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diff --git a/4510-h/4510-h.htm b/4510-h/4510-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5cb6fc4 --- /dev/null +++ b/4510-h/4510-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9809 @@ +<!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 Watersprings, by Arthur Christopher Benson +</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.footnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.transnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.intro {font-size: medium ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +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 Watersprings, by Arthur Christopher Benson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Watersprings + +Author: Arthur Christopher Benson + +Posting Date: August 11, 2009 [EBook #4510] +Release Date: October, 2003 +First Posted: January 27, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WATERSPRINGS *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo and Don Lainson. HTML version +by Al Haines. + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +WATERSPRINGS +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON +</H2> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "For in the wilderness shall waters<BR> + break out, and streams in the desert"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +1913 +</H4> + +<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">THE SCENE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">II. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap02">RESTLESSNESS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">III. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap03">WINDLOW</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap04">THE POOL</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">V. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">ON THE DOWN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">THE HOME CIRCLE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">COUNTRY LIFE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">VIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">THE INHERITANCE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">IX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">THE VICAR</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">X. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">WITH MAUD ALONE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">JACK</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">DIPLOMACY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">GIVING AWAY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">BACK TO CAMBRIDGE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">JACK'S ESCAPADE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">THE VISIT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">SELF-SUPPRESSION</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XVIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">THE PICNIC</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XIX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">DESPONDENCY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">HIGHMINDEDNESS</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">THE AWAKENING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">LOVE AND CERTAINTY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">THE WEDDING</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">DISCOVERIES</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap25">THE NEW KNOWLEDGE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap26">LOVE IS ENOUGH</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap27">THE NEW LIFE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXVIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap28">THE VICAR'S VIEW</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXIX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap29">THE CHILD</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXX. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap30">CAMBRIDGE AGAIN</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap31">MAKING THE BEST OF IT</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap32">HOWARD'S PROFESSION</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap33">ANXIETY</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXIV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap34">THE DREAM-CHILD</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXV. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap35">THE POWER OF LOVE</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top">XXXVI. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap36">THE TRUTH</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +WATERSPRINGS +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +I +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE SCENE +</H3> + +<P> +The bright pale February sunlight lay on the little court of Beaufort +College, Cambridge, on the old dull-red smoke-stained brick, the stone +mullions and mouldings, the Hall oriel, the ivied buttresses and +battlements, the turrets, the tiled roofs, the quaint chimneys, and the +lead-topped cupola over all. Half the court was in shadow. It was +incredibly picturesque, but it had somehow the look of a fortress +rather than of a house. It did not exist only to be beautiful, but had +a well-worn beauty of age and use. There was no domestic adornment of +flower-bed or garden-border, merely four squares of grass, looking like +faded carpets laid on the rather uncompromising pebbles which floored +the pathways. The golden hands of the clock pointed to a quarter to +ten, and the chimes uttered their sharp, peremptory voices. Two or +three young men stood talking at the vaulted gateway, and one or two +figures in dilapidated gowns and caps, holding books, fled out of the +court. +</P> + +<P> +A firm footstep came down one of the stairways; a man of about forty +passed out into the court—Howard Kennedy, Fellow and Classical +Lecturer of the College. His thick curly brown hair showed a trace of +grey, his short pointed beard was grizzled, his complexion sanguine, +his eyebrows thick. There were little vague lines on his forehead, and +his eyes were large and clear; an interesting, expressive face, not +technically handsome, but both clever and good-natured. He was +carelessly dressed in rather old but well-cut clothes, and had an air +of business-like decisiveness which became him well, and made him seem +comfortably at home in the place; he nodded and smiled to the +undergraduates at the gate, who smiled back and saluted. He met a young +man rushing down the court, and said to him, "That's right, hurry up! +You'll just be in time," a remark which was answered by a gesture of +despair from the young man. Then he went up the court towards the Hall, +entered the flagged passage, looked for a moment at the notices on the +screen, and went through into the back court, which was surrounded by a +tiny cloister. +</P> + +<P> +Here he met an elderly man, clean-shaven, fresh-coloured, +acute-looking, who wore a little round bowler hat perched on a thick +shock of white hair. He was dressed in a black coat and waistcoat, with +a black tie, and wore rather light grey trousers. One would have taken +him for an old-fashioned country solicitor. He was, as a matter of +fact, the Vice-Master and Senior Fellow of the College—Mr. Redmayne, +who had spent his whole life there. He greeted the younger man with a +kindly, brisk, ironical manner, saying, "You look very virtuous, +Kennedy! What are you up to?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am going for a turn in the garden," said Howard; "will you come with +me?" +</P> + +<P> +"You are very good," said Mr. Redmayne; "it will be quite like a +dialogue of Plato!" +</P> + +<P> +They went down the cloister to a low door in the corner, which Howard +unlocked, and turned into a small old-fashioned garden, surrounded on +three sides by high walls, and overlooking the river on the fourth +side; a gravel path ran all round; there were a few trees, bare and +leafless, and a big bed of shrubs in the centre of the little lawn, +just faintly pricked with points of green. A few aconites showed their +yellow heads above the soil. +</P> + +<P> +"What are those wretched little flowers?" said Mr. Redmayne, pointing +at them contemptuously. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, don't say that," said Howard; "they are always the first to +struggle up, and they are the earliest signs of spring. Those are +aconites." +</P> + +<P> +"Aconites? Deadly poison!" said Mr. Redmayne, in a tone of horror. +"Well, I don't object to them,—though I must say that I prefer the +works of man to the works of God at all times and in all places. I +don't like the spring—it's a languid and treacherous time; it always +makes me feel that I wish I were doing something else." +</P> + +<P> +They paced for some minutes round the garden gossiping, Redmayne making +very trenchant criticisms, but evidently enjoying the younger man's +company. At something which he said, Howard uttered a low laugh, which +was pleasant to hear from the sense of contented familiarity which it +gave. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, you may laugh, my young friend," said Redmayne, "but when you have +reached my time of life and see everything going to pieces round you, +you have occasionally to protest against the general want of backbone, +and the sentimentality of the age." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but you don't REALLY object," said Howard; "you know you enjoy +your grievances!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I am a philosopher," said Mr. Redmayne, "but you are overdoing +your philanthropics. Luncheon in Hall for the boys, dinner at +seven-thirty for the boys, a new cricket-ground for the boys; you +pamper them! Now in my time, when the undergraduates complained about +the veal in Hall, old Grant sent for us third-year men, and said that +he understood there were complaints about the veal, of which he fully +recognised the justice, and so they would go back to mutton and beef +and stick to them, and then he bowed us out. Now the Bursar would send +for the cook, and they would mingle their tears together." +</P> + +<P> +Howard laughed again, but made no comment, and presently said he must +go back to work. As they went in, Mr. Redmayne put his hand in Howard's +arm, and said, "Don't mind me, my young friend! I like to have my +growl, but I am proud of the old place, and you do a great deal for it." +</P> + +<P> +Howard smiled, and tucked the old man's hand closer to his side with a +movement of his arm. "I shall come and fetch you out again some +morning," he said. +</P> + +<P> +He got back to his rooms at ten o'clock, and a moment afterwards a +young man appeared in a gown. Howard sat down at his table, pulled a +chair up to his side, produced a corrected piece of Latin prose, made +some criticisms and suggestions, and ended up by saying, "That's a good +piece! You have improved a good deal lately, and that would get you a +solid mark." Then he sat for a minute or two talking about the books +his pupil was reading, and indicating the points he was to look out +for, till at half-past ten another youth appeared to go through the +same process. This went on until twelve o'clock. Howard's manner was +kindly and business-like, and the undergraduates were very much at +their ease. One of them objected to one of his criticisms. Howard +turned to a dictionary and showed him a paragraph. "You will see I am +right," he said, "but don't hesitate to object to anything I say—these +usages are tricky things!" The undergraduate smiled and nodded. +</P> + +<P> +Just before twelve o'clock he was left alone for five minutes, and a +servant brought in a note. Howard opened it, and taking a sheet of +paper, began to write. At the hour a youth appeared, of very boyish +aspect, curly-haired, fresh-looking, ingenuous. Howard greeted him with +a smile. "Half a minute, Jack!" he said. "There's the paper—not the +Sportsman, I'm afraid, but you can console yourself while I just finish +this note." The boy sat down by the fire, but instead of taking the +paper, drew a solemn-looking cat, which was sitting regarding the +hearth, on to his knee, and began playing with it. Presently Howard +threw his pen down. "Come along," he said. The boy, still carrying the +cat, came and sat down beside him. The lesson proceeded as before, but +there was a slight difference in Howard's manner of speech, as of an +uncle with a favourite nephew. At the end, he pushed the paper into the +boy's hand, and said, "No, that isn't good enough, you know; it's all +too casual—it isn't a bit like Latin: you don't do me credit!" He +spoke incisively enough, but shook his head with a smile. The boy said +nothing, but got up, vaguely smiling, and holding the cat tucked under +his arm—a charming picture of healthy and indifferent youth. Then he +said in a rich infantile voice, "Oh, it's all right. I didn't do myself +justice this time. You shall see!" +</P> + +<P> +At this moment the old servant came in and asked Howard if he would +take lunch. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I won't go into Hall," said Howard. "Lunch for two—you can stay +and lunch with me, Jack; and I will give you a lecture about your sins." +</P> + +<P> +The boy said, "Yes, thanks very much; I'd love to." +</P> + +<P> +Jack Sandys was a pupil of Howard's in whom he had a special interest. +He was the son of Frank Sandys, the Vicar of the Somersetshire parish +where Mrs. Graves, Howard's aunt, lived at the Manor-house. Frank +Sandys was a cousin of Mrs. Graves' deceased husband. She had advised +the Vicar to send Jack to Beaufort, and had written specially +commending him to Howard's care. But the boy had needed little +commendation. From the first moment that Jack Sandys had appeared, +smiling and unembarrassed, in Howard's room, a relation that was almost +filial and paternal had sprung up between them. He had treated Howard +from the outset with an innocent familiarity, and asked him the most +direct questions. He was not a particularly intellectual youth, though +he had some vague literary interests; but he was entirely healthy, +good, and quite irresistibly charming in his naivete and simplicity. +Howard had a dislike of all sentimentality, but the suppressed paternal +instinct which was strong in him had been awakened; and though he made +no emotional advances, he found himself strangely drawn to the boy, +with a feeling for which he could not wholly account. He did not care +for Jack's athletic interests; his tastes and mental processes were +obscure to him. Howard's own nature was at once intellectual and +imaginative, but he felt an extreme delight in the fearless and direct +confidence which the boy showed in him. He criticised his work +unsparingly, he rallied him on his tastes, he snubbed him, but all with +a sense of real and instinctive sympathy which made everything easy. +The boy never resented anything that he said, asked his advice, looked +to him to get him out of any small difficulties that arose. They were +not very much together, and mostly met only on official occasions. +Howard was a busy man, and had little time, or indeed taste, for vague +conversation. Jack was a boy of natural tact, and he treated all the +authorities with the same unembarrassed directness. Undergraduates are +quick to remark on any sort of favouritism, but only if they think that +the favoured person gets any unfair advantage by his intimacy. But +Howard came down on Jack just as decisively as he came down on anyone +else whose work was unsatisfactory. It was known that they were a sort +of cousins; and, moreover, Jack Sandys was generally popular, though +only in his first year, because he was free from any touch of +uppishness, and of an imperturbable good-humour. +</P> + +<P> +But his own feeling for the boy surprised Howard. He did not think him +very interesting, nor had they much in common except a perfect +goodwill. It was to Howard as if Jack represented something beyond and +further than himself, for which Howard cared—as one might love a house +for the sake of someone that had inhabited it, or because of events +that had happened there. He tried vaguely to interest Jack in some of +the things he cared about, but wholly in vain. That cheerful youth went +quietly on his own way—modest, handsome, decided, knowing exactly what +he liked, with very material tastes and ambitions, not in the least +emotional or imaginative, and yet with a charm of which all were +conscious. He was bored by any violent attempts at friendship, and +quite content in almost anyone's company, naturally self-contained and +temperate, making no claims and giving no pledges; and yet Howard was +deeply haunted by the sense that Jack stood for something almost +bewilderingly fine which he himself could not comprehend or interpret, +and of which the boy himself was wholly and radiantly unconscious. It +gave him, indeed, a sudden warmth about the heart to see Jack in the +court, or even to think of him as living within the same walls; but +there was nothing jealous or exclusive about his interest, and when +they met, there was often nothing particular to say. +</P> + +<P> +Presently lunch was announced, and Howard led the way to a little +panelled parlour which looked out on the river. They both ate with +healthy appetites; and presently Jack, looking about him, said, "This +room is rather nice! I don't know how you make your rooms so nice?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mostly by having very little in them except what I want," said Howard. +"These panelled rooms don't want any ornaments; people spoil rooms by +stuffing them, just as you spoil my cat,"—Jack was feeding the cat +with morsels from his plate. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a nice cat," said Jack; "at least I like it in your rooms. I +wouldn't have one in my rooms, not if I were paid for it—it would be +what the Master calls a serious responsibility." Presently, after a +moment's silence, Jack said, "It's rather convenient to be related to a +don, I think. By the way, what sort of screw do they give you—I mean +your income—I suppose I oughtn't to ask?" +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't usually done," said Howard, "but I don't mind your asking, +and I don't mind your knowing. I have about six hundred a year here." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, then I was right," said Jack. "Symonds said that all the dons had +about fifteen hundred a year out of the fees; he said that it wouldn't +be worth their while to do it for less. But I said it was much less. My +father only gets about two hundred a year out of his living, and it all +goes to keep me at Cambridge. He says that when he is vexed about +things; but he must have plenty of his own. I wish he would really tell +me. Don't you think people ought to tell their sons about their +incomes?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid you are a very mercenary person," said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I'm not," said Jack; "only I think one ought to know, and then one +could arrange. Father's awfully good about it, really; but if ever I +spend too much, he shakes his head and talks about the workhouse. I +used to be frightened, but I don't believe in the workhouse now." +</P> + +<P> +When luncheon was over, they went back to the other room. It was true +that, as Jack had said, Howard managed to make something pleasant out +of his rooms. The study was a big place looking into the court; it was +mostly lined with books, the bookcases going round the room in a band +about three feet from the floor and about seven feet high. It was a +theory of Howard's that you ought to be able to see all your books +without either stooping or climbing. There was a big knee-hole table +and half a dozen chairs. There was an old portrait in oils over the +mantelpiece, several arm-chairs, one with a book-rest. Half a dozen +photographs stood on the mantelpiece, and there was practically nothing +else in the room but carpets and curtains. Jack lit a cigarette, sank +into a chair, and presently said, "You must get awfully sick of the +undergraduates, I should think, day after day?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I don't," said Howard; "in fact I must confess that I like work +and feel dull without it—but that shows that I am an elderly man." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I don't care about my work," said Jack, "and I think I shall get +rather tired of being up here before I have done with it. It's rather +pointless, I think. Of course it's quite amusing; but I want to do +something real, make some real money, and talk about business. I shall +go into the city, I think." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe you care about anything but money," said Howard; "you +are a barbarian!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I don't care about money," said Jack; "only one must have +enough—what I like are REAL things. I couldn't go on just learning +things up till I was twenty-three, and then teaching them till I was +sixty-three. Of course I think it is awfully good of you to do it, but +I can't think why or how you do it." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose I don't care about real things," said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I can't quite make you out," said Jack with a smiling air, +"because of course you are quite different from the other dons—nobody +would suppose you were a don—everyone says that." +</P> + +<P> +"It's very kind of you to say so," said Howard, "but I am not sure that +it is a compliment—a tradesman ought to be a tradesman, and not to be +ashamed of it. I'm a sophist, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"What's a sophist?" said Jack. "Oh, I know. You lectured about the +sophists last term. I don't remember what they were exactly, but I +thought the lecture awfully good—quite amusing! They were a sort of +parsons, weren't they?" +</P> + +<P> +"You are a wonderful person, Jack!" said Howard, laughing. "I declare I +have never had such extraordinary things said to me as you have said in +the last half-hour." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I want to know about people," said Jack, "and I think it pays to +ask them. You don't mind, do you? That's the best thing about you, that +I can say what I think to you without putting my foot in it. But you +said you were going to lecture me about my sins—come on!" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Howard, "I won't. You are not serious enough to-day, and I +am not vexed enough. You know quite well what I think. There isn't any +harm in you; but you are idle, and you are inquisitive. I don't want +you to be very different, on the whole, if only you would work a little +more and take more interest in things." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Jack, "I do take interest—that's the mischief; there +isn't time to work—that's the truth! I shall scrape through the Trip, +and then I shall have done with all this nonsense about the classics; +it really is humbug, isn't it? Such a fuss about nothing. The books I +like are those in which people say what they might say, not those in +which they say what they have had days to invent. I don't see the good +of that. Why should I work, when I don't feel interested?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because whatever you do, you will have to do things in which you are +not interested," said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I think I will wait and see," said Jack. "And now I must be off. +I really have said some awful things to you to-day, and I must +apologise; but I can't help it when I am with you; I feel I must say +just what comes into my head; I must fly; thank you for lunch; and I +truly will do better, but mind only for YOU, and not because I think +it's any good." He put down the cat with a kiss. "Good-bye, Mimi," he +said; "remember me, I beseech you!" and he hurried away. +</P> + +<P> +Howard sat still for a minute or two, looking at the fire; then he gave +a laugh, got up, stretched himself, and went out for a walk. +</P> + +<P> +Even so quiet a thing as a walk was not unattended by a certain amount +of ceremonial. Howard passed some six or seven men of his acquaintance, +some of whom presented a stick or raised a stiff hand without a smile +or indeed any sign of recognition; one went so far as to say, "Hullo, +Kennedy!" and one eager conversationalist went so far as to say, "Out +for a walk?" Howard pushed on, walking lightly and rapidly, and found +himself at last at Barton, one of those entirely delightful pastoral +villages that push up so close to Cambridge on every side; a vague +collection of quaint irregular cottages, whitewashed and thatched, with +bits of green common interspersed, an old manorial farm with its byres +and ricks, surrounded by a moat fringed with little pollarded elms. The +plain ancient tower of the church looked gravely out over all. In the +distance, over pastoral country, rose low wolds, pleasantly shaped, +skirted with little hamlets, surrounded by orchards; the old untroubled +necessary work of the world flows on in these fields and villages, +peopled with lives hardly conscious of themselves, with no aims or +theories, just toiling, multiplying, dying, existing, it would seem, +merely to feed and clothe the more active part of the world. Howard +loved such little interludes of silence, out in the fresh country, when +the calm life of tree and herb, the delicate whisper of dry, +evenly-blowing breezes, tranquillised and hushed his restless thoughts. +He lost himself in a formless reverie, exercising no control over his +trivial thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +By four o'clock he was back, made himself some tea, put on a cap and +gown, and walked out to a meeting. In a high bare room in the +University offices the Committee sat. The Vice-Chancellor, a big, +grave, solid man, Master of St. Benedict's, sat in courteous state. +Half a dozen dons sat round the great tables, ranged in a square. The +business was mostly formal. The Vice-Chancellor read the points from a +paper in his resonant voice, comments and suggestions were made, and +the Secretary noted down conclusions. Howard was struck, as he often +had been before, to see how the larger questions of principle passed +almost unnoticed, while the smaller points, such as the wording of a +notice, were eagerly and humorously debated by men of acute minds and +easy speech. It was over in half an hour. Howard strolled off with one +of the members, and then, returning to his rooms, wrote some letters, +and looked up a lecture for the next day, till the bell rang for Hall. +</P> + +<P> +Beaufort was a hospitable and sociable College, and guests often +appeared at dinner. On this night Mr. Redmayne was in the chair, at the +end of a long table; eight or ten dons were present. A gong was struck; +an undergraduate came up and scrambled through a Latin Grace from a +board which he held in his hand. The tables filled rapidly with lively +young men full of talk and appetite. Howard found himself sitting next +one of his colleagues, on the other side of him being an ancient crony +of Mr. Redmayne's, the Dean of a neighbouring College. The talk was +mainly local and personal, diverging at times into politics. It was +brisk, sensible, good-natured conversation, by no means unamusing. Mr. +Redmayne was an unashamed Tory, and growled denunciations at a +democratic Government, whom he credited with every political vice under +the sun, depicting the Cabinet as men fishing in troubled seas with +philanthropic baits to catch votes. One of the younger dons, an ardent +Liberal, made a mild protest. "Ah," said Mr. Redmayne, "you are still +the prey of idealistic illusions. Politics are all based, not on +principles or programmes, but on the instinctive hatred of opponents." +There was a laugh at this. "You may laugh," said Mr. Redmayne, "but you +will find it to be true. Peace and goodwill are pretty words to play +with, but it is combativeness which helps the world along; not the +desire to be at peace, but the wish to maul your adversary!" +</P> + +<P> +It was the talk of busy men who met together, not to discuss, but to +eat, and conversed only to pass the time. But it was all good-humoured +enough, and even the verbal sharpness which was employed was evidence +of much mutual confidence and esteem. +</P> + +<P> +Howard thought, looking down the Hall, when the meal was in full fling, +what a picturesque, cheerful, lively affair it all was. The Hall was +lighted only by candles in heavy silver candlesticks, which flared away +all down the tables. In the dark gallery a couple of sconces burned +still and clear. The dusty rafters, the dim portraits above the +panelling, the gleam of gilded cornices were a pleasant contrast to the +lively talk, the brisk coming and going, the clink and clatter below. +It was noisy indeed, but noisy as a healthy and friendly family party +is noisy, with no turbulence. Once or twice a great shout of laughter +rang out from the tables and died away. There was no sign of +discipline, and yet the whole was orderly enough. The carvers carved, +the waiters hurried to and fro, the swing-doors creaked as the men +hurried out. It was a very business-like, very English scene, without +any ceremony or parade, and yet undeniably stately and vivid. +</P> + +<P> +The undergraduates finished their dinners with inconceivable rapidity, +and the Hall was soon empty, save for the more ceremonious and +deliberate party at the high table. Presently these adjourned in +procession to the Parlour, a big room, comfortably panelled, opening +off the Hall, where the same party sat round the fire at little tables, +sipped a glass of port, and went on to coffee and cigarettes, while the +talk became more general. Howard felt, as he had often felt before, how +little attention even able and intellectual Englishmen paid to the form +of their talk. There was hardly a grammatical sentence uttered, never +an elaborate one; the object was, it seemed, to get the thought uttered +as quickly and unconcernedly as possible, and even the anecdotes were +pared to the bone. A clock struck nine, and Mr. Redmayne rose. The +party broke up, and Howard went off to his rooms. +</P> + +<P> +He settled down to look over a set of compositions. But he was in a +somewhat restless frame of mind to-night, and a not unpleasant mood of +reflection and retrospect came over him. What an easy, full, lively +existence his was! He seemed to himself to be perfectly contented. He +remembered how he, the only son of rather elderly parents, had gone +through Winchester with mild credit. He had never had any difficulties +to contend with, he thought. He had been popular, not distinguished at +anything—a fair athlete, a fair scholar, arousing no jealousies or +enmities. He had been naturally temperate and self-restrained. He had +drifted on to Beaufort as a Scholar, and it had been the same thing +over again—no ambitions, no failures, friends in abundance. Then his +father had died, and it had been so natural for him, on being elected +to a Fellowship, just to carry on the same life; he had to settle to +work at once, as his mother was not well off and much invalided. She +had not long survived his father. He had taught, taken pupils, made a +fair income. He had had no break of travel, no touch with the world; a +few foreign tours in the company of an old friend had given him nothing +but an emotional tincture of recollections and associations—a touch of +varnish, so to speak. Suddenly the remembrance of some of the things +which Jack Sandys had said that morning came back to him; "real things" +the boy had said, so lightly and yet so decisively. He wondered; had he +himself ever had any touch with realities at all? He had been touched +by no adversity or tragedy, he had been devastated by no disappointed +ambitions, shattered by no emotions. His whole life had been perfectly +under his control, and he had grown into a sort of contempt for all +unbalanced people, who were run away with by their instincts or +passions. It had been a very comfortable, sheltered, happy life; he was +sure of that; he had enjoyed his work, his relations with others, his +friendships; but had he ever come near to any fulness of living at all? +Was it not, when all was said and done, a very empty affair—void of +experience, guarded from suffering? "Suffering?" he hardly knew the +meaning of the word. Had he ever felt or suffered or rebelled? Yes, +there was one little thing. He had had a small ambition once; he had +studied comparative religion very carefully at one time to illustrate +some lectures, and a great idea had flashed across him. It was a big, a +fruitful thought; he had surveyed that strange province of human +emotion, the deepest strain of which seemed to be a disgust for +mingling with life, a loathing of bodily processes and instincts, which +drove its votaries to a deliberate sexlessness, and set them at +variance with the whole solid force of Nature, the treacherous and +alluring devices by which she drove men to reproduction with an +insatiable appetite; that mystical strain, which appeared at all times +and in all places, a spiritual rebellion against material bondage, was +not that the desperate cry of the fettered spirit? The conception of +sin, by which Nature traversed her own activities and made them +void—there was a great secret hidden here. He had determined to follow +this up, and to disguise with characteristic caution and courtesy a +daring speculation under the cloak of orthodox research. +</P> + +<P> +He had begun his work in a great glow of enthusiasm; but it had been +suspended time after time. He had sketched his theory out; but it lay +there in one of his table-drawers, a skeleton not clothed with words. +Why had he let this all drop? Why had he contented himself with the +easy, sociable life? Effective though he was as a teacher, he had no +real confidence in the things which he taught. They only seemed to him +a device of reason for expending its energies, just as men deprived by +complex life of manual labour sought to make up for the loss by the +elaborate pursuit of games. He did not touch the springs of being at +all. He had collapsed, he felt, into placid acquiescence; Nature had +been too strong for him. He had fitted so easily into the pleasant +scheme of things, and he was doing nothing in the world but helping to +prolong the delusion, just as men set painted glass in a window to shut +out the raincloud and the wind. He was a conformist, he felt, in +everything—in religion, intellect, life—but a sceptic underneath. Was +he not perhaps missing the whole object and aim of life and experience, +in a fenced fortress of quiet? The thought stung him suddenly with a +kind of remorse. He was doing no part of the world's work, not sharing +its emotions or passions or pains or difficulties; he was placidly at +ease in Zion, in the comfortable city whose pleasures were based on the +toil of those outside. That was a hateful thought! Had not the boy been +right after all? Must one not somehow link one's arm with life and +share its pilgrimage, even in weariness and tears? +</P> + +<P> +There came a tap at the door, and one of his shyest pupils entered—a +solitary youth, poor and unfriended, who was doing all he could to get +a degree good enough to launch him in the world. He came to ask some +advice about work. Howard entered into his case as well as he could, +told him it was important that he should get certain points clear, gave +him an informal lecture, distinctly and emphatically, and made a few +friendly remarks. The man beamed with unexpressed gratitude. +</P> + +<P> +"What solemn nonsense I have been talking!" thought Howard to himself +as the young man slipped away. "Of course he must learn all this—but +what for? To get a mastership, and to retail it all over again! It's a +vicious circle, this education which is in touch with nothing but the +high culture of a nation which lived in ideas; while with us culture is +just a plastering of rough walls—no part of the structure! Why cannot +we put education in touch with life, try to show what human beings are +driving at, what arrangements they are making that they may live? It is +all arrangements with us—the frame for the picture, the sheath for the +sword—and we leave the picture and the sword to look after themselves. +What a wretched dilettante business it all is, keeping these boys +practising postures in the anteroom of life! Cannot we get at the real +thing, teach people to do things, fill their minds with ideas, break +down the silly tradition of needless wealth and absurd success? And I +must keep up all this farce, simply because I am fit for nothing +else—I cannot dig, to beg I am ashamed. Oh, hold your tongue, you +ass!" said Howard, apostrophising his rebellious mind. "Don't you see +where you are going? You can't do anything—it is all too big and +strong for you. You must just let it alone." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +II +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +RESTLESSNESS +</H3> + +<P> +A few days later the term drew to an end, and both dons and +undergraduates, whose tempers had been wearing a little thin, got +suddenly more genial, like guests when a visit draws to a close, and +disposed to think rather better of each other. +</P> + +<P> +Howard had made no plans; he did not wish to stay on at Cambridge, but +he did not want to go away: he had no relations to whose houses he +naturally drifted; he did not like the thought of a visit; as a rule he +went off with an undergraduate or two to some lonely inn, where they +fished or walked and did a little work. But just now he had a vague +feeling that he wanted to be alone; that he had something to face, some +reckoning to cast up, and yet he did not know what it was. +</P> + +<P> +One afternoon—the spring was certainly advancing, and there was a +touch of languor in the air, that heavenly languor which is so sweet a +thing when one is young and hopeful, so depressing a thing when one is +living on the edge of one's nervous force—he paid a call, which was +not a thing he often did, on a middle-aged woman who passed for a sort +of relation; she was a niece of his aunt's deceased husband, Monica +Graves by name. She was a woman of independent means, who had done some +educational work for a time, but had now retired, lived in her own +little house, and occupied herself with social schemes of various +sorts. She was a year or two older than Howard. They did not very often +meet, but there was a pleasant camaraderie between them, an almost +brotherly and sisterly relation. She was a small, quiet, able woman, +whose tranquil manner concealed great clear-headedness and +decisiveness. Howard always said that it was a comfort to talk to her, +because she always knew what her own opinion was, and did what she +intended to do. He found her alone and at tea. She welcomed him drily +but warmly. Presently he said, "I want your advice, Monnie; I want you +to make up my mind for me. I have a feeling that I need a change. I +don't mean a little change, but a big one. I am suddenly aware that I +am a little stale, and I wish to be freshened up." +</P> + +<P> +Monica looked at him and said, "Yes, I expect you are right! You know I +think we ought all to have one big change in our lives, about your age, +I mean. Why don't you put in for a head-mastership? I have often +thought you have rather a gift that way." +</P> + +<P> +"I might do that," said Howard vaguely, "but I don't want a change of +work so much as a change of mind. I have got suddenly bored, and I am a +little vexed with myself. I have always rather held with William Morris +that people ought to live in the same place and do the same things; and +I had no intention of being bored—I have always thought that very +feeble! But I have fallen suddenly into the frame of mind of knowing +exactly what all my friends here are going to say and think, and that +rather takes the edge off conversation; and I have learned the +undergraduate mind too. It's an inconsequent thing, but there's a law +in inconsequence, and I seem to have acquired a knowledge of their +tangents." +</P> + +<P> +"I must consider," said Monica with a smile, "but one can't do these +things offhand—that is worse than doing nothing. I'll tell you what to +do NOW. Why not go and stay with Aunt Anne? She would like to see you, +I know, and I have always thought it rather lazy of you not to go +there—she is rather a remarkable woman, and it's a pretty country. +Have you ever been there?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Howard, "not to Windlow; I stayed with them once when I was +a boy, when Uncle John was alive—but that was at Bristol. What sort of +a place is Windlow? I suppose Aunt Anne is pretty well off?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not very good at seeing the points of a place," said Monica; "but +it's a beautiful old house, though it is rather too low down for my +taste; and she lives very comfortably, so I think she must be rich; I +don't know about that; but she is an interesting woman—one of the few +really religious people I know. I am not very religious myself, but she +makes it seem rather interesting to me—she has experiences—I don't +quite know what they are; but she is a sort of artist in religion, I +think. That's a bad description, because it sounds self-conscious; and +she isn't that—she has a sense of humour, and she doesn't rub things +in. You know how if one meets a real artist in anything—a writer, a +painter, a musician—and finds them at work, it seems almost the only +thing worth doing. Well, Aunt Anne gives me the same sort of sense +about religion when I am with her; and yet when I come away, and see +how badly other people handle it, it seems a very dull business." +</P> + +<P> +"That's interesting," said Howard musingly; "but I am really ashamed to +suggest going there. She has asked me so often, and I have sent such +idiotic excuses." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you needn't mind that," said Monica; "she isn't a huffy person. I +know she would like to see you—she said to me once that the idea of +coming didn't seem to amuse you, but she seemed disposed to sympathise +with you for that. Just write and say you would like to go." +</P> + +<P> +"I think I will," said Howard, "and I have another reason why I should +like to go. You know Jack Sandys, your cousin, now my pupil. He is +rather a fascinating youth. His father is parson there, isn't he?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Monica; "there are two hamlets, Windlow and Windlow Malzoy, +both in the same parish. The church and vicarage are at Malzoy; but +Frank is rather a terror—my word, how that man talks! But I like Jack, +though I have only seen him half a dozen times—that reminds me that I +must have him to dinner or something—and I like his sister even +better. But I am afraid that Jack may turn out a bore too—he is rather +charming at present, because he says whatever comes into his head; and +it's all quite fresh; but that is what poor Cousin Frank does—only +it's not at all fresh! However, there's nothing like living with a bore +to teach one the merits of holding one's tongue. Poor old Frank! I +thought he would be the death of us all one evening at Windlow. He +simply couldn't stop, and he had a pathetic look in his eye, as if he +was saying, 'Can't anyone assist me to hold my tongue?'" +</P> + +<P> +Howard laughed and got up. "Well," he said, "I'll take your advice. I +don't know anyone like you, Monnie, for making up one's mind. You +crystallise things. I shall like to see Aunt Anne, and I shall like to +see Jack at home; and meanwhile will you think the matter over, and +give me a lead? I don't want to leave Cambridge at all, but I would +rather do that than go sour, as some people do!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Monica, "when you get beneath the surface, Cambridge is +rather a sad place. There are a good many disappointed men here—people +who wake up suddenly in middle life, and realise that if they had gone +out into the world they would have done better; but I like Cambridge; +you can do as you like here—and then the rainfall is low." +</P> + +<P> +Howard went back to his rooms and wrote a short note to Mrs. Graves to +suggest a visit; he added that he felt ashamed of himself for never +coming, "but Monica says that you would like to see me, and Monica is +generally right." +</P> + +<P> +That evening Jack came in to say good-bye. He did not look forwards to +the vacation at all, he said; "Windlow is simply the limit! I believe +it's the dullest place in the kingdom!" +</P> + +<P> +"What would you feel if I told you that we shall probably meet?" said +Howard. "I am going to stay with Mrs. Graves—that is, if she will have +me. I don't mind saying that the fact that you are close by is a +considerable reason why I think of going." +</P> + +<P> +"That's simply splendid!" said Jack; "we will have no end of a time. Do +you DO anything in particular—fish, I mean, or shoot? There's some +wretched fishing in the river, and there is some rabbit-shooting on the +downs. Mrs. Graves has a keeper, a shabby old man who shoots, as they +say, for the house. I believe she objects to shooting; but you might +persuade her, and we could go out together." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "I do shoot and fish in a feeble way. We will see +what can be done." +</P> + +<P> +"There are things to see, I believe," said Jack, "churches and houses, +if you like that sort of thing—I don't; but we might get up some +expeditions—they are rather fun. I think you won't mind my sister. She +isn't bad for a woman. But women don't understand men. They are always +sympathising with you or praising you. They think that is what men +like, but it only means that it is what they would like. Men like to be +left alone—but I daresay she thinks I don't understand her. Then +there's my father! He is quite a good sort, really; but by George, how +he does talk! I often think I'd like to turn him loose in the +Combination Room. No one would have a chance. Redmayne simply wouldn't +be in it with my father. I've invented rather a good game when he gets +off. I try to see how many I can count before I am expected to make a +remark. I have never quite got up to a thousand, but once I nearly let +the cat out by saying nine hundred and fifty, nine hundred and +fifty-one, when my father stopped for breath. He gave me a look, I can +tell you, but I don't think he saw what I was after. Maud was seized +with hysterics. But he isn't a bad sort of parent, as they go; he +fusses, but he lets one do as one wants. I suppose I oughtn't to give +my people away; but I never can see why one shouldn't talk about one's +people just as if they were anybody else. I don't think I hold things +sacred, as the Dean says: 'Reticence, reticence, the true +characteristic of the English gentleman and the sincere Christian!'" +and Jack delivered himself of some paragraphs of the Dean's famous +annual sermon to freshmen. +</P> + +<P> +"It's abominable, the way you talk," said Howard; "you will corrupt my +ingenuous mind. How shall I meet your father if you talk like this +about him?" +</P> + +<P> +"You'll have to join in my game," said Jack. "By George, what sport; we +shall sit there counting away alternately, and we will have some money +on the run. You have got to say all the figures quite distinctly to +yourself, you know!" +</P> + +<P> +Presently Jack said, "Why shouldn't we go down together? No, I suppose +you would want to go first? I can't run to that. But you must come as +soon as you can, and stay as long as you can. I had half promised to go +and stay a week with Travers. But now I won't. By George, there isn't +another don I would pay that compliment to! It would simply freeze my +blood if the Master turned up there. I shouldn't dare to show my face +outside the house; that man does make me sweat! The very smell of his +silk gown makes me feel faint." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell you what I will do," said Howard, "I'll give you some +coaching in the mornings. If anyone ever wanted coaching, it is you!" +</P> + +<P> +Jack looked rather blue at this, but he said, "It will have to be +gratis, though! I haven't a cent. Besides, I am going to do better. I +have a growing sense of duty!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's not growing very FAST!" said Howard, "and it's a feeble motive at +best, you will find; you will have to get a better reason than that—it +won't carry you far. Why not do it to please me?" +</P> + +<P> +"All right," said Jack; "will you scribble me a list of books to take +down? I had meant to have a rest; but I would do a good deal of work to +get a reasonable person down at Windlow. I simply daren't ask my +friends there; my father would talk their hindlegs off but he isn't a +bad old bird." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +III +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +WINDLOW +</H3> + +<P> +Mrs. Graves wrote back by return of post that she was delighted to +think that Howard was coming. "I am getting an old woman," she said, +"and fond of memories: and what I hear of you from your enthusiastic +pupil Jack makes me wish to see my nephew, and proud of him too. This +is a quiet house, but I think you would enjoy it; and it's a real +kindness to me to come. I am sure I shall like you, and I am not +without hopes that you may like me. You need not tie yourself down to +any dates; just come when you can, and go when you must." +</P> + +<P> +Howard liked the simplicity of the letter, and determined to go down at +once. He started two days later. It was a fine spring day, and it was +pleasant to glide through the open country all quickening into green. +He arrived in the afternoon at the little wayside station. It was in +the south-east corner of Somersetshire, and Howard liked the look of +the landscape, the steep green downs, with their wooded dingles +breaking down into rich undulating plains, dappled with hedgerow trees +and traversed by gliding streams. He was met at the station by an +old-fashioned waggonette, with an elderly coachman, who said that Mrs. +Graves had hoped to come herself, but was not very well, and thought +that Mr. Kennedy would prefer an open carriage. +</P> + +<P> +Howard was astonished at the charm of the whole countryside. They +passed through several hamlets, with beautiful old houses, built of a +soft orange stone, weathering to a silvery grey, with evidences of +careful and pretty design in their mullioned windows and arched +doorways. The churches, with their great richly carved towers, pierced +stone shutters, and clustered pinnacles, pleased him extremely, and he +liked the simple and courteous greetings of the people who passed them. +He had a sense, long unfamiliar to him, as though he were somehow +coming home. The road entered a green valley among the downs. To the +left, an outstanding bluff was crowned with the steep turfed bastions +of an ancient fort, and as they went in among the hills, the slopes +grew steeper, rich with hanging woods and copses, and the edges of the +high thickets were white with bleached flints. At last they passed into +a hamlet with a church, and a big vicarage among shrubberies; this was +Windlow Malzoy, the coachman said, and that was Mr. Sandys' house. +Howard saw a girl wandering about on the lawn—Jack's sister, he +supposed, but it was too far off for him to see her distinctly; five +minutes later they drove into Windlow. It lay at the very bottom of the +valley; a clear stream ran beneath the bridge. There were but half a +dozen cottages, and just ahead of them, abutting on the road, appeared +the front of a beautiful simple house of some considerable size, with a +large embowered garden behind it bordering on the river; Howard was +astonished to see what a large and ancient building it was. The part on +the road was blank of windows, with the exception of a dignified +projecting oriel; close to which was a high Tudor archway, with big oak +doors standing open. There were some plants growing on the +coping—snapdragon and valerian—which gave it a look of age and +settled use. The carriage drove in under the arch, and a small +courtyard appeared. There was a stable on the right, with a leaded +cupola; the house itself was very plain and stately, with two great +traceried windows which seemed to belong to a hall, and a finely carved +outstanding porch. The whole was built out of the same orange stone of +which the churches were built, stone-tiled, all entirely homelike and +solid. +</P> + +<P> +He got down at the door, which stood open. An old man-servant appeared, +and he found himself in a flagged passage, with a plain wooden screen +on his left, opening into the hall. It had a collegiate air which he +liked. Then he was led out at the opposite end of the vestibule, the +servant saying, "Mrs. Graves is in the garden, sir." He stepped out on +to a lawn bordered with trees; opposite him was a stone-built Jacobean +garden-house, with stone balls on the balustraded coping. Two ladies +were walking on the gravel path; the older of the two, who walked with +a stick, came up to him, put her hand on his shoulder, and gave him a +kiss in a simple and motherly way, saying, "So here you actually are, +my dear boy, and very much welcome." She then presented the other lady, +a small, snub-nosed, middle-aged woman, saying, "This is Miss Merry, +who lives with me, and keeps me more or less in order; she is quite +excited at meeting a don; she has a respect for learning and talent, +which is unhappily rare nowadays." Miss Merry shook hands as a spaniel +might give its paw, and looked reverentially at Howard. His aunt put +her hand through his arm, and said, "Let us walk about a little. I live +by rule, you must know—that is, by Miss Merry's rule; and we shall +have tea in a few minutes." +</P> + +<P> +She pointed out one or two of the features of the house, and said, in +answer to Howard's loudly expressed admiration, "Yes, it is a nice old +house. Your uncle had a great taste for such things in days when people +did not care much about them. He bought this very cheap, I believe, and +was much attached to it; but he did not live long to enjoy it, you +know. He died nearly thirty years ago. I meant to sell it, but somehow +I did not, and now I hope to end my days here. It is not nearly as big +as it looks, and a good deal of it consists of unused granaries and +farm buildings. I sometimes think it is selfish of me to go on +occupying it—it's a house that wants CHILDREN; but one isn't very +consistent; and somehow the house is used to me, and I to it; and, +after all, it is only waiting, which isn't the worst thing in the +world!" +</P> + +<P> +When Howard found an opportunity of scrutinising his aunt, which he did +as she poured out tea, he saw a very charming old lady, who was not +exactly handsome, but was fresh-coloured and silvery-haired, and had a +look of the most entire tranquillity and self-possession. She looked as +if she had met and faced trouble at some bygone time; there were traces +of sorrow about the brow and eyes, but it was a face which seemed as if +self had somehow passed out of it, and was yet strong with a peculiar +kind of fearless strength. She had a lazy and contented sort of laugh, +and yet gave an impression of energy, and of a very real and vivid +life. Her eyes had a great softness and brilliancy, and Howard liked to +feel them dwelling upon him. As they sat at tea she suddenly put her +hand on his and said, "My dear boy, how you remind me of your mother! I +suppose you hardly even remember her as a young woman; but though you +are half hidden in that beard of yours, you are somehow just like her, +and I feel as if I were in the schoolroom again at Hunsdon in the old +days. No, I am not sentimental. I don't want it back again, and I don't +hate the death that parts us. One can't go back, one must go +forward—and, after all, hearts were made to love with, and not to +break!" +</P> + +<P> +They spent a quiet evening in the still house. Mrs. Graves said to +Howard, "I know that men always want to go and do something mysterious +after tea; but to-night you must just sit here and get used to me. You +needn't be afraid of having to see too much of me. I don't appear +before luncheon, and Jane looks after me; and you must get some +exercise in the afternoons. I don't go further than the village. I +expect you have lectures to write; and you must do exactly what you +like." They sat there, in the low panelled room, and talked easily +about old recollections. They dined in simple state in the big hall +with its little gallery, at a round table in the centre, lighted by +candles. The food was simple, the wine was good. +</P> + +<P> +"Marengo chicken," said Mrs. Graves as a dish was handed round. "That's +one of Jane's historical allusions. If you don't know why it is called +Marengo, Jane will rejoice to enlighten you." After the meal she begged +him to smoke. "I like it," said Mrs. Graves; "I have even smoked myself +in seclusion, but now I dare not—it would be all over the parish +to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +After dinner they went back to the drawing-room, and Miss Merry turned +out to be quite a good pianist, playing some soft old music at the end +of the gently lighted room. Mrs. Graves went off early. "You had better +stop and smoke here," she said to Howard. "There's a library where you +can work and smoke to-morrow; and now good night, and let me say how I +delight to have you here—I really can't say how much!" +</P> + +<P> +Howard sat alone in the drawing-room. He had an almost painful faculty +of minute observation, and the storage of new impressions was a real +strain to him. To-day it seemed that they had poured in upon him in a +cataract, and he felt dangerously wakeful; why had he been such a fool +as to have missed this beautiful house, and this home atmosphere of +affection? He could not say. A stupid persistence in his own plans, he +supposed. Yet this had been waiting for him, a home such as he had +never owned. He thought with an almost terrified disgust of his rooms +at Beaufort, as the logs burned whisperingly in the grate, and the +smoke of his cigarette rose on the air. Was it not this that he had +been needing all along? At last he rose, put out the candles, and made +his way to the big panelled bedroom which had been given him. He lay +long awake, wondering, in a luxurious repose, listening to the whisper +of the breeze in the shrubberies, and the faint murmur of the water in +the full-fed stream. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE POOL +</H3> + +<P> +Very early in the morning Howard woke to hear the faint twittering of +the birds begin in bush and ivy. It was at first just a fitful, drowsy +chirp, a call "are you there? are you there?" until, when all the +sparrows were in full cry, a thrush struck boldly in, like a solo +marching out above a humming accompaniment of strings. That was a +delicious hour, when the mind, still unsated of sleep, played softly +with happy, homelike thoughts. He slept again, but the sweet mood +lasted; his breakfast was served to him in solitude in a little +panelled parlour off the Hall; and in the fresh April morning, with the +sunlight lying on the lawn and lighting up the old worn detail of the +carved cornices, he recovered for a time the boyish sense of ecstasy of +the first morning at home after the return from school. While he was +breakfasting, a scribbled note from Jack was brought in. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Just heard you arrived last night; it's an awful bore, but I have to +go away to-day—an old engagement made, I need hardly say, FOR me and +not BY me; I shall turn up to-morrow about this time. No WORK, I think. +A day of calm resolution and looking forward manfully to the future! My +father and sister are going to dine at the Manor to-night. I shall be +awfully interested to hear what you think of them. He has been looking +up some things to talk about, and I can tell you, you'll have a dose. +Maud is frightened to death.—Yours +<BR><BR> +"Jack. +<BR><BR> +"P.S.—I advise you to begin COUNTING at once." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +A little later, Miss Merry turned up, to ask Howard if he would care to +look round the house. "Mrs. Graves would like," she said, "to show it +you herself, but she is easily tired, and can't stand about much." They +went round together, and Howard was surprised to find that it was not +nearly as large a house as it looked. Much space was agreeably wasted +in corridors and passages, and there were huge attics with great +timbered supports, needed to sustain the heavy stone tiling, which had +never been converted into living rooms. There was the hall, which took +up a considerable part of one side; out of this, towards the road, +opened the little parlour where he had breakfasted, and above it was a +library full of books, with its oriel overhanging the road, and two +windows looking into the garden. Then there was the big drawing-room. +Upstairs there were but a half a dozen bedrooms. The offices and the +servants' bedrooms were in the wing on the road. There was but little +furniture in the house. Mr. Graves had had a preference for large bare +rooms; and such furniture as there was, was all for use and not for +ornament, so that there was a refreshing lack of any aesthetic pose +about it. There were but few pictures, but most of the rooms were +panelled and needed no other ornament. There was a refreshing sense of +space everywhere, and Howard thought that he had never seen a house he +liked so well. Miss Merry chirped away, retailing little bits of +history. Howard now for the first time learned that Mr. Graves had +retired early from business with a considerable fortune, and being fond +of books and leisure, and rather delicate in health, had established +himself in the house, which had taken his fancy. There were some +fifteen hundred acres of land attached, divided up into several small +farms. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Merry was filled with a reverential sort of adoration of Mrs. +Graves; "the most wonderful person, I assure you! I always feel she is +rather thrown away in this remote place." +</P> + +<P> +"But she likes it?" said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, she likes everything," said Miss Merry. "She makes everyone feel +happy: she says very little, but you feel somehow that all is right if +she is there. It's a great privilege, Mr. Kennedy, to be with her; I +feel that more and more every day." +</P> + +<P> +This artless praise pleased Howard. When he was left alone he got out +his papers; but he found himself restless in a pleasant way; he +strolled through the garden. It was a singular place, of great extent; +the lawn was carefully kept, but behind the screen of shrubs the garden +extended far up the valley beside the river in a sort of wilderness; +and he could see by the clumps of trees and the grassy mounds that it +must have once been a great formal pleasaunce, which had been allowed +to follow its own devices; at the far end of it, beside the stream, +there was a long flagged terrace, with a stone balustrade looking down +upon the stream, and beyond that the woods closed in. He left the +garden and followed the stream up the valley; the downs here drew in +and became steeper, till he came at last to one of the most lovely +places he thought he had ever set eyes upon. The stream ended suddenly +in a great clear pool, among a clump of old sycamores; the water rose +brimming out of the earth, and he could see the sand fountains rising +and falling at the bottom of the basin; by the side of it was a broad +stone seat, with carved back and ends. There was not a house in sight; +beyond there was only the green valley-end running up into the down, +which was here densely covered with thickets. It was perfectly still; +and the only sound was the liquid springing of the water in the pool, +and the birds singing in the bushes. Howard had a sudden sense that the +place held a significance for him. Had he been there before, in some +dream or vision? He could not tell; but it was strangely familiar to +him. Even so the trees had leaned together, and the clear ripples +pulsed upon the bank. Something strange and beautiful had befallen him +there. What was it? The mind could not unravel the secret. +</P> + +<P> +He sat there long in the sun, his eyes fixed upon the pool, in a +blissful content that was beyond thought. Then he slowly retraced his +steps, full of an intense inner happiness. +</P> + +<P> +He found his aunt in the garden, sitting out in the sun. He bent down +to kiss her, and she detained his hand for a moment. "So you are at +home?" she said, "and happy?—that is what I had wished and hoped. You +have been to the pool—yes, that is a lovely spot. It was that, I +think, which made your uncle buy the place; he had a great love of +water—and in my unhappy days here, when I had lost him, I used often +to go there and wish things were otherwise. But that is all over now!" +</P> + +<P> +After luncheon, Miss Merry excused herself and said she was going to +the village to see a farm-labourer's wife, who had lost a child and was +in great distress. "Poor soul!" said Mrs. Graves. "Give her my love, +and ask her to come and see me as soon as she can." Presently as they +sat together, Howard smoking, she asked him something about his work. +"Will you tell me what you are doing?" she said. "I daresay I should +not understand, but I like to know what people are thinking +about—don't use technical terms, but just explain your idea!" +</P> + +<P> +Howard was just in the frame of mind, trying to revive an old train of +thought, in which it is a great help to make a statement of the range +of a subject; he said so, and began to explain very simply what was in +his mind, the essential unity of all religion, and his attempt to +disentangle the central motive from outlying schemes and dogmas. Mrs. +Graves heard him attentively, every now and then asking a question, +which showed that she was following the drift of his thought. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, that's very interesting and beautiful," she said at last. "May I +say that it is the one thing that attracts me, though I have never +followed it philosophically. Now," she went on, "I am going to reduce +it all to practical terms, and I don't want to beat about the +bush—there's no need for that! I want to ask you a plain question. +Have you any religion or faith of your own?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," said Howard, "who can say? I am a conformist, certainly, because +I recognise in religion a fine sobering, civilising force at work, and +if one must choose one's side, I want to be on that side and not on the +other. But religion seems to me in its essence a very artistic thing, a +perception of effects which are hidden from many hearts and minds. When +a man speaks of definite religious experience, I feel that I am in the +presence of a perception of something real—as real as music and +painting. But I doubt if it is a sense given to all, or indeed to many; +and I don't know what it really is. And then, too, one comes across +people who hold it in an ugly, or a dreary, or a combative, or a formal +way; and then sometimes it seems to me almost an evil thing." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mrs. Graves, "I understand that. May I give you an +instance, and you will see if I perceive your thought. The good Vicar +here, my cousin Frank, Jack's father—you will meet him to-night—is a +man who holds a rigid belief, or thinks he holds it. He preaches what +he calls the sinew and bone of doctrine, and he is very stern in the +pulpit. He likes lecturing people in rows! But in reality he is one of +the kindest and vaguest of men. He preached a stiff sermon about +conversion the other day—I am pretty sure he did not understand it +himself—and he disquieted one of my good maids so much that she went +to him and asked what she could do to get assurance. He seems to have +hummed and hawed, and then to have said that she need not trouble her +head about it—that she was a good girl, and had better be content with +doing her duty. He is the friendliest of men, and that is his real +religion; he hasn't an idea how to apply his system, which he learned +at a theological college, but he feels it his duty to preach it." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "that is just what I mean; but there must be some +explanation for this curious outburst of forms and doctrines, so +contradictory in the different sects. Something surely causes both the +form of religion and the force of it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mrs. Graves, "just as in an engine something causes both +the steam and the piston-rod; it's an intelligence somewhere that fits +the one to the other. But then, as you say, what is the cause of all +this extravagance and violence of expression?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is the human element," said Howard—"the cautious, conservative, +business-like side that can't bear to let anything go. All religion +begins, it seems to me, by an outburst of moral force, an attempt to +simplify, to get a principle; and then the people who don't understand +it begin to make it technical and defined; uncritical minds begin to +attribute all sorts of vague wonders to it—things unattested, natural +exaggerations, excited statements, impossible claims; and then these +take traditional shape and the poor steed gets hung with all sorts of +incongruous burdens." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mrs. Graves, "but the force is there all the time; the old +hard words, like regeneration and atonement, do not mean DEFINITE +things—that is the mischief; they are the receipts made up by stupid, +hard-headed people who do not understand; but they stand for large and +wonderful experiences and are like the language of children telling +their dreams. The moral genius who sees through it all and gives the +first impulse is trying to deal with life directly and frankly; and the +difficulty arises from people who see the attendant circumstances and +mistake them for the causes. But I do not see it from that side, of +course! I understand what you are aiming at. You are trying to +disentangle all the phenomena, are you not, and referring them to their +real causes, instead of lumping them all together as the phenomena of +religion?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "that is what I am doing. I suppose I am naturally +sceptical; but I want to put aside all that stands on insecure +evidence, and all the sham terminology that comes from a muddled +delight in the supernatural. I want to give up and clear away all that +is not certain—material things must be brought to the test of material +laws—and to see what is left." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Mrs. Graves, "now I will tell you my own very simple +experience. I began, I think, with a very formal religion, and I tried +in my youth to attach what was really instinctive to religious motives. +It got me into a sad mess, because I did not dare to go direct to life. +I used to fret because your uncle seemed so indifferent to these +things. He was a wise and good man, and lived by a sort of inner beauty +of character that made all mean cruel spiteful petty things impossible +to him. Then when he died, I had a terrible time to go through. I felt +utterly adrift. My old system did not give me the smallest help. I was +trying to find an intellectual solution. It was then that I met Miss +Gordon, the great evangelist. She saw I was unhappy, and she said to me +one day: 'You have no business to be unhappy like this. What you want +is STRENGTH, and it is there all the time waiting for you! You are +arguing your case with God, complaining of the injustice you have +received, trying to excuse yourself, trying to find cause to blame Him. +Your life has been broken to pieces, and you are trying to shelter +yourself among the fragments. You must cast them all away, and thank +God for having pierced through the fortress in which you were +imprisoned. You must just go straight to Him, and open your heart, as +if you were opening a window to the sun and air.' She did not explain, +or try to give me formulas or phrases, she simply showed me the light +breaking round me. +</P> + +<P> +"It came to me quite suddenly one morning in my room upstairs. I was +very miserable indeed, missing my dear husband at every turn, quite +unable to face life, shuddering and shrinking through the days. I threw +it all aside, and spoke to God Himself. I said, 'You made me, You put +me here, You sent me love, You sent me prosperity. I have cared for the +wrong things, I have loved in the wrong way. Now I throw everything +else aside, and claim strength and light. I will sorrow no more and +desire no more; I will take every day just what You send me, I will say +and do what You bid me. I will make no pretences and no complaints. Do +with me what You will.' +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot tell you what happened to me, but a great tide of strength +and even joy flowed into my whole being; it was the water of life, +clear as crystal; and yet it was myself all the time! I was not +different, but I was one with something pure and wise and loving and +eternal. +</P> + +<P> +"That has never left me. You will ask why I have not done more, +bestirred myself more; because that is just what one cannot do. All +that matters nothing. The activities which one makes for oneself, they +are the delusions which hide God from us. One must not strive or rebuke +or arrange; one must simply love and be. Let me tell you one thing. I +was haunted all my early life with a fear of death. I liked life so +well, every moment of it, every incident, that I could not bear to +think it should ever cease; now, though I shrink from pain as much as +ever, I have no shrinking whatever from death. It is the perfectly +natural and simple change, and one is with God there as here. The soul +and God—those are the two imperishable things; one has not either to +know or to act—one has only to feel." +</P> + +<P> +She ceased speaking, and sat for a moment upright in her chair. Then +she went on. "Now the moment I saw you, my dear boy, I loved +you—indeed I have always loved you, I think, and I have always felt +that some day in His good time God would bring us together. But I see +too that you have not found the strength of God. You are not at peace. +Your life is full and active and kind; you are faithful and pure; but +your self is still unbroken, like a crystal wall all round you. I think +you will have to suffer; but you will believe, will you not, that you +have not seen a half of the wonder of life? You are full of happy +experience, but you have begun to feel the larger need. And I knew that +when you began to feel that need, you would be brought to me, not to be +given it, but to be shown it. That is all I can say to you now, but you +will know the fulness of life. It is not experience, action, curiosity, +ambition, desire, as many think, that is fulness of life; those are +delusions, things through which the soul has to pass, just that it may +learn not to rest in them. The fulness of life is the stillest, +quietest, inner joy, which nothing can trouble or shadow; love is a +part of it, but not quite all—for there is a shadow even in love; and +this is the larger peace." +</P> + +<P> +Howard sat amazed at the fire and glow of the words that came to him. +He did not fully understand all that was said, but he had a sense of +being brought into touch with a very tremendous and overwhelming force +indeed. But he could not for the moment revise his impressions; he only +perceived that he had come unexpectedly upon a calm and radiating +centre of energy, and it seemed in his mind that the pool which he had +seen that morning was an allegory of what he had now heard. The living +water, breaking up so clearly from underground in the grassy valley, +and passing downwards to gladden the earth! It would be used, be +tainted, be troubled, but he saw that no soil or stain, no scattering +or disruption, could ever really intrude itself into that elemental +purity. The stream would reunite itself, the impregnable atom would let +the staining substance fall unheeded. He would have to consider all +that, scrutinise his life in a new light. He felt that he had been +living on the surface of things, relying on impression, living in +impression, missing the strong central current all the time. He rose, +and taking his aunt's hand, kissed her cheek. +</P> + +<P> +"Those are my thanks!" he said smiling. "I can't express my gratitude, +but you have given me so much to think about and to ponder over that I +can say no more now. I do indeed feel that I have missed what is +perhaps the greatest thing in the world. But I ask myself, Can I attain +to this, is it for me? Am I not condemned by temperament to live in the +surface-values?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, dear child," said Mrs. Graves, looking at him, so that for an +instant he felt like a child indeed at a mother's knee; "we all come +home thus, sooner or later; and the time has come for you. I knew it +the moment I opened your letter. He is at the gate, I said, and I may +have the joy of being beside him when the door is opened." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +V +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ON THE DOWN +</H3> + +<P> +Howard was very singularly impressed by this talk. It seemed to him, +not certainly indeed, but possibly, that he had stumbled, almost as it +were by accident, upon a great current of force and emotion running +vehemently through the world, under the calm surface of things. How +many apparently unaccountable events it might explain! one saw frail +people doing fine things, sensitive people bearing burdens of +ill-health or disappointment, placidly and even contentedly, men making +gallant, unexpected choices, big expansive natures doing dull work and +living cheerfully under cramped conditions. He had never troubled to +explain such phenomena, beyond thinking that for some reason such a +course of action pleased and satisfied people. Of course everyone did +not hide the struggle; there were men he knew who had a grievance +against the world, for ever parading a valuation of themselves with +which no one concurred. But there were many people who had the material +for far worse grievances, who never seemed to nourish them. Had they +fought in secret and prevailed? Had they been floated into some moving +current of strength by a rising tide? Were they, like the man in the +Gospel, conscious of a treasure hidden in a field which made all other +prizes tame by comparison? Was the Gospel in fact perhaps aiming at +that—the pearl of price? To be born again—was that what had happened? +The thought cast a light upon his own serene life, and showed him that +it was essentially a pagan sort of life, temperate perhaps and refined, +but still unlit by any secret fire. It was not that his life was wrong, +or that an abjuration was needed; it was still to be lived, and lived +more intently, but no longer merely self-propelled. . . . +</P> + +<P> +He needed to be alone, to consider, to focus his thought; he went off +for a walk by himself among the hills, past the spring, up the valley, +till he came to a place where the down ran out into the plain, the +bluff crowned with a great earthwork. An enormous view lay spread out +before him. To left and right the smooth elbows of the uplands ran down +into the plain, their skirts clothed with climbing woods and orchards, +hamlets half-hidden, with the smoke going up from their chimneys; +further out the cultivated plain rose and fell, field beyond field, +wood beyond wood, merging at last in a belt of deep rich colour, and +beyond that, blue hills of hope and desire, and a pale gleam of sea +beyond all. The westering sun filled the air with a golden haze, and +enriched the land with soft rich shadows. There was life spread out +before him, just so and not otherwise, life organised and constructed +into toil and a certain order, out of what dim concourse and strife! +For whatever reason, it was there to be lived; one could not change the +conditions of it, the sun and the rain, the winter and the spring; but +behind all that definite set of forces, was there perhaps a stronger +and larger force still, a brimming tide of energy, that clasped life +close and loved it, and yet regarded something through it and beyond it +that was not yet? His heart seemed full of a great longing, not to +avoid life, but to return and live it in a larger way, at once more +engaged in it, and more detached from it, each quality ministering to +the other. It seemed to him that afternoon that there was something +awaiting him greater than anything which had yet befallen him—an open +door, through which he might pass to see strange things. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE HOME CIRCLE +</H3> + +<P> +He returned somewhat late, to find tea over and Mrs. Graves gone to her +room; but there was tea waiting for him in the library; he went there, +and for a while turned over his book, which seemed to him now to be +illumined with a new light. It was this that he had been looking for, +this gift of power; it was that which lay behind his speculations; he +had suspected it, inferred it, but not perceived it; he saw now whither +his thought had been conducting him, and why he had flagged in the +pursuit. +</P> + +<P> +He went up to dress for dinner, and came down as soon as the bell rang. +He found that Jack's father and sister had arrived. He went into the +dimly lighted room. Mr. Sandys, a fine-looking robust man, +clean-shaven, curly-haired, carefully and clerically dressed, was +standing by Mrs. Graves; he came forward and shook hands. "I am +delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Kennedy," he said, "though +indeed I seem to know a great deal about you from Jack. You are quite a +hero of his, you know, and I want to thank you for all your kindness to +him. I am looking forward to having a good talk with you about his +future. By the way, here is my daughter, Maud, who is quite as anxious +to see you as I am." A figure sitting in a corner, talking to Miss +Merry, rose up, came forward into the light, and held out her hand with +rather a shy smile. +</P> + +<P> +Howard was amazed at what he saw. Maud had an extraordinary likeness to +her brother, but with what a difference! Howard saw in an instant what +it was that had haunted him in the aspect of Jack. This was what he +seemed to have discerned all the time, and what had been baffling him. +He knew that she was nineteen, but she looked younger. She was not, he +thought, exactly beautiful—but how much more than beautiful; she was +very finely and delicately made, and moved with an extraordinary grace; +pale and fair, but with a look of perfect health; her features were +very small, and softly rather than finely moulded; she had the air of +some flower—a lily he thought—which was emphasised by her simple +white dress. The under-lip was a little drawn in, which gave the least +touch of melancholy to the face; but she had clear blue trustful eyes, +the expression of which moved him in a very singular manner, because +they seemed to offer a sweet and frank confidence. Her self-possession +gave the least little sense of effort. He took the small firm and +delicate hand in his, and was conscious of something strong and +resolute in the grasp of the tiny fingers. She murmured something about +Jack being so sorry to be away; and Howard to recover himself said: +"Yes, he wrote to me to explain—we are going to do some work together, +I believe." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it's most kind of you," said Mr. Sandys, putting his arm within +his daughter's with a pleasant air of fatherliness. "I am afraid +industry isn't Jack's strong point? Of course I am anxious about his +future—you must be used to that sort of thing! but we will defer all +this until after dinner, when Mrs. Graves will allow us to have a good +talk." +</P> + +<P> +"We will see," said Mrs. Graves, rising; "Howard is here for a holiday, +you know. Howard, will you lead the way; you don't know how my +ceremonial soul enjoys having a real host to preside!" +</P> + +<P> +Maud took Howard's arm, and the touch gave him a quite unreasonable +thrill of pleasure; but he felt too quite insupportably elderly. What +could he find to talk to this enchanting child about? He wished he had +learned more about her tastes and ideas. Was this the creature of whom +Jack had talked so patronisingly? He felt almost angry with his absent +pupil for not having prepared him for what he would meet. +</P> + +<P> +As soon as they were seated Mr. Sandys launched into the talk, like an +eagle dallying with the wind. He struck Howard as an extremely +good-natured, sensible, buoyant man, with a perpetual flow of healthy +interests. Nothing that he said had the slightest distinction, and his +power of expression was quite unequal to the evident vividness of his +impressions. He had a taste for antithesis, but no grasp of synonyms. +Every idea in Mr. Sandys' mind fell into halves, but the second clause +was produced, not to express any new thought, but rather to echo the +previous clause. He began at once on University topics. He had himself +been a Pembroke man, and it had cost him an effort, he said, to send +Jack elsewhere. "I don't take quite the orthodox view of education," he +said, "in fact I am decidedly heterodox about its aims and the object +that it has. It ought not to fall behind its object, and all this +specialisation seems to me to be dangerous, and in fact decidedly +perilous. My own education was on the old classical lines—an excellent +gymnastic, I think, and distinctly fortifying. The old masterpieces, +you know, Thucydides and so forth—they should be the basis—the +foundation so to speak. But we must not forget the superstructure, the +house of thought, if I may use the expression. You must forgive my +ventilating these crude ideas, Mr. Kennedy. I went in myself, after +taking my degree, for a course of general reading. Goethe and Schiller, +you know. Yes, how fine that all is, though I sometimes feel it is a +little Teutonic? One needs to correct the Teutonic bias, and it is just +there that the gymnastic of the classics comes in; it gives one a +standard—a criterion in fact. One must have a criterion, mustn't one, +or it is all loose, and indeed, so to speak, illusive? I am all for +formative education; and it is there that women—I speak frankly in the +presence of three intelligent women—it is there that they suffer. +Their education is not formative enough—not formal enough, in fact! +Now, I have tried with dear Maud to communicate just that touch of +formality. You would be surprised, Mr. Kennedy, to know what Maud has +read under my guidance. Not learned, you know—I don't care for +that—but with a standard, or if I may revert to my former expression, +a criterion." +</P> + +<P> +He paused for a moment, saw that he was belated, and finished his soup +hastily. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "of course that is the real problem of +education—to give a standard, and not to extinguish the taste for +intellectual things, which is too often what we contrive to do." +</P> + +<P> +"Now we must not be too serious all at once," said Mrs. Graves. "If we +exhaust ourselves about education, we shall have nothing to fall back +upon—we shall be afraid to condescend. I am deplorably ill-educated +myself. I have no standard whatever. I have to consult dear Jane, have +I not? Jane is my intellectual touchstone, and saves me from entire +collapse." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well," said Mr. Sandys good-humouredly, "Mr. Kennedy and I will +fight it out together sometime. He will forgive an old Pembroke man for +wanting to know what is going forward; for scenting the battle afar +off, in fact." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Sandys found no lack of subjects to descant upon; but voluble, and +indeed absurd as he was, Howard could not help liking him; he was a +good fellow, he could see, and managed to diffuse a geniality over the +scene. "I am interested in most things," he said, at the end of a +breathless harangue, "and there is something in the presence of a real +live student, from the forefront of the intellectual battle, which +rouses all my old activities—stimulates them, in fact. This will be a +memorable evening for me, Mr. Kennedy, and I have abundance of things +to ask you." He did indeed ask a good many things, but he was content +to answer them himself. Once indeed, in the course of an immense +tirade, in which Mr. Sandys' intellectual curiosity took a series of +ever-widening sweeps, Howard caught his neighbour regarding him with a +half-amused look, and became aware that she was wondering if he were +playing Jack's game. Their eyes met, and he knew that she knew that he +knew. He smiled and shook his head. She gave him a delighted little +smile, and Howard had that touch of absurd ecstasy, which visits men no +longer young, when they find themselves still in the friendly camp of +the young, and not in the hostile camp of the middle-aged. +</P> + +<P> +Presently he said to her something about Jack, and how much he enjoyed +seeing him at Cambridge. "He is really rather a wonderful person," he +added. "There isn't anyone at Beaufort who has such a perfectly defined +relation to everyone in the college, from the master down to the +kitchen-boys. He talks to everyone without any embarrassment, and yet +no one really knows what he is thinking! He is very deep, really, and I +think he has a fine future before him." +</P> + +<P> +Maud lighted up at this, and said: "Do you really think so?" and added, +"You know how much he admires you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad to be assured of it," said Howard; "you would hardly guess +it from some of the things he says to me. It's awful, but he can't be +checked—and yet he never oversteps the line, somehow." +</P> + +<P> +"He's a queer boy," said Maud. "The way he talked to the Archdeacon the +other day was simply fearful; but the Archdeacon only laughed, and said +to papa afterwards that he envied him his son. The Archdeacon was +giggling half the afternoon; he felt quite youthful, he said." +</P> + +<P> +"It's the greatest gift to be able to do that," said Howard; "it's a +sort of fairy wand—the pumpkin becomes a coach and four." +</P> + +<P> +"Jack's right ear must be burning, I think," said Maud, "and yet he +never seems to want to know what anyone thinks about him." +</P> + +<P> +That was all the talk that Howard had with her at dinner. After the +ladies had gone, Mr. Sandys became very confidential about Jack's +prospects. +</P> + +<P> +"I look upon you as a sort of relation, you see," he said, "in fact I +shall make bold to drop the Mr. and I hope you will do the same? May we +indeed take a bold step into intimacy and be 'Howard' and 'Frank' +henceforth? I can't, of course, leave Jack a fortune, but when I die +the two dear children will be pretty well off—I may say that. What do +you think he had better go in for? I should like him to take holy +orders, but I don't press it. It brings one into touch with human +beings, and I like that. I find human beings very interesting—I am not +afraid of responsibility." +</P> + +<P> +Howard said that he did not think Jack inclined to orders. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I put that aside," cried the good-natured Mr. Sandys. "No +compulsion for me—the children may do as they like, live as they like, +marry whom they like. I don't believe in checking human nature. Of +course if Jack could get a Fellowship, I should like him to settle down +at Cambridge. There's a life for you! In the forefront of the +intellectual battle! It is what I should have liked myself, of all +things. To hear what is going on in the intellectual line, to ventilate +ideas, to write, to teach—that's a fine life—to be able to hold one's +own in talk and discussion—that's where we country people fail. I have +plenty of ideas, you know, myself, but I can't put them into shape, +into form, so to speak." +</P> + +<P> +"I think Jack would rather like a commercial career," said Howard. +"It's the only thing he has ever mentioned; and I am sure he might do +well if he could get an opening; he likes real things, he says." +</P> + +<P> +"He does!" said Mr. Sandys enthusiastically—"that's what he always +says. Do you know, if you won't think me very vain, Howard, I believe +he gets that from me. Maud is different—she takes after her dear +mother—whose loss was so irreparable a calamity—my dear wife was full +of imagination; it was a beautiful mind. I will show you some of her +sketches when you come to see us—I am looking forward to that—not +much technique, perhaps, but a real instinct for beauty; to be just, a +little lacking in form, but full of feeling. Well, Jack, as I was +saying, likes reality. So do I! A firm hold on reality—that's the best +thing; I was not intellectual enough for the life of thought, and I +fell back on humanity—vastly engrossing! I assure you, though you +would hardly think it, that even these simple people down here are most +interesting: no two of them alike. My old friends say to me sometimes +that I must find country people very dull, but I always say, 'No two of +them alike!' Of course I try to keep my intellectual tastes alive—they +are only tastes, of course, not faculties, like yours—but we read and +talk and ventilate our ideas, Maud and I; and when we are tired of +books, why I fall back on the great book of humanity. We don't +stagnate—at least I hope not—I have a horror of stagnation. I said so +to the Archdeacon the other day, and he said that there was nothing +stagnant about Windlow." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I am quite sure there is not," said Howard politely. +</P> + +<P> +"It's very good of you to say so, Howard," said Mr. Sandys delightedly. +"Really quite a compliment! And I assure you, you don't know what a +pleasure it is to have a talk like this with a man like yourself, so +well-read, so full of ideas. I envy Jack his privileges. I do indeed. +Now dear old Pembroke was not like that in my days. There was no one I +could talk to, as Jack tells me he talks to you. A man like yourself is +a vast improvement on the old type of don, if I may say so. I'm very +free, you see! And so you think Jack might do well in commerce? Well, I +quite approve. All I want is that he should not be out of touch with +human beings. I'm not a metaphysician, but it seems to me that that is +what we are here for—touch with humanity—of course on Church of +England lines. I'm tolerant, I hope, and can see the good side of other +creeds; but give me something comprehensive, and that is the glory of +our English Church. Well, you have given me a lot to think of, Howard; +I must just take it all away and think it over. It's well to do that, I +think? Not to be in a hurry, try to see all round a question? That is +my line always!" +</P> + +<P> +They walked into the drawing-room together; and Howard felt curiously +drawn to the warm-hearted and voluble man. Perhaps it was for the sake +of his children, he thought. There must be something fine about a man +who had brought up two such children—but that was not all; the Vicar +was enthusiastic; he revelled in life, he adored life; and Howard felt +that there was a real fund of sense and even judgment somewhere, behind +the spray of the cataract. He was a man whom one could trust, he +believed, and whom it was impossible not to like. +</P> + +<P> +When they reached the drawing-room, Mrs. Graves called the Vicar into a +corner, and began to talk to him about someone in the village; Howard +heard his talk plunge steadily into the silence. Miss Merry flitted +about, played a few pieces of music; and Howard found himself left to +Maud. He went and sate down beside her. In the dim light the girl sate +forward in a big arm-chair; there was nothing languorous or listless +about her. She seemed all alert in a quiet way. She greeted him with a +smile, and sate turned towards him, her chin on her hand, her eyes upon +him. Her shining hair fell over the curves of her young and pure neck. +She was holding a flower, which Mrs. Graves had given her, in her other +hand, and its fragrance exhaled all about her. Once or twice she +checked him with a little gesture of her hand, when Miss Merry began to +play, and he could see that she was much affected by the music. +</P> + +<P> +"It seems to me so wrong to talk during music," she said; "perhaps it +wasn't polite of me to stop you, but I can't bear to interrupt +music—it's like treading on flowers—it can't come again just like +that!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "I know exactly what you mean; but I expect it is a +mistake to think of a beautiful thing being wasted, if we don't happen +to hear or see it. It isn't only meant for us. It is the light or the +sound or the flower, I think, being beautiful because it is glad." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said the girl, "perhaps it is that. That is what Mrs. Graves +thinks. Do you know, it seems to me strange that you have never been +here before, though you are almost her only relation. She is the most +wonderful person I have ever seen. The only person I know who seems +always right, and yet never wants anyone else to know she is right." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "I feel that I have been very foolish—but it has +been going on all the time, like the music and the light. It hasn't +been wasted. I have had a wonderful talk with her to-day—the most +wonderful talk, I think, I have ever had. I can't understand it all +yet—but she has given me the sense of some fine purpose—as if I had +been kept away for a purpose, because I was not ready; and as if I had +come here for a purpose now." +</P> + +<P> +The girl sate looking at him with open eyes, and with some strange +sense of surprise. "Yes," she said, "it is just like that; but that you +could have seen it so soon amazes me. I have known her all my life, and +could never have put that into words. Do you know how things seem to +come and go and shift about without any meaning? It is never so with +her; she sees what it all means. I cannot explain it." +</P> + +<P> +They sate in silence for a moment, and then Howard said: "It is very +curious to be here; you know, or probably you don't know, how much +interested I am in Jack; and somehow in talking to him I felt that +there was something behind—something more to know. All this"—he waved +his hand at the room—"my aunt, your father, yourself—it does not seem +to me new and unfamiliar, but something which I have always known. I +can't tell you in what a dream I have seemed to be moving ever since I +came here. I have been here for twenty-four hours, and yet it seems all +old and dear to me." +</P> + +<P> +"I know that feeling," said the girl, "one dips into something that has +been going on for ever and ever—I feel like that to-night. It seems +odd to talk like this, but you must remember that Jack tells me most +things, and I seem to know you quite well. I knew it would be all easy +somehow." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we are a sort of cousins," said Howard lightly. "That's such a +comfort; it needn't entail anything, but it can save one all sorts of +fencing and ceremony. I want to talk to you about Jack. He is a little +mysterious to me still." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, "he is mysterious, but he really is a dear: he was the +most aggravating boy that ever lived, and I sometimes used really to +hate him. I am afraid we used to fight a great deal; at least I did, +but I suppose he was only pretending, for he never hurt me, and I know +I used to hurt him—but then he deserved it!" +</P> + +<P> +"What a picture!" said Howard, smiling; "no wonder that boys go to +their private schools expecting to have to fight for their lives. I +never had a sister; and that accounts perhaps for my peaceful +disposition." He had a sudden sense as he spoke that he was talking as +if to an undergraduate in friendly irony. To his surprise and pleasure +he saw that his thought had translated itself. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose that is how you talk to your pupils," said the girl, +smiling; "I recognise that—and that's what makes it easy to talk to +you as Jack does—it's like an easy serve at lawn-tennis." +</P> + +<P> +"I am glad it is easy," said Howard, "you don't know how many of my +serves go into the net!" +</P> + +<P> +"Lawn-tennis!" said Mr. Sandys from the other side of the room. +"There's a good game, Howard! I am not much of a hand at it myself, but +I enjoy playing. I don't mind making a spectacle of myself. One misses +many good things by being afraid of looking a fool. What does it +matter, I say to myself, as long as one doesn't FEEL a fool? You will +come and play at the vicarage, I hope. Indeed, I want you to go and +come just as you like. We are relations, you know, in a sort of way—at +least connections. I don't know if you go in for genealogy—it's rather +a hobby of mine; it fills up little bits of time, you know. I could +reel you off quite a list of names, but Mrs. Graves doesn't care for +genealogy, I know." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, not that!" said Mrs. Graves. "I think it is very interesting. But +I rather agree with the minister who advised his flock to pray for good +ancestors." +</P> + +<P> +"Ha! ha!" said Mr. Sandys, "excellent, that; but it is really very +curious you know, that the further one goes back the more one's +ancestors increase. Talk of over-population; why if one goes back +thirty or forty generations, the world would be over-populated with the +ancestors of any one of us. I remember posing a very clever +mathematician with that once; but, as a fact, it's quite the reverse, +one finds. Are you interested in neolithic men, Howard? There are +graves of them all over the down—it is not certain if they were +neolithic, but they had very curious burial customs. Knees up to the +chin, you know. Well, well, it's all very fascinating, and I should +like to drive you over to Dorchester to look at the museum there—there +are some questions I should like to ask you. But we must be off. A +delightful evening, cousin Anne; a delightful evening, Howard. I feel +quite rejuvenated—such a lot to ponder over." +</P> + +<P> +Howard went to the door to see them off, and was rewarded by a parting +smile from Maud, which made him feel curiously elated. He went back to +the drawing-room with that faint feeling of flatness which comes of +parting with lively guests; and yet it somehow gave him a pleasant +sense of being at home. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Mrs. Graves, "so now you have seen the Sandys interior. +Dear Frank, how he does chatter, to be sure! but he is all alive too in +his own way, and that is what matters. What did you think of Maud? I +want you to like her—she is a great friend of mine, and really a fine +creature. Not very happy just now, perhaps. But while dear old Frank +never sees past the outside of things—what a lot of things he does +see!—she sees inside, I think. But I am tired to death. I always feel +after talking to Frank as if I had been driving in a dog-cart over a +ploughed field!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +COUNTRY LIFE +</H3> + +<P> +Howard woke early, after sweet and wild dreams of great landscapes and +rich adventures; as his thoughts took shape, he began to feel as if he +had passed some boundary yesterday; escaped, as a child escapes from a +familiar garden into great vague woodlands. There was his talk with +Mrs. Graves first—that had opened up for him a new region, indeed, of +the mind and soul, and had revealed to him an old force, perhaps long +within his grasp, but which he had never tried to use or wield. And the +vision too of Maud crossed his mind—a perfectly beautiful thing, which +had risen like a star. He did not think of it as love at all—that did +not cross his mind—it was just the thought of something enchantingly +and exquisitely beautiful, which disturbed him, awed him, threw his +mind off its habitual track. How extraordinarily lovely, simple, sweet, +the girl had seemed to him in the dim room, in the faint light; and how +fearless and frank she had been! He was conscious only of something +adorable, which raised, as beautiful things did, a sense of something +unapproachable, some yearning which could not be satisfied. How far +away, how faded and dusty his ordinary contented Cambridge life now +seemed to him! +</P> + +<P> +He breakfasted alone, read a few letters which had been forwarded to +him, and went to the library. A few minutes later Miss Merry tapped at +the door, and came in. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Graves asked me to say—she was sorry she forgot to mention +it—that if you care for shooting or fishing, the keeper will come in +and take your orders. She thinks you might like to ask Jack to luncheon +and go out with him; she sends you her love, and wants you to do what +you like." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you very much!" said Howard, "I rather expect Jack will be round +here and I will ask him. I know he would like it, and I should too—if +you are sure Mrs. Graves approves." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes," said Miss Merry, smiling, "she always approves of people +doing what they like." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Merry still hesitated at the door. "May I ask you another +question, Mr. Kennedy—I hope I am not troublesome—I wonder if you +could suggest some books for us to read? I read a good deal to Mrs. +Graves, and I am afraid we get rather into a groove. We ought to read +some of the new books; we want to know what people are saying and +thinking—we don't want to get behind." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, of course," said Howard, "I shall be delighted—but I am afraid I +am not likely to be of much use; I don't read as much as I ought; but +if you will tell me the sort of things you care about, and what you +have been reading, we will try to make out a list. Won't you sit down +and see what we can do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't like to interrupt you," said Miss Merry. "But if you would +be so kind." +</P> + +<P> +She sat down at the far end of the table, and Howard was dimly and +amusedly conscious that this tete-a-tete was of the nature of a +romantic adventure to the little lady. He was surprised, when they came +to talk, to find how much they appeared to have read of a solid kind. +He asked if they had any plan. +</P> + +<P> +"No, indeed," said Miss Merry, "we just wander on; one thing suggests +another. Mrs. Graves likes LONG books; she says she likes to get at a +subject quietly—that there ought not to be too many good things in +books; she likes them slow and spacious." +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid one has to go back a good way for that!" said Howard. +"People can't afford now to know more than a manual of a couple of +hundred pages can tell them about a subject. I can tell you some good +historical books, and some books of literary criticism and biography. I +can't do much about poetry or novels; and philosophy, science, and +theology I am no use at all for. But I could get you some advice if you +like. That's the best of Cambridge, there are so many people about who +are able to tell what to read." +</P> + +<P> +While they were making out a list, Jack arrived breathlessly, and Miss +Merry shamefacedly withdrew. Howard said: "Perhaps that will do to go +on with—we will have another talk to-morrow. I begin to see the sort +of thing you want." +</P> + +<P> +Jack was in a state of high excitement. +</P> + +<P> +"What on earth were you doing," he said, as the door closed, "with that +sedate spinster?" +</P> + +<P> +"We were making out a list of books!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," said Jack with a profound air, "books are dangerous +things—that's the intellectual way of making love! You must be a great +excitement here, with all your ideas!—but now," he went on, "here I +am—I hurried back the moment breakfast was over. I have been horribly +bored—a lawn-tennis party yesterday, the females much to the +fore—it's no good that, it's not the game; at least it's not +lawn-tennis; it's a game all right, but I much suspect it has to do +with love-making rather than exercise." +</P> + +<P> +"You seem very suspicious this morning," said Howard; "you accuse me of +flirting to begin with, and now you suspect lawn-tennis." +</P> + +<P> +Jack shook his head. "I do hate love-making!" he said, "it spoils +everything—it gets in the way, and makes fools of people; the longer I +live, the more I see that most of the things that people do are excuses +for doing something else! But never mind that! I said I had got to get +back to be coached; I said that one of our dons was staying in the +village and had his eye on me. What I want to know is whether you have +made any arrangements about shooting or fishing? You said you would if +you could." +</P> + +<P> +"The keeper is coming in," said Howard, "and we will have a talk to +him; but mind, on one condition—work in the morning, exercise in the +afternoon; and you are to stop to lunch." +</P> + +<P> +"Cousin Anne is bursting into hospitality," said Jack, "because Maud is +coming in for the afternoon. I haven't had time to pump Maud yet about +you, but, by George, I'm going to pump you about her and father. Did +you have a very thick time last night? I could see father was rather +licking his lips." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, no more chatter," said Howard; "you go and get some books, and we +will set to work at once." Jack nodded and fled. +</P> + +<P> +When he came back the keeper was waiting, a friendly old man, who +seemed delighted at the idea of some sport. Jack said, "Look here, I +have arranged it all. Shooting to-day, and you can have father's gun; +he hardly ever uses it, and I have my own. Fishing to-morrow, and so on +alternately. There are heaps of rabbits up the valley—the place crawls +with them." +</P> + +<P> +Howard taught Jack for an hour, as clearly and briskly as he could, +making him take notes. He found him quick and apt, and at the end, Jack +said, "Now if I could only do this every day at Cambridge, I should +soon get on. My word, you do do it well! It makes me shudder to think +of all the practice you must have had." +</P> + +<P> +Howard set Jack down to prepare some further work by himself, and +attacked his own papers; and very soon it was time for lunch. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Graves greeted Jack with much affectionateness, and asked what +they had arranged for the afternoon. Howard told her, and added that he +hoped she did not object to shooting. +</P> + +<P> +"No, not at all," said Mrs. Graves, "if YOU can do it +conscientiously—I couldn't! As usual I am hopelessly inconsistent. I +couldn't kill things myself, but as long as I eat meat, I can't object. +It's no good arguing about these things. If one begins to argue about +destroying life, there are such excellent reasons for not eating +anything, or wearing anything, or even crossing the lawn! I have long +believed that plants are conscious, but we have got to exist somehow at +each other's expense. Instinct is the only guide for women; if they +begin to reason, they get run away with by reason; that is what makes +fanatics. I won't go so far as to wish you good sport, but you may as +well get all the rabbits you can; I'll send them round the village, and +try to salve my conscience so." +</P> + +<P> +They talked a little about the books Howard had been recommending, but +Mrs. Graves was bent on making much of Jack. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't get you here often by yourself," she said. "I daren't ask a +modern young man to come and see two old frumps—one old frump, I mean! +But I gather that you have views of your own, Jack, and some day I +shall try to get at them. I suppose that in a small place like this we +all know a great deal more about each other than we suspect each other +of knowing. What a comfort that we have tongues that we can hold! It +wouldn't be possible to live, if we knew that all the absurdities we +pride ourselves on concealing were all perfectly well known and +canvassed by all our friends. However, as long as we only enjoy each +other's faults, and don't go in for correcting them, we can get on. I +hope you don't DISAPPROVE of people, Jack! That's the hopeless +attitude." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I hate some people," said Jack, "but I hate them so much that it +is quite a pleasure to meet them and to think how infernal they are; +and when it's like that, I should be sorry if they improved." +</P> + +<P> +"I won't go as far as that," said Howard. "The most I do is to be +thankful that their lack of improvement can still entertain me. One can +never be thankful enough for really grotesque people. But I confess I +don't enjoy seeing people spiteful and mean and vicious. I want to +obliterate all that." +</P> + +<P> +"I want it to be obliterated," said Mrs. Graves; "but I don't feel +equal to doing it. Oh, well, we mustn't get solemn over it; that's the +mischief! But I mustn't keep you gentlemen from more serious +pursuits—'real things,' I believe, Jack?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Kennedy has been sneaking on me," said Jack. "I don't like to see +people mean and spiteful. It gives me pain. I want all that +obliterated." +</P> + +<P> +"This is what happens to my pupils," said Howard. "Come on, Jack, you +shall not expose my methods like this." +</P> + +<P> +They went off with the old keeper, who carried a bag of writhing +ferrets, and was accompanied by a boy with a spade and a line and a bag +of cartridges. As they went on, Jack catechised Howard closely. +</P> + +<P> +"Did my family behave themselves?" he said. "Did you want them +obliterated? I expect you had a good pull at the Governor, but don't +forget he is a good chap. He is so dreadfully interested, but you come +to plenty of sense last of all. I admit it is last, but it's there. +It's no joke facing him if there's a row! he doesn't say much then, and +that makes it awful. He has a way of looking out of the window, if I +cheek him, for about five minutes, which turns me sick. Up on the top +he is a bit frothy—but there's no harm in that, and he keeps things +going." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "I felt that, and I may tell you plainly I liked +him very much, and thought him a thoroughly good sort." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what about Maud?" said Jack. +</P> + +<P> +Howard felt a tremor. He did not want to talk about Maud, and he did +not want Jack to talk about her. It seemed like laying hands on +something sacred and secluded. So he said, "Really, I don't know as +yet—I only had one talk with her. I can't tell. I thought her +delightful; like you with your impudence left out." +</P> + +<P> +"The little cat!" said Jack; "she is as impudent as they make them. +I'll be bound she has taken the length of your foot. What did she talk +about? stars and flowers? That's one of her dodges." +</P> + +<P> +"I decline to answer," said Howard; "and I won't have you spoiling my +impressions. Just leave me alone to make up my mind, will you?" +</P> + +<P> +Jack looked at him,—he had spoken sharply—nodded, and said, "All +right! I won't give her away. I see you are lost; but I'll get it all +out of you some time." +</P> + +<P> +They were by this time some way up the valley. There were rabbit +burrows everywhere among the thickets. The ferrets were put in. Howard +and Jack were posted below, and the shooting began. The rabbits bolted +well, and Howard experienced a lively satisfaction, quite out of +proportion, he felt, to the circumstances, at finding that he could +shoot a great deal better than his pupil. The old knack came back to +him, and he toppled over his rabbits cleanly and in a masterly way. +</P> + +<P> +"You are rather good at this!" said Jack. "Won't I blazon it abroad up +at Beaufort. You shall have all the credit and more. I can't see how +you always manage to get them in the head." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a trick," said Howard; "you have got to get a particular swing, +and when you have got it, it's difficult to miss—it's only practice; +and I shot a good deal at one time." +</P> + +<P> +Howard was unreasonably happy that afternoon. It was a still, sunny +day, and the steep down stretched away above them, an ancient English +woodland, with all its thorn-thickets and elder-clumps. It had been +like this, he thought, from the beginning of history, never touched by +the hand of man. The expectant waiting, the quick aim, the sudden shot, +took off the restlessness of his brain; and as they stood there, often +waiting for a long time in silence, a peculiar quality of peace and +contentment enveloped his spirit. It was all so old, so settled, so +quiet, that all sense of retrospect and prospect passed from his mind. +He was just glad to be alive and alert, glad of his friendly companion, +robust and strong. A few pictures passed before his mind, but he was +glad just to let his eyes wander over the scene, the steep turf +ramparts, the close-set dingles, the spring sunshine falling softly +over all, as the sun passed over and the shadows lengthened. At last a +ferret got hung up, and had to be dug out. Howard looked at his watch, +and said they must go back to tea. Jack protested in vain that there +was plenty of light left. Howard said they were expected back. They +left the keeper to recover the ferret, and went back quickly down the +valley. Jack was in supreme delight. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's an honest way of spending time!" he said. "My word, how I +dangle about here; it isn't good for my health. But, by George, I wish +I could shoot like you, Mr. Kennedy, Sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Why this sudden obsequiousness?" said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, because I never know what to call you," said Jack. "I can't call +you by your Christian name, and Mr. Kennedy seems absurd. What do you +like?" +</P> + +<P> +"Whatever comes naturally," said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'll call you Howard when we are together," said Jack. "But +mind, not at Beaufort! If I call you anything, it will have to be Mr. +Kennedy. I hate men fraternising with the Dons. The Dons rather +encourage it, because it makes them feel youthful and bucks them up. +The men are just as bad about Christian names. Gratters on getting your +Christian name, you know! It's like a girls' school. I wonder why +Cambridge is more like a girls' school than a public school is? I +suppose they are more sentimental. I do loathe that." +</P> + +<P> +When they got back they found Maud at tea; she had been there all the +afternoon; she greeted Howard very pleasantly, but there was a touch of +embarrassment created by the presence of Jack, who regarded her +severely and called her "Miss." +</P> + +<P> +"He's got some grudge against me," said Maud to Howard. "He always has +when he calls me Miss." +</P> + +<P> +"What else should I call you?" said Jack; "Mr. Kennedy has been telling +me that one should call people by whatever name seems natural. You are +a Miss to-day, and no mistake. You are at some game or other!" +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Jack, be quiet!" said Mrs. Graves; "that is how the British +paterfamilias gets made. You must not begin to make your womankind +uncomfortable in public. You must not think aloud. You must keep up the +mysteries of chivalry!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't care for mysteries," said Jack, "but I'll behave. My father +says one mustn't seethe the kid in its mother's milk. I will leave Miss +to her conscience." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you enjoy yourself?" said Mrs. Graves to Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I'm afraid I did," said Howard, "very much indeed." +</P> + +<P> +"Some book I read the other day," said Mrs. Graves, "stated that men +ought to do primeval things, eat under-done beef, sleep in their +clothes, drink too much, kill things. It sounds disgusting; but I +suppose you felt primeval?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what it was," said Howard. "I felt very well content." +</P> + +<P> +"My word, he can shoot!" said Jack to Mrs. Graves; "I'm a perfect +duffer beside him; he shot four-fifths of the bag, and there's a +perfect mountain of rabbits to come in." +</P> + +<P> +"Horrible, horrible!" said Mrs. Graves, "but are there enough to go +round the village?" +</P> + +<P> +"Two apiece," said Jack, "to every man a damsel or two! Now, Maud, come +on—ten o'clock, to-morrow, Sir—and perhaps a little fishing later?" +</P> + +<P> +"You had better stay to lunch, whenever you come and work in the +morning, Jack," said Mrs. Graves; "and I'll turn you inside out before +very long." +</P> + +<P> +Howard went off to his work with a pleasant sense of the open air. They +dined together quietly; after dinner he went and sate down by Mrs. +Graves. +</P> + +<P> +"Jack's a nice boy," she said, "very nice—don't make him pert!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid I shan't MAKE him anything," said Howard. "He will go his +own way, sure enough; but he isn't pert—he comes to heel, and he +remembers. He is like the true gentleman—he is never unintentionally +offensive." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Graves laughed, and said, "Yes, that is so." +</P> + +<P> +Howard went on, "I have been thinking a great deal about our talk +yesterday, and it's a new light to me. I do not think I fully +understand, but I feel that there is something very big behind it all, +which I want to understand. This great force you speak of—is it an +AIM?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's a good question," said Mrs. Graves. "No, it's not an aim at +all. It's too big for that; an aim is quite on a lower level. There's +no aim in the big things. A man doesn't fall ill with an aim—he +doesn't fall in love with an aim. It just comes upon him." +</P> + +<P> +"But then," said Howard, "is it more than a sort of artistic gift which +some have and many have not? I have known a few real artists, and they +just did not care for anything else in the world. All the rest of life +was just a passing of time, a framework to their work. There was an +artist I knew, who was dying. The doctor asked him if he wanted +anything. 'Just a full day's work,' he said." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mrs. Graves, "it is like that in a way; it is the one thing +worth doing and being. But it isn't a conscious using of minutes and +opportunities—it isn't a plan; it is just a fulness of life, rejoicing +to live, to see, to interpret, to understand. It doesn't matter what +life you live—it is how you live it. Life is only the cup for the +liquor which must else be spilled. I can only use an old phrase—it is +being 'in the spirit': when you ask whether it is a special gift, of +course some people have it more strongly and consciously than others. +But it is the thing to which we are all tending sooner or later; and +the mysterious thing about it is that so many people do not seem to +know they have it. Yet it is always just the becoming aware of what is +there." +</P> + +<P> +"How do you account for that?" said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"Why," said Mrs. Graves, "to a great extent because religion is in such +an odd state. It is as if the people who knew or suspected the secret, +did all they could to conceal it—just as parents try to keep their +children ignorant of the ideas of sex. Religion has got so horribly +mixed up with other things, with respectability, social order, +conventions, doctrines, metaphysics, ceremony, music—it has become so +specialised in the hands of priests who have a great institution to +support, that dust is thrown in people's eyes—and just as they begin +to think they perceive the secret, they are surrounded by tiresome +dogmatists saying, 'It is this and that—it is this doctrine, that +tradition.' Well, that sort of religion IS a very special +accomplishment—ecclesiastical religion. I don't deny that it has +artistic qualities, but it is a poor narrow product; and then the +technically religious make such a fuss if they see the shoal of fish +escaping the net, and beat the water so vehemently that the fish think +it safer to stay where they are, and so you get sardines in tins!" said +Mrs. Graves with a smile—"by which I mean the churches." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "that is perfectly true! Christianity was at first +the most new, radical, original, anarchical force in the world—it was +the purest individualism; it was meant to over-ride all human +combinations by simply disregarding them; it was not a social reform, +and still less a political reform; it was a new spirit, and it was +meant to create a new kind of fellowship, the mere existence of which +would do away with the need for organisation; it broke meekly, like +water, through all human partitions, and I suppose it has been tamed." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mrs. Graves, "it is not now the world against religion. It +is organised religion against real religion, because religion is above +and apart from all institutions. Christ said, 'When they persecute you +in one city, flee into another'; and the result of that is the Monroe +doctrine!" +</P> + +<P> +"But are you not a Christian?" said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"I believe myself to be one," said Mrs. Graves; "and no doubt you will +say, 'Why do you live in wealth and comfort?' That's a difficulty, +because Christ meant us to be poor. But if one hands over one's money +to Christian institutions now, one is subsidising the forces of the +world—at least so I think. It's very difficult. Christ said that we +should bestow our goods upon the poor; but if I were to divide my goods +to-morrow among my neighbours, they would be only injured by it—it +would not be Christian of them to take them—they have enough. If they +have not, I give it them. It does less harm to me than to them. But +this I know is very irrational; and the point is not to be affected by +that. I could live in a cottage tomorrow, if there was need." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I believe you could," said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"As long as one is not dependent upon money," said Mrs. Graves, "it +doesn't very much matter. The real point is to take the world as it +comes, and to be sure that one is on the side of what is true and +simple and sincere; but I do not pretend to have solved everything, and +I am hoping to learn more. I do learn more every day. One can't +interfere with the lives of people; poverty is not the worst evil. It +is nice to be clean, but I sometimes think that the only good I get +from money is cleanliness—and that is only a question of habit! The +real point is to be in life, to watch life, to love it, to live it; to +be in direct relations with everyone, not to be superior, not to be +KIND—that implies superiority. I just plod along, believing, fearing, +hoping, loving, glad to live while I may, not afraid to die when I +must. The only detachment worth having is the detachment from the idea +of making things one's own. I can't appropriate the sunset and the +spring, the loves and cares of others; it is all divided up, more +fairly than we think. I have had many sorrows and sufferings; but I am +more interested than ever in life, glad to help and be helped, ready to +change, desiring to change. It isn't a great way of living; but one +must not want that—and believe me, dear Howard, it is the only way." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +VIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE INHERITANCE +</H3> + +<P> +The first day or two of Howard's stay at Windlow seemed like a week, +the succeeding week seemed like a day, as soon as he had settled down +to a certain routine of life. He became aware of a continued +sympathetic and quite unobtrusive scrutiny of him, his ways, his +tastes, his thoughts, on the part of his aunt—her questions were +subtle, penetrating, provocative enough for him to wish to express an +opinion. He did not dislike it, and used no diplomacy himself; he found +his aunt's mind shrewd, fresh, unaffected, and at the same time +inspiring. She habitually spoke with a touch of irony—not bitter +irony, but the irony that is at once a compliment and a sign of +affection, such as Socrates used to the handsome boys that came about +him. She was not in the smallest degree cynical, but she was very +decidedly humorous. Howard thought that she did people even more than +justice, while she was frankly delighted if they also provided her with +amusement. She held nothing inconveniently sacred, and Howard admired +the fine balance of interest and detachment which she showed, her +delight in life, her high faith in something large, eternal, and +advancing. Her health was evidently very frail, but she made light of +it—it was almost the only thing she did not seem to find interesting. +How could this clever, vivacious woman, Howard asked himself, retain +this wonderful freshness and sweetness of mind in such solitude and +dulness of life? He could imagine her the centre of a salon—she had +all the gifts of a saloniste, the power of keeping a talk in hand, of +giving her entire thought to her neighbour, and yet holding the whole +group in view. Solitary, frail, secluded as she was, she was like an +unrusted sword, and lavished her wit and her affection on all alike, +callers, villagers, servants; and yet he never saw her tired or +depressed. She took life as she found it, and was delighted with its +simplest combinations. He found her company entirely absorbing and +inspiring. He told her, in answer to her frank interest—she seemed to +be interested on her own account, and not to please him—more about his +own life than he had ever told a human being. She always wanted facts, +impressions, details: "Enlarge that—describe that—tell me some more +particulars," were phrases often on her lips. And he was delighted, +too, by the belief that her explorations into his mind and life pleased +and satisfied her. It dawned on him gradually that she was a woman of +rich experience, and that her tranquillity was an aftergrowth, a +development—"That was in my discontented days," she said once. "It is +impossible to think of you as discontented," he had said. "Ah," she +said lightly, "I had my dreams, like everyone else; but I saw at last +that one must TAKE life—one can't MAKE it—and accept its limitations +with enjoyment." +</P> + +<P> +One morning, when he was called, the butler gave him a letter—he had +been there about a fortnight—from his aunt. He opened it, expecting +that it was to say that she was ill. He found that it ran as follows: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"MY DEAR BOY,—I always think that business is best done by letter and +not by conversation. I am getting an old woman and my life is +uncertain. I want to make a statement of intentions. I may tell you +that I am a comparatively wealthy woman; my dear husband left me +everything he had; including what he spent on this place, it came to +about sixty thousand pounds. Now I intend to leave that back to his +family; there are several sisters of his alive, and they are not +wealthy people; but I have saved money too; and it is my wish to leave +you this house and the residue of my fortune, after arranging for some +small legacies. The estate is not worth very much—a great deal of it +is wild downland. But you would have the place, when I died, and about +twelve hundred a year. It would be understood that you should live here +a certain amount—I don't believe in non-resident landlords. But I do +not mean to tie you down to live here altogether. It is only my wish +that you should do something for your tenants and neighbours. If you +stayed on at Cambridge you could come here in vacations. But my hope +would be that you might marry. It is a house for a family. If you do +not care to live here, I would rather it were sold. While I live, I +hope you will be content to spend some time here, and make acquaintance +with our neighbours, by which I mean the village people. I shall tell +Cousin Frank my intentions, and that will probably suffice to make it +known. I have a very great love for the place, and as far as I can see, +you will be likely to have the same. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"You need not feel overburdened with gratitude. You are my only near +relation; and indeed I may say that if I were to die before I have +signed my will, you would inherit all my fortune as next-of-kin. So you +will see that instead of enriching you, I am to a great extent +disinheriting you! Just tell me simply if you acquiesce. I want no +pledges, nor do I want to bind you in any way. I will not say more, +except that it has been a very deep delight to me to find a son in my +old age. I had always hoped it would turn out so; and in my experience, +God is very careful to give us our desires, just or unjust, great or +small.—Your loving Aunt, +<BR><BR> +"ANNE GRAVES." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Howard was stupefied for a moment by this communication, but he was +more affected by the love and confidence it showed than by the prospect +of wealth—wealth was not a thing he had ever expected, or indeed +thought much about; but it was a home that he had found. The great lack +of his life had been a local attachment, a place where he had reason to +live. Cambridge with all its joys had never been quite that. A curious +sense of emotion at the thought that the sweet place, the beautiful old +house, was to be his own, came over him; and another far-off dream +darted into his mind as well, which he did not dare to shape. He got up +and wrote a short note. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"MY DEAR AUNT,—Your letter fills me with astonishment. I can only say +that I accept in love and gratitude what you offer me. The feeling that +I have found a home and a mother, so suddenly and so unexpectedly, +fills me with joy and happiness. I think with sadness of all the good +years I have missed, by a sort of stupid perversity; but I won't regard +that now. I will only thank you once more with all my heart for the +proof of affection which your letter gives me.—Your grateful and +affectionate nephew, +<BR><BR> +"HOWARD KENNEDY." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The old house had a welcoming air as he passed through it that morning; +it seemed to hold him in its patient embrace, to ask for love. He spent +the morning with Jack, but in a curiously distracted mood. +</P> + +<P> +"What has happened to you?" said Jack at the end of the morning. "You +have not been thinking about what you are doing. You seem like a man +who has been stroking a winning crew. Has the Master been made a Dean, +and have you been elected Master? They say you have a chance." +</P> + +<P> +Howard laughed and said, "You are very sharp, Jack! I have NOT been +attending. Something very unexpected has happened. I mustn't tell you +now, but you will soon know. I have drawn a prize. Now don't pump me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Here's another prize!" said Jack. "You are to lunch with us to-morrow, +and to discuss my future career. There's glory for you! I am not to be +present, and father is scheming to get me invited to luncheon here. If +he fails, I am to take out some sandwiches and to eat them in the +kitchen garden. Maud is to be present, and 'CONFER,' he says, 'though +without a vote'!" +</P> + +<P> +Howard met Mrs. Graves in the drawing-room; she kissed him, and holding +his hand for a moment said, "Thank you for your note, my dear boy. +That's all settled, then! Well, it's a great joy to me, and I get more +than I give by the bargain. It's a shameless bribe, to secure the +company of a charming nephew for a sociable old woman. Some time I +shall want to tell you more about the people here—but I won't bore +you; and let us just get quietly used to it all. One must not be +pompous about money; it is doing it too much honour; and the best of it +is that I have found a son." Howard smiled, kissed the hand which held +his, and said no more. +</P> + +<P> +The Vicar turned up in the afternoon, and apologised to Mrs. Graves for +asking Howard to luncheon on the following day. "The fact is," he said, +"that I am anxious to have the benefit of his advice about Jack's +future. I think we ought to look at things from all sorts of angles, +and Howard will be able, with his professional knowledge of young men, +to correct the tendency to parental bias which is so hard to eliminate. +I am a fond father—fond, but I hope not foolish—and I trust we shall +be able to arrive at some conclusion." +</P> + +<P> +"Then Jack and Maud can come and lunch with me," said Mrs. Graves; "you +won't want them, I am sure." +</P> + +<P> +"You are a sorceress," said Mr. Sandys, "in the literary sense of +course—you divine my thought!"—but it was evident that he had much +looked forward to using a little diplomacy, and was somewhat +disappointed. He went on, "It will be very kind of you to have Jack, +but I think I shall want Maud's assistance. I have a great belief in +the penetration—in the observation of the feminine mind; more than I +have, if you will excuse my frankness, in their power of dealing with a +practical situation. Woman to interpret events, men to foresee +contingencies. Woman to indicate, man to predicate—perhaps I mean +predict! No matter; the thought, I think, is clear. Well, then, that is +settled! I claim Howard for luncheon—a very simple affair—and for a +walk; and by five o'clock we shall have settled this important matter, +I don't doubt." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," said Mrs. Graves; "but before you go, I must claim YOU for +a short stroll. I have something to tell you; and as Howard and Jack +are dying to get away to deprive some innocent creatures of the +privilege of life, they had better go and leave us." +</P> + +<P> +That evening Howard had a long, quiet talk to his aunt. She said, "I am +not going to talk business. Our lawyer is coming over on Saturday, and +you had better get all the details from him. You must just go round the +place with him, and see if there is anything you would like to see +altered. It will be an immense comfort to put all that in your hands. +Mind, dear boy," she said, "I want you to begin at once. I shall be +ready to do whatever is necessary." Then she went on in a different +strain. "But there is one other thing I want to say now, and that is +that I should above all things like to see you married—don't, by the +way, fall in love with dear Jane, who worships the ground you tread on! +I have been observing you, and I feel little doubt that marriage is +what you most need. I don't expect it has been in your mind at all! +Perhaps you have not had enough to marry on, but I am not sorry for +that, for a special reason; and I think, too, that men who have the +care of boys and young men have their paternal instinct to a large +extent satisfied; but that is only a small part of marriage! It isn't +only that I want this house to be a home—that's merely a sentimental +feeling—but you need to love and be loved, and to have the anxious +care of someone close to you. There is nothing like marriage. It +probably is not quite as transcendental an affair as you think. That's +the mistake which intellectual people so often make—it's a very +natural and obvious thing—and of course it means far more to a woman +than to a man. But life is not complete without it. It is the biggest +fact which happens to us. I only want you just to keep it in your mind +as a possibility. Don't be afraid of it! My husband was your age when +he married me, and though I was very unreasonable in those days, I am +sure it was a happy thing for him, though he thought he was too old. +There, I don't want to press you, in this or in anything. I do not +think you will be happy living here without a wife, even if you go on +with Cambridge. But one can't mould things to one's wishes. My fault is +to want to organise everything for everybody, and I have made all my +worst blunders so. I hope I have given up all that. But if I live to +see it, the day when you come and tell me that you have won a wife will +be the next happiest day to the day when I found a son of my heart. +There, dear boy, I won't sentimentalise; but that's the truth; I shall +wake up to-morrow and for many days, feeling that some good fortune has +befallen me; but we should have found each other some time, even if I +had been a poor and miserable old woman. You have given me all that I +desired; give me a daughter too, if you can!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Howard, smiling, "I have no theory on the subject. I never +regarded marriage as either impossible or possible. It seemed to me +that one was either caught away in a fiery chariot, or else was left +under one's juniper tree; and I have been very comfortable there. I +thought I had all I wanted; and I feel a little dizzy now at the way in +which my cup of life has suddenly been seized and filled with wine to +the brim. One doesn't find a home and a mother and a wife in a +fortnight!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know!" said Mrs. Graves, smiling at him. "Some of the best +marriages I know have been made in haste. I remember talking to a girl +the other day who was engaged to a man within ten days of the time they +had met. I said, 'Well, you have not wasted time.' 'Oh,' she said, +apparently rather hurt, 'I kept Henry waiting a long time. I had to +think it all over. I wasn't by any means sure I wanted to marry him.' I +quoted a saying of an old friend of mine who when he was asked why he +had proposed to a girl he had only known three days, said, 'I don't +know! I liked her, and thought I should like to see more of her!'" +</P> + +<P> +"I think I must make out a list of possible candidates," said Howard, +smiling. "I dare say your Jane would help me. I could mark them for +various qualities; we believe in marks at Cambridge. But I must have +time to get used to all my new gifts." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, one doesn't take long to get used to happiness," said Mrs. Graves. +"It always seems the most natural thing in the world. Tennyson was all +wrong about sorrow. Sorrow is always the casual mistress, and not the +wife. One recovers from everything but happiness; that is one's native +air." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +IX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE VICAR +</H3> + +<P> +The Vicarage was a pleasant house, with an air of comfort and moderate +wealth about it. It was part of Frank Sandys' sense, thought Howard, +that he was content to live so simple and retired a life. He did not +often absent himself, even for a holiday. Howard was shown into the +study which Mr. Sandys had improved and enlarged. It was a big room, +with an immense, perfectly plain deal table in the middle, stained a +dark brown; and the Vicar showed Howard with high glee how each of the +four sides of the table was consecrated to a different avocation. "My +accounts end!" he said, "my sermon side! my correspondence end! my +genealogical side!" There were a number of small dodges, desks for +holding books, flaps which could be let up and down, slits in the table +through which papers could be dropped into drawers, a cord by which the +bell could be rung without rising from his place, a cord by which the +door could be bolted. "Not very satisfactory, that last," said the +Vicar, "but I am on the track of an improvement. The worst of it is," +said the good man, "that I have so little time. I make extracts from +the books I read for my sermons, I cut out telling anecdotes from the +papers. I like to raise questions every now and then in the Guardian, +and that lets me in for a lot of correspondence. I even, I must +confess, sometimes address questions to important people about their +public utterances, and I have an interesting volume of replies, mostly +from secretaries. Then I am always at work on my Somersetshire +genealogies, and that means a mass of letters. The veriest trifles, of +course, they will seem to a man like yourself; but I fail in mental +grasp—I keep hammering away at details; that is my line; and after all +it keeps one alert and alive. You know my favourite thesis—it is touch +with human nature that I value, and I am brought into contact with many +minds. I don't exaggerate the importance of my work, but I enjoy it; +and after all, that is the point! I daresay it would be more dignified +if I pretended to be a disappointed man," said the Vicar, with a smile +which won Howard's heart, "but I am not—I am a very happy man, as busy +as the fabled bee! I shouldn't relish a change. There was some +question, I may tell you, at one time, of my becoming Archdeacon, but +it was a relief to me when it was settled and when Bedington was +appointed. I woke up in the morning, I remember, the day after his +appointment was announced, and I said to myself—'Why, it's a relief +after all!' I don't mean that I shouldn't have enjoyed it, but it would +have meant giving up some part of my work. I really have the life I +like, and if my dear wife had been spared to me, I should be the +happiest of men; but that was not to be—and by the way, I must +recollect to show you some of her drawings. But I must not inflict all +this upon you—and by the way," said the Vicar, "Mrs. Graves did me the +honour of telling me yesterday her intentions with regard to yourself, +and I told her I was heartily glad to hear it. It is an immense thing +for the place to have some one who will look into things a little, and +bring a masculine mind to bear on our simple problems. For myself, it +will be an untold gain to be brought in touch with a more intellectual +atmosphere. I foresee a long perspective of stimulating discussions. I +will venture to say that you will be warmly welcomed here, and indeed +you seem quite one of us already. But now we must go and get our +luncheon—we have much to discuss; and you will not mind Maud being +present, I know; the children are devoted to each other, and though I +have studied their tastes and temperaments very closely, yet 'crabbed +age and youth' you know, and all that—she will be able, I think, to +cast some light on our little problem." +</P> + +<P> +They went together into the drawing-room, a pleasant old-fashioned +room—"a temple of domestic peace," said the Vicar, "a pretty phrase of +Carlyle's that! Maud has her own little sitting-room—the old +schoolroom in fact—which she will like to show you. I think it very +necessary that each member of a family should if possible have a +sanctum, a private uninvaded domain—but in this room the separate +strains unite." +</P> + +<P> +Maud was sitting near the window when the two came in. She got up and +came quickly forward, with a smile, and shook hands with Howard. She +had just the same look of virginal freshness and sweetness in the +morning light—a little less mysterious, perhaps; but there came upon +Howard a strange feeling, partly of intense admiration, partly a sort +of half-jealousy that he should know so little of the girl's past, and +a half-terror of all other influences and relations in the unknown +background of her life. He wanted to know whom and what she cared +about, what her hopes were, what her thoughts rested upon and concerned +themselves with. He had never felt any such emotion before, and it was +not wholly agreeable to him. He felt thrown off his balance, interfered +with, diverted from his normal course. He wanted to do and say +something which could claim her attention and confidence; and the frank +and almost sisterly regard she gave him was not wholly to his mind. +This was mingled, too, with a certain fear of he knew not what; he +feared her criticism, her disapproval; he felt his own dulness and +inelasticity. He seemed to himself empty, heavy, awkward, disconcerted +by her quiet and expectant gaze. This came and went like a flash, and +gave him an almost physical uneasiness. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, here we are," said the Vicar. "I must say this is very +comfortable—a sort of family council, with matters of importance to +discuss." Maud led the way to the dining-room. "I said we would have +everything put on the table," said the Vicar, "and wait on ourselves; +that will leave us quite free to talk. It's not a lack of any respect, +Howard—quite the contrary; but these honest people down here pick up +all sorts of gossip—in a quiet life, you know, a little gossip goes a +long way; and even my good maids are human—I should be so in their +place! Howard, a bit of this chicken—our own chickens, our own +vegetables, our country cider—everything home-grown; and now to +business, and we will settle Master Jack in a turn. My own belief is, +in choosing a profession, to think of all possibilities and eliminate +them one by one." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "but we are met by this initial difficulty; that +one might settle a dozen professions for Jack, and there is not the +smallest guarantee that he would choose any of them. I think he will +take his own line. I never knew anyone who knew so definitely what he +intended to do, and what he did not intend to do!" +</P> + +<P> +"You have hit it," said the Vicar, "and I do not think you could have +said anything which could please me more. He is independent; it is my +own temperament over again! You will forgive a touch of vanity, Howard, +but that is me all over. And that simplifies our plan of action very +considerably, you know!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "it undoubtedly does. I have no doubt from what +Jack told me that he intends to make money. It isn't, in him, just the +vague desire to have the command of money, which most young men have. I +have to talk over their careers with a good many young men, and it +generally ends in their saying they would like a secretaryship, which +would give them interesting work and long holidays and the command of +much of their time, and lead on to something better, with a prospect of +early retirement on a pension." +</P> + +<P> +The Vicar laughed loudly at this. "Excellent!" he said, "a very human +view; that's a real bit of human nature." +</P> + +<P> +"But Jack," said Howard, "isn't like that. He enjoys his life and gets +what fun out of it he can; but he thinks Cambridge a waste of time. I +don't know any young man who is so perfectly clear that he wants real +work. He is not idle as many young men are idle, prolonging the easy +days as long as they can. He is an extraordinary mixture; he enjoys +himself like a schoolboy, and yet he wants to get to work." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I think that a very encouraging picture!" said the Vicar; "there +is something very sensible about that. I confess I have mostly seen the +schoolboy side of Jack, and it delights one to know that there is a +serious side! Let us hear what Maud thinks; this kind of talk is really +very enjoyable." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Maud, looking up. "I am sure that Mr. Kennedy is quite +right. I believe that Jack would like to go into an office to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"There," said the Vicar, "you see she agrees with you. It is really a +pleasure to find oneself mistaken. I confess I had not discerned this +quality in Jack; he had seemed to me much set on amusement." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes," said Howard, "he likes his fun, and he is active enough; but +it is all passing the time." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, this is really most satisfactory," said the Vicar. "So you +really think he is cut out for business; something commercial? Well, I +confess I had rather hankered after something more definitely academic +and scholastic—something more intellectual! But I bow to your superior +knowledge, Howard, and we must think of possible openings. Well, I +shall enjoy that. My own money, what there is of it, was made by my +grandfather in trade—the manufacture of cloth, I believe. Would cloth +now, the manufacture of cloth, appear to provide the requisite opening? +I have some cousins still in the firm." +</P> + +<P> +"I think it would do as well as anything else," said Howard, "and if +you have any interest in a particular business, it would be worth while +to make inquiries." +</P> + +<P> +"Before I go to bed to-night," said the Vicar, "I will send a statement +of the case to my cousin; that will set the ball rolling." +</P> + +<P> +"Won't you have a talk with Jack first?" said Howard. "You may depend +upon it he will have some views." +</P> + +<P> +"The very thing," said the Vicar. "I will put aside all my other work, +and talk to Jack after tea; if any difficulty should arise, I may look +to you for further counsel. This is really most satisfactory. This +matter has been in my mind in a nebulous way for a long time; and you +enter the scene with your intellectual grip, and your psychological +penetration—if that is not too intricate a word—and the situation is +clear at once. Well, I am most grateful to you." +</P> + +<P> +The talk then became general, or rather passed into the Vicar's hands. +"I have ventured," he said, "to indicate to Maud what Cousin Anne was +good enough to tell me last night—she laid no embargo on the news—and +a few particulars about your inheritance will not be lacking in +interest—and on our walk this afternoon, to which I am greatly looking +forward, we will explore your domains." +</P> + +<P> +This simple compliment produced a curious effect on Howard. He realised +as he had not done before the singular change in his position that his +aunt's announcement had produced: a country squire, a proprietor—he +could not think of himself in that light—it was like a curious dream. +</P> + +<P> +After luncheon, Mr. Sandys excused himself for a few minutes; he had to +step over and speak to the sexton. Maud would take Howard round the +garden, show him her room, "just our simple background—we want you to +realise that!" +</P> + +<P> +As soon as they were alone together, Howard said to Maud, "We seem to +have settled Jack's affairs very summarily. I hope you do agree with +me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Maud, "I do indeed. It is wonderful to me that you should +know so much about him, with all your other pupils to know. He isn't a +boy who talks much about himself, though he seems to; and I don't think +my father understood what he was feeling. Jack doesn't like being +interfered with, and he was getting to resent programmes being drawn +up. Papa is so tremendously keen about anything he takes up that he +carries one away; and then you come and smooth out all the +difficulties. It isn't always easy—" she broke off suddenly, and +added, "That is what Jack wants, what he calls something REAL. He is +bored with the life here, and yet he is always good about it." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you like the life here?" said Howard. "I can't tell you what an +effect it all produces on me; it all seems so simple and beautiful. But +I know that one mustn't trust first impressions. People in picturesque +surroundings don't always feel picturesque. It is very pleasant to make +a drama out of one's life and to feel romantic—but one can't keep it +up—at least I can't. That must come of itself." +</P> + +<P> +Howard felt that the girl was watching him with a look of almost +startled interest. She said in a moment, "Yes, that's quite true, and +it IS a difficulty. I should like to be able to talk to you about those +things—I hear so much about you, you know, from Jack, that you are not +like a stranger at all. Now papa has got the gift of romance; every bit +of his life is interesting and exciting to him—it's perfectly +splendid—but Jack has not got that at all. I seem to understand them +both, and yet I can't explain them to each other. I don't mean they +don't get on, but neither can quite see what the other is aiming at. +And I have felt that I ought to be able to do something. I can't +understand how you have cleared it up; but I am very glad and grateful +about it: it has been a trouble to me. Cousin Anne is wonderful about +it, but she seems able to let things alone in a way I can't dare to." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, one learns that as one gets older," said Howard. "One can't argue +things straight. One can only go on hoping and wishing, and if possible +understanding. I used to make a great mess of it with my pupils at one +time, by thinking one could talk them round; but one can't persuade +people of things, one can only just suggest, and let it be; and after +all no one ever resents finding himself interesting to some one else; +only it has got to be interest, and not a sense of duty." +</P> + +<P> +"That is what Cousin Anne says," said Maud, "and when I am with her, I +think so too; and then something tiresome happens and I meddle, I +meddle! Jack says I like ruling lines, but that it is no good, because +people won't write on them." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +X +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +WITH MAUD ALONE +</H3> + +<P> +They were suddenly interrupted by the inrush of the Vicar. "Maud," he +said with immense zest, "I find old Mrs. Darby very ill—she had a kind +of faint while I was there. I have sent off Bob post haste for Dr. +Grierson." The Vicar was evidently in the highest spirits, like a +general on the eve of a great battle. "There isn't a moment to be +lost," he continued, his eye blazing with energy. "Howard, my dear +fellow, I fear our walk must be put off. I must go back at once. There +she lies, flat on her back, just where I laid her! I believe," said the +Vicar, "it's a touch of syncope. She is blue, decidedly blue! I charged +them to do nothing, but if I don't get back, there's no knowing what +they won't pour down her throat—decoction of pennyroyal, I dare say; +and if the woman coughs, she is lost. This is the sort of thing I +enjoy—of course it is very sad—but it is a tussle with death. I know +a good deal about medicine, and Grierson has more than once +complimented me on my diagnosis—he said it was masterly—forgive a +touch of vanity! But you mustn't lose your walk. Maud, dear, you take +Howard out—I am sure he won't mind for once. You could walk round the +village, or you could go and find Jack. Now then, back to my post! You +must forgive me, Howard, but my flock are paramount." +</P> + +<P> +"But won't you want me, papa?" said Maud. "Couldn't I be of use?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly not," said the Vicar; "there's nothing whatever to be done +till Grierson arrives—just to ward off the ministrations of the +relatives. There she must lie—I feel no doubt it is syncope; every +symptom points to syncope—poor soul! A very interesting case." +</P> + +<P> +He fled from the room like a whirlwind, and they heard him run down the +garden. The two looked at each other and smiled. "Poor Mrs. Darby!" +said Maud, "she is such a nice old woman; but papa will do everything +that can be done for her; he really knows all about it, and he is +splendid in illness—he never loses his head, and he is very gentle; he +has saved several lives in the village by knowing what to do. Would you +really like to go out with me? I'll be ready in a minute." +</P> + +<P> +"Let us go up on the downs," said Howard, "I should like that very +much. I daresay we shall hear Jack shooting somewhere." +</P> + +<P> +Maud was back in a moment; in a rough cloak and cap she looked +enchanting to Howard's eyes. She walked lightly and quickly beside him. +"You must take your own pace," said Howard, "I'll try to keep up—one +gets very lazy at Cambridge about exercise—won't you go on with what +you were saying? I know your father has told you about my aunt's plan. +I can't realise it yet; but I want to feel at home here now—indeed I +do feel that already—and I like to know how things stand. We are all +relations together, and I must try to make up for lost time. I seem to +know my aunt so well already. She has a great gift for letting one see +into her mind and heart—and I know your father too, and Jack, and I +want to know you; we must be a family party, and talk quite simply and +freely about all our concerns." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, indeed I will," said Maud—"and I find myself wondering how +easy it is to talk to you. You do seem like a relation; as if you had +always been here, indeed; but I must not talk too much about myself—I +do chatter very freely to Cousin Anne; but I don't think it is good for +one to talk about oneself, do you? It makes one feel so important!" +</P> + +<P> +"It depends who one talks to," said Howard, "but I don't believe in +holding one's tongue too much, if one trusts people. It seems to me the +simplest thing to do; I only found it out a few years ago—how much one +gained by talking freely and directly. It seems to me an uncivilised, +almost a savage thing to be afraid of giving oneself away. I don't mind +who knows about my own concerns, if he is sufficiently interested. I +will tell you anything you like about myself, because I should like you +to realise how I live. In fact, I shall want you all to come and see me +at Cambridge; and then you will be able to understand how we live +there, while I shall know what is going on here. And I am really a very +safe person to talk to. One gets to know a lot of young men, year by +year—and I'm a mine of small secrets. Don't you know the title so +common in the old Methodist tracts—'The life and death and Christian +sufferings of the Rev. Mr. Pennefather.' That's what I want to know +about people—Christian sufferings and all." +</P> + +<P> +Maud smiled at him and said, "I am afraid there are not many Christian +sufferings in my life; but I shall be glad to talk about many things +here. You know my mother died more than ten years ago—when I was quite +a little girl—and I don't remember her very well; I have always said +just what I thought to Jack, and he to me—till quite lately; and that +is what troubles me a little. Jack seems to be rather drifting away +from me. He gets to know so many new people, and he doesn't like +explaining; and then his mind seems full of new ideas. I suppose it is +bound to happen; and of course I have very little to do here; papa +likes doing everything, and doing it in his own way. He can't bear to +let anything out of his hands; so I just go about and talk to the +people. But I am not a very contented person. I want something, I +think, and I don't know what it is. It is difficult to take up anything +serious, when one is all alone. I should like to go to Newnham, but I +can't leave father by himself; books don't seem much use, though I read +a great deal. I want something real to do, like Jack! Papa is so +energetic; he manages the house and pays all the bills; and there +doesn't seem any use for me—though if I were of use, I should find +plenty of things to do, I believe." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "I quite understand, and I am glad you have told +me. You know I am a sort of doctor in these matters, and I have often +heard undergraduates say the same sort of thing. They are restless, +they want to go out into life, they want to work; and when they begin +to work all that disquiet disappears. It's a great mercy to have things +to do, whether one likes it or not. Work is an odd thing! There is +hardly a morning at Cambridge when, if someone came to me and offered +me the choice of doing my ordinary work or doing nothing for a day, I +shouldn't choose to do nothing. And yet I enjoy my work, and wouldn't +give it up for anything. It is odd that it takes one so long to learn +to like work, and longer still to learn that one doesn't like idleness. +And yet it is to win the power of being idle that makes most people +work. Idleness seems so much grander and more dignified." +</P> + +<P> +"It IS curious," said Maud, "but I seem to have inherited papa's taste +for occupation, without his energy. I wish you would advise me what to +do. Can't one find something?" +</P> + +<P> +"What does my aunt say?" said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, she smiles in that mysterious way she has," said Maud, "and says +we have to learn to take things as they come. She knows somehow how to +do without things, how to wait; but I can't do that without getting +dreary." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you ever try to write?" said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Maud, laughing, "I have tried to write a story—how did you +guess that? I showed it to Cousin Anne, and she said it was very nice; +and when I showed it to Jack, and told him what she had said, he read a +little, and said that that was exactly what it was." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, smiling, "I admit that it was not very encouraging! +But I wish you would try something more simple. You say you know the +people here and talk to them. Can't you write down the sort of things +they say, the talks you have with them, the way they look at things? I +read a book once like that, called Country Conversations, and I +wondered that so few people ever tried it. Why should one try to write +improbable stories, even NICE stories, when the thing itself is so +interesting? One doesn't understand these country people. They have an +idea of life as definite as a dog or a cat, and it is not in the least +like ours. Why not take a family here; describe their house and +possessions, what they look like, what they do, what their history has +been, and then describe some talks with them? I can't imagine anything +more interesting. Perhaps you could not publish them at present; but +they wouldn't be quite wasted, because you might show them to me, and I +want to know all about the people here. You mustn't pass over things +because they seem homely and familiar—those are just the interesting +things—what they eat and drink and wear, and all that. How does that +strike you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I like the idea very much indeed," said Maud. "I will try—I will +begin at once. And even if nothing comes of it, it will be nice to +think it may be of use to you, to know about the people." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," said Howard, "that is a bargain. It is exactly what I +want. Do begin at once, and let me have the first instalment of the +Chronicles of Windlow." +</P> + +<P> +They had arrived by this time at a point high on the downs. The rough +white road, full of flints, had taken them up by deep-hedged cuttings, +through coverts where the spring flowers were just beginning to show in +the undergrowth, and out on to the smooth turf of the downs. They were +near the top now, and they could see right down into Windlow Malzoy, +lying like a map beneath them; the top of the Church tower, its leaden +roof, the roofs of the Vicarage, the little straggling street among its +orchards and gardens; farther off, up the valley, they could see the +Manor in its gardens; beyond the opposite ridge, a far-off view of +great richness spread itself in a belt of dark-blue colour. It was a +still day; on the left hand there was a great smooth valley-head, with +a wood of beeches, and ploughed fields in the bottom. They directed +their steps to an old turfed barrow, with a few gnarled thorn trees, +wind-swept and stunted round it. +</P> + +<P> +"I love this place," said Maud; "it has a nice name, the 'Isle of +Thorns.' I suppose it is a burial-place—some old chief, papa says—and +he is always threatening to have him dug up; but I don't want to +disturb him! He must have had a reason for being buried here, and I +suppose there were people who missed him, and were sorry to lay him +here, and wondered where he had gone. I am sure there is a sad old +story about it; and yet it makes one happy in a curious way to think +about it all." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "'the old, unhappy, far-off things,' that turn +themselves into songs and stories! That is another puzzle; one's own +sorrows and tragedies, would one like to think of them as being made +into songs for other people to enjoy? I suppose we ought to be glad of +it; but there does not seem anything poetical about them at the time; +and yet they end by being sweeter than the old happy things. The 'Isle +of Thorns'! Yes, that IS a beautiful name." +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly there came a faint musical sound on the air, as sweet as +honey. Howard held up his hand. "What on earth or in heaven is that?" +he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Those are the chimes of Sherborne!" said Maud. "One hears them like +that when the wind is in this quarter. I like to hear them—they have +always been to me a sort of omen of something pleasant about to happen. +Perhaps it is in your honour to-day, to welcome you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Howard, "they are beautiful enough by themselves; and if +they will bring me greater happiness than I have, I shall not object to +that!" +</P> + +<P> +They smiled at each other, and stood in silence for a little, and then +Maud pointed out some neighbouring villages. "All this," she said, "is +Cousin Anne's—and yours. I think the Isle of Thorns is yours." +</P> + +<P> +"Then the old chief shall not be disturbed," said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"How curious it is," said Maud, "to see a place of which one knows +every inch laid out like a map beneath one. It seems quite a different +place! As if something beautiful and strange must be happening there, +if only one could see it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "it is odd how we lose the feeling that a place is +romantic when we come to know it. When I first went up to Cambridge, +there were many places there that seemed to me to be so interesting: +walls which seemed to hide gardens full of thickets, strange doorways +by which no one ever passed out or in, barred windows giving upon dark +courts, out of which no one ever seemed to look. But now that I know +them all from the inside, they seem commonplace enough. The hidden +garden is a place where Dons smoke and play bowls; the barred window is +an undergraduate's gyp-room; there's no mystery left about them now. +This place as I see it to-day—well, it seems the most romantic place +in the world, full of unutterable secrets of life and death; but I +suppose it may all come to wear a perfectly natural air to me some day." +</P> + +<P> +"That is what I like so much about Cousin Anne," said Maud; "nothing +seems to be commonplace to her, and she puts back the mystery and +wonder into it all. One must learn to do that for oneself somehow." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, she's a great woman!" said Howard; "but what shall we do now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I am sorry," said Maud, "I have been keeping you all this +time—wouldn't you like to go and look for Jack? I think I heard a shot +just now up the valley." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Howard, looking at her and smiling, "we won't go and look +for Jack to-day; he has quite enough of my company. I want your company +to-day, and only yours. I want to get used to my new-found cousin." +</P> + +<P> +"And to get rid of the sense of romance about her?" said Maud with a +smile; "you will soon come to the end of me." +</P> + +<P> +"I will take my chance of that," said Howard. "At present I feel on the +other side of the wall." +</P> + +<P> +"But I don't," said Maud, laughing; "I can't think how you slip in and +fit in as you do, and disentangle all our little puzzles as you have +done. I thought I should be terrified of you—and now I feel as if I +had known you ever so long. You are like Cousin Anne, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I am, a little," said Howard, "but you are not very much like +Jack! Show me Mrs. Darby's house, by the way. I wonder how things are +going." +</P> + +<P> +"There it is," said Maud, pointing to a house not far from the +Vicarage, "and there is Dr. Grierson's dogcart. I am afraid I had not +been thinking about her; but I do hope it's all right. I think she will +get over this. Don't you always have an idea, when people are ill, +whether they will get well or not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "I do; but it doesn't always come right!" +</P> + +<P> +They lingered long on the hill, and at last Maud said that she must +return for tea. "Papa will be sure to bring Dr. Grierson in." +</P> + +<P> +They went down the hill, talking lightly and easily; and to Howard it +was more delightful than anything he had known to have a peep into the +girl's frank and ingenuous mind. She was full of talk—spontaneous, +inconsequent talk—like Jack; and yet with a vast difference. Hers was +not a wholly happy temperament, Howard thought; she seemed oppressed by +a sense of duty, and he could not help feeling that she needed some +sort of outlet. Neither the Vicar nor Jack were people who stood in +need of sympathy or affection. He felt that they did not quite +understand the drift of the girl's mind, which seemed clear enough to +him. And yet there fell on him, for all his happiness, a certain +dissatisfaction. He would have liked to feel less elderly, less +paternal; and the girl's frank confidence in him, treating him as she +might have treated an uncle or an elder brother, was at once delightful +and disconcerting. The day began to decline as they walked, and the +light faded to a sombre bleakness. Howard went back to the Vicarage +with her, and, at her urgent request, went in to tea. They found the +Vicar and Dr. Grierson already established. Mrs. Darby was quite +comfortable, and no danger was apprehended. The Vicar's diagnosis had +been right, and his precautions perfect. "I could not have done better +myself!" said Dr. Grierson, a kindly, bluff Scotchman. Howard became +aware that the Vicar must have told the Doctor the news about his +inheritance, and was subtly flattered at being treated by him with the +empressement reserved for squires. Jack came in—he had been shooting +all afternoon—and told Howard he was improving. "I shall catch you +up," he said. He seemed frankly amused at the idea of Howard having +spent the afternoon with Maud. "You have got the whole family on your +back, it seems," he said. Maud was silent, but in her heightened colour +and sparkling eye Howard discerned a touch of happiness, and he enjoyed +the quiet attention she gave to his needs. The Vicar seemed sorry that +they had not made a closer inspection of the village. "But you were +right to begin with a general coup d'oeil," he said; "the whole before +the parts! First the conspectus, then the details," he added +delightedly. "So you have been to the Isle of Thorns?" he went on. "I +want to rake out the old fellow up there some day—but Cousin Anne +won't allow it—you must persuade her; and we will have a splendid +field-day there, unearthing all the old boy's arrangements; I am sure +he has never been disturbed." +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid I agree with my aunt," said Howard, shaking his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Maud has been getting at you, I perceive," said the Vicar. "A very +feminine view! Now in the interests of ethnology we ought to go +forward—dear me, how full the world is of interesting things!" +</P> + +<P> +They parted in great good-humour. The whole party were to dine at the +Manor next day; and Howard, as he said good-bye to Maud, contrived to +add, "Now you must tell me to-morrow that you have made a beginning." +She gave him a little nod, and a clasp of the hand that made him feel +that he had a new friend. +</P> + +<P> +That evening he talked to his aunt about Maud. He told her all about +their walk and talk. "I am very glad you gave her something to do," she +said—"that is so like a man! That is just where I fail. She is a very +interesting and delightful girl, Howard; and she is not quite happy at +home. Living with Cousin Frank is like living under a waterfall; and +Jack is beginning to have his own plans, and doesn't want anyone to +share them. Well, you amaze me! I suppose you get a good deal of +practice in these things, and become a kind of amateur +father-confessor. I think of you at Cambridge as setting the lives of +young men spinning like little tops—small human teetotums. It's very +useful, but it is a little dangerous! I don't think you have suffered +as yet. That's what I like in you, Howard, the mixture of practical and +unpractical. You seem to me to be very busy, and yet to know where to +stop. Of course we can't make other people a present of experience; +they have to spin their own webs; but I think one can do a certain +amount in seeing that they have experience. It would not suit me; my +strength is to sit still, as the Bible says. But in a place like this +with Frank whipping his tops—he whips them, while you just twirl +them—someone is wanted who will listen to people, and see that they +are left alone. To leave people alone at the right minute is a very +great necessity. Don't you know those gardens that look as if they were +always being fussed and slashed and cut about? There's no sense of life +in them. One has to slash sometimes, and then leave it. I believe in +growth even more than in organisation. Still, I don't doubt that you +have helped Maud, and I am very glad of it. I wanted you to make +friends with her. I think the lack in your life is that you have known +so few women; men and women can never understand each other, of course; +but they have got to live together and work together; and one ought to +live with people whom one does not understand. You and your +undergraduates don't yield any mysteries. You, no doubt, know exactly +what they are thinking, and they know what you are thinking. It's all +very pleasant and wholesome, but one can't get on very far that way. +You mustn't think Maud is a sort of undergraduate. Probably you think +you know a great deal about her already—but she isn't the least what +you imagine, any more than I am. Nor are you what I imagine; but I am +quite content with my mistaken idea of you." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JACK +</H3> + +<P> +The next day's dinner was a disappointment. The Vicar expatiated, Jack +counted, and became so intent on his counting that he hardly said a +word; indeed Howard was not sure that he was wholly pleased with the +turn affairs had taken; he was rather touched by this than otherwise, +because it seemed to him that Jack was really, if unconsciously, a +little jealous. His whole visit had been rather too much of a success: +Jack had expected to act as showman of his menagerie, and to play the +principal part; and Howard felt that Jack suspected him of having taken +the situation too much into his own hands. He felt that Jack was not +pleased with his puppets; his father had needed no apologies or +explanations, Maud had been forward, he himself had been donnish. +</P> + +<P> +The result was that Howard hardly got a word with Maud; she did indeed +say to him that she had made a beginning, and he was aware of a +pleasant sense of trustfulness about her; but the party had been +involved in vague and general talk, with a disturbing element +somewhere. Howard found himself talking aimlessly and flatly, and the +net result was a feeling of dissatisfaction. +</P> + +<P> +When they were gone, Mrs. Graves said to Howard, "Jack is rather a +masterful young man, I think. He has no sense of respect in his +composition. Were you aware of the fact that he had us all under his +thumb this evening?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "it was just what I was thinking!" +</P> + +<P> +"He wants work," said Mrs. Graves; "he ought not to dangle about at +home and at Cambridge; he wants tougher material to deal with; it's no +use snubbing him, because he is on the right tack; but he must not be +allowed to interfere too much. He wants a touch of misfortune to bring +him to himself; he has a real influence over people—the influence that +all definite, good-humoured, outspoken people have; it is easier for +others to do what he likes than to resist him; he is not irritable, and +he is pertinacious. He is the sort of man who may get very much spoilt +if he doesn't marry the right woman, because he is the sort of person +women will tell lies to rather than risk displeasing him. If he does +not take care he will be a man of the world, because he will not see +the world as it is; it will behave to him as he wishes it to behave." +</P> + +<P> +"I think," said Howard, "that he has got good stuff in him; he would +never do anything mean or spiteful; but he would do anything that he +thought consistent with honour to get his way." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we shall see," said Mrs. Graves; "but he is rather a bad +influence for Maud just now. Maud doesn't suspect his strength, and I +can't have her broken in. Mind, Howard, I look to you to help Maud +along. You have a gift for keeping things reasonable; and you must use +it." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you believed in letting people alone!" said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"In theory, yes," said Mrs. Graves, smiling; "I certainly don't believe +in influencing people; but I believe very much in loving them: it's +what I call imaginative sympathy that we want. Some people have +imagination enough to see what other people are feeling, but it ends +there: and some people have unintelligent sympathy, and that is only +spoiling. But one must see what people are capable of, and what their +line is, and help them to find out what suits them, not try to conform +them to what suits oneself; and that isn't as easy as it sounds." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +DIPLOMACY +</H3> +<P> +A few days later Howard was summoned back to Cambridge. One of his +colleagues was ill, and arrangements had to be made to provide for his +work. It astonished him to find how reluctant he was to return; he +seemed to have found the sort of life he needed in this quiet place. He +had walked with the Vicar, and had been deluged with interesting +particulars about the parish. Much of it was very trivial, but Howard +saw that the Vicar had a real insight into the people and their ways. +He had not seen Maud again to speak to, and it vexed him to find how +difficult it was to create occasions for meeting. His mind and +imagination had been taken captive by the girl; he thought of her +constantly, and recalled her in a hundred charming vignettes; the hope +of meeting her was constantly in his mind; he had taught Jack a good +deal, but he became more and more aware that for some reason or other +his pupil was not pleased with him. +</P> + +<P> +He and Jack were returning one day from fishing, and they had come +nearer than Howard had liked to having a squabble. Howard had said +something about an undergraduate, a friend of Jack's. Jack had seemed +to resent the criticism, and said, "I am not quite sure whether you +know so much about him as you think. Do you always analyse people like +that? I sometimes feel with you as if I were in a room full of +specimens which you were showing off, and that you knew more about them +dead than alive." +</P> + +<P> +"That's rather severe!" said Howard; "I simply try to understand +people—I suppose we all do that." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I don't," said Jack; "I think it's rather stuffy, if you want to +know. I have a feeling that you have been turning everyone inside out +here. I think one ought to let people alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Howard, "it all depends upon what one wants to do with +people. I think that, as a matter of fact, you are really more inclined +to deal with people, to use them for your own purposes, than I am. You +know what you want, and other people have got to follow. Of course, up +at Beaufort, it's my business to try to do that to a certain extent; +but that is professional, and a matter of business." +</P> + +<P> +"But the worst of doing it professionally," said Jack, "is that you +can't get out of the way of doing it unprofessionally. You seem to me +to have rather purchased this place. I know you are to be squire, and +all that; but you want to make yourself felt. I am not sure that you +aren't rather a Jesuit." +</P> + +<P> +"Come," said Howard, "that's going too far—we can't afford to quarrel. +I don't mind your saying what you think; but if you have the right to +take your own line, you must allow the same right to others." +</P> + +<P> +"That depends!" said Jack, and was silent for a moment. Then he turned +to Howard and said, "Yes, you are quite right! I am sorry I said all +that. You have done no end for me, and I am an ungrateful little beast. +It is rather fine of you not to remind me of all the trouble you have +taken; there isn't anyone who would have done so much; and you have +really laid yourself out to do what I liked here. I am sorry, I am +truly sorry. I suppose I felt myself rather cock of the walk here, and +am vexed that you have got the whole thing into your hands!" +</P> + +<P> +"All right," said Howard, "I entirely understand; and look here, I am +glad you said what you did. You are not wholly wrong. I have interfered +perhaps more than I ought; but you must believe me when I say +this—that it isn't with a managing motive. I like people to like me; I +don't want to direct them; only one can overdo trying to make people +like one, and I feel I have overdone it. I ought to have gone to work +in a different way." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I have put my foot in it again," said Jack; "it's awful to think +that I have been lecturing one of the Dons about his duty. I shall be +trying to brighten up their lives next. The mischief is that I don't +think I do want people to like me. I am not affectionate. I only want +things to go smoothly." +</P> + +<P> +They drew near to the Manor, and Jack said, "I promised Cousin Anne I +would go in to tea. She has designs on me, that woman! She doesn't +approve of me; she says the sharpest things in her quiet way; one +hardly knows she has done it, and then when one thinks of it +afterwards, one finds she has drawn blood. I am cross, I think! There +seems to be rather a set at me just now; she makes me feel as if I were +in bed, being nursed and slapped." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Howard, "I shall leave you to her mercies. I shall go on +to the Vicarage, and say good-bye. I shan't see them again this time. +You don't mind, I hope? I will try not to use my influence." +</P> + +<P> +"You can't help it!" said Jack with a grimace. "No, do go. You will +touch them up a bit. I am not appreciated there just now." +</P> + +<P> +Howard walked on up to the Vicarage. He was rather disturbed by Jack's +remarks; it put him, he thought, in an odious light. Was he really so +priggish and Jesuitical? That was the one danger of the life of the Don +which he hoped he had successfully avoided. He was all for liberty, he +imagined. Was he really, after all, a mild schemer with an ethical +outlook? Was he bent on managing and uplifting people? The idea +sickened him, and he felt humiliated. +</P> + +<P> +When he arrived at the Vicarage, he found the Vicar out. Maud was +alone. This was, he confessed to himself with a strange delight, +exactly what he most desired. He would not be paternal or formative. He +would just make friends with his pretty cousin as he might with a +sensible undergraduate. With this stern resolve he entered the room. +</P> + +<P> +Maud got up hastily from her chair—she was writing in a little +note-book on her knee. "I thought I would just come in and say +good-bye," he said. "I have to go back to Cambridge earlier than I +thought, and I hoped I might just catch you and your father." +</P> + +<P> +"He will be so sorry," said Maud; "he does enjoy meeting you. He says +it gives him so much to think about." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, well," said Howard, "I hope to be here again next vacation—in +June, that is. I have got to learn my duties here as soon as I can. I +see you are hard at work. Is that the book? How do you get on? You have +promised to send it me, you know, as soon as you have enough in hand." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Maud, "I will send it you. It has done me good already, +doing this. It is very good of you to have suggested it—and I like to +think it may be of some use." +</P> + +<P> +"I have been with Jack all the afternoon," said Howard, "and I am +afraid he is rather vexed with me. I can't have that. He drew a rather +unpleasant picture of me; he seemed to think I have taken this place +rather in hand from the Don's point of view. He thinks I should die if +I were unable to improve the occasion." +</P> + +<P> +Maud looked up at him with a troubled and rather indignant air. "Jack +is perfectly horrid just now," she said; "I can't think what has come +over him; and considering that you have been coaching him every day, +and getting him shooting and fishing, it seems to me quite detestable! +I oughtn't to say that; but you mustn't be angry with him, Mr. Kennedy. +I think he is feeling very independent just now, and he said to me that +it made him feel that he was back at school to have to go up with his +books to the Manor every morning. But he is all right really. I am sure +he is grateful; it would be too shameful if he were not. Please don't +be vexed with him." +</P> + +<P> +Howard laughed. "Oh, I am not vexed! Indeed, I am rather glad he spoke +out—at my age one doesn't often get the chance of being sincerely +scolded by a perfectly frank young man. One does get donnish and +superior, no doubt, and it is useful to find it out, though it isn't +pleasant at the time. We have made it up, and he was quite repentant; I +think it is altogether natural. It often happens with young men to get +irritated with one, no doubt, but as a rule they don't speak out; and +this time he has got me between the joints of my armour." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, dear me!" said Maud, "I think the world is rather a difficult +place! It seems ridiculous for me to say that in a place like this, +when I think what might be happening if I were poor and had to earn my +living. It is silly to mind things so; but Jack accuses me of the same +sort of thing. He says that women can't let people alone; he says that +women don't really want to DO anything, but only to SEEM to have their +way." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, then, it appears we are both in the same box," said Howard, "and +we must console each other and grieve over being so much misunderstood." +</P> + +<P> +He felt that he had spoken rather cynically, and that he had somehow +hurt and checked the girl. He did not like the thought; but he felt +that he had spoken sensibly in not allowing the situation to become +sentimental. There was a little silence; and then Maud said, rather +timidly: "Do you like going back?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Howard, "I don't. I have become curiously interested in this +place, and I am lazy. Just now the life of the Don seems to me rather +intolerable. I don't want to teach Greek prose, I don't want to go to +meetings; I don't want to gossip about appointments, and little +intrigues, and bonfires, and College rows. I want to live here, and +walk on the Downs and write my book. I don't want to be stuffy, as Jack +said. But it will be all right, when I have taken the plunge; and after +I have been back a week, this will all fade into a sort of impossibly +pleasant dream." +</P> + +<P> +He was again conscious that he had somehow hurt the girl. She looked at +him with a troubled face, and then said, "Yes, that is the advantage +which men have. I sometimes wonder if it would not be better for me to +have some work away from here. But there is nothing I could do; and I +can't leave papa." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it will all come right!" said Howard feebly; "there are fifty +things that might happen. And now I must be off! Mind, you must let me +have the book some time; that will serve to remind me of Windlow in the +intervals of Greek prose." +</P> + +<P> +He got up and shook hands. He felt he was behaving stupidly and +unkindly. He had meant to tell Maud how much he liked the feeling of +having made friends, and to have talked to her frankly and simply about +everything. He had an intense desire to say that and more; to make her +understand that she was and would be in his thoughts; to ascertain how +she felt towards him; to assure himself of their friendship. But he +would be wise and prudent; he would not be sentimental or priggish or +Jesuitical. He would just leave the impression that he was mildly +interested in Windlow, but that his heart was in his work. He felt +sustained by his delicate consideration, and by his judicious +chilliness. And so he turned and left her, though an unreasonable +impulse seized him to take the child in his arms, and tell her how +sweet and delicious she was. She had held the little book in her hand +as they sate, as if she had hoped he would ask to look at it; and as he +closed the door, he saw her put it down on the table with a half-sigh. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +GIVING AWAY +</H3> + +<P> +He was to go off the next day; that night he had his last talk to his +aunt. She said that she would say good-bye to him then, and that she +hoped he would be back in June. She did not seem quite as serene as +usual, but she spoke very affectionately and gently of the delight his +visit had been. Then she said, "But I somehow feel—I can't give my +reasons—as if we had got into a mess here. You are rather a disturbing +clement, dear Howard! I may speak plainly to you now, mayn't I? I think +you have more effect on people than you know. You have upset us! I am +not criticising you, because you have exceeded all my hopes. But you +are too diffident, and you don't realise your power of sympathy. You +are very observant, very quick to catch the drift of people's moods, +and you are not at all formidable. You are so much interested in people +that you lead them to reveal themselves and to betray themselves; and +they don't find quite what they expect. You are afraid, I think, of +caring for people; you want to be in close relation with everyone, and +yet to preserve your own tranquillity. You are afraid of emotion; but +one can't care for people like that! It doesn't cost you enough! You +are like a rich man who can afford to pay for things, and I think you +rather pauperise people. Here you have been for three weeks; and nobody +here will be able to forget you; and yet I think you may forget us. One +can't care without suffering, and I think that you don't suffer. It is +all a pleasure and delight to you. You win hearts, and don't give your +own. Don't think I am ungrateful. You have made a great difference +already to my life; but you have made me suffer too. I know that like +Telemachus in Tennyson's poem you will be 'decent not to fail in +offices of tenderness'—I know I can depend on you to do everything +that is kind and considerate and just. You won't disappoint me. You +will do out of a natural kindliness and courtesy what many people can +only do by loving. You don't claim things, you don't lay hands on +things; and it looks so like unselfishness that it seems detestable of +me to say anything. But you will have to give yourself away, and I +don't think you have ever done that. I can say all this, my dear, +because I love you, as a mother might; you are my son indeed; but there +is something in you that will have to be broken; we have all of us to +be broken. It isn't that you have anything to repent of. You would take +endless trouble to help anyone who wanted help, you would be endlessly +patient and tender and strong; but you do not really know what love +means, because it does not hurt or wound you. You are like Achilles, +was it not, who had been dipped in the river of death, and you are +invulnerable. You won't, I know, resent my saying this? I know you +won't—and the fact that you will not makes it harder for me to say +it—but I almost wish it WOULD wound you, instead of making you think +how you can amend it. You can't amend it, but God and love can; only +you must dare to let yourself go. You must not be wise and forbearing. +There, dear, I won't say more!" +</P> + +<P> +Howard took her hand and kissed it. "Thank you," he said, "thank you a +hundred times for speaking so. It is perfectly true, every word of it. +It is curious that to-day I have seen myself three times mirrored in +other minds. I don't like what I see—I am not complacent—I am not +flattered. But I don't know what to do! I feel like a patient with a +hopeless disease, who has been listening to a perfectly kind and wise +physician. But what can I do? It is just the vital impulse which is +lacking. I will be frank too; it is quite true that I live in the +surface of things. I am so much interested in books, ideas, thoughts, I +am fascinated by the study of human temperament; people delight me, +excite me, amuse me; but nothing ever comes inside. I don't excuse +myself, but I say: 'It is He that hath made us and not we ourselves.' I +am just so, as you have described, and I feel what a hollow-hearted +sort of person I am. Yet I go on amusing myself with friendships and +interests. I have never suffered, and I have never loved. Well, I would +like to change all that, but can I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, dear Howard," said his aunt, "that is the everlasting question. It +is like you to take this all so sweetly and to speak so openly. But +further than this no one can help you. You are like the young man whom +Jesus loved who had great possessions. You do not know how much! I will +not tell you to follow Him; and your possessions are not those which +can be given away. But you must follow love. I had a hope, I have a +hope—oh, it is more than that, because we all find our way sooner or +later—and now that you know the truth, as I see you know it, the light +will not be long in coming. God bless you, dearest child; there is pain +ahead of you; but I don't fear that—pain is not the worst thing or the +last thing!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BACK TO CAMBRIDGE +</H3> + +<P> +"I HAD a hope . . . I have a hope," these words of his aunt's echoed +often through Howard's brain, in the wakeful night which followed. +Nothing was plain to himself except the fact that things were tangled; +the anxious exaltation which came to him from his talk with his aunt +cleared off like the dying away of the flush of some beaded liquor. "I +must see into this—I must understand what is happening—I must +disentangle it," he said again and again to himself. He was painfully +conscious, as he thought and thought, of his own deep lack both of +moral courage and affection. He liked nothing that was not easy—easy +triumph, easy relations. Somehow the threads of life had knotted +themselves up; he had slipped so lightly into his place here, he had +taken up responsibilities as he might have taken up a flower; he had +meant to be what he called frank and affectionate all round, and now he +felt that he was going to disappoint everyone. Not till the daylight +began to outline the curtain-rifts did he fall asleep; and he woke with +that excited fatigue which comes of sleeplessness. +</P> + +<P> +He came down, he breakfasted alone in the early morning freshness. The +house was all illumined by the sun, but it spread its beauties in vain +before him. The trap came to the door, and when he came out he found to +his surprise that Jack was standing on the steps talking to the +coachman. "I thought I would like to come to the station with you," +said Jack. Howard was pleased at this. They got in together, and one by +one the scenes so strangely familiar fled past them. Howard looked long +at the Vicarage as he passed, wondering whether Maud was perhaps +looking out. That had been a clumsy, stupid business—his talk with +her! Presently Jack said, "Look here, I am going to say again that I +was perfectly hateful yesterday. I don't know what came over me—I was +thinking aloud." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it doesn't matter a bit!" said Howard; "it was my fault really. I +have mismanaged things, I think; and it is good for me to find that +out." +</P> + +<P> +"No, but you haven't," said Jack. "I see it all now. You came down +here, and you made friends with everyone. That was all right; the fact +simply is that I have been jealous and mean. I expected to have you all +to myself—to run you, in fact; and I was vexed at finding you take an +interest in all the others. There, it's better out. I am entirely in +the wrong. You have been awfully good all round, and we shall be +precious dull now that you are going. The truth is that we have been +squabbling over you." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Jack," said Howard, smiling, "it's very good of you to say this. +I can't quite accept it, but I am very grateful. There WAS some truth +in what you said—but it wasn't quite the whole truth; and anyhow you +and I won't squabble—I shouldn't like that!" +</P> + +<P> +Jack nodded and smiled, and they went on to talk of other things; but +Howard was pleased to see that the boy hung about him, determined to +make up for his temper, looked after his luggage, saw him into the +train, and waved him a very ingenuous farewell, with a pretence of +tears. +</P> + +<P> +The journey passed in a listless dream for Howard, but everything faded +before the thought of Maud. What could he do to make up for his +brutality? He could not see his way clear. He had a sense that it was +unfair to claim her affection, to sentimentalise; and he thought that +he had been doubly wrong—wrong in engaging her interest so quickly, +wrong in playing on her unhappiness just for his own enjoyment, and +doubly wrong in trying to disengage their relation so roughly. It was a +mean business; and yet though he did not want to hold her, he could not +bear to let her go. +</P> + +<P> +As he came near Cambridge and in sight of the familiar landscape, the +wide fields, the low lines of far-off wolds, he was surprised to find +that instead of being depressed, a sense of comfort stole over him, and +a feeling of repose. He had crammed too many impressions and emotions +into his visit; and now he was going back to well-known and peaceful +activities. The sight of his rooms pleased him, and the foregathering +with the three or four of his colleagues was a great relief. Mr. +Redmayne was incisive and dogmatic, but evidently pleased to see him +back. He had not been away, and professed that holidays and change of +scene were distracting and exhausting. "It takes me six weeks to +recover from a holiday," he said. He had had an old friend to stay with +him, a country parson, and he had apparently spent his time in +elaborate manoeuvres to see as little of his guest as possible. "A +worthy man, but tedious," he said, "wonderfully well preserved—in +body, that is; his mind has entirely gone to pieces; he has got some +dismal notions in his head about the condition of the agricultural +poor; he thinks they want uplifting! Now I am all for the due +subordination of classes. The poor are there, if I may speak plainly, +to breed—that is their first duty; and their only other duty that I +can discover, is to provide for the needs of men of virtue and +intelligence!" +</P> + +<P> +Later on, Howard was left alone with him, and thought that it would +please the old man to tell him of the change in his own position. +</P> + +<P> +"I am delighted to hear it," said Mr. Redmayne: "a landed proprietor, +that's a very comfortable thing! Now how will that affect your position +here? Ah yes, I see—only the heir-apparent at present. Well, you will +probably find that the estate has all been run on very sentimental +lines by your worthy aunt. You take my advice, and put it all on a +business-like footing. Let it be clear from the first that you won't +stand any nonsense. Ideas!" said Mr. Redmayne in high disdain, "that's +the curse of the country. Ideas everywhere, about the empire, about +civic rights and duties, about religion, about art"—he made a long +face as though he had swallowed medicine. "Let us all keep our distance +and do our work. Let us have no nonsense about the brotherhood of man. +I hope with all my heart, Howard, that you won't permit anything of +that kind. I don't feel as sure of you as I should like; but this will +be a very good thing for you, if it shows you that all this stuff will +not do in practice. I'm an honest Whig. Let everyone have a vote, and +let them give their votes for the right people, and then we shall get +on very well." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JACK'S ESCAPADE +</H3> + +<P> +The college slowly filled; the term began; Howard went back to his +work, and the perplexities of Windlow rather faded into the background. +He would behave very differently when he went there next. It should all +be cool, friendly, unemotional. But in spite of everything, his aunt's +words came sometimes into his mind, troubling it with a sudden thrill. +"Power, spirit, the development of life,"—were these real things, had +one somehow to put oneself into touch with them? Was the life of serene +and tranquil work but marking time, wasting opportunity? Had one +somehow to be stirred into action and reality? Was there something in +the background, which did not insist or drive or interfere with one's +inclinations, because it knew that it would be obeyed and yielded to +some time? Was it just biding its time, waiting, impelling but not +forcing one to change? It gave him an impulse to look closer at his own +views and aims, to consider what his motives really were, how far he +could choose, how much he could prevail, to what extent he could really +do as he hoped and desired. He was often haunted by a sense of living +in a mechanical unreality, of moving simply on lines of easy habit. +That was a tame, a flat business, perhaps; but it was what seemed to +happen. +</P> + +<P> +And yet all the time he was more and more haunted by the thought of +Maud. He could not get her out of his head. Over and over again he +lived through the scenes of their meetings. Against the background of +the dusk, that slender figure outlined itself, the lines of her form, +her looks, her smiles; he went again and again through his talks with +her—the walk on the down, the sight of her in the dimly-lighted room; +he could hear the very tones of her low voice, and see the childlike +appeal of her eyes. Worst of all the scene at the Vicarage, the book +held in her slender fingers, her look of bewilderment and +distress—what a pompous ass he had been, how stupid and coarse! He +thought of writing to her; he did write—but the dignified patronage of +his elder-brotherly style sickened him, and he tore up his unfinished +letter. Why could he not simply say that he cared for her, and was +miserable at having hurt her? That was just, he thought, what he must +not do; and yet the idea that she might be making other friends and +acquaintances was a jealous horror to him. He thought of writing to his +aunt about it—he did write regularly to her, but he could not explain +what he had done. Strangest of all, he hardly recognised it as love. He +did not face the idea of a possible life with Maud. It was to be an +amiable and brotherly relation, with a frank confidence and an +outspoken affection. He lost his old tranquil spirits in these +reveries. It was painful to him to find how difficult it was becoming +to talk to the undergraduates; his mild and jocose ironies seemed to +have deserted him. He saw little of Jack; they were elaborately +unaffected with each other, but each felt that there had been a sort of +exposure, and it seemed impossible to regain the old relation. +</P> + +<P> +One morning he had an unpleasant surprise. The Dean of the College, Mr. +Gretton, a tall, rather grimly handsome man, who was immensely +conscientious and laborious, and did his work as well as a virtuous man +could, who was not interested in education, and frankly bored by the +irresponsibility of undergraduates, walked into his rooms one morning +and said, "I hope I don't interrupt you? I want to have a word with you +about Sandys, as he is your cousin. There was a dinner in College last +night—a club, I think—Guthrie and that lot—and Sandys got undeniably +drunk. They were making a horrible row about two o'clock, and I went +down and dispersed them. There were some outside men there whose names +I took; but Sandys was quite out of control, and spoke very +impertinently to me. He must come and apologise, or I shall ask that he +may be sent down. He is a respectable man on the whole, so I shall not +push it to extremes. But he will be gated, of course, and I shall write +to his father. I thought you had better see him, and try if you can do +anything. It is a great nuisance, and the less said about it the +better; but of course we can't stand this kind of thing, and it had +better be stopped at once." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I will see him at once," said Howard. "I am very sorry. I did not +think he would play the fool like that." +</P> + +<P> +"One never knows!" said the Dean; "to speak plainly, I don't think he +is doing much good here. Rather too much a man of the world for my +taste. But there is nothing particular against him, and I don't want to +be hard on him." +</P> + +<P> +Howard sent for Jack at once. He came in, in an obviously rebellious +frame of mind. +</P> + +<P> +"I know," he said. "Yes, of course I was a fool; but it isn't worth +making a row about. I don't go in for soaking, like some of the men who +don't get caught, and I have no intention of going to the bad, if that +is what you mean." +</P> + +<P> +"You are an ass!" said Howard, "a real ass! Now don't say a word yet, +till I have told you what I think. You may have your say afterwards. I +don't care twopence about your getting drunk once in a way. It's a +stupid thing to do, to my mind, and I don't see the point of it. I +don't consider you a reprobate, nor am I going to take a high line +about drunkenness; I know perfectly well that you are no more likely to +take to drink than the Master is. But it isn't good enough. You put +yourself on the wrong side, you give people a wrong idea of yourself. +You get disapproved of by all the stupid and ordinary people who don't +know you. Your father will be in an awful state of mind. It's an +experiment, I suppose? I imagine you thought you would like to see how +it felt to be drunk? Well, living at close quarters like this, that +sort of thing can't be done. And then you were rude to Gretton. What's +the point of that? He is a very good fellow, minds his own business, +doesn't interfere, and keeps things very straight here. That part of it +seems to me simply ungentlemanly. And in any case, you have no business +to hurt the people who care for you, even if you think they ought not +to be distressed. I don't say it is immoral, but I say it is a low +business from beginning to end." +</P> + +<P> +Jack, who bore signs of his overnight experience, gave Howard a smile. +"That's all right!" he said. "I don't object to that! You have rather +taken the wind out of my sails. If you had said I was a sensual brute, +I should have just laughed. It is such NONSENSE the way these men go +on! Why I was lunching with Gretton the other day, and Corry told a +story about Wordsworth as an undergraduate getting drunk in Milton's +rooms at Christ's, and how proud the old man was of it to the end of +his life. Gretton laughed, and thought it a joke; and then when one +gets roaring drunk, they turn up their eyes and say it is unmanly and +so on. Why can't they stick to one line? If you go to bump-suppers and +dinners, and just manage to carry your liquor, they think you a good +sort of fellow, with no sort of nonsense about you—'a little natural +boyish excitement'—you know the sort of rot. One glass more, and you +are among the sinners." +</P> + +<P> +"I know," said Howard, "and I perceive that I have had the benefit of +your thought-out oration after all!" +</P> + +<P> +Jack smiled rather sheepishly, and then said, "Well, what's to be done? +Am I to be sent down?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not if you do the right thing," said Howard. "You must just go to +Gretton and say you are very sorry you got drunk, and still more sorry +you were impertinent. If you can contrive to show him that you think +him a good fellow, and are really vexed to have been such a bounder, so +much the better. That I leave to your natural eloquence. But you will +be gated, and he will write to your father." +</P> + +<P> +Jack whistled. "I say, can't you stop that?" he said. "Father will be +fearfully upset." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I can't," said Howard, "and I wouldn't if I could. This is the +music, and you have got to face it." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," said Jack rather glumly, "I suppose I must pay the score. +I'll go and grovel to Gretton. I was simply beastly to him. My frank +nature expanded in his presence." +</P> + +<P> +Howard laughed. "Well, be off with you!" he said. "And I will tell you +what. I will write to your father, and tell him what I think." +</P> + +<P> +"Then it will be all right," said Jack, greatly relieved. "Anything to +stop the domestic howl. I'll write too. After all, it is rather +convenient to have a cousin among the Dons; and, anyhow, you have had +your innings now. I was a fool, I admit. It won't happen again." +</P> + +<P> +Howard wrote at once to the Vicar, and was rewarded by a long and +grateful letter. "It is a disreputable affair," he wrote, "and it has +upset me very much, and Maud even more. But you have put it in the +right light, and I am very grateful to you for your good offices. I +couldn't have believed it of Jack, but I look back to dear old +Pembroke, and I remember there was one occasion—but I need not revive +ancient memories, and I am sufficiently versed in human nature not to +waste indignation over a boyish escapade. I have ventured to address +letters to Mr. Gretton and the Master on the subject, apologising for +Jack's misdemeanour, and saying how much I appreciate the excellence of +the tone that prevails in the College." +</P> + +<P> +What, however, pleased Howard still more was that Gretton spoke to him +after Hall and said, "I am much obliged to you, Kennedy, for your +prompt action. Sandys came and apologised to me in a very proper +manner, and entirely removed the disagreeable impression from my mind. +I owe this to your kindly intervention; and I must honestly say that I +thought well of Sandys. He did not attempt to excuse himself, or to +extenuate his fault. He showed very good feeling, and I believe that +henceforth his influence will be on the side of order. I was really +pleased with him." +</P> + +<P> +Howard spoke to Jack again the following day, and said he was glad he +had done the thing thoroughly. +</P> + +<P> +"Thoroughly?" said Jack; "I should think I did. I fairly licked the old +man's boots. We had quite an affecting scene. I rather think he gave me +his blessing, and I went away feeling that I had been almost +recommended to repeat my performance. Gretton's a sensible man. This is +a good College. The thing would have been mismanaged anywhere else; but +now I have not only an unblemished character, but I am like gold tried +in the furnace." +</P> + +<P> +"One more thing," said Howard; "why not get your people to come up for +two or three days? It will clear off the whole affair. I think they +would like to be asked, and I should be very glad to help to look after +them." +</P> + +<P> +"It will be a bore," said Jack, making a grimace; "it wrecks my health +to take people round to King's and Trinity. It simply knocks me up; but +I expect you are right, and I will ask them. You won't fail me? When I +go off duty, you will go on? If that is clearly understood, they shall +come. I know Maud would like to realise my background, as she says; and +my father will rush to the 'Varsity Library, and break the spirit of +the Pemmer Dons. He'll have the time of his life; but he deserves a +treat—he really wrote me a very decent letter. By George, though, +these emotional experiences are not in my line, though they reveal the +worth of suffering, as the Chaplain said in his Hospital Sermon last +Sunday." +</P> + +<P> +Howard wrote a further note, saying that he hoped that Mr. Sandys and +Maud would be able to come; and it was soon arranged that they should +spend the inside of a week at Cambridge, before the May week, as the +Vicar said he had little taste for social pleasures, and had some +matters of considerable importance to turn up in the Library, to say +nothing of the intellectual stimulus he anticipated. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XVI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE VISIT +</H3> + +<P> +THE visit began on the usual lines of such visits, the home team, so to +speak—Howard and Jack—having to fit a round of festivities into a +life which under normal circumstances was already, if anything, too +full, with the result that, at all events, Howard's geniality was +tense, and tended to be forced. Only in youth can one abandon oneself +to high spirits; as one grows older one desires more to contemplate +one's own mirth, and assure oneself that it is genuine. +</P> + +<P> +Jack met them at the station, and they had tea in his rooms, Howard +refusing firmly to come. +</P> + +<P> +"You must just give them a chance of a private word or two!" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, that's exactly what I want to avoid!" said Jack. "Besides, my +family is never private—we haven't any company manners. But I expect +you are right. Father will want one innings, and I think it's fair he +should have it!" +</P> + +<P> +They were, however, to dine with Howard, who, contrary to his wont, +lavished some care on flowers and decorations, to make the place +unobtrusively pretty and home-like, and he determined that he would be +as quiet and straightforward as he could, but promised himself at least +one afternoon with Maud strolling round the place. But this was all to +happen as if by chance, and with no scheming or diplomacy. +</P> + +<P> +They came; and Howard saw at once that Maud was timid and somewhat out +of spirits; she looked tired, and this, so far from diminishing her +charm, seemed to Howard to make it almost intolerably appealing to him. +He would have desired to take her in his arms, like a child, to pet and +caress her into happiness. Jack was evidently feeling the weight of his +responsibilities, and was frankly bored; but never had Howard been more +grateful for Mr. Sandys' flow of spirits than he was that evening. Mr. +Sandys was thirsting for experience and research, and he was also in a +state of jubilant sentimentality about Cambridge and his old +recollections. He told stories of the most unemphatic kind in the most +emphatic way, and Howard was amused at the radiant hues with which the +lapse of time had touched the very simplest incidents of his career. +Mr. Sandys had been, it seemed, a terrible customer at +Cambridge—disobedient, daring, incisive, the hero of his +contemporaries, the dread of the authorities; but all this on +high-minded lines. Moreover, he had brought with him a note-book of +queries, to be settled in the Library; while he had looked up in the +list of residents everyone with whom he had been in the remotest degree +acquainted, and a long vista of calls opened out before him. It was a +very delightful evening to Howard, in spite of everything, simply +because Maud was there; and he found himself extraordinarily conscious +of her presence, observant of all she said and did, glad that her eyes +should rest upon his familiar setting; and when they sat afterwards in +his study and smoked, he saw that her eyes travelled with a curious +intentness over everything—his books, his papers, his furniture. He +had no private talk with her; but he was glad just to meet her glance +and hear her low replies—glad too to find that, as the evening wore +on, she seemed less distraite and tired. +</P> + +<P> +They went off early, Mr. Sandys pleading fatigue for Maud, and the +necessity for himself of a good night's rest, that he might ride forth +on the following day conquering and to conquer. +</P> + +<P> +The next day they lunched with Jack. When Howard came into the room he +was not surprised to find that two undergraduates had been +asked—Jack's chief allies. One was a big, good-humoured young man, who +was very shy and silent; the other was one Fred Guthrie, who was one of +the nicest men in the College; he was a Winchester boy, son of a +baronet, a Member of Parliament, wealthy and distinguished. Guthrie had +a large allowance, belonged to all the best clubs, played cricket with +the chance of a blue ahead of him, and had, moreover, a real social +gift. He had a quite unembarrassed manner and, what is rare in a young +man, a strong sense of humour. He was a prominent member of the A. D. +C., and had a really artistic gift of mimicry; but there was no touch +of forwardness or conceit about him. He had been in for some +examination or other; and when Howard came in he was describing his +experiences. "What sort of questions?" he was saying. "Oh, you know the +kind—an awful quotation, followed by the question, 'Who said this, and +under what circumstances, and why did they let him?'" He made himself +entirely at home, he talked to Mr. Sandys as if he were welcoming an +old family friend, and he was evidently much attracted by Maud, who +found it remarkably easy to talk to this pleasant and straightforward +boy. He described with much liveliness an interview between Jack and +the Master on the subject of reading the lessons in chapel, and +imitated the suave tones of that courteous old gentleman to the life. +"Far be it from me to deny it was dramatic, Mr. Sandys, but I should +prefer a slightly more devotional tone." He related with great +good-humour how a heavy, well-meaning, and rather censorious +undergraduate had waited behind in his room on an evening when he had +been entertaining the company with some imitations, and had said, "You +are fond of imitating people, Guthrie, and you do it a great deal; but +you ought to say who it is you are imitating, because one can't be +quite sure!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Sandys was immensely amused by the young man, and had related some +of his own experiences in elocution—how his clerk on the first +occasion of reading the lesson at Windlow was reported to have said, +"Why, you might think he had been THERE, in a manner of speaking." +</P> + +<P> +Guthrie was not in the least concerned to keep the conversation in his +own hands, and received Mr. Sandys' stories with exactly the right +amount of respectful interest and amusement. But the result of all this +upon Howard was to make him feel extraordinarily heavy and elderly. He +felt that he and Mr. Sandys were the make-weights of the party, and he +was conscious that his own contributions were wanting in liveliness. +</P> + +<P> +Maud was extraordinarily amused by the bits of mimicry that came in, +because it was so well done that it inspired everyone with the feeling +that mimicry was the one art worth practising; and Mr. Sandys himself +launched into dialect stories, in which Somersetshire rustics began by +saying, "Hoots, mon!" and ended by saying, "The ould divil hissilf." +</P> + +<P> +After luncheon it became clear that Jack had given up the afternoon as +a bad job, and suggested that they should all go down to the river. The +rowing man excused himself, and Howard followed his example, pleading +occupation of a vague kind. Mr. Sandys was enchanted at the prospect, +and they went off in the charge of Guthrie, who was free, promising to +return and have tea in his rooms. Guthrie, who was a friend of +Howard's, included him in the invitation, but Howard said that he could +not promise, but would look in if he could. +</P> + +<P> +As a matter of fact, he went out for a lonely walk, ashamed of himself +for his stupidity. He could not put himself in the position, he +dismally thought, of competing for Maud's attention. +</P> + +<P> +He walked off round by Madingley, hardly aware of what road he was +taking. By the little chalk-pit just outside the village a rustic pair, +a boy and girl, stood sheepishly clasped in a dull and silent embrace. +Howard, to whom public exhibitions of emotion were distasteful, walked +swiftly by with averted eyes, when suddenly a poignant thought came on +him, causing him to redden up to the roots of his hair, and walk faster +than ever. It was this, then, that was the matter with him—he was in +love, he was jealous, he was the victim of the oldest, simplest, +commonest, strongest emotion of humanity. His eyes were opened. How had +he not seen it before? His broodings over the thought of Maud, the +strange disturbance that came on him in her presence, that absurd +desire to do or say something impressive, coupled with that wretched +diffidence that kept him silent and helpless—it was love! He became +half dizzy with the thought of what it all meant; and at the same +instant, Maud seemed to recede from him as something impossibly pure, +sweet, and unapproachable. All that notion of a paternal close +friendship—how idiotic it was! He wanted her, at every moment, to +share every thought with her, to claim every thought of hers, to see +her, to clasp her close; and then at the same moment came the terrible +disillusionment; how was he, a sober, elderly, stiff-minded +professional person, to recommend himself? What was there in him that +any girl could find even remotely attractive—his middle-aged habits, +his decorous and conventional mind, his clumsy dress, his grizzled +hair? He felt of himself that he was ravaged with age and decrepitude, +and yet in his folly he had suggested this visit, and he had thrown the +girl he loved out of her lonely life, craving for sympathy and +interest, into a set of young men all apt for passion and emotion. The +thought of Guthrie with his charm, his wealth, his aplomb, fell cold on +his heart. Howard's swift imagination pictured the mutual attraction of +the two, the enchanting discoveries, the laughing sympathy. Guthrie +would, no doubt, come down to Windlow. It was exactly the kind of match +that Mr. Sandys would like for Maud; and this was to be the end of this +tragic affair. How was he to endure the rest of the days of the visit? +This was Tuesday, and they were not to go till Saturday; and he would +have to watch the budding of a romance which would end in his choosing +Maud a wedding-present, and attending at Windlow Church in the +character of the middle-aged squire, beaming through his glasses on the +young people. +</P> + +<P> +In such abject reflections the walk passed away. He crept into College +by the side-entrance, settled down to his evening work with grim +tenacity, and lost himself in desperate imaginings of all the pleasant +things that might be happening to the party. They were to dine at a +restaurant, he believed, and probably Guthrie would be free to join +them. +</P> + +<P> +Late that night Jack looked in. "Is anything the matter?" he said. "Why +didn't you come to Guthrie's? Look here, you are going to play fair, +aren't you? I can't do all the entertaining business myself. I really +must have a day off to-morrow, and get some exercise." +</P> + +<P> +"All right," said Howard, "I'll take them on. Suppose you bring them to +luncheon here. And I will tell you what I will do. I will be +responsible for to-morrow afternoon. Then on Thursday you shall come +and dine here again; and on Friday I will try to get the Master to +lunch—that will smooth things over a bit." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks very much," said Jack; "that's splendid! I wish we hadn't let +ourselves in for quite so much. I'm not fit to lead a double life like +this. I'm sure I don't grudge them their outing, but, by George, I +shall be glad to see the last of them, and I daresay you will be too. +It's the hardest work I've had for a long time." +</P> + +<P> +The two came and lunched with Howard. After luncheon he said, "Now, I +am absolutely free to-day—Jack has got a lawn-tennis match on—what +shall we do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Mr. Sandys genially, "I will be entirely selfish for once. +I have come on the track of some very important matters in the Library, +and I see they are going to take up my time. And then I am going in to +have a cup of tea at Pembroke with the Dean, an old friend of mine. +There, I make no excuses! I did suggest to Herries that I had a +daughter with me; but he rather pointedly didn't ask her. Women are not +in his line, and he will like a quiet talk with me. Now, what do you +say to that, Howard?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if Miss Maud will put up with me," said Howard, "we will stroll +about, and we might go to King's Chapel together. I should like to show +her that, and we will go to see Monica Graves, and get some tea there." +</P> + +<P> +"Give Monica my love," said Mr. Sandys, "and make what excuses you can. +Better tell her the truth for once! I will try to look in upon her +before I go." +</P> + +<P> +Maud assented very eagerly and gratefully. They walked together to the +Library, and Mr. Sandys bolted in like a rabbit into its hole. Howard +was alone with her. +</P> + +<P> +She was very different, he thought, from what she had seemed that first +night. She was alert, smiling, delighted with everything and everybody +about the place. "I think it is all simply enchanting!" she said; "only +it makes me long to go to Newnham. I think men do have a better time +than women; and, what is more, no one here seems to have anything +whatever to do!" +</P> + +<P> +"That's only our unselfishness," said Howard. "We get no credit! Think +of all the piles of papers that are accumulating on my table. The other +day I entertained with all the virtue and self-sacrifice at my command +a party of working-men from the East end of London at luncheon in my +rooms, and took them round afterwards. They knew far more than I did +about the place, and I cut a very poor figure. At the end the +Secretary, meaning to be very kind to me, said that he was glad to have +seen a glimpse of the cultured life. 'It is very beautiful and +distinguished,' he added, 'but we of the democracy shall not allow it +to continue. It is always said that the Dons have nothing to do but to +read and sip their wine, and I am glad to see it all for myself. To +think of all these endowments being used like this! Not but what we are +very grateful to you for your kindness!'" +</P> + +<P> +They strolled about. Cambridge is not a place that puts its +characteristic beauties in the forefront. Some of the most charming +things lurk unsuspected beyond dark entries and behind sombre walls. +They penetrated little mouldering courts; they looked into dim and +stately halls and chapels; they stood long on the bridge of Clare, +gazing at that incomparable front, with all the bowery gardens and +willow-shaded walks, like Camelot, beside the slow, terraced stream. +</P> + +<P> +It was a tortured kind of delight for Howard to feel the girl beside +him; but she showed no wish to talk intimately or emotionally. She +asked many questions, and he could see that she drank in eagerly the +beauty of the place, understanding its charm in a moment. They went in +to see Monica, who was in a mood of dry equanimity, and rallied Howard +on the success of his visit to Windlow. "I hear you entered on the +scene like a fairy prince," she said, "and charmed an estate out of +Cousin Anne in the course of a few hours. Isn't he magnificent, Maud? +You mustn't think he is a typical Don: he is quite one of our brightest +flowers." +</P> + +<P> +"When am I to come again to Windlow?" she added; "I suppose I must ask +Howard's leave now? He told me, you know," she said to Maud, "that he +wanted a change—he was bored with his work; so I abandoned Aunt Anne +to him; and he set up his flag in a moment. There are no diplomatists +like these cultured and unworldly men, Maud! It was noble of me to do +as I did. If I had exercised my persuasion on Aunt Anne, and kept +Howard away, I believe she would have turned over Windlow to me, and I +would have tried a social experiment there. It's just the place for an +inebriate home; no public-houses, and plenty of fine spring water." +</P> + +<P> +Maud was immensely amused by Monica. Howard contented himself by saying +that he was much misinterpreted; and presently they went off to King's +together. +</P> + +<P> +Maud was not prepared for King's Chapel, and indeed the tame, rather +clumsy exterior gives very little hint of the wonders within. +</P> + +<P> +When they passed the swing-door, and saw the fine soaring lines leading +to the exquisite intricacies of the roof, the whole air full of rich +colour; the dark carved screen, with the gleaming golden trumpets of +the angels on the organ, Howard could see her catch her breath, and +grow pale for an instant at the crowded splendour of the place. +</P> + +<P> +They sat in the nave; and when the thin bell died down, and the +footsteps passed softly by, and the organ uttered its melodious voice +as the white-robed procession moved slowly in, Howard could see that +the girl was almost overcome by the scene. She looked at him once with +a strange smile, a smile which he could not interpret; and as the +service slowly proceeded—to Howard little more than a draught of sweet +sensation—he could see that Maud was praying earnestly, deeply, for +some consecration of hope and strength which he could not divine or +guess at. +</P> + +<P> +As they came away, she hardly spoke—she seemed tired and almost rapt +out of herself. She just said, "Ah, I am glad I came here with you. I +shall never forget this as long as I live—it is quite beyond words." +</P> + +<P> +He took her back to the lodgings where they were staying. She shook +hands with him, smiled faintly, almost tearfully, and went in without a +word. Howard went back in a very agitated frame of mind. He did not +understand what was in the girl's mind at all. She was different, +utterly different. Some new current of thought had passed through her +mind. He fancied that the girl, after her secluded life, with so many +richly perceptive faculties half starved, had awakened almost suddenly +to a sense of the crowded energies and joys of life, that youth and +delight had quickened in her; that she foresaw new relations, and +guessed at wonderful secrets. But it troubled him to think that she had +not seemed to wish to revive their former little intimacy; she had +seemed half unconscious of his presence, and all alive with new +pleasures and curiosities. The marvellous veil of sex appeared to have +fallen between them. He had made friends with her, as he would have +made friends with some ingenuous boy; and now something wholly new, +mysterious, and aloof had intervened. +</P> + +<P> +The rest of the visit was uneventful enough. Maud was different—that +was plain—not less delightful, indeed even more so, in her baffling +freshness; but Howard felt removed from her, shut out from her mind, +kept at arm's length, even superseded. +</P> + +<P> +The luncheon with the Master as guest was a success. He was an old +bachelor clergyman, white-haired, dainty, courteous, with the +complexion of a child. He was very gracious to Mr. Sandys, who regarded +him much as he might have regarded the ghost of Isaiah, as a spirit who +visited the earth from some paradisiacal retreat, and brought with him +a fragrance of heaven. The thought of a Doctor of Divinity, the Head of +a College, full of academical learning, and yet perfectly courteous and +accessible, filled Mr. Sandys' cup of romance to the brim. He seemed to +be storing his memory with the Master's words. The Master was delighted +with Maud, and treated her with a charming and indulgent gaiety, which +Howard envied. He asked her opinion, he deferred to her, he made her +come and sit next to him, he praised Jack and Howard, and at the end of +the luncheon he filled Mr. Sandys with an almost insupportable delight +by saying that the next time he could visit Cambridge he hoped he would +stay at the Lodge—"but not unless you will promise to bring Miss +Sandys as well—Miss Sandys is indispensable." Howard felt indeed +grateful to the gallant and civil old man, who had so clear an eye for +what was tender and beautiful. Even Jack, when the Master departed, was +forced to say that he did not know that the old man had so much blood +in him! +</P> + +<P> +That night Mr. Sandys finished up his princely progress by dining in +Hall with the Fellows, and going to the Combination Room afterwards. He +was not voluble, as Howard had expected. He was overcome with +deference, and seized with a desire to bow in all directions at the +smallest civility. He sat next to the Vice-Master, and Mr. Redmayne +treated him to an exhibition of the driest fireworks on record. Mr. +Sandys assented to everything, and the number of times that he +exclaimed "True, true! admirably said!" exceeded belief. He said to +Howard afterwards that the unmixed wine of intellect had proved a +potent beverage. "One must drink it down," he said, "and trust to +assimilating it later. It has been a glorious week for me, my dear +Howard, thanks to you! Quite rejuvenating indeed! I carry away with me +a precious treasure of thought—just a few notes of suggestive trains +of inquiry have been scribbled down, to be dealt with at leisure. But +it is the atmosphere, the rarefied atmosphere of high thought, which +has braced and invigorated me. It has entirely obliterated from my mind +that odious escapade of Jack's—so judiciously handled! The kindness of +these eminent men, these intellectual giants, is profoundly touching +and inspiring. I must not indeed hope to trespass on it unduly. Your +Master—what a model of self-effacing courtesy—your Vice-Master—what +a fine, rugged, uncompromising nature; and the rest of your +colleagues"—with a wave of his hand—"what an impression of reserved +and restrained force it all gives one! It will often sustain me," said +the good Vicar in a burst of confidence, "in my simple labours, to +think of all this tide of unaffected intellectual life ebbing and +flowing so tranquilly and so systematically in old alma mater! The way +in which you have laid yourself out to entertain me is indeed +gratifying. If there is a thing I reverence it is intellect, especially +when it is framed in modesty and courtesy." +</P> + +<P> +Howard went with him to his lodgings, and just went in to say good-bye +to Maud. Jack had been dining with her, but he was gone. He and Guthrie +were going to the station to give them a send-off. "A charming young +fellow, Guthrie!" said Mr. Sandys. "He has been constantly with us, and +it is very pleasant to find that Jack has such an excellent friend. His +father is, I believe, a man of wealth and influence? You would hardly +have guessed it! That a young man of that sort should have given up so +much time to entertaining a country parson and his daughter is really +very gratifying—a sign of the growing humanity of the youth of +England. I fear we should not have been so tolerant at dear old +Pembroke. I like your young men, Howard. They are unduly careless, I +think, about dress; but in courtesy and kindness, irreproachable!" +</P> + +<P> +Howard only had a few words with Maud, of a very commonplace kind. She +had enjoyed herself very much, and it was good of him to have given up +so much time to them. She seemed to him reserved and preoccupied, and +he could not do anything to restore the old sense of friendship. He was +tired himself; it had been a week of great strain. Far from getting any +nearer to Maud, he felt that he had drifted away from her, and that +some intangible partition kept them apart. The visit, he felt, had been +a mistake from beginning to end. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XVII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +SELF-SUPPRESSION +</H3> + +<P> +As soon as the term was over, Howard went down to Windlow. He was in a +very unhappy frame of mind. He could not capitulate; but the more that +he thought, the more that he tried to analyse his feelings, the more +complex they became. It really seemed to him at times as if two +perfectly distinct people were arguing within him. He was afraid of +love; his aim had always been to simplify his life as far as possible, +and to live in a serene and cheerful spirit, for the day and in the +day. His work, his relations with colleagues and pupils, had all amused +and interested him; he had cared for people, he had many friends; but +it was all a cool, temperate, unimpassioned kind of caring. People had +drifted in and out of his life; with his frank and easy manner, his +excellent memory for the characteristics and the circumstances of +others, it had been easy for him to pick up a relationship where he had +laid it down; but it was all a very untroubled business, and no one had +ever really entered into his life; he did not like dropping people, and +took some trouble by means of letters to keep up communication with his +old pupils; but his friendships had never reached the point at which +the loss of a friend would have been a severe blow. He felt that he was +always given credit for more affection than he possessed, and this had +made him careful not to fail in any duty of friendship. He was always +ready to take trouble, to advise, to help his old pupils in their +careers; but it had been done more from a sense of courtesy than from +any deeper motive. +</P> + +<P> +Now, however, it was very different; he felt himself wholly preoccupied +by the thought of Maud; and he found himself looking into the secret of +love, as a man might gaze from a hill-top into a chasm where the rocky +ridges plunged into mist, doubting of his way, and mistrusting his own +strength to pursue the journey. He did not know what the quality of his +love was; he recognised an intense kind of passion, but when he looked +beyond that, and imagined himself wedded to Maud, what was the emotion +that would survive the accomplishment of his desires? Would he find +himself longing for the old, comfortable, isolated life again? did he +wish his life to be inextricably intertwined with the life of another? +He was not sure. He had a dread of having to concede an absolute +intimacy, he wished to give only as much as he chose; and then, too, he +told himself that he was too old to marry so young a girl, and that she +would be happier if she could find a more equal partner for her life. +Yet even so the thought of yielding her to another sickened him. He +believed that she had been attracted by Guthrie, and that he had but to +hold his hand and keep his distance, and the relation might broaden +into marriage. He wondered if love could begin so, so easily and +simply. He would like to have believed it could not, yet it was just so +that love did begin! And then, too, he did not know what was the nature +of Maud's feelings to himself. He thought that she had been attracted +to him, but in a sisterly sort of way; that he had come across her when +she was feeling cramped and dissatisfied, and that a friendship with +him had seemed to offer her a chance of expansion and interest. +</P> + +<P> +He often thought of telling the whole story to his aunt; but like many +people who seem extraordinarily frank about their feelings and fancies, +and speak easily even of their emotions, he found himself condemned to +silence about any emotion or experience that had any serious or tragic +quality. Most people would have thought him communicative, and even +lacking in reticence. But he knew in himself that it was not so; he +could speak of his intimate ideas very readily upon slight +acquaintance, because they were not to him matters of deep feeling; but +the moment that they really moved him, he felt absolutely dumb and +tongue-tied. +</P> + +<P> +He established himself at Windlow, and became at once aware that his +aunt perceived that there was something amiss. She gave him +opportunities of speaking to her, but he could not take them. He shrank +with a painful dumbness from displaying his secret wound. It seemed to +him undignified and humiliating to confess his weakness. He hoped +vaguely that the situation would solve itself, and spare him the +necessity of a confession. +</P> + +<P> +He tried to occupy himself in his book, but in vain. Now that he was +confronted with a real and urgent dilemma, the origins of religion +seemed to him to have no meaning or interest. He did not feel that they +had any bearing whatever upon life; and his pain seemed to infect all +his perceptions. The quality of beauty in common things, the +hill-shapes, the colour of field and wood, the lights of dawn and eve, +the sailing cloud, the tints of weathered stone, the old house in its +embowered garden, with the pure green lines of the down above, had no +charm or significance for him any more. Again and again he said to +himself, "How beautiful that would be, if I could but feel it to be +so!" He saw, as clearly and critically as ever, the pleasant forms and +hues and groupings of things, but it was dull and savourless, while all +the attractive ideas that sprang up like flowers in his mind, the happy +trains of thought, in which some single fancy ramified and extended +itself into unsuspected combinations and connections, these all seemed +hardly worth recognising or pursuing. He found himself listless and +distracted, just able by an effort to talk, to listen, to exchange +thoughts, but utterly without any zest or energy. +</P> + +<P> +Jack had gone off for a short visit, and Howard was thus left mostly +alone. He went once or twice to the Vicarage, but found Mr. Sandys an +unmixed trial; there seemed something wholly puerile about his absurd +energies and activities. The only boon of his society was that he +expected no reply to his soliloquies. Maud was there too, a distant +graceful figure; but she, too, seemed to have withdrawn into her own +thoughts, and their talk was mostly formal. Yet he was painfully and +acutely conscious of her presence. She, too, seemed to be clouded and +sad. He found himself unable to talk to her unconstrainedly. He could +only dumbly watch her; she appeared to avert her eyes from him; and yet +he drew from these meetings an infinite series of pictures, which were +as if engraved upon his brain. She became for him in these days like a +lily drooping in a shadowed place and in a thunderous air; something +fading away mutely and sorrowfully, like the old figure of Mariana in +the Grange, looking wearily through listless hours for something which +had once beckoned to her with a radiant gesture, but which did not +return. There were brighter hours, when in the hot July days a little +peace fell on him, a little sense of the fragrance and beauty of the +world. He took to long and solitary walks on the down in search of +bodily fatigue. There was one day in particular which he long +remembered, when he had gone up to the camp, and sate in the shade of +the thicket on the crisp turf, looking out over the valley, unutterably +quiet and peaceful in the hot air. The trees were breathlessly still; +the hamlet roofs peeped out above the orchards, the hot air quivered on +the down. There were little figures far below moving about the fields. +It all looked lost in a sweetness of serene repose; and the thoughts +that had troubled him rose with a bitter poignancy, that was almost a +physical pain. The contrast between the high summer, the rich life of +herb and tree, and his own weary and arid thoughts, fell on him like a +flash. Would it not be better to die, to close one's eyes upon it all, +to sink into silence, than thus to register the awful conflict of will +and passion with the tranquil life that could not surrender its dreams +of peace? What did he need and desire? He could not tell; he felt +almost a hatred of the slender, quiet girl, with her sweet look, her +delicate hands, her noiseless movements. She had made no claim, she did +not come in radiant triumph, with impressive gestures and strong +commanding influences into his life; she had not even cried out +passionately, demanded love, displayed an urgent need; there had been +nothing either tragic or imperious, nothing that called for instant +solution; she was just a girl, sweet, wayward, anxious-minded, living a +trivial, simple, sheltered life. What had given her this awful power +over him, which seemed to have rent and shattered all his tranquil +contentment, and yet had offered no splendid opportunity, claimed no +all-absorbing devotion, no magnificent sacrifice? It was a sort of +monstrous spell, a magical enchantment, which had thus made havoc of +all his plans and gentle schemes. Life, he felt, could never be the +same for him again; he was in the grip of a power that made light of +human arrangements. The old books were full of it; they had spoken of +some hectic mystery, that seized upon warriors and sages alike, wasted +their strength, broke their energies, led them into crime and sorrow. +He had always rather despised the pale and hollow-eyed lovers of the +old songs, and thought of them as he might think of men indulging in a +baneful drug which filched away all manful prowess and vigour. It was +like La Belle Dame sans merci after all, the slender faring child, +whose kiss in the dim grotto had left the warrior 'alone and palely +loitering,' burdened with sad thoughts in the wintry land. And yet he +could not withstand it. He could see the reasonable and sensible +course, a placid friendship, a long life full of small duties and quiet +labours;—and then the thought of Maud would come across him, with her +shining hair, her clear eyes, holding a book, as he had seen her last +in the Vicarage, in her delicate hands, and looking out into the garden +with that troubled inscrutable look; and all the prudent considerations +fell and tumbled together like a house of cards, and he felt as though +he must go straight to her and fall before her, and ask her to give him +a gift the very nature of which he did not know, her girlish self, her +lightly-ranging mind, her tiny cares and anxieties, her virginal +heart—for what purpose? he did not know; just to be with her, to clasp +her close, to hear her voice, to look into her eyes, to discourse with +her some hidden secret of love. A faint sense of some infinite beauty +and nearness came over him which, if he could win it, would put the +whole of life into a different plane. Not a friendly combination, but +an absolute openness and nakedness of soul, nothing hidden, nothing +kept back, everything confessed and admitted, a passing of two streams +of life into one. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XVIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE PICNIC +</H3> + +<P> +Jack arrived at Windlow in due course, and brought with him Guthrie to +stay. Howard thought, and was ashamed of thinking, that Jack had some +scheme on foot; and the arrival of Guthrie was embarrassing to him, as +likely to complicate an already too complicated situation. +</P> + +<P> +A plan was made for a luncheon picnic on the hill. There was a tower on +the highest eminence of the down, some five miles away, a folly built +by some wealthy squire among woodlands, and commanding wide views; it +was possible to drive to a village at the foot, and to put up vehicles +at a country inn; and it was proposed that they should take luncheon up +to the tower, and eat it there. The Sandys party were to drive there, +and Howard was to drive over with Miss Merry and meet them. Howard did +not at all relish the prospect. He had a torturing desire for the +presence of Maud, and yet he seemed unable to establish any +communication with her; and he felt that the liveliness of the young +men would reduce him to a condition of amiable ineffectiveness which +would make him, as Marie Bashkirtseff naively said, hardly worth +seeing. However, there was no way out, and on a delicious July morning, +with soft sunlight everywhere, and great white clouds floating in a sky +of turquoise blue, Howard and Miss Merry started from Windlow. The +little lady was full of decorous glee, and her mirth, like a working +cauldron, threw all her high-minded tastes to the surface. She asked +Howard's opinion about quite a number of literary masterpieces, and she +ingenuously gave utterance to her meek and joyful views of life, the +privileges she enjoyed, and the inspiration which she derived from the +ethical views of Robert Browning. Howard found himself wondering why it +was all so dreadfully uninteresting and devoid of charm; he asked +himself whether, if the little spinster had been personally more +attractive, her optimistic chirpings would have seemed to have more +significance. Miss Merry had a perfectly definite view of life, and she +made life into a distinct success; she was a happy woman, sustained by +an abundance of meek enthusiasm. She accepted everything that happened +to her, whether good or evil, with the same eager interest. Suffering, +according to Miss Merry, had an educative quality, and life was haunted +for her by echoes of excellent literature, accurately remembered. But +Howard had a feeling that one must not swallow life quite so +uncritically, that there ought somehow to be more discrimination; and +Miss Merry's eager adoration of everything and everybody reduced him to +a flatness which he found it difficult to conceal. He could not think +what was the matter with her views. She revelled in what she called +problems, and the more incomplete that anything appeared, the more +certain was Miss Merry of ultimate perfection. There did not seem any +room for humanity, with its varying moods, in her outlook; and yet +Howard had the grace to be ashamed of his own sullen dreariness, which +certainly did not appear to lend any dignity to life. But he had not +the heart to spoil the little lady's pleasure, and engaged in small +talk upon moderately abstract topics with courteous industry. "Of +course," said his companion confidingly, "all that I do is on a very +small scale, but I think that the quality of it is what matters—the +quality of one's ideal, I mean." Howard murmuringly assented. "I have +sometimes even wished," she went on, "that I had some real trouble of +my own—that seems foolish to you, no doubt, because my life is such an +easy one—but I do feel that my happiness rather cuts me off from other +people—and I don't want to be cut off from other people; I desire to +know how and why they suffer." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," said Howard, "while you feel that, it is all right; but the worst +of real suffering is, I believe, that it is apt to be entirely +dreary—it is not at all romantic, as it seems from the outside; indeed +it is the loss of all that sense of excitement which makes suffering +what it is. But really I have no right to speak either, for I have had +a very happy life too." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Merry heard him moist-eyed and intent. "Yes, I am sure that is +true!" she said. "I suppose we all have just as much as we can +use—just as much as it is good for us to have." +</P> + +<P> +They found that the others had arrived, and were unpacking the +luncheon. Maud greeted Howard with a shy expectancy; but the sight of +her, slender and fresh in her rough walking-dress, renewed his strange +pangs. What did he want of her, he asked himself; what was this +mysterious and unmanning sense, that made him conscious of every +movement and every word of the girl? Why could he not meet her in a +cheerful, friendly, simple way, and make the most of her enchanting +company? +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Sandys was in great spirits, revelling in arrangements and +directions. But the wind was taken out of his sails by the two young +men, who were engaged in enacting a bewildering kind of drama, a saga, +of which the venerable Mr. Redmayne appeared to be the hero. Guthrie, +who was in almost overpowering spirits, took the part of Mr. Redmayne, +whom he imitated with amazing fidelity. He had become, it seemed, a man +of low and degrading tastes—'Erb Redmayne, he was called, or old 'Erb, +whose role was to lead the other authorities of the college into all +kinds of disreputable haunts, to prompt them to absurd misdeeds, to +take advantage of their ingenuousness, to make scapegoats of them, and +to adroitly evade justice himself. +</P> + +<P> +On this occasion 'Erb Redmayne seemed to have inveigled the Master, +whose part was taken by Jack, to a race-meeting, to be introducing him +to the Most unsatisfactory company, to force him to put money on +certain horses, to evade the payment of debts incurred, to be detected +in the act of absconding, and to leave the unfortunate Master to bear +the brunt of public indignation. Guthrie seemed at first a little shy +of enacting this drama before Howard, but Jack said reassuringly, "Oh, +he won't give us away—it will amuse him!" This extravaganza continued +with immense gusto and emphasis all the way to luncheon, 'Erb Redmayne +treating the Master with undisguised contempt, and the Master +performing meekly his bidding. Mr. Sandys was in fits of laughter. +"Excellent, excellent!" he cried among his paroxysms. "You irreverent +young rascals—but it was just the sort of thing we used to do, I am +afraid!" +</P> + +<P> +There was no doubt that it was amusing; in another mood Howard would +have been enchanted by the performance, and even flattered at being +allowed to overhear it. Mr. Redmayne was admirably rendered, and Jack's +performance of the anxious and courteous Master, treading the primrose +path reluctantly and yet subserviently, was very nearly as good. But +Howard simply could not be amused, and it made it almost worse for him +to see that Maud was delighted, while even Miss Merry was obviously +though timidly enjoying the enlargement of her experience, and exulting +in her freedom from any priggish disapproval. +</P> + +<P> +They made their way to the top and found the tower, a shell of masonry, +which could be ascended by a winding staircase in a turret. The view, +from the platform at the summit, was certainly enchanting. The tower +stood in an open heathery space, with woods enclosing it on every side; +from the parapet they looked down over the steeply falling tree-tops to +an immense plain, where a river widened to the sea. Howard, side by +side with Maud, gazed in silence. Mr. Sandys identified landmarks with +a map. "How nice it is to see a bit of the world!" said Maud, "and how +happy and contented it all looks. It seems odd to think of men and +women down there, creeping about their work, going to and fro as usual, +and not aware that they are being looked down upon like this. It all +seems a very simple business." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "that is the strange thing. It does seem so simple +and tranquil! and yet one knows that down there people have their +troubles and anxieties—people are ill, are dying—are wondering what +it all means, why they are set just there, and why they have so short a +time to stay!" +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose it all fits into itself," said Maud, "somehow or other. I +don't think that life really contradicts itself!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," said Howard, with a sudden access of dreariness; "that +is exactly what it DOES seem to do—that's the misery of it!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl looked at him but did not speak; he gave her an uneasy smile, +and she presently turned away and looked over her father's map. +</P> + +<P> +They went down and lunched on a green bank among the fern, under some +old oaks. The sunlight fell among the glades; a flock of tits, +chirruping and hunting, rushed past them and plunged downward into the +wood. They could hear a dove in the high trees near them, crooning a +song of peace and infinite content. Mr. Sandys, stung by emulation, +related a long story, interspersed with imitations, of his +undergraduate days; and Howard was content to sit and seem to listen, +and to watch the light pierce downwards into the silent woodland. An +old woodman, grey and bent and walking painfully, in great leather +gloves and gaiters, carrying a chopper, passed slowly along the ride +and touched his hat. Jack insisted on giving him some of the luncheon, +and made up a package for him which the old man put away in a pocket, +making some remarks about the weather, and adding with a senile pride +that he was over seventy, and had worked in the woodland for sixty +years and more. He was an almost mediaeval figure, Howard thought—a +woodman five centuries ago would have looked and spoken much the same; +he knew nothing of the world, or the thoughts and hopes of it; he was +almost as much of the soil as the very woods themselves, in his dim +mechanical life; was man made for that after all? How did that square +with Miss Merry's eager optimism? What was the meaning of so +unconscious a figure, so obviously without an ethical programme, and +yet so curiously devised by God, patiently nurtured and preserved? +</P> + +<P> +In the infinite peace, while the flies hummed on the shining bracken, +and the breeze nestled in the firs like a falling sea, Howard had a +spasm of incredulous misery. Could any heart be so heavy, so unquiet as +his own?—life suddenly struck so aimless, with but one overmastering +desire, which he could not fulfil. He was shocked at his feebleness. A +year ago he could have devised no sweeter or more delicious day than +this, with such a party, in the high sunlit wood. . . . +</P> + +<P> +The imitations began again. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe there's anyone you could not imitate!" said Mr. Sandys +rapturously. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it's only a knack," said Guthrie, "but some people are easier than +others." +</P> + +<P> +Howard bestirred himself to express some interest. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, he can imitate YOU to the life," said Jack. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, come, nonsense!" said Guthrie, reddening; "that is really low, +Jack." +</P> + +<P> +"I confess to a great curiosity about it," said Mr. Sandys. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, don't mind me," said Howard; "it would amuse me above +everything—like catching a glance at oneself in an unexpected mirror!" +</P> + +<P> +Guthrie, after a little more pressing, yielded. He said a few +sentences, supposed to be Howard teaching, in a rather soft voice, with +what seemed to Howard a horribly affected and priggish emphasis. But +the matter displeased him still more. It was facetious, almost jocose; +and there was a jerky attempt at academic humour in it, which seemed to +him particularly nauseous, as of a well-informed and quite superior +person condescending to the mildest of witticisms, to put himself on a +level with juvenile minds. Howard had thought himself both unaffected +and elastic in his communications with undergraduates, and this was the +effect he produced upon them! However, he mastered his irritation; the +others laughed a little tentatively; it was felt for a moment that the +affair had just passed the limits of conventional civility. Howard +contrived to utter a species of laugh, and said, "Well, that's quite a +revelation to me. It never occurred to me that there could be anything +to imitate in my utterance; but then it is always impossible to believe +that anyone can find anything to discuss in one behind one's +back—though I suppose no one can escape. I must get a stock of new +witticisms, I think; the typical ones seem a little threadbare." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no, indeed," said Miss Merry, gallantly; "I was just thinking how +much I should like to be taught like that!" +</P> + +<P> +The little incident seemed rather to damp the spirits of the party. +Guthrie himself seemed deeply annoyed at having consented: and it was a +relief to all when Mr. Sandys suddenly pulled out his watch and said, +"Well, all pleasant things come to an end—though to be sure there is +generally another pleasant thing waiting round the corner. I have to +get back, but I am not going to spoil the party. I shall enjoy a bit of +a walk." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Howard, "I think I will set you on your way. I want a talk +about one or two things; but I will come back to chaperon Miss Merry—I +suppose I shall find you somewhere about?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Miss Merry, "I am going to try a sketch—but I must not +have anyone looking over my shoulder. I am no good at sketching—but I +like to be made to look close at a pretty thing. I am going to try the +chalk-pit and thicket near the tower—chalk-pits suit my style, because +one can leave so much of the paper white!" +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," said Howard, "I will be back here in an hour." +</P> + +<P> +Howard and Mr. Sandys started off through the wood. Mr. Sandys was full +of communications. He began to talk about Guthrie. "Such a good friend +for Jack!" he said; "I hope he bears a good character in the college? +Jack seems to be very much taken up with him, and says there is no +nonsense about him—almost the highest commendation he has in his power +to bestow—indeed I have heard him use the same phrase about yourself! +Young Guthrie seems such a natural and unaffected fellow—indeed, if I +may say so, Howard, it seemed to me a high compliment to yourself, and +to speak volumes for your easy relation with young men, that he should +have ventured to take you off to your face just now, and that you +should have been so sincerely amused. It isn't as if he were a cheeky +sort of boy—if I may be allowed such an expression. He treats me with +the pleasantest deference and respect—and when I think of his father's +wealth and political influence, that seems to me a charming trait! +There is nothing uppish about him." +</P> + +<P> +"No, indeed," said Howard; "he is a thoroughly nice fellow!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am delighted to hear you say so," said Mr. Sandys, "and your +kindness emboldens me to say something which is quite confidential; but +then we are practically relations, are we not? Perhaps it is only a +father's partiality; but have you noticed, may I say, anything in his +manner to my dear Maud? It may be only a passing fancy, of course. 'In +the spring,' you remember, 'a young man's fancy lightly turns to +thoughts of love'—a beautiful line that, though of course it is not +strictly applicable to the end of July. I need hardly say that such a +connection would gladden my heart. I am all for marriage, Howard, for +early marriage, the simplest and best of human experiences; of course +it has more sides than one to it. I should not like it to be supposed +that a country parson like myself had in the smallest degree inveigled +a young man of the highest prospects into a match—there is nothing of +the matchmaker about me; but Maud is in a degree well-connected; and, +as you know, she will be what the country people here call +'well-left'—a terse phrase, but expressive! I do not see that she +would be in any way unworthy of the position—and I feel that her life +here is a little secluded—I should like her to have a little richer +material, so to speak, to work in. Well, well, we mustn't be too +diplomatic about these things. 'Man proposes'—no humorous suggestion +intended—'and God disposes'—but if it should so turn out, without any +scheming or management—things which I cordially detest—if it should +open out naturally, why, I should be lacking in candour if I pretended +it would not please me. I believe in early engagements, and romance, +and all that—I fear I am terribly sentimental—and it is just the +thing to keep a young man straight. Sir Henry Guthrie might be disposed +to view it in that light—what do you think?" +</P> + +<P> +This ingenuous statement had a very distressing effect on Howard. It is +one thing to dally with a thought, however seriously, in one's own +mind, and something quite different to have it presented in black and +white through the frank conjecture of another. He put a severe +constraint upon himself and said, "Do you know, Frank, the same thought +had occurred to me—I had believed that I saw something of the kind; +and I can honestly say that I think Guthrie a very sound fellow indeed +in every way—quite apart from his worldly prospects. He is straight, +sensible, good-humoured, capable, and, I think, a really unselfish +fellow. If I had a daughter of my own I could not imagine a better +husband." +</P> + +<P> +"You delight me inexpressibly," said Mr. Sandys. "So you had noticed +it? Well, well, I trust your perception far more than my own; and of +course I am biassed—you might almost incline to say dazzled—by the +prospect: heir to a baronetcy (I could wish it had been of an earlier +creation), rich, and, as you say, entirely reliable and straight. Of +course I don't in any way wish to force matters on. I could not bear to +be thought to have unduly encouraged such an alliance—and Maud may +marry any nice fellow she has a fancy to marry; but I think that she is +rather drawn to young Guthrie—what do you think? He amuses her, and +she is at her best with him—don't you think so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "I had thought so. I think she likes him very much." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we will leave it at that," said Mr. Sandys in high gusto. "You +don't mind my confiding in you thus, Howard? Somehow, if I may say it, +I find it very easy to speak confidentially to you. You are so +perceptive, so sympathetic! We all feel that it is the secret of your +great influence." +</P> + +<P> +They talked of other matters after this as they walked along the crest +of the downs; and where the white road began to descend into the +valley, with the roofs of Windlow glimmering in the trees a little to +the north, Howard left the Vicar and retraced his steps. +</P> + +<P> +He was acutely miserable; the thing had come upon him with a shock, and +brought the truth home to him in a desperate way. But he experienced at +the same time a certain sensation, for a moment, of grim relief. His +fancy, his hope—how absurd and idiotic they had been!—were shattered. +How could he ever have dreamed that the girl should come to care for +him in that way—an elderly Don of settled habits, who had even +mistaken a pompous condescension to the young men of his College for a +natural and sympathetic relation—that was what he was. The melancholy +truth stared him in the face. He was sharply disillusioned. He had +lingered on, clinging pathetically to youth, and with a serene +complacency he had overlooked the flight of time. He was a dull, +middle-aged man, fond of sentimental relations and trivial confidences, +who had done nothing, effected nothing; had even egregiously failed in +the one thing he had set himself to do, the retaining his hold on +youth. Well, he must face it! He must be content to settle down as a +small squire; he must disentangle himself from his Cambridge work +gradually—it sickened him to think of it—and he must try to lead a +quiet life, and perhaps put together a stupid book or two. That was to +be his programme. He must just try to be grateful for a clear line of +action. If he had had nothing but Cambridge to depend upon, it would +have been still worse. Now he must settle down to county business if he +could, and clear his mind of all foolish regrets. Love and marriage—he +was ten years too late! He had dawdled on, taking the line of least +resistance, and he was now revealed to himself in a true and unsparing +light. He paced swiftly on, and presently entered the wood. His feet +fell soft on the grassy road among the coverts. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly, as he turned a corner, he saw a little open glade to the +right. A short way up the glade stood two figures—Guthrie and +Maud—engaged in conversation. They were standing facing each other. +She seemed to be expostulating with him in a laughing way; he stood +bareheaded, holding his hat in his hand, eagerly defending himself. The +pose of the two seemed to show an easy sort of comradeship. Maud was +holding a stick in both hands behind her, and half resting upon it. +They seemed entirely absorbed in what they were saying. Howard could +not bear to intrude upon the scene. He fell back among the trees, +retraced his steps, and then sat down on a grassy bank, a little off +the path, and waited. It was the last confirmation of his fears. It was +not quite a lover-like scene, but they evidently understood each other, +and were wholly at their ease together, while Guthrie's admiring and +passionate look did not escape him. He rested his head in his hands, +and bore the truth as he might have borne a physical pain. The summer +woods, the green thickets, the sunlight on the turf, the white clouds, +the rich plain just visible through the falling tree-trunks, all seemed +to him like a vision seen by a spirit in torment, something horribly +unreal and torturing. The two streams of beauty and misery appeared to +run side by side, so distinct, so unblending; but the horrible fact was +that though sorrow was able not only to assert its own fiery power, +like the sting of some malignant insect, it could also obliterate and +efface joy; it could even press joy into its service, to accentuate its +torment; while the joy and beauty of life seemed wholly unable to +soothe or help him, but were brushed aside, just as a stern soldier, +armed and mailed, could brush aside the onslaught of some delicate and +frenzied boy. Was pain the stronger power, was it the ultimate power? +In that dark moment, Howard felt that it was. Joy seemed to him like a +little pool of crystalline water, charming enough if tended and +sheltered, but a thing that could be soiled and scattered in a moment +by the onrush of some foul and violent beast. +</P> + +<P> +He came at last to the rendezvous. Miss Merry sat at her post +transferring to a little block of paper a smeared and streaky picture +of the chalk-pit, which seemed equally unintelligible at whatever angle +it might be held. Jack was couched at a little distance in the heather, +smoking a pipe. Howard went and sat down moodily beside him. "An odd +thing, a picnic," said Jack musingly; "I am not sure it is not an +invention of the devil. Is anything the matter, Howard? You look as if +things had gone wrong. You don't mind that nonsense of Guthrie's, do +you? I was an ass to get him to do it; I hate doing a stupid thing, and +he is simply wild with me. It's no good saying it is not like, because +it is in a way, but of course it's only a rag. It isn't absurd when you +do it, only when someone else does." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no, I don't mind about that," said Howard; "do make that plain to +Guthrie. I am out of sorts, I think; one gets bothered, you know—what +is called the blues." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I know," said Jack sympathetically; "I don't suffer from them +myself as a rule, but I have got a touch of them to-day. I can't +understand what everyone is up to. Fred Guthrie has got the jumps. It +looks to me," he went on sagely, "as if he was what is commonly called +in love: but when the other person is one's sister, it seems strange. +Maud isn't a bad girl, as they go, but she isn't an angel, and still +less a saint; but Fred has no eyes for anyone else; I can't screw a +sensible word out of him. These young people!" said Jack with a sour +grimace; "you and I know better. One ought to leave the women alone; +there's something queer about them; you never know where you are with +them." +</P> + +<P> +Howard regarded him in silence for a moment: it did not seem worth +while to argue; nothing seemed worth while. "Where are they?" he said +drearily. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, goodness knows!" said Jack; "when I last saw them he was beating +down the ferns with a stick for Maud to go through. He's absolutely +demented, and she is at one of her games. I think I shall sheer off, +and go to visit some sick people, like the governor; that's about all I +feel up to." +</P> + +<P> +At this moment, however, the truants appeared, walking silently out of +a glade. Howard had an obscure feeling that something serious had +happened—he did not know what. Guthrie looked dejected, and Maud was +evidently preoccupied. "Oh, damn the whole show!" said Jack, getting +up. "Let's get out of this!" +</P> + +<P> +"We lost our way," said Maud, rather hurriedly, "and couldn't find our +way back." +</P> + +<P> +Maud went up to Miss Merry, asked to see her sketch, and indulged in +some very intemperate praise. Guthrie came up to Howard, and stammered +through an apology for his rudeness. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, don't say anything more," said Howard. "Of course I didn't mind! +It really doesn't matter at all." +</P> + +<P> +The day was beginning to decline; and in an awkward silence, only +broken by inconsequent remarks, the party descended the hill, regained +the carriages, and drove off in mournful silence. As the Vicarage party +drove away, Jack glanced at Howard, raised his eyes in mock despair, +and gave a solemn shake of his head. +</P> + +<P> +Howard followed with Miss Merry, and talked wildly about the future of +English poetry, till they drove in under the archway of the Manor and +his penance was at an end. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XIX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +DESPONDENCY +</H3> + +<P> +Howard spent some very unhappy days after that, mostly alone. They were +very active at the Vicarage making expeditions, fishing, playing +lawn-tennis, and once or twice pressed him to join them. But he excused +himself on the ground that he must work at his book; he could not bear +to carry his despondency and his dolorous air into so blithe a company; +and he was, moreover, consumed by a jealousy which humiliated him. If +Guthrie was destined to win Maud's love he should have a fair field; +and yet Howard's imagination played him many fevered tricks in those +days, and the thought of what might be happening used to sting him into +desperation. His own mood alternated between misery and languor. He +used to sit staring at his book, unable to write a word, and became +gradually aware that he had never been unhappy in his life before. +That, then, was what unhappiness meant, not a mood of refined and +romantic melancholy, but a raging fire of depression that seemed to +burn his life away, both physically and mentally, with intervals of +drowsy listlessness. +</P> + +<P> +He would have liked to talk to his aunt, but could not bring himself to +do so. She, on the other hand, seemed to notice nothing, and it was a +great relief to him that she never commented upon his melancholy and +obvious fatigue, but went on in her accustomed serene way, which evoked +his courtesy and sense of decorum, and made him behave decently in +spite of himself. Miss Merry seemed much more inclined to sympathise, +and Howard used to intercept her gaze bent upon him in deep concern. +</P> + +<P> +One afternoon, returning from a lonely walk, he met Maud going out of +the Manor gate. She looked happy, he thought. He stopped and made a few +commonplace remarks. She looked at him rather strangely, he felt, and +seemed to be searching his face for some sign of the old goodwill; but +he hardened his heart, though he would have given worlds to tell her +what was in his mind; but he felt that any reconstruction of friendship +must be left till a later date, when he might again be able to +conciliate her sisterly regard. She seemed to him to have passed +through an awakening of some kind, and to have bloomed both in mind and +body, with her feet on the threshold of vital experience, and the +thought that it was Guthrie who could evoke this upspringing of life +within her was very bitter to him. +</P> + +<P> +He trod the valley of humiliation hour by hour, in these lonely days, +and found it a very dreary place. It was wretched to him to feel that +he had suddenly discovered his limitations. Not only could he not have +his will, could not taste the fruit of love which had seemed to hang +almost within his reach, but the old contented life seemed to have +faded and collapsed about him. +</P> + +<P> +That night his aunt asked him about his book, and he said he was not +getting on well with it. She asked why, and he said that he had been +feeling that it was altogether too intellectual a conception; that he +had approached it from the side of REASON, as if people argued +themselves into faith, and had treated religion as a thesis which could +be successfully defended; whereas the vital part of it all, he now +thought, was an instinct, perhaps refined by inherited thought, but in +its practical manifestations a kind of choice, determined by a natural +liking for what was attractive, and a dislike of what was morally ugly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mrs. Graves, "that is true, I am sure. But it can be +analysed for all that, though I agree with you that no amount of +analysis will make one act rightly. But I believe," she went on, "that +clearness of view helps one, though not perhaps at the time. It is a +great thing to see what motives are merely conventional and convenient, +and to find out what one really regards as principles. To look a +conventional motive in the face deprives it of its power; and one can +gradually disencumber oneself of all sorts of complicated impulses, +which have their roots in no emotion. It is only the motives which are +rooted in emotion that are vital." +</P> + +<P> +Then, after a pause, she said, "Of course I have seen of late that you +have been dissatisfied with something. I have not liked to ask you +about it; but if it would help you to talk about it, I hope you will. +It is wonderful how talking about things makes one's mind clear. It +isn't anything that others say or advise that helps one, yet one gains +in clearness. But you must do as you like about this, Howard. I don't +want to press you in any way." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you very much," said Howard. "I know that you would hear me with +patience, and might perhaps advise me if anyone could; but it isn't +that. I have got myself into a strange difficulty; and what I need is +not clearness, but simply courage to face what I know and perceive. My +great lack hitherto is that I have gone through things without feeling +them, like a swallow dipping in a lake; now I have got to sink and +drown. No," he added, smiling, "not to drown, I hope, but to find a new +life in the ruins of the old. I have been on the wrong tack; I have +always had what I liked, and done what I liked; and now when I am +confronted with things which I do not like at all, I have just got to +endure them, and be glad that I have still got the power of suffering +left." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Graves looked at him very tenderly. "Yes," she said, "suffering +has a great power, and one doesn't want those whom one loves not to +suffer. It is the condition of loving; but it must be real suffering, +not morbid, self-invented torture. It's a great mistake to suffer more +than one need; one wastes life fast so. I would not intervene to save +you from real suffering, even if I could; but I don't want you to +suffer in an unreal way. I think you are diffident, too easily +discouraged, too courteous, if that is possible—because diffidence, +and discouragement, and even courtesy, are not always unselfish things. +If one renounces anything one has set one's heart upon one must do so +for its own sake, and not only because the disapproval and +disappointment of others makes life uncomfortable. I think that your +life has tended to make you value an atmosphere of diffused +tranquillity too much. If one is sensitive to the censure or the +displeasure of others, it may not be unselfish to give up things rather +than provoke it—it may only be another form of selfishness. Some of +the most unworldly people I know have not overcome the world at all; +they have merely made terms with it, and have found that abnegation is +only more comfortable than conquest. I do not know that you are doing +this, or have done it, but I think it likely. And in any case I think +you trust reason too much, and instinct too little. If one desires a +thing very much, it is often a proof that one needs it. One may not +indeed be able to get it, but to resign it is sometimes to fail in +courage. I can see that you are in some way discontented with your +life. Don't try to mend it by a polite withdrawal. I am going to pay +you a compliment. You have a wonderful charm, of which you are +unconscious. It has made life very easy for you—but it has +responsibilities too. You must not create a situation, and then abandon +it. You must not disappoint people. I know, of course, only too well, +that charm in itself largely depends on a tranquil mind; and it is +difficult to exercise it when one is sad and unhappy; but let me say +that unhappiness does not deprive YOU of this power. Does it seem +impossible to you to believe that I have loved you far better, and in a +way which I could not have thought possible, in these last weeks, when +I have seen you were unhappy? You do not abandon yourself to +depression; you make an effort; you recognise other people's rights to +be happy, not to be clouded by your own unhappiness; and you have done +more to attach us all to you in these days than before, when you were +perhaps more conscious of being liked. Liking is not loving, Howard. +There is no pain about liking; there is infinite pain about loving; +that is because it is life, and not mere existence." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," said Howard, "I am indeed grateful to you for speaking to me +thus—you have lifted my spirit a little out of the mire. But I can't +be rescued so easily. I shall have a burden to bear for some time +yet—I see no end to it at present: and it is indeed my own foolish +trifling with life that has brought it on me. But, dearest aunt, you +can't help me just now. Let me be silent a little longer. I shall soon, +I think, be able to speak, and then I will tell you all; and meanwhile +it will be a comfort to me to think that you feel for me and about me +as you do. I don't want to indulge in self-pity—I have not done that. +There is nothing unjust in what has happened to me, nothing +intolerable, no specific ill-will. I have just stumbled upon one of the +big troubles of life, suddenly and unexpectedly, and I am not prepared +for it by any practice or discipline. But I shall get through, don't be +afraid—and presently I will tell you everything." He took his aunt's +hand in his own, and kissed her on the cheek. +</P> + +<P> +"God bless you, dear boy!" she said; "I won't press you to speak; and +you will know that I have you in mind now and always, with infinite +hope and love." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HIGHMINDEDNESS +</H3> + +<P> +Howard on thinking over this conversation was somewhat bewildered as to +what exactly was in his aunt's mind. He did not think that she +understood his feeling for Maud, and he was sure that she did not +realise what Maud's feelings about Freddy Guthrie were. He came to the +conclusion eventually that Maud had told her about the beginnings of +their friendship; that his aunt supposed that he had tried to win +Maud's confidence, as he would have made friends with one of his young +men; and that she imagined that he had found that Maud's feeling for +him had developed in rather too confidential a line, as for a +father-confessor. He thought that Mrs. Graves had seen that Maud had +been disposed to adopt him as a kind of ethical director, and had +thought that he had been bored at finding a girl's friendship so much +more exacting than the friendship of a young man; and that she had been +exhorting him to be more brotherly and simple in his relations with +Maud, and to help her to the best of his ability. He imagined that Maud +had told Mrs. Graves that he had been advising her, and that she had +perhaps since told her of his chilly reception of her later +confidences. That was the situation he had created; and he felt with +what utter clumsiness he had handled it. His aunt, no doubt, thought +that he had been disturbed at finding how much more emotional a girl's +dependence upon an older man was than he had expected. But he felt that +when he could tell her the whole story, she would see that he could not +have acted otherwise. He had been so thrown off his balance by finding +how deeply he cared for Maud, that he had been simply unable to respond +to her advances. He ought to have had more control of himself. Mrs. +Graves had not suspected that he could have grown to care for a girl, +almost young enough to be his daughter, in so passionate a way. He +wished he could have explained the whole to her, but he was too deeply +wounded in mind to confess to his aunt how impulsive he had been. He +had now no doubt that there was an understanding between Maud and +Guthrie. Everyone else seemed to think so; and when once the affair was +happily launched, he would enjoy a mournful triumph, he thought, by +explaining to Mrs. Graves how considerately he had behaved, and how +painful a dilemma Maud would have been placed in if he had declared his +passion. Maud would have blamed herself; she might easily, with her +anxious sense of responsibility, have persuaded herself into accepting +him as a lover; and then a life-long penance might have begun for her. +He had, at what a cost, saved Maud from the chance of such a mistake. +It was a sad tangle; but when Maud was happily married, he would +perhaps be able to explain to her why he had behaved as he had done; +and she would be grateful to him then. His restless and fevered +imagination traced emotional and dramatic scenes, in which his delicacy +would at last be revealed. He felt ashamed of himself for this +abandonment to sentiment, but he seemed to have lost control over the +emotional part of his mind, which continued to luxuriate in the +consciousness of his own self-effacement. He had indeed, he felt, +fallen low. But he continued to trace in his mind how each of the +actors in the little drama—Mr. Sandys, Jack, Guthrie himself, Maud, +Mrs. Graves—would each have reason to thank him for having held +himself aloof, and for sacrificing his own desires. There was comfort +in that thought; and for the first time in these miserable weeks he +felt a little glow of self-approval at the consciousness of his own +prudence and justice. The best thing, he now reflected, would be to +remove himself from the scene altogether for a time, and to return in +radiant benevolence, when the affair had settled itself: but Maud—and +then there came over him the thought of the girl, her sweetness, her +eager delight, her adorable frankness, her innocence, her desire to be +in affectionate relations with all who came within reach of her; and +the sense of his own foresight and benevolence was instantly and +entirely overwhelmed at the thought of what he had missed, and of what +he might have aspired to, if it had not been for just the wretched +obstacle of age and circumstance. A few years younger—if he had been +that, he could have followed the leading of his heart, and—he dared +think no more of what might have been possible. +</P> + +<P> +But what brought matters to a head was a scene that he saw on the +following day. He was in the library in the morning; he tried to work, +but he could not command his attention. At last he rose and went to the +little oriel, which commanded a view of the village green. Just as he +did so, he caught sight of two figures—Maud and Guthrie—walking +together on the road which led from the Vicarage. They were talking in +the plainest intimacy. Guthrie seemed to be arguing some point with +laughing insistence, and Maud to be listening in amused delight. +Presently they came to a stop, and he could see Maud hold up a finger. +Guthrie at once desisted. At this moment a kitten scampered across the +green to them sideways, its tail up. Guthrie caught it up, and as he +held it in his arms. Howard saw Maud bend over it and caress it. The +scene brought an instant conviction to his mind; but presently Maud +said a word to her companion, and then came across the green to the +Manor, passing in at the gate just underneath him. Howard stood back +that he might not be observed. He saw Maud come in under the gateway, +half smiling to herself as at something that had happened. As she did +so, she waved her hand to Guthrie, who stood holding the kitten in his +arms and looking after her. When she disappeared, he put the kitten +down, and then walked back towards the Vicarage. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE AWAKENING +</H3> + +<P> +Howard spent the rest of the morning in very bitter cogitation; after +luncheon, during which he could hardly force himself to speak, he +excused himself on the plea of wanting exercise. +</P> + +<P> +It was in a real agony of mind and spirit that he left the house. He +was certain now; and he was not only haunted by his loss, but he was +horrified at his entire lack of self-control and restraint. His +thoughts came in, like great waves striking on a rocky reef, and +rending themselves in sheets of scattered foam. He seemed to himself to +have been slowly inveigled into his fate by a worse than malicious +power; something had planned his doom. He remembered his old +tranquillities; his little touch of boredom; and then how easy the +descent had been! He had been drawn by a slender thread of circumstance +into paying his visit to Windlow; his friendship with Jack had just +toppled over the balance; he had gone; then there had come his talk +with his aunt, which had wrought him up into a mood of vague +excitement. Just at that moment Maud had come in his way; then +friendship had followed; and then he had been seized with this +devouring passion which had devastated his heart. He had known all the +time that he was too late; and even so he had gone to work the wrong +way: it was his infernal diplomacy, his trick of playing with other +lives, of yielding to emotional intimacies—that fatal desire to have a +definite relation, to mean something to everyone in his circle. Then +this wretched, attractive, pleasant youth, with his superficial charm, +had intervened. If he had been wise he would never have suggested that +visit to Cambridge. Maud had hitherto been just like Miranda on the +island; she had never been brought into close contact with a young +cavalier; and the subtle instinct of youth had done the rest, the +instinct for the equal mate, so far stronger and more subtle than any +reasonable or intellectual friendship. And then he, devoured as he had +been by his love, had been unable to use his faculties; he could do +nothing but glare and wink, while his treasure was stolen from him; he +had made mistakes at every turn. What would he not give now to be +restored to his old, balanced, easy life, with its little friendships +and duties. How fantastic and unreal his aunt's theories seemed to him, +reveries contrived just to gild the gaps of a broken life, a +dramatisation of emptiness and self-importance. At every moment the +face and figure of Maud came before him in a hundred sweet, spontaneous +movements—the look of her eyes, the slow thrill of her voice. He +needed her with all his soul—every fibre of his being cried out for +her. And then the thought of being thus pitifully overcome, humiliated +and degraded him. If she had not been beautiful, he would perhaps never +have thought of her except with a mild and courteous interest. This was +the draught of life which he had put so curiously to his lips, sweet +and heady to taste, but with what infinite bitterness and disgust in +the cup. It had robbed him of everything—of his work, of his temperate +ecstasies in sight and sound, of his intellectual enthusiasm. His life +was all broken to pieces about him; he had lost at once all interest +and all sense of dignity. He was simply a man betrayed by a passion, +which had fevered him just because his life had been so orderly and +pure. He was not strong enough even to cut himself adrift from it all. +He must just welter on, a figure visibly touched by depression and +ill-fortune, and hammering out the old grammar-grind. Had any writer, +any poet, ever agonised thus? The people who discoursed glibly about +love, and wove their sorrows into elegies, what sort of prurient curs +were they? It was all too bad to think of, to speak of—a mere +staggering among the mudflats of life. +</P> + +<P> +In this raging self-contempt and misery, he drew near to the still pool +in the valley; he would sit there and bleed awhile, like the old +warrior, but with no hope of revisiting the fight: he would just +abandon himself to listless despair for an hour or two, while the +pleasant drama of life went on behind him. Why had he not at least +spoken to Maud, while he had time, and secured her loyalty? It was his +idiotic deliberation, his love of dallying gently with his emotions, +getting the best he could out of them. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he saw that there was some one on the stone seat by the +spring, and in a moment he saw that it was Maud—and that she had +observed him. She looked troubled and melancholy. Had she stolen away +here, had she even appointed a place of meeting with the wretched boy? +was she vexed at his intrusion? Well, it would have to be faced now. He +would go on, he would say a few words, he would at least not betray +himself. After all, she had done no wrong, poor child—she had only +found her mate; and she at least should not be troubled. +</P> + +<P> +She rose up at his approach; and Howard, affecting a feeble heartiness, +said, "Well, so you have stolen away like me! This is a sweet place, +isn't it; like an old fairy-tale, and haunted by a Neckan? I won't +disturb you—I am going on to the hill—I want a breath of air." +</P> + +<P> +Maud looked at him rather pitifully, and said nothing for a moment. +Then she said, "Won't you stay a little and talk to me?—I don't seem +to have seen you—there has been so much going on. I want to tell you +about my book, you know—I am going on with that—I shall soon have +some more chapters to show you." +</P> + +<P> +She sate down at one end of the bench, and Howard seated himself +wearily at the other. Maud glanced at him for a moment, but he said +nothing. The sight of her was a sort of torture to him. He longed with +an insupportable longing to fling himself down beside her and claim +her, despairingly and helplessly. He simply could not frame a sentence. +</P> + +<P> +"You look tired," said Maud. "I don't know what it is, but it seems as +if everything had gone wrong since we came to Cambridge. Do tell me +what it all is—you can trust me. I have been afraid I have vexed you +somehow, and I had hoped we were going to be friends." She leaned her +head on her hand, and looked at him. She looked so troubled and so +frail, that Howard's heart smote him—he must make an effort; he must +not cloud the child's mind; he must just take what she could give him, +and not hamper her in any way. The one thing left him was a miserable +courtesy, on which he must somehow depend. He forced a sort of smile, +and began to talk—his own voice audible to him, strained and ugly, +like the voice of some querulous ghost. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," he said, "as one gets older, one can't always command one's +moods. Vexed? Of course, I am not vexed—what put that into your head? +It's this—I can tell you so much! It seems to me that I have been +drawn aside out of my old, easy, serene life, into a new sort of life +here—and I am not equal to it. I had got so used, I suppose, to +picking up other lives, that I thought I could do the same here—and I +seem to have taken on more than I could manage. I forgot, I think, that +I was getting older, that I had left youth behind. I made the mistake +of thinking I could play a new role—and I cannot. I am tired—yes, I +am deadly tired; and I feel now as if I wanted to get out of it all, +and just leave things to work themselves out. I have meddled, and I am +being punished for meddling. I have been playing with fire, and I have +been burnt. I had thought of a new sort of life. Don't you remember," +he added with a smile, "the monkey in Buckland's book, who got into the +kettle on the hob, and whenever he tried to leave it, found it so cold +outside, that he dared not venture out—and he was nearly boiled alive!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I DON'T understand," said Maud, with so sudden an air of sorrow +and unhappiness that Howard could hardly refrain from taking her into +his arms like a tired child and comforting her. "I don't understand at +all. You came here, and you fitted in at once, seemed to understand +everyone and everything, and gave us all a lift. It is miserable—that +you should have brought so much happiness to us, and then have tired of +it all. I don't understand it in the least. Something must have +happened to distress you—it can't all go to pieces like this!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," said Howard, "I interfered. It is my accursed trick of playing +with people, wanting to be liked, wanting to make a difference. How can +I explain? . . . Well, I must tell you. You must forgive me somehow! I +tried—don't look at me while I say it—I have tried to interfere with +YOU. I tried to make a friend of you; and then when you came to +Cambridge, I saw I had claimed too much; that your place was not with +such as myself—the old, stupid, battered generation, fit for nothing +but worrying along. I saw you were young, and needed youth about you. +God forgive me for my selfish plans. I wanted to keep your friendship +for myself, and when I saw you were attracted elsewhere, I was +jealous—horribly, vilely jealous. But I have the grace to despise +myself for it, and I won't hamper you in any way. You must just give me +what you can, and I will be thankful." +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke he saw a curious light pass into the girl's face—a light +of understanding and resolution. He thought that she would tell him +that he was right; and he was unutterably thankful to think that he had +had the courage to speak—he could bear anything now. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly she made a swift gesture, bending down to him. She caught his +hand in her own, and pressed her lips to it. "Don't you SEE?" she said. +"Attracted by someone . . . by whom? . . . by that wretched little boy? +. . . why he amuses me, of course, . . . and you would stand aside for +that! You have spoken and I must speak. Why you are everything, +everything, all the world to me. It was last Sunday in church . . . do +you remember . . . when they said, 'Whom have I in heaven but thee, and +there is none upon earth' . . . I looked up and caught your eye, and +wondered if you DID understand. But it is enough—I won't hamper you +either. If you want to go back to the old life and live it, I won't say +a word. I will be just your most faithful friend—you will allow that?" +</P> + +<P> +The heaven seemed to open over Howard, and the solid earth reeled round +him where he sate. It was so, then! He sate for a moment like a man +stunned, and then opened his eyes on bliss unutterable. She was close +to him, her breath on his cheek, her eyes full of tears. He took her +into his arms, and put his lips to hers. "My dearest darling child," he +said, "are you sure? . . . I can't believe it. . . . Oh my sweetest, it +can't be true. Why, I have loved you with all my soul since that first +moment I saw you—indeed it was before; and I have thought of nothing +else day and night. . . . What does it all mean . . . the well of life?" +</P> + +<P> +They sate holding each other close. The whole soul of the girl rose to +clasp and to greet his, in that blest fusion of life which seems to +have nothing hidden or held back. She made him tell her over and over +again the sweet story of his love. +</P> + +<P> +"What COULD I do?" she said. "Why, when I was at Cambridge that week, I +didn't dare to claim your time and thought. Why CAN'T one make oneself +understood? Why, my one hope, all that time, was just for the minutes I +got with you; and yet I thought it wasn't fair not to try to seem +amused; then I saw you were vexed at something—vexed that I should +want to talk to you—what a WRETCHED business!" +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind all that now, child," said Howard, "it's a perfect +nightmare. Why can't one be simple? Why, indeed? and even now, I simply +can't believe it—oh, the wretched hours when I thought you were +drifting away from me; do men and women indeed miss their chances so? +If I had but known! Yet, I must tell you this—when I first came to +this spring here, I thought it held a beautiful secret for +me—something which had been in my life from everlasting. It was so, +and this was what it held for me." +</P> + +<P> +The afternoon sped swiftly away, and the shadow of the western downs +fell across the pool. An immense and overpowering joy filled Howard's +heart, and the silent world took part in his ecstasy. +</P> + +<P> +"You remember that first day?" said Maud. "I had felt that day as if +some one was coming to me from a long way off drawing nearer. . . . I +saw you drive up in the carriage, and I wondered if we should be +friends." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "it was you on the lawn—that was when I saw you +first!" +</P> + +<P> +"And now we must go back and face the music," said Howard. "What do you +think? How shall we make it all known? I shall tell Aunt Anne to-night. +I shall be glad to do that, because there has fallen a veil between us. +Don't forget, dear child, how unutterably wretched and intolerable I +have been. She tried to help me out, but I was running with my head +down on the wrong track. Oh, what a miserable fool I was! That comes of +being so high-minded and superior. If you only knew how solemn I have +been! Why couldn't I just speak?" +</P> + +<P> +"You might have spoken any time," said Maud. "Why, I would have walked +barefoot to Dorchester and back to please you! It does seem horrible to +think of our being apart all that time, out of such beautiful +consideration—and you were my own, my very own all the time, every +moment." +</P> + +<P> +"I will come and tell your father to-morrow," said Howard presently. +"How will Master Jack take it? Will he call you Miss?" +</P> + +<P> +"He may call me what he likes," said Maud. "I shan't get off easily." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we have an evening and a night and a morning for our secret," +said Howard. "I wish it could be longer. I should like to go on for +ever like this, no one knowing but you and me." +</P> + +<P> +"Do just as you like, my lord and master," said Maud. +</P> + +<P> +"I won't have you talk like that," said Howard; "you don't know what +you give me. Was ever anyone in the world so happy before?" +</P> + +<P> +"There's one person who is as happy," said Maud; "you can't guess what +I feel. Does it sound absurd to say that if you told me to stand still +while you cut me into little bits, I should enjoy it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I won't forget that," said Howard; "anything to please you—you need +not mind mentioning any little wishes you may have of that kind." +</P> + +<P> +They laughed like children, and when they came to the village, they +became very ceremonious. At the Vicarage gate they shook hands, and +Howard raised his hat. "You will have to make up for this dignified +parting some time," said Howard. "Sleep well, my darling child! If you +ever wake, you will know that I am thinking of you; not far apart! +Good-night, my sweet one, my only darling." +</P> + +<P> +Maud put one hand on his shoulder, but did not speak—and then slipped +in light-footed through the gate. Howard walked back to the Manor, +through the charmed dusk and the fragrance of hidden flowers, full of +an almost intolerable happiness, that was akin to pain. The evening +star hung in liquid, trembling light above the dark down, the sky +fading to a delicious green, the breeze rustled in the heavy-leaved +sycamores, and the lights were lit in the cottage windows. Did every +home, every hearth, he wondered, mean THAT? Was THAT present in dim and +dumb lives, the spirit of love, the inner force of the world? Yes, it +was so! That was the secret hidden in the Heart of God. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +LOVE AND CERTAINTY +</H3> + +<P> +The weeks that followed were a time for Howard of very singular +happiness—happiness of a quality of which he had not thought himself +capable, and in the very existence of which he was often hardly able to +believe. He had never known what intimate affection was before; and it +was strange to him, when he had always been able to advance so swiftly +in his relations with others to a point of frankness and even +brotherliness, to discover that there was a whole world of emotion +beyond that. He was really deeply reserved and reticent; but he +admitted even comparative strangers so easily and courteously to his +house of life, that few suspected the existence of a secret chamber of +thought, with an entrance contrived behind the pictured arras, which +was the real fortress of his inner existence, and where he sate +oftenest to contemplate the world. That chamber of thought was a place +of few beliefs and fewer certainties; if he adopted, as he was +accustomed to do, conventional language and conventional ideas, it was +only to feel himself in touch with his fellows; for Howard's mind was +really a place of suspense and doubt; his scepticism went down to the +very roots of life; his imagination was rich and varied, but he did not +trust his hopes or even his fears; all that he was certain of was just +the actual passage of his thought and his emotion; he formed no views +about the future, and he abandoned the past as one might abandon the +debris of the mine. +</P> + +<P> +It was delicious to him to be catechised, questioned, explored by Maud, +to have his reserve broken through and his reticence disregarded; but +what oftenest brought the great fact of his love home to him with an +overpowering certainty of joy was the girl's eager caresses and +endearing gestures. Howard had always curiously shrunk from physical +contact with his fellows; he had an almost childishly observant eye, +and his senses were abnormally alert; little bodily defects and +uglinesses had been a horror to him; and the way in which Maud would +seek his embrace, clasp his hand, lay her cheek to his, as if nestling +home, gave him an enraptured sense of delight that transcended all +experience. He was at first in these talks very tender of what he +imagined her to believe; but he found that this did not in the least +satisfy her, and he gradually opened his mind more and more to her +fearless view. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you certain of nothing?" she asked him one day, half mirthfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, of one thing," he said, "of YOU! You are the only real and +perfect thing and thought in the world to me—I have always been alone +hitherto," he added, "and you have come near to me out of the deep—a +shining spirit!" +</P> + +<P> +Howard never tired of questioning her in these days as to how her love +for him had arisen. +</P> + +<P> +"That is the mystery of mysteries!" he said to her once; "what was it +in me or about me to make you care?" +</P> + +<P> +Maud laughed. "Why, you might as well ask a man at a shop," she said, +"which particular coin it was that induced him to part with his +wares—it's just the price! Why, I cared for you, I think, before I +ever saw you, before I ever heard of you; one thinks—I suppose +everyone thinks—that there must be one person in the world who is +waiting for one—and it seems to me now as if I had always known it was +you; and then Jack talked about you, and then you came; and that was +enough, though I didn't dare to think you could care for me; and then +how miserable I was when you began by seeming to take an interest in +me, and then it all drifted away, and I could do nothing to hold it. +Howard, why DID you do that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, don't ask me, darling," he said. "I thought—I thought—I don't +know what I did think; but I somehow felt it would be like putting a +bird that had sate to sing to me into a cage, if I tried to capture +you; and yet I felt it was my only chance. I felt so old. Why you must +remember that I was a grown-up man and at work, when you were in long +clothes. And think of the mercy of this—if I had come here, as I ought +to have done, and had known you as a little girl, you would have become +a sort of niece to me, and all this could never have happened—it would +all have been different." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we won't think of THAT," said Maud decisively. "I was rather a +horrid little girl, and I am glad you didn't see me in that stage!" +</P> + +<P> +One day he found her a little sad, and she confessed to having had a +melancholy dream. "It was a big place, like a square in a town, full of +people," she said. "You came down some steps, looking unhappy, and went +about as if you were looking for me; and I could not attract your +attention, or get near you; once you passed quite close to me and our +eyes met, and I saw you did not recognise me, but passed on." +</P> + +<P> +Howard laughed. "Why, child," he said, "I can't see anyone else but you +when we are in the same room together—my faculty of observation has +deserted me. I see every movement you make, I feel every thought you +think; you have bewitched me! Your face comes between me and my work; +you will quite ruin my career. How can I go back to my tiresome boys +and my old friends?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, I don't want to do THAT!" said Maud. "I won't be a hindrance; you +must just hang me up like a bird in a cage—that's what I am—to sing +to you when you are at leisure." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE WEDDING +</H3> + +<P> +The way in which the people at Windlow took the news was very +characteristic. Howard frankly did not care how they regarded it. Mr. +Sandys was frankly and hugely delighted. He apologised to Howard for +having mentioned the subject of Guthrie to him. +</P> + +<P> +"The way you took it, Howard," he said, "was a perfect model of +delicacy and highmindedness! Why, if I had dreamed that you cared for +my little girl, I would have said, and truly said, that the dearest +wish of my heart had been fulfilled. But one is blind, a parent is +blind; and I had somehow imagined you as too sedate, as altogether too +much advanced in thought and experience, for such a thing. I would +rather have bitten out my tongue than spoken as I did to you. It is +exactly what my dear girl needs, some one who is older and wiser than +herself—she needs some one to look up to, to revere; she is thoughtful +and anxious beyond her years, and she is made to repose confidence in a +mind more mature. I do not deny, of course, that your position at +Windlow makes the arrangement a still more comfortable one; but I have +always said that my children must marry whom they would; and I should +have welcomed you, my dear Howard, as a son-in-law, under any +circumstances." +</P> + +<P> +Jack, on the contrary, was rather more cautious in his congratulations. +"I am all for things being fixed up as people like," he said, "and I am +sure it's a good match for Maud, and all that. But I can't put the two +ends together. I never supposed that you would fall in love, any more +than that my father would marry again; and when it comes to your +falling in love with Maud—well, if you knew that girl as I do, you +would think twice! I can't conceive what you will ever have to talk +about, unless you make her do essays. It is really rather embarrassing +to have a Don for a brother-in-law. I feel as if I should have to say +'we' when I talked to the other Dons, and I shall be regarded with +suspicion by the rest of the men. But of course you have my blessing, +if you will do it; though if you like to cry off, even now, I will try +to keep the peace. I feel rather an ass to have said that about Fred +Guthrie; but of course he is hard hit, and I can't think how I shall +ever be able to look him in the face. What bothers me is that I never +saw how things were going. Well, may it be long before I find myself in +the same position! But you are welcome to Missy, if you think you can +make anything of her." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Graves did little more than express her delight. "It was what I +somehow hoped from the first for both of you," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Howard, "the only thing that puzzles me is that when you +saw—yes, I am sure you saw—what was happening, you didn't make a +sign." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Mrs. Graves, "that is just what one can't do! I didn't doubt +that it would come right, I guessed what Maud felt; but you had to find +the way to her yourself. I was sure of Maud, you see; but I was not +quite sure of you. It does not do to try experiments, dear Howard, with +forces as strong as love; I knew that if I told you how things stood, +you would have felt bound out of courtesy and kindness to speak, and +that would have been no good. If it is illegal to help a man to commit +suicide, it is worse, it is wicked to push a man into marriage; but I +am a very happy woman now—so happy that I am almost afraid." +</P> + +<P> +Howard talked over his plans with Mrs. Graves; there seemed no sort of +reason to defer his wedding. He told her, too, that he had a further +plan. There was a system at Beaufort by which, after a certain number +of years' service, a Fellow could take a year off duty, without +affecting his seniority or his position. "I am going to do this," he +said. "I do not think it is unwise. I am too old, I think, both to make +Maud's acquaintance as I wish, and to keep my work going at the same +time. It would be impossible. So I will settle down here, if you will +let me, and try to understand the place and the people; and then if it +seems well, I will go back to Cambridge in October year, and go on with +my work. I hope you will approve of that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do entirely approve," said Mrs. Graves. "I will make over to you at +once what you will in any case ultimately inherit—and I believe your +young lady is not penniless either? Well, money has its uses sometimes." +</P> + +<P> +Howard did this. Mr. Redmayne wrote him a letter in which affection and +cynicism were curiously mingled. +</P> + +<P> +"There will be two to please now instead of one," he wrote. "I do not, +of course, approve of Dons marrying. The tender passion is, I believe, +inimical to solid work; this I judge from observation rather than from +experience. But you will get over all that when you are settled; and +then if you decide to return—and we can ill spare you—I hope you will +return to work in a reasonable frame of mind. Pray give my respects to +the young lady, and say that if she would like a testimonial to your +honesty and sobriety, I shall be happy to send her one." +</P> + +<P> +All these experiences, shared by Maud, were absurdly delightful to +Howard. She was rather alarmed by Redmayne's letter. +</P> + +<P> +"I feel as if I were doing rather an awful thing," she said, "in taking +you away like this. I feel like Hotspur's wife and Enid rolled into +one. I shouldn't DARE to go with you at once to Cambridge—I should +feel like a Pomeranian dog on a lead." +</P> + +<P> +And so it came to pass that on a certain Monday in the month of +September a very quiet little wedding took place at Windlow. The bells +were rung, and a hideous object of brushwood and bunting, that looked +like the work of a bower-bird, was erected in the road, and called a +triumphal arch. Mr. Redmayne insisted on coming, and escorted Monica +from Cambridge, "without in any way compromising my honour and virtue," +he said: "it must be plainly understood that I have no INTENTIONS." He +made a charming speech at the subsequent luncheon, in which he said +that, though he personally regretted the turn that affairs had taken, +he could not honestly say that, if matrimony were to be regarded as +advisable, his friends could have done better. +</P> + +<P> +The strange thing to Howard was the contrast between his own acute and +intolerable nervousness, and the entire and radiant self-possession of +Maud. He had a bad hour on the morning of the wedding-day itself. He +had a sort of hideous fear that he had done selfishly and perversely, +and that it was impossible that Maud could really continue to love him; +that he had sacrificed her youth to his fancy, and his vivid +imagination saw himself being wheeled in a bath-chair along the Parade +of a health-resort, with Maud in melancholy attendance. +</P> + +<P> +But when he saw his child enter the church, and look up to catch his +eye, his fears melted like a vapour on glass; and his love seemed to +him to pour down in a sudden cataract, too strong for a human heart to +hold, to meet the exquisite trustfulness and sweetness of his bride, +who looked as though the gates of heaven were ajar. After that he saw +and heard nothing but Maud. They went off together in the afternoon to +a little house in Dorsetshire by a lonely sea-cove, which Mr. Sandys +had spent many glorious and important hours in securing and arranging. +It was only an hour's journey. If Howard had needed reassuring he had +his desire; for as they drove away from Windlow among the thin cries of +the village children, Howard put his arm round Maud, and said "Well, +child?" upon which she took his other hand in both of her own, and +dropping her head on his shoulder, said, "Utterly and entirely and +absolutely proud and happy and content!" And then they sate in silence. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +DISCOVERIES +</H3> + +<P> +It was a time of wonderful discoveries for Howard, that month spent in +the little house under the cliff and beside the cove. It was a tiny +hamlet with half a dozen fishermen's cottages and two or three larger +houses, holiday-dwellings for rich people; but there was no one living +there, except a family of children with a governess. The house they +were in belonged to an artist, and had a big studio in which they +mostly sate. An elderly woman and her niece were the servants, and the +life was the simplest that could be imagined. Howard felt as if he +would have liked it prolonged for ever. They brought a few books with +them, but did little else except ramble through the long afternoons in +the silent bays. It was warm, bright September weather, still and hazy; +and the sight of the dim golden-brown promontories, with pale-green +grass at the top, stretching out one beyond another into the distance, +became for Howard a symbol of all that was most wonderful and perfect +in life. +</P> + +<P> +He could not cease to marvel at the fact that this beautiful young +creature, full of tenderness and anxious care for others, and with love +the one pre-occupation of her life, should yield herself thus to him +with such an entire and happy abandonment. Maud seemed for the time to +have no will of her own, no thought except to please him; he could not +get her to express a single preference, and her guileless diplomacy to +discover what he preferred amused and delighted him. At the same time +the exploration of Maud's mind and thought was an entire surprise to +him—there was so much she did not know, so many things in the world, +which he took for granted, of which she had never heard; and yet in +many ways he discovered that she knew and perceived far more than he +did. Her judgment of people was penetrating and incisive, and was +formed quite instinctively, without any apparent reason; she had, too, +a charming gift of humour, and her affection for her own circle did not +in the least prevent her from perceiving their absurdities. She was not +all loyalty and devotion, nor did she pretend to be interested in +things for which she did not care. There were many conventions, which +Howard for the first time discovered that he himself unconsciously +held, which Maud did not think in the least important. Howard began to +see that he himself had really been a somewhat conventional person, +with a respect for success and position and dignity and influence. He +saw that his own chief motive had been never to do anything +disagreeable or unreasonable or original or decisive; he began to see +that his unconscious aim had been to fit himself without self-assertion +into his circle, and to make himself unobtrusively necessary to people. +Maud had no touch of this in her nature at all; her only ambition +seemed to be to be loved, which was accompanied by what seemed to +Howard a marvellous incapacity for being shocked by anything; she was +wholly innocent and ingenuous, but yet he found to his surprise that +she knew something of the dark corners of life, and the moral problems +of village life were a matter of course to her. He had naturally +supposed that a girl would have been fenced round by illusions; but it +was not so. She had seen and observed and drawn her conclusions. She +thought very little of what one commonly called sins, and her +indignation seemed aroused by nothing but cruelty and treachery. It +became clear to Howard that Mr. Sandys and Mrs. Graves had been very +wise in the matter, and that Maud had not been brought up in any silly +ignorance of human frailty. Her religion was equally a surprise to him. +He had thought that a girl brought up as Maud had been would be sure to +hold a tissue of accepted beliefs which he must be careful not to +disturb. But here again she seemed to have little but a few fine +principles, set in a simple Christian framework. They were talking +about this one day, and Maud laughed at something he said. +</P> + +<P> +"You need not be so cautious," she said, "though I like you to be +cautious—you are afraid of hurting me; but you won't do that! Cousin +Anne taught me long ago that it was no use believing anything unless +you understood more or less where it was leading you. It's no good +pretending to know. Cousin Anne once said to me that one had to choose +between science and superstition. I don't know anything about science, +but I'm not superstitious." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "I see—I won't be fussy any more; I will just +speak as I think. You are wiser than the aged, child! You will have to +help me out. I am a mass of crusted prejudices, I find; but you are +melting them all away. What beats me is how you found it all out." +</P> + +<P> +Thus the hours they spent together became to Howard not only a source +of joy, but an extraordinary simplification of everything. Maud seemed +to have lived an absolutely uncalculating life, without any idea of +making any position for herself at all; and it sickened Howard to think +how so much of his own existence had been devoted to getting on the +right side of people, driving them on a light rein, keeping them deftly +in his own control. Maud laughed at this description of himself, and +said, "Yes, but of course that was your business. I should have been a +very tiresome kind of Don; we don't either of us want to punish people, +but I want to alter them. I can't bear stupid people, I think. I had +rather people were clever and unsatisfactory than dull and good. If +they are dull there's no reason for their being good. I like people to +have reasons!" +</P> + +<P> +They talked—how often they did that!—about the complications that had +beset them. +</P> + +<P> +"The one thing I can't make out," said Maud, "is how or why you ever +thought I cared for that little boy. He was such a nice boy; but he had +no reasons. Oh, dear, how wretched he made me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Howard, "I must ask you this—what did really happen on +that awful afternoon at the Folly?" +</P> + +<P> +Maud covered her face with her hands. "It was too dreadful!" she said. +"First of all, you were looking like Hamlet—you don't know how +romantic you looked! I did really believe that you cared for me then—I +couldn't help it—but there was some veil between us; and the number of +times I telegraphed from my brain to you that day, 'Can't you +understand?' was beyond counting. I suppose it was very unmaidenly, but +I was past that. Then there was that horrible imitation; such a +disgusting parody! and then I was prouder of you than ever, because you +really took it so well. I was too angry after that for anything, and +when you went off with father, and Monica sketched and Jack lay down +and smoked, Freddy Guthrie walked off with me, and I said to him, 'I +really cannot think how you dared to do that—I think it was simply +shameful!' Well, he got quite white, and he did not attempt to excuse +himself; and I believe I said that if he did not put it straight with +you, I would never speak to him again: and then I rather repented; and +then he began making love to me, and said the sort of things people say +in books. Howard, I believe that people really do talk like books when +they get excited—at all events it was like a bad novel! But I was very +stern—I can be very stern when I am angry—and said I would not hear +another word, and would go straight back if he said any more; and then +he said something about wanting to be friends, and wanting to have some +hope; and then I got suddenly sorry about it all—it seemed such a +waste of time—and shook hands with him, feeling as if I was acting in +an absurd play, and said that of course we were friends; and I think I +insisted again on his apologising to you, and he said that I seemed to +care more for your peace of mind than his; and I simply walked away and +he followed, and I shouldn't be surprised if he was crying; it was all +like a nightmare; but I did somehow contrive to make it up with him +later, and told him that I thought him a very nice boy indeed." +</P> + +<P> +"I daresay that was a great comfort to him," said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"I meant it to be," said Maud, "but I did not feel I could go on acting +in a sort of melodrama." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, I am very inquisitive," said Howard, "and you needn't answer me +if you don't like—but that day that I met you going away from Aunt +Anne—oh, what a pig I was! I was at the top of my highminded +game—what had happened then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I will tell you," said Maud, "if you want to know. Well, I +rather broke down, and said that things had gone wrong; that you had +begun by being so nice to me, and we seemed to have made friends; and +that then a cloud had come between us: and then Cousin Anne said it +would be all right, she KNEW; and she said some things about you I +won't repeat, to save your modesty; and then she said, 'Don't be +AFRAID, Maud! don't be ashamed of caring for people! Howard is used to +making friends with boys, and he is puzzled by you; he wants a friend +like you, but he is afraid of caring for people. You are not afraid of +him nor he of you, but he is afraid of his own fear.' She did not seem +to know how I cared, but she put it all right somehow; she prayed with +me, for courage and patience; and I felt I could afford to wait and see +what happened." +</P> + +<P> +"And then?" said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, you know the rest!" said Maud. "I saw as we sate by the wall, in +a flash, that you did indeed care for me, and I thought to myself, +'Here is the best thing in the world, and we can't be going to miss it +out of politeness;' and then it was all over in a moment!" +</P> + +<P> +"Politeness!" said Howard, "yes, it was all politeness; that's my +greatest sin. Yes," he added, "I do thank God with all my heart for +your sweet courage that day!" He drew Maud's hand into his own, as they +sate together on the grass just above the shingle of the little bay, +where the sea broke on the sands with crisp wavelets, and ran like a +fine sheet of glass over the beach. "Look at this little hand," he +said, "and let me try to believe that it is given me of its own will +and desire!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Maud, smiling, "and you may cut it off at the wrist if you +like—I won't even wince. I have no further use for it, I believe!" +Howard folded it to his heart, and felt the little pulse beat in the +slender wrist; and presently the sun went down, a ball of fire into the +opalescent sea-line. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE NEW KNOWLEDGE +</H3> + +<P> +But the weeks which followed Howard's marriage were a great deal more +than a refreshing discovery of companionable and even unexpected +qualities. There was something which came to him, of which the words, +the gestures, the signs of love seemed like faint symbols; the essence +of it was obscure to him; it reminded him of how, as a child, a +laughing group of which he was one had joined hands to receive a +galvanic shock; the circle had dislinked again in a moment, with cries +of surprise and pleasure; but to Howard it had meant much more than +that; the current gave him a sense of awful force and potency, the +potency of death. What was this strange and fearful essence which could +pass instantaneously through a group—swifter even than thought—and +leave the nerves for a moment paralysed and tingling? Even so it was +with him now. What was happening to him he did not know—some vast and +cloudy presence, at which he could not even dare to look, seemed +winging its way overhead, the passage of which he could only dimly +discern, as a man might discern the flight of an eagle in a +breeze-ruffled mountain pool. +</P> + +<P> +He had come in contact with a force of incalculable energy and joy, +which was different, not in degree but in kind, from all previous +emotional experiences. He understood for the first time the meaning of +words like "mystical" and "spiritual," words which he had hitherto +almost derided as unintelligent descriptions of subjective impressions. +He had thought them to be terms expressive of vague and even muddled +emotions of which scientific psychology would probably dispose. It was +a new element and a new force, of which he felt overwhelmingly certain, +though he could offer no proof, tangible or audible, of its existence. +He had before always demanded that anyone who attempted to uphold the +existence of any psychic force should at the same time offer an +experimental test of its actuality. But he was here faced with an +experience transcendental and subjective, of which he could give no +account that would not sound like some imaginative exaggeration. He was +not even sure that Maud felt it, or rather he suspected that the +experience of wedded love was to her the heightening and emphasizing of +something which she had always known. +</P> + +<P> +The essence of it was that it was like the inrush of some moving tide +through an open sluice-gate. Till then it seemed to him that his +emotions had been tranquilly discharging themselves, like the water +which drips from the edge of a fountain basin; that now something +stronger and larger seemed to flow back upon him, something external +and prodigious, which at the same time seemed, not only to invade and +permeate his thought but to become one with himself; that was the +wonder; it did not seem to him like something added to his spirit, but +as though his soul were enlarged and revived by a force which was his +own all the time, an unclaimed, unperceived part of himself. +</P> + +<P> +He said something of this to Maud, speaking of the happiness that she +had brought him. She said, "Ah, you can't expect me to realise that! I +feel as though you were giving everything and receiving nothing, as if +I were one more of the duties you had adopted. Of course, I hope that I +may be of some use, some time; but I feel at present as if you had been +striding on your way somewhere, and had turned aside to comfort and +help a little child by the roadside who had lost his way!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh," said Howard, "it's not that; it isn't only that you are the joy +and light of my life; it is as if something very far away and powerful +had come nearer to both of us, and had lifted us on its wings—what if +it were God?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Maud musingly, "I think it is that!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap26"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXVI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +LOVE IS ENOUGH +</H3> + +<P> +The days slipped past, one by one, with an incredible swiftness. For +the first time in his life Howard experienced the extraordinary +sensation of having nothing to do, no plans ahead, nothing but the +delight of the hour to taste. One day he said to Maud, "It seems almost +wicked to be so deliciously idle—some day I suppose we must make some +plans. But I do not seem ever to have lived before; and all that I ever +did and thought of seems as small and trivial as a little town seen +from the top of a tower—one can't conceive what the little creatures +are about in their tiny slits of streets and stuffy houses, crawling +about like beetles on some ridiculous business. The first thing I shall +do when I get back will be to burn my old book; such wretched, stodgy, +unenlightened stuff as it all is; like the fancies of a blind man about +the view of a landscape." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no, you mustn't do that," said Maud. "I have set my heart on your +writing a great book. You must do that—you must finish this one. I am +not going to keep you all to myself, like a man pushing about a +perambulator." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I will begin a new book," said Howard, "and steal an old title. +It shall be called Love is Enough." +</P> + +<P> +On the last night before they left the cottage they talked long about +things past, present, and to come. +</P> + +<P> +"Now," said Maud, "I am not going to be a gushing and sentimental young +bride any more. I am not sentimental, best-beloved! Do you believe +that? The time we have had here together has been the best and sweetest +time of my whole life, every minute worth all the years that went +before. But you must write that down, as Dr. Johnson said, in the first +page of your pocket-book, and never speak of it again. It's all too +good and too sacred to talk about—almost to think about. And I don't +believe in looking BACK, Howard—nor very much, I think, in looking +forward. I know that I wasted ever so much time and energy as a +girl—how long ago that seems!—in wishing I had done this and that; +but it's neither useful nor pleasant. Now we have got things to do. +There is plenty to do at Windlow for a little for you and me. We have +got to know everybody and understand everybody. And I think that when +the year is out, we must go back to Cambridge. I can't bear to think I +have stopped that. I am not going to hoard you, and cling round you. +You have got things to do for other people, young men in particular, +which no one else can do just like you. I am not a bit ambitious. I +don't want you to be M.P., LL.D., F.R.S., &c., &c., &c., but I do want +you to do things, and to help you to do things. I don't want to be a +sort of tea-table Egeria to the young men—I don't mean that—and I +don't wish to be an interesting and radiant object at dinner-tables; +but I am sure there is trouble I can save you, and I don't intend you +to have any worries except your own. I won't smudge my fingers over the +accounts, like that wretched Dora in David Copperfield. Understand +that, Howard; I won't be your girl-bride. I won't promise that I won't +wear spectacles and be dowdy—anything to be prosaic!" +</P> + +<P> +"You may adorn yourself as you please," said Howard, "and of course, +dearest child, there are hundreds of things you can do for me. I am the +feeblest of managers; I live from hand to mouth; but I am not going to +submerge you either. If you won't be the girl-bride, you are not to be +the professional sunbeam either. You are to be just yourself, the one +real, sweet, and perfect thing in the world for me. Chaire +kecharitoenae—do you know what that means? It was the angel's opinion +long ago of a very simple mortal. We shall affect each other, sure +enough, as the days go on. Why what you have done for me already, I +dare hardly think—you have made a man out of a machine—but we won't +go about trying to revise each other; that will take care of itself. I +only want you as you are—the best thing in the world." +</P> + +<P> +The last morning at Lydstone they were very silent; they took one long +walk together, visiting all the places where they had sate and +lingered. Then in the afternoon they drove away. The old maidservant +gave them, with almost tearful apologies, two little ill-tied posies of +flowers, and Maud kissed her, thanked her, made her promise to write. +As they drove away Maud waved her hand to the little cove—"Good-bye, +Paradise!" she said. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Howard, "don't say that; the swallow doesn't make the +summer; and I am carrying the summer away with me." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap27"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXVII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE NEW LIFE +</H3> + +<P> +The installation at Windlow seemed as natural and obvious as any other +of the wonderful steps of Howard's new life. The only thing which +bothered him was the incursions of callers, to which his marriage +seemed to have rendered the house liable. Howard loved monotony, and in +the little Windlow party he found everything that he desired. At first +it all rather amused him, because he felt as though he were acting in a +charming and absurd play, and he was delighted to see Maud act her +wedded part. Mrs. Graves frankly enjoyed seeing people of any sort or +kind. But Howard gradually began to find that the arrival of county and +clerical neighbours was a really tiresome thing. Local gossip was +unintelligible to him and did not interest him. Moreover, the necessity +of going out to luncheon, and even to dinner, bored him horribly. He +said once rather pettishly to Maud, after a week of constant +interruptions and little engagements, that he hoped that this sort of +thing would not continue. +</P> + +<P> +"It seems to knock everything on the head," he went on; "these country +idylls are all very well in their way; but when it comes to +entertaining parties day by day, who 'sit simply chatting in a rustic +row,' it becomes intolerable. It doesn't MEAN anything; one can't get +to know these people; if there is anything to know, they seem to think +it polite to conceal it; it can't be a duty to waste all the time that +this takes up?" +</P> + +<P> +Maud laughed and said, "Oh, you must forgive them; they haven't much to +do or talk about, and you are a great excitement; and you are really +very good to them!" +</P> + +<P> +Howard made a grimace. "It's my wretched habit of civility!" he said. +"But really, Maud, you can't LIKE them?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I believe I do," said Maud. "But then I am more or less used to +the kind of thing. I like people, I think!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, so do I, in a sort of way," said Howard; "but, really, with some +of these caravans it is more like having a flock of sheep in the place!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I like SHEEP, then," said Maud; "I don't really see how we can +stop it." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose it's the seamy side of marriage!" said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +Maud looked at him for a moment, and then, getting up from her chair +and coming across to him, she put her hands on his shoulders and looked +in his face. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you VEXED?" she said in rather a tragic tone. +</P> + +<P> +"No, of course, not vexed," said Howard, catching her round the waist. +"What an idea! I am only jealous of everything which seems to come in +between us, and I have seemed to see you lately through a mist of oddly +dressed females. It's a system, I suppose, a social system, to enable +people to waste their time. I feel as if I had got caught in a sort of +glue—wading in glue. One ought to live life, or the best part of it, +on one's own lines. I feel as if I was on show just now, and it's a +nuisance." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Maud, "I am afraid I do rather like showing you off and +feeling grand; but it won't go on for ever. I'll try to contrive +something. I don't see why you need be drawn in. I'll talk to Cousin +Anne about it." +</P> + +<P> +"But I am not going to mope alone," said Howard. "Where thou goest, I +will go. I can't bear to let you out of my sight, you little witch! But +I feel it is casting pearls before swine—your pearls, I mean." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see what to do," said Maud, looking rather troubled. "I ought +to have seen that you hated it." +</P> + +<P> +"No, it's my own stupid fault," said Howard. "You are right, and I am +wrong. I see it is my business at present to go about like a dancing +bear, and I'll dance, I'll dance! It's priggish to think about wasting +one's sweetness. What I really feel is this. 'Here's an hour,' I say, +'when I might have had Maud all to myself, and she and I have been +talking about the weather to a pack of unoccupied females.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Something comes of it," said Maud. "I don't know what it is, but it's +a kind of chain. I don't think it matters much what they talk about, +but there is a sort of kindness about it which I like—something which +lies behind ideas. These people don't say anything, but they think +something into one—it's alive, and it moves." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes," said Howard, "it's alive, no doubt. It would amuse me a good +deal to see these people at home, if I could just be hidden in the +curtains, and hear what they really talked about, and what they really +felt. It's when they have their armour on that they bore me. It is not +a pretty armour, and they don't wear it well; they don't fight in +it—they only wear it that you mayn't touch them. If they would give +themselves away and talk like Miss Bates, I could stand it." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Maud, "I am going to say something rather bold. It comes, +I think, of living at Cambridge with clever people, and having real +things to talk about, that makes your difficulty. You care about +people's minds more than about themselves, perhaps? But I'm on their +level, and they seem to me to be telling something about themselves all +the time. Of course it must be GHASTLY for you, and we will try to +arrange things better." +</P> + +<P> +"No, dearest, you won't, and you mustn't," said Howard. "That's the +best of marriage, that one does get a glimpse into different things. +You are perfectly and entirely right. It simply means that I can't talk +their language, and I will learn it. I am a prig; your husband is a +prig—but he will try to do better. It isn't a duty, and it isn't a +pleasure, and it isn't a question of minds at all. It is just living +life on ordinary terms. I won't have anything different at all. I'm +ashamed of myself for my moans. When I have anything in the way of work +to do, it may be different. But now I see what I have to do. I am +suffering from the stupidity of so-called clever people; and you +mustn't mind it. Only don't, for Heaven's sake, try to contrive, or to +spare me things. That is how the ugly paterfamilias is made. You +mustn't spoil me or manage me; if I ever suspect you of doing that, +I'll just go back to Cambridge alone. I hate even to have made you look +at me as you did just now—you must forgive me that and many other +things; and now you must promise just this, that if I am snappish you +won't give way; you must not become a slipper-warmer." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes, I promise," said Maud, laughing; "here's my hand on it! You +shall be diligently henpecked. But I am always rather puzzled about +these things; all these old ideas about mutual consolation and advice +and improvement and support ought to be THERE—they all mean +something—they mean a great deal! But the moment they are spoken +about, or even thought about, they seem so stuffy and disgusting. I +don't understand it! I feel that one ought to be able to talk plainly +about anything; and yet the more plainly you talk about such things as +these, the more hateful you are, and the meaner you feel!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap28"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXVIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE VICAR'S VIEW +</H3> + +<P> +Another small factor which caused Howard some discomfort was the +conversation of the Vicar. This, at the first sight of Windlow, had +been one of the salient features of the scene. It had been amusing to +see the current of a human mind running so frankly open to inspection; +and, moreover, the Vicar's constantly expressed deference for the +exalted quality of Howard's mind and intellectual outfit, though it had +not been seriously regarded, had at least an emollient effect. But it +is one thing to sit and look on at a play and to be entertained by the +comic relief of some voluble character, and quite another to encounter +that volubility at full pressure in private life. There was a certain +charm at first in the Vicar's inconsequence and volatility; but in +daily intercourse the good man's lack of proportion, his indiscriminate +interest in things in general, proved decidedly fatiguing. Given a +crisis, and the Vicar's view was interesting, because it was, as a +rule, exactly the view which the average man would be likely to take, +melodramatic, sentimental, commonplace, with this difference, that +whereas the average man is tongue-tied and has no faculty of +expression, the Vicar had an extraordinarily rich and emphatic +vocabulary; and it was thus an artistic presentment of the ordinary +standpoint. But in daily life the Vicar talked with impregnable +continuity about any subject in which he happened to be interested. He +listened to no comment; he demanded no criticism. If he conversed about +his parishioners or his fellow-parsons or his country neighbours, it +was not uninteresting; but when it was genealogy or folklore or +prehistoric remains, it was merely a tissue of scraps, clawed out of +books and imperfectly remembered. Howard found himself respecting the +Vicar more and more; he was so kindly, so unworldly, so full of +perfectly guileless satisfaction: he was conscious too of his own +irrepressibility. He said to Howard one day, as they were walking +together, "Do you know, Howard, I often think how many blessings you +have brought us—I assure you, quiet and modest as you are, you are +felt, your influence permeates to the very ends of the parish; I cannot +exactly say what it is, but there's a sense of something that has to be +dealt with, to be reckoned with, a mind of force and energy in the +background; your approval is valued, your disapproval is feared. There +is a consciousness, not perhaps expressed or even actually realised, of +condescension, of gratification at one from so different a sphere +coming among us, sharing our problems, offering us, however +unobtrusively, sympathy and fellow-feeling. It's very human, very +human," said the Vicar, "and that's a large word! But among all the +blessings which I say you have brought us, of course my dear girl's +happiness must come first in my regard; and there I hardly know how to +express what a marvellous difference you have made! And then I feel +that I, too, have come in for some crumbs from the feast, like the dogs +under the table mentioned so eloquently in Scripture—sustenance +unregarded and unvalued, no doubt, by yourself—cast out inevitably and +naturally as light from the sun! It is not only the actual dicta," said +the Vicar, "though these alone are deeply treasured; it's the method of +thought, the reserve, the refinement, which I find insensibly affecting +my own mental processes. Before I was a mere collector of details. Now +I find myself saying, 'What is the aim of all this? What is the +synthesis? Where does it come in? Where does it tend to?' I have not as +yet found any very definite answer to these self-questionings, but the +new spirit, the synthetic spirit, is there; and I find myself too +concentrating my expression; I have become conscious in your presence +of a certain diffuseness of talk—I used, I think, to indulge much in +synonyms and parallel clauses—a characteristic, I have seen it said, +of our immortal Shakespeare himself—but I have found myself lately +considering the aim, the effect, the form of my utterances, and have +practised—mainly in my sermons—a certain economy of language, which I +hope has been perceptible to other minds besides my own." +</P> + +<P> +"I always think your sermons very good," said Howard, quite sincerely; +"they seem to me arrows deliberately aimed at a definite target—they +have the grace of congruity, as the articles say." +</P> + +<P> +"You are very good," said the Vicar. "I am really overwhelmed; but I +must admit that your presence—the mere chance of your presence—has +made me exercise an unwonted caution, and indeed introduce now and then +an idea which is perhaps rather above the comprehension of my flock!" +</P> + +<P> +"But may I go back for one moment?" said Howard. "You will forgive my +asking this—but what you said just now about Maud interested me very +much, and of course pleased me enormously. I would do anything I could +to make her happy in any way—I wish you would tell me how and in what +you think her more content. I want to learn all I can about her earlier +days—you must remember that all that is unknown to me. Won't you +exercise your powers of analysis for my benefit?" +</P> + +<P> +"You are very kind," said the Vicar in high delight; "let me see, let +me see! Well, dear Maud as a girl had always a very high and anxious +sense of responsibility and duty. She conceived of herself—perhaps +owing to some chance expressions of my own—as bound as far as possible +to fill the place of her dear mother—a gap, of course, that it was +impossible to fill,—my own pursuits are, you will realise, mere +distractions, or, to be frank, were originally so designed, to combat +my sense of loss. But I am personally not a man who makes a morbid +demand for sympathy—I have little use for sympathy. I face my troubles +alone; I suffer alone," said the Vicar with an incredible relish. "And +then Jack is an independent boy, and has no taste for being dominated. +So that I fear that dear Maud's most touching efforts hardly fell on +very responsive soil. She felt, I think, the failure of her efforts; +and kind as Cousin Anne is, there is, I think, a certain vagueness of +outline about her mind. I would not call her a fatalist, but she has +little conception of the possibility of moulding character;—it's a +rich mind, but perhaps an indecisive mind? Maud needed a vocation—she +needed an aim. And then, too, you have perhaps observed—or possibly," +said the Vicar gleefully, "she has effaced that characteristic out of +deference to your own great power of amiable toleration—but she had a +certain incisiveness of speech which had some power to wound? I will +give you a small instance. Gibbs, the schoolmaster, is a very worthy +man, but he has a certain flightiness of manner and disposition. Dear +Maud, talking about him one day at our luncheon-table, said that one +read in books how some people had to struggle with some underlying +beast in their constitution, the voracious man, let us say, with the +pig-like element, the cruel man with the tiger-like quality. 'Mr. +Gibbs,' she said, 'seems to me to be struggling not with a beast, but +with a bird.' She went on very amusingly to say that he reminded her of +a wagtail, tripping along with very short steps, and only saved by +adroitness from overbalancing. It was a clever description of poor +Gibbs—but I felt it somehow to be indiscreet. Well, you know, poor +Gibbs came to me a few days later—you realise how gossip spreads in +these places—and said that he was hurt in his mind to think that Miss +Maud should call him a water-wagtail. Servants' tattle, I suppose. I +was considerably annoyed at this, and Maud insisted on going to +apologise to Gibbs, which was a matter of some delicacy, because she +could not deny that she had applied the soubriquet—or is it +sobriquet?—to him. That is just a minute instance of the sort of thing +I mean." +</P> + +<P> +"I confess," said Howard, "that I do recognise Maud's touch—she has a +strong sense of humour." +</P> + +<P> +"A somewhat dangerous thing," said Mr. Sandys. "I have a very strong +sense of humour myself, or rather what might be called risibility. No +one enjoys a witty story or a laughable incident more than I do. But I +keep it in check. The indulgence of humour is a risky thing; not very +consistent with the pastoral office. But that is a small point; and +what I am leading up to is this, that dear Maud's restlessness, and +even morbidity, has entirely disappeared; and this, my dear Howard, I +attribute entirely to your kind influence and discretion, of which we +are all so conscious, and to the consciousness of which it is so +pleasant to be able to give leisurely expression." +</P> + +<P> +But the Vicar was not always so fruitful a talker as this. The +difficulty with him was to shift the points. There were long walks in +Mr. Sandys' company which were really of an almost nightmare quality. +He had a way of getting into a genealogical mess, in which he used to +say that it cleared the air to be able to state the difficulties. +</P> + +<P> +Howard used to grumble a little over this to Mrs. Graves. "Yes," she +said, "if Frank were not so really unselfish a man, he would be a bore +of purest ray serene; but his humanity breaks through. I made a compact +with him long ago, and told him plainly that there were certain +subjects he must not talk to me about. I suppose you couldn't do that?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Howard, "I can't do that. It's my greatest weakness, I +believe, that I can't say a good-natured decisive thing, until I am +really brought to bay—and then I say much more than I need, and not at +all good-naturedly. I must get what fun out of Frank I can. There's a +good deal sprinkled about; and one comfort is that Maud understands." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mrs. Graves, "she understands! I know no one who sees +weaknesses in so absolutely clear a light as Maud, and who can at the +same time so wholly neglect them in the light of love." +</P> + +<P> +"That's good news for me," said Howard, "and it is absolutely true." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap29"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXIX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE CHILD +</H3> + +<P> +The day on which Howard learned that Maud would bear him a child was a +day of very strangely mixed emotions. He saw how the hope dawned on the +spirit of Maud like the rising of a star, and he could rejoice in that +with whole-hearted joy, in the mere sharing of a beautiful secret; but +it was strange to him to see how to Maud it seemed like the realisation +and fulfilling of all desire, the entering into a kingdom; it was not +only the satisfaction of all the deepest vital processes, but something +glorious, unthinkable, the crowning of destiny, the summit of life. +There was no reasoning about it; it was the purest and finest instinct. +But with Howard it was not thus. He could not look beyond Maud; and it +seemed to him like the dawning of a new influence, a new fealty, which +would almost come in between him and his wife, a division of her +affections. She seemed to him, in the few tremulous words they spoke, +to have her eyes fixed on something beyond him; it was not so much a +gift that she was bringing him as a claim of further devotion. He +realised with a shock of surprise that in the books he had read, in the +imagined crises of life, the thought of the child, the heir, the +offshoot, was supposed to come as the crown of father's and mother's +hopes alike, and that it was not so with him. Was he jealous of the new +claim? It was something like that. He found himself resolving and +determining that no hint of this should ever escape him; he even felt +deeply ashamed that such a thought should even have crossed his mind. +He ought rather to rejoice wholly and completely in Maud's happiness; +but he desired her alone, and so passionately that he could not bear to +have any part of the current of her soul diverted from him. As he +looked forward through the years, it was Maud and himself, in scene +after scene; other relations, other influences, other surroundings +might fade and decay—but children, however beautiful and delightful, +making the house glad with life and laughter, he was not sure that he +wanted them. Yet he had always thought that he possessed a strong +paternal instinct, an interest in young life, in opening problems. Had +that all, he wondered, been a mere interest, a thing to exercise his +energy and amiability upon, and had his enjoyment of it all depended +upon his real detachment, upon the fact that his responsibility was +only a temporary one? It was all very bewildering to him. Moreover, his +quiet and fertile imagination flashed suddenly through pictures of what +his beloved Maud might have to endure, such a frail child as she +was—illness, wretchedness, suffering. Would he be equal to all that? +Could he play the role of tranquil patience, of comforting sympathy? He +determined not to anticipate that, but it blew like a cold wind on his +spirit; he could not bear that the sunshine of life should be clouded. +</P> + +<P> +He had a talk with his aunt on the subject; she had divined, in some +marvellous way, the fact that the news had disturbed him; and she said, +"Of course, dear Howard, I quite understand that this is not the same +thing to you as it is to Maud and me. It is one of the things which +divide, and must always divide, men from women. But there is something +beyond what you see: I know that it must seem to you as if something +almost disconcerting had passed over life—as if such a hope must +absorb the heart of a mother; but there is a thing you cannot know, and +that is the infinite dearness in which this involves you. You would +think perhaps that it could not be increased in Maud's case, but it is +increased a hundredfold—it is a splendour, a worship, as of divine +creative power. Don't be afraid! Don't look forward! You will see day +by day that this has brought Maud's love for you to a point of which +you could hardly dream. Words can't touch these things: you must just +believe me that it is so. You will think that a childless wife like +myself cannot know this. There is a strange joy even in childlessness, +but it is the joy that comes from the sharing of a sorrow; but the joy +which comes from sharing a joy is higher yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "I know it, and I believe it. I will tell you very +frankly that you have looked into my very heart; but you have not seen +quite into the depths: I see my own weakness and selfishness clearly. +With every part of my mind and reason I see the wonder and strength of +this; and I shall feel it presently. What has shocked me is just my +lack of the truer instinct; but then," he added, smiling, "that's just +the shadow of comfort and ease and the intellectual life: one goes so +far on one's way without stumbling across these big emotions; and when +one does actually meet them, one is frightened at their size and +strength. You must advise and help me. You know, I am sure, that my +love for Maud is the strongest, largest, purest thing, beyond all +comparison and belief, that has ever happened to me. I am never for a +single instant unaware of it. I sometimes think there is nothing else +left of me; and then this happens, and I see that I have not gone deep +enough yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mrs. Graves, smiling, "life is like the sea, I think. When +one is a child, it is just a great plain of waters, with little ships +sailing on it: it is pleasant to play by, with breaking waves to wade +in, and little treasures thrown up on its rim; then, as one knows more, +one realises that it is another world, full of its own urgent life, +quite regardless of man, and over which man has no power, except by a +little trickery in places. Man is just a tiresome, far-off incident, +his ships like little moving shadows, his nets and lines like small +fretful devices. But the old wise monsters of the depths live their own +lives; never seen perhaps, or even suspected, by men. That's all very +silly and fanciful, of course! But old and invalided as I am, I seem to +be diving deeper and deeper into life, and finding it full of surprises +and mysteries and utterly unexpected things." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Howard, "I am still a child on the shore, picking up +shells, fishing in the shallows. But I have learned something of late, +and it is wonderful beyond thought—so wonderful that I feel sometimes +as if I was dreaming, and should wake up to find myself in some other +century!" +</P> + +<P> +It did indeed soon dawn upon Howard that there was a change in Maud, +that their relations had somehow altered and deepened. The little +barrier of age, for one thing, which he had sometimes felt, seemed +obliterated. There had been in Howard's mind a sense that he had known +a number of hard facts and ugly features about life, had been aware of +mean, combative, fierce, cruel elements which were hidden from Maud. +Now this all seemed to be purged away; if these things were there, they +were not worth knowing, except to be disregarded. They were base +material knowledge which one must not even recognise; they were not +real forces at all, only ugly, stubborn obstacles, through which life +must pass, like water flowing among rocks; they were not life, only the +channel of life, through which one passed to something more free and +generous. He began to perceive that such things mattered nothing at all +to Maud; that her life would have been just as fine in quality if she +had lived in the smallest cottage among the most sordid cares. He saw +that she possessed the wisdom which he had missed, because she lived in +and for emotion and affection, and that all material things existed +only to enshrine and subserve emotion. +</P> + +<P> +Their life seemed to take on a new colour and intensity. They talked +less; up till now it had been a perpetual delight to Howard to elicit +Maud's thoughts and fancies about a thousand things, about books, +people, ideas. Her prejudices, ignorances, enthusiasms half charmed, +half amused him. But now they could sit or walk silent together in an +even more tranquil happiness; nearness was enough, and thought seemed +to pass between them without need of speech. Howard began to resume his +work; it was enough that Maud should sit by, reading, working, writing. +A glance would pass between them and suffice. +</P> + +<P> +One day Howard laid down his pen, and looking up, having finished a +chapter, saw that Maud's eyes were fixed upon him with an anxious +intentness. She was sitting in a low chair near the fire, and an open +book lay disregarded on her knee. He went across to her and sat down on +a low chair beside her, taking her hand in his. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, dear child?" he said. "Am I very selfish and stupid to sit +here without a word like this?" +</P> + +<P> +Maud put her lips to his hand, and laughed a contented laugh. "Oh no, +no," she said; "I like to see you hard at work—there seems no need to +say anything—it's just you and me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Howard, "you must just tell me what you were thinking—you +had travelled a long way beyond that." +</P> + +<P> +"Not out of your reach," said Maud; "I was just thinking how different +men and women were, and how I liked you to be different. I was +remembering how awfully mysterious you were at first—so full to the +brim of strange things which I could not fathom. I always seemed to be +dislodging something I had never thought of. I used to wonder how you +could find time, in the middle of it all, to care about me: you were +always giving me something. But now it has all grown so much simpler +and more wonderful too. It's like what you said about Cambridge long +ago, the dark secret doorways, the hidden gardens; I see now that all +those ideas and thoughts are only things you are carrying with you, +like luggage. They are not part of you at all. Don't you know how, when +one is quite a child, a person's house seems to be all a mysterious +part of himself? One thinks he has chosen and arranged it all, knows +where everything is and what it means—everything seems to be a sort of +deliberate expression of his tastes and ideas—and, then one gets +older, and finds out that people don't know what is in their houses at +all—there are rooms into which they never go; and then one finds that +they don't even see the things in their own rooms, have forgotten how +they came there, wouldn't know if they were taken away. My, I used to +feel as if the scents and smells of houses were all arranged and chosen +by their owners. It's like that with you; all the things you know and +remember, the words you speak, are not YOU at all; I see and feel you +now apart from all that." +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid I have lost what novelists call my glamour," said Howard. +"You have found me out, the poor, shivering, timid thing that sits like +a wizard in the middle of his properties, only hoping that the stuffed +crocodile and the skeleton will frighten his visitors." +</P> + +<P> +Maud laughed. "Well, I am not frightened any more," she said. "I doubt +if you could frighten me if you tried. I wonder how I should feel if I +saw you angry or chilly. Are you ever angry, I wonder?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think some of my pupils would say that I could be very +disagreeable," said Howard. "I don't think that I was ever very fierce, +but I have realised that I was on occasions very unpleasant." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'll wait and see," said Maud; "but what I was going to say was +that you seem to me different—hardly the person I married. I used to +wonder a little at first how I had had the impudence . . . and then I +used to think that perhaps some day you would wake up, and find you had +come to the bottom of the well, but you never seemed disappointed." +</P> + +<P> +"Disappointed!" said Howard; "what terrible rubbish! Why Maud, don't +you KNOW what you have done for me? You have put the whole thing +straight. It's just that. I was full of vanities and thoughts and bits +of knowledge, and I really think I thought them important—they ARE +important too, like food and drink—one must have them—at least men +must—but they don't matter; at least it doesn't matter what they are. +Men have always to be making and doing things—business, money, +positions, duties; but the point is to know that they are unimportant, +and yet to go on doing them as if they mattered—one must do +that—seriously and not solemnly; but you have somehow put all that in +the right place; and I know now what matters and what does not. There, +do you call that nothing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps we have found it out together," said Maud; "the only +difference is that you have the courage to tell me that you were wrong, +while I have never even dared to tell you what a hollow sham I am, and +what a mean and peevish child I was before you came on the scene." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, we won't look into your dark past," said Howard. "I am quite +content with what they call the net result!" and then they sate +together in silence, and had no further need of words. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap30"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXX +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CAMBRIDGE AGAIN +</H3> + +<P> +Howard was summoned to Cambridge in June for a College meeting. He was +very glad to see Cambridge and the familiar faces; but he had not been +parted from Maud for a day since their marriage, and he was rather +amazed to find, not that he missed her, but how continuously he missed +her from moment to moment; the fact that he could not compare notes +with her about every incident seemed to rob the incidents of their +savour, and to produce a curious hampering of his thoughts. A change, +too, seemed to have passed over the College; his rooms were just as he +had left them, but everything seemed to have narrowed and contracted. +He saw a great many of the undergraduates, and indeed was delighted to +find how they came in to see him. +</P> + +<P> +Guthrie was one of the first to arrive, and Howard was glad to meet him +alone. Howard was sorry to see that the cheerful youth had evidently +been feeling acutely what had happened; he had not lost his spirits, +but he had a rather worn aspect. He inquired about the Windlow party, +and they talked of indifferent things; but when Guthrie rose to go, he +said, speaking with great diffidence, "I wanted to say one thing to +you, and now I do not know how to express it; it is that I don't want +you to think I feel in any way aggrieved—that would be simply +absurd—but more than that, I want to say that I think you behaved +quite splendidly at Windlow—really splendidly! I hope you don't think +it is impertinent for me to say that, but I want you to know how +grateful I am to you—Jack told me what had happened—and I thought +that if I said nothing, you might feel uncomfortable. Please don't feel +anything of the kind—I only wish with all my heart that I could think +I could behave as you did if I had been in your place, and I want to be +friends." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes indeed," said Howard, "I think it is awfully good of you to speak +about it. You won't expect me," he added, smiling, "to say that I wish +it had turned out otherwise; but I do hope you will be happy, with all +my heart; and you will know that you will have a real welcome at +Windlow if ever you care to come there." +</P> + +<P> +The young man shook hands in silence with Howard, and went out with a +smile. "Oh, I shall be all right," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Jack sate up late with Howard and treated him to a long grumble. +</P> + +<P> +"I do hope to goodness you will come back to Cambridge," he said. "You +must simply make Maud come. You must use your influence, your beautiful +influence, of which we hear so much. Seriously, I do miss you here very +much, and so does everybody else. Your pupils are in an awful stew. +They say that you got them through the Trip without boring them, and +that Crofts bores them and won't get them through. This place rather +gets on my nerves now. The Dons don't confide in me, and I don't see +things from their angle, as my father says. I think you somehow managed +to keep them reasonable; they are narrow-minded men, I think." +</P> + +<P> +"This is rather a shower of compliments," said Howard. "But I think I +very likely shall come back. I don't think Maud would mind." +</P> + +<P> +"Mind!" said Jack, "why you wind that girl round your little finger. +She writes about you as if you were an archangel; and look here, I am +sorry I took a gloomy view. It's all right; you were the right person. +Freddy Guthrie would never have done for Maud—he's in a great way +about it still, but I tell him he may be thankful to have escaped. Maud +is a mountain-top kind of girl; she could never have got on without a +lot of aspirations, she couldn't have settled down to the country-house +kind of life. You are a sort of privilege, you know, and all that; +Freddy Guthrie would never have been a privilege." +</P> + +<P> +"That's rather a horror!" said Howard; "you mustn't let these things +out; you make me nervous!" +</P> + +<P> +Jack laughed. "If your brother-in-law mayn't say this to you, I don't +know who may. But seriously, really quite seriously, you are a bigger +person than I thought. I'll tell you why. I had a kind of feeling that +you ought not to let me speak to you as you do, that you ought to have +snapped my head off. And then you seemed too much upset by what I said. +I don't know if it was your tact; but you had your own way all the +time, with me and with everybody; you seemed to give way at every +point, and yet you carried out your programme. I thought you hadn't +much backbone—there, the cat's out; and now I find that we were all +dancing to your music. I like people to do that, and it amuses me to +find that I danced as obediently as anyone, when I really thought I +could make you do as I wished. I admire your way of going on: you make +everyone think that you value their opinion, and yet you know exactly +what you want and get it." +</P> + +<P> +Howard laughed. "I really am not such a diplomatist as that, Jack! I am +not a humbug; but I will tell you frankly what happens. What people say +and think, and even how they look, does affect me very much at the +time; but I have a theory that most people get what they really want. +One has to be very careful what one wants in this world, not because +one is disappointed, but because Providence hands it one with a smile; +and then it often turns out to be an ironical gift—a punishment in +disguise." +</P> + +<P> +"Maud shall hear that," said Jack; "a punishment in disguise—that will +do her good, and take her down a peg or two. So you have found it out +already?" +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Jack," said Howard, "if you say anything of the kind, you will +repent it. I am not going to have Maud bothered just now with any +nonsense. Do you hear that? The frankness of your family is one of its +greatest charms—but you don't quite know how much the frankness of +babes and sucklings can hurt—and you are not to experiment on Maud." +</P> + +<P> +Jack looked at Howard with a smile. "Here's the real man at last—the +tyrant's vein! Of course, I obey. I didn't really mean it; and I like +to hear you speak like that; it's rather fine." +</P> + +<P> +Presently Jack said, "Now, about the Governor—rather a douche, I +expect? But I see you can take care of yourself; he's hugely +delighted—the intellectual temperature rises in every letter I get +from him. But I want to make sure of one thing. I'm not going to stay +on here much longer. I don't want a degree—it isn't the slightest use, +plain or coloured. I want to get to work. If you come up again next +term, I can stand it, not otherwise." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," said Howard, "that's a bargain. I must just talk things +over with Maud. If we come up to Cambridge in October, you will stay +till next June. If we don't, you shall be planted in the business. They +will take you in, I believe, at any time, but would prefer you to +finish your time here." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, that's it," said Jack, "but I want work: this is all right, in a +way, but it's mostly piffle. How all these Johnnies can dangle on, I +don't know; it's not my idea of life." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, there's no hurry," said Howard, "but it shall be arranged as you +wish." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap31"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXXI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +MAKING THE BEST OF IT +</H3> + +<P> +Howard became aware that with his colleagues he had suddenly become +rather a person of importance. His "place" in the country was held in +some dim way to increase the grandeur of the College. He found himself +deferred to and congratulated. Mr. Redmayne was both caustic and +affectionate. +</P> + +<P> +"You look very well, I must say," he said. "You have a touch of the +landed personage about you which becomes you. I should like you to come +back here for our sakes, but I shan't press it. And how is Madam? I +hope you have got rid of your first illusions? No? Well you must make +haste and be reasonable. I am not learned in the vagaries of feminine +temperament, but I imagine that the fair sex like to be dominated, and +you will do that. You have a light hand on the reins—I always said +that you rode the boys on the snaffle, but the curb is there! and in +matrimony—well, well, I am an old bachelor of course, and I have a +suspicion of all nooses. Never mind my nonsense, Kennedy—what I like +about you, if I may say so, is that you have authority without +pretensions. People will do as you wish, just to please you; now I have +always to be cracking the whip. These fellows here are very worthy men, +but they are not men of the world! They are honest and sober—indeed +one can hardly get one of them to join one in a glass of port—but they +are limited, very limited. Now if only you could have kept clear of +matrimony—no disrespect to Madam—what a comfortable time we might +have had here! Man appoints and God disappoints—I suppose it is all +for the best." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Howard, "I think you will me see back here in October—my +wife is quite ready to come, and there isn't really much for me to do +at Windlow. I believe I am to be on the bench shortly; but if I live +there in the vacations, that will be enough; and I don't feel that I +have finished with Beaufort yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Excellent!" said Mr. Redmayne. "I commend Madam's good sense and +discretion. Pray give her my regards, and say that we shall welcome her +at Cambridge. We will make the best of it—and I confess that in your +place—well, if all women were like Madam, I could view marriage with +comparative equanimity—though of course, I make the statement without +prejudice." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap32"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXXII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +HOWARD'S PROFESSION +</H3> + +<P> +When Howard came back from Cambridge he had a long talk with Maud over +the future; it seemed almost tacitly agreed that he should return to +his work there, at all events for a time. +</P> + +<P> +"I feel very selfish and pompous about all this," said Howard; "MY +work, MY sphere—what nonsense it all is! Why should I come down to +Windlow, take possession, and having picked the sweetest flower in the +garden, stick it in my buttonhole and march away?" +</P> + +<P> +Maud laughed and said, "Oh, no, it isn't that—it is quite a simple +matter. You have learnt a trade, a difficult trade; why should you give +it up? We don't happen to need the money, but that doesn't matter. My +business is to take off your shoulders, if I can, all the trouble +entailed on you by marrying me—it's simply a division of labour. You +can't just settle down in the country as a small squire, with nothing +much to do. People must do the work they can do, and I should be +miserable if I thought I had pulled you out of your place in the world." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," said Howard; "there seems to me to be something rather +stuffy about it: why can't we just live? Women do; there is no fuss +made about their work, and their need to express themselves; yet they +do it even more than men, and they do it without priggishness. My work +at Cambridge is just what everyone else is doing, and if I don't do it, +there will be half a dozen men capable of doing it and glad to do it. +The great men of the world don't talk about the importance of their +work: they just do whatever comes to hand—it's only the second-rate +men who say that their talents haven't full scope. Do you remember poor +Chambers, who was at lunch the other day? He told me that he had +migrated from a town parish to a country parish, and that he missed the +organisation so much. 'There seems nothing to organise down in the +country!' he said. 'Now in my town parish there was the whole machine +to keep going—I enjoyed that, and I don't feel I am giving effect to +the best part of myself.' That seemed to me such a pompous line, and I +felt that I didn't want to be like that. One's work! how little it +matters! No one is indispensable—the disappearance of one man just +gives another his chance." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, of course, it is rather hard to draw the line," said Maud, "and I +think it is a pity to be solemn about it; but it seems to me so simple +in this case. You can do the work—they want you back—there is no +reason why you should not go back." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps it is mere laziness," said Howard, "but I feel as if I wanted +a different sort of life now, a quieter life; and yet I know that there +is a snare about that. I rather mistrust the people who say they must +get time to think out things. It's like the old definition of +metaphysics—the science of muddling oneself systematically. I don't +think one can act by reason; one must act by instinct, and reason just +prevents one's making a fool of oneself." +</P> + +<P> +"I believe the time for the other life will come quite naturally +later," said Maud. "At your age, you have got to do things. Of course +it's the same with women in a way, but marriage is their obvious +career, and the pity is that there don't seem enough husbands to go +round. I can sit in my corner and placidly survey the overstocked +market now!" +</P> + +<P> +Howard got up and leaned against the chimneypiece, surveying his wife +with delight. "Ah, child," he said, "I was lucky to come in when I did. +I shiver at the thought that if I had arrived a little later there +would have been 'no talk of thee and me' as Omar says. You would have +been a devoted wife, and I should have been a hopeless bachelor!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's unthinkable," said Maud, "it's horrible even to speculate about +such things—a mere question of proximity! Well, it can't be mended +now; and the result is that I not only drive you back to work, but you +have to carry me back as well, like Sindbad and the old man of the sea." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it's just like that!" said Howard. +</P> + +<P> +He made several attempts, with Mr. Sandys and with his aunt—even with +Miss Merry—to get encouragement for his plan; but he could obtain no +sympathy. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sick of the very word 'ideal,'" he said to Maud. "I feel like a +waiter handing about tumblers on a tray, pressing people to have +ideals—at least that is what I seem to be supposed to be doing. I +haven't any ideals myself—the only thing I demand and practise is +civility." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I don't think you need bother about ideals," said Maud, "it's +wonderful the depressing power of words; there are such a lot of fine +and obvious things in the world, perfectly distinct, absolutely +necessary, and yet the moment they become professional, they deprive +one of all spirit and hope—Jane has that effect on me, I am afraid. I +am sure she is a fine creature, but her view always makes me feel +uncomfortable—now Cousin Anne takes all the things one needs for +granted, and isn't above making fun of them; and then they suddenly +appear wholesome and sensible. She is quite clear on the point; now if +SHE wanted you to stay, it would be different." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, so be it!" said Howard; "I feel I am caught in feminine +toils. I am like a child being taught to walk—every step applauded, +handed on from embrace to embrace. I yield! I will take my beautiful +mind back to Cambridge, I will go on moulding character, I will go on +suggesting high motives. But the responsibility is yours, and if you +turn me into a prig, it will not be my fault." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, I will take the responsibility for that," said Maud, "and, by the +way, hadn't we better begin to look out for a house? I can't live in +College, I believe, not even if I were to become a bedmaker?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "a high-minded house of roughcast and tile, with +plenty of white paint inside, Chippendale chairs, Watts engravings. I +have come to that—it's inevitable, it just expresses the situation; +but I mustn't go on like this—it isn't funny, this academic +irony—it's dreadfully professional. I will be sensible, and write to +an agent for a list. It had better just be 'a house' with nothing +distinctive; because this will be our home, I hope, and that the +official residence. And now, Maud, I won't be tiresome any more; we +can't waste time in talking about these things. I haven't done with +making love to you yet, and I doubt if I ever shall!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap33"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXXIII +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +ANXIETY +</H3> + +<P> +The months moved slowly on, a time full of deepening strain and anxiety +to Howard. Maud herself seemed serene enough at first, full of hope; +she began to be more dependent on him; and Howard perceived two things +which gave him some solace; in the first place he found that, sharp as +the tension of anxiety in his mind often was, he did not realise it as +a burden of which he would be merely glad to be rid. He had an +instinctive dislike of all painful straining things—of +responsibilities, disagreeable duties, things that disturbed his +tranquillity; but this anxiety did not come to him in that light at +all; he longed that it should be over, but it was not a thing which he +desired to banish from his mind; it was all bound up with love and +happy anticipation; and next he learned the joy of doing things that +would otherwise be troublesome for the sake of love, and found them all +transmuted, not into seemly courtesies, but into sharp and urgent +pleasures. To be of use to Maud, to entertain her, to disguise his +anxieties, to compel himself to talk easily and lightly—all this +filled his soul with delight, especially when he found as the months +went on that Maud began to look to him as a matter of course; and +though Howard had been used to say that being read aloud to was the +only occupation in the world that was worse than reading aloud, he +found that there was no greater pleasure than in reading to Maud day by +day, in finding books that she cared for. +</P> + +<P> +"If only I could spare you some of this," he said to her one day, +"that's the awful thing, not to be able to share the pain of anyone +whom one loves. I feel I could hold my hand in the fire with a smile, +if only I knew that it was saving you something!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, dearest, I know," said Maud, "but you mustn't think of it like +that; it INTERESTS me in a curious way—I can't explain—I don't feel +helpless; I feel as if I were doing something worth the trouble!" +</P> + +<P> +At last the time drew near; it was hot, silent, airless weather; the +sun lay fiercely in the little valley, day by day; one morning they +were sitting together and Maud suddenly said to him, "Dearest, one +thing I want to say; if I seem to be afraid, I am NOT afraid: will you +remember that? I want to walk every step of the way; I mean to do it, I +wish to do it; I am not afraid in my heart of hearts of anything—pain, +or even worse; and you must remember that, even if I do not seem to +remember!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "I will remember that; and indeed I know it; you +even take away my own fears when you speak so; love takes hands beneath +it all." +</P> + +<P> +But on the following morning—Maud had a restless and suffering +night—Mrs. Graves came in upon Howard as he tried to read, to tell him +that there was great anxiety, Maud had had a sudden attack of pain; it +had passed off, but they were not reassured. "The doctor will be here +presently," she said. Howard rose dry-lipped and haggard. "She sends +you her dearest love," she said, "but she would rather be alone; she +doesn't wish you to see her thus; she is absolutely brave, and that is +the best thing; and I am not afraid myself," she added: "we must just +wait—everything is in her favour; but I know how you feel and how you +must feel; just clasp the anxiety close, look in its face; it's a +blessed thing, though you can't see it as I do—blessed, I mean, that +one CAN feel so." +</P> + +<P> +But the fear thickened after this. A carriage drew up, and Howard saw +two doctors descend, carrying bags in their hands. His heart sickened +within him, yet he was helped by seeing their unembarrassed and +cheerful air, the nod that one of them, a big, fresh-faced man, gave to +the coachman, the look he cast round the beautiful old house. People +could think of such things, Howard saw, in a moment like that. He went +down and met them in the hall, and had that strange sense of unreality +in moments of crisis, when one hears one's own voice saying courteous +things, without any volition of one's own. The big doctor looked at him +kindly. "It is all quite simple and straightforward!" he said. "You +must not let yourself be anxious; these times pass by and one wonders +afterwards how one could have been so much afraid." +</P> + +<P> +But the hours brought no relief; the doctors stayed long in the house; +something had occurred, Howard knew not what, did not dare to +conjecture. The silence, the beauty of the whole scene, was +insupportably horrible to him. He walked up and down in the afternoon, +gazing at Maud's windows—once a nurse came to the window and opened it +a little. He went back at last into the house; the doctors were there, +talking in low tones to Mrs. Graves. "I will be back first thing in the +morning," said one; the worst, then, had not happened. But as he +appeared a look of inquiry passed between them and Mrs. Graves. She +beckoned to him. +</P> + +<P> +"She is very ill," she said; "it is over, and she has survived; but the +child is dead." +</P> + +<P> +Howard stood blankly staring at the group. "I don't understand," he +said; "the child is dead—yes, but what about Maud?" +</P> + +<P> +The doctor came up to him. "It was sudden," he said; "she had an +attack—we had anticipated it—the child was born dead; but there is +every reason to believe that she will recover; it has been a great +shock, but she is young and strong, and she is full of pluck—you need +not be anxious at present; there is no imminent danger." Then he added, +"Mr. Kennedy, get some rest yourself; she may need you, and you must +not be useless: I tell you, the first danger is over and will not +recur; you must just force yourself to eat—try to sleep." +</P> + +<P> +"Sleep?" said Howard with a wan smile, "yes, if you could tell me how +to do that!" +</P> + +<P> +The doctors departed; Howard went off with Mrs. Graves. She made him +sit down, she told him a few details; then she said, "Dearest boy, it's +no use wasting words or pity just now—you know what I feel; I would +tell you plainly if I feared the worst. I do NOT fear it, and now let +me exercise my art on you, for I am sure I can help you a little. One +must not play with these things, but this is in earnest." +</P> + +<P> +She came and sate down beside him, and stroked his hair, his brow; she +said, "Just try, if you can, to cast everything out of your mind; relax +your limbs, be entirely passive; and don't listen to what I say—just +let your mind float free." Presently she began to speak in a low voice +to him; he hardly heeded what she said, for a strange drowsiness +settled down upon him like the in-flowing of some oblivious tide, and +he knew no more. +</P> + +<P> +A couple of hours later he awoke from a deep sleep, with a sense of +sweet visions and experiences—he looked round. Mrs. Graves sate beside +him smiling, but the horror suddenly darted back into his mind with a +spasm of fear, as if he had been bitten by a poisonous serpent. +</P> + +<P> +"What has been happening?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," said Mrs. Graves quietly, "you have been asleep. I have some +power in these things, which I don't use except in times of need—some +day I will tell you more; I found it out by accident, but I have used +it both for myself and others. It's just a natural force, of which many +people are suspicious, because it doesn't seem normal; but don't be +afraid, dear boy—all goes well; she is sleeping quietly, and she knows +what has happened." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," said Howard; "yes, I am better; but I could almost wish I +had not slept—I feel the pain of it more. I don't feel just now as if +anything in the world could make up for this—as if anything could make +it seem just to endure such misery. What has one done to deserve it?" +</P> + +<P> +"What indeed?" said Mrs. Graves, "because the time will come when you +will ask that in a different sense. Don't you see, dear boy, that even +this is life's fulness? One mustn't be afraid of suffering—what one +must be afraid of is NOT suffering; it's the measure of love—you would +not part with your love if that would free you from suffering?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Howard slowly, "I would not—you are right. I can see that. +One brings the other; but I cannot see the need of it." +</P> + +<P> +"That is only because one does not realise how much lies ahead," said +Mrs. Graves. "Be content that you know at least how much you +love—there's no knowledge like that!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap34"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXXIV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE DREAM-CHILD +</H3> + +<P> +For some days Howard was in an intolerable agony of mind about Maud; +she lay in a sort of stupor of weakness and weariness, recognising no +one, hardly speaking, just alive, indifferent to everything. They could +not let him be with her, they would allow no one to speak to her. The +shock had been too great, and the frail life seemed flickering to its +close: once or twice he was just allowed to see her; she lay like a +tired child, her head on her hand, lost in incommunicable dreams. +Howard dared not leave the house, and the tension of his nerves became +so acute that the least thing—a servant entering the room, or anyone +coming out to speak with him as he paced up and down the garden—caused +him an insupportable horror; had they come to summon him to see the +end? The frightful thing was the silence, the blank silence of the one +he loved best. If she had moaned or wept or complained, he could have +borne it better; but she seemed entirely withdrawn from him. Even when +a little strength returned, they feared for her reason. She seemed +unaware of where she was, of what had happened, of all about her. The +night was the worst time of all. Howard, utterly wearied out, would go +to bed, and sink into sleep, sleep so profound that it seemed like +descending into some deep and oblivious tide; then a current of misery +would mingle with his dreams, a sense of unutterable depression; and +then he would suddenly wake in the grip of fear, formless and bodiless +fear. The smallest sound in the house, the creaking of a door, a +footfall, would set his heart beating with fierce hammer strokes. He +would light his candles, wander restlessly about, gaze out from his +window into the blackness of the garden, where the trees outlined +themselves against the dark sky, pierced with stars; or he would try to +read, but wholly in vain. No thought, no imagination seemed to have any +meaning for him, in the presence of that raging dread. Had he, he +wondered, come in sight of the ultimate truth of life? The pain he +suffered seemed to him the strongest thing in the world, stronger than +love, stronger than death. The thick tides of the night swept past him +thus, till the light began to outline the window crannies; and then +there was a new day to face, with failing brain and shattered strength. +</P> + +<P> +The only comfort he received was in the presence of his aunt. She alone +seemed strong, almost serene, till he wondered if she was not hard. She +did not encourage him to speak of his fears: she talked quietly about +ordinary things, not demanding an answer; she saw the doctors, whom +Howard could not bear to see, and told him their report. The fear +changed its character as the days went on; Maud would live, they +thought; but to what extent she would regain her strength they could +not say, while her mental powers seemed in abeyance. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Sandys often looked in, but he seemed at first helpless in Howard's +presence. Howard used to bestir himself to talk to him, with a +sickening sense of unreality. Mr. Sandys took a very optimistic view of +Maud's case; he assured Howard that he had seen the same thing a dozen +times; she had great reserves of strength, he believed; it was but +nature insisting upon rest and quiet. His talk became a sort of relief +to Howard, because he refused to admit any possibility of ultimate +disaster. No tragedy could keep Mr. Sandys silent; and Howard began to +be aware that the Vicar must have thought out a series of topics to +talk to him about, and even prepared the line of conversation +beforehand. Jack had been sent for at the crisis, but when the imminent +danger lessened, Howard suggested that he should go back to Cambridge, +in which Jack gratefully acquiesced. +</P> + +<P> +One day Mrs. Graves came suddenly in upon Howard, as he sate drearily +trying to write some letters, and said, "There is a great improvement +this morning. I went in to see her, and she has come back to herself; +she mentioned your name, and the doctor says you can see her for a few +minutes; she must not talk, but she is herself. You may just come and +sit by her for a few minutes; it will be best to come at once." +</P> + +<P> +Howard got up, and was seized by a sudden giddiness. He grasped his +chair, and was aware that Mrs. Graves was looking at him anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Can you manage it, dear boy?" she said. "You have had a great strain." +</P> + +<P> +"Manage it?" said Howard, "why, it's new life. I shall be all right in +a moment. Does she know what has happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mrs. Graves, "she knows all—it is you she is anxious +about—she isn't thinking of herself at all." +</P> + +<P> +Howard followed his aunt out of the room, feeling suddenly alert and +strong. They entered the room; as they did so, Maud turned and looked +at him—the faintest tinge of colour had returned to her face; she held +out her hands to him, and let them fall again. Howard stepped quickly +to the side of the bed, dropped on his knees, and took his wife in his +arms. She nestled close to him for a moment, and then looked at him +with a smile—then speaking in a very low voice, almost a whisper, she +said: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know—you will help me, dearest; yes, I have come back to +you—I have been wandering far away, with the child—you know—he +wanted me, I think; but I have left him somewhere, safe, and I am sent +back—I didn't think I could come back, but I had to choose; I have +chosen . . ." her voice died away, and she looked long and anxiously at +him. "You are not well," she said; "it is my fault." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, you must not talk, darling," said Howard; "we will talk later on; +just let me be sure that you won't leave me—that is enough, that's all +I want, just we two together again, and the dear child, ours for ever." +</P> + +<P> +"The dear child," said Maud, "that is right—he is ours, beloved. I +will tell you about him." +</P> + +<P> +"Not now," said Howard, "not now." +</P> + +<P> +Maud gave him a nod, in her old way, just the ghost of a nod; and then +just put her face beside his own, and lay in silence, till he was +called away. Then she kissed his hand as he bent over her, and said, +"Don't be afraid, dearest—I am coming back—it is like a great +staircase, with light at the top. I went just to the edge—it's full of +sweet sound there, and now I am coming down again. Those are my +dreams," she added; "I am not out of my dreams yet." +</P> + +<P> +Howard went out, waving his hand; he found Mrs. Graves beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, "I have no more fear." +</P> + +<P> +Howard was suddenly seized with faintness, uncontrollable dizziness. +Mrs. Graves took him to the library, and made him sit down, but his +weakness continued in spite of himself. +</P> + +<P> +"I really am ashamed of myself," he said, "for this dreadful +exhibition." +</P> + +<P> +"Exhibition!" said Mrs. Graves, "it's the best thing that can happen. I +must tell you that I have been even more anxious about you than Maud, +because you either couldn't or wouldn't break down—those are the +people who are in danger at a time like this! Why the sight of you has +half killed me, dear boy! If you had ever said you were miserable, or +been rude or irritable, or forgotten yourself for a moment, I should +have been happier. It's very chivalrous and considerate, of course; +though you will say that you didn't think of that; but it's hardly +human—and now at last I see you are flesh and blood again." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I am not sure that it isn't what I thought about you," said +Howard. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," said Mrs. Graves, "I am an old woman; and I don't think death is +so terrible to me. Life is interesting enough, but I should often be +glad to get away; there is something beyond that is a good deal easier +and more beautiful. But I don't expect you to feel that." +</P> + +<P> +"You think she will get well?" said Howard faintly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, she will get well, and soon," said Mrs. Graves. "She has been +resting in her own natural way. The poor dearest baby—you don't know, +you can't know, what that means to Maud and even to me; you will have +to be very good to her for a long time yet; you won't understand her +sorrow—she won't expect you to; but you mustn't fail her; and you must +do as you are bid. This afternoon you must just go out for a walk, and +you must SLEEP, dear; that's what you want; you don't know what a +spectre you are; and you must just get well as quick as you can, for +Maud's sake and mine." +</P> + +<P> +That afternoon there fell on Howard after his walk—though the world +was sweet to him and dear again, he was amazed to find how weak he +was—an unutterable drowsiness against which he could hardly fight. The +delicious weariness came on him like a summer air; he stumbled to bed +that night, and oh, the wonder of waking in a new world, the incredible +happiness that greeted him, happiness that merged again in a strange +and serene torpor of the senses, every sight and sound striking sharp +and beautiful on his eye and ear. +</P> + +<P> +For some days he was only allowed to see Maud for little lengthening +periods; they said little, but just sate in silence with a few +whispered words. Maud recovered fast, and was each day a little +stronger. +</P> + +<P> +One evening, as he sate with her, she said, "I want to tell you now +what has been happening to me, dearest. You must hear it all. You must +not grieve yourself about the little child, because you cannot have +known it as I did—but you must let me grieve a little . . . you will +see when I tell you. I won't go back too far. There was all the pain +first—I hope I did not behave very badly, but I was beside myself with +pain, and then I went off . . . you know . . . I don't remember +anything of that . . . and then I came back again, feeling that +something very strange had happened to me, and I was full of joy; and +then I saw that something was wrong, and it came over me what had +happened. The strange thing is that though I was so weak—I could +hardly think and I could not speak—yet I never felt more clear or +strong in mind—no, not in mind either, but in myself. It seems so +strange that I have never even SEEN our child, not with my eyes, though +that matters little. But then when I understood, I did indeed fail +utterly; you seemed to me so far away; I felt somehow that you were +thinking only about me, and I could simply think of nothing but the +child—my own child, gone from me in a moment. I simply prayed with all +my soul to die and have done with everything, and then there was a +strange whirl in the air like a great wind, and loud confused noises, +and I fell away out of life, and thought it was death. And then I awoke +again, but it was not here—it was in a strange wide place—a sort of +twilight, and there were hills and trees. I stood up, and suddenly felt +a hand in my own, and there was a little child beside me, looking up at +me. I can't tell you what happened next—it is rather dim to me, but I +sate, or walked, or wandered, carrying the child—and it TALKED to me; +yes, it talked in a little clear voice, though I can't remember +anything it said; but I felt somehow as if it was telling me what might +have been, and that I was getting to KNOW it somehow—does that seem +strange? It seems like months and years that I was with it; and I feel +now that I not only love it, but know it, all its thoughts, all its +desires, all its faults—it had FAULTS, dearest; think of that—faults +such as I have, and other faults as well. It was not quite content, but +it was not unhappy; but it wasn't a dream-child at all, not like a +little angel, but a perfectly real child. It laughed sometimes, and I +can hear its little laughter now; it found fault with me, it wanted to +go on—it cried sometimes, and nothing would please it; but it loved me +and wanted to be with me; and I told it about you, and it not only +listened, but asked me many times over to tell it more, about you, +about me, about this place—I think it had other things in its mind, +recollections, I thought, which it tried to tell me; so it went on. +Once or twice I found myself here in bed—but I thought I was dying, +and only wanted to lose myself and get back to the child—and then it +all came to an end. There was a great staircase up which we went +together; there was cloud at the top, but it seemed to me that there +was life and movement behind it; there was no shadow behind the cloud, +but light . . . and there was sound, musical sound. I went up with the +child's hand clasped close in my own, but at the top he disengaged +himself, and went in without a word to me or a sign, not as if he were +leaving me, but as if his real life, and mine too, were within—just as +a child would run into its home, if you came back with it from a walk, +and as if it knew you were following, and there was no need of +good-byes. I did not feel any sorrow at all then, either for the child +or myself—I simply turned round and came down . . . and then I was +back in my room again . . . and then it was you that I wanted." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all very wonderful," said Howard, musing, "wonderful and +beautiful. . . . I wish I had seen that!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but you didn't need it," said Maud; "one sees what one needs, I +think. And I want to add something, dearest, which you must believe. I +don't want to revert to this, or to speak of it again—I don't mean to +dwell upon it; it is just enough for me. One mustn't press these things +too closely, nor want other people to share them or believe them. That +is the mistake one makes, that one thinks that other people ought to +find one's own feelings and fancies and experiences as real as one +finds them oneself. I don't even want to know what you think about +it—I don't want you to say you believe in it, or to think about it at +all. I couldn't help telling you about it, because it seems as real to +me as anything that ever happened in my life; but I don't want you to +have to pretend, or to accept it in order to please me. It is just my +own experience; I was ill, unconscious, delirious, anything you please; +but it is just a blessed fact for me, for all that, a gift from God. Do +you really trust me when I say this, dearest? I don't claim a word from +you about it, but it will make all the difference to me. I can go on +now. I don't want to die, I don't want to follow—I only want you to +feel, or to learn to feel, that the child is a real child, our very +own, as much a part of our family as Jack or Cousin Anne; and I don't +even want you to SAY that. I want all to be as before; the only +difference is that I now don't feel as if I was CHOOSING. It isn't a +case of leaving him or leaving you. I have you both—and I think you +wanted me most; and I haven't a wish or a desire in my heart but to be +with you." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, dearest," said Howard, "I understand. It is perfect to be trusted +so. I won't say anything now about it. I could not say anything. But +you have put something into my heart which will spring up and blossom. +Just now there isn't room for anything in my mind but the fact that you +are given back to me; that's all I can hold; but it won't be all. I am +glad you told me this, and utterly thankful that it is so. That you +should be here, given back to me, that must be enough now. I can't +count up my gains; but if you had come back, leaving your heart +elsewhere, how could I have borne that?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap35"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXXV +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE POWER OF LOVE +</H3> + +<P> +It was a few days later that Howard found himself sitting alone one +evening after dinner, with his aunt. +</P> + +<P> +"There is something that I want to talk to you about," he said. "No +doubt Maud has told you all about her strange experience? She has +described it to me, and I don't know what to say or think. She was +wonderfully fine about it. She said she would not mention it again, and +she did not desire me to talk about it—or even believe it! And I don't +know what to do. It isn't the sort of thing that I believe in, though I +think it beautiful, just because it was Maud who felt it. But I can't +say what I really believe about it, without seeming unsympathetic and +even rough; and yet I don't like there being anything which means so +much to her, which doesn't mean much to me." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mrs. Graves, "I foresaw that difficulty, but I think Maud +did right to tell you." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course, of course," said Howard, "but I mean much more than that. +Is there something really THERE, open to all, possible to all, from +which I am shut out by what the Bible calls my hardness of heart? Do +you really think yourself that a living spirit drew near and made +itself known to Maud thus? or is it a beautiful dream, a sort of +subjective attempt at finding comfort, an instinctive effort of the +mind towards saving itself from sorrow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," said Mrs. Graves, "who shall say? Of course I do not see any real +objection to the former, when I think of all the love and the emotion +that went to the calling of the little spirit from the deeps of life; +but then I am a woman, and an old woman. If I were a man of your age +who had lived an intellectual life, I should feel very much as you do." +</P> + +<P> +"But if you believe it," said Howard, "can you give me reasons why you +believe it? I am not unreasonable at all. I hate the attitude of mind +of denying the truth of the experience of others, just because one has +not felt it oneself. Here, it seems to me, there are two explanations, +and my scepticism inclines to what is, I suppose, the materialistic +one. I am very suspicious of experiences which one is told to take on +trust, and which can't be intellectually expressed. It's the sort of +theory that the clergy fall back upon, what they call spiritual truth, +which seems to me merely unchecked, unverifiable experience. I don't, +to take a crude instance, believe in statues that wink; and yet the +tendency of the priest is to say that it is a matter of childlike +faith; yet to me credulity appears to be one of the worst of sins. It +is incredulity which has disposed of superstition." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mrs. Graves. "I fully agree with you about that; and there +is a great deal of very objectionable nonsense which goes by the name +of mysticism, which is merely emotion divorced from commonsense." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Howard, "and if I may speak quite frankly, I do very much +respect your own judgment and your convictions. It seems to me that you +have a very sceptical turn of mind, which has acted as a solvent upon a +whole host of stupid and conventional beliefs. I don't think you take +things for granted, and it always seems to me that you have got rid of +a great many foolish traditions which ordinary people accept—and it's +a fine attitude." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not too old to be insensible to a compliment," said Mrs. Graves, +smiling. "What you are surprised at is to find that I have any beliefs +left, I suppose? And I expect you are inclined to think that I have +done the feminine thing ultimately, and compromised, so as to retain +just the comfortable part of the affair." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Howard, "I don't. I am much more inclined to think that +there is something which is hidden from me; and I want you to explain +it, if you can and will." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I will try," said Mrs. Graves. "Let me think." She sate silent +for a little, and then she said: "I think that as I get older, I +recognise more and more the division between the rational part of the +mind and the instinctive part of the mind. I find more and more that my +deepest convictions are not rational—at least not arrived at by +reason—only formulated by it. I think that reason ought to be able to +formulate convictions; but they are there, whether expressed or not. +Most women don't bring the reason to bear at all, and the result is +that they hold a mass of beliefs, some simply inherited, some mere +phrases which they don't understand, and some real convictions. A great +deal of the muddle comes from the feminine weariness of logic, and a +great deal, too, from the fact that they never learn how to use +words—words are the things that divide people! But I believe more and +more, by experience, in the SOUL. I do not believe that the soul begins +with birth or ends with death. Now I have no sort of doubt in my own +mind that the soul of your child was a living thing, a spirit which has +lived before, and will live again. Souls, I believe, come to the brink +of life, out of some unknown place, and by choice or impelled by some +need for experience, take shape. I don't know how or why this is—I +only believe that it is so. If your child had lived, you would have +become aware of its soul; you would have found it to have perfectly +distinct qualities and desires and views of its own, not learnt from +you, and which you could not affect or change. All those qualities are +in it from the time of birth—but it takes a soul some time to learn +the use of the body. But the connection between the soul and the father +and mother who give it a body is a real one; I don't profess to know +what it is, or why it is that some parents have congenial children and +some quite uncongenial ones—that is only one of the many mysteries +which beset us. Holding all this, it does not seem to me on the face of +it impossible that the soul of the child should have been brought into +contact with Maud's soul; though of course the whole affair is quite +capable of a scientific and material explanation. But I have seen too +many strange things in my life to make me accept the scientific +explanation as conclusive. I have known men and women who, after a +bereavement, have had an intense consciousness of the presence of the +beloved spirit with them and near them. I have experienced it myself; +and it seems to me as impossible to explain as a sense of beauty. If +one feels a particular thing to be beautiful, one can't give good +reasons for one's emotion to a person who does not think the same thing +beautiful; but it appears to me that the duty of explaining it away +lies on the one who does NOT feel it. One can't say that beauty is a +purely subjective thing, because when two people think a thing +beautiful, they understand each other perfectly. Do I make myself clear +at all, or is that merely a bit of feminine logic?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, indeed," said Howard slowly, "I think it is a good case. The very +last thing I would do is to claim to be fully equipped for the +understanding of all mysteries. My difficulty is that while there are +two explanations of a thing—a transcendental one and a material one—I +hanker after the material one. But it isn't because I want to +disbelieve the transcendental one. It is because I want to believe it +so much, that I feel that I must exclude all possibility of its being +anything else." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Mrs. Graves, "and I think you are perfectly right; one must +follow one's conscience in this. I don't want you to swallow it whole +at all. I want you, and I am sure that Maud wants you, just to wait and +see. Don't begin by denying the possibility of its being a +transcendental thing. Just hold the facts in your mind, and as life +goes on, see if your experience confirms it, and until it does, do not +pretend that it does. I don't claim to be omniscient. Something quite +definite, of course, lies behind the mystery of life, and whatever it +is, is not affected by what you or I believe about it. I may be wholly +and entirely mistaken, and it may be that life is only a chemical +phenomenon; but I have kept my eyes open, and my heart open; and I am +as sure as I can be that there is something very much bigger behind it +than that. I myself believe that each being is an immortal spirit, +hampered by contact with mortal laws, and I believe that consciousness +and emotion are something superior even to chemistry. But to use +emotion to silence people would be entirely repugnant to me, and +equally to Maud. She isn't the sort of woman who would be content if +you only just said you believed her. She would hate that!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Howard, smiling, "you are two very wonderful women, and +that's the truth. I am not surprised at YOUR wisdom—it IS +wisdom—because you have lived very bravely and loved many people; but +it's amazing to me to find such courage and understanding in a girl. Of +course you have helped her—but I don't think you could have produced +such thoughts in her unless they had been there to start with." +</P> + +<P> +"That's exactly what I have tried to say," said Mrs. Graves. "Where did +Maud's fine mixture of feeling and commonsense come from? Her mother +was a woman of some perception, but after all she married Frank, and +Frank with all his virtue isn't a very mature spirit!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," said Howard, "my marriage has done everything for me! What a +blind, complacent, petty ass I was—and am too, though I at least +perceive it! I see myself as an elderly donkey, braying and capering +about in a paddock—and someone leans over the fence, and all is +changed. I ought not to think lightly of mysteries, when all this +astonishing conspiracy has taken place round me, to give me a home and +a wife and a whole range of new emotions—how Maud came to care for me +is still the deepest wonder of all—a loveless prig like me!" +</P> + +<P> +"I won't be understood to subscribe to all that," said Mrs. Graves, +laughing, "though I see your point of view; but there's something +deeper even than that, dear Howard. You care for me, you care for Maud; +but it's the power of caring that matters more than the power of caring +for particular people. Does that seem a very hard saying? You see I do +not believe—what do you say to this—in memory lasting. You and I love +each other here and now; when I die, I do not feel sure that I shall +have any recollection of you or Maud or my own dear husband—how +horrible that would sound to many men and nearly all women—but I have +learned how to love, and you have learned how to love, and we shall +find other souls to draw near to as the ages go on; and so I look +forward to death calmly enough, because whatever I am I shall have +souls to love, and I shall find souls to love me." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Howard, "I can't believe that! I can't believe in any life +here or hereafter apart from Maud. It is strange that I should be the +sentimentalist now, and you the stern sceptic. The thought to me is +infinitely dreary—even atrocious." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not surprised," said Mrs. Graves, "but that's the last sacrifice. +That is what losing oneself means; to believe in love itself, and not +in the particular souls we love; to believe in beauty, not in beautiful +things. I have learned that! I do not say it in any complacency or +superiority—you must believe me; but it is the last and hardest thing +that I have learned. I do not say that it does not hurt—one suffers +terribly in losing one's dear self, in parting from other selves that +are even more dear. But would one send away the souls one loves best +into a loveless paradise? Can one bear to think of them as hankering +for oneself, and lost in regret? No, not for a moment! They pass on to +new life and love; we cannot ourselves always do it in this life—the +flesh is weak and dear; and age passes over us, and takes away the +close embrace and the sweet desire. But it is the awakening of the soul +to love that matters; and it has been to me one of the sweetest +experiences of my life to see you and Maud awaken to love. But you will +not stay there—nothing is ultimate, not the dearest and largest +relations of life. One climbs from selfishness to liking, and from +liking to passion, and from passion to love itself." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Howard, "I cannot rise to that yet; I see, I dimly feel, +that you are far above me in this; but I cannot let Maud go. She is +mine, and I am hers." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Graves smiled and said, "Well, we will leave it at that. Kiss me, +dearest boy; I don't love you less because I feel as I do—perhaps even +more, indeed." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap36"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +XXXVI +</H3> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE TRUTH +</H3> + +<P> +It was a sunny day of winter with a sharp breeze blowing, just after +the birth of the New Year, that Howard and Maud left Windlow for +Cambridge. The weeks previous had been much clouded for Howard by +doubts and anxieties and a multiplicity of small business. Furnishing +even an official house for a life of graceful simplicity involved +intolerable lists, bills, letters, catalogues of things which it seemed +inconceivable that anyone should need. The very number and variety of +brushes required seemed to Howard an outrage on the love of cheap +beauty, so epigrammatically praised by Thucydides; he said with a groan +to Maud that it was indeed true that the Nineteenth Century would stand +out to all time as the period of the world's history in which more +useless things had been made than at any epoch before! +</P> + +<P> +But this morning, for some blessed reason, all his vexations seemed to +slip off from him. They were to start in the afternoon; but at about +eleven Maud in cloak and furred stole stepped into the library and +demanded a little walk. Howard looked approvingly, admiringly, +adoringly at his wife. She had regained a look of health and lightness +more marked than he had ever before seen in her. Her illness had proved +a rest, in spite of all the trouble she had passed through. Some new +beauty, the beauty of experience, had passed into her face without +making havoc of the youthful contours and the girlish freshness, and +the beautiful line of her cheek outlined upon the dark fur, with the +wide-open eye above it, came upon Howard with an almost tormenting +sense of loveliness, like a chord of far-off music. He flung down his +pen, and took his wife in his arms for an instant. "Yes," he said in +answer to her look, "it's all right, darling—I can manage anything +with you near me, looking like that—that's all I want!" +</P> + +<P> +They went out into the garden with its frost-crisped grass and leafless +shrubberies, with the high-standing down behind. "How it blows!" said +Howard: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "''Twould blow like this through holt and hanger<BR> + When Uricon the city stood:<BR> + 'Tis the old wind, in the old anger,<BR> + But then it threshed another wood!'<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +How beautiful that is—'the old wind, in the old anger!'—but it isn't +true, for all that. If one thing changes, everything changes; and the +wind has got to march on, like you and me: there's nothing pathetic +about it. The weak thing is to want to stay as we are!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes," said Maud; "one wastes pity. I was inclined myself to be +pathetic about it all yesterday, when I went up home and looked into my +little old room. The furniture and books and pictures seemed to me to +reproach me with having deserted them; but, oh dear, what a fantastic, +foolish, anxious little wretch I was, with all my plans for uplifting +everyone! You don't know, dearest, you can't know, out of what a +stagnant little pool you fished me up!" +</P> + +<P> +"And yet <I>I</I> feel," said Howard, "as if it was you who had saved me +from a sort of death—what a charming picture! two people who can't +swim saving each other from drowning." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that's the way that things are done!" said Maud decisively. +</P> + +<P> +They left the garden, and betook themselves to the pool; the waters +welled up, green and cold, from the depth, and hurried away down their +bare channel. +</P> + +<P> +"This is the scene of my life," said Howard; "I WILL be sentimental +about this! This is where my ghost will walk, if anywhere; good +heavens, to think that it was not three years ago that I came here +first, and thought in a solemn way that it was going to have a strange +significance for me. 'Significance,' that is the mischief! But it is +all very well, now that every minute is full of happiness, to laugh at +the old fears—they were very real at the time,—'the old wind, in the +old anger'—one can't sit and dream, though it's pleasant, it's +pleasant." +</P> + +<P> +"It was the only time in my life," said Maud, "when I was ever brave! +Why isn't one braver? It is agreeable at the time, and it is almost +overpaid!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is like what a doctor told me once," said Howard, "that he had +never in his life seen a patient go to the operating table other than +calm and brave. Face to face with things one is all right; and yet one +never learns not to waste time in dreading them." +</P> + +<P> +They went on in silence up the valley, Maud walking beside him with all +her old lightness. Howard thought he had never seen anything more +beautiful. They were out of the wind now, but could hear it hiss in the +grasses above them. +</P> + +<P> +"What about Cambridge?" said Maud. "I think it will be rather fun. I +haven't wanted to go; but do you know, if someone came to me and said I +might just unpack everything, I should be dreadfully disappointed!" +</P> + +<P> +"I believe I should be too," said Howard. "My only fear is that I shall +not be interested—I shall be always wanting to get back to you—and +yet how inexplicable that used to seem to me, that Dons who married +should really prefer to steal back home, instead of living the free and +joyous life of the sympathetic and bachelor; and even now it seems +difficult to suppose that other men can feel as I do about THEIR wives." +</P> + +<P> +"Like the boy in Punch," said Maud, "who couldn't believe that the two +earwigs could care about each other." +</P> + +<P> +A faint music of bells came to them on the wind. "Hark!" said Howard; +"the Sherborne chime! Do you remember when we first heard that? It gave +me a delightful sense of other people being busy when I was unoccupied. +To-day it seems as if it was warning me that I have got to be busy." +</P> + +<P> +They turned at last and retraced their steps. Presently Howard said, +"There's just one more thing, child, I want to say. I haven't ever +spoken to you since about the vision—whatever it was—which you +described to me—the child and you. But I took you at your word!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Maud, "I have always been glad that you did that!" +</P> + +<P> +"But I have wanted to speak," said Howard, "simply because I did not +want you to think that it wasn't in my mind—that I had cast it all +lightly away. I haven't tried to force myself into any belief about +it—it's a mystery—but it has grown into my mind somehow, and become +real; and I do feel more and more that there is something very true and +great about it, linking us with a life beyond. It does seem to me life, +and not silence; love, and not emptiness. It has not come in between +us, as I feared it might—or rather it HAS come in between us, and +seems to be holding both our hands. I don't say that my reason tells me +this—but something has outrun my reason, and something stronger and +better than reason. It is near and dear: and, dearest, you will believe +me when I say that this isn't said to please you or to woo you—I +wouldn't do that! I am not in sight of the reality yet, as you have +been; but it IS a reality, and not a sweet dream." +</P> + +<P> +Maud looked at him, her eyes brimming with sudden tears. "Ah, my +beloved," she said, "that is all and more than I had hoped. Let it just +stay there! I am not foolish about it, and indeed the further away that +it gets, the less I am sure what happened. I shall not want you to +speak of it: it isn't that it is too sacred—nothing is too sacred—but +it is just a fact I can't reckon with, like the fact of one's own birth +and death. All I just hoped was that you might not think it only a +girl's fancy; but indeed I should not have cared if you HAD thought +that. The TRUTH—that is what matters; and nothing that you or I or +anyone, in any passion of love or sorrow, can believe about the truth, +can alter it; the only thing is to try to see it all clearly, not to +give false reasons, not to let one's imagination go." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes," said Howard, "that's the secret of love and life and +everything; and yet it seems a hard thing to believe; because if it +were not for your illusions about me, for instance—if you could really +see me as I am—you couldn't feel as you do; one comes back to trusting +one's heart after all—that is the only power we have of reading the +writing on the wall. And yet that is not all; it IS possible to read +it, to spell it out; but it is the interpretation that one needs, and +for that one must trust love, and love only." +</P> + +<P> +They went back to the house in a happy silence; but Maud slipped out +again, and went to the little churchyard. There behind the chancel, in +a corner of the buttress, was a little mound. Maud laid a single white +flower upon it. "No," she said softly, as if speaking in the ear of a +child, "no, my darling, I am not making any mistake. I don't think of +you as sleeping here, though I love the place where the little limbs +are laid. You are awake, alive, about your business, I don't doubt. I'd +have loved you, guarded you, helped you along; but you have made love +live for me, and that, and hope, are enough now for us both! I don't +claim you, sweet; I don't even ask you to remember and understand." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +THE END +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Watersprings, by Arthur Christopher Benson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WATERSPRINGS *** + +***** This file should be named 4510-h.htm or 4510-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/1/4510/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo and Don Lainson. 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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