an hour +or two a weird mockery of day, and again it was nightfall. With the +darkness came rain. + +Waymark had come to the house about ten o'clock. But this was to be +no wedding-day. Maud begged him through her aunt not to see her, and +he returned as he came. Miss Bygrave had told him all that had +happened. + +Mrs. Enderby seemed to sleep for some hours, but just after +nightfall the previous condition returned; she lay with her eyes +open, and just nodded when spoken to. From eight o'clock to midnight +Maud tried to rest in her own room, but sleep was far from her, and +when she returned to the sick-chamber to relieve her aunt, she was +almost as worn and ghastly in countenance as the one they tended. +She took her place by the fire, and sat listening to the sad rain, +which fell heavily upon the soaked garden-ground below. It had a +lulling effect. Weariness overcame her, and before she could suspect +the inclination, she had fallen asleep. + +Suddenly she was awake again, wide awake, it seemed to her, without +any interval of half-consciousness, and staring horror-struck at the +scene before her. The shaded lamp stood on the chest of drawers at +one side of the room, and by its light she saw her mother in front +of the looking-glass, her raised hand holding something that +glistened. She could not move a limb; her tongue was powerless to +utter a sound. There was a wild laugh, a quick motion of the raised +hand--then it seemed to Maud as if the room were filled with a +crimson light, followed by the eternal darkness. + +. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . + +A fortnight later Miss Bygrave was sitting in the early morning by +the bed where Maud lay ill. For some days it had been feared that +the girl's reason would fail, and though this worst possibility +seemed at length averted, her condition was still full of danger. +She had recognised her aunt the preceding evening, but a relapse had +followed. Now she unexpectedly turned to the watcher, and spoke +feebly, but with perfect self-control. + +"Aunt, is madness hereditary?" + +Miss Bygrave, who had thought her asleep, bent over her and tried to +turn her mind to other thoughts. But the sick girl would speak only +of this subject. + +"I am quite myself," she said, "and I feel better. Yes, I remember +reading somewhere that it was hereditary." + +She was quiet for a little. + +"Aunt," she then said, "I shall never be married. It would be wrong +to him. I am afraid of myself." + +She did not recur to the subject till she had risen, two or three +weeks after, and was strong enough to move about the room. Waymark +had called every day during her illness. As soon as he heard that +she was up, he desired to see her, but Maud begged him, through her +aunt, to wait yet a day or two. In the night which followed she +wrote to him, and the letter was this: + +"If I had seen you when you called yesterday, I should have had to +face a task beyond my strength. Yet it would be wrong to keep from +you any longer what I have to say. I must write it, and hope your +knowledge of me will help you to understand what I can only +imperfectly express. + +"I ask you to let me break my promise to you. I have not ceased to +love you; to me you are still all that is best and dearest in the +world. You would have made my life very happy. But happiness is now +what I dare not wish for. I am too weak to make that use of it +which, I do not doubt, is permitted us; it would enslave my soul. +With a nature such as mine, there is only one path of safety: I must +renounce all. You know me to be no hypocrite, and to you, in this +moment, I need not fear to speak my whole thought, The sacrifice has +cost me much To break my faith to you, and to put aside for ever all +the world's joys--the strength for this has only come after hours +of bitterest striving. Try to be glad that I have won; it is all +behind me, and I stand upon the threshold of peace. + +"You know how from a child I have suffered. What to others was pure +and lawful joy became to me a temptation. But God was not unjust; if +He so framed me, He gave me at the same time the power to understand +and to choose. All those warnings which I have, in my blindness, +spoken of so lightly to you, I now recall with humbler and truer +mind. If the shadow of sin darkened my path, it was that I might +look well to my steps, and, alas, I have failed so, have gone so +grievously astray! God, in His righteous anger, has terribly visited +me. The most fearful form of death has risen before me; I have been +cast into abysses of horror, and only saved from frenzy by the mercy +which brought all this upon me for my good. A few months ago I had +also a warning. I did not disregard it, but I could not overcome the +love which bound me to you. But for that love, how much easier it +would have been to me to overcome the world and myself. + +"You will forgive me, for you will understand me. Do not write in +reply; spare me, I entreat you, a renewal of that dark hour I have +passed through. With my aunt I am going to leave London. We shall +remain together, and she will strengthen me in the new life. May God +bless you here and hereafter. +MAUD ENDERBY." + +After an interval of a day Waymark wrote as follows to Miss Bygrave:-- + +"Doubtless you know that Maud has written desiring +me to release her. I cannot but remember that she is scarcely yet +recovered from a severe illness, and her letter must not be final. +She entreats me not to write to her or see her. Accordingly I +address myself to you, and beg that you will not allow Maud to take +any irrevocable step till she is perfectly well, and has had time to +reflect. I shall still deem her promise to me binding. If after the +lapse of six months from now she still desires to be released, I +must know it, either from herself or from you. Write to me at the +old address." + + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + +ORDERS OF RELEASE + + + + +Waymark and Casti spent their Christmas Eve together. They spoke +freely of each other's affairs, saving that there was no mention of +Ida. Waymark had of course said nothing of that parting between Ida +and himself. Of the hope which supported him he could not speak to +his friend. + +A month had told upon Julian as months do when the end draws so +near. In spite of his suffering he still discharged his duties at +the hospital, but it was plain that he would not be able to do so +much longer. And what would happen then? + +"Casti," Waymark exclaimed suddenly, when a hint of this thought had +brought both of them to a pause, "come away with me." + +Julian looked up in bewilderment. + +"Where to?" + +"Anywhere. To some place where the sun shines." + +"What an impossible idea! How am I to get my living? And how is she +to live?" + +"Look here," Waymark said, smiling, "my will is a little stronger +than yours, and in the present case I mean to exercise it. I have +said, and there's an end of it. You say she'll be away from home +to-morrow. Good. We go together, pack up your books and things in +half an hour or so, bring them here,--and then off! _Sic volo, sic +jubeo, sit pro ratione voluntas!_" + +And it was done, though not till Waymark had overcome the other's +opposition by the most determined effort. Julian understood +perfectly well the full significance of the scheme, for all +Waymark's kind endeavour to put a hopeful and commonplace aspect on +his proposal. He resisted as long as his strength would allow, then +put himself in his friend's hands. + +It was some time before Julian could set his mind at rest with +regard to the desertion of his wife. Though no one capable of +judging the situation could have cast upon him a shadow of blame, +the first experience of peace mingled itself in his mind with +self-reproach. Waymark showed him how utterly baseless any such +feeling was. Harriet had proved herself unworthy of a moment's +consideration, and it was certain that, as long as she received her +weekly remittance--paid through an agent in London,--she would +trouble herself very little about the rest; or, at all events, any +feeling that might possess her would be wholly undeserving of +respect. Gradually Julian accustomed himself to this thought. + +They were in the Isle of Wight; comfortably housed, with the sea +before their eyes, and the boon of sunshine which Casti had so +longed for. + +Waymark gave himself wholly to the invalid. He had no impulse to +resume literary work; anything was welcome which enabled him to fill +up the day and reach the morrow. Whilst Julian lay on the couch, +which was drawn up to the fireside, Waymark read aloud anything that +could lead them to forget themselves. At other times, Julian either +read to himself or wrote verse, which, however, he did not show to +his friend. Before springtime came he found it difficult even to +maintain a sitting attitude for long. His cough still racked him +terribly. Waymark often lay awake in the night, listening to that +fearful sound in the next room. At such times he tried to fancy +himself in the dying man's position, and then the sweat of horror +came upon his brow. Deeply he sympathised with the misery he could +do so little to allay. Yet he was doing what he might to make the +end a quiet one, and the consciousness of this brought him many a +calm moment. + +However it might be in those fearful vigils, Julian's days did not +seem unhappy. He was resigning himself to the inevitable, in the +strength of that quiet which sometimes ensues upon despair. Now and +then he could even be, to all appearances, light-hearted. + +With the early May he had a revival of inspiration. Strangely losing +sight of his desperate condition, he spoke once more of beginning +the great poem planned long ago. It was living within his mind and +heart, he said. Waymark listened to him whilst he unfolded book +after book of glorious vision; listened, and wondered. + +There was a splendid sunset one evening at this time, and the two +watched it together from the room in which they always sat. Seas of +molten gold, strands and promontories of jasper and amethyst, +illimitable mountain-ranges, cities of unimagined splendour, all +were there in that extent of evening sky. They watched it till the +vision wasted before the breath of night. + +"What shall I read?" Waymark asked, when the lamp was lit. + +"Read that passage in the Georgics which glorifies Italy," Julian +replied. "It will suit my mood to-night." + +Waymark took down his Virgil. + +"Sed neque Medorum silvae, ditissima terra, +Nec pulcher Ganges atque auro turbibus Hermus +Laudibus Italiae certent, non Bactra, neque Indi, +Totaque turiferis Panchaia pinguis arenis." + +Julian's eyes glistened as the melody rolled on, and when it ceased, +both were quiet for a time. + +"Waymark," Julian said presently, a gentle tremor in his voice, "why +do we never speak of her?" + +"_Can_ we speak of her?" Waymark returned, knowing well who was +meant. + +"A short time ago I could not; now I feel the need. It will give me +no pain, but great happiness.', + +"That is all gone by," he continued, with a solemn smile. "To me she +is no longer anything but a remembrance, an ideal I once knew. The +noblest and sweetest woman I have known, or shall know, on earth." + +They talked of her with subdued voices, reverently and tenderly. +Waymark described what he knew or divined of the life she was now +leading, her beneficent activity, her perfect adaptation to the new +place she filled. + +"In a little while," Julian said, when they had fallen into thought +again, "you will have your second letter. And then?" + +There was no answer. Julian waited a moment, then rose and, clasping +his friend's hand, bade him good night. + +Waymark awoke once or twice before morning, but there was no +coughing in the next room. He felt glad, and wondered whether there +was indeed any improvement in the invalid's health. But at the usual +breakfast-time Julian did not appear. Waymark knocked at his door, +with no result. He turned the handle and entered. + +On this same day, Ida was visiting her houses. Litany lane and Elm +Court now wore a changed appearance. At present it was possible to +breathe even in the inmost recesses of the Court. There the fronts +of the houses were fresh white-washed; in the Lane they were +new-painted. Even the pavement and the road-way exhibited an +improvement. If you penetrated into garrets and cellars you no +longer found squalor and dilapidation; poverty in plenty, but at all +events an attempt at cleanliness everywhere, as far, that is to say, +as a landlord's care could ensure it. The stair-cases had ceased to +be rotten pit-falls; the ceilings showed traces of recent care; the +walls no longer dripped with moisture or were foul with patches of +filth. Not much change, it is true, in the appearance of the +inhabitants; yet close inquiry would have elicited comforting +assurances of progressing reform, results of a supervision which was +never offensive, never thoughtlessly exaggerated. Especially in the +condition of the children improvement was discernible. Lodgers in +the Lane and the Court had come to understand that not even punctual +payment of weekly rent was sufficient to guarantee them stability of +tenure. Under this singular lady-landlord something more than that +was expected and required, and, whilst those who were capable of +adjusting themselves to the new _regime_ found, on the whole, +that things went vastly better with them, such as could by no means +overcome their love of filth, moral and material, troubled +themselves little when the notice to quit came, together with a +little sum of ready money to cover the expenses of removal. + +Among those whom Ida called upon this afternoon was an old woman +who, in addition to her own voluminous troubles, was always in a +position to give a _compte-rendu_ of the general distress of the +neighbourhood. People had discovered that her eloquence could be +profitably made use of in their own service, and not infrequently, +when speaking with Ida, she was in reality holding a brief from this +or that neighbour, marked, not indeed in guineas, but in "twos" of +strong beverage, obtainable at her favourite house of call. To-day +she held such a brief, and was more than usually urgent in the +representation of a deserving case. + +"Oh, Miss Woodstock, mem, there's a poor young 'oman a-lyin' at the +Clock 'Ouse, as it really makes one's 'art bleed to tell of her! For +all she's so young, she's a widder, an' pr'aps it's as well she +should be, seein' how shockin' her 'usband treated her afore he was +took where no doubt he's bein' done as he did by. It's fair cruel, +Miss Woodstock, mem, to see her sufferin's. She has fits, an' falls +down everywheres; it's a mercy as she 'asn't been run over in the +public street long ago. They're hepiplectic fits, I'm told, an' laws +o' me! the way she foams at the mouth! No doubt as they was brought +on by her 'usband's etrocious treatment. I understand as he was a +man as called hisself a gentleman. He was allus that jealous of the +pore innocent thing, mem--castin' in her teeth things as I +couldn't bring myself not even to 'int at in your presence, Miss +Woodstock, mem. Many's the time he's beat her black an' blue, when +she jist went out to get a bit o' somethink for his tea at night, +'cos he would 'ave it she'd been a-doin' what she 'adn't ought--" + +"Where is she?" Ida asked, thinking she had now gathered enough of +the features of the case. + +"I said at the Clock 'Ouse, mem. Mrs. Sprowl's took her in' mem, and +is be'avin' to her like a mother. She knew her, did Mrs. Sprowl, in +the pore thing's 'appy days, before ever she married. But of course +it ain't likely as Mrs. Sprowl can keep her as long as her pore life +lasts; not to speak of the expense; its a terrible responsibility, +owin' to the hepiplectic ailment, mem, as of course you understand." + +"Can't she get into any hospital!" + +"She only just came out, mem, not two weeks ago. They couldn't do no +more for the pore creature, and so she had to go. An' she 'asn't not +a friend in the world, 'ceptin' Mrs. Sprowl, as is no less than a +mother to her." + +"Do you know her name?" + +"Mrs. Casty, mem. It's a Irish name, I b'lieve, an' I can't say as +I'm partial to the Irish, but--" + +"Very well," Ida broke in hastily. "I'll see if I can do anything." + +Paying no attention to the blessings showered upon her by the +counsel in this case, blessings to which she was accustomed, and of +which she well understood the value, Ida went out into the Lane, and +walked away quickly. She did not pause at the Clock House, but +walked as far as a quiet street some little distance off, and then +paced the pavement for a while, in thought. Who this "Mrs. Casty" +was she could have little doubt. The calumnies against her husband +were just such as Harriet Casti would be likely to circulate. + +For a moment it had seemed possible to go to the public-house and +make personal inquiries, but reflection showed her that this would +be a needless imprudence, even had she been able to overcome herself +sufficiently for such an interview. She went home instead, and at +once despatched Miss Hurst to the Clock House to discover whether it +was indeed Harriet Casti who lay there, and, if so, what her real +condition was. That lady returned with evidence establishing the +sick woman's identity. Harriet, she reported, was indeed m a sad +state, clearly incapable of supporting herself by any kind of work. +Her husband--Miss Hurst was told--had deserted her, leaving her +entirely without means, and now, but for Mrs. Sprowl's charity, she +would have been in the workhouse. This story sounded very strangely +to Ida. It might mean that Julian was dead. She wrote a few lines to +Waymark, at the old address, and had a speedy reply. Yes, Julian +Casti was dead, but the grave had not yet closed over him. Harriet +had been in receipt of money, and need have wanted for nothing; but +_now_ she must expect no more. + +The result of it all was that, in the course of a week, Harriet was +informed by Miss Hurst that a place was open to her in a hospital +near London, where she could remain as long as her ailments rendered +it necessary; the expense would be provided for by a lady who had +been told of the case, and wished to give what aid she could. The +offer was rejected, and with insult. When next she visited Litany +Lane, Ida learnt that "pore Mrs. Casty," after a quarrel with her +friend Mrs. Sprowl, had fallen downstairs in a fit and broken her +neck. + +Waymark lived on in the Isle of Wight, until a day when there came +to him a letter from Miss Bygrave. It told him that Maud's resolve +was immutable, and added that aunt and niece, having become members +of "the true Church," were about to join a sisterhood in a midland +town, where their lives would be devoted to work of charity. + +Not many days after this, Ida, in London, received a letter, +addressed in a hand she knew well. There was a flush on her face as +she began to read; but presently came the pallor of a sudden joy +almost too great to be borne. The letter was a long one, containing +the story of several years of the writer's life, related with +unflinching sincerity, bad and good impartially set down, and all +leading up to words which danced in golden sunlight before her +tear-dimmed eyes. + +For an hour she sat alone, scarce moving. Yet it seemed to her that +only a few minutes were allowed to pass before she took her pen and +wrote. + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of The Unclassed +by George Gissing + diff --git a/old/thncl10.zip b/old/thncl10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..064ef7c --- /dev/null +++ b/old/thncl10.zip |