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diff --git a/4541-h/4541-h.htm b/4541-h/4541-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..75353a6 --- /dev/null +++ b/4541-h/4541-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,20277 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of The Crown of Life, by George Gissing +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.finis { text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crown of Life, by George Gissing + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Crown of Life + +Author: George Gissing + +Posting Date: January 16, 2009 [EBook #4541] +Release Date: October, 2003 +Last updated: December 10, 2017 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CROWN OF LIFE *** + + + + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +THE CROWN OF LIFE +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +by +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +George Gissing +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<P> +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="100%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap01">CHAPTER I</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap02">CHAPTER II</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap03">CHAPTER III</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="25%"> +<A HREF="#chap04">CHAPTER IV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap05">CHAPTER V</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">CHAPTER VI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">CHAPTER VII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">CHAPTER IX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">CHAPTER X</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">CHAPTER XI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">CHAPTER XII</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">CHAPTER XV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">CHAPTER XX</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap28">CHAPTER XXVIII</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap29">CHAPTER XXIX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap30">CHAPTER XXX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap31">CHAPTER XXXI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap32">CHAPTER XXXII</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap33">CHAPTER XXXIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap34">CHAPTER XXXIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap35">CHAPTER XXXV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap36">CHAPTER XXXVI</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap37">CHAPTER XXXVII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> </TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +</H3> + +<P> +Amid the throng of suburban arrivals volleyed forth from Waterloo +Station on a May morning in the year '86, moved a slim, dark, +absent-looking young man of one-and-twenty, whose name was Piers Otway. +In regard to costume—blameless silk hat, and dark morning coat with +lighter trousers—the City would not have disowned him, but he had not +the City countenance. The rush for omnibus seats left him unconcerned; +clear of the railway station, he walked at a moderate pace, his eyes +mostly on the ground; he crossed the foot-bridge to Charing Cross, and +steadily made his way into the Haymarket, where his progress was +arrested by a picture shop. +</P> + +<P> +A window hung with engravings, mostly after pictures of the day; some +of them very large, and attractive to a passing glance. One or two +admirable landscapes offered solace to the street-wearied imagination, +but upon these Piers Otway did not fix his eye; it was drawn +irresistibly to the faces and forms of beautiful women set forth with +varied allurement. Some great lady of the passing time lounged in +exquisite array amid luxurious furniture lightly suggested; the faint +smile of her flattered loveliness hovered about the gazer; the subtle +perfume of her presence touched his nerves; the greys of her complexion +transmuted themselves through the current of his blood into life's +carnation; whilst he dreamed upon her lips, his breath was caught, as +though of a sudden she had smiled for him, and for him alone. Near to +her was a maiden of Hellas, resting upon a marble seat, her eyes bent +towards some AEgean isle; the translucent robe clung about her perfect +body; her breast was warm against the white stone; the mazes of her +woven hair shone with unguent. The gazer lost himself in memories of +epic and idyll, warming through worship to desire. Then his look +strayed to the next engraving; a peasant girl, consummate in grace and +strength, supreme in chaste pride, cheek and neck soft-glowing from the +sunny field, eyes revealing the heart at one with nature. Others there +were, women of many worlds, only less beautiful; but by these three the +young man was held bound. He could not satisfy himself with looking and +musing; he could not pluck himself away. An old experience; he always +lingered by the print shops of the Haymarket, and always went on with +troubled blood, with mind rapt above familiar circumstance, dreaming +passionately, making wild forecast of his fate. +</P> + +<P> +At this hour of the morning not many passers had leisure to stand and +gaze; one, however, came to a pause beside Piers Otway, and viewed the +engravings. He was a man considerably older; not so well dressed, but +still, on the strength of externals, entitled to the style of +gentleman; his brown, hard felt hat was entirely respectable, as were +his tan gloves and his boots, but the cut-away coat began to hint at +release from service, and the trousers owed a superficial smartness +merely to being tightly strapped. This man had a not quite agreeable +face; inasmuch as it was smoothly shaven, and exhibited a peculiar +mobility, it might have denoted him an actor; but the actor is wont to +twinkle a good-natured mood which did not appear upon this visage. The +contour was good, and spoke intelligence; the eyes must once have been +charming. It was a face which had lost by the advance of years; which +had hardened where it was soft, and seemed likely to grow harder yet; +for about the lips, as he stood examining these pictures, came a +suggestion of the vice in blood which tends to cruelty. The nostrils +began to expand and to tremble a little; the eyes seemed to project +themselves; the long throat grew longer. Presently, he turned a glance +upon the young man standing near to him, and in that moment his +expression entirely altered. +</P> + +<P> +"Why," he exclaimed, "Piers!" +</P> + +<P> +The other gave a start of astonishment, and at once smiled recognition. +</P> + +<P> +"Daniel! I hadn't looked—I had no idea——" They shook hands, with +graceful cordiality on the elder man's part, with a slightly +embarrassed goodwill on that of the younger. Daniel Otway, whose age +was about eight-and-thirty, stood in the relation of half-brotherhood +to Piers, a relation suggested by no single trait of their visages. +Piers had a dark complexion, a face of the square, emphatic type, and +an eye of shy vivacity; Daniel, with the long, smooth curves of his +countenance and his chestnut hair was, in the common sense, better +looking, and managed his expression with a skill which concealed the +characteristics visible a few moments ago; he bore himself like a suave +man of the world, whereas his brother still betrayed something of the +boy in tone and gesture, something, too, of the student accustomed to +seclusion. Daniel's accent had nothing at all in keeping with a shabby +coat; that of the younger man was less markedly refined, with much more +of individuality. +</P> + +<P> +"You live in London?" inquired Daniel, reading the other's look as if +affectionately. +</P> + +<P> +"No. Out at Ewell—in Surrey." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, I know Ewell. Reading?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes for the Civil Service. I've come up to lunch with a man who knows +father—Mr. Jacks." +</P> + +<P> +"John Jacks, the M.P.?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers nodded nervously, and the other regarded him with a smile of new +interest. +</P> + +<P> +"But you're very early. Any other engagements?" +</P> + +<P> +"None," said Piers. It being so fine a morning, he had proposed a long +ramble about London streets before making for his destination in the +West End. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you must come to my club," returned Daniel. "I shall be glad of a +talk with you, very glad, my dear boy. Why, it must be four years since +we saw each other. And, by the bye, you are just of age, I think?" +</P> + +<P> +"Three days ago." +</P> + +<P> +"To be sure. Heard anything from father?—No?—You're looking very +well, Piers—take my arm. I understood you were going into business. +Altered your mind? And how is the dear old man?" +</P> + +<P> +They walked for a quarter of an hour, turning at last into a quiet, +genteel byway westward of Regent Street, and so into a club house of +respectable appearance. Daniel wrote his brother's name, and led up to +the smoking-room, which they found unoccupied. +</P> + +<P> +"You smoke?—I am very glad to hear it. I began far too young, and have +suffered. It's too early to drink—and perhaps you don't do that +either?—Really? Vegetarian also, perhaps?—Why, you are the model son +of your father. And the regime seems to suit you. <I>Per Bacco</I>! couldn't +follow it myself: but I, like our fat friend, am little better than one +of the wicked. So you are one-and-twenty. You have entered upon your +inheritance, I presume?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers answered with a look of puzzled inquiry. +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't you heard about it? The little capital due to you." +</P> + +<P> +"Not a word!" +</P> + +<P> +"That's odd. <I>Was soil es bedeuten</I>?—By the bye, I suppose you speak +German well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Tolerably." +</P> + +<P> +"And French?" +</P> + +<P> +"Moderately." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Benissimo</I>!" Daniel had just lit a cigar; he lounged gracefully, +observing his brother with an eye of veiled keenness. "Well, I think +there is no harm in telling you that you are entitled to +something—your mother's money, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"I had no idea of it," replied Piers, whom the news had in some degree +excited. +</P> + +<P> +"Apropos, why don't you live with father? Couldn't you read as well +down there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not quite, I think, and—the truth is, the stepmother doesn't much +like me. She's rather difficult to get on with you know." +</P> + +<P> +"I imagined it. So you're just in lodgings?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am with some people called Hannaford. I got to know them at +Geneva—they're not very well off; I have a room and they board me." +</P> + +<P> +"I must look you up there—Piers, my dear boy, I suppose you know your +mother's history?" +</P> + +<P> +It was asked with an affected carelessness, with a look suggestive of +delicacy in approaching the subject. More and more perturbed, Piers +abruptly declared his ignorance; he sat in an awkward attitude, bending +forward; his brows were knit, his dark eyes had a solemn intensity, and +his square jaw asserted itself more than usual. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, between brothers, I don't see why you shouldn't. In fact, I am a +good deal surprised that the worthy old man has held his peace about +that legacy, and I don't think I shall scruple to tell you all I know. +You are aware, at all events, that our interesting parent has been a +little unfortunate in his matrimonial adventures. His first wife—not +to pick one's phrase—quarrelled furiously with him. His second, you +inform me, is somewhat difficult to live with." +</P> + +<P> +"His <I>third</I>," interrupted Piers. +</P> + +<P> +"No, my dear boy," said the other gravely, sympathetically. "That +intermediate connection was not legal." +</P> + +<P> +"Not——? My mother was not——?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't worry about it," proceeded Daniel in a kind tone. "These are the +merest prejudices, you know. She could not become Mrs. Otway, being +already Mrs. Somebody-else. Her death, I fear, was a great misfortune +to our parent. I have gathered that they suited each other—fate, you +know, plays these little tricks. Your mother, I am sure, was a most +charming and admirable woman—I remember her portrait. <I>A l'heure qu'il +est</I>, no doubt, it has to be kept out of sight. She had, I am given to +understand, a trifling capital of her own, and this was to become +yours." +</P> + +<P> +Piers stared at vacancy. When he recovered himself he said with +decision: +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I shall hear about it. There's no hurry. Father knows I +don't want it just now. Why, of course he will tell me. The exam. comes +off in autumn, and no doubt he keeps the news back as a sort of reward +when I get my place. I think that would be just like him, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Or as a solatium, if you fail," remarked the other genially. +</P> + +<P> +"Fail? Oh, I'm not going to fail," cried Piers in a voice of +half-resentful confidence. +</P> + +<P> +"Bravo!" laughed the other; "I like that spirit. So you're going to +lunch with John Jacks. I don't exactly know him, but I know friends of +his very well. Known him long?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers explained that as yet he had no personal acquaintance with Mr. +Jacks; that he had, to his surprise, received a written invitation a +few days ago. +</P> + +<P> +"It may be useful," Daniel remarked reflectively. "But if you'll permit +the liberty, Piers, I am sorry you didn't pay a little more attention +to costume. It should have been a frock coat—really it should." +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't such a thing," exclaimed the younger brother, with some +annoyance and confusion. "And what can it matter? You know very well +how father would go." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes; but Jerome Otway the democratic prophet and young Mr. Piers +Otway his promising son, are very different persons. Never mind, but +take care to get a frock coat; you'll find it indispensable if you are +going into that world. Where does Jacks live?" +</P> + +<P> +"Queen's Gate." +</P> + +<P> +Daniel Otway meditated, half closing his eyes as he seemed to watch the +smoke from his cigar. Dropping them upon his brother, he found that the +young man wore a look of troubled thoughtfulness. +</P> + +<P> +"Daniel," began Piers suddenly, "are you quite sure about all you have +told me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Quite. I am astonished it's news to you." +</P> + +<P> +Piers was no longer able to converse, and very soon he found it +difficult to sit still. Observant of his face and movements, the elder +brother proposed that they should resume their walk together, and forth +they went. But both were now taciturn, and they did not walk far in +company. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall look you up at Ewell," said Daniel, taking leave. "Address me +at that club; I have no permanent quarters just now. We must see more +of each other." +</P> + +<P> +And Piers went his way with shadowed countenance. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +</H3> + +<P> +Straying about Kensington Gardens in the pleasant sunshine, his mind +occupied with Daniel's information, Piers Otway lost count of time, and +at last had to hurry to keep his engagement. As he entered the house in +Queen's Gate, a mirrored image of himself made him uneasy about his +costume. But for Daniel, such a point would never have troubled him. It +was with an unfamiliar sense of irritation and misgiving that he moved +into the drawing-room. +</P> + +<P> +A man of sixty or so, well preserved, with a warm complexion, broad +homely countenance and genial smile, stepped forward to receive him. +Mr. Jacks was member for the Penistone Division of the West Riding; new +to Parliament, having entered with the triumphant Liberals in the +January of this year 1886. His friends believed, and it seemed +credible, that he had sought election to please the lady whom, as a +widower of twenty years' endurance, he had wedded only a short time +before; politics interested him but moderately, and the greater part of +his life had been devoted to the manufacturing business which brought +him wealth and local influence. Not many people remembered that in the +days of his youth John Jacks had been something of a Revolutionist, +that he had supported the People's Charter; that he had written, nay +had published, verses of democratic tenor, earning thereby dark +reputation in the respectable society of his native town. The +turning-point was his early marriage. For a while he still wrote +verses—of another kind, but he ceased to talk about liberty, ceased to +attend public meetings, and led an entirely private life until, years +later, his name became reputably connected with municipal affairs. +Observing Mr. Jacks' face, one saw the possibility of that early +enthusiasm; he had fine eyes full of subdued tenderness, and something +youthful, impulsive, in his expression when he uttered a thought. +Good-humoured, often merry, abounding in kindness and generosity, he +passed for a man as happy as he was prosperous; yet those who talked +intimately with him obtained now and then a glimpse of something not +quite in harmony with these characteristics, a touch of what would be +called fancifulness, of uncertain spirits. Men of his world knew that +he was not particularly shrewd in commerce; the great business to which +his name was attached had been established by his father, and was kept +flourishing mainly by the energy of his younger brother. As an +occasional lecturer before his townsfolk, he gave evidence of wide +reading and literary aptitudes. Of three children of his first +marriage, two had died; his profound grief at their loss, and the +inclination for domestic life which always appeared in the man, made it +matter for surprise that he had waited so long before taking another +wife. It would not have occurred to most of those who knew him that his +extreme devotion to women made him shy, diffident, all but timorous in +their presence. But Piers Otway, for all his mental disturbance at this +moment, remarked the singular deference, the tone and look of admiring +gentleness, with which Mr. Jacks turned to his wife as he presented +their guest. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Jacks was well fitted to inspire homage. Her age appeared to be +less than five-and-twenty; she was of that tall and gracefully +commanding height which became the English ideal in the last quarter of +the century—her portrait appears on every page illustrated by Du +Manner. She had a brilliant complexion, a perfect profile; her smile, +though perhaps a little mechanical, was the last expression of +immutable sweetness, of impeccable self-control; her voice never +slipped from the just note of unexaggerated suavity. Consummate as an +ornament of the drawing-room, she would be no less admirably at ease on +the tennis lawn, in the boat, on horseback, or walking by the seashore. +Beyond criticism her breeding; excellent her education. There appeared, +too, in her ordinary speech, her common look, a real amiability of +disposition; one could not imagine her behaving harshly or with +conscious injustice. Her manners—within the recognised limits—were +frank, spontaneous; she had for the most part a liberal tone in +conversation, and was evidently quite incapable of bitter feeling on +any everyday subject. Piers Otway bent before her with unfeigned +reverence; she dazzled him, she delighted and confused his senses. As +often as he dared look at her, his eye discovered some new elegance in +her attitude, some marvel of delicate beauty in the details of her +person. A spectator might have observed that this worship was manifest +to Mr. Jacks, and that it by no means displeased him. +</P> + +<P> +"You are very like your father, Mr. Otway," was the host's first remark +after a moment of ceremony. "Very like what he was forty years ago." He +laughed, not quite naturally, glancing at his wife. "At that time he +and I were much together. But he went to London; I stayed in the North; +and so we lost sight of each other for many a long year. Somewhere +about 1870 we met by chance, on a Channel steamer; yes, it was just +before the war; I remember your father prophesied it, and foretold its +course very accurately. Then we didn't see each other again until a +month ago—I had run down into Yorkshire for a couple of days and stood +waiting for a train at Northallerton. Someone came towards me, and +looked me in the face, then held out his hand without speaking; and it +was my old friend. He has become a man of few words." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, he talks very little," said Piers. "I've known him silent for two +or three days together." +</P> + +<P> +"And what does he do with himself there among the moors? You don't know +Hawes," he remarked to the graciously attentive Mrs. Jacks. "A little +stony town at the wild end of Wensleydale. Delightful for a few months, +but very grim all the rest of the year. Has he any society there?" +</P> + +<P> +"None outside his home, I think. He sits by the fire and reads Dante." +</P> + +<P> +"Dante?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Dante; he seems to care for hardly anything else. It has been so +for two or three years. Editions of Dante and books about Dante crowd +his room—they are constantly coming. I asked him once if he was going +to write on the subject, but he shook his head." +</P> + +<P> +"It must be a very engrossing study," remarked Mrs. Jacks, with her +most intelligent air. "Dante opens such a world." +</P> + +<P> +"Strange!" murmured her husband, with his kindly smile. "The last thing +I should have imagined." +</P> + +<P> +They were summoned to luncheon. As they entered the dining-room, there +appeared a young man whom Mr. Jacks greeted warmly. +</P> + +<P> +"Hullo, Arnold! I am so glad you lunch here to-day. Here is the son of +my old friend Jerome Otway." +</P> + +<P> +Arnold Jacks pressed the visitor's hand and spoke a few courteous words +in a remarkably pleasant voice. In physique he was quite unlike his +father; tall, well but slenderly built, with a small finely-shaped +head, large grey-blue eyes and brown hair. The delicacy of his +complexion and the lines of his figure did not suggest strength, yet he +walked with a very firm step, and his whole bearing betokened habits of +healthy activity. In early years he had seemed to inherit a very feeble +constitution; the death of his brother and sister, followed by that of +their mother at an untimely age, left little hope that he would reach +manhood; now, in his thirtieth year, he was rarely troubled on the +score of health, and few men relieved from the necessity of earning +money found fuller occupation for their time. Some portion of each day +he spent at the offices of a certain Company, which held rule in a +British colony of considerable importance. His interest in this colony +had originated at the time when he was gaining vigour and enlarging his +experience in world-wide travel; he enjoyed the sense of power, and his +voice did not lack weight at the Board of the Company in question. He +had all manner of talents and pursuits. Knowledge—the only kind of +knowledge he cared for, that of practical things, things alive in the +world of to-day—seemed to come to him without any effort on his part. +A new invention concealed no mysteries from him; he looked into it; +understood, calculated its scope. A strange piece of news from any part +of the world found him unsurprised, explanatory. He liked mathematics, +and was wont to say jocosely that an abstract computation had a fine +moral effect, favouring unselfishness. Music was one of his foibles; he +learnt an instrument with wonderful facility, and, up to a certain +point, played well. For poetry, though as a rule he disguised the fact, +he had a strong distaste; once, when aged about twenty, he startled his +father by observing that "In Memoriam" seemed to him a shocking +instance of wasted energy; he would undertake to compress the whole +significance of each section, with its laborious rhymings, into two or +three lines of good clear prose. Naturally the young man had undergone +no sentimental troubles; he had not yet talked of marrying, and cared +only for the society of mature women who took common-sense views of +life. His religion was the British Empire; his saints, the men who had +made it; his prophets, the politicians and publicists who held most +firmly the Imperial tone. +</P> + +<P> +Where Arnold Jacks was in company, there could be no dullness. Alone +with his host and hostess, Otway would have found the occasion rather +solemn, and have wished it over, but Arnold's melodious voice, his +sprightly discussion and anecdotage, his frequent laughter, charmed the +guest into self-oblivion. +</P> + +<P> +"You are no doubt a Home Ruler, Mr. Otway," observed Arnold, soon after +they were seated. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I am," answered Piers cheerily. "You too, I hope?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes. I would grant Home Rule of the completest description, and I +would let it run its natural course for—shall we say five years? When +the state of Ireland had become intolerable to herself and dangerous to +this adjacent island, I would send over dragoons. And," he added +quietly, crumbling his bread, "the question would not rise again." +</P> + +<P> +"Arnold," remarked Mr. Jacks, with good humour, "you are quite +incapable of understanding this question. We shall see. Mr. Gladstone's +Bill——" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Gladstone's <I>little</I> Bill—do say his <I>little</I> Bill." +</P> + +<P> +"Arnold, you are too absurd!" exclaimed the hostess mirthfully. +</P> + +<P> +"What does your father think?" Mr. Jacks inquired of their guest. "Has +he broken silence on the subject?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think not. He never says a word about politics." +</P> + +<P> +"The little Bill hasn't a chance," cried Arnold. "Your majority is +melting away. You, of course, will stand by the old man, but that is +chivalry, not politics. You don't know what a picturesque figure you +make, sir; you help me to realise Horatius Codes, and that kind of +thing." +</P> + +<P> +John Jacks laughed heartily at his own expense, but his wife seemed to +think the jest unmannerly. Home Rule did not in the least commend +itself to her sedate, practical mind, but she would never have +committed such an error in taste as to proclaim divergence from her +husband's views. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a most difficult and complicated question," she said, addressing +herself to Otway. "The character of the people makes it so; the Irish +are so sentimental." +</P> + +<P> +Upon the young man's ear this utterance fell strangely; it gave him a +little shock, and he could only murmur some commonplace of assent. With +men, Piers had plenty of moral courage, but women daunted him. +</P> + +<P> +"I heard a capital idea last night," resumed Arnold Jacks, "from a man +I was dining with—interesting fellow called Hannaford. He suggested +that Ireland should be made into a military and naval depot—used +solely for that purpose. The details of his scheme were really very +ingenious. He didn't propose to exterminate the natives——" +</P> + +<P> +John Jacks interrupted with hilarity, which his son affected to resent: +the look exchanged by the two making pleasant proof of how little their +natural affection was disturbed by political and other differences. At +the name of Hannaford, Otway had looked keenly towards the speaker. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that Lee Hannaford?" he asked. "Oh, I know him. In fact, I'm living +in his house just now." +</P> + +<P> +Arnold was interested. He had only the slightest acquaintance with +Hannaford, and would like to hear more of him. +</P> + +<P> +"Not long ago," Piers responded, "he was a teacher of chemistry at +Geneva—I got to know him there. He seems to speak half a dozen +languages in perfection; I believe he was born in Switzerland. His +house down in Surrey is a museum of modern weapons—a regular armoury. +He has invented some new gun." +</P> + +<P> +"So I gathered. And a new explosive, I'm told." +</P> + +<P> +"I hope he doesn't store it in his house?" said Mr. Jacks, looking with +concern at Piers. +</P> + +<P> +"I've had a moment's uneasiness about that, now and then," Otway +replied, laughing, "especially after hearing him talk." +</P> + +<P> +"A tremendous fellow!" Arnold exclaimed admiringly. "He showed me, by +sketch diagrams, how many men he could kill within a given space." +</P> + +<P> +"If this gentleman were not your friend, Mr. Otway," began the host, "I +should say——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, pray say whatever you like! He isn't my friend at all, and I +detest his inventions." +</P> + +<P> +"Shocking!" fell sweetly from the lady at the head of the table. +</P> + +<P> +"As usual, I must beg leave to differ," put in Arnold. "What would +become of us if we left all that kind of thing to the other countries? +Hannaford is a patriot. He struck me as quite disinterested; personal +gain is nothing to him. He loves his country, and is using his genius +in her service." +</P> + +<P> +John Jacks nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, yes, yes. But I wish your father were here, Mr. Otway, to give +his estimate of such genius; at all events if he thinks as he did years +ago. Get him on that topic, and he was one of the most eloquent men +living. I am convinced that he only wanted a little more +self-confidence to become a real power in public life—a genuine +orator, such, perhaps, as England has never had." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor ever will have," Arnold interrupted. "We act instead of talking." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear boy," said his father weightily, "we talk very much, and very +badly; in pulpit, and Parliament, and press. We want the man who has +something new to say, and knows how to say it. For my own part, I don't +think, when he comes, that he will glorify explosives. I want to hear +someone talk about Peace—and <I>not</I> from the commercial point of view. +The slaughterers shan't have it all their own way, Arnold; civilisation +will be too strong for them, and if Old England doesn't lead in that +direction, it will be her shame to the end of history." +</P> + +<P> +Arnold smiled, but kept silence. Mrs. Jacks looked and murmured her +approval. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish Hannaford could hear you," said Piers Otway. +</P> + +<P> +When they rose from the table, John Jacks invited the young man to come +with him into his study for a little private talk. +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't many books here," he said, noticing Otway's glance at the +shelves. "My library is down in Yorkshire, at the old home; where I +shall be very glad indeed to see you, whenever you come north in +vacation-time. Well now, let us make friends; tell me something about +yourself. You are reading for the Civil Service, I understand?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers liked Mr. Jacks, and was soon chatting freely. He told how his +education had begun at a private school in London, how he had then gone +to school at Geneva, and, when seventeen years old, had entered an +office of London merchants, dealing with Russia. +</P> + +<P> +"It wasn't my own choice. My father talked to me, and seemed so anxious +for me to go into business that I made no objection. I didn't +understand him then, but I think I do now. You know"—he added in a +lower tone—"that I have two elder brothers?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know. And a word that fell from your father at Northallerton +the other day—I think I understand." +</P> + +<P> +"Both went in for professions," Otway pursued, "and I suppose he wasn't +very well satisfied with the results. However, after I had been two +years in the office, I felt I couldn't stand it, and I began privately +to read law. Then one day I wrote to my father, and asked whether he +would allow me to be articled to a solicitor. He replied that he would, +if, at the age of twenty, I had gone steadily on with the distasteful +office work, and had continued to read law in my leisure. Well, I +accepted this, of course, and in a year's time found how right he had +been; already I had got sick of the law books, and didn't care for the +idea of being articled. I told father that, and he asked me to wait six +months more, and then to let him know my mind again. I hadn't got to +like business any better, and one day it seemed to me that I would try +for a place in a Government office. When the time came, I suggested +this, and my father ultimately agreed. I lived with him at Hawes for a +month or two, then came into Surrey, to work on for the examination. We +shall see what I get." +</P> + +<P> +The young man spoke with a curious blending of modesty and +self-confidence, of sobriety beyond his years and the glow of a fervid +temperament. He seemed to hold himself consciously in restraint, but, +as if to compensate for subdued language, he used more gesticulation +than is common with Englishmen. Mr. Jacks watched him very closely, +and, when he ceased, reflected for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"True; we shall see. You are working steadily?" +</P> + +<P> +"About fourteen hours a day." +</P> + +<P> +"Too much! too much!—All at the Civil Service subjects?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; I manage a few other things. For instance, I'm trying to learn +Russian. Father says he made the attempt long ago, but was beaten. I +don't think I shall give in." +</P> + +<P> +"Your father knew Herzen and Bakounine, in the old days. Well, don't +overdo it; don't neglect the body. We must have another talk before +long." +</P> + +<P> +Again Mr. Jacks looked thoughtfully at the keen young face, and his +countenance betrayed a troublous mood. +</P> + +<P> +"How you remind me of my old friend, forty years ago—forty years ago!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +</H3> + +<P> +A little apart from the village of Ewell, within sight of the noble +trees and broad herbage of Nonsuch Park, and looking southward to the +tilth and pasture of the Downs, stood the house occupied by Mr. Lee +Hannaford. It was just too large to be called a cottage; not quite old +enough to be picturesque; a pleasant enough dwelling, amid its green +garden plot, sheltered on the north side by a dark hedge of yew, and +shut from the quiet road by privet topped with lilac and laburnum. This +day of early summer, fresh after rains, with a clear sky and the sun +wide-gleaming over young leaf and bright blossom, with Nature's perfume +wafted along every alley, about every field and lane, showed the spot +at its best. But it was with no eye to natural beauty that Mr. +Hannaford had chosen this abode; such considerations left him +untouched. He wanted a cheap house not far from London, where his +wife's uncertain health might receive benefit, and where the simplicity +of the surroundings would offer no temptations to casual expense. For +his own part, he was a good deal from home, coming and going as it +suited him; a very small income from capital, and occasional earnings +by contribution to scientific journalism, left slender resources to +Mrs. Hannaford and her daughter after the husband's needs were +supplied. Thus it came about that they gladly ceded a spare room to +Piers Otway, who, having boarded with them during his student time at +Geneva, had at long intervals kept up a correspondence with Mrs. +Hannaford, a lady he admired. +</P> + +<P> +The rooms were indifferently furnished; in part, owing to poverty, and +partly because neither of the ladies cared much for things domestic. +Mr. Hannaford's sanctum alone had character; it was hung about with +lethal weapons of many kinds and many epochs, including a memento of +every important war waged in Europe since the date of Waterloo. A +smoke-grimed rifle from some battlefield was in Hannaford's view a +thing greatly precious; still more, a bayonet with stain of blood; +these relics appealed to his emotions. Under glass were ranged minutiae +such as bullets, fragments of shells, bits of gore-drenched cloth or +linen, a splinter of human bone—all ticketed with neat inscription. A +bookcase contained volumes of military history, works on firearms, +treatises on (chiefly explosive) chemistry; several great portfolios +were packed with maps and diagrams of warfare. Upstairs, a long garret +served as laboratory, and here were ranged less valuable possessions; +weapons to which some doubt attached, unbloody scraps of accoutrements, +also a few models of cannon and the like. +</P> + +<P> +In society, Hannaford was an entertaining, sometimes a charming, man, +with a flow of well-informed talk, of agreeable anecdote; his friends +liked to have him at the dinner-table; he could never be at a loss for +a day or two's board and lodging when his home wearied him. Under his +own roof he seldom spoke save to find fault, rarely showed anything but +acrid countenance. He and his wife were completely alienated; but for +their child, they would long ago have parted. It had been a love match, +and the daughter's name, Olga, still testified to the romance of their +honeymoon; but that was nearly twenty years gone by, and of these at +least fifteen had been spent in discord, concealed or flagrant. Mrs. +Hannaford was something of an artist; her husband spoke of all art with +contempt—except the great art of human slaughter. She liked the +society of foreigners; he, though a remarkable linguist, at heart +distrusted and despised all but English-speaking folk. As a girl in her +teens, she had been charmed by the man's virile accomplishments, his +soldierly bearing and gay talk of martial things, though Hannaford was +only a teacher of science. Nowadays she thought with dreary wonder of +that fascination, and had come to loathe every trapping and habiliment +of war. She knew him profoundly selfish, and recognised the other +faults which had hindered so clever a man from success in life; +indolent habits, moral untrustworthiness, and a conceit which at times +menaced insanity. He hated her, she was well aware, because of her cold +criticism; she returned his hate with interest. +</P> + +<P> +Save in suicide, of which she had sometimes thought, Mrs. Hannaford saw +but one hope of release. A sister of hers had married a rich American, +and was now a widow in failing health. That sister's death might +perchance endow her with the means of liberty; she hung upon every +message from across the Atlantic. +</P> + +<P> +She had a brother, too; a distinguished, but not a wealthy man. Dr. +Derwent would gladly have seen more of her, gladly have helped to cheer +her life, but a hearty antipathy held him aloof from Lee Hannaford. +Communication between the two families was chiefly maintained through +Dr. Derwent's daughter Irene, now in her nineteenth year. The girl had +visited her aunt at Geneva, and since then had occasionally been a +guest at Ewell. Having just returned from a winter abroad with her +father, and no house being ready for her reception in London, Irene was +even now about to pass a week with her relatives. They expected her +to-day. The prospect of Irene's arrival enabled Mrs. Hannaford and Olga +to find pleasure in the sunshine, which otherwise brought them little +solace. +</P> + +<P> +Neither was in sound health. The mother had an interesting face; the +daughter had a touch of beauty; but something morbid appeared on the +countenance of each. They lived a strange life, lonely, silent; the +stillness of the house unbroken by a note of music, unrelieved by a +sound of laughter. In the neighbourhood they had no friends; only at +long intervals did a London acquaintance come thus far to call upon +them. But for the presence of Piers Otway at meals, and sometimes in +the afternoon or evening, they would hardly have known conversation. +For when Hannaford was at home, his sour muteness discouraged any kind +of talk; in his absence, mother and daughter soon exhausted all they +had to say to each other, and read or brooded or nursed their headaches +apart. +</P> + +<P> +With the coming of Irene, gloom vanished. It had always been so, since +the beginning of her girlhood; the name of Irene Derwent signified +miseries forgotten, mirthful hours, the revival of health and hope. +Unable to resist her influence, Hannaford always kept as much as +possible out of the way when she was under his roof; the conflict +between inclination to unbend and stubborn coldness towards his family +made him too uncomfortable. Vivaciously tactful in this as in all +things, Irene had invented a pleasant fiction which enabled her to meet +Mr. Hannaford without embarrassment; she always asked him "How is your +neuralgia?" And the man, according as he felt, made answer that it was +better or worse. That neuralgia was often a subject of bitter jest +between Mrs. Hannaford and Olga, but it had entered into the life of +the family, and at times seemed to be believed in even by the imagined +sufferer. +</P> + +<P> +Nothing could have been more characteristic of Irene. Wit at the +service of good feeling expressed her nature. +</P> + +<P> +Her visit this time would be specially interesting, for she had passed +the winter in Finland, amid the intellectual society of Helsingfors. +Letters had given a foretaste of what she would have to tell, but Irene +was no great letter-writer. She had an impatience of remaining seated +at a desk. She did not even read very much. Her delight was in +conversation, in movement, in active life. For several years her father +had made her his companion, as often as possible, in holiday travel and +on the journeys prompted by scientific study. Though successful as a +medical man, Dr. Derwent no longer practised; he devoted himself to +pathological research, and was making a name in the world of science. +His wife, who had died young, left him two children; the elder, +Eustace, was an amiable and intelligent young man, but had small place +in his father's life compared with that held by Irene. +</P> + +<P> +She was to arrive at Ewell in time for luncheon. Her brother would +bring her, and return to London in the afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +Olga walked to the station to meet them. Mrs. Hannaford having paid +unusual attention to her dress—she had long since ceased to care how +she looked, save on very exceptional occasions—moved impatiently, +nervously, about the house and the garden. Her age was not yet forty, +but a life of disappointment and unrest had dulled her complexion, made +her movements languid, and was beginning to touch with grey her soft, +wavy hair. Under happier circumstances she would have been a most +attractive woman; her natural graces were many, her emotions were vivid +and linked with a bright intelligence, her natural temper inclined to +the nobler modes of life. Unfortunately, little care had been given to +her education; her best possibilities lay undeveloped; thrown upon her +inadequate resources, she nourished the weaknesses instead of the +virtues of her nature. She was always saying to herself that life had +gone by, and was wasted; for life meant love, and love in her +experience had been a flitting folly, an error of crude years, which +should, in all justice, have been thrown aside and forgotten, allowing +her a second chance. Too late, now. Often she lay through the long +nights shedding tears of misery. Too late; her beauty blurred, her +heart worn with suffering, often poisoned with bitterness. Yet there +came moments of revolt, when she rose and looked at herself in the +mirror, and asked——But for Olga, she would have tried to shape her +own destiny. +</P> + +<P> +To-day she could look up at the sunshine. Irene was coming. +</P> + +<P> +A sound of young voices in the quiet road; then the shimmer of a bright +costume, the gleam of a face all health and charm and merriment. Irene +came into the garden, followed by her brother, and behind them Olga. +</P> + +<P> +Her voice woke the dull house; of a sudden it was alive, responding to +the cheerful mood of its inhabitants. The rooms had a new appearance; +sunlight seemed to penetrate to every shadowed corner; colours were +brighter, too familiar objects became interesting. The dining-room +table, commonly so uninviting, gleamed as for a festival. Irene's eyes +fell on everything and diffused her own happy spirit. Irene had an +excellent appetite; everyone enjoyed the meal. This girl could not but +bestow something of herself on all with whom she came together; where +she felt liking, her influence was incalculable. +</P> + +<P> +"How much better you look than when I last saw you." she said to her +aunt. "Ewell evidently suits you." +</P> + +<P> +And at once Mrs. Hannaford felt that she was stronger, younger, than +she had thought. Yes, she felt better than for a long time, and Ewell +was exactly suited to her health. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that pastel yours, Olga? Admirable! The best thing of yours I ever +saw." +</P> + +<P> +And Olga, who had thought her pastel worthless, saw all at once that it +really was not bad; she glowed with gratification. +</P> + +<P> +The cousins were almost of an age, of much the same stature; but Olga +had a pallid tint, tawny hair, and bluish eyes, whilst Irene's was a +warm complexion, her hair of dark-brown, and her eyes of hazel. As +efficient human beings, there could be no comparison between them; Olga +looked frail, despondent, inclined to sullenness, whilst Irene +impressed one as in perfect health, abounding in gay vitality, infinite +in helpful resource. Straight as an arrow, her shoulders the perfect +curve, bosom and hips full-moulded to the ideal of ripe girlhood, she +could not make a gesture which was not graceful, nor change her +position without revealing a new excellence of form. Yet a certain +taste would have leant towards Miss Hannaford, whose traits had more +mystery; as an uncommon type, she gained by this juxtaposition. Miss +Derwent, despite her larger experience of the world, her vastly better +education, was a much younger person than Olga; she had an occasional +<I>naivete</I> unknown to her cousin; her sex was far less developed. To the +average man, Olga's proximity would have been troubling, whereas +Irene's would simply have given delight. +</P> + +<P> +During the excitement of the arrival, and through the cheerful meal +which followed, Eustace Derwent maintained a certain reserve, was +always rather in the background. This implied no defect of decent +sentiment; the young man—he was four-and-twenty—could not regard his +aunt and cousin with any fond emotion, but he did not dislike them, and +was willing to credit them with all the excellent qualities perceived +by Irene, wondering merely how his father's sister, a member of the +Derwent family, could have married such a "doubtful customer" as Lee +Hannaford. Eustace never became demonstrative; he had in perfection the +repose of a self-conscious, delicately bred, and highly trained +Englishman. In a day of democratisation, he supported the ancient fame +of the University which fostered gentlemen. Balliol was his College. +His respect for that name, and his reverence for the great master who +ruled there, were not inconsistent with a private feeling that, +whatever he might owe to Balliol, Balliol in turn lay under a certain +obligation to him. His academic record had no brilliancy; he aimed at +nothing of the kind, knowing his limitations—or rather his +distinctions; but he was quietly conscious that no graduate of his year +better understood the niceties of decorum, more creditably represented +the tone of that famous school of manners. +</P> + +<P> +Eustace Derwent was in fact a thoroughly clear-minded and well-meaning +young man; sensitive as to his honour; ambitious of such social +advancement as would illustrate his name; unaffectedly attached to +those of his own blood, and anxious to fulfil with entire propriety all +the recognised duties of life. He was intelligent, with originality; he +was good-natured without shadow of boisterous impulse. In countenance +he strongly resembled his mother, who had been a very handsome woman +(Irene had more of her father's features), and, of course, he well knew +that the eyes of ladies rested upon him with peculiar interest; but no +vulgar vanity appeared in his demeanour. As a matter of routine, he +dressed well, but he abhorred the hint of foppishness. In athletics he +had kept the golden mean, as in all else; he exercised his body for +health, not for the pride of emulation. As to his career, he was at +present reading for the Bar. In meditative moments it seemed to him +that he was, perhaps, best fitted for the diplomatic service. +</P> + +<P> +Not till this gentleman had taken his leave, which he did (to catch a +train) soon after lunch, was there any mention of the fact that the +Hannafords had a stranger residing under their roof: in coarse English, +a lodger. +</P> + +<P> +To Eustace, as his aunt knew, the subject would necessarily have been +painful; and not only in the snobbish sense; it would really have +distressed him to learn that his kinsfolk were glad of such a +supplement to their income. But soon after his retirement, Mrs. +Hannaford spoke of the matter, and no sooner had she mentioned Piers +Otway's name than Irene flashed upon her a look of attentive interest. +</P> + +<P> +"Is he related to Jerome Otway, the agitator?—His son? How delightful! +Oh, I know all about him; I mean, about the old man. One of our friends +at Helsingfors was an old French revolutionist, who has lived a great +deal in England; he was always talking about his English friends of +long ago, and Jerome Otway often came in. He didn't know whether he was +still alive. Oh, I must write and tell him." +</P> + +<P> +The ladies gave what information they could (it amounted to very +little) about the recluse of Wensleydale; then they talked of the young +man. +</P> + +<P> +"We knew him at Geneva, first of all," said Mrs. Hannaford. "Indeed, he +lived with us there for a time; he was only a boy, then, and such a +nice boy! He has changed a good deal—don't you think so, Olga? I don't +mean for the worse; not at all; but he is not so talkative and +companionable. You'll find him shy at first, I fancy." +</P> + +<P> +"He works terrifically," put in Olga. "It's certain he must be injuring +his health." +</P> + +<P> +"Then," exclaimed Irene, "why do you let him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Let him? We have no right to interfere with a young man of +one-and-twenty." +</P> + +<P> +"Surely you have, if he's behaving foolishly, to his own harm. But what +do you call terrific work?" +</P> + +<P> +"All day long, and goodness knows how much of the night. Somebody told +us his light had been seen burning once at nearly three o'clock." +</P> + +<P> +"Is he at it now?" asked Irene, with a comical look towards the ceiling. +</P> + +<P> +They explained Otway's absence. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, he lunches with Members of Parliament, does he?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's a very exceptional thing for him to leave home," said Mrs. +Hannaford. "He only goes out to breathe the air for half an hour or so +in an afternoon." +</P> + +<P> +"You astonish me, aunt! You oughtn't to allow it—<I>I</I> shan't allow it, +I assure you." +</P> + +<P> +The listeners laughed gaily. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Irene," said her aunt, "Mr. Otway will be much flattered, I'm +sure. But his examination comes on very soon, and he was telling us +only yesterday that he didn't want to lose an hour if he could help it." +</P> + +<P> +"He'll lose a good many hours before long, at this rate. Silly fellow! +That's not the way to do well at an exam! I must counsel him for his +soul's good, I must, indeed. Will he dine here to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt." +</P> + +<P> +"And make all haste to get away when dinner is over," said Olga, with a +smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Then we won't let him. He shall tell us all about the Member of +Parliament; and then all about his famous father. I undertake to keep +him talking till ten." +</P> + +<P> +"Then, poor fellow, he'll have to work all night to make it up." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed, no! I shall expressly forbid it. What a shocking thing if he +died here, and it got into the papers! Aunt, do consider; they would +call you his <I>landlady</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford reddened whilst laughing, and the girl saw that her joke +was not entirely relished, but she could never resist the temptation to +make fun of certain prejudices. +</P> + +<P> +"And when you give your evidence," she went on, "the coroner will +remark that if the influence of a lady so obviously sweet and +right-feeling and intelligent could not avail to save the poor youth, +he was plainly destined to a premature end." +</P> + +<P> +At which Mrs. Hannaford again laughed and reddened, but this time with +gratification. +</P> + +<P> +If Irene sometimes made a mistake, no one could have perceived it more +quickly, and more charmingly have redeemed the slip. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +</H3> + +<P> +When Piers Otway got back to Ewell, about four o'clock, he felt the +beginning of a headache. The day of excitement might have accounted for +it, but in the last few weeks it had been too common an experience with +him, a warning, naturally, against his mode of life, and of course +unheeded. On reaching the house, he saw and heard no one; the door +stood open, and he went straight up to his room. +</P> + +<P> +He had only one, which served him for study and bedchamber. In front of +the window stood a large table, covered with his books and papers, and +there, on the blotting pad, lay a letter which had arrived for him +since his departure this morning. It came, he saw, from his father. He +took it up eagerly, and was tearing the envelope when his eye fell on +something that stayed his hand. +</P> + +<P> +The wide-open window offered a view over the garden at the back of the +house, and on the lawn he saw a little group of ladies. Seated in +basket chairs, Mrs. Hannaford and her daughter were conversing with a +third person whom Piers did not know, a tall, fair-faced girl who stood +before them and seemed at this moment to be narrating some lively +story. Even had her features been hidden, the attitude of this +stranger, her admirable form and rapid, graceful gestures, must have +held the young man's attention; seeing her with the light full on her +countenance, he gazed and gazed, in sudden complete forgetfulness of +his half-opened letter. Just so had he stood before the print shop in +London this morning, with the same wide eyes, the same hurried +breathing; rapt, self-oblivious. +</P> + +<P> +He remembered. The Hannafords' relative, Miss Derwent, was expected +to-day; and Miss Derwent, doubtless, he beheld. +</P> + +<P> +The next moment it occurred to him that his observation, within earshot +of the group, was a sort of eavesdropping; he closed his window and +turned away. The sound must have drawn attention, for very soon there +came a knock at the door, and the servant inquired of him whether he +would have tea, as usual, in his room, or join the ladies below. +</P> + +<P> +"Bring it here, please," he replied. "And—yes, tell Mrs. Hannaford +that I shall not come down to dinner—you can bring me anything you +like—just a mouthful of something." +</P> + +<P> +Now there went, obscurely, no less than three reasons to the quick +shaping of this decision. In the first place, Piers had glanced over +his father's letter, and saw in it matter for long reflection. +Secondly, his headache was declared, and he would be better alone for +the evening. Thirdly, he shrank from meeting Miss Derwent. And this +last was the predominant motive. Letter and headache notwithstanding, +he would have joined the ladies at dinner but for the presence of their +guest. An inexplicable irritation all at once possessed him; a +grotesque resentment of Miss Derwent's arrival. +</P> + +<P> +Why should she have come just when he wanted to work harder than ever? +That was how things happened—the perversity of circumstance! She would +be at every meal for at least a week; he must needs talk with her, look +at her, think about her. His annoyance became so acute that he tramped +nervously about the floor, muttering maledictions. +</P> + +<P> +It passed. A cup of tea brought him to his right mind, and he no longer +saw the event in such exaggerated colours. But he was glad of his +decision to spend the evening alone. +</P> + +<P> +His father's letter had come at the right moment; in some degree it +allayed the worry caused by his brother Daniel's talk this morning. +Jerome Otway wrote, as usual, briefly, on the large letter-paper he +always used; his bold hand, full of a certain character, demanded +space. He began by congratulating Piers on the completion of his +one-and-twentieth year. "I am late, but had not forgotten the day; it +costs me an effort to put pen to paper, as you know." Proceeding, he +informed his son that a sum of money, a few hundred pounds, had become +payable to him on the attainment of his majority. "It was your +mother's, and she wished you to have it. A man of law will communicate +with you about the matter. Speak of it to me, or not, as you prefer. If +you wish it, I will advise; if you wish it not, I will keep silence." +There followed a few words about the beauty of spring in the moorland; +then: "Your ordeal approaches. An absurdity, I fear, but the wisdom of +our day will have it thus. I wish you success. If you fall short of +your hopes, come to me and we will talk once more. Befall what may, I +am to the end your father who wishes you well." The signature was very +large, and might have drawn censure of affectation from the +unsympathetic. As, indeed, might the whole epistle: very significant of +the mind and temper of Jerome Otway. +</P> + +<P> +To Piers, the style was too familiar to suggest reflections: besides, he +had a loyal mind towards his father, and never criticised the old man's +dealing with him. The confirmation of Daniel's report about the legacy +concerned him little in itself; he had no immediate need of money, and +so small a sum could not affect the course of his life; but, this being +true, it seemed probable that Daniel's other piece of information was +equally well founded. If so, what matter? Already he had asked himself +why the story about his mother should have caused him a shock. His +father, in all likelihood, would now never speak of that; and, indeed, +why should he? The story no longer affected either of them, and to +worry oneself about it was mere "philistinism," a favourite term with +Piers at that day. +</P> + +<P> +In replying, which he did this same night, he decided to make no +mention of Daniel. The name would give his father no pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +When he rang to have his tea-things taken away, Mrs. Hannaford +presented herself. She was anxious about him. Why would he not dine? +She wished him to make the acquaintance of Miss Derwent, whose talk was +sure to interest him. Piers pleaded his headache, causing the lady more +solicitude. She entreated. As he could not work, it would be much +better for him to spend an hour or two in company. Would he not? to +please her? +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford spoke in a soft, caressing voice, and Piers returned her +look of kindness; but he was firm. An affection had grown up between +these two; their intercourse, though they seldom talked long together, +was much like that of mother and son. +</P> + +<P> +"You are injuring you health," said Mrs. Hannaford gravely, "and it is +unkind to those who care for you." +</P> + +<P> +"Wait a few weeks," he replied cheerily, "and I'll make up the health +account." +</P> + +<P> +"You refuse to come down to please me, this once?" +</P> + +<P> +"I must be alone—indeed I must," Piers replied, with unusual +abruptness. And Mrs. Hannaford, a little hurt, left the room without +speaking. +</P> + +<P> +He all but hastened after her, to apologise; but the irritable impulse +overcame him again, and he had to pace the room till his nerves grew +steady. +</P> + +<P> +Very soon after it was dark he gave up the effort to read, and went to +bed. A good night's sleep restored him. He rose with the sun, felt the +old appetite for work, and when the breakfast bell rang had redeemed +more than three good hours. He was able now to face Miss Derwent, or +anyone else. Indeed, that young lady hardly came into his mind before +he met her downstairs. At the introduction he behaved with his natural +reserve, which had nothing, as a rule, of awkwardness. Irene was +equally formal, though a smile at the corner of her lips half betrayed +a mischievous thought. They barely spoke to each other, and at table +Irene took no heed of him. +</P> + +<P> +But with the others she talked as brightly as usual, managing, none the +less, to do full justice to the meal. Miss Derwent's vigour of mind and +body was not sustained on air, and she never affected a delicate +appetite. There was still something of the healthy schoolgirl in her +manner. Otway glanced at her once or twice, but immediately averted his +eyes—with a slight frown, as if the light had dazzled him. +</P> + +<P> +She was talking of Finland, and mentioned the name of her father's +man-servant, Thibaut. It entered several times into the narrative, and +always with an approving epithet, the excellent Thibaut, the brave +Thibaut. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Hannaford, presently, "do tell Mr. Otway the story +of Thibaut." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, do!" urged Olga. +</P> + +<P> +Piers raised his eyes to the last speaker, and moved them timidly +towards Irene. She smiled, meeting his look with a sort of merry +satisfaction. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Otway is occupied with serious thoughts," was her good-humoured +remark. +</P> + +<P> +"I should much like to hear the story of Thibaut," said Piers, bending +forward a little. +</P> + +<P> +"Would you? You shall—Thibaut Rossignol; delightful name, isn't it? +And one of the most delightful of men, though only a servant, and the +son of a village shopkeeper. It begins fifteen years ago, just after +the Franco-Prussian War. My father was taking a holiday in eastern +France, and he came one day to a village where an epidemic of typhoid +was raging. <I>Tant mieux</I>! Something to do; some help to be given. If +you knew my father—but you will understand. He offered his services to +the overworked couple of doctors and was welcomed. He fought the +typhoid day and night—if you knew my father! Well, there was a bad +case in a family named Rossignol: a boy of twelve. What made it worse +was that two elder brothers had been killed in the war, and the parents +sat in despair by the bedside of their only remaining child. The father +was old and very shaky; the mother much younger, but she had suffered +dreadfully from the death of her two boys—you should hear my father +tell it! I make a hash of it; when <I>he</I> tells it people cry. Madame +Rossignol was the sweetest little woman—you know that kind of +Frenchwoman, don't you? Soft-voiced, tender, intelligent, using the +most delightful phrases; a jewel of a woman. My father settled himself +by the bedside and fought; Madame Rossignol watching him with eyes he +did not dare to meet—until a certain moment. Then—<I>then</I> the soft +voice for once was loud. '<I>Ii est sauve</I>!' My father shed tears; +everybody shed tears—except Thibaut himself." +</P> + +<P> +Piers hung on the speaker's lips. No music had ever held him so rapt. +When she ceased he gazed at her. +</P> + +<P> +"No, of course, that's not all," Irene proceeded, with the mischievous +smile again; and she spoke much as she might have done to an eagerly +listening child. "Six years pass by. My father is again in the east of +France, and he goes to the old village. He is received with enthusiasm; +his name has become a proverb. Rossignol <I>pere</I>, alas, is dead, long +since. Dear Madame Rossignol lives, but my father sees at a glance that +she will not live long. The excitement of meeting him was almost too +much for her—pale, sweet little woman. Thibaut was keeping shop with +her, but he seemed out of place there; a fine lad of eighteen; very +intelligent, wonderfully good-humoured, and his poor mother had no +peace, night or day, for the thought of what would become of him after +her death; he had no male kinsfolk, and certainly would not stick to a +dull little trade. My father thought, and after thinking, spoke. +'Madame, will you let me take your son to England, and find something +for him to do?' She screamed with delight. 'But will Thibaut consent?' +Thibaut had his patriotic scruples; but when he saw and heard his poor +mother, he consented. Madame Rossignol had a sister near by, with whom +she could live. And so on the spot it was settled." +</P> + +<P> +Piers hung on the speaker's lips; no tale had ever so engrossed him. +Indeed, it was charmingly told; with so much girlish sincerity, so much +womanly feeling. +</P> + +<P> +"No, that's not all. My father went to his inn for the night. Early in +the morning he was hastily summoned; he must come at once to the house +of the Rossignols; something was wrong. He went, and there, in her bed, +lay the little woman, just as if asleep, and a smile on her face—but +she was dead." +</P> + +<P> +Piers had a lump in his throat; he straightened himself, and tried to +command his features. Irene, smiling, looked steadily at him. +</P> + +<P> +"From that day," she added, "Thibaut has been my father's servant. He +wouldn't be anything else. This, he always says, would best have +pleased his mother. He will never leave Dr. Derwent. The good Thibaut!" +</P> + +<P> +All were silent for a minute; then Piers pushed back his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Work?" said Mrs. Hannaford, with a little note of allusion to last +evening. +</P> + +<P> +"Work!" Piers replied grimly, his eyes down. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, now," exclaimed Irene, turning to her cousin, "what shall we do +this splendid morning? Where can we go?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers left the room as the words were spoken. He went upstairs with +slower step than usual, head bent. On entering his room (it was always +made ready for him while he was at breakfast), he walked to the window, +and stared out at the fleecy clouds in the summer blue, at the trees +and the lawn. He was thinking of the story of Thibaut. What a fine +fellow Dr. Derwent must be! He would like to know him. +</P> + +<P> +To work! He meant to give an hour or two to his Russian, with which he +had already made fair progress. By the bye, he must tell his father +that; the old man would be pleased. +</P> + +<P> +An hour later, he again stood at his window, staring at the clouds and +the blue. Russian was against the grain, somehow, this morning. He +wondered whether Miss Derwent had learnt any during her winter at +Helsingfors. +</P> + +<P> +What a long day was before him! He kept looking at his watch. And, +instead of getting on with his work, he thought and thought again of +the story of Thibaut. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +</H3> + +<P> +At lunch Piers was as silent as at breakfast; he hardly spoke, save in +answer to a chance question from Mrs. Hannaford. His face had an +unwonted expression, a shade of sullenness, a mood rarely seen in him. +Miss Derwent, whose animation more than made up for this muteness in +one of the company, glanced occasionally at Otway, but did not address +him. +</P> + +<P> +As his habit was, he went out for an afternoon walk, and returned with +no brighter countenance. On the first landing of the staircase, as he +stole softly to his room, he came face to face with Miss Derwent, +descending. +</P> + +<P> +"We are going to have tea in the garden," she exclaimed, with the +friendliest look and tone. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you? It will be enjoyable—it's so warm and sunny." +</P> + +<P> +"You will come, of course?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry—I have too much to do." +</P> + +<P> +He blundered out the words with hot embarrassment, and would have +passed on. Irene did not permit it. +</P> + +<P> +"But you have been working all the morning?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes——" +</P> + +<P> +"Since when?" +</P> + +<P> +"Since about—oh, five o'clock——" +</P> + +<P> +"Then you have already worked something like eight hours, Mr. Otway. +How many more do you think of working?" +</P> + +<P> +"Five or six, I hope," Piers answered, finding courage to look into her +face, and trying to smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Otway," she rejoined, with an air of self-possession which made +him feel like a rebuked schoolboy, "I prophesy that you will come to +grief over your examination." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think so, Miss Derwent," he said, with the firmness of +desperation, as he felt his face grow red under her gaze. +</P> + +<P> +"I am the daughter of a medical man. Prescriptions are in my blood. +Allow me to tell you that you have worked enough for one day, and that +it is your plain duty to come and have tea in the garden." +</P> + +<P> +So serious was the note of interest which blended with her natural +gaiety as she spoke these words that Piers felt his nerves thrill with +delight. He was able to meet her eyes, and to respond in becoming terms. +</P> + +<P> +"You are right. Certainly I will come, and gladly." +</P> + +<P> +Irene nodded, smiled approval, and moved past him. +</P> + +<P> +In his room he walked hither and thither aimlessly, still holding his +hat and stick. A throbbing of the heart, a quickening of the senses, +seemed to give him a new consciousness of life. His mood of five +minutes ago had completely vanished. He remembered his dreary ramble +about the lanes as if it had taken place last week. Miss Derwent was +still speaking to him; his mind echoed again and again every word she +had said, perfectly reproducing her voice, her intonation; he saw her +bright, beautiful face, its changing lights, its infinite subtleties of +expression. The arch of her eyebrows and the lovely hazel eyes beneath; +the small and exquisitely shaped mouth; the little chin, so delicately +round and firm; all were engraved on his memory, once and for ever. +</P> + +<P> +He sat down and was lost in a dream. His arms hung idly; all his +muscles were relaxed. His eyes dwelt on a point of the carpet which he +did not see. +</P> + +<P> +Then, with a sudden start of activity, he went to the looking-glass and +surveyed himself. His tie was the worse for wear. He exchanged it for +another. He brushed his hair violently, and smoothed his moustache. +Never had he felt such dissatisfaction with his appearance. Never had +it struck him so disagreeably before that he was hard-featured, sallow, +anything but a handsome man. Yet, he had good teeth, very white and +regular; that was something, perhaps. Observing them, he grinned at +himself grotesquely—and at once was so disgusted that he turned with a +shudder away. +</P> + +<P> +Ordinarily, he would have awaited the summons of the bell for tea. But, +after making himself ready, he gazed from the window and saw Miss +Derwent walking alone in the garden; he hastened down. +</P> + +<P> +She gave him a look of intelligence, but took his arrival as a matter +of course, and spoke to him about a flowering shrub which pleased her. +Otway's heart sank. What had he expected? He neither knew nor asked +himself; he stood beside her, seeing nothing, hearing only a voice and +wishing it would speak on for ever. He was no longer a reflecting, +reasoning young man, with a tolerably firm will and fixed purposes, but +a mere embodied emotion, and that of the vaguest, swaying in dependence +on another's personality. +</P> + +<P> +Olga Hannaford joined them. Olga, for all the various charms of her +face, had never thus affected him. But then, he had known her a few +years ago, when, as something between child and woman, she had little +power to interest an imaginative boy, whose ideal was some actress seen +only in a photograph, or some great lady on her travels glimpsed as he +strayed about Geneva. She, in turn, regarded him with the coolest +friendliness, her own imagination busy with far other figures than that +of a would-be Government clerk. +</P> + +<P> +Just as tea was being served, there sounded a voice welcome to no one +present, that of Lee Hannaford. He came forward with his wonted air of +preoccupation; a well-built man, in the prime of life, carefully +dressed, his lips close-set, his eyes seemingly vacant, but in reality +very attentive; a pinched ironical smile meant for cordiality. After +greetings, he stood before Miss Derwent's chair conversing with her; a +cup of tea in his steady hand, his body just bent, his forehead +curiously wrinkled—a habit of his when he talked for civility's sake +and nothing else. Hannaford could never be at ease in the presence of +his wife and daughter if others were there to observe him; he avoided +speaking to them, or, if obliged, did so with awkward formality. +Indeed, he was not fond of the society of women, and grew less so every +year. His tone with regard to them was marked with an almost +puritanical coldness; he visited any feminine breach of the proprieties +with angry censure. Yet, before his marriage, he had lived, if +anything, more laxly than the average man, and to his wife he had +confessed (strange memory nowadays), that he owed to her a moral +redemption. His morality, in fact, no one doubted; the suspicions Mrs. +Hannaford had once entertained when his coldness to her began, she now +knew to be baseless. Absorbed in meditations upon bloodshed and havoc, +he held high the ideal of chastity, and, in company agreeable to him, +could allude to it as the safeguard of civil life. +</P> + +<P> +When he withdrew into the house, Mrs. Hannaford followed him. Olga, +always nervous when her father was near, sat silent. Piers Otway, with +a new reluctance, was rising to return to his studies, when Miss +Derwent checked him with a look. +</P> + +<P> +"What a perfect afternoon!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is, indeed," he murmured, his eyes falling. +</P> + +<P> +"Olga, are you too tired for another walk?" +</P> + +<P> +"I? Oh, no! I should enjoy it." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think"—Irene looked roguishly at her cousin—"Mr. Otway would +forgive us if we begged him to come, too?" +</P> + +<P> +Olga smiled, and glanced at the young man with certainty that he would +excuse himself. +</P> + +<P> +"We can but ask," she said. +</P> + +<P> +And Piers, to her astonishment, at once assented. He did so with sudden +colour in his cheeks, avoiding Olga's look. +</P> + +<P> +So they set forth together; and, little by little, Piers grew +remarkably talkative. Miss Derwent mentioned his father, declared an +interest in Jerome Otway, and this was a subject on which Piers could +always discourse to friendly hearers. This evening he did so with +exceptional fervour, abounded in reminiscences, rose at moments to +enthusiasm. His companions were impressed; to Irene it was an +unexpected revelation of character. She had imagined young Otway dry +and rather conventional, perhaps conceited; she found him impassioned +and an idealist, full of hero-worship, devoted to his father's name and +fame. +</P> + +<P> +"And he lives all the year round in that out-of-the-way place?" she +asked. "I must make a pilgrimage to Hawes. Would he be annoyed? I could +tell him about his old friends at Helsingfors——" +</P> + +<P> +"He would be delighted to see you!" cried Piers, his face glowing. "Let +me know before—let me write——" +</P> + +<P> +"Is he quite alone?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, his wife—my stepmother—is living." +</P> + +<P> +Irene's quick perception interpreted the change of note. +</P> + +<P> +"It would really be very interesting—if I can manage to get so far," +she said, less impulsively. +</P> + +<P> +They walked the length of the great avenue at Nonsuch, and back again +in the golden light of the west. Piers Otway disregarded the beauty of +earth and sky, he had eyes for nothing but the face and form beside +him. At dinner, made dull by Hannaford's presence, he lived still in +the dream of his delight, listening only when Irene spoke, speaking +only when she addressed him, which she did several times. The meal +over, he sought an excuse for spending the next hour in the +drawing-room; but Mrs. Hannaford, unconscious of any change in his +habits, offered no invitation, and he stole silently away. +</P> + +<P> +He did not light his lamp, but sat in the dim afterglow till it faded +through dusk into dark. He sat without movement, in an enchanted +reverie. And when night had fallen, he suddenly threw off his clothes +and got into bed, where for hours he lay dreaming in wakefulness. +</P> + +<P> +He rose at eight the next morning, and would, under ordinary +circumstances, have taken a book till breakfast. But no book could hold +him, for he had already looked from the window, and in the garden below +had seen Irene. Panting with the haste he had made to finish his +toilet, he stepped towards her. +</P> + +<P> +"Three hours' work already, I suppose," she said, as they shook hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Unfortunately, not one. I overslept myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Come, that's reasonable! There's hope of you. Tell me about this +examination. What are the subjects?" +</P> + +<P> +He expounded the matter as they walked up and down. It led to a +question regarding the possibilities of such a career as he had in view. +</P> + +<P> +"To tell the truth, I haven't thought much about that," said Piers, +with wandering look. "My idea was, I fancy, to get a means of earning +my living which would leave me a good deal of time for private work." +</P> + +<P> +"What, literary work?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; I didn't think of writing. I like study for its own sake." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you have no ambitions, of the common kind?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, perhaps not. I suppose I have been influenced by my father's +talk about that kind of thing." +</P> + +<P> +"To be sure." +</P> + +<P> +He noticed a shrinking movement in Miss Derwent and saw that Hannaford +was approaching. This dislike of the man, involuntarily betrayed, gave +Piers an exquisite pleasure. Not only because it showed they had a +strong feeling in common; it would have delighted him in any case, for +he was jealous of any human being who approached Irene. +</P> + +<P> +Hannaford made known at breakfast that he was leaving home again that +afternoon, and might be absent for several days. A sensitive person +must have felt the secret satisfaction caused all round the table by +this announcement; Hannaford, whether he noticed it or not, was +completely indifferent; certain letters he had received took most of +his attention during the meal. One of them related to an appointment in +London which he was trying to obtain; the news was favourable, and it +cheered him. +</P> + +<P> +An hour later, as he sat writing in his study, Mrs. Hannaford brought +in a parcel, which had just arrived for him. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, what's that?" he asked, looking up with interest. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure I don't know," answered his wife. "Something with blood on +it, I dare say." +</P> + +<P> +Hannaford uttered a crowing laugh of scorn and amusement. +</P> + +<P> +Through the afternoon Piers Otway sat in the garden with the ladies. +After tea he again went for a walk with Olga and Irene. After dinner he +lingered so significantly that Mrs. Hannaford invited him to the +drawing-room, and with unconcealed pleasure he followed her thither. +When at length he had taken his leave for the night, there was a short +silence, Mrs. Hannaford glancing from her daughter to Irene, and +smiling reflectively. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Otway seems to be taking a holiday," she said at length. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, so it seemed to me," fell from Olga, who caught her mother's eye. +</P> + +<P> +"It'll do him good," was Miss Derwent's remark. She exchanged no glance +with the others, and seemed to be thinking of something else. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning, though the sun shone brilliantly, she did not appear in +the garden before breakfast. From a window above, eyes were watching, +watching in vain. At the meal Irene was her wonted self, but she did +not enter into conversation with Otway. The young man had grown silent +again. +</P> + +<P> +Heavily he went up to his room. Mechanically he seated himself at the +table. But, instead of opening books, he propped his head upon his +hands, and so sat for a long, long time. +</P> + +<P> +When thoughts began to shape themselves (at first he did not think, but +lived in a mere tumult of emotions) he recalled Irene's question: what +career had he really in view? A dull, respectable clerkship, with two +or three hundred a year, and the chance of dreary progress by seniority +till it was time to retire on a decent pension? That, he knew, was what +the Civil Service meant. The far, faint possibility of some assistant +secretaryship to some statesman in office; really nothing else. His +inquiries had apprised him of this delightful state of things, but he +had not cared. Now he did care. He was beginning to understand himself +better. +</P> + +<P> +In truth, he had never looked forward beyond a year or two. Ambition, +desires, he possessed in no common degree, but as a vague, unexamined +impulse. He had dreamt of love, but timidly, tremulously; that was for +the time to come. He had dreamt of distinction; that, also, must be +patiently awaited. In the meantime, labour. He enjoyed intellectual +effort; he gloried in the amassing of mental riches. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "To follow Knowledge like a sinking star<BR> + Beyond the<BR> + utmost bound of human thought—"<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +these lines were frequently in his mind, and helped to shape his +enthusiasm. Consciously he subdued a great part of himself, binding his +daily life in asceticism. He would not live in London because he +dreaded its temptations. Gladly he adhered to his father's principles +in the matter of food and drink; this helped him to subdue his body, or +at least he thought so. He was happiest when, throwing himself into bed +after some fourteen hours of hard reading, he felt the stupor of utter +weariness creep upon him, with certainty of oblivion until the next +sunrise. +</P> + +<P> +He did not much reflect upon the course of his life hitherto, with its +false starts, its wavering; he had not experience enough to understand +their significance. Of course his father was mainly responsible for +what had so far happened. Jerome Otway, whilst deciding that this +youngest son of his should be set in the sober way of commerce, to +advance himself, if fate pleased, through recognised grades of social +respectability, was by no means careful to hide from the lad his own +rooted contempt of such ideals. Nothing could have been more +inconsistent than the old agitator's behaviour in attempting to +discharge this practical duty. That he meant well was all one could say +of him; for it was not permissible to suppose Jerome Otway defective in +intelligence. Perhaps the outcome of solicitude in the case of his two +elder sons had so far discouraged him, that, on the first symptoms of +instability, he ceased to regard Piers as within his influence. +</P> + +<P> +Piers, this morning, had a terrible sense of loneliness, of +abandonment. The one certainty by which he had lived, his delight in +books, his resolve to become erudite, now of a sudden vanished. He did +not know himself; he was in a strange world, and bewildered. Nay, he +was suffering anguish. +</P> + +<P> +Why had Miss Derwent disregarded him at breakfast? He must have +offended her last night. And that could only be in one way, by +neglecting his work to loiter about the drawing-room. She had respected +him at all events; now, no doubt she fancied he had not deserved her +respect. +</P> + +<P> +This magnificent piece of self-torturing logic sufficed to occupy him +all the morning. +</P> + +<P> +At luncheon-time he was careful not to come down before the bell rang. +As he prepared himself, the glass showed a drawn visage, heavy eyes; he +thought he was uglier than ever. +</P> + +<P> +Descending, he heard no voices. With tremors he stepped into the +dining-room, and there sat Mrs. Hannaford alone. +</P> + +<P> +"They have gone off for the day," she said, with a kind look. "To +Dorking, and Leith Hill, and I don't know where." +</P> + +<P> +Piers felt a stab through the heart. He stammered something about a +hope that they would enjoy themselves. The meal passed very silently, +for Mrs. Hannaford was meditative. She paid unusual attention to Piers, +trying to tempt his appetite; but with difficulty he swallowed a +mouthful. And, the meal over, he returned at once to his room. +</P> + +<P> +About four o'clock—he was lying on the bed, staring at the ceiling—a +knock aroused him. The servant opened the door. +</P> + +<P> +"A gentleman wanting to see you, sir—Mr. Daniel Otway." +</P> + +<P> +Piers was glad. He would have welcomed any visitor. When Daniel—who +was better dressed than the other day—came into the room, Piers shook +hands warmly with him. +</P> + +<P> +"Delightful spot!" exclaimed the elder, with more than his accustomed +suavity. "Charming little house!—I hope I shan't be wasting your time?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not. We shall have some tea presently. How glad I am to see +you!—I must introduce you to Mrs. Hannaford." +</P> + +<P> +"Delighted, my dear boy! How well you look!—stop though; you are <I>not</I> +looking very well——" +</P> + +<P> +Piers broke into extravagant gaiety. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +</H3> + +<P> +There had only been time to satisfy Daniel's profound and touching +interest in his brother's work for the examination when the tea bell +rang, and they went down to the drawing-room. Piers noticed that Mrs. +Hannaford had made a special toilet; so rarely did a new acquaintance +enter the house that she was a little fluttered in receiving Daniel +Otway, whose manners evidently impressed and pleased her. Had he known +his brother well, Piers would have understood that this exhibition of +fine courtesy meant a peculiar interest on Daniel's part. Such interest +was not difficult to excite; there needed only an agreeable woman's +face of a type not familiar to him, in circumstances which offered the +chance of intimacy. And Mrs. Hannaford, as it happened, made peculiar +appeal to Daniel's sensibilities. As they conversed, her thin cheeks +grew warm, her eyes gathered light; she unfolded a charm of personality +barely to be divined in her usual despondent mood. +</P> + +<P> +Daniel's talk was animated, varied, full of cleverness and character. +No wonder if his hostess thought that she had never met so delightful a +man. Incidentally, in quite the permissible way, he made known that he +was a connoisseur of art; he spoke of his travels on the track of this +or that old master, of being consulted by directors of great Galleries, +by wealthy amateurs. He was gracefully anecdotic; he allowed one to +perceive a fine enthusiasm. And Piers listened quite as attentively as +Mrs. Hannaford, for he had no idea how Daniel made his living. The +kernel of truth in this fascinating representation was that Daniel +Otway, among other things, collected <I>bric-a-brac</I> for a certain +dealer, and at times himself disposed of it to persons with more money +than knowledge or taste. At the age of thirty-eight this was the point +he had reached in a career which once promised brilliant things. In +whatever profession he had steadily pursued, Daniel would have come to +the front; but precisely that steady pursuit was the thing impossible +to him. His special weakness, originally amiable, had become an +enthralling vice; the soul of goodness in the man was corrupted, and +had turned poisonous. +</P> + +<P> +The conversation was still unflagging when Olga and her cousin returned +from their day's ramble. Daniel was presented to them. Olga at once +noticed her mother's strange vivacity, and, sitting silent, closely +observed Mr. Otway. Irene, also, studied him with her keen eyes; not, +one would have guessed, with very satisfactory results. As time was +drawing on, Mrs. Hannaford presently asked Daniel if he could give them +the pleasure of staying to dine; and Daniel accepted without a moment's +hesitation. When the ladies retired to dress, he went up to Piers' +room, where a little dialogue of some importance passed between the +brothers. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you heard anything about that matter I spoke of?" Daniel began by +asking, confidentially. +</P> + +<P> +Piers answered in the affirmative, and gave details, much to the +elder's satisfaction. Thereupon, Daniel began talking in a strain of +yet closer confidence, sitting knee to knee with Piers and tapping him +occasionally in a fraternal way. It might interest Piers to know that +he was writing a book—a book which would revolutionise opinion with +regard to certain matters, and certain periods of art. The work was all +but finished. Unfortunately, no publisher could be found to bear the +entire expense of this publication, which of course appealed to a very +small circle of readers. The illustrations made it costly, and—in +short, Daniel found himself pressingly in need of a certain sum to +complete this undertaking, which could not but establish his fame as a +connoisseur, and in all likelihood would secure his appointment as +Director of a certain Gallery which he must not name. The money could +be had for the asking from twenty persons—a mere bagatelle of a +hundred and fifty pounds or so; but how much pleasanter it would be if +this little loan could be arranged between brothers. Daniel would engage +to return the sum on publication of the book, probably some six months +hence. Of course he merely threw out the suggestion— +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be only too glad to help," exclaimed Piers at once. "You shall +have the money as soon as I get it." +</P> + +<P> +"That's really noble of you, my dear boy—By the bye, let all this be +very strictly <I>entre nous</I>. To tell you the truth. I want to give the +dear old philosopher of Wensleydale a pleasant surprise. I'm afraid he +misjudges me; we have not been on the terms of perfect confidence which +I should desire. But this book will delight him, I know. Let it come as +a surprise." +</P> + +<P> +Piers undertook to say nothing; and Daniel after washing his hands and +face, and smoothing his thin hair, was radiant with gratification. +</P> + +<P> +"Charming girl, Miss Derwent—eh, Piers? I seem to know the name—Dr. +Derwent? Why, to be sure! Capital acquaintance for you. Lucky rascal, +to have got into this house. Miss Hannaford, too, has points. Nothing +so good at your age, my dear boy, as the habit of associating with +intelligent girls and women. <I>Emollit mores</I>, and something more than +that. An excellent influence every way. I'm no preacher, Piers, but I +hold by morality; it's the salt of life—the salt of life!" +</P> + +<P> +At dinner, Daniel surpassed himself. He told admirable stories, he +started just the right topics, and dealt with them in the right way; he +seemed to know intuitively the habits of thought of each person he +addressed. The hostess was radiant; Olga looked almost happy; Irene, +after a seeming struggle with herself, which an unkind observer might +have attributed to displeasure at being rivalled in talk, yielded to +the cheery influence, and held her own against the visitor in wit and +merriment. Not till half-past ten did Daniel resolve to tear himself +away. His thanks to Mrs. Hannaford for an "enjoyable evening" were +spoken with impressive sincerity, and the lady's expression of hope +that they might meet again made his face shine. +</P> + +<P> +Piers accompanied him to the station. After humming to himself for a +few moments, as they walked along the dark lane, Daniel slipped a hand +through his brother's arm and spoke affectionately. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't know how glad I am that we have met, old boy! Now don't let +us lose sight of each other—By the bye, do you ever hear of Alec?" +</P> + +<P> +Alexander, Jerome Otway's second son, had not communicated with his +father for a good many years. His reputation was that of a good-natured +wastrel. Piers replied that he knew nothing whatever of him. +</P> + +<P> +"He is in London," pursued Daniel, "and he is rather anxious to meet +<I>you</I>. Now let me give you a word of warning. Alec isn't at all a bad +sort. I confess I like him, for all his faults—and unfortunately he +has plenty of them; but to you, Piers, he would be dangerous. +Dangerous, first of all, because of his want of principle—you know my +feelings on that point. Then, I'm afraid he knows of your little +inheritance, and he <I>might</I>—I don't say he would—but he might be +tempted to presume upon your good nature. You understand?" +</P> + +<P> +"What is he doing?" Piers inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing worth speaking of, I fear. Alec has no stability—so unlike +you and me in that. You and I inherit the brave old man's love of work; +Alec was born an idler. If I thought you might influence him for +good—but no, it is too risky. One doesn't like to speak so of a +brother, Piers, but I feel it my duty to warn you against poor Alec. +<I>Basta</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +That night Piers did not close his eyes. The evening's excitement and +the unusual warmth of the weather enhanced the feverishness due to his +passionate thoughts. Before daybreak he rose and tried to read, but no +book would hold his attention. Again he flung himself on to the bed, +and lay till sunrise vainly groaning for sleep. +</P> + +<P> +With the new day came a light rain, which threatened to continue. +Dullness ruled at breakfast. The cousins spoke fitfully of what they +might do if the rain ceased. +</P> + +<P> +"A good time for work," said Irene to Piers. "But perhaps it's all the +same to you, rain or shine? +</P> + +<P> +"Much the same," Piers answered mechanically. +</P> + +<P> +He passed a strange morning. Though to begin with he had seated himself +resolutely, the attempt to study was ridiculous; the sight of his books +and papers moved him to loathing. He watched the sky, hoping to see it +broken. He stood by his door, listening, listening if perchance he +might hear the movements of the girls, or hear a word in Irene's voice. +Once he did hear her; she called to Olga, laughingly; and at the sound +he quivered, his breath stopped. +</P> + +<P> +The clouds parted; a fresh breeze unveiled the summer blue. Piers stood +at the window, watching; and at length he had his reward; the cousins +came out and walked along the garden paths, conversing intimately. At +one moment, Olga gave a glance up at his window, and he darted back, +fearful of having been detected. Were they talking of him? How would +Miss Derwent speak of him? Did he interest her in the least? +</P> + +<P> +He peeped again. Irene was standing with her hands linked at the back +of her head, seeming to gaze at a lovely cloud above the great elm +tree. This attitude showed her to perfection. Piers felt sick and dizzy +as his eyes fed upon her form. +</P> + +<P> +At an impulse as sudden as irresistible, he pushed up the sash. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Hannaford! It's going to be fine, you see." +</P> + +<P> +The girls turned to him with surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall you have a walk after lunch?" he continued. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly," replied Olga. "We were just talking about it." +</P> + +<P> +A moment's pause—then: +</P> + +<P> +"Would you let me go with you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course—if you can really spare the time." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you." +</P> + +<P> +He shut down the window, turned away, stood in an agony of shame. Why +had he done this absurd thing? Was it not as good as telling them that +he had been spying? Irene's absolute silence meant disapproval, perhaps +annoyance. And Olga's remark about his ability to spare time had hinted +the same thing: her tone was not quite natural; she averted her look in +speaking. Idiot that he was! He had forced his company upon them, when, +more likely than not, they much preferred to be alone. Oh, tactless +idiot! Now they would never be able to walk in the garden without a +suspicion that he was observing them. +</P> + +<P> +He all but resolved to pack a travelling-bag and leave home at once. It +seemed impossible to face Irene at luncheon. +</P> + +<P> +When the bell rang, he stole, slunk, downstairs. Scarcely had he +entered the dining-room, when he began an apology; after all, he could +not go this afternoon; he must work; the sky had tempted him, but—— +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Otway," said Irene, regarding him with mock sternness, "we don't +allow that kind of thing. It is shameful vacillation—I love a long +word—What's the other word I was trying for?—still longer—I mean, +tergiversation! it comes from <I>tergum</I> and <I>verso</I>, and means turning +the back. It is rude to turn your back on ladies." +</P> + +<P> +Piers would have liked to fall at her feet, in his voiceless gratitude. +She had rescued him from his shame, had put an end to all awkwardness, +and, instead of merely permitting, had invited his company. +</P> + +<P> +"That decides it, Miss Derwent. Of course I shall come. Forgive me for +being so uncivil." +</P> + +<P> +At lunch and during their long walk afterwards, Irene was very gracious +to him. She had never talked with him in such a tone of entire +friendliness; all at once they seemed to have become intimate. Yet +there was another change less pleasing to the young man; Irene talked +as though either she had become older, or he younger. She counselled +him with serious kindness, urged him to make rational rules about study +and recreation. +</P> + +<P> +"You're overdoing it, you know. To-day you don't look very well." +</P> + +<P> +"I had no sleep last night," he replied abruptly, shunning her gaze. +</P> + +<P> +"That's bad. You weren't so foolish as to try to make up for lost time?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! I <I>couldn't</I> sleep." +</P> + +<P> +He reddened, hung his head. Miss Derwent grew almost maternal. This, +she pointed out, was the natural result of nerves overstrained. He must +really use common sense. Come now, would he promise? +</P> + +<P> +"I will promise you anything!" +</P> + +<P> +Olga glanced quickly at him from one side; Irene, on the other, looked +away with a slight smile. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she said, "you shall promise Miss Hannaford. She will have you +under observation; whereas you might play tricks with me after I'm +gone. Olga, be strict with this young gentleman. He is well-meaning, +but he vacillates; at times he even tergiversates—a shocking thing." +</P> + +<P> +There was laughter, but Piers suffered. He felt humiliated. Had he been +alone with Miss Derwent, he might have asserted his manhood, and it +would have been <I>her</I> turn to blush, to be confused. He had a couple of +years more than she. The trouble was that he could not feel this +superiority of age; she treated him like a schoolboy, and to himself he +seemed one. Even more than Irene's, he avoided Olga's look, and walked +on shamefaced. +</P> + +<P> +The remaining days, until Miss Derwent departed, were to him a mere +blank of misery. Impossible to open a book, and sleep came only with +uttermost exhaustion. How he passed the hours, he knew not. Spying at +windows, listening for voices, creeping hither and thither in torment +of multiform ignominy, forcing speech when he longed to be silent, not +daring to break silence when his heart seemed bursting with desire to +utter itself—a terrible time. And Irene persevered in her elder-sister +attitude; she was kindness itself, but never seemed to remark a +strangeness in his look and manner. Once he found courage to say that +he would like to know Dr. Derwent; she replied that her father was a +very busy man, but that no doubt some opportunity for their meeting +would arise—and that was all. When the moment came for leave-taking, +Piers tried to put all his soul into a look; but he failed, his eyes +dropped, even as his tongue faltered. And Irene Derwent was gone. +</P> + +<P> +If, in the night that followed, a wish could have put an end to his +existence, Piers would have died. He saw no hope in living, and the +burden seemed intolerable. Love-anguish of one-and-twenty; we smile at +it, but it is anguish all the same, and may break or mould a life. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +</H3> + +<P> +A week went by, and Piers was as far as ever from resuming his regular +laborious life. One day he spent in London. His father's solicitor had +desired to see him, in the matter of the legacy; Piers received his +money, and on the same day made over one hundred and fifty pounds to +Daniel Otway, whom he met by appointment; in exchange, Daniel handed +him a beautifully written I.O.U., which the younger brother would +pocket only with protest. +</P> + +<P> +Another week passed. Piers no longer pretended to keep his usual times; +he wandered forth whenever home grew intolerable, and sometimes +snatched his only sleep in the four-and-twenty hours under the hawthorn +blossom of some remote meadow. His mood had passed into bitterness. "I +was well before; why did she interfere with me? She did it knowing what +would happen; it promised her amusement. I should have kept to myself, +and have been safe. She waylaid me. That first meeting on the +stairs——" +</P> + +<P> +He raged against her and against all women. +</P> + +<P> +One evening, towards sunset, he came home dusty and weary and with a +hang-dog air, for he had done something which made him ashamed. Miles +away from Ewell thirst and misery had brought him to a wayside inn, +where—the first time for years—he drank strong liquor. He drank more +than he needed, and afterwards fell asleep in a lane, and woke to new +wretchedness. +</P> + +<P> +As he entered the house and was about to ascend the stairs, a voice +called to him. It was Mrs. Hannaford's; she bade him come to her in the +drawing-room. Reluctantly he moved thither. The lady was sitting idle +and alone; she looked at him for a moment without speaking, then +beckoned him forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Your brother has been here," she said, in a low voice not quite her +own. +</P> + +<P> +"Daniel?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. He called very soon after you had gone out. He wouldn't—couldn't +stay. He'll let you know when he is coming next time." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, all right." +</P> + +<P> +"Come and sit down." She pointed to a chair next hers. "How tired you +look!" +</P> + +<P> +Her tone was very soft, and, as he seated himself, she touched his arm +gently. The room was scented with roses. A blind, half-drawn on the +open window, broke the warm western rays; upon a tree near by, a garden +warbler was piping evensong. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" she asked, with a timid kindness. "What has happened? +Won't you tell me?" +</P> + +<P> +"You know—I am sure you know——" +</P> + +<P> +His voice was choked into silence. +</P> + +<P> +"But you will get over it—oh, yes, you will! Your work——" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't work!" he broke out vehemently—"I shall never work again. She +has changed all my life. I must find something else to do—I don't care +what. I can't go in for that examination." +</P> + +<P> +Then abruptly he turned to her with a look of eagerness. +</P> + +<P> +"Would it be any use? Suppose I got a place in one of the offices? +Would there be any hope for me?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford's eyes dropped. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't think of her," she answered. "She has such brilliant +prospects—it is so unlikely. You think me unsympathetic—oh, I'm not!" +Again she let her fingers rest on his arm. "I feel so much with you +that I daren't offer imaginary hopes. She belongs to such a different +world, try, try to forget her." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I know she cares and thinks nothing about me now. But if I +made my way——" +</P> + +<P> +"She will marry very early, and someone——" +</P> + +<P> +With an upward movement of her hand the speaker, was sufficiently +explicit. Otway, he knew not why, tried to laugh, and frightened +himself with the sound. +</P> + +<P> +"She is not the only girl, good and beautiful," Mrs. Hannaford +continued, pleading with him. +</P> + +<P> +"For me she is," he replied, in a hard voice. "And I believe she will +be always." +</P> + +<P> +For a minute or two the little warbler sang in silence, then Piers, of +a sudden, stood up, and strode hastily away. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford fell into reverie. Her daughter was in London to-day, +her husband absent somewhere else. But she had not been solitary, for +Daniel Otway, failing to meet his brother, lingered a couple of hours +in the drawing-room. As she sat dreaming under the soft light, her face +relieved for the moment of its weariness and discontent, had a beauty +more touching than that of youth. +</P> + +<P> +Upstairs, Piers found a letter awaiting him. He did not know the +writing, and found with surprise that it came from his brother +Alexander, who had addressed it to him through their father's +solicitor. Alexander wrote from the neighbourhood of Bloomsbury Square; +it was an odd letter, beginning formally, almost paternally, and +running off into chirruping facetiousness, as if the writer had tried +in vain to subdue his natural gaiety. There were extraordinary phrases. +"I congratulate you on being gazetted major in the regiment of Old +Time." "For my own part I am just beginning my thirty-fifth round with +knuckly life, and I rejoice to say that I have come up smiling. +Floorers I have suffered, not a few, in the rounds preceding, but I am +harder for it, harder and gamer." "Shall we not crack a bottle together +on this side of the circumfluent Oceanus?" And so on, to the effect +that Alexander much wished for a meeting with his brother, and urged +him to come to Theobald's Road as soon as possible, at his own +convenience. +</P> + +<P> +It gave Piers—what he needed badly—something new to think about. From +what he remembered of Alexander, he did not dislike him, and this +letter made, on the whole, an agreeable impression; but he remembered +Daniel's warning. In any case, there could be no harm in calling on his +brother; it made an excuse for a day in London, the country stillness +having driven him all but to frenzy. So he replied at once, saying that +he would call on the following afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +Alexander occupied the top floor of a great old house in Theobald's +Road. Whether he was married or not, Piers had not heard; the +appearance of the place suggested bachelor quarters, but, as he knocked +at what seemed the likely door, there sounded from within an infantine +wail, which became alarmingly shrill when the door was thrown open by a +dirty little girl. At sight of Piers this young person, evidently a +servant, drew back smiling, and said with a strong Irish accent: +</P> + +<P> +"Please to come in. They're expecting of you." +</P> + +<P> +He passed into a large room, magnificently lighted by the sunshine, but +very simply furnished. A small round table, two or three chairs and a +piano were lost on the great floor, which had no carpeting, only a +small Indian rug being displayed as a thing of beauty, in the very +middle. There were no pictures, but here and there, to break the +surface of the wall, strips of bright-coloured material were hung from +the cornice. At the table, next the window, sat a man writing, also, as +his lips showed, whistling a tune; and on the bare boards beside him +sat a young woman with her baby on her lap, another child, of two or +three years old, amusing itself by pulling her dishevelled hair. +</P> + +<P> +"Here's your brother, Mr. Otw'y," yelled the little servant. "Give that +baby to me, mum. I know what'll quoiet him, bless his little heart." +</P> + +<P> +Alexander sprang up, waving his arm in welcome. He was a stoutish man +of middle height, with thick curly auburn hair, and a full beard; +geniality beamed from his blue eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it yourself, Piers?" he shouted, with utterance suggestive of the +Emerald Isle, though the man was so loudly English. "It does me good to +set eyes on you, upon my soul, it does! I knew you'd come. Didn't I say +he'd come, Biddy?—Piers, this is my wife, Bridget the best wife living +in all the four quarters of the world!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Otway had risen, and stood smiling, the picture of cordiality. She +was not a beauty, though the black hair broad-flung over her shoulders +made no common adornment; but her round, healthy face, with its merry +eyes and gleaming teeth, had an honest attractiveness, and her soft +Irish tongue went to the heart. It never occurred to her to apologise +for the disorderly state of things. Having got rid of her fractious +baby—not without a kiss—she took the other child by the hand and with +pride presented "My daughter Leonora"—a name which gave Piers a little +shock of astonishment. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down, Piers," shouted her husband. "First we'll have tea and talk; +then we'll have talk and tobacco; then we'll have dinner and talk +again, and after that whatever the gods please to send us. My day's +work is done—<I>ecce signum</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +He pointed to the slips of manuscript from which he had risen. +Alexander had begun life as a medical student, but never got so far as +a diploma. In many capacities, often humble but never disgraceful, he +had wandered over Broader Britain—drifting at length, as he was bound +to do, into irregular journalism. +</P> + +<P> +"And how's the old man at home?" he asked, whilst Mrs. Otway busied +herself in getting tea. "Piers, it's the sorrow of my life that he +hasn't a good opinion of me. I don't say I deserve it, but, as I live, +I've always meant to. And I admire him, Piers. I've written about him; +and I sent him the article, but he didn't acknowledge it. How does he +bear his years, the old Trojan? And how does his wife use him? Ah, that +was a mistake, Piers; that was a mistake. In marriage—and remember +this, Piers, for your time'll come—it must be the best, or none at +all. I acted upon that, though Heaven knows the trials and temptations +I went through. I said to myself—the best or none! And I found her, +Piers; I found her sitting at a cottage door by Enniscorthy, County +Wexford, where for a time I had the honour of acting as tutor to a +young gentleman of promise, cut short, alas!—'the blind Fury with the +abhorred shears!' I wrote an elegy on him, which I'll show you. His +father admired it, had it printed, and gave me twenty pounds, like the +gentleman he was!" +</P> + +<P> +There appeared a handsome tea-service; the only objection to it being +that every piece was chipped or cracked, and not one thoroughly clean. +Leonora, a well-behaved little creature who gave earnest of a striking +face, sat on her mother's lap, watching the visitor and plainly afraid +of him. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," exclaimed Mrs. Otway, "I should never have taken you two for +brothers—no, not even the half of it!" +</P> + +<P> +"He has an intellectual face, Biddy," observed her husband. "Pale just +now, but it's 'the pale cast of thought.' What are you aiming at, +Piers?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," was the reply, absently spoken. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, but I'm sorry to hear that. You should have concentrated yourself +by now, indeed you should. If I had to begin over again, I should go in +for commerce." +</P> + +<P> +Piers gave him a look of interest. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed? You mean that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do. I would apply myself to the science and art of money-making in +the only hopeful way—honest buying and selling. There's something so +satisfying about it. I envy even the little shopkeeper, who reckons up +his profits every Saturday night, and sees his business growing. But +you must begin early; you must learn money-making like anything else. +If I had made money, Piers, I should be at this moment the most +virtuous and meritorious citizen of the British Empire!" +</P> + +<P> +Alexander was vexed to find that his brother did not smoke. He lit his +pipe after tea, and for a couple of hours talked ceaselessly, relating +the course of his adventurous life; an entertaining story, told with +abundant vigour, with humorous originality. Though he had in his +possession scarce a dozen volumes, Alexander was really a bookish man +and something of a scholar; his quotations, which were frequent, ranged +from Homer to Horace, from Chaucer to Tennyson. He recited a few of his +own poetical compositions, and they might have been worse; Piers made +him glow and sparkle with a little praise. +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile, Bridget was putting the children to bed and cooking the +evening meal—styled dinner for this occasion. Both proceedings were +rather tumultuous, but, amid the clamour they necessitated, no word of +ill-temper could be heard; screams of laughter, on the other hand, were +frequent. With manifest pride the little servant came in to lay the +table; she only broke one glass in the operation, and her "Sure now, +who'd have thought it!" as she looked at the fragments, delighted +Alexander beyond measure. The chief dish was a stewed rabbit, smothered +in onions; after it appeared an immense gooseberry tart, the pastry +hardly to be attacked with an ordinary table knife. Compromising for +the nonce with his teetotalism as well as his vegetarianism—not to +pain the hosts—Piers drank bottled ale. It was an uproarious meal. The +little servant, whilst in attendance, took her full share of the +conversation, and joined shrilly in the laughter. Mrs. Otway had +arrayed herself in a scarlet gown, and her hair was picturesquely +braided. She ceased not from hospitable cares, and set a brave example +in eating and drinking. Yet she was never vulgar, as an untaught London +woman in her circumstances would have been, and many a delightful +phrase fell from her lips in the mellow language of County Wexford. +</P> + +<P> +When the remnants of dinner were removed, a bottle of Irish whisky came +forth, with the due appurtenances. Then it was that Alexander, with +pride in his eyes, made known Bridget's one accomplishment; she had a +voice, and would presently use it for their guest's delectation. She +was trying to learn the piano, as yet with small success; but Alexander +who had studied music concurrently with medicine, and to better result, +was able to furnish accompaniments. The concert began, and Piers, who +had felt misgivings, was most agreeably surprised. Not only had Bridget +a voice, a very sweet mezzo-contralto, but she sang with remarkable +feeling. More than once the listener had much ado to keep tears out of +his eyes; they were at his throat all the time, and his heart swelled +with the passionate emotion which had lurked there to the ruin of his +peace. But music, the blessed, the peacemaker (for music called martial +is but a blustering bastard), changed his torments to ecstasy; his +love, however hopeless, became an inestimable possession, and he seemed +to himself capable of such great, such noble things as had never +entered into the thought of man. +</P> + +<P> +The crying of her baby obliged Bridget to withdraw for a little. +Alexander, who had already made a gallant inroad on the whisky bottle, +looked almost fiercely at his brother, and exclaimed: +</P> + +<P> +"What do you say to <I>that</I>? Isn't that a woman? Isn't that a wife to be +proud of?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers replied with enthusiasm. +</P> + +<P> +"Not long ago," proceeded the other, "when we were really hard up, she +wanted me to let her try to earn money with her voice. She could, you +know! But do you think I'd allow it? Sooner I'll fry the soles of my +boots and make believe they're beefsteak!—Look at her, and remember +her when you're seeking for a wife of your own. Never mind if you have +to wait; it's worth it. When it comes to wives, the best or none! +That's my motto." +</P> + +<P> +In his emotional mood, Piers had an impulse. He bent forward and asked +quietly: +</P> + +<P> +"Are things all right now? About money, I mean." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, we get on. We could do with a little more furniture, but all in +good time." +</P> + +<P> +Piers again listened to his impulse. He spoke hurriedly of the money he +had received, and hinted, suggested, made an embarrassed offer. +Impossible not to remark the gleam of joy that came into Alexander's +eyes; though he vehemently, almost angrily, declared such a thing +impossible, it was plain he quivered to accept. And in the end accept +he did—a round fifty pounds. A loan, strictly a loan, of course, the +most binding legal instrument should be given in acknowledgment of the +debt; interest should be paid at the rate of three and a half per cent. +per annum—not a doit less! And just when this was settled, Bridget +came back again, the sleepless baby at her breast. +</P> + +<P> +"He wants to have his share of the good company," she exclaimed. "And +why shouldn't he, bless um!" +</P> + +<P> +Alexander grew glorious. It was one of his peculiarities that, when he +had drunk more than enough, he broke into noisy patriotism. +</P> + +<P> +"Piers, have you ever felt grateful enough for being born an +Englishman? I've seen the world, and I know; the Englishman is the top +of creation. When I say English, I mean all of us, English, Irish, or +Scotch. Give me an Englishman and an Irishwoman, and let all the rest +of the world go hang!—I've travelled, Piers, my boy. I've seen what +the great British race is doing the world round; and I'm that proud of +it I can't find words to express myself." +</P> + +<P> +"I've seen something of other races," interposed Piers, lifting his +glass with unsteady hand, "and I don't think we've any right to despise +them." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't exactly despise them, but I say, What are they compared with +us? A poor lot! A shabby lot!—I'm a journalist, Piers, and let me tell +you that we English newspaper men have the destiny of the world in our +hands. It makes me proud when I think of it. We guard the national +honour. Let any confounded foreigner insult England, and he has to +reckon with <I>us</I>. A word from <I>us</I>, and it means war, Piers, glorious +war, with triumphs for the race and for civilisation! England means +civilisation; the other nations don't count." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, come——" +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you they don't count!" roared Alexander, his hair wild and his +beard ferocious. "You're not one of the muffs who want to keep England +little and tame, are you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think pretty much with father about these things." +</P> + +<P> +"The old man! Oh, I'd forgotten the old man. But he's not of our time, +Piers; he's old-fashioned, though a good old man, I admit. No, no; we +must be armed and triple-armed; we must be so strong that not all the +confounded foreigners leagued together can touch us. It's the cause of +civilisation, Piers. I preach it whenever I get the chance; I wish I +got it oftener. I stand for England's honour, England's supremacy on +sea and land. I st-tand——" +</P> + +<P> +He tried to do so, to reach the bottle, which proved to be empty. +</P> + +<P> +"Send for another, Biddy—the right Irish, my lass! Another bottle to +the glory of the British Empire! Piers, we'll make a night of it. I +haven't a bed to offer you, but Biddy'll give you a shake-down here on +the floor. You're the right sort, Piers. You're a noble-minded, +generous-hearted Englishman." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Otway, with a glance at the visitor, only made pretence of sending +for more whisky, and Piers, after looking at his watch, insisted on +taking leave. Alexander would have gone with him to the station, but +Bridget forbade this. The patriot had to be content with promises of +another such evening, and Piers, saying significantly "You will hear +from me," hastened to catch his train. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +</H3> + +<P> +When he awoke next morning from a heavy sleep, Piers suffered the +half-recollection of some reproachful dream. His musty palate and dull +brain reminded him of Alexander's whisky; matter, that, for +self-reproach; but in the background was something more. He had dreamt +of his father, and seemed to have discharged in sleep a duty still in +reality neglected; that, namely, of responding to the old man's offer +of advice respecting the use he should make of his money. Out of four +hundred pounds, two hundred were already given away—for he had no +serious expectation that his brothers would repay the so-called loans. +Plainly it behoved him to be frank on this subject. Affectionate +loyalty to his father had ever been a guiding principle in Piers +Otway's life; he was uneasy under the sense that he had begun to slip +towards neglectfulness, towards careless independence. +</P> + +<P> +He would have written this morning, but, after all, it was better to +wait until he had settled the doubt which made havoc of his days. At +heart he knew that he would not present himself for the Civil Service +examination; but he durst not yet put the resolve into words. It seemed +a sort of madness, after so many months of laborious preparation, and +the fixity of purpose which had grown with his studious habit. And what +a return for the patient kindness with which his father had counselled +and assisted him! He thought of Daniel and Alexander. Was he, too, +going to drift in life, instead of following a steadfast, manly course? +The perception and fear of such a danger were something new to him. +Piers had seen himself as an example of moral and intellectual vigour. +His abandonment of commerce had shown as a strong step in practical +wisdom; the fourteen hours of daily reading had flattered his pride. +Thereupon came this sudden collapse of the whole scheme. He could no +longer endure the prospects for which he had toiled so strenuously. +</P> + +<P> +But for shame, he would have bundled together all the books that lay on +his table, and have flung them out of sight. +</P> + +<P> +In the afternoon, he sought a private conversation with Mrs. Hannaford. +It was not easily managed, as Hannaford and Olga were both at home; +but, by watching and waiting, he caught a moment when the lady stood +alone in the garden. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think," he asked, with tremulous, sudden speech, "that I might +call at Dr. Derwent's?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" was the answer, but given with troubled countenance. "You +mean"—she smiled—"call upon Miss Derwent. There would be no harm; she +is the lady of the house, at present." +</P> + +<P> +"Would she be annoyed?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't see why. But of course I can't answer for another person in +such things." +</P> + +<P> +Their eyes met. Mrs. Hannaford gazed at him sadly for an instant, shook +her head, and turned away. Piers went back to lonely misery. +</P> + +<P> +Early next day he stole from the house, and went to London. His +business was at the tailor's; he ordered a suit of ceremony—the frock +coat on which his brother Daniel had so pathetically insisted—and +begged that it might be ready at the earliest possible moment. Next he +made certain purchases in haberdashery. Through it all, he had a most +oppressive feeling of self-contempt, which—Piers was but +one-and-twenty—he did not try to analyze. Every shop-mirror which +reflected him seemed to present a malicious caricature; he hurried away +on to the pavement, small, ignoble, silly. His heart did battle, and at +moments assailed him in a triumph of heroic desire; but then again came +the sinking moments, the sense of a grovelling fellowship with people +he despised. +</P> + +<P> +It was raining. His shopping done, he entered an omnibus, which took +him as far as the Marble Arch; thence, beneath his umbrella, he walked +in search of Bryanston Square. Here was Dr. Derwent's house. Very much +like a burglar, a beginner at the business, making survey of his field, +he moved timidly into the Square, and sought the number; having found +it with unexpected suddenness, he hurried past. To be detected here +would be dreadful; he durst not go to the opposite side, lest Irene +should perchance be at a window; yet he wanted to observe the house, +and did, from behind his umbrella, when a few doors away. +</P> + +<P> +Never had he known what it was to feel such an insignificant mortal. +Standing here in the rain, he saw no distinction between himself and +the ragged, muddy crossing-sweeper; alike, they were lost in the huge +welter of common London. On the other hand, there in the hard-fronted, +exclusive-looking house sat Irene Derwent, a pearl of women, the prize +of wealth, distinction, and high manliness. What was this wild dream he +had been harbouring? Like a chill wind, reality smote him in the face; +he turned away, saying to himself that he was cured of folly. +</P> + +<P> +On the journey home he shaped a project. He would seek an interview +with the head of the City house in which he had spent so much time and +worked so conscientiously, a quite approachable man as he knew from +experience, and would ask if he might be allowed to re-enter their +service; not, however, in London, but in their place of business at +Odessa. He had made a good beginning with Russian, and living in +Russia, might hope soon to master the language. If necessary, he would +support himself at Odessa for a time, until he was capable of serving +the firm in some position of trust. Yes, this was what he would do; it +gave him a new hope. For Alexander, foolish fellow as he might be in +some respects, had spoken the truth on the subject of money-making; the +best and surest way was by honourable commerce. Money he must have; a +substantial position; a prospect of social advance. Not for their own +sake, these things, but as steps to the only end he felt worth living +for—an ideal marriage. +</P> + +<P> +He marvelled that the end of life should have been so obscure to him +hitherto. Knowledge! What satisfaction was there in that? Fame! What +profit in that by itself? Yet he had thought these aims predominant; +had been willing to toil day and night in such pursuits. His eyes were +opened. His first torturing love might be for ever frustrate, but it +had revealed him to himself. He looked forth upon the world, its +activities, its glories, and behold there was for him but one prize +worth winning, the love of the ideal woman. +</P> + +<P> +He found a letter at Ewell. It contained a card of invitation; Mrs. +John Jacks graciously announced to him that she would be at home on an +evening a week hence, at nine o'clock. +</P> + +<P> +How came he to have forgotten the Jacks family? Not once had he +mentioned to Miss Derwent that he was on friendly terms with these most +respectable people. What a foolish omission! It would at once have +given him a better standing in her sight, have smoothed their social +relations. +</P> + +<P> +Instantly, his plan of exile was forgotten. He would accept this +invitation, and on the same day, in the afternoon, he would boldly call +at the Derwents'. Why not?—as Mrs. Hannaford said. John Jacks, M.P., +was undoubtedly the social superior of Dr. Derwent; admitted to the +house at Queen's Gate, one might surely with all confidence present +oneself in Bryanston Square. Was he not an educated man, by birth a +gentleman? If he had no position, why, who had at one-and-twenty? How +needlessly he had been humiliating and discouraging himself! In the +highest spirits he went down into the garden to talk with Mrs. +Hannaford and Olga. They gazed at him, astonished; he was a new +creature; he joked and laughed and could hardly contain his exuberance +of joy. When there fell from him a casual mention of Mrs. Jacks' card, +no one could have imagined that this was the explanation of his altered +mood. Mrs. Hannaford felt sure that he had been to see Irene, and had +received, or fancied, some sort of encouragement. Olga thought so too, +and felt sorry to see him in a fool's paradise. +</P> + +<P> +That very evening he sat down and resolved to work. He had an appetite +for it once more. He worked till long after midnight, and on the morrow +kept his old hours. Moreover, he wrote a long letter to Hawes, a good, +frank letter, giving his father a full account of the meetings with +Daniel and Alexander, and telling all about the pecuniary +transactions:—"I hope you will not think I behaved very foolishly. +Indeed, it has given me pleasure to share with them. My trouble is lest +you should think I acted in complete disregard of you; but, if I am +glad to do a good turn, remember, dear father, that it is to you I owe +this habit of mind. And I shall not need money. I feel it practically +certain that I shall get my office, and then it will go smoothly. The +examination draws near, and I am working like a Trojan!" +</P> + +<P> +"I cannot carp at you," wrote Jerome Otway in reply, "but tighten the +purse-strings after this, and be not overmuch familiar with Alexander +the Little or Daniel the Purblind. Their ways are not mine; let them +not be yours!" +</P> + +<P> +He had to run up to town for the trying-on of his new garments, and +this time the business gave him satisfaction. In future he would be +seeing much more society; he must have a decent regard for appearances. +</P> + +<P> +His spirits faltered not; they were in harmony with the June weather. +Never had he laboured to such purpose. Everything seemed easy; he +strode with giant strides into the field of knowledge. Papers such as +would be set him at the examination were matter for his mirth, mere +schoolboy tests. Now and then he rose from study with a troublesome +dizziness, and of a morning his head generally ached a little; but +these were trifles. <I>Prisch zu</I>!—as a German friend of his at Geneva +used to say. +</P> + +<P> +Even on the morning of the great day he worked; it was to prove his +will-power, his worthiness. After lunch, clad in the garb of +respectability, he went up by a quick train. +</P> + +<P> +His evening suit he had previously despatched to Alexander's abode, +where he was to dine and dress. +</P> + +<P> +At four o'clock he was in Bryanston Square, tremulous but sanguine, a +different man from him who had sneaked about here under the umbrella. +He knocked. The servant civilly informed him that Miss Derwent was not +at home, asked his name, and bowed him away. +</P> + +<P> +It was a shock. This possibility had not entered his mind, so engrossed +was he in forecasting, in dramatising, the details of the interview. +Looking like one who has received some dreadful news, he turned slowly +from the door and walked away with head down. Probably no event in all +his life had given him such a sense of desolating frustration. At once +the sky was overcast, the ways were woebegone; he shrank within his new +garments, and endured once more the feeling of personal paltriness. +</P> + +<P> +Though the time before him was so long, he had no choice but to go at +once to Theobald's Road, where at all events friendly faces would greet +him. The streets of London are terrible to one who is both lonely and +unhappy; the indifference of their hard egotism becomes fierce +hostility; instead of merely disregarding, they crush. As soon as he +could command his thoughts, Piers made for the shortest way, and +hurried on. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Otway admitted him; Alexander, she said, was away on business, but +would soon return. On entering the large room, Piers was startled at +the change in its appearance. The well-carpeted floor, the numerous +chairs of inviting depth and softness, the centre-table, the handsome +bureau, the numerous pictures, and a multitude of knickknacks not to be +taken in at one glance, made it plain that most of the money he had +lent his brother had been expended at once in this direction. Bridget +stood watching his face, and at the first glimmer of a smile broke into +jubilation. What did he think? How did he like it? Wasn't it a room to +be proud of? She knew it would do his kind heart good to see such +splendours! Let him sit down—after selecting his chair—and take it +all in whilst she got some tea. No wonder it took away his breath! She +herself had hardly yet done gazing in mute ecstasy. +</P> + +<P> +"It's been such a feast for my eyes, Mr. Piers, that I've scarcely +wanted to put a bit in my mouth since the room was finished!" +</P> + +<P> +When Alexander arrived, he greeted his brother as though with rapturous +congratulation; one would have thought some great good fortune had +befallen the younger man. +</P> + +<P> +"Biddy!" he shouted, "I've a grand idea! We'll celebrate the occasion +with a dinner out; we'll go to a restaurant. Hanged if you shall have +the trouble of cooking on such a day as this! Get ready; make yourself +beautiful—though you're always that. We'll dine early, as Piers has to +leave us at nine o'clock." +</P> + +<P> +Outcries and gesticulations confirmed the happy thought. Tea over, +Piers was dismissed to the bedroom (very bare and uncomfortable, this) +to don his evening suit, and by six o'clock the trio set forth. They +drove in a cab to festive regions, and, as one to the manner born, +Alexander made speedy arrangements for their banquet. An odd-looking +party; the young man's ceremonious garb and not ungraceful figure +contrasting with his brother's aspect of Bohemian carelessness and +jollity, whilst Bridget, adorned in striking colours, would have passed +for anything you like but a legitimate and devoted spouse. Once again +did Piers stifle his conscience in face of the exhilarating bottle; +indeed, he drank deliberately to drown his troubles, and before the +second course had already to some extent succeeded. +</P> + +<P> +Alexander talked of his journalistic prospects. Whether there was any +special reason for hopefulness, Piers could not discover; it seemed +probable that here also the windfall of fifty pounds had changed the +aspect of the world. To hear him, one might have supposed that the +struggling casual contributor had suddenly been offered some brilliant +appointment on a great journal; but he discoursed with magnificent +vagueness, and could not be brought to answer direct questions. His +attention to the wine was unremittent; he kept his brother's glass +full, nor was Bridget allowed to shirk her convivial duty. At dessert +appeared a third bottle; by this time, Piers was drinking without heed +to results; jovially, mechanically, glass after glass, talking, too, in +a strain of nebulous imaginativeness. There could be little doubt, he +hinted, that one of his Parliamentary friends (John Jacks had been +insensibly multiplied) would give him a friendly lift. A secretaryship +was sure to come pretty quickly, and then, who knew what opening might +present itself! He wouldn't mind a consulship, for a year or two, at +some agreeable place. But eventually—who could doubt it?—he would +enter the House. "Why, of course!" cried Alexander; the outline of his +career was plain beyond discussion. And let him go in strong for Home +Rule. That would be the great question for the next few years, until it +was triumphantly settled. Private information—from a source only to be +hinted at—assured him that Mr. Gladstone (after the recent defeat) was +already hard at work preparing another Bill. Come now, they must drink +Home Rule—"Justice to Ireland, and the world-supremacy of the British +Empire!"—that was his toast. They interrupted their sipping of green +Chartreuse to drink it in brimming glasses of claret. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll drive you to Queen's Gate!" said Alexander, when Piers began to +look at his watch. "No hurry, my boy! The night is young! 'And'"—he +broke into lyric quotation—"'haply the Queen Moon is on her throne, +clustered around with all her starry fays.'—I shall never forget this +dinner; shall you, Biddy? We'll have a song when we get home." +</P> + +<P> +One little matter had to be attended to, the paying of the bill. Having +glanced carelessly at the total, Alexander began to search his pockets. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, hang it!" he exclaimed. "What a fellow I am! Piers, it's really +too absurd, but I shall have to ask you to lend me a sovereign; I can't +make up enough—stupid carelessness! Biddy, why didn't you ask me if +I'd got money?—No, no; just a sovereign, Piers; I have the rest. I'll +pay you back to-morrow morning." +</P> + +<P> +With laughter at such a capital joke, Piers disbursed the coin. Quaint, +comical fellow, this brother of his! He liked him, and was beginning +to like Biddy too. +</P> + +<P> +A cab bore them all to Queen's Gate, Alexander and his wife making the +journey just for the fun of the thing. Piers would have paid for the +vehicle back to Theobald's Road, but this his brother declined; he and +Mrs. Otway preferred the top of a 'bus this warm night. They parted at +Mr. Jacks' door, where carriages and cabs were stopping every minute or +two. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll sit up for you, Piers," roared Alexander genially. "You'll want a +whisky-and-soda after this job. Come along, Biddy!" +</P> + +<P> +In another frame of mind, Piers would have felt the impropriety of +these loud remarks at such a moment. Even as it was, he would doubtless +have regretted the incident had he turned his head to observe the two +persons who had just alighted and were moving up the steps close behind +him. A young, slim, perfectly equipped man, with features expressive of +the most becoming sentiment; a lady—or girl—of admirable figure, with +bright, intelligent, handsome face. These two exchanged a look; they +exchanged a discreet murmur; and were careful not to overtake Piers +Otway in the hall. +</P> + +<P> +He, hat and overcoat surrendered, moved up the gleaming staircase. A +sound of soft music fluttered his happy temper. Seeing his form in a +mirror, he did not at once recognise himself; for his face had a high +colour, with the result of making him far more comely than at ordinary +times. He stepped firmly on, delighted to be here, eager to perceive +his hostess. Mrs. Jacks, for a moment, failed to remember him; but +needless to say that this did not appear in her greeting, which, as she +recollected, dropped upon a tone of special friendliness. To her, Piers +Otway was the least interesting of young men; but her husband had +spoken of him very favourably, and Mrs. Jacks had a fine sense of her +duty on such points. Piers was dazzled by the lady's personal charm; +her brilliantly pure complexion, her faultless shoulders and soft white +arms, her pose of consummate dignity and courtesy. Happily, his +instincts and his breeding held their own against perilous +circumstance; excited as he was, nothing of the cause appeared in his +brief colloquy with the hostess, and he acquitted himself very +creditably. A little farther on, John Jacks advanced to him with +cordial welcome. +</P> + +<P> +"So glad you could come. By the bye"—he lowered his voice—"if you +have any trouble about trains back to Ewell, do let us put you up for +the night. Just stay or not, as you like. Delighted if you do." +</P> + +<P> +Piers replied that he was staying at his brother's. Whereupon John +Jacks became suddenly thoughtful, said, "Ah, I see," and with a +pleasant smile turned to someone else. Only when it was too late did +Piers remember that Mr. Jacks possibly had a private opinion about +Jerome Otway's elder sons. He wished, above all things, that he could +have accepted the invitation. But doubtless it would be repeated some +other time. +</P> + +<P> +As he looked about him at the gathering guests, he recalled his +depression this afternoon in Bryanston Square, and it seemed to him so +ridiculous that he could have laughed aloud. As if he would not have +other chances of calling upon Irene Derwent! Ah, but, to be sure, he +must provide himself with visiting-cards. A trifling point, but he had +since reflected on it with some annoyance. +</P> + +<P> +A hand was extended to him, a pink, delicate, but shapely hand, which +his eyes fell upon as he stood in half-reverie. He exchanged civilities +with Arnold Jacks. +</P> + +<P> +"I think some particular friends of yours are here," said Arnold. "The +Derwents——" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! Are they? Miss Derwent?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers' vivacity caused the other to examine him curiously. +</P> + +<P> +"I only learned a day or two ago," Arnold pursued, "that you knew each +other." +</P> + +<P> +"I knew Miss Derwent. I haven't met Dr. Derwent or her brother. Are +they here yet? I wish you would introduce me." +</P> + +<P> +Again Arnold, smiling discreetly, scrutinised the young man's +countenance, and for an instant seemed to reflect as he glanced around. +</P> + +<P> +"The Doctor perhaps hasn't come. But I see Eustace Derwent. Shall we go +and speak to him?" +</P> + +<P> +They walked towards Irene's brother, Piers gazing this way and that in +eager hope of perceiving Irene herself. He was wild with delight. Could +fortune have been kinder? Under what more favourable circumstance could +he possibly have renewed his relations with Miss Derwent? Eustace, +turning at the right moment, stood face to face with Arnold Jacks, who +presented his companion, then moved away. Had he lingered, John Jacks' +critical son would have found hints for amused speculation in the scene +that followed. For Eustace Derwent, remembering, as always, what he +owed to himself and to society, behaved with entire politeness; only, +like certain beverages downstairs, it was iced. Otway did not +immediately become aware of this. +</P> + +<P> +"I think we missed each other only by an hour or two, when you brought +Miss Derwent to Ewell. That very day, curiously, I was lunching here." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed?" said Eustace, with a marble smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Derwent is here, I hope?" pursued Piers; not with any offensive +presumption, but speaking as he thought, rather impetuously. +</P> + +<P> +"I believe Miss Derwent is in the room," was the answer, uttered with +singular gravity and accompanied with a particularly freezing look. +</P> + +<P> +This time, Piers could not but feel that Eustace Derwent was speaking +oddly. In his peculiar condition, however, he thought it only an +amusing characteristic of the young man. He smiled, and was about to +continue the dialogue, when, with a slight, quick bow, the other turned +away. +</P> + +<P> +"Disagreeable fellow, that!" said Piers to himself. "I hope the Doctor +isn't like him. Who could imagine him Irene's brother?" +</P> + +<P> +His spirits were not in the least affected; indeed, every moment they +grew more exuberant, as the wine he had drunk wrought progressively +upon his brain. Only he could have wished that his cheeks and ears did +not burn so; seeing himself again in a glass, he decided that he was +really too high-coloured. It would pass, no doubt. Meanwhile, his eyes +kept seeking Miss Derwent. The longer she escaped him, the more +vehement grew his agitation. Ah, there! +</P> + +<P> +She was seated, and had been hidden by a little group standing in +front. At this moment, Eustace Derwent was bending to speak to her; she +gave a nod in reply to what he said. As soon as the objectionable +brother moved from her side, Piers stepped quickly forward. +</P> + +<P> +"How delightful to meet you here! It seems too good to be true. I +called this afternoon at your house—called to see you—but you were +not at home. I little imagined I should see you this evening." +</P> + +<P> +Irene raised her eyes, and let them fall back upon her fan; raised them +again, and observed the speaker attentively. +</P> + +<P> +"I was told you had called, Mr. Otway." +</P> + +<P> +How her voice thrilled him! What music like that voice! It made him +live through his agonies again, which by contrast heightened the +rapture of this hour. +</P> + +<P> +"May I sit down by you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pray do." +</P> + +<P> +He remarked nothing of her coldness; he was conscious only of her +presence, of the perfume which breathed from her and made his heart +faint with longing. +</P> + +<P> +Irene again glanced at him, and her countenance was troubled. She +looked to left and right, sure that they were not overheard, and +addressed him with quick directness. +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you dine, Mr. Otway?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dine?—Oh, at a restaurant, with one of my brothers and his wife." +</P> + +<P> +"Did your brother and his wife accompany you to this house?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers was startled. He gazed into her face, and Irene allowed him to +meet her eyes, which reminded him most unpleasantly of the look he had +seen in those of Eustace. +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you ask that, Miss Derwent?" he faltered. +</P> + +<P> +"I will tell you. I happened to be just behind you as you entered, and +couldn't help hearing the words shouted to you by your brother. Will +you forgive me for mentioning such a thing? And, as your friend, will +you let me say that I think it would be unfortunate if you were +introduced to my father this evening? He is not here yet, but he will +be—I have taken a great liberty, Mr. Otway; but it seemed to me that I +had no choice. When an unpleasant thing <I>has</I> to be done, I always try +to do it quickly." +</P> + +<P> +Piers was no longer red of face. A terrible sobriety had fallen upon +him; his lips quivered; cold currents ran down his spine. He looked at +Irene with the eyes of a dog entreating mercy. +</P> + +<P> +"Had I"—his dry throat forced him to begin again—"had I better go +now?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is as you think fit." +</P> + +<P> +Piers stood up, bowed before her, gave her one humble, imploring look, +and walked away. +</P> + +<P> +He went down, as though to the supper-room; in a few minutes, he had +left the house. He walked to Waterloo Station, and by the last train +returned to Ewell. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +</H3> + +<P> +At the head of Wensleydale, where rolling moor grows mountainous toward +the marches of Yorkshire and Westmorland, stands the little market-town +named Hawes. One winding street of houses and shops, grey, +hard-featured, stout against the weather; with little byways climbing +to the height above, on which rises the rugged church, stern even in +sunshine; its tower, like a stronghold, looking out upon the +brooding-place of storms. Like its inhabitants, the place is harsh of +aspect, warm at heart; scornful of graces, its honest solidity speaks +the people that built it for their home. This way and that go forth the +well-kept roads, leading to other towns, their sharp tracks shine over +the dark moorland, climbing by wind-swept hamlets, by many a lonely +farm; dipping into sudden hollows, where streams become cascades, and +guiding the wayfarers by high, rocky passes from dale to dale. A +country always impressive by the severe beauty of its outlines; +sometimes speaking to the heart in radiant stillness, its moments of +repose mirthful sometimes, inspiring joyous life, with the gleams of +its vast sky, the sweet, keen breath of its heaths and pastures; but +for the most part shadowed, melancholy, an austere nurse of the +striving spirit of man, with menace in its mountain-rack, in the +rushing voice of its winds and torrents. +</P> + +<P> +Here, in a small, plain cottage, stone-walled, stone-roofed, looking +over the wide and deep hollow of a stream—a beck in the local +language—which at this point makes a sounding cataract on its course +from the great moor above, lived Jerome Otway. It had been his home for +some ten years. He lived as a man of small but sufficient means, amid +very plain household furniture, and with no sort of social pretence. +With him dwelt his wife, and one maidservant. +</P> + +<P> +On an evening of midsummer, still and sunny, the old man sat among his +books; open before him the great poem of Dante. His much-lined face, +austere in habitual expression, yet with infinite possibilities of +radiance in the dark eyes, of tenderness on the mobile lips, was +crowned with hair which had turned iron-grey but remained wonderfully +thick and strong; the moustache and beard, only a slight growth, were +perfectly white. He had once been of more than average stature; now his +bent shoulders and meagre limbs gave him an appearance of shortness, +whilst he suffered on the score of dignity by an excessive disregard of +his clothing. He sat in a round-backed wooden chair at an ordinary +table, on which were several volumes ranked on end, a large blotter, +and an inkstand. The room was exclusively his, two bookcases and a few +portraits on the walls being almost the only other furniture; but at +this moment it was shared by Mrs. Otway, who, having some sort of +woman's work on her lap, sat using her fingers and her tongue with +steady diligence. She looked about forty, had a colourless but healthy +face, not remarkable for charm, and was dressed as a sober, +self-respecting gentlewoman. In her accents sounded nothing harsh, +nothing vehement; she talked quietly, without varied inflections, as if +thoughtfully expounding an agreeable theme; such talk might well have +inclined a disinterested hearer to somnolence. But her husband's +visage, and his movements, betokened no such peaceful tendency; every +moment he grew more fidgety, betrayed a stronger irritation. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose," Mrs. Otway was saying, "there are persons who live without +any religious conscience. It seems very strange; one would think that +no soul could be at rest in utter disregard of its Maker, in complete +neglect of the plainest duties of a creature endowed with human +intelligence—which means, of course, power to perceive spiritual +truths. Yet such persons seem capable of going through a long life +without once feeling the impulse to worship, to render thanks and +praise to the Supreme Being. I suppose they very early deaden their +spiritual faculties; perhaps by loose habits of life, or by the +indulgence of excessive self-esteem, or by——" +</P> + +<P> +Jerome made a quick gesture with his hands, as if defending himself +against a blow; then he turned to his wife, and regarded her fixedly. +</P> + +<P> +"Will it take you much longer," he asked, with obvious struggle for +self-command, but speaking courteously, "to exhaust this theme?" +</P> + +<P> +"It annoys you?" said the lady, very coldly, straightening herself to +an offended attitude. +</P> + +<P> +"I confess it does. Or rather, it worries me. If I may beg——" +</P> + +<P> +"I understood you to invite me to your room." +</P> + +<P> +"I did. And the fact of my having done so ought, I should think, to +have withheld you from assailing me with your acrid tedium." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," said Mrs. Otway, as she rose to her full height. "I will +leave you to your own tedium, which must be acrid enough, I imagine, to +judge from the face you generally wear." +</P> + +<P> +And she haughtily withdrew. +</P> + +<P> +A scene of this kind—never more violent, always checked at the right +moment—occurred between them about once every month. During the rest +of their time they lived without mutual aggression; seldom conversing, +but maintaining the externals of ordinary domestic intercourse. Nor was +either of them acutely unhappy. The old man (Jerome Otway was +sixty-five, but might have been taken for seventy) did not, as a rule, +wear a sour countenance; he seldom smiled, but his grave air had no +cast of gloominess; it was profoundly meditative, tending often to the +rapture of high vision. The lady had her own sufficient pursuits, chief +among them a rigid attention to matters ecclesiastical, local and +national. That her husband held notably aloof from such interests was +the subject of Mrs. Otway's avowed grief, and her peculiar method of +assailing his position brought about the periodical disturbance which +seemed on the whole an agreeable feature of her existence. +</P> + +<P> +He lived much in the past, brooding upon his years of activity as +author, journalist, lecturer, conspirator, between 1846 and 1870. He +talked in his long days of silence with men whose names are written in +history, men whom he had familiarly known, with whom he had struggled +and hoped for the Better Time. Mazzini and Herzen, Kossuth and +Ledru-Rollin, Bakounine, Louis Blanc, and a crowd of less eminent +fighters in the everlasting war of human emancipation. The war that +aims at Peace; the strife that assails tyranny, and militarism, and +international hatred. Beginning with Chartism (and narrowly escaping +the fierce penalties suffered by some of his comrades), he grew to +wider activities, and for a moment seemed likely to achieve a bright +position among the liberators of mankind; but Jerome Otway had more +zeal than power, and such powers as he commanded were scattered over +too wide a field of enthusiastic endeavour. He succeeded neither as man +of thought nor as man of action. His verses were not quite poetry; his +prose was not quite literature; personally he interested and exalted, +but without inspiring confidence such as is given to the born leader. +And in this year 1886, when two or three letters on the Irish Question +appeared over his signature, few readers attached any meaning to the +name. Jerome Otway had fought his fight and was forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +He married, for the first time, at one-and-twenty, his choice being the +daughter of an impoverished "county" family, a girl neither handsome +nor sweet-natured, but, as it seemed, much in sympathy with his +humanitarian views. Properly speaking, he did not choose her; the men +who choose, who deliberately select a wife, are very few, and Jerome +Otway could never have been one of them. He was ardent and impulsive; +marriage becoming a necessity, he clutched at the first chance which in +any way addressed his imagination; and the result was calamitous. In a +year or two his wife repented the thoughtlessness with which she had +sacrificed the possibilities of her birth and breeding for marriage +with a man of no wealth. Narrow of soul, with a certain frothy +intelligence, she quickly outgrew the mood of social rebellion which +had originated in personal discontent, and thenceforward she had +nothing but angry scorn for the husband who allowed her to live in +poverty. Two sons were born to them; the elder named Daniel (after +O'Connell), the second called Alexander (after the Russian Herzen). For +twelve years they lived in suppressed or flagrant hostility; then Mrs. +Otway died of cholera. To add to the bitterness of her fate, she had +just received, from one of her "county" relatives, a legacy of a couple +of thousand pounds. +</P> + +<P> +This money, which became his own, Otway invested in a newspaper then +being started by certain of his friends; a paper, as it seemed, little +likely to have commercial success, but which, after many changes of +editorship, ultimately became an established organ of Liberalism. The +agitator retained an interest in this venture, and the small income it +still continued to yield him was more than enough for his personal +needs; it enabled him to set a little aside, year after year, thus +forming a fund which, latterly, he always thought of as destined to +benefit his youngest son—the child of his second marriage. +</P> + +<P> +For he did not long remain solitary, and his next adventure was +somewhat in keeping with the character he had earned in public +estimate. Living for a time in Switzerland, he there met with a young +Englishwoman, married, but parted from her husband, who was maintaining +herself at Geneva as a teacher of languages; Jerome was drawn to her, +wooed her, and won her love. The husband, a Catholic, refused her legal +release, but the irregular union was a true marriage. It had lasted for +about four years when their only child was born. In another +twelvemonth, Jerome was again a widower. A small sum of money which had +belonged to the dead woman, Jerome, at her wish, put out at interest +for their boy, if he should attain manhood. The child's name was Piers; +for Jerome happened at that time to be studying old Langland's +"Vision," with delight in the brave singer, who so long ago cried for +social justice—one of the few in Christendom who held by the spirit of +Christ. +</P> + +<P> +He was now forty-five years old; he mourned the loss of his comrade, a +gentle, loving woman, whom, though she seldom understood his views of +life, his moods and his aims, he had held in affection and esteem. For +eight years he went his way alone; then, chancing to be at a seaside +place in the north of England, he made the acquaintance of a mother and +daughter who kept a circulating library, and in less than six months +the daughter became Mrs. Otway. Aged not quite thirty, tall, graceful, +with a long, pale face, distinguished by its air of meditative +refinement, this lady probably never made quite clear to herself her +motives in accepting the wooer of fifty-three, whose life had passed in +labours and experiences with which she could feel nothing like true +sympathy. Perhaps it was that she had never before received offer of +marriage; possibly Jerome's eloquent dark eyes, of which the gleam was +not yet dulled, seconded the emotional language of his lips, and +stirred her for the moment to genuine feeling. For a few months they +seemed tolerably mated, then the inevitable divergence began to show +itself. Jerome withdrew into his reveries, became taciturn, absorbed +himself at length in the study of Dante; Mrs. Otway, resenting this +desertion, grew critical, condemnatory, and, as if to atone for her +union with a man who stood outside all the creeds, developed her mild +orthodoxy into a peculiarly virulent form of Anglican puritanism. The +only thing that kept them together was their common inclination for a +retired existence, and their love of the northern moorland. +</P> + +<P> +Looking back upon his marriages, the old man wondered sadly. Why had he +not—he who worshipped the idea of womanhood—sought patiently for his +perfect wife? Somewhere in the world he would have found her, could he +but have subdued himself to the high seriousness of the quest. In a +youthful poem, he had sung of Love as "the crown of life," believing it +fervently; he believed it now with a fervour more intense, because more +spiritual. That crown he had missed, even as did the multitude of +mankind. Only to the elect is it granted—the few chosen, where all are +called. To some it falls as if by the pure grace of Heaven, meeting +them as they walk in the common way. Some, the fewest, attain it by +merit of patient hope, climbing resolute until, on the heights of noble +life, a face shines before them, the face of one who murmurs "<I>Guardami +ben</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +He thought much, too, about his offspring. The two children of his +first marriage he had educated on the approved English model, making +them "gentlemen." Partly because he knew not well how else to train +them, for Jerome was far too weak on the practical side to have shaped +a working system of his own—a system he durst rely upon; and partly, +too, because they seemed to him to inherit many characteristics from +their mother, and so to be naturally fitted for some conventional +upper-class career. The result was grievous failure. In the case of +Piers, he decided to disregard the boy's seeming qualifications, and, +after having him schooled abroad for the sake of modern languages, to +put him early into commerce. If Piers were marked out for better +things, this discipline could do him no harm. And to all appearances, +the course had been a wise one. Piers had as yet given no cause for +complaint. In wearying of trade, in aiming at something more liberal, +he claimed no more than his rights. +</P> + +<P> +With silent satisfaction, Jerome watched the boy's endeavours, his +heart warming when he received one of those well-worded and dutiful, +yet by no means commonplace letters, which came from Geneva and from +London. On Piers he put the hope of his latter day; and it gladdened +him to think that this, his only promising child, was the offspring of +the union which he could recall with tenderness. +</P> + +<P> +When Mrs. Otway had withdrawn with her sour dignity, the old man sighed +and lost himself in melancholy musing. The house was, as usual, very +still, and from without the only sound was that of the beck, leaping +down over its stony ledges. Jerome loved this sound. It tuned his +thoughts; it saved him from many a fit of ill-humour. It harmonised +with the melody of Dante's verses, fit accompaniment to many a passage +of profound feeling, of noble imagery. Even now he had been brooding +the anguish of Maestro Adamo who hears for ever +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + Li ruscelletti che de' verdi colli<BR> + Del Casentin discendon giuso in Arno—"<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +and the music of the Tuscan fountains blended with the voice of this +moorland stream. +</P> + +<P> +There was a knock at the door; the maid-servant handed him a letter; it +came from Piers. The father read it, and, after a few lines, with grave +visage. Piers began by saying that, a day or two ago, he had all but +resolved to run down to Hawes, for he had something very serious to +speak about; on the whole, it seemed better to make the communication +in writing. +</P> + +<P> +"I have abandoned the examination, and all thought of the Civil +Service. If I invented reasons for this, you would not believe them, +and you would think ill of me. The best way is to tell you the plain +truth, and run the risk of being thought a simpleton, or something +worse. I have been in great trouble, have gone through a bad time. Some +weeks ago there came to stay here a girl of eighteen or nineteen, the +daughter of Dr. Lowndes Derwent (whose name perhaps you know). She is +very beautiful, and I was unlucky enough—if I ought to use such a +phrase—to fall in love with her. I won't try to explain what this +meant to me; you wouldn't have patience to read it; but it stopped my +studies, utterly overthrew my work. I was all but ill; I suffered +horribly. It was my first such experience; I hope it may be the +last—in that form. Indeed, I believe it will, for I can't imagine that +I shall ever feel towards anyone else in the same way, and—you will +smile, no doubt—I have a conviction that Irene Derwent will remain my +ideal as long as I live." +</P> + +<P> +"Enough of that. It being quite clear to me that I simply could not go +in for the examination, I hit upon another scheme; one, it seemed to +me, which might not altogether displease you. I went to see Mr. +Tadworth, and told him that I had decided to go back into business; +could he, I asked, think of giving me a place in their office at +Odessa? If necessary, I would work without salary till I had thoroughly +learned Russian, and could substantially serve them. Well, Mr. Tadworth +was very kind, and, after a little questioning, promised to send me out +to Odessa in some capacity or other, still to be determined. I am to go +in about ten days." +</P> + +<P> +"This, father, is my final decision. I shall give myself to the +business, heartily and energetically. I think there is no harm in +telling you that I hope to make money. If I do so, it will be done, I +think, honourably, as the result of hard work. I had better not see +you; I should be ashamed. But I beg you will write to me soon. I hope I +shall not have overtried your patience. Bear with me, if you can, and +give me the encouragement I value." +</P> + +<P> +Jerome pondered long. He looked anything but displeased: there was +tenderness in his smile, and sympathy; something, too, of pride. Very +much against his usual practice, he wrote a reply the same day. +</P> + +<P> +"So be it, my dear lad! I have no fault to find, no criticism to offer. +Your letter is an honest one, and it has much moved me. Let me just say +this: you rightly doubt whether you should call yourself unlucky. If, +as I can imagine, the daughter of Dr. Derwent is a girl worth your +homage, nothing better could have befallen you than this discovery of +your 'ideal.' Whether you will be faithful to it, the +gods alone know. If you <I>can</I> be, even for a few years of youth, so +much the happier and nobler your lot! +</P> + +<P> +"Work at money-making, then. And, as I catch a glimmer of your meaning +in this resolve, I will tell you something for your comfort. If you +hold on at commerce, and verily make way, and otherwise approve +yourself what I think you, I promise that you shall not lack +advancement. Plainly, I have a little matter of money put by, for +sundry uses; and, if the day comes when something of capital would +stead you (after due trial, as I premise), it shall be at your disposal. +</P> + +<P> +"Write to me with a free heart. I have lived my life; perchance I can +help you to live yours better. The will, assuredly, is not wanting. +</P> + +<P> +"Courage, then! Pursue your purpose— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + 'Con l'animo che vince ogni battaglia,<BR> + Se col suo grave corpo non s'accascia.'<BR> +</P> + +<P> +"And, believe me that you could have no better intimate for leisure +hours than the old Florentine, who knew so many things; among them, +your own particular complaint." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +</H3> + +<P> +Clad for a long railway journey on a hot day; a grey figure of fluent +lines, of composedly decisive movements; a little felt hat +close-fitting to the spirited head, leaving full and frank the soft +rounded face, with its quietly observant eyes, its lips of contained +humour—Irene Derwent stepped from a cab at Euston Station and went +forward into the booking-office. From the box-seat of the same vehicle +descended a brisk, cheerful little man, looking rather like a courier +than an ordinary servant, who paid the cabman, saw to the luggage, and, +at a respectful distance, followed Miss Derwent along the platform; it +was Thibaut Rossignol. +</P> + +<P> +Grey-clad also, with air no less calm and sufficient, a gentleman +carrying newspapers in Britannic abundance moved towards the train +which was about to start. Surveying for a moment, with distant +curiosity, the travellers about him, his eye fell upon that maiden of +the sunny countenance just as she was entering a carriage; he stopped, +insensibly drew himself together, subdued a smile, and advanced for +recognition. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to Liverpool, Miss Derwent. May I have the pleasure——?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you will promise not to talk politics, Mr. Jacks." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't promise that. I want to talk politics." +</P> + +<P> +"From here to Crewe?" +</P> + +<P> +"As far as Rugby, let us say. After that—morphology, or some other of +your light topics." +</P> + +<P> +It seemed possible that they might have the compartment to themselves, +for it was mid-August, and the tumult of northward migration had +ceased. Arnold Jacks, had he known a moment sooner, would have settled +it with the guard. He looked forbiddingly at a man who approached; who, +in his turn, stared haughtily and turned away. +</P> + +<P> +Irene beckoned to Thibaut, and from the window gave him a trivial +message for her father, speaking in French; Thibaut, happy to serve +her, put a world of chivalrous respect into his "Bien, Mademoiselle!" +Arnold Jacks averted his face and smiled. Was she girlish enough, then, +to find pleasure in speaking French before him? A charming trait! +</P> + +<P> +The train started, and Mr. Jacks began to talk. It was not the first +time that they had merrily skirmished on political and other grounds; +they amused each other, and, as it seemed, in a perfectly harmless way; +the English way of mirth between man and maid, candid, inallusive, +without self-consciousness. Arnold made the most of his thirty years, +spoke with a tone something paternal. He was wholly sure of himself, +knew so well his own mind, his scheme of existence, that Irene's beauty +and her charm were nothing more to him than an aesthetic perception. +That she should feel an interest in him, a little awe of him, was to be +hoped and enjoyed: he had not the least thought of engaging deeper +emotion—would, indeed, have held himself reprobate had such purpose +entered his head. Nor is it natural to an Englishman of this type to +imagine that girls may fall in love with him. Love has such a +restricted place in their lives, is so consistently kept out of sight +in their familiar converse. They do not entirely believe in it; it ill +accords with their practical philosophy. Marriage—that is another +thing. The approaches to wedlock are a subject of honourable +convention, not to be confused with the trivialities of romance. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going down to Liverpool," he said, presently, "to meet Trafford +Romaine." +</P> + +<P> +It gratified him to see the gleam in Miss Derwent's eyes the +announcement had its hoped-for effect. Trafford Romaine, the Atlas of +our Colonial world; the much-debated, the universally interesting +champion of Greater British interests! She knew, of course, that Arnold +Jacks was his friend; no one could talk with Mr. Jacks for half an hour +without learning that; but the off-hand mention of their being about to +meet this very day had an impressiveness for Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"I saw that he was coming to England." +</P> + +<P> +"From the States—yes. He has been over there on a holiday—merely a +holiday. Of course, the papers have tried to find a meaning in it. That +kind of thing amuses him vastly. He says in his last letter to me——" +</P> + +<P> +Carelessly, the letter was drawn from an inner pocket. Only a page and +a half; Arnold read it out. A bluff and rather slangy epistolary style. +</P> + +<P> +"May I see his hand?" asked Irene, trying to make fun of her wish. +</P> + +<P> +He gave her the letter, and watched her amusedly as she gazed at the +first page. On receiving it back again, he took his penknife, carefully +cut out the great man's signature, and offered it for Irene's +acceptance. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you. But you know, of course, that I regard it as a mere +curiosity." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes! Why not? So do I the theory of Evolution." +</P> + +<P> +By a leading question or two, Miss Derwent set her companion talking at +large of Trafford Romaine, his views and policies. The greatest man in +the Empire! he declared. The only man, in fact, who held the true +Imperial conception, and had genius to inspire multitudes with his own +zeal. Arnold's fervour of admiration betrayed him into no excessive +vivacity, no exuberance in phrase or unusual gesture such as could +conflict with "good form"; he talked like the typical public schoolboy, +with a veneering of wisdom current in circles of higher officialdom. +Enthusiasm was never the term for his state of mind; instinctively he +shrank from that, as a thing Gallic, "foreign." But the spirit of +practical determination could go no further. He followed Trafford +Romaine as at school he had given allegiance to his cricket captain; +impossible to detect a hint that he felt the life of peoples in any way +more serious than the sports of his boyhood, yet equally impossible to +perceive how he could have been more profoundly in earnest. This made +the attractiveness of the man; he compelled confidence; it was felt +that he never exaggerated in the suggestion of force concealed beneath +his careless, mirthful manner. Irene, in spite of her humorous +observation, hung upon his speech. Involuntarily, she glanced at his +delicate complexion, at the whiteness and softness of his ungloved +hand, and felt in a subtle way this combination of the physically fine +with the morally hard, trenchant, tenacious. Close your eyes, and +Arnold Jacks was a high-bred bulldog endowed with speech; not otherwise +would a game animal of that species, advanced to a world-polity, utter +his convictions. +</P> + +<P> +"You take for granted," she remarked, "that our race is the finest +fruit of civilisation." +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. Don't you?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's having a pretty good conceit of ourselves. Is every foreigner who +contests it a poor deluded creature? Take the best type of Frenchman, +for instance. Is he necessarily fatuous in his criticism of us?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, of course he is. He doesn't understand us. He doesn't understand +the world. He has his place, to be sure, but that isn't in +international politics. We are the political people; we are the +ultimate rulers. Our language——" +</P> + +<P> +"There's a quotation from Virgil——" +</P> + +<P> +"I know. We are very like the Romans. But there are no new races to +overthrow us." +</P> + +<P> +He began to sketch the future extension of Britannic lordship and +influence. Kingdoms were overthrown with a joke, continents were +annexed in a boyish phrase; Armageddon transacted itself in sheer +lightness of heart. Laughing, he waded through the blood of nations, +and in the end seated himself with crossed legs upon the throne of the +universe. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know what it makes me wish?" said Irene, looking wicked. +</P> + +<P> +"That you may live to see it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. That someone would give us a good licking, for the benefit of our +souls." +</P> + +<P> +Having spoken it, she was ashamed, and her lip quivered a little. But +the train had slackened speed; they entered a station. +</P> + +<P> +"Rugby!" she exclaimed, with relief. "Have you any views about +treatment of the phylloxera?" +</P> + +<P> +"Odd that you should mention that. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Only because my father has been thinking about it: we have a friend +from Avignon staying with us—all but ruined in his vineyards." +</P> + +<P> +Jacks had again taken out his letter-case. He selected a folded sheet +of paper, and showed what looked like a dry blade of grass. The wheat, +he said, on certain farms in his Company's territory had begun to +suffer from a strange disease; here was an example of the +parasite-eaten growth; no one yet had recognised the disease or +discovered a check for it. +</P> + +<P> +"Let my father have it," said Irene. "He is interested in all that kind +of thing." +</P> + +<P> +"Really? Seriously?" +</P> + +<P> +"Quite seriously. He would much like to see it." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I will either call on him, or write to him, when I get back." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Derwent had not yet spoken of her destination. She mentioned, now, +that she was going to spend a week or two with relations at a country +place in Cheshire. She must change trains at Crewe. This gave a lighter +turn to the conversation. Arnold Jacks launched into frank gaiety, and +Irene met him with spirit. Not a little remarkable was the absence of +the note of sex from their merry gossip in the narrow seclusion of a +little railway compartment. Irene was as safe with this +world-conquering young man as with her own brother; would have been so, +probably, on a desert island. They were not man and woman, but English +gentleman and lady, and, from one point of view, very brilliant +specimens of their kind. +</P> + +<P> +At Crewe both alighted, Arnold to stretch his legs for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"By the bye," he said, as Miss Derwent, having seen to her luggage, was +bidding him farewell, "I'm sorry to hear that young Otway has been very +ill." +</P> + +<P> +"Ill?—I had no knowledge of it. In Russia?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. My father was speaking of it yesterday. He had heard it from his +friend, old Mr. Otway. A fever of some kind. He's all right again, I +believe." +</P> + +<P> +"We have heard nothing of it. There's your whistle. Good-bye!" +</P> + +<P> +Jacks leapt into his train, waved a hand from the window, and was +whirled away. +</P> + +<P> +For the rest of her journey, Irene seemed occupied with an alternation +of grave and amusing thoughts. At moments she looked seriously +troubled. This passed, and the arrival found her bright as ever; the +pink of modern maidenhood, fancy free. +</P> + +<P> +The relatives she was visiting were two elderly ladies, cousins of her +mother; representatives of a family native to this locality for +hundreds of years. One of the two had been married, but husband and +child were long since dead; the other, devoted to sisterly affection, +had shared in the brief happiness of the wife and remained the solace +of the widow's latter years. They were in circumstances of simple +security, living as honoured gentlewomen, without display as without +embarrassment; fulfilling cheerfully the natural duties of their +position, but seeking no influence beyond the homely limits; their life +a humanising example, a centre of charity and peace. The house they +dwelt in came to them from their yeoman ancestors of long ago; it was +held on a lease of one thousand years from near the end of the +sixteenth century, "at a quit-rent of one shilling," and certain pieces +of furniture still in use were contemporary with the beginning of the +tenure. No corner of England more safely rural; beyond sound of railway +whistle, bosomed in great old elms, amid wide meadows and generous +tillage; sloping westward to the river Dee, and from its soft green +hills descrying the mountains of Wales. +</P> + +<P> +Here in the old churchyard lay Irene's mother. She died in London, but +Dr. Derwent wished her to rest by the home of her childhood, where +Irene, too, as a little maid, had spent many a summer holiday. Over the +grave stood a simple slab of marble, white as the soul of her it +commemorated, graven thereon a name, parentage, dates of birth and +death—no more. Irene's father cared not to tell the world how that +bereavement left him. +</P> + +<P> +Round about were many kindred tombs, the most noticeable that of Mrs. +Derwent's grandfather, a ripe old scholar, who rested from his mellow +meditations just before the century began. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "GULIELMI W——<BR> + Pii, docti, integri,<BR> + Reliquiae seu potius exuviae."<BR> +</P> + +<P> +It was the first Latin Irene learnt, and its quaint phrasing to this +day influenced her thoughts of mortality. Standing by her mother's +grave, she often repeated to herself "<I>seu potius exuviae</I>," and +wondered whether her father's faith in science excluded the hope of +that old-world reasoning. She would not have dared to ask him, for all +the frank tenderness of their companionship. On that subject Dr. +Derwent had no word to say, no hint to let fall. She knew only that, in +speaking of her they had lost, his voice would still falter; she knew +that he always came into this churchyard alone, and was silent, +troubled, for hours after the visit. Instinctively, too, she understood +that, though her father might almost be called a young man, and had +abounding vitality, no second wife would ever obscure to him that +sacred memory. It was one of the many grounds she had for admiring as +much as she loved him. His loyalty stirred her heart, coloured her view +of life. +</P> + +<P> +The ladies had some little apprehension that their young relative, +fresh from contact with a many-sided world, might feel a dulness in +their life and their interests; but nothing of the sort entered Irene's +mind. She was intelligent enough to appreciate the superiority of these +quiet sisters to all but the very best of the acquaintances she had +made in London or abroad, and modest enough to see in their entire +refinement a correction of the excessive <I>sans-gene</I> to which society +tempted her. They were behind the times only in the sense of escaping, +by seclusion, those modern tendencies which vulgarise. An excellent +library of their own supplied them with the essentials of culture, and +one or two periodicals kept them acquainted with all that was worth +knowing in the activity of the day. They belonged to the very small +class of persons who still read, who have mind and leisure to find +companionship in books. Their knowledge of languages passed the common; +in earlier years they had travelled, and their reminiscences fostered +the liberality which was the natural tone of their minds. To converse +familiarly with them was to discover their grasp of historical +principles, their insight into philosophic systems, their large +apprehension of world-problems. At the same time, they nurtured +jealously their intellectual preferences, differing on such points from +each other as they did from the common world. One of them would betray +an intimate knowledge of some French or Italian poet scarce known by +name to ordinary educated people; something in him had appealed to her +mind at a certain time, and her memory held him in gratitude. The other +would be found to have informed herself exhaustively concerning the +history of some neglected people, dear to her for some subtle reason of +affinity or association. But in their table-talk appeared no pedantry; +things merely human were as interesting to them as to the babbler of +any drawing-room, and their inexhaustible kindliness sweetened every +word they spoke. +</P> + +<P> +Nothing more salutary for Irene Derwent than this sojourn with persons +whom she in every way respected—with whom there was not the least +temptation to exhibit her mere dexterities. In London, during this past +season, she had sometimes talked as a young, clever and admired girl is +prone to do; always to the mockery of her sager self when looking back +on such easy triumphs. How very easy it was to shine in London +drawing-rooms, no one knew better. Here, in the country stillness, in +this beautiful old house sacred to sincerity of heart and mind, to aim +at "smartness" would indeed have been to condemn oneself. Instead of +phrasing, she was content, as became her years, to listen; she enjoyed +the feeling of natural youthfulness, of spontaneity without misgiving. +The things of life and intellect appeared in their true proportions; +she saw the virtue of repose. +</P> + +<P> +When she had been here a day or two, the conversation chanced to take a +turn which led to her showing the autograph of Trafford Romaine; she +said merely that a friend had given it to her. +</P> + +<P> +"An interesting man, I should think," remarked the elder of the two +sisters, without emphasis. +</P> + +<P> +"An Englishman of a new type, wouldn't you say?" fell from the other. +</P> + +<P> +"So far as I understand him. Or perhaps of an old type under new +conditions." +</P> + +<P> +Irene, paying close attention, was not sure that she understood all +that these words implied. +</P> + +<P> +"He is immensely admired by some of our friends," she said with +restraint. "They compare him to the fighting heroes of our history." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed?" rejoined the elder lady. "But the question is: Are those the +qualities that we want nowadays? I admire Sir Walter Raleigh, but I +should be sorry to see him, just as he was, playing an active part in +our time." +</P> + +<P> +"They say," ventured Irene, with a smile, "that but for such men, we +may really become a mere nation of shopkeepers." +</P> + +<P> +"Do they? But may we not fear that their ideal is simply a shopkeeper +ready to shoot anyone who rivals him in trade? The finer qualities I +admit; but one distrusts the objects they serve." +</P> + +<P> +"We are told," said Irene, "that England <I>must</I> expand." +</P> + +<P> +"Probably. But the mere necessity of the case must not become our law. +It won't do for a great people to say, 'Make room for us, and we +promise to set you a fine example of civilisation; refuse to make room, +and we'll blow your brains out!' One doubts the quality of the +civilisation promised." +</P> + +<P> +Irene laughed, delighted with the vigour underlying the old lady's calm +and gentle habit of speech. Yet she was not convinced, though she +wished to be. A good many times she had heard in thought the suavely +virile utterances of Arnold Jacks; his voice had something that pleased +her, and his way of looking at things touched her imagination. She +wished these ladies knew Arnold Jacks, that she might ask their opinion +of him. +</P> + +<P> +And yet, she felt she would rather not have asked it. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +</H3> + +<P> +From this retreat, Irene wrote to her cousin Olga Hannaford, and in the +course of the letter made inquiry whether anything was known at Ewell +about a severe illness that had befallen young Mr. Otway. Olga replied +that she had heard of no such event; that they had received no news at +all of Mr. Otway since his leaving England. This did not allay an +uneasiness which, in various forms, had troubled Irene ever since she +heard that her studious acquaintance had abandoned his ambitions and +gone back to commerce. A few weeks more elapsed, and—being now in +Scotland—she received a confirmation of what Arnold Jacks had +reported. Immediately on reaching Odessa, Piers Otway had fallen ill, +and for a time was in danger. Irene mused. She would have preferred not +to think of Otway at all, but often did so, and could not help it. A +certain reproach of conscience connected itself with his name. But as +time went on, and it appeared that the young man was settled to his +mercantile career in Russia, she succeeded in dismissing him from her +mind. +</P> + +<P> +For the next three years she lived with her father in London; a life +pretty evenly divided between studies and the amusements of her world. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Derwent pursued his quiet activity. In a certain sphere he had +reputation; the world at large knew little or nothing of him. All he +aimed at was the diminution of human suffering; whether men thanked him +for his life's labour did not seem to him a point worth considering. He +knew that only his scientific brethren could gauge the advance in +knowledge, and consequent power over disease, due to his patient toil; +it was a question of minute discoveries, of investigations +unintelligible to the layman. Some of his colleagues held that he +foolishly restricted himself in declining to experimentalise <I>in +corpore vili</I>, whenever such experiments were attended with pain; he +was spoken of in some quarters as a "sentimentalist," a man who might +go far but for his "fads." One great pathologist held that the whole +idea of pursuing science for mitigation of human ills was nothing but a +sentimentality and a fad. A debate between this personage and Dr. +Derwent was brought to a close by the latter's inextinguishable mirth. +He was, indeed, a man who laughed heartily, and laughter often served +him where another would have waxed choleric. +</P> + +<P> +"Only a dog!" he exclaimed once to Irene, apropos of this subject, and +being in his graver mood. "Why, what assurance have I that any given +man is of more importance to the world than any given dog? How can I +know what is important and what is not, when it comes to the ultimate +mystery of life? Create me a dog—just a poor little mongrel puppy—and +you shall torture him; then, and not till then. And in that event I +reserve my opinion of the——" He checked himself on the point of a +remark which seemed of too wide bearing for the girl's ears. But Irene +supplied the hiatus for herself, as she was beginning to do pretty +often when listening to her father. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Derwent was, in a sense, a self-made man; in youth he had gone +through a hard struggle, and but for his academic successes he could +not have completed the course of medical training. Twenty years of very +successful practice had made him independent, and a mechanical +invention—which he had patented—an ingenuity of which he thought +nothing till some friend insisted on its value—raised his independence +to moderate wealth. For his children's sake he was glad of this +comfort; like every educated man who has known poverty at the outset of +life, he feared it more than he cared to say. +</P> + +<P> +His wife had brought him nothing—save her beauty and her noble heart. +She wedded him when it was still doubtful whether he would hold his own +in the fierce fight for a living; she died before the days of his +victory. Now and then, a friend who heard him speak of his wife's +family smiled with the thought that he only just escaped being +something of a snob. Which merely signified that a man of science +attached value to descent. Dr. Derwent knew the properties of such +blood as ran in his wife's veins, and it rejoiced him to mark the +characteristics which Irene inherited from her mother. +</P> + +<P> +He often suffered anxiety on behalf of his sister, Mrs. Hannaford, whom +he knew to be pinched in circumstances, but whom it was impossible to +help. Lee Hannaford he disliked and distrusted; the men were poles +apart in character and purpose. The family had now left Ewell, and +lived in a poor house in London. Olga was trying to earn money by her +drawing, not, it seemed, with much success. Hannaford was always said +to be on the point of selling some explosive invention to the British +Government, whence would result a fortune; but the Government had not +yet come to terms. +</P> + +<P> +"What a shame it is," quoth Dr. Derwent, "that an honest man who +facilitates murder on so great a scale should be kept waiting for his +reward!" +</P> + +<P> +Hannaford pursued his slight acquaintance with Arnold Jacks, who, in +ignorance of any relationship, once spoke of him to Miss Derwent. +</P> + +<P> +"An ingenious fellow. I should like to make some use of him, but I +don't quite know how." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry to say he belongs by marriage to our family," replied Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed? Why sorry?" +</P> + +<P> +"I detest his character. He is neither a gentleman, nor anything else +that one can respect." +</P> + +<P> +It closed a conversation in which they had differed more sharply than +usual, with—on Irene's part—something less than the wonted gaiety of +humour. They did not see each other very often, but always seemed glad +to meet, and always talked in a tone of peculiar intimacy, as if +conscious of mutual understanding. Yet no two acquaintances could have +been in greater doubt as to each other's mind and character. Irene was +often mentally occupied with Mr. Jacks, and one of the questions she +found most uncertain was whether he in turn ever thought of her with +like interest. Now she seemed to have proof that he sought an +opportunity of meeting; now, again, he appeared to have forgotten her +existence. He interested her in his personality, he interested her in +his work. She would have liked to speak of him with her father; but Dr. +Derwent never broached the subject, and she could not herself lead up +to it. Whenever she saw his name in the paper—where it often stood in +reports of public festivities or in items of social news—her eye dwelt +upon it, and her fancy was stirred. Curiosity, perhaps, had the greater +part in her feeling. Arnold Jacks seemed to live so "largely," in +contact with such great affairs and such eminent people. One day, at +length, a little paragraph in an evening journal announced that he was +engaged to be married, and to a lady much in the light, the widowed +daughter of a Conservative statesman. It was only an hour or two after +reading this news that Irene met him at dinner, and spoke with him of +Hannaford; neither to Arnold himself nor to anyone else did she allude +to the rumoured engagement; but that night she was not herself. +</P> + +<P> +About lunch time on the next day she received a note from Jacks. His +attention had been drawn—he wrote—to an absurd bit of gossip +connecting his name with that of a lady whose friend he was, and +absolutely nothing more. Would Miss Derwent, if occasion arose, do him +the kindness to contradict this story in her circle? He would be +greatly obliged to her. +</P> + +<P> +Irene was something more than surprised. It struck her as odd that +Arnold Jacks should request her services in such a matter as this. In +an obscure way she half resented the brief, off-hand missive. And she +paid no further attention to it. +</P> + +<P> +A month later, she, her father and brother, were on their way to +Switzerland. Stepping into the boat at Dover, she saw in front of her +Arnold Jacks. It was a perfectly smooth passage, and they talked all +the way; for part of the time, alone. +</P> + +<P> +"I think," said Arnold, at the first opportunity, looking her in the +face, "you never replied to a letter of mine last month about a certain +private affair?" +</P> + +<P> +"A letter? Oh, yes. I didn't think it required an answer." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you generally answer letters from your friends?" +</P> + +<P> +Irene, in turn, gave him a steady look. +</P> + +<P> +"Generally, yes. But not when I have the choice between silence and +being disagreeable." +</P> + +<P> +"You were both silent <I>and</I> disagreeable," said Arnold, smiling. "Do +you mind being disagreeable again, and telling me what your answer +would have been?" +</P> + +<P> +"Simply that I never, if I can help it, talk about weddings and rumours +of weddings, and that I couldn't make an exception in your case." +</P> + +<P> +Arnold laughed in the old way. +</P> + +<P> +"A most original rule, Miss Derwent, and admirable. If all kept to it I +shouldn't have been annoyed by that silly chatter. It occurs to me that +I perhaps ought not to have sent you that note. I did it in a moment of +irritation—wanting to have the stupid thing contradicted right and +left, as fast as possible. I won't do it again." +</P> + +<P> +They were on excellent terms once more. Irene felt a singular pleasure +in his having apologised; it was one of the very rare occasions of his +yielding to her on any point whatever. Never had she felt so kindly +disposed to him. +</P> + +<P> +Arnold was going to Paris, and on business; he hinted at something +pending between his Company and a French Syndicate. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a sort of informal diplomatist," said Irene, her interest keen. +</P> + +<P> +"Now and then, yes. And"—he added with the frankness which was one of +his more amiable points—"I rather like it." +</P> + +<P> +"One sees that you do. Better, I suppose, than the thought of going +into Parliament." +</P> + +<P> +"That may come some day," he answered, glancing at a gull that hovered +above the ship. "Not whilst my father sits there." +</P> + +<P> +"You would be on different sides, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +Arnold smiled, and went on to say that he was uneasy about his father's +health. John Jacks had fallen of late into a habit of worry about +things great and small, as though age were suddenly telling upon him. +He fretted over public affairs; he suffered from the death of old +friends, especially that of John Bright, whom he had held in +affectionate regard for a lifetime. Irene was glad to hear this +expression of anxiety. For it sometimes seemed to her that Arnold Jacks +had little, if any, domestic feeling. +</P> + +<P> +She wished they could have travelled further together. Their talks were +always broken off too soon, just when she began to get a glimpse of +characteristics still unknown to her. On the journey she thought +constantly of him; not with any sort of tender emotion, but with much +curiosity. It would have gratified her to know what degree of truth +there was in that rumour of his engagement a month ago; some, +undoubtedly, for she had noticed a peculiar smile on the faces of +persons who alluded to it. His apparent coldness towards women in +general might be natural, or might conceal mysteries. So difficult a +man to know! And so impossible to decide whether he was really worth +knowing! +</P> + +<P> +Among intimates of her own sex Irene had a reputation for a certain +chaste severity becoming at moments all but prudery. It did not +altogether harmonise with the tone of highly taught young women who +rather prided themselves on freedom of thought, and to some extent of +utterance. Singular in one so far from cold-blooded, so abounding in +vitality. Towards men, her attitude seemed purely intellectual; no one +had ever so much as suspected a warmer interest. A hint of things +forbidden with regard to any male acquaintance caused her to turn away, +silent, austere. That such things not seldom came to her hearing was a +motive of troubled reflection, common enough in all intelligent girls +who live in touch with the wider world. Men puzzled her, and Irene did +not like to be puzzled. As free from unwholesome inquisitiveness as a +girl can possibly be, she often wished to know, once for all, whatever +was to be learnt about the concealed life of men; to know it and to +have done with it; to settle her mind on that point, as on any other +that affected the life of a reasonable being. Yet she shrank from all +such enquiry, with a sense of womanly pride, doing her best to believe +that there was no concealment in the case of any man with whom she +could have friendly relations. She scorned the female cynic; she +disliked the carelessly liberal in moral judgment. Profoundly +mysterious to her was everything covered by the word "passion"—a word +she detested. +</P> + +<P> +Her way of seeing life on the amusing side aided, of course, her +maidenly severity against trouble of sense and sentiment. This she had +from her father, a man of quips and jokes on the surface of his +seriousness. As she grew older, it threatened a decline of intimacy +between her and her cousin Olga, who, never naturally buoyant, was +becoming so cheerless, so turbid of temper, that Irene found it +difficult to talk with her for long together. Domestic miseries might +greatly account for the girl's mood, but Irene had insight enough to +perceive that this was not all. And she felt uncomfortably helpless. To +jest seemed unfeeling; sympathy of the sentimental sort she could not +give. She feared that Olga was beginning to shrink from her. +</P> + +<P> +Since the Hannaford's removal to London, they had not been able to see +much of each other. Irene understood that she was not very welcome in +the little house at Hammersmith, even before her aunt wrote to ask her +not to come. Lee Hannaford's aloofness from his wife's relatives had +turned to hostility; he spoke of them with increasing bitterness, threw +contempt on Dr. Derwent's scientific work, and condemned Irene as a +butterfly of fashion. Olga ceased to visit the house in Bryanston +Square, and the cousins only corresponded. It was Dr. Derwent's opinion +that Hannaford could not be quite sane; he was much troubled on his +sister's account, and had often pondered extreme measures for her +rescue from an intolerable position. +</P> + +<P> +At length there came to pass the event to which Mrs. Hannaford had +looked as her only hope. The widowed sister in America died, and, out +of her abundance, her children all provided for, left to the unhappy +wife in England a substantial bequest. News of this came first to Dr. +Derwent, who was appointed trustee. +</P> + +<P> +But before he had time to communicate with Mrs. Hannaford, a letter +from her occasioned him new anxiety. His sister wrote that Olga was +bent on making a most undesirable marriage, having fallen in love with +a penniless nondescript who called himself an artist; a man given, it +was suspected, to drink, and without any decent connection that one +could hear of. A wretched, squalid affair! Would the Doctor come at +once and see Olga? Her father was away, as usual; of course the girl +would not be influenced by <I>him</I>, in any case; she was altogether in a +strange, wild, headstrong state, and one could not be sure how soon the +marriage might come about. +</P> + +<P> +With wrinkled brows, the vexed pathologist set forth for Hammersmith. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +</H3> + +<P> +A semi-detached dwelling in a part of Hammersmith just being invaded by +the social class below that for which it was built; where, in +consequence, rents had slightly fallen, and notices of "apartments" +were beginning to rise; where itinerant vendors, finding a new market, +strained their voices with special discord; where hired pianos vied +with each other through party walls; where the earth was always very +dusty or very muddy, and the sky above in all seasons had a +discouraging hue. The house itself furnished half-heartedly, as if it +was felt to be a mere encampment; no comfort in any chamber, no air of +home. Hannaford had not cared to distribute his mementoes of battle and +death in the room called his own; they remained in packing-cases. Each +member of the family, unhappy trio, knew that their state was +transitional, and waited rather than lived. +</P> + +<P> +With the surprise of a woman long bitter against destiny, Mrs. +Hannaford learnt that something <I>had</I> happened, and that it was a piece +of good, not ill, fortune. When her brother left the house (having +waited two hours in vain for Olga's return), she made a change of garb, +arranged her hair with something of the old grace, and moved restlessly +from room to room. A light had touched her countenance, dispelling +years of premature age; she was still a handsome woman; she could still +find in her heart the courage for a strong decision. +</P> + +<P> +There was no maid—Mrs. Hannaford herself laid upon the table what was +to serve for an evening meal; and she had just done so when her +daughter came in. Olga had changed considerably in the past three +years; at one-and-twenty she would have passed for several years older; +her complexion was fatigued, her mouth had a nervous mobility which +told of suppressed suffering, her movements were impatient, irritable. +But at this moment she did not wear a look of unhappiness; there was a +glow in her fine eyes, a tremour of resolve on all her features. On +entering the room where her mother stood, she at once noticed a change. +Their looks met: they gazed excitedly at each other. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it? Why have you dressed?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I am a free woman. My sister is dead, and has left me a lot of +money." +</P> + +<P> +They rushed into each other's arms; they caressed with tears and sobs; +it was minutes before they could utter more than broken phrases and +exclamations. +</P> + +<P> +"What shall you do?" the girl asked at length, holding her mother's +hand against her heart. Of late there had been unwonted conflict +between them, and in the reaction of joy they became all tenderness. +</P> + +<P> +"What I ought to have done long ago—go and live away——" +</P> + +<P> +"Will it be possible, dear?" +</P> + +<P> +"It shall be!" exclaimed the mother vehemently. "I am not a slave—I am +not a wife! I ought to have had courage to go away years since. It was +wrong, wrong to live as I have done. The money is my own, and I will be +free. He shall have a third of it every year, if he leaves me free. +One-third is yours, one mine." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no!" said Olga drawing back. "For me, none of it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you will live with me—you will, Olga! This makes everything +different. You will see that you cannot do what you thought of! Don't +speak of it now—think—wait——" +</P> + +<P> +The girl moved apart. Her face lost its brightness; hardened in +passionate determination. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't begin all that again," she said, with an accent of weariness. +</P> + +<P> +"No! I won't speak of it now, Olga. But will you do one thing for me? +Will you put it off for a short time? I'll tell you what I've planned; +your uncle and I talked it all over. I must leave this house before +<I>he</I> comes back, to-morrow morning. I can't go to your uncle's house, +as he asked me; you see why it is better not, don't you? The best will +be to go into lodgings for a time, and not to let <I>him</I> know where I +am, till I hear whether he will accept the terms I offer. Look, I have +enough money for the present." She showed gold that had been left with +her by Dr. Derwent. "But am I to go alone? Will you desert me in my +struggle? I want you, dear; I need your help. Oh, it would be cruel to +leave me just now! Will you put it off for a few weeks, until I know +what my life is going to be? You won't refuse me this one thing, Olga, +after all we have gone through together?" +</P> + +<P> +"For a few weeks: of course I will do that," replied the girl, still in +an attitude of resistance. "But you mustn't deceive yourself, mother. +My mind is made up; <I>nothing</I> will change it. Money is nothing to me; +we shall be able to live——" +</P> + +<P> +"I can count on you till the struggle is over?" +</P> + +<P> +"I won't leave you until it is settled. And perhaps there will be no +struggle at all. I should think it will be enough for you to say what +you have decided——" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps. But I can't feel sure. He has got to be such a tyrant, and it +will enrage him—But perhaps the money—Yes, he will be glad of the +money." +</P> + +<P> +Presently they sat down to make a pretence of eating; it was over in a +few minutes. Mrs. Hannaford made known in detail what she had rapidly +decided with her brother. Tonight she would pack her clothing and +Olga's; she would leave a letter for her husband; and early in the +morning they would leave London. Not for any distant hiding-place; it +was better to be within easy reach of Dr. Derwent, and a retreat in +Surrey would best suit their purposes, some place where lodgings could +be at once obtained. The subject of difference put aside, they talked +again freely and affectionately of this sudden escape from a life which +in any case Mrs. Hannaford could not have endured much longer. About +nine o'clock, the quiet of the house was broken by a postman's knock; +Olga ran to take the letter, and exclaimed on seeing the address— +</P> + +<P> +"Why, it's from Mr. Otway, and an English stamp!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford found a note of a few lines. Piers Otway had reached +London that morning, and would be in town for a day or two only, before +going on into Yorkshire. Could he see his old friends to-morrow? He +would call in the afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +"Better reply to-night," said Olga, "and save him the trouble of coming +here." +</P> + +<P> +The letter in her hand, Mrs. Hannaford stood thinking, a half-smile +about her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; I must write," she said slowly. "But perhaps he could come and +see us in the country. I'll tell him where we are going." +</P> + +<P> +They talked of possible retreats, and decided upon Epsom, which was not +far from their old home at Ewell; then Mrs. Hannaford replied to Otway. +Through the past three years she had often heard from him, and she knew +that he was purposing a visit to England, but no date had been +mentioned. After writing, she was silent, thoughtful. Olga, too, having +been out to post the letter, sat absorbed in her own meditations. They +did some hasty packing before bedtime, but talked little. They were to +rise early, and flee at once from the hated house. +</P> + +<P> +A sunny morning—it was July—saw them start on their journey, +tremulous, but rejoicing. Long before midday they had found lodgings +that suited them, and had made themselves at home. The sense of liberty +gave everything a delightful aspect; their little sitting-room was +perfection; the trees and fields had an ideal beauty after Hammersmith, +and they promised themselves breezy walks on the Downs above. Not a +word of the trouble between them. The mother held to a hope that the +great change of circumstance would insensibly turn Olga's thoughts from +her reckless purpose; and, for the moment, Olga herself seemed happy in +self-forgetfulness. +</P> + +<P> +The man to whom she had plighted herself was named Kite. He did not +look like a bird of prey; his countenance, his speech, were anything +but sinister; but for his unlucky position, Mrs. Hannaford would +probably have rather taken to him. Olga's announcement came with +startling suddenness. For a twelvemonth she had been trying to make +money by artistic work, and to a small extent had succeeded, managing +to sell a few drawings to weekly papers, and even to get a poor little +commission for the illustrating of a poor little book. In this way she +had made a few acquaintances in the so-called Bohemian world, but she +spoke seldom of them, and Mrs. Hannaford suspected no special intimacy +with anyone whose name was mentioned to her. One evening (a week ago) +Olga said quietly that she was going to be married. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Kite was summoned to Hammersmith. A lank, loose-limbed, +indolent-looking man of thirty or so, with a long, thin face, tangled +hair, gentle eyes. The clothes he wore were decent, but suggested the +idea that they had been purchased at second-hand; they did not fit him +well; perhaps he was the kind of man whose clothes never do fit. Unless +Mrs. Hannaford was mistaken, his breath wafted an alcoholic odour; but +Mr. Kite had every appearance of present sobriety. He seemed +chronically tired; sat down with a little sigh of satisfaction; +stretched his legs, and let his arms fall full length. To the maternal +eye, a singular, problematic being, anything but likely to inspire +confidence. Yet he talked agreeably, if oddly; his incomplete sentences +were full of good feeling; above all, he evidently meant to be frank, +put his poverty in the baldest aspect, set forth his hopes with extreme +moderation. "We seem to suit each other," was his quiet remark, with a +glance at Olga; and Mrs. Hannaford could not doubt that he meant well. +But what a match! Scarcely had he gone, when the mother began her +dissuasions, and from that moment there was misery. +</P> + +<P> +For Olga, Mrs. Hannaford had always been ambitious. The girl was +clever, warm-hearted, and in her way handsome. But for the disastrous +father, she would have had every chance of marrying "well." Mrs. +Hannaford was not a worldly woman, and all her secret inclinations were +to romance, but it is hard for a mother to dissociate the thought of +marriage from that of wealth and respectability. Mr. Kite, well-meaning +as he might be, would never do. +</P> + +<P> +To-day there was truce. They talked much of Piers Otway, and in the +afternoon, as had been arranged by letter, both went to the railway +station, to meet the train by which it was hoped he would come—Piers +arrived. +</P> + +<P> +"How much improved!" was the thought of both. He was larger, manlier, +and though still of pale complexion had no longer the bloodless look of +years ago. Walking, he bore himself well; he was self-possessed in +manner, courteous in not quite the English way; brief, at first, in his +sentences, but his face lit with cordiality. On the way to the ladies' +lodgings, he stole frequent glances at one and the other; plainly he +saw change in them, and perhaps not for the better. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford kept mentally comparing him with the scarecrow Kite. A +tremor of speculation took hold upon her; a flush was on her cheeks, +she talked nervously, laughed much. +</P> + +<P> +Nothing was to be said about the flight from home; they were at Epsom +for a change of air. But Mrs. Hannaford could not keep silence +concerning her good fortune; she had revealed it in a few nervous +words, before they reached the house. +</P> + +<P> +"You will live in London?" asked Otway. +</P> + +<P> +"That isn't settled. It would be nice to go abroad again. We liked +Geneva." +</P> + +<P> +"I must tell you about a Swiss friend of mine," Piers resumed. "A man +you would like; the best, jolliest, most amusing fellow I ever met; his +name is Moncharmont. He is in business at Odessa. There was talk of his +coming to England with me, but we put it off; another time. He's a man +who does me good; but for him, I shouldn't have held on." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you don't like it, after all?" asked Mrs. Hannaford. +</P> + +<P> +"Like it? No. But I have stuck to it—partly for very shame, as you +know. I've stuck to it hard, and it's getting too late to think of +anything else. I have plans; I'll tell you." +</P> + +<P> +These plans were laid open when tea had been served in the little +sitting-room. Piers had it in mind to start an independent business, +together with his friend Moncharmont; one of them to live in Russia, +one in London. +</P> + +<P> +"My father has promised the money. He promised it three years ago. I +might have had it when I liked; but I should have been ashamed to ask +till a reasonable time had gone by. It won't be a large capital, but +Moncharmont has some, and putting it together, we shall manage to +start, I think." +</P> + +<P> +He paused, watching the effect of his announcement. Mrs. Hannaford was +radiant with pleasure; Olga looked amused. +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you laugh?" Piers asked, turning to the girl. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't exactly laugh. But it seems odd. I can't quite think of you +as a merchant." +</P> + +<P> +"To tell you the truth, I can't quite think of myself in that light +either. I'm only a bungler at commerce, but I've worked hard, and I +have a certain amount of knowledge. For one thing, I've got hold of the +language; this last year I've travelled a good deal in Russia for our +firm, and it often struck me that I might just as well be doing the +business on my own account. I dreamt once of a partnership with our +people; but there's no chance of that. They're very close; besides, +they don't make any serious account of me; I'm not the type that gains +English confidence. Strange that I get on so much better with almost +any other nationality—with men, that is to say." +</P> + +<P> +He smiled, reddened, turned it off with a laugh. For the moment he was +his old self, and his wandering eyes kept a look such has had often +been seen in them during that month of torture three years ago. +</P> + +<P> +"You are quite sure," said Mrs. Hannaford, "that it wouldn't be better +to use your capital in some other way?" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't, don't!" Piers exclaimed, tossing his arm in exaggerated dread. +"Don't set me adrift again. I've thought about it; it's settled. This +is the only way of making money, that I can see." +</P> + +<P> +"You are so set on making money?" said Olga, looking at him in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Savagely set on it!" +</P> + +<P> +"You have really come to see that as the end of life?" Olga asked, +regarding him curiously. +</P> + +<P> +"The end? Oh, dear no! The means of life, only the means!" +</P> + +<P> +Olga was about to put another question, but she met her mother's eye, +and kept silence. All were silent for a space, and meditative. +</P> + +<P> +They went out to walk together. Looking over the wide prospect from the +top of the Downs, the soft English landscape, homely, peaceful, Otway +talked of Russia. It was a country, he said, which interested him more +the more he knew of it. He hoped to know it very well, and +perhaps—here he grew dreamy—to impart his knowledge to others. Not +many Englishmen mastered the language, or indeed knew anything of it; +that huge empire was a mere blank to be filled up by the imaginings of +prejudice and hostility. Was it not a task worth setting before +oneself, worth pursuing for a lifetime, that of trying to make known to +English folk their bugbear of the East? +</P> + +<P> +"Then this," said Olga, "is to be the end of your life?" +</P> + +<P> +"The end? No, not even that." +</P> + +<P> +On their return, he found himself alone with Mrs. Hannaford for a few +minutes. He spoke abruptly, with an effort. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you see much of the Derwents?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not much. Our lives are so different, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you tell me frankly? If I called there—when I come south +again—should I be welcome?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, why not?" replied the lady, veiling embarrassment. "I see." +Otway's face darkened. "You think it better I shouldn't. I understand." +</P> + +<P> +Olga reappeared, and the young man turned to her with resolute +cheerfulness. When at length he took leave of his friends, they saw +nothing but good spirits and healthful energy. He would certainly see +them again before leaving England, and before long would let them know +all his projects in detail. So he went his way into the summer night, +back to the roaring world of London; one man in the multitude who knew +his heart's desire, and saw all else in the light thereof. +</P> + +<P> +For three days, Mrs. Hannaford and her daughter lived expectant; then +arrived in answer to the letter left behind at Hammersmith. It came +through Dr. Derwent's solicitor, whose address Mrs. Hannaford had given +for this purpose. A curt, dry communication, saying simply that the +fugitive might do as she chose, and would never be interfered with. +Parting was, under the circumstances, evidently the wise course; but it +must be definite, legalised; the writer had no wish ever to see his +wife again. As to her suggestion about money, in that too she would +please herself; it relieved him to know her independent, and he was +glad to be equally so. +</P> + +<P> +For all that, Lee Hannaford made no objection to receiving the portion +of his wife's income which she offered. He took it without thanks, +keeping his reflections to himself. And therewith was practically +dissolved one, at least, of the innumerable mock marriages which burden +the lives of mankind. Mrs. Hannaford's only bitterness was that in law +she remained wedded. It soothed her but moderately to reflect that she +was a martyr to national morality. +</P> + +<P> +She was pressed to come and stay for a while in Bryanston Square, but +Olga would not accept that invitation. Her mother's affairs being +satisfactorily settled, the girl returned to her fixed purpose; she +would hear of no further postponement of her marriage. Thereupon Mrs. +Hannaford took a step she feared to be useless, but which was the only +hope remaining to her. She wrote to Kite; she explained to him her +circumstances; she asked him whether, out of justice to Olga, who might +repent a hasty union, he would join her (Mrs. Hannaford) in a decision +to put off the marriage for one year. If, in a twelvemonth, Olga were +still of the same mind, all opposition should be abandoned, and more +than that, pecuniary help would be given to the couple. She appealed to +his manhood, to his generosity, to his good sense. +</P> + +<P> +And, much to her surprise, the appeal was successful. Kite wrote the +oddest letter in reply, all disjointed philosophising, with the gist +that perhaps Mrs. Hannaford was right. No harm in waiting a year; +perhaps much good. Life was a mystery; love was uncertain. He would get +on with his art, the only stable thing from his point of view. +</P> + +<P> +From her next meeting with her lover, Olga came back pale and wretched. +</P> + +<P> +"I must go and live alone, mother," she said. "I must go to London and +work. This life would be impossible to me now." +</P> + +<P> +She would hear of nothing else. Her marriage was postponed; they need +say no more about it. If her mother would let her have a little money, +till she could support herself, she would be grateful; but she must +live apart. And so, after many tears it was decided. Olga went by +herself into lodgings, and Mrs. Hannaford accepted her brother's +invitation to Bryanston Square. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +</H3> + +<P> +Piers Otway spent ten days in Yorkshire. His father was well, but more +than ever silent, sunk in prophetic brooding; Mrs. Otway kept the +wonted tenor of her life, apprehensive for the purity of the Anglican +Church (assailed by insidious papistry), and monologising at large to +her inattentive husband upon the godlessness of his impenitent old age. +</P> + +<P> +"Piers," said the father one day, with a twinkle in his eye, "I find +myself growing a little deaf. Your stepmother is fond of saying that +Providence sends blessings in disguise, and for once she seems to have +hit upon a truth." +</P> + +<P> +On a glorious night of stars, he walked with his son up to the open +moor. A summer breeze whispered fitfully between the dark-blue vault +and the grey earth; there was a sound of water that leapt from the +bosom of the hills; deep answering to deep, infinite to infinite. After +standing silent for a while, Jerome Otway laid a hand on his +companion's shoulder, and muttered, "The creeds—the dogmas!" +</P> + +<P> +They had two or three long conversations. Most of his time Piers spent +in rambling alone about the moorland, for health and for weariness. +When unoccupied, he durst not be physically idle; the passions that +ever lurked to frenzy him could only be baffled at such times by +vigorous exercise. His cold bath in the early morning was followed by +play of dumb-bells. He had made a cult of physical soundness; he looked +anxiously at his lithe, well-moulded limbs; feebleness, disease, were +the menaces of a supreme hope. Ideal love dwells not in the soul alone, +but in every vein and nerve and muscle of a frame strung to perfect +service. Would he win his heart's desire?—let him be worthy of it in +body as in mind. He pursued to excess the point of cleanliness. With no +touch of personal conceit, he excelled the perfumed exquisite in care +for minute perfections. Not in costume; on that score he was +indifferent, once the conditions of health fulfilled. His inherited +tone was far from perfect; with rage he looked back upon those +insensate years of study, which had weakened him just when he should +have been carefully fortifying his constitution. Only by conflict daily +renewed did he keep in the way of safety; a natural indolence had ever +to be combated; there was always the fear of relapse, such as had +befallen him now and again during his years in Russia; a relapse not +alone in physical training, but from the ideal of chastity. He had +cursed the temper of his blood; he had raved at himself for vulgar +gratifications; and once more the struggle was renewed. Asceticism in +diet had failed him doubly; it reduced his power of wholesome exertion, +and caused a mental languor treacherous to his chief purpose. Nowadays +he ate and drank like any other of the sons of men, on the whole to his +plain advantage. +</P> + +<P> +A day or two after receiving a letter from Mrs. Hannaford, in which she +told him of her removal to Dr. Derwent's house, he bade farewell to his +father. +</P> + +<P> +To his hotel in London, that night, came a note he had expected. Mrs. +Hannaford asked him to call in Bryanston Square at eleven the next +morning. +</P> + +<P> +As he approached the house, memories shamed him. How he had slunk about +the square under his umbrella; how he had turned away in black despair +after that "Not at home"; his foolish long-tailed coat, his glistening +stovepipe! To-day, with scarce a thought for his dress, he looked +merely what he was: an educated man, of average physique, of +intelligent visage, of easy bearing. For all that, his heart throbbed +as he stood at the door, and with catching breath, he followed the +servant upstairs. +</P> + +<P> +Before Mrs. Hannaford appeared, he had time to glance round the +drawing-room, which was simpler in array than is common in such houses. +His eye fell upon a portrait, a large crayon drawing, hung in a place +of honour; he knew it must represent Irene's mother; there was a +resemblance to the face which haunted him, with more of sweetness, with +a riper humanity. Whilst his wife still lived, Dr. Derwent had not been +able to afford a painting of her; this drawing was done and well done, +in the after days from photographs. On the wall beneath it was a little +bracket, supporting a little glass vessel which held a rose. The year +round, this tiny altar never lacked its flower. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford entered. Her smile of greeting was not untroubled, but +seeing her for the first time somewhat ornately clad, and with suitable +background, Piers was struck by the air of youth that animated her +features. He had always admired Mrs. Hannaford, had always liked her, +and as she took his hand in both her own, he felt a warm response to +her unfeigned kindliness. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, is it settled?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is settled. I go back to Odessa, remain with the firm for another +six months, then make the great launch!" +</P> + +<P> +They laughed together, both nervously. Piers' eyes wandered, and Mrs. +Hannaford, as she sat down, made an obvious effort to compose herself. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't ask you, the other day," she began, as if on a sudden +thought, "whether you had seen either of your brothers." +</P> + +<P> +Piers shook his head, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"No. Alexander, I hear, is somewhere in the North, doing provincial +journalism. Daniel—I believe he is in London, but I'm not very likely +to meet him." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you wish to?" asked the other lightly. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm not very anxious. Daniel and I haven't a great interest in +each other, I'm afraid. You haven't seen him lately?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no," Mrs. Hannaford answered, with an absent air. "No—not for a +long time. I have hoped to see an announcement of his book." +</P> + +<P> +"His book?—Ah, I remember. I fear we shall wait long for that." +</P> + +<P> +"But he really was working at it," said Mrs. Hannaford, bending forward +with a peculiar earnestness. "When he last spoke to me about it, he +said the material grew so on his hands. And then, there is the expense +of publication. Such a volume, really well illustrated, must cost much +to produce, and the author would have to bear——" +</P> + +<P> +Piers was smiling oddly; she broke off, and observed him, as if the +smile pained her. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us have faith," said Otway. "Daniel is a clever man no doubt, and +may do something yet." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford abruptly changed the subject, returning to Piers' +prospects. They talked for half an hour, the lady's eyes occasionally +turning towards the door, and Otway sometimes losing himself as he +glanced at the crayon portrait. He was thinking of a reluctant +withdrawal, when the door opened. He heard a soft rustle, turned his +head, and rose. +</P> + +<P> +It was Irene! Irene in all the grace of her earlier day, and with +maturer beauty; Irene with her light step, her bravely balanced head, +her smile of admirable courtesy, her golden voice. Otway knew not what +she said to him; something frank, cordial, welcoming. For an instant he +had held her hand, and felt its coolness thrill him to his heart of +hearts; he had bent before her, mutely worshipping. His brain was on +fire with the old passion newly kindled. He spoke, he was beginning to +converse; the room grew real again; he was aware once more of Mrs. +Hannaford's presence, of a look she had fixed upon him. A look half +amused, half compassionate; he answered it with a courageous smile. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Derwent was in her happiest mood; impossible to be kinder and +friendlier in that merry way of hers. Scarce having expected to meet +her, still keeping in his mind the anguish of that calamitous and +shameful night three years ago when he fled before her grave reproof, +Piers beheld her and listened to her with such a sense of passionate +gratitude that he feared lest some crazy word should escape him. That +Irene remembered, no look or word of hers suggested; unless, indeed, +the perfection of her kindness aimed at assuring him that the past was +wholly past. She made inquiry about his father's health; she spoke of +his life at Odessa, and was full of interest when he sketched his +projects. To crown all, she said, with her eyes smiling upon him: +</P> + +<P> +"My father would so like to know you; could you dine with us one +evening before you go?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers declared his absolute freedom for a week to come. +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose, then, we say Thursday? An old friend of ours will be with us, +whom you may like to meet." +</P> + +<P> +She spoke a name which surprised and delighted him; that of a +scientific man known the world over. Piers went his way with raptures +and high resolves singing at his heart. +</P> + +<P> +For the rest of daytime it was enough to walk about the streets in sun +and shower, seeing a glorified London, one exquisite presence obscuring +every mean thing and throwing light upon all that was beautiful. He did +not reason with himself about Irene's friendliness; it had cast a spell +upon him, and he knew only his joy, his worship. Three years of +laborious exile were trifling in the balance; had they been passed in +sufferings ten times as great, her smile would have paid for all. +</P> + +<P> +Fortunately, he had a little business to transact in London; on the two +mornings that followed he was at his firm's house in the City, making +reports, answering inquiries—mainly about wool and hemp. Piers was +erudite concerning Russian wool and hemp. He talked about it not like +the ordinary business man, but as a scholar might who had very +thoroughly got up the subject. His firm did not altogether approve this +attitude of mind; they thought it <I>queer</I>, and would have smiled +caustically had they known Otway's purpose of starting as a merchant on +his own account. That, he had not yet announced, and would not do so +until he had seen his Swiss friend at Odessa again. +</P> + +<P> +The evening of the dinner arrived, and again Piers was rapt above +himself. Nothing could have been more cordial than Dr. Derwent's +reception of him, and he had but to look into the Doctor's face to +recognise a man worthy of reverence; a man of genial wisdom, of the +largest humanity, of the sanest mirth. Eustace Derwent was present; he +behaved with exemplary good-breeding, remarking suavely that they had +met before, and betraying in no corner of his pleasant smile that that +meeting had been other than delightful to both. Three guests arrived, +besides Otway, one of them the distinguished person whose name had +impressed him; a grizzled gentleman, of bland brows, and the simplest, +softest manner. +</P> + +<P> +At table there was general conversation—the mode of civilised beings. +His mind in a whirl at first, Otway presently found himself quite +capable of taking part in the talk. Someone had told a story +illustrative of superstition in English peasant folk, and Piers had +only to draw upon his Russian experiences for pursuit of the subject. +He told how, in a time of great drought, he had known a corpse dug up +from its grave by peasantry, and thrown into a muddy pond—a vigorous +measure for the calling down of rain; also, how he had seen a priest +submit to be dragged on his back across a turnip field, that thereby a +great crop might be secured. These things interested the great man, who +sat opposite; he beamed upon Otway, and sought from him further +information regarding Russia. Piers saw that Irene had turned to him; +he held himself in command, he spoke neither too much nor too little, +and as the things he knew were worth knowing, his share in the talk +made a very favourable impression. In truth, these three years had +intellectually much advanced him. It was at this time that he had begun +to use the brief, decisive turn of speech which afterwards became his +habit; a mode of utterance suggesting both mental resources and force +of character. +</P> + +<P> +Later in the evening, he found himself beside Mrs. Hannaford in a +corner of the drawing-room. He had hoped to speak a little with Miss +Derwent, in semi-privacy, but of that there seemed no chance; enough +that he had her so long before his eyes. Nor did he venture to speak of +her to her aunt, though with difficulty subduing the desire. He knew +that Mrs. Hannaford understood what was in his mind, and he felt +pleased to have her for a silent confidante. She, not altogether at +ease in this company, was glad to talk to Otway of everyday things; she +mentioned her daughter, who was understood to be living elsewhere for +the convenience of artistic studies. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you will be able to meet Olga before you go. She shuts herself +up from us a great deal—something like you used to do at Ewell, you +remember." +</P> + +<P> +"I do, only too well. Why mayn't I go and call on her?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford shook her head, vaguely, trying to smile. +</P> + +<P> +"She must have her own way, like all artists. If she succeeds, she will +come amongst us again." +</P> + +<P> +"I know that spirit," said Piers, "and perhaps it's the right one. Give +her my good wishes—they will do no harm." +</P> + +<P> +The image of Olga Hannaford was distinct before his mind's eye, but did +not touch his emotions. He thought with little interest of her +embarking on an artist's career, and had small belief in her chances of +success. Under the spell of Irene, he felt coldly critical towards all +other women; every image of feminine charm paled and grew remote when +hers was actually before him, and it would have cost a great effort of +mind to assure himself that he had not felt precisely thus ever since +the days at Ewell. The truth was, of course, that though imagination +could always restore Irene's supremacy, and constantly did so, though +his intellectual being never failed from allegiance to her, his blood +had been at the mercy of any face sufficiently alluring. So it would be +again, little as he could now believe it. +</P> + +<P> +Before he departed, he had his wish of a few minutes' talk with her. +The words exchanged were insignificant. Piers had nothing ready to his +tongue but commonplace, and Miss Derwent answered as became her. As he +left the room he suffered a flush of anger, the natural revolt of every +being who lives by emotion against the restraints of polite +intercourse. At such moments one <I>feels</I> the bonds wrought for +themselves by civilised mankind; commonly accepted without +consciousness of voluntary or involuntary restraint. In revolt, he +broke through these trammels of self-subduing nature, saw himself free +man before her free woman, in some sphere of the unembarrassed impulse, +and uttered what was in him, pleaded with all his life, conquered by +vital energy. Only when he had walked back to the hotel was he capable +of remembering that Irene, in taking leave, had spoken the kindest +wishes for his future, assuredly with more than the common +hostess-note. Dr. Derwent, too, had held his hand with a pleasant grip, +saying good things. It was better than nothing, and he felt humanly +grateful amid the fire that tortured him. +</P> + +<P> +In his room the sight of pen, ink and paper was a sore temptation. At +Odessa he had from time to time written what he thought poetry (it was +not quite that, yet as verse not contemptible), and now, recalling to +memory some favourite lines, he asked himself whether he might venture +to write them out and send them to Miss Derwent. Could he leave +England, this time, without confessing himself to her? Faint heart—he +mused over the proverb. The thought of a laboured letter repelled him, +and perhaps her reply—if she replied at all—would be a blow scarce +endurable. In the offer of a copy of verses there is no undue +presumption; it is a consecrated form of homage; it demands no +immediate response. But were they good enough, these rhymes of his?—He +would decide to-morrow, his last day. +</P> + +<P> +And as was his habit, he read a little before sleeping, in one of the +half-dozen volumes which he had chosen for this journey. It was <I>Les +Chants du Crepuscule</I>, and thus the page sang: +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "Laisse-toi donc aimer! Car l'amour, c'est la vie,<BR> + C'est tout ce qu'on regrette et tout ce qu'on envie<BR> + Quand on voit sa jeunesse au couchant décliner.<BR> + Sans lui rien n'est complet, sans lui rien ne rayonne.<BR> + La beauté c'est le front, l'amour c'est la couronne.<BR> + Laisse-toi couronner!"<BR> +</P> + +<P> +His own lines sounded a sad jingle; he grew ashamed of them, and in the +weariness of his passions he fell asleep. +</P> + +<P> +He had left till to-morrow the visit he owed to John Jacks. It was not +pleasant, the thought of calling at the house at Queen's Gate; Mrs. +Jacks might have heard strange things about him on that mad evening +three years ago. Yet in decency he must go; perhaps, too, in +self-interest. And at the wonted hour he went. +</P> + +<P> +Fortunately; for John Jacks seemed unfeignedly glad to see him, and +talked with him in private for half an hour after the observances of +the drawing-room, where Mrs. Jacks had been very sweetly proper and +properly sweet. In the library, much more at his ease, Otway told what +he had before him, all the details of his commercial project. +</P> + +<P> +"It occurs to me," said John Jacks—who was looking far from well, and +at times spoke with an effort—"that I may be able to be of some use in +this matter. I'll think about it, and—leave me your address—I shall +probably write to you. And now tell me all about your father. He is +hale and hearty?" +</P> + +<P> +"In excellent health, I think," Piers replied cheerfully. "Dante +suffices him still." +</P> + +<P> +"Odd that you should have come to-day. I don't know why, I was thinking +of your father all last night—I don't sleep very well just now. I +thought of the old days, a lifetime ago; and I said to myself that I +would write him a letter. So I will, to-day. And in a month or two I +shall see him. I'm a walking-copybook-line; procrastination—nothing +but putting off pleasures and duties these last years; I don't know how +it is. But certainly I will go over to Hawes when I'm in Yorkshire. And +I'll write today, tell him I've seen you." +</P> + +<P> +Much better in spirits, Piers returned to the hotel. Yes, after all, he +would copy out those verses of his, and send them to Miss Derwent. They +were not bad; they came from his heart, and they might speak to hers. +Just his name at the end; no address. If she desired to write to him, +she could easily learn his address from Mrs. Hannaford. He would send +them! +</P> + +<P> +"A telegram for you, sir," said the porter, as he entered. +</P> + +<P> +Wondering, he opened it. +</P> + +<P> +"Your father has suddenly died. Hope this will reach you in time. +</P> + +<P> +EMMA OTWAY." +</P> + +<P> +For a minute or two, the message was meaningless. He stood reading and +re-reading the figures which indicated hour of despatch and of +delivery. Presently he asked for a railway-guide, and with shaking +hands, with agony of mental confusion, sought out the next train +northwards. There was just time to catch it; not time to pack his bag. +He rushed out to the cab. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +</H3> + +<P> +"The circumstances are these. On the day after I said good-bye to him, +my father went for his usual morning walk, and was absent for two +hours. He returned looking very pale and disturbed, and with some +difficulty was persuaded (you know how he disliked speaking of himself) +to tell what had happened. It seems that, somewhere on the lonely road, +he came across two men, honest-looking country folk, engaged in a +violent quarrel; their language made it clear that one accused the +other of some sort of slander, a very trivial affair. Just as my father +came up to them, they began fighting. He interfered, tried to separate +them—as he would have done, I am sure, had they been armed with +pistols, for the sight of fighting was intolerable to him, it put him +beside himself with a sort of passionate disgust. They were great +strong fellows, and one of them, whether intentionally or not, dealt +him a fierce blow on the chest, knocking him down. That put an end to +the fight. My father had to sit by the roadside for a time before he +could go home. +</P> + +<P> +"The next day he did not look well, but spent his time as usual, and on +the morning after, he seemed to be all right again. The next day again +he went for his walk, and did not return. When his absence became +alarming, messengers were sent to look for him, and by one of these he +was found lying on the moorside, dead. The postmortem showed that the +blow he had received affected the heart, which was already diseased (he +did not know that). Of course the man who struck him cannot be +discovered, and I don't know that it matters. My father would no doubt +have been glad to foresee such a death as this. It was sudden (for that +he always hoped), and it came of a protest against the thing he most +hated, brutal violence." +</P> + +<P> +So Piers Otway wrote in a letter to John Jacks. He did not add that his +father had died intestate, but of that he was aware before any +inquiries had been set on foot; in one of their last talks, Jerome had +expressly told his son that he would shortly make a will, not having +hitherto been able to decide how his possessions should be distributed. +This intestacy meant (if Daniel Otway had spoken truth) that Piers +would have no fruit whatever of his father's promises; that his recent +hopes and schemes would straightway fall to the ground. +</P> + +<P> +And so it was. A telegram from Piers brought down into Yorkshire the +solicitor who had for many years been Jerome Otway's friend and +adviser; he answered the young man's inquiries with full and decisive +information. Mrs. Otway already knew the fact; whence her habitual +coldness to Piers, and the silent acerbity with which she behaved to +him at this juncture. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Otway," said Piers to her, on the day of the inquest, "I shall +stay for my father's funeral, and to avoid gossip I still ask your +hospitality. I do it with reluctance, but you will very soon see the +last of me." +</P> + +<P> +"You are of course welcome to stay in the house," replied the lady. +"There is no need to say that we shall in future be strangers, and I +only hope that the example of this shockingly sudden death in the midst +of——" +</P> + +<P> +His blood boiling, Piers left the room before the sentence was finished. +</P> + +<P> +Had he obeyed his conscience, he would have followed the coffin in the +clothes he was wearing, for many a time he had heard his father speak +with dislike of the black trappings which made a burial hideous; but +enforced regard for public opinion, that which makes cowards of good +men and hampers the world's progress, sent him to the outfitter's, +where he was duly disguised. With the secret tears he shed, there +mingled a bitterness at being unable to show respect to his father's +memory in such small matters. That Jerome Otway should be buried as a +son of the Church, to which he had never belonged, was a ground of +indignation, but neither in this could any effective protest be made. +Mute in his sorrow, Piers marvelled with a young man's freshness of +feeling at the forms and insincerities which rule the world. He had a +miserable sense of his helplessness amid forces which he despised. +</P> + +<P> +On the day of the inquest arrived Daniel Otway, Piers having +telegraphed to the club where he had seen his brother three years ago. +Before leaving London, Daniel had provided himself with solemn black, +of the latest cut; Hawes people remarked him with curiosity, saying +what a gentleman he looked, but whispering at the same time rumours and +doubts; for the little town had long gossiped about Jerome, a man not +much to its mind. A day later came Alexander. With him there had been +no means of communicating, and a newspaper paragraph informed him of +his father's death. Appearing in rough tweeds, with a felt hat, he +inspired more curiosity than respect. Both brothers greeted Piers +cordially; both were curt and formal with the widow, but, for +appearances' sake, accepted a cramped lodging in the cottage. Piers +kept very much to himself until the funeral was over; he was then +invited by Daniel to join a conference in what had been his father's +room. Here the man of law (Jerome's name for him) expounded the posture +of things; with all professional, and some personal, tact and delicacy. +Will there was certainly none; Daniel, in the course of things, would +apply for letters of administration. The estate, it might be said, +consisted of certain shares in a prosperous newspaper, an investment +which could be easily realised, and of a small capital in consols; to +the best of the speaker's judgment, the shares were worth about six +thousand pounds, the consols amounted to nearly fifteen hundred. This +capital sum, the widow and the sons would divide in legal proportion. +Followed technicalities, with conversation. Mrs. Otway kept dignified +silence; Piers, in the background, sat with eyes sunk. +</P> + +<P> +"I think," remarked the solicitor gravely and firmly, "that, assembled +as we are in privacy, I am only doing my duty in making known that the +deceased had in view (as I know from hints in his correspondence) to +assist his youngest son substantially, as soon as that son appeared +likely to benefit by such pecuniary aid. I think I am justified in +saying that that time had arrived, that death interposed at an +unfortunate moment as regards such plans. I wished only to put the +point before you, as one within my own knowledge. Is there any question +you would like to ask me at present, Mrs. Otway?" +</P> + +<P> +The widow shook her head (and her funeral trappings). Thereupon sounded +Piers Otway's voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to say that as I have no legal claim whatever upon my +father's estate, I do not wish to put forward a claim of any other +kind. Let that be understood at once." +</P> + +<P> +There was silence. They heard the waters of the beck rushing over its +stony channel. For how many thousand years had the beck so murmured? +For how many thousand would it murmur still? +</P> + +<P> +"As the eldest son," then observed Daniel, with his Oxford accent, and +a sub-note of feeling, "I desire to say that my brother"—he generously +emphasised the word—"has expressed himself very well, in the spirit of +a gentleman. Perhaps I had better say no more at this moment. We shall +have other opportunities of—of considering this point." +</P> + +<P> +"Decidedly," remarked Alexander, who sat with legs crossed. "We'll talk +it over." +</P> + +<P> +And he nodded with a good-natured smile in Piers' direction. +</P> + +<P> +Later in the day—a family council having been held at which Piers was +not present—Daniel led the young man apart. +</P> + +<P> +"You insist on leaving Hawes to-night? Well, perhaps it is best. But, +my dear boy, I can't let you go without saying how deeply I sympathise +with your position. You bear it like a man, Piers; indeed you do. I +think I have mentioned to you before how strong I am on the side of +morals." +</P> + +<P> +"If you please," Piers interrupted, with brow dark. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, no!" exclaimed the other. "I was far from casting any +reflection. <I>De mortuis</I>, you know; much more so when one speaks of a +father. I think, by the bye, Alec ought to write something about him +for publication; don't you? I was going to say, Piers, that, if I +remember rightly, I am in your debt for a small sum, which you very +generously lent me. Ah, that book! It grows and grows; I <I>can't</I> get it +into final form. The fact is Continental art critics— But I was going +to say that I must really insist on being allowed to pay my +debt—indeed I must—soon as this business is settled." +</P> + +<P> +He paused, watching Piers' face. His own had not waxed more spiritual +of late years, nor had his demeanour become more likely to inspire +confidence; but he was handsome, in a way, and very fluent, very suave. +</P> + +<P> +"Be it so," replied Piers frankly; "I shall be glad of the money, I +confess." +</P> + +<P> +"To be sure! You shall have it with the least possible delay. And, +Piers, it has struck us, my dear fellow, that you might like to choose +a volume or two of the good old man's library as a memento. We beg you +will do so. We beg you will do it at once, before you leave." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you. I should like the Dante he used to carry in his pocket." +</P> + +<P> +"A most natural wish, Piers. Take it by all means. Nothing else, you +think?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. You once told me that you had seen a portrait of my mother. Do +you think it still exists?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will inquire about it," answered Daniel gravely. "It was a framed +photograph, and at one time—many years ago—used to stand on his +writing-table. I will inquire, my dear boy." +</P> + +<P> +Next, Alexander sought a private colloquy with his disinherited brother. +</P> + +<P> +"Look here, Piers," he began bluffly, "it's a cursed shame! I'm hanged +if it isn't! If we weren't so solemn, my boy, I should quote Bumble +about the law. Of course it's the grossest absurdity, and as far as I'm +concerned——. By Jove, Piers!" he cried, with sudden change of +subject, "if you knew the hard times Biddy and I have been going +through! Eh, but she's a brick, is Biddy; she sent you her love, old +boy, and that's worth something, I can tell you. But I was going to say +that you mustn't suppose I've forgotten about the debt. You shall be +repaid as soon as ever we realise this property; you shall, Piers! And, +what's more, you shall be repaid with interest; yes, three per cent. It +would be cursed meanness if I didn't." +</P> + +<P> +"The fifty pounds I shall be glad of," said Piers. "I want no interest. +I'm not a money-lender." +</P> + +<P> +"We won't quarrel about that," rejoined Alexander, with a merry look. +"But come now, why don't you let a fellow hear from you now and then? +What are you doing? Going back among the Muscovites?" +</P> + +<P> +"Straight back to Odessa, yes." +</P> + +<P> +"I may look you up there some day, if Biddy can spare me for a few +weeks. A glimpse of the bear—it might be useful to me. Terrible +savages I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers laughed impatiently, and gave no other answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, the one thing I really wanted to say, Piers—you <I>must</I> let me +say it—I, for one, shall take a strong stand about your moral rights +in this business here, Of course your claim is every bit as good as +ours; only a dunder-headed jackass would see it in any other way. +Daniel quite agrees with me. The difficulty will be that woman. A +terrible woman! She regards you as sealed for perdition by the mere +fact of your birth. But you will hear from us, old boy, be sure of +that. Give me your Muscovite address." +</P> + +<P> +Piers carelessly gave it. He was paying hardly any attention to his +brother's talk, and would have felt it waste of energy to reassert what +he had said in the formal conclave. Weariness had come upon him after +these days of grief and indignant tumult; he wanted to be alone. +</P> + +<P> +The portrait for which he had asked was very quickly found. It lay in a +drawer, locked away among other mementoes of the past. With a shock of +disappointment, Piers saw that the old photograph had faded almost to +invisibility. He just discerned the outlines of a pleasant face, the +dim suggestion of womanly charm—all he would ever see of the mother +who bore him. +</P> + +<P> +"It seems to me," said Daniel, after sympathising with his chagrin, +"that there must be a lot of papers, literary work, letters, and that +kind of thing, which will have more interest for you than for anyone +else. When we get things looked through, shall I send you whatever I +think you would care for?" +</P> + +<P> +With gratitude Piers accepted what he could not have brought himself to +ask for. +</P> + +<P> +On the southward journey he kept taking from his pocket two letters +which had reached him at Hawes. One was from John Jacks, full of the +kindliest condolence; a manly letter which it did him good to read. The +other came from Mrs. Hannaford, womanly, sincere; it contained a +passage to which Piers returned again and again. "My niece is really +grieved to hear of your sudden loss; happening at a moment when all +seemed to be going well with you. She begs me to assure you of her very +true sympathy, and sends every good wish." Little enough, this, but the +recipient tried to make much of it. He had faintly hoped that Irene +might send him a line in her own hand. That was denied, and perhaps he +was foolish even to have dreamt of it. +</P> + +<P> +He could not address his verses to her, now. He must hurry away from +England, and try to forget her. +</P> + +<P> +Of course she would hear, one way or another, about the circumstances +of his birth. It would come out that he had no share in the property +left by his father, and the reason be made known. He hoped that she +might also learn that death had prevented his father's plan for +benefiting him. He hoped it; for in that case she might feel +compassion. Yet in the same moment he felt that this was a delusive +solace. Pity for a man because he had lost money does not incline to +warmer emotion. The hope was sheer feebleness of spirit. He spurned it; +he desired no one's compassion. +</P> + +<P> +How would Irene regard the fact of his illegitimacy? Not, assuredly, +from Mrs. Otway's point of view; she was a century ahead of that. +Possibly she was capable of dismissing it as indifferent. But he could +not be certain of her freedom from social prejudice. He remembered the +singular shock with which he himself had first learnt what he was; a +state of mind quite irrational, but only to be dismissed with an effort +of the trained intelligence. Irene would undergo the same experience, +and it might affect her thought of him for ever. +</P> + +<P> +Not for one instant did he visit these troubles upon the dead man. His +loyalty to his father was absolute; no thought, or half-thought, looked +towards accusation. +</P> + +<P> +He arrived at his hotel in London late at night, drank a glass of +spirits and went to bed. The sleep he hoped for came immediately, but +lasted only a couple of hours. Suddenly he was wide awake, and a horror +of great darkness enveloped him. What he now suffered he had known +before, but with less intensity. He stared forward into the coming +years, and saw nothing that his soul desired. A life of solitude, of +bitter frustration. Were it Irene, were it another, the woman for whom +he longed would never become his. He had not the power of inspiring +love. The mere flesh would constrain him to marriage, a sordid union, a +desecration of his ideal, his worship; and in the latter days he would +look back upon a futile life. What is life without love? And to him +love meant communion with the noblest. Nature had kindled in him this +fiery ambition only for his woe. +</P> + +<P> +All the passion of the great hungry world seemed concentrated in his +sole being. Images of maddening beauty glowed upon him out of the +darkness, glowed and gleamed by he knew not what creative mandate; +faces, forms, such as may visit the delirium of a supreme artist. Of +him they knew not; they were worlds away, though his own brain bodied +them forth. He smothered cries of agony; he flung himself upon his +face, and lay as one dead. +</P> + +<P> +For the men capable of passionate love (and they are few) to miss love +is to miss everything. Life has but the mockery of consolation for that +one gift denied. The heart may be dulled by time; it is not comforted. +Illusion if it be, it is that which crowns all other illusions whereof +life is made. The man must prove it, or he is born in vain. +</P> + +<P> +At sunrise, Piers dressed himself, and made ready for his journey. He +was worn with fever, had no more strength to hope or to desire. His +body was a mechanism which must move and move. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV +</H3> + +<P> +In the saloon of a homeward-bound steamer, twenty-four hours from port, +and that port Southampton, a lady sat writing letters. Her age was +about thirty; her face was rather piquant than pretty; she had the air +of a person far too intelligent and spirited to be involved in any life +of mere routine, on whatever plane. Two letters she had written in +French, one in German, and that upon which she was now engaged was in +English, her native tongue; it began "Dearest Mother." +</P> + +<P> +"All's well. A pleasant and a quick voyage. The one incident of it +which you will care to hear about is that I have made friends—a real +friendship, I think—with a delightful girl, of respectability which +will satisfy even you. Judge for yourself; she is the daughter of Dr. +Derwent, a distinguished scientific man, who has been having a glimpse +of Colonial life. When we were a day or two out I found that Miss +Derwent was the object of special interest; she and her father had been +the guests of no less a personage than Trafford Romaine, and it was +reported that the great man had offered her marriage! Who started the +rumour I don't know, but it is quite true that Romaine <I>did</I> propose to +her—and was refused! I am assured of it by a friend of theirs on +board, Mr. Arnold Jacks, an intimate friend of Romaine; but he declared +that he did not start the story, and was surprised to find it known. +Miss Derwent herself? No, my dear cynical mamma! She isn't that sort. +She likes me as much as I like her, I think, but in all our talk not a +word from her about the great topic of curiosity. It is just possible, +I fear, that she means to marry Mr. Arnold Jacks, who, by the bye, is a +son of a Member of Parliament, and rather an interesting man, but, I am +quite sure, not the man for <I>her</I>. If she will come down into Hampshire +with me may I bring her? It would so rejoice your dear soul to be +assured that I have made such a friend, after what you are pleased to +call my riff-raff foreign intimacies." +</P> + +<P> +A few words more of affectionate banter, and she signed herself "Helen +M. Borisoff." +</P> + +<P> +As she was addressing the envelope, the sound of a book thrown on to +the table just in front of her caused her to look up, and she saw Irene +Derwent. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter? Why are you damaging the ship's literature?" she +asked gaily. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I can't stand that!" exclaimed Irene. "It's too imbecile. It +really is what our slangy friend calls 'rot,' and very dry rot. Have +you read the thing?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Borisoff looked at the title, and answered with a headshake. +</P> + +<P> +"Imagine! An awful apparatus of mystery; blood-curdling hints about the +hero, whose prospects in life are supposed to be utterly blighted. And +all because—what do you think? Because his father and mother forgot +the marriage ceremony." +</P> + +<P> +The other was amused, and at the same time surprised. It was the first +time that Miss Derwent, in their talk, had allowed herself a remark +suggestive of what is called "emancipation." She would talk with +freedom of almost any subject save that specifically forbidden to +English girls. Helen Borisoff, whose finger showed a wedding ring, had +respected this reticence, but it delighted her to see a new side of her +friend's attractive personality. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose in certain circles"—she began. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes! Shopkeepers and clerks and so on. But the book is supposed to +deal with civilised people. It really made me angry!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Borisoff regarded her with amused curiosity. Their eyes met. Irene +nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she continued, as if answering a question, "I know someone in +just that position. And all at once it struck me—I had hardly thought +of it before—what an idiot I should be if I let it affect my feelings +or behaviour!" +</P> + +<P> +"I think no one would have suspected you of such narrowness." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed I hope not!—Have you done your letters? Do come up and watch +Mrs. Smithson playing at quoits—a sight to rout the brood of cares!" +</P> + +<P> +In the smoking-room on deck sat Dr. Derwent and Arnold Jacks, +conversing gravely, with subdued voices. The Doctor had a smile on his +meditative features; his eyes were cast down he looked a trifle +embarrassed. +</P> + +<P> +"Forgive me," Arnold was saying, with some earnestness, "if this course +seems to you rather irregular." +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all! Not at all! But I can only assure you of my honest +inability to answer the question. Try, my dear fellow! <I>Solvitur +quaerendo</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +Jacks' behaviour did, in fact, appear to the Doctor a little odd. That +the young man should hint at his desire to ask Miss Derwent to marry +him, or perhaps ask the parental approval of such a step, was natural +enough; the event had been looming since the beginning of the voyage +home. But to go beyond this, to ask the girl's father whether he +thought success likely, whether he could hold out hopes, was scarcely +permissible. It seemed a curious failure of tact in such a man as +Arnold Jacks. +</P> + +<P> +The fact was that Arnold for the first time in his life, had turned +coward. Having drifted into a situation which he had always regarded as +undesirable, and had felt strong enough to avoid, he lost his head, and +clutched rather wildly at the first support within reach. That Irene +Derwent should become his wife was not a vital matter; he could +contemplate quite coolly the possibility of marrying some one else, or, +if it came to that, of not marrying anyone at all. What shook his +nerves was the question whether Irene would be sure to accept him. +</P> + +<P> +Six months ago, he had no doubt of it. He viewed Miss Derwent with an +eye accustomed to scrutinise, to calculate (in things Imperial and +other), and it amused him to reflect that she might be numbered among, +say, half a dozen eligible women who would think it an honour to marry +him. This was his way of viewing marriage; it was on the woman's side a +point of ambition, a gratification of vanity; on the man a dignified +condescension. Arnold conceived himself a brilliant match for any girl +below the titled aristocracy; he had grown so accustomed to magnify his +place, to regard himself as one of the pillars of the Empire, that he +attributed the same estimate to all who knew him. Of personal vanity he +had little; purely personal characteristics did not enter, he imagined, +into a man's prospects of matrimony. Certain women openly flattered +him, and these he despised. His sense of fitness demanded a woman +intelligent enough to appreciate what he had to offer, and sufficiently +well-bred to conceal her emotions when he approached her. These +conditions Miss Derwent fulfilled. Personally she would do him credit +(a wife, of course, must be presentable, though in the husband +appearance did not matter), and her obvious social qualities would be +useful. Yet he had had no serious thought of proposing to her. For one +thing, she was not rich enough. +</P> + +<P> +The change began when he observed the impression made by her upon +Trafford Romaine. This was startling. Romaine, the administrator of +world-wide repute, the man who had but to choose among Great Britain's +brilliant daughters (or so his worshippers believed), no sooner looked +upon Irene Derwent than he betrayed his subjugation. No woman had ever +received such honour from him, such homage public and private. Arnold +Jacks was pricked with uneasiness; Irene had at once a new value in his +eyes, and he feared he had foolishly neglected his opportunities. If +she married Romaine, it would be mortifying. She refused the great +man's offer, and Arnold was at first astonished, then gratified. For +such refusal there could be only one ground: Miss Derwent's "heart" was +already disposed of. Women have "hearts"; they really do grow fond of +the men they admire; a singular provision of nature. +</P> + +<P> +He would propose during the voyage. +</P> + +<P> +But the voyage was nearly over; he might have put his formal little +question fifty times; it was still to be asked—and he felt afraid. +Afraid more than ever, now that he had committed himself with Dr. +Derwent. The Doctor had received his confession so calmly, whereas +Arnold hoped for some degree of effusiveness. Was he—hideous +doubt—preparing himself for an even worse disillusion? +</P> + +<P> +Undoubtedly the people on board had remarked his attentions; for all he +knew, jokes were being passed, nay, bets being made. It was a serious +thing to proclaim oneself the wooer of a young lady who had refused +Trafford Romaine; who was known to have done so, and talked about with +envy, admiration, curiosity. You either carried her off, or you made +yourself fatally ridiculous. Half a dozen of the passengers would +spread this gossip far and wide through England. There was that +problematic Mrs. Borisoff, a frisky grass widow, who seemed to know +crowds of distinguished people, and who was watching him day by day +with her confounded smile! Who could say what passed between her and +Irene, intimates as they had become? Did they make fun of him? Did they +<I>dare</I> to? +</P> + +<P> +Arnold Jacks differed widely from the common type of fatuous young man. +He was himself a merciless critic of fatuity; he had a faculty of +shrewd observation, plenty of caustic common sense. Yet the position +into which he had drifted threatened him with ridiculous extremes of +self-consciousness. Even in his personal carriage, he was not quite +safe against ridicule; and he felt it. This must come to an end. +</P> + +<P> +He sought his moment, and found it at the hour of dusk. The sun had +gone down gloriously upon a calm sea; the sky was overspread with +clouds still flushed, and the pleasant coolness of the air foretold +to-morrow's breeze on the English Channel. With pretence of watching a +steamer that had passed, Arnold drew Miss Derwent to a part of the deck +where they would be alone. +</P> + +<P> +"You will feel," he said abruptly, "that you know England better now +that you have seen something of the England beyond seas." +</P> + +<P> +"I had imagined it pretty well," replied Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, one does." +</P> + +<P> +Under common circumstances, Arnold would have scornfully denied the +possibility of such imagination. He felt most unpleasantly tame. +</P> + +<P> +"You wouldn't care to make your home out yonder?" +</P> + +<P> +"Heaven forbid!" +</P> + +<P> +This was better. It sounded like emphatic rejection of Trafford +Romaine, and probably was meant to sound so. +</P> + +<P> +"I myself," he pursued absently, "shall always live in England. If I +know myself, I can be of most service at the centre of things. +Parliament, when the moment arrives——" +</P> + +<P> +"The moment when you can be most mischievous?" said Irene, with a +glance at him. +</P> + +<P> +"That's how you put it. Yes, most mischievous. The sphere for mischief +is growing magnificent." +</P> + +<P> +He talked, without strict command of his tongue, just to gain time; +spoke of expanding Britain, and so on, a dribble of commonplaces. Irene +moved as if to rejoin her company. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't go just yet—I want you—now and always." +</P> + +<P> +Sheer nervousness gave his voice a tremor as if of deep emotion. These +simple words, which had burst from him desperately, were the best he +could have uttered—Irene stood with her eyes on the darkening horizon. +</P> + +<P> +"We know each other pretty well," he continued, "and the better we know +each other, the more we find to talk about. It's a very good +sign—don't you think? I can't see how I'm to get along without you, +after this journey. I don't like to think of it, and I <I>won't</I> think of +it! Say there's no need to." +</P> + +<P> +Her silence, her still attitude, had restored his courage. He spoke at +length like himself, with quiet assurance, with sincerity; and again it +was the best thing he could have done. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not quite sure, Mr. Jacks, that I think about it in the same way." +</P> + +<P> +Her voice was subdued to a very pleasant note, but it did not tremble. +</P> + +<P> +"I can allow for that uncertainty—though I have nothing of it myself. +We shall both be in London for a month or so. Let me see you as often +as I can, and, before you leave town, let me ask whether the doubt has +been overcome." +</P> + +<P> +"I hold myself free," said Irene impulsively. +</P> + +<P> +"Naturally." +</P> + +<P> +"I do you no wrong if it seems to me impossible." +</P> + +<P> +"None whatever." +</P> + +<P> +His eyes were fixed on her face, dimly beautiful in the fading shimmer +from sea and sky. Irene met his glance for an instant, and moved away, +he following. +</P> + +<P> +Arnold Jacks had never known a mood so jubilant. He was saved from the +terror of humiliation. He had comported himself as behoved him, and the +result was sure and certain hope. He felt almost grateful, almost +tender, towards the woman of his choice. +</P> + +<P> +But Irene as she lay in her berth, strangely wakeful to the wash of the +sea as the breeze freshened, was frightened at the thought of what she +had done. Had she not, in the common way of maidenhood, as good as +accepted Arnold Jacks' proposal? She did not mean it so; she spoke +simply and directly in saying that she was not clear about her own +mind; on any other subject she would in fact, or in phrase, have +reserved her independence. But an offer of marriage was a thing apart, +full of subtle implications, needing to be dealt with according to +special rules of conscience and of tact. Some five or six she had +received, and in each case had replied decisively, her mind admitting +no doubt. As when to her astonishment, she heard the frank and large +confession of Trafford Romaine; the answer was an inevitable—No! To +Arnold Jacks she could not reply thus promptly. Relying on the easy +terms of their intercourse, she told him the truth; and now she saw +that no form of answer could be less discreet. +</P> + +<P> +For about a year she had thought of Arnold as one who <I>might</I> offer her +marriage; any girl in her position would have foreseen that +possibility. After every opportunity which he allowed to pass, she felt +relieved, for she had no reply in readiness. The thought of accepting +him was not at all disagreeable; it had even its allurements; but +between the speculation and the thing itself was a great gap for the +leaping of mind and heart. Her relations with him were very pleasant, +and she would have been glad if nothing had ever happened to disturb +them. +</P> + +<P> +When her father suggested this long journey in Arnold's company, she +hesitated. In deciding to go, she said to herself that if nothing +resulted, well and good; if something did, well and good also. She +would get to know Arnold better, and on that increase of acquaintance +must depend the outcome, as far as she was concerned. She was helped in +making up her mind by a little thing that happened. There came to her +one day a letter from Odessa; on opening it, she found only a copy of +verses, with the signature "P.O." A love poem; not addressed to her, +but about her; a pretty poem, she thought, delicately felt and +gracefully worded. It surprised her, but only for a moment; thinking, +she accepted it as something natural, and was touched by the tribute. +She put it carefully away—knowing it by heart. +</P> + +<P> +Impertinence! Surely not. Long ago she had reproached herself with her +half-coquetry to Piers Otway, an error of exuberant spirits when she +was still very young. There was no obscuring the fact; deliberately she +had set herself to draw him away from his studies; she had made it a +point of pride to show herself irresistible. Where others failed in +their attack upon his austere seclusion, <I>she</I> would succeed, and +easily. She had succeeded only too well, and it never quite ceased to +trouble her conscience. Now, learning that even after four years her +victim still remained loyal, she thought of him with much gentleness, +and would have scorned herself had she felt scorn of his devotion. +</P> + +<P> +No other of her wooers had ever written her a poem; no other was +capable of it. It gave Piers a distinction in her mind which more than +earned her pardon. +</P> + +<P> +But—poor fellow!—he must surely know that she could never respond to +his romantic feeling. It was pure romance, and charming—if only it did +not mean sorrow to him and idle hopes. Such a love as this, distant, +respectful, she would have liked to keep for years, for a lifetime. If +only she could be sure that romance was as dreamily delightful to her +poet as to her! +</P> + +<P> +The worst of it was that Piers Otway had suffered a sad wrong, an +injustice which, when she heard of it, made her nobly angry. A month +after the death of the old philosopher at Hawes, Mrs. Hannaford +startled her with a strange story. The form it took was this: That +Piers, having for a whispered reason no share in his father's +possessions, had perforce given up his hopes of commercial enterprise, +and returned to his old subordinate position at Odessa. The two +legitimate sons would gladly have divided with him their lawful due, +but Piers refused this generosity, would not hear of it for a moment, +stood on his pride, and departed. Thus Mrs. Hannaford, who fully +believed what she said; and as she had her information direct from the +eldest son, Daniel Otway, there could be no doubt as to its +correctness. Piers had behaved well; he could not take alms from his +half-brothers. But what a monstrous thing that accident and the law of +the land left him thus destitute! Feeling strongly about it, Irene +begged her aunt, when next she wrote to Odessa, to give Piers, from +her, a message of friendly encouragement; not, of course, a message +that necessarily implied knowledge of his story, but one that would +help him with the assurance of his being always kindly remembered by +friends in London. +</P> + +<P> +Six months after came the little poem, which Irene, without purposing +it, learnt by heart. +</P> + +<P> +A chapter of pure romance; one which, Irene felt, could not possibly +have any relation to her normal life. And perhaps because she felt +that so strongly, perhaps because her conscience warned her against the +danger of still seeming to encourage a lover she could not dream of +marrying, perhaps because these airy nothings threw into stronger +relief the circumstances which environed her, she forthwith made up her +mind to go on the long journey with her father and Arnold Jacks. Mrs. +Hannaford did not fail to acquaint Piers Otway with the occurrence. +</P> + +<P> +And those two months of companionship told in Arnold's favour. Jacks +was excellent in travel; he had large experience, and showed to +advantage on the highways of the globe. No more entertaining companion +during the long days of steamship life; no safer guide in unfamiliar +lands. His personality made a striking contrast with the robustious +semi-civilisation of the colonists with whom Irene became acquainted; +she appreciated all the more his many refinements. Moreover, the +respectful reception he met with could not but impress her; it gave +reality to what Miss Derwent sometimes laughed at, his claim to be a +force in the great world. Then, that eternal word "Empire" gained +somewhat of a new meaning. She joked about it, disliking as much as +ever its baser significance but she came to understand better the +immense power it represented. On that subject, her father was emphatic. +</P> + +<P> +"If," remarked Dr. Derwent once, "if our politics ever fall into the +hands of a stock-jobbing democracy, we shall be the hugest force for +evil the poor old world has ever known." +</P> + +<P> +"You think," said Irene, "that one can already see some danger of it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I think so sometimes. But we have good men still, good men." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mind telling me," Miss Derwent asked, "whether our +fellow-traveller seems to you one of them?" +</P> + +<P> +"H'm! On the whole, yes. His faults are balanced, I think, by his +aristocratic temper. He is too proud consciously to make dirty +bargains. High-handed, of course; but that's the race—the race. Things +being as they are, I would as soon see him in power as another." +</P> + +<P> +Irene pondered this. It pleased her. +</P> + +<P> +On the morning after Arnold's proposal, she knew that he and her father +had talked. Dr. Derwent, a shy man, rather avoided her look; but he +behaved to her with particular kindliness; as they stood looking +towards the coast of England, he drew her hand through his arm, and +stroked it once or twice—a thing he had not done on the whole journey. +</P> + +<P> +"The brave old island!" he was murmuring. "I should be really disturbed +if I thought death would find me away from it. Foolish fancy, but it's +strong in me." +</P> + +<P> +Irene was taciturn, and unlike herself. The approach to port enabled +her to avoid gossips, but one person, Helen Borisoff, guessed what had +happened; Irene's grave countenance and Arnold Jacks' meditative smile +partly instructed her. On the railway journey to London, Jacks had the +discretion to keep apart in a smoking-carriage. Dr. Derwent and his +daughter exchanged but few words until they found themselves in +Bryanston Square. +</P> + +<P> +During their absence abroad, Mrs. Hannaford had been keeping house for +them. With brief intervals spent now and then in pursuit of health, she +had made Bryanston Square her home since the change in her +circumstances two years ago. Lee Hannaford held no communication with +her, content to draw the modest income she put at his disposal, and +Olga, her mother knew not why, was still unmarried, though declaring +herself still engaged to the man Kite. She lived here and there in +lodgings, at times seeming to maintain herself, at others accepting +help; her existence had an air of mystery far from reassuring. +</P> + +<P> +On meeting her aunt, Irene found her looking ill and troubled. Mrs. +Hannaford declared that she was much as usual, and evaded inquiries. +She passed from joy at her relatives' return to a mood of silent +depression; her eyes made one think that she must have often shed tears +of late. In the past twelvemonth she had noticeably aged; her beauty +was vanishing; a nervous tremor often affected her thin hands, and in +her speech there was at times a stammering uncertainty, such as comes +of mental distress. Dr. Derwent, seeing her after two months' absence, +was gravely observant of these things. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you could find out what's troubling your aunt," he said to +Irene, next day. "Something is, and something very serious, though she +won't admit it. I'm really uneasy about her." +</P> + +<P> +Irene tried to win the sufferer's confidence, but without success. Mrs. +Hannaford became irritable, and withdrew as much as possible from sight. +</P> + +<P> +The girl had her own trouble, and it was one she must needs keep to +herself. She shrank from the next meeting with Arnold Jacks, which +could not long be postponed. It took place three days after her return, +when Arnold and Mrs. Jacks dined in Bryanston Square. John Jacks was to +have come, but excused himself on the plea of indisposition. As might +have been expected of him, Arnold was absolute discretion; he looked +and spoke, perhaps, a trifle more gaily than usual, but to Irene showed +no change of demeanour, and conversed with her no more than was +necessary. Irene felt grateful, and once more tried to convince herself +that she had done nothing irreparable. In fact, as in assertion, she +was free. The future depended entirely on her own will and pleasure. +That her mind was ceaselessly preoccupied with Arnold could only be +deemed natural, for she had to come to a decision within three or four +weeks' time. But—if necessary the respite should be prolonged. +</P> + +<P> +Eustace Derwent dined with them, and Irene noticed—what had occurred +to her before now—that the young man seemed to have particular +pleasure in the society of Mrs. Jacks; he conversed with her more +naturally, more variously, than with any other lady of his friends; and +Mrs. Jacks, through the unimpeachable correctness of her exterior, +almost allowed it to be suspected that she found a special satisfaction +in listening to him. Eustace was a frequent guest at the Jacks'; yet +there could hardly be much in common between him and the lady's elderly +husband, nor was he on terms of much intimacy with Arnold. Of course +two such excellent persons, such models of decorum, such examples of +the English ideal, masculine and feminine, would naturally see in each +other the most desirable of acquaintances; it was an instance of social +and personal fitness, which the propriety of our national manners +renders as harmless as it is delightful. They talked of art, of +literature, discovering an entire unanimity in their preferences, which +made for the safely conventional. They chatted of common acquaintances, +agreeing that the people they liked were undoubtedly the very nicest +people in their circle, and avoiding in the suavest manner any severity +regarding those they could not approve. When Eustace apologised for +touching on a professional subject (he had just been called to the +Bar), Mrs. Jacks declared that nothing could interest her more. If he +ventured a jest, she smiled with surpassing sweetness, and was all but +moved to laugh. They, at all events, spent a most agreeable evening. +</P> + +<P> +Not so Mrs. Hannaford, who, just before dinner, had received a letter, +which at once she destroyed. The missive ran thus: +</P> + +<P> +"DEAR MRS. HANNAFORD—I am distressed to hear that you suffer so in +health. Consult your brother; you will find that the only thing to do +you good will be a complete change of climate and of habits. You know +how often I have urged this; if you had listened to me, you would by +now have been both healthy and happy—yes, happy. Is it too late? Don't +you value your life? And don't you care at all for the happiness of +mine? Meet me to-morrow, I beg, at the Museum, about eleven o'clock, +and let us talk it all over once more. Do be sensible; don't wreck your +life out of respect for social superstitions. The thing once over, who +thinks the worse of you? Not a living creature for whom you need care. +You have suffered for years; put an end to it; the remedy is in your +hands. Ever yours, +<BR><BR> +D.O." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVI +</H3> + +<P> +A few days after her return, Irene left home in the morning to make an +unceremonious call. She was driven to Great Portland Street and +alighted before a shop, which bore the number of the house she sought. +Having found the private entrance—a door that stood wide open—and +after ringing once or twice without drawing anyone's attention, she +began to ascend the uncarpeted stairs. At that moment there came down a +young woman humming an air; a cheery-faced, solidly-built damsel, +dressed with attention to broad effect in colours which were then—or +recently had been—known as "aesthetic." With some diffidence, for the +encounter was not of a kind common in her experience, Irene asked this +person for a direction to the rooms occupied by Miss Hannaford. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, she's my chum," was the genial reply. "Top floor, front. You'll +find her there." +</P> + +<P> +With thanks the visitor passed on, but had not climbed half a dozen +steps when the clear-sounding voice caused her to stop. +</P> + +<P> +"Beg your pardon and all that kind of thing, but would you mind telling +her that Tomkins is huffy? I forgot to mention it before I came out. +Thanks, awfully." +</P> + +<P> +Puzzled, if not disconcerted, Miss Derwent reached the top floor and +knocked. A voice she recognised bade her enter. She found herself in a +bare-floored room, furnished with a table, a chair or two, and a divan, +on the walls a strange exhibition of designs in glaring colours which +seemed to be studies for street posters. At the table, bending over a +drawing-board, sat Olga Hannaford, her careless costume and the +disorder of her hair suggesting that she had only just got up. She +recognised her visitor with some embarrassment. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene—I am so glad—I really am ashamed—we keep such hours +here—please don't mind!" +</P> + +<P> +"Not I, indeed! What is there to mind? I spoke to someone downstairs +who gave me a message for you. I was to say that Tomkins was huffy. Do +you understand?" +</P> + +<P> +Olga bit her lip in vexation, and to restrain a laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"No, that's too bad! But just like her. That was the girl I live +with—Miss Bonnicastle. She's very nice really—not a bit of harm in +her; but she will play these silly practical jokes." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, it was a joke?" said Irene, not altogether pleased with Miss +Bonnicastle's facetiousness. But the next moment, good humour coming to +her help, she broke into merriment. +</P> + +<P> +"That's what she does," said Olga, pointing to the walls. "She's +awfully clever really, and she'll make a great success with that sort +of thing before long, I'm sure. Look at that advertisement of Honey's +Castor Oil. Isn't the child's face splendid?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very clever indeed," assented Irene, and laughed again, her cousin +joining in her mirth. Five minutes ago she had felt anything but +hilarious; the impulse to gaiety came she knew not how, and she +indulged it with a sense of relief. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you doing the same sort of thing, Olga?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wish I could. I've a little work for a new fashion paper; have to fill +in the heads and arms, and so on. It isn't high art, you know, but they +pay me." +</P> + +<P> +"Why in the world do you do it? <I>Why</I> do you live in a place like this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I like the life; on the whole. It's freedom; no society +nonsense—I beg your pardon, Irene——" +</P> + +<P> +"Please don't. I hope I'm not much in the way of society nonsense. Sit +down; I want to talk. When did you see your mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not for a long time," answered Olga, her countenance falling. "I sent +her the new address when I came here, but she hasn't been yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you go to her?" +</P> + +<P> +"No! I've broken with that world. I can't make calls in Bryanston +Square—or anywhere else. That's all over." +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense!" +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't nonsense!" exclaimed Olga, flushing angrily. "Why do you come +to interfere with me? What right have you, Irene? I'm old enough to +live as I please. I don't come to criticise your life!" +</P> + +<P> +Irene was startled into silence for a moment. She met her cousin's +look, and so gravely, so kindly, that Olga turned away in shame. +</P> + +<P> +"You and I used to be friends, and to have confidence in each other," +resumed Irene. "Why can't that come over again? Couldn't you tell me +what it all means, dear?" +</P> + +<P> +The other shook her head, keeping her eyes averted. +</P> + +<P> +"My first reason for coming," Irene pursued, "was to talk to you about +your mother. Do you know that she is very far from well? My father +speaks very seriously of her state of health. Something is weighing on +her mind, as anyone can see, and we think it can only be <I>you</I>—your +strange life, and your neglect of her." +</P> + +<P> +Olga shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"You're mistaken, I know you are." +</P> + +<P> +"You know? Then can you tell us how to be of use to her? To speak +plainly, my father fears the worst, if something isn't done." +</P> + +<P> +With elbow on knee, and chin in hand, Olga sat brooding. She had a +dishevelled, wild appearance; her cheeks were hollow, her eyes and lips +expressed a reckless mood. +</P> + +<P> +"It is not on my account," she let fall, abstractedly. +</P> + +<P> +"Can you help her, Olga?" +</P> + +<P> +"No one can help her," was the reply in the same dreamy tone. +</P> + +<P> +Then followed a long silence. Irene gazed at one of the flaring +grotesques on the wall, but did not see it. +</P> + +<P> +"May I ask you a question about your own affairs?" she said at length, +very gently. "It isn't for curiosity. I have a deeper interest." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you may ask Irene. I'm behaving badly to you, but I don't +mean it. I'm miserable—that's what it comes to." +</P> + +<P> +"I can see that, dear. Am I right in thinking that your engagement has +been broken off?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell you; you shall know the whole truth. It isn't broken; yet +I'm sure it'll never come to anything. I don't think I want it to. He +behaves so strangely. You know we were to have been married after the +twelvemonth, with mother's consent. When the time drew near, I saw he +didn't wish it. He said that after all he was afraid it would be a +miserable marriage for me. The trouble is, he has no character, no +will. He cares for me a great deal; and that's just why he won't marry +me. He'll never do anything—in art, I mean. We should have to live on +mother's money, and he doesn't like that. If we had been married +straight away, as I wanted, two years ago, it would have been all +right. It's too late now." +</P> + +<P> +"And this, you feel, is ruining your life?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm troubled about it, but more on his account than mine. I'll tell +you, Irene, I want to break off, for good and all, and I'm afraid. It's +a hard thing to do." +</P> + +<P> +"Now I understand you. Do you think"—Irene added in another +tone—"that it's well to be what they call in love with the man one +marries?" +</P> + +<P> +"Think? Of course I do!" +</P> + +<P> +"Many people doubt it. We are told that French marriages are often +happier than English, because they are arranged with a practical view, +by experienced people." +</P> + +<P> +"It depends," replied Olga, with a half-disdainful smile, "what one +calls happiness. I, for one, don't want a respectable, plodding, +money-saving married life. I'm not fit for it. Of course some people +are." +</P> + +<P> +"Then, you could never bring yourself to marry a man you merely +liked—in a friendly way?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think it horrible, hideous!" was the excited reply. "And yet"—her +voice dropped—"it may not be so for some women. I judge only by +myself." +</P> + +<P> +"I suspect, Olga, that some people are never in love—never could be in +that state." +</P> + +<P> +"I daresay, poor things!" +</P> + +<P> +Irene, though much in earnest, was moved to laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"After all, you know," she said, "they have less worry." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course they have, and live more useful lives, if it comes to that." +</P> + +<P> +"A useful life isn't to be despised, you know." +</P> + +<P> +Olga looked at her cousin; so fixedly that Irene had to turn away, and +in a moment spoke as though changing the subject. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you heard that Mr. Otway is coming to England again?" +</P> + +<P> +"What!" cried Olga with sudden astonishment. "You are thinking of +<I>him</I>—of Piers Otway?" +</P> + +<P> +Irene became the colour of the rose; her eyes flashed with annoyance. +</P> + +<P> +"How extraordinary you are, Olga! As if one couldn't mention anyone +without that sort of meaning! I spoke of Mr. Otway by pure accident. He +had nothing whatever to do with what I was saying before." +</P> + +<P> +Olga sank into dulness again, murmuring, "I beg your pardon." When a +minute had elapsed in silence, she added, without looking up, "He was +dreadfully in love with you, poor fellow. I suppose he has got over it." +</P> + +<P> +An uncertain movement, a wandering look, and Miss Derwent rose. She +stood before one of the rough-washed posters, seeming to admire it; +Olga eyed her askance, with curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +"I know only one thing," Irene exclaimed abruptly, without turning. +"It's better not to think too much about all that." +</P> + +<P> +"How <I>can</I> one think too much of it?" said the other. +</P> + +<P> +"Very easily, I'm afraid," rejoined the other, her eyes still on the +picture. +</P> + +<P> +"It's the only thing in life <I>worth</I> thinking about!" +</P> + +<P> +"You astonish me. We'll agree to differ—Olga dear, come and see us in +the old way. Come and dine this evening; we shall be alone." +</P> + +<P> +But the unkempt girl was not to be persuaded, and Irene presently took +her leave. The conversation had perturbed her; she went away in a very +unwonted frame of mind, beset with troublesome fancies and misgivings. +Olga's state seemed to her thoroughly unwholesome, to be regarded as a +warning; it was evidently contagious; it affected the imagination with +morbid allurement. Morbid, surely; Irene would not see it in any other +light. She felt the need of protecting herself against thoughts which +had never until now given her a moment's uneasiness. Happily she was +going to lunch with her friend Mrs. Borisoff, anything but a +sentimental person. She began to discern a possibility of taking Helen +Borisoff into her confidence. With someone she <I>must</I> talk freely; Olga +would only harm her; in Helen she might find the tonic of sound sense +which her mood demanded. +</P> + +<P> +Olga Hannaford, meanwhile, finished her toilet, and, having had no +breakfast, went out a little after midday to the restaurant in Oxford +Street where she often lunched. Her walking-dress showed something of +the influence of Miss Bonnicastle; it was more picturesque, more likely +to draw the eye, than her costume of former days. She walked, too, with +an air of liberty which marked her spiritual progress. Women glanced at +her and looked away with a toss of the head—or its more polite +equivalent. Men observed her with a smile of interest; "A fine girl," +was their comment, or something to that effect. +</P> + +<P> +Strolling westward after her meal, intending to make a circuit by way +of Edgware Road, she was near the Marble Arch when a man who had caught +sight of her from the top of an omnibus alighted and hastened in her +direction. At the sound of his voice, Olga paused, smiling, and gave +him her hand with friendliness. He was an Italian, his name Florio; +they had met several times at a house which she visited with Miss +Bonnicastle. Mr. Florio had a noticeable visage, very dark of tone, +eyes which at one time seemed to glow with noble emotion, and at +another betrayed excessive shrewdness; heavy eyebrows and long black +lashes; a nose of classical perfection; large mouth with thick and very +red lips. He was dressed in approved English fashion, as a man of +leisure, wore a massive watchguard across his buff summer waistcoat, +and carried a silver-headed cane. +</P> + +<P> +"You are taking a little walk," he said, with a very slight foreign +accent. "If you will let me walk with you a little way I shall be +honoured. The Park? A delightful day for the Park! Let us walk over the +grass, as we may do in this free country. I have something to tell you, +Miss Hannaford." +</P> + +<P> +"That's nice of you, Mr. Florio. So few people tell one anything one +doesn't know; but yours is sure to be real news." +</P> + +<P> +"It is—I assure you it is. But, first of all, I was thinking on the +'bus—I often ride on the 'bus, it gives one ideas—I was thinking what +a pity they do not use the back of the 'bus driver to display +advertisements. It is a loss of space. Those men are so beautifully +broad, and one looks at their backs, and there is nothing, nothing to +see but an ugly coat. I shall mention my little scheme to a friend of +mine, a very practical man." +</P> + +<P> +Olga laughed merrily. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you are too clever, Mr. Florio!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I have my little ideas. Do you know, I've just come back from +Italy." +</P> + +<P> +"I envy you—I mean, I envy you for having been there." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, that is your mistake, dear Miss Hannaford! That is the mistake of +the romantic English young lady. Italy? Yes, there is a blue sky—not +always. Yes, there are ruins that interest, if one is educated. And, +there is misery, misery! Italy is a poor country, poor, poor, poor, +poor." He intoned the words as if speaking his own language. "And +poverty is the worst thing in the world. You make an illusion for +yourself, Miss Hannaford. For a holiday when one's rich, yes, Italy is +not bad—though there is fever, and there are thieves—oh, thieves! Of +course the man who is poor will steal—<I>ecco</I>! It amuses me, when the +English talk of Italy." +</P> + +<P> +"But you are proud of—of your memories?" +</P> + +<P> +"Memories!" Mr. Florio laughed a whole melody. "One is not proud of +former riches when one has become a beggar. It is you, the English, who +can be proud of the past, because you can be proud of the present. You +have grown free, free, free! Rich, rich, rich, ah!" +</P> + +<P> +Olga laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry to say that I have not grown rich." +</P> + +<P> +He bent his gaze upon her, and it glowed with tender amorousness. +</P> + +<P> +"You remind me—I have something to tell you. In Italy, not everybody +is quite poor. For example, my grandfather, at Bologna. I have made a +visit to my grandfather. He likes me; he admires me because I have +intelligence. He will not live very long, that poor grandfather." +</P> + +<P> +Olga glanced at him, and met the queer calculating melancholy of his +fine eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Hannaford, if some day I am rich, I shall of course live in +England. In what other country can one live? I shall have a house in +the West End; I shall have a carriage; I shall nationalise—you say +naturalise?—myself, and be an Englishman, not a beggarly Italian. And +that will not be long. The poor old grandfather is weak, weak; he +decays, he loses his mind; but he has made his testament, oh yes!" +</P> + +<P> +The girl's look wandered about the grassy space, she was uneasy. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we turn and walk back, Mr. Florio?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you wish, but slowly, slowly. I am so happy to have met you. Your +company is a delight to me, Miss Hannaford. Can we not meet more often?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am always glad to see you," she answered nervously. +</P> + +<P> +"Good!—A thought occurs to me." He pointed to the iron fence they were +approaching. "Is not that a waste? Why does not the public +authority—what do you call it?—make money of these railings? Imagine! +One attaches advertisements to the rail, metal plates, of course +artistically designed, not to spoil the Park. They might swing in the +wind as it blows, and perhaps little bells might ring, to attract +attention. A good idea, is it not?" +</P> + +<P> +"A splendid idea," Olga answered, with a laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! England is a great country! But, Miss Hannaford, there is one +thing in which the Italian is not inferior to the Englishman. May I say +what that is?" +</P> + +<P> +"There are many things, I am sure——" +</P> + +<P> +"But there is one thing—that is Love!" +</P> + +<P> +Olga walked on, head bent, and Florio enveloped her in his gaze. +</P> + +<P> +"To-day I say no more, Miss Hannaford. I had something to tell you, and +I have told it. When I have something more to tell we shall meet—oh, I +am sure we shall meet." +</P> + +<P> +"You are staying in England for some time?" said Olga, as if in +ordinary conversation. +</P> + +<P> +"For a little time; I come, I go. I have, you know, my affairs, my +business. How is your friend, the admirable artist, the charming Miss +Bonnicastle?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, very well, always well." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, the English ladies they have wonderful health—I admire them; but +there is one I admire most of all." +</P> + +<P> +A few remarks more, of like tenor, and they drew near again to the +Marble Arch. With bows and compliments and significant looks, Mr. +Florio walked briskly away in search of an omnibus. +</P> + +<P> +Olga, her eyes cast down as she turned homeward, was not aware that +someone who had held her in sight for a long time grew gradually near, +until he stepped to her side. It was Mr. Kite. He looked at her with a +melancholy smile on his long, lank face, and, when at length the girl +saw him, took off his shabby hat respectfully. Olga nodded and walked +on without speaking. Kite accompanying her. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVII +</H3> + +<P> +Olga was the first to break silence. +</P> + +<P> +"You ought to take your boots to be mended," she said gently. "If it +rains, you'll get wet feet, and you know what that means." +</P> + +<P> +"You're very kind to think of it; I will." +</P> + +<P> +"You can pay for them, I hope?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pay? Oh, yes, yes! a trifle such as that—Have you had a long walk?" +</P> + +<P> +"I met a friend. I may as well tell you; it was the Italian, Mr. +Florio." +</P> + +<P> +"I saw you together," said Kite absently, but not resentfully. "I half +thought of coming up to be introduced to him. But I'm rather shabby, I +feared you mightn't like it." +</P> + +<P> +"It wouldn't have mattered a bit, so far as I'm concerned," replied +Olga good-naturedly. "But he isn't the kind of man you'd care for. If +he had been, I should have got you to meet him before now." +</P> + +<P> +"You like him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I rather like him. But it's nothing more than that; don't imagine +it. Oh, I had a call from my cousin Irene this morning. We don't quite +get on together; she's getting very worldly. Her idea is that one ought +to marry cold-bloodedly, just for social advantage, and that kind of +thing. No doubt she's going to do it, and then we shall never see each +other again, never!—She tells me that Piers Otway is coming to England +again." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, now I should like to know <I>him</I>, I really should!" exclaimed Kite, +with a mild vivacity. +</P> + +<P> +"So you shall, if he stays in London. Perhaps you would suit each +other." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure, because you like him so much." +</P> + +<P> +"Do I?" asked Olga doubtfully. "Yes, perhaps so. If he hasn't changed +for the worse. But it'll be rather irritating if he talks about nothing +but Irene still. Oh, that's impossible! Five years; yes, that's +impossible." +</P> + +<P> +"One should think the better of him, in a way," ventured Kite. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, in a way. But when a thing of that sort is hopeless. I'm afraid +Irene looks down upon him, just because—you know. But he's better than +most of the men she'll meet in her drawing-rooms, that's certain. Shall +I ask him to come to my place?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do. And I hope he'll stay in England, and that you'll see a good deal +of him." +</P> + +<P> +"Pray, why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because that's the right kind of acquaintance for you, he'll do you +good." +</P> + +<P> +Olga laughed a little, and said, with compassionate kindness: +</P> + +<P> +"You <I>are</I> queer!" +</P> + +<P> +"I meant nothing unpleasant, Olga," was the apologetic rejoinder. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you didn't. Have you had dinner yet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dinner? Oh yes—of course, long ago!" +</P> + +<P> +"I know what that means." +</P> + +<P> +"'Sh! 'Sh! May I come home and talk a little?" +</P> + +<P> +Dinner, it might be feared, was no immutable feature of Mr. Kite's day. +He had a starved aspect; his long limbs were appallingly meagre; as he +strode along, his clothing, thin and disreputable, flapped about him. +But his countenance showed nothing whatever of sourness, or of grim +endurance. Nor did he appear to be in a feeble state of health; for all +his emaciation, his step was firm and he held himself tolerably +upright. One thing was obvious, that at Olga's side he forgot his ills. +Each time he glanced at her, a strange beautiful smile passed like a +light over his hard features, a smile of infinite melancholy, yet of +infinite tenderness. The voice in which he addressed her was invariably +softened to express something more than homage. +</P> + +<P> +They had the habit of walking side by side, and could keep silence +without any feeling of restraint. Kite now and then uttered some word +or ejaculation, to which Olga paid no heed; it was only his way, the +trick of a man who lived much alone, and who conversed with visions. +</P> + +<P> +On ascending to the room in Great Portland Street, they found Miss +Bonnicastle hard at work on a design of considerable size, which hung +against the wall. This young lady, for all her sportiveness, was never +tempted to jest at the expense of Mr. Kite; removing a charcoal holder +from her mouth, she nodded pleasantly, and stood aside to allow the +melancholy man a view of her work. +</P> + +<P> +"Astonishing vigour!" said Kite, in his soft, sincere voice. "How I +envy you!" +</P> + +<P> +Miss Bonnicastle laughed with self-deprecation. She, no less than Olga +Hannaford, credited Kite with wonderful artistic powers; in their view, +only his constitutional defect of energy, his incorrigible dreaminess, +stood between him and great achievement. The evidence in support of +their faith was slight enough; a few sketches, a hint in crayon, or a +wash in water-colour, were all he had to show; but Kite belonged to +that strange order of men who, seemingly without effort or advantage of +any kind, awaken the interest and gain the confidence of certain women. +Even Mrs. Hannaford, though a mother's reasons set her against him, had +felt this seductive quality in Olga's lover, and liked though she could +not approve of him. Powers of fascination in a man very often go +together with lax principle, if not with active rascality; Kite was an +instance to the contrary. He had a quixotic sensitiveness, a morbid +instinct of honour. If it is true that virile force, preferably with a +touch of the brutal, has a high place in the natural woman's heart, +none the less does an ideal of male purity, of the masculine subdued to +gentle virtues, make strong appeal to the imagination in her sex. To +the everyday man, Kite seemed a mere pale grotesque, a creature of +flabby foolishness. But Olga Hannaford was not the only girl who had +dreamed of devoting her life to him. If she could believe his assurance +(and she all but did believe it), for her alone had he felt anything +worthy to be called love, to her alone had he spoken words of +tenderness. The high-tide of her passion had long since ebbed; yet she +knew that Kite still had power over her, power irresistible, if he +chose to exercise it, and the strange fact that he would not, that, +still loving her, he did not seem to be jealous for her love in return, +often moved her to bitterness. +</P> + +<P> +She knew his story. He was the natural son of a spendthrift aristocrat, +who, after educating him decently had died and left a will which seemed +to assure Kite a substantial independence. Unfortunately, the will +dealt, for the most part, with property no longer in existence. Kite's +income was to be paid by one of the deceased's relatives, who, instead +of benefiting largely, found that he came in for a mere pittance; and +the proportion of that pittance due to the illegitimate son was exactly +forty-five pounds, four shillings, and fourpence per annum. It was +paid; it kept Kite alive; also, no doubt, it kept him from doing what +he might have done, in art or anything else. On quarterly pay-day the +dreamer always spent two or three pounds on gifts to those of his +friends who were least able to make practical return. To Olga, of +course, he had offered lordly presents, until the day when she firmly +refused to take anything more from him. When his purse was empty he +earned something by journeyman work in the studio of a portrait +painter, a keen man of business, who gave shillings to this assistant +instead of the sovereigns that another would have asked for the same +labour. +</P> + +<P> +As usual when he came here, Kite settled himself in a chair, stretched +out his legs, let his arms depend, and so watched the two girls at +work. There was not much conversation; Kite never began it. Miss +Bonnicastle hummed, or whistled, or sang, generally the refrains of the +music-hall; if work gave her trouble she swore vigorously—in German, a +language with which she was well acquainted and at the sound of her +maledictions, though he did not understand them, Kite always threw his +head back with a silent laugh. Olga naturally had most of his +attention; he often fixed his eyes upon her for five minutes at a time, +and Olga, being used to this, was not at all disturbed by it. +</P> + +<P> +When five o'clock came, Miss Bonnicastle flung up her arms and yawned. +</P> + +<P> +"Let's have some blooming tea!" she exclaimed. "All right, I'll get it. +I've just about ten times the muscle and go of you two put together; +it's only right I should do the slavey." +</P> + +<P> +Kite rose, and reached his hat. Whereupon, with soft pressure of her +not very delicate hands, Miss Bonnicastle forced him back into his +chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit still. Do as I tell you. What's the good of you if you can't help +us to drink tea?" +</P> + +<P> +And Kite yielded, as always, wishing he could sit there for ever. +</P> + +<P> +Three weeks later, on an afternoon of rain, the trio were again +together in the same way. Someone knocked, and a charwoman at work on +the premises handed in a letter for Miss Hannaford. +</P> + +<P> +"I know who this is from," said Olga, looking up at Kite. +</P> + +<P> +"And I can guess," he returned, leaning forward with a look of interest. +</P> + +<P> +She read the note—only a few lines, and handed it to her friend, +remarking: +</P> + +<P> +"He'd better come to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"Who's that?" asked Miss Bonnicastle. +</P> + +<P> +"Piers Otway." +</P> + +<P> +The poster artist glanced from one face to the other, with a smile. +There had been much talk lately of Otway, who was about to begin +business in London; his partner, Andre Moncharmont, remaining at +Odessa. Olga had heard from her mother that Piers wished to see her, +and had allowed Mrs. Hannaford to give him her address; he now wrote +asking if he might call. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go and send him a wire," she said. "There isn't time to write. +To-morrow's Sunday." +</P> + +<P> +When Olga had run out, Kite, as if examining a poster on the wall, +turned his back to Miss Bonnicastle. She, after a glance or two in his +direction, addressed him by name, and the man looked round. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't mind if I speak plainly?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I don't," he replied, his features distorted, rather than +graced, by a smile. +</P> + +<P> +The girl approached him, arms akimbo, but, by virtue of a frank look, +suggesting more than usual of womanhood. +</P> + +<P> +"You've got to be either one thing or the other. She doesn't care +<I>that</I>"—a snap of the fingers—"for this man Otway, and she knows he +doesn't care for her. But she's playing him against you, and you must +expect more of it. You ought to make up your mind. It isn't fair to +her." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," murmured Kite, reddening a little. "It's kind of you." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I hope it is. But she'd be furious if she guessed I'd said such +a thing. I only do it because it's for her good as much as yours. +Things oughtn't to drag on, you know; it isn't fair to a girl like +that." +</P> + +<P> +Kite thrust his hands into his pockets, and drew himself up to a full +five feet eleven. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go away," he said. "I'll go and live in Paris for a bit." +</P> + +<P> +"That's for <I>you</I> to decide. Of course if you feel like that—it's none +of my business, I don't pretend to understand <I>you</I>; I'm not quite sure +I understand <I>her</I>. You're a queer couple. All I know is, it's gone on +long enough, and it isn't fair to a girl like Olga. She isn't the sort +that can doze through a comfortable engagement of ten or twelve years, +and surely you know that." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go away," said Kite again, nodding resolutely. +</P> + +<P> +He turned again to the poster, and Miss Bonnicastle resumed her work. +Thus Olga found them when she came back. +</P> + +<P> +"I've asked him to come at three," she said. "You'll be out then, +Bonnie. When you come in we'll put the kettle on, and all have tea." +She chanted it, to the old nursery tune. "Of course you'll come as +well"—she addressed Kite—"say about four. It'll be jolly!" +</P> + +<P> +So, on the following afternoon, Olga sat alone, in readiness for her +visitor. She had paid a little more attention than usual to her +appearance, but was perfectly self-possessed; a meeting with Piers +Otway had never yet quickened her pulse, and would not do so to-day. If +anything, she suffered a little from low spirits, conscious of having +played a rather disingenuous part before Kite, and not exactly knowing +to what purpose she had done so. It still rained; it had been gloomy +for several days. Looking at the heavy sky above the gloomy street, +Olga had a sense of wasted life. She asked herself whether it would not +have been better, on the decline of her love-fever, to go back into the +so-called respectable world, share her mother's prosperity, make the +most of her personal attractions, and marry as other girls did—if +anyone invited her. She was doing no good; all the experience to be had +in a life of mild Bohemianism was already tasted, and found rather +insipid. An artist she would never become; probably she would never +even support herself. To imagine herself really dependent on her own +efforts, was to sink into misery and fear. The time had come for a new +step, a new beginning, yet all possibilities looked so vague. +</P> + +<P> +A knock at the door. She opened, and saw Piers Otway. +</P> + +<P> +If they had been longing to meet, instead of scarcely ever giving a +thought to each other, they could not have clasped hands with more +warmth. They gazed eagerly into each other's eyes, and seemed too much +overcome for ordinary words of greeting. Then Olga saw that Otway +looked nothing like so well as when on his visit to England some couple +of years ago. He, in turn, was surprised at the change in Olga's +features; the bloom of girlhood had vanished; she was handsome, +striking, but might almost have passed for a married woman of thirty. +</P> + +<P> +"A queer place, isn't it?" she said, laughing, as Piers cast a glance +round the room. +</P> + +<P> +"Is this your work?" he asked, pointing to the posters. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! Mine isn't for exhibition. It hides itself—with the modesty +of supreme excellence!" +</P> + +<P> +Again they looked at each other; Olga pointed to a chair, herself +became seated, and explained the conditions of her life here. Bending +forward, his hands folded between his knees, Otway listened with a face +on which trouble began to reassert itself after the emotion of their +meeting. +</P> + +<P> +"So you have really begun business at last?" said Olga. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Rather hopefully, too." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't look hopeful, somehow." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that's nothing. Moncharmont has scraped together a fair capital, +and as for me, well, a friend has come to my help, I mustn't say who it +is. Yes, things look promising enough, for a start. Already I've seen +an office in the City, which I think I shall take. I shall decide +to-morrow, and then—<I>avos</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +"What does that mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"A common word in Russian. It means 'Fire away.'" +</P> + +<P> +"I must remember it," said Olga, laughing. "It'll make a change from +English and French slang—<I>Avos</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +There was a silence longer than they wished. Olga broke it by asking +abruptly: +</P> + +<P> +"Have you seen my mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not yet." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid she's not well." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why do you keep away from her?" said Piers, with good-humoured +directness. "Is it really necessary for you to live here? She would be +much happier if you went back." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not sure of that." +</P> + +<P> +"But I am, from what she says in her letters, and I should have thought +that you, too, would prefer it to this life." +</P> + +<P> +He glanced round the room. Olga looked vexed, and spoke with a note of +irony. +</P> + +<P> +"My tastes are unaccountable, I'm afraid. You, no doubt, find it +difficult to understand them. So does my cousin Irene. You have heard +that she is going to be married?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers, surprised at her change of tone, regarded her fixedly, until she +reddened and her eyes fell. +</P> + +<P> +"Is the engagement announced, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"I should think so; but I'm not much in the way of hearing fashionable +gossip." +</P> + +<P> +Still Piers regarded her; still her cheeks kept their colour, and her +eyes refused to meet his. +</P> + +<P> +"I see I have offended you," he said quietly. "I'm very sorry. Of +course I went too far in speaking like that of the life you have +chosen. I had no right——" +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense! If you mustn't tell me what you think, who may?" +</P> + +<P> +Again the change was so sudden, this time from coldness to smiling +familiarity, that Piers felt embarrassed. +</P> + +<P> +"The fact is," Olga pursued, with a careless air, "I don't think I +shall go on with this much longer. If you said what you have in your +mind, that I should never be any good as an artist, you would be quite +right. I haven't had the proper training; it'll all come to nothing. +And—talking of engagements—I daresay you know that mine is broken +off?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I didn't know that." +</P> + +<P> +"It is. Mr. Kite and I are only friends now. He'll look in presently, I +think. I should like you to meet him, if you don't mind." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I shall be very glad." +</P> + +<P> +"All this, you know," said Olga, with a laugh, "would be monstrously +irregular in decent society, but decent society is often foolish, don't +you think?" +</P> + +<P> +"To be sure it is," Piers answered genially, "and I never meant to find +fault with your preference for a freer way of living. It is only—you +say I may speak freely—that I didn't like to think of your going +through needless hardships." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't think, then, it has done me good?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am not at all sure of that." +</P> + +<P> +Olga lay back in her chair, as if idly amused. +</P> + +<P> +"You see," she said, "how we have both changed. We are both much more +positive, in different directions. To be sure, it makes conversation +more interesting. But the change is greatest in me. You always aimed at +success in a respectable career." +</P> + +<P> +Otway looked puzzled, a little disconcerted. +</P> + +<P> +"Really, is that how I always struck you? To me it's new light on my +own character." +</P> + +<P> +"How did you think of yourself, then?" she asked, looking at him from +beneath drooping lids. +</P> + +<P> +"I hardly know; I have thought less on that subject than on most." +</P> + +<P> +Again there came a silence, long enough to be embarrassing. Then Olga +took up a sketch that was lying on the table, and held it to her +visitor. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think that good? It's one of Miss Bonnicastle's. Let us talk +about her; she'll be here directly. We don't seem to get on, talking +about ourselves." +</P> + +<P> +The sketch showed an elephant sitting upright, imbibing with gusto from +a bottle of some much-advertised tonic. Piers broke into a laugh. Other +sketches were exhibited, and thus they passed the time until Miss +Bonnicastle and Kite arrived together. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XVIII +</H3> + +<P> +Strangers with whom Piers Otway had business at this time saw in him a +young man of considerable energy, though rather nervous and impulsive, +capable in all that concerned his special interests, not over-sanguine, +inclined to brevity of speech, and scrupulously courteous in a cold +way. He seldom smiled; his clean-cut, intelligent features expressed +tension of the whole man, ceaseless strain and effort without that joy +of combat which compensates physical expenditure. He looked in fair, +not robust, health; a shadowed pallor of complexion was natural to him, +and made noticeable the very fine texture of his skin, which quickly +betrayed in delicate flushes any strong feeling. He shook hands with a +short, firm grip which argued more muscle than one might have supposed +in him. His walk was rapid; his bearing upright; his glance direct, +with something of apprehensive pride. The observant surmised a force +more or less at odds with the facts of life. Shrewd men of commerce at +once perceived his qualities, but reserved their judgment as to his +chances; he was not, in any case, altogether of their world, however +well he might have studied its principles and inured himself to its +practice. +</P> + +<P> +He took rooms in Guildford Street. Indifferent to locality, asking +nothing more than decency in his immediate surroundings, he fell by +accident on the better kind of lodging-house, and was at once what is +called comfortable; his landlady behaved to him with a peculiar +respectfulness, often noticeable in the uneducated who had relations +with Otway, and explained perhaps by his quiet air of authority. To +those who served him, no man was more considerate, but he never became +familiar with them; without a trace of pretentiousness in his +demeanour, he was viewed by such persons as one sensibly above them, +with some solid right to rule. +</P> + +<P> +In the selection of his place of business, he of course exercised more +care, but here, too, luck favoured him. A Russian merchant moving into +more spacious quarters ceded to him a small office in Fenchurch Street, +with furniture which he purchased at a very reasonable price. To begin +with, he hired only a lad; it would be seen in a month or so whether he +had need of more assistance. If business grew, he was ready to take +upon himself a double share, for the greater his occupation the less +his time for brooding. Labour was what he asked, steady, dogged toil; +and his only regret was that he could not work with his hands in the +open air, at some day-long employment followed by hunger and weariness +and dreamless sleep. +</P> + +<P> +The partner whose name he did not wish to mention was John Jacks. Very +soon after learning the result to the young man of Jerome Otway's death +(the knowledge came in an indirect way half a year later), Mr. Jacks +wrote to Piers a letter implying what he knew, and made offer of a +certain capital towards the proposed business. Piers did not at once +accept the offer, for difficulties had arisen on the side of his friend +Moncharmont, who, on Otway's announcement of inability to carry out the +scheme they had formed together, turned in another direction. A year +passed; John Jacks again wrote; and, Moncharmont's other projects +having come to nothing, the friends decided at length to revert to +their original plan, with the difference that a third partner supplied +capital equal to that which Moncharmont himself put into the venture. +The arrangement was strictly business-like; John Jacks, for all his +kindliness, had no belief in anything else where money was concerned, +and Piers Otway would not have listened to any other sort of +suggestion. Piers put into the affair only his brains, his vigour, and +his experience; he was to reap no reward but that fairly resulting from +the exercise of these qualities. +</P> + +<P> +Only a day or two before leaving Odessa he received a letter from Mrs. +Hannaford, in which she hinted that Irene Derwent was likely to marry. +On reaching London, he found at the hotel her answer to his reply; she +now named Miss Derwent's wooer, and spoke as if the marriage were +practically a settled thing. This turned to an ordeal for Piers what +would otherwise have been a pleasure, his call upon John Jacks. He had +to dine at Queen's Gate; he had to converse with Arnold Jacks; and for +the first time in his life he knew the meaning of personal jealousy. +</P> + +<P> +The sight of Irene's successful lover made active in him what had for +years been only a latent passion. All at once it seemed impossible that +he should have lost what hitherto he had scarcely ever felt it possible +to win. An unconsciously reared edifice of hope collapsed about him, +laid waste his life, left him standing in desolate revolt against fate. +Arnold Jacks was the embodiment of a cruel destiny; Piers regarded him, +not so much with hate, as with a certain bitter indignation. He had no +desire to disparage the man, to caricature his assailable points; +rather, in undiminished worship of Irene, he exaggerated the qualities +which had won her, the power to which her gallant pride had yielded. +These qualities, that power, were so unlike anything in himself, that +they gave boundless scope to a jealous imagination. He knew so little +of the man, of his pursuits, his society, his prospects or ambitions. +But he could not imagine that Irene's love would be given to any man of +ordinary type; there must be a nobility in John Jacks' son, and indeed, +knowing the father, one could readily believe it. Piers suffered a +cruel sense of weakness, of littleness, by comparison. +</P> + +<P> +And Arnold behaved so well to him, with such frank graceful courtesy; +to withhold the becoming return was to feel oneself a shrinking +creature, basely envious. +</P> + +<P> +It was at Mrs. Hannaford's suggestion that he asked to be allowed to +call on Olga. A few days later, having again exchanged letters with +Irene's aunt, he sat writing in the office after business hours, his +door and that of the anteroom both open. Footsteps on the staircase had +become infrequent since the main exodus of clerks; he listened whenever +there was a sound, and looked towards the entrance. There, at length, +appeared a lady, Mrs. Hannaford herself. Piers went forward, and +greeted her without words, motioning her with his hand into the inner +office; the outer door he latched. +</P> + +<P> +"So I have tracked you to your lair!" exclaimed the visitor, with a +nervous laugh, as she sank in fatigue upon the chair he placed for her. +"I looked for your name on the wall downstairs, forgetting that you are +Moncharmont & Co." +</P> + +<P> +"It is very, very kind of you to have taken all this trouble!" +</P> + +<P> +He saw in her face the signs of ill-health for which he was prepared, +and noticed with pain her tremulousness and shortness of breath after +the stair-climbing. The friendship which had existed between them since +his boyhood was true and deep as ever; Piers Otway could, as few men +can, be the loyal friend of a woman. A reverent tenderness coloured his +feeling towards Mrs. Hannaford; it was something like what he would +have felt for his mother had she now been living. He did not give much +thought to her character or circumstances; she had always been kind to +him, and he in turn had always liked her: that was enough. Anything in +her service that might fall within his power to do, he would do right +gladly. +</P> + +<P> +"So you saw poor Olga?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and the friend she lives with—and Mr. Kite." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! Mr. Kite!" The speaker's face brightened. "I have news about him; +it came this morning. He has gone to Paris, and means to stay there." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! I heard no syllable of that the other day." +</P> + +<P> +"But it is true. And Olga's letter to me, in which she mentions it; +gives hope that that is the end of their engagement. Naturally, the +poor child won't say it in so many words, but it is to be read between +the lines. What's more, she is willing to come for her holiday with me! +It has made me very happy!—I told you I was going to Malvern; my +brother thinks that is most likely to do me good. Irene will go down +with me, and stay a day or two, and then I hope to have Olga. It is +delightful! I hadn't dared to hope. Perhaps we shall really come +together again, after this dreary time!" +</P> + +<P> +Piers was listening, but with a look which had become uneasily +preoccupied. +</P> + +<P> +"I am as glad, almost, as you can be," he said. "Malvern, I never was +there." +</P> + +<P> +"So healthy, my brother says! And Shakespeare's country, you know; we +shall go to Stratford, which I have never seen. I have a feeling that I +really shall get better. Everything is more hopeful." +</P> + +<P> +Piers recalled Olga's mysterious hints about her mother. Glancing at +the worn face, with its vivid eyes, he could easily conceive that this +ill-health had its cause in some grave mental trouble. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you met your brother?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"My brother? Oh no!" was the careless reply. Then on a sudden thought, +Piers added, "You don't keep up your acquaintance with him, do you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—I <I>have</I> seen him—now and then——" +</P> + +<P> +There was a singular hesitancy in her answer to the abrupt question. +Piers, preoccupied as he was, could not but remark Mrs. Hannaford's +constraint, almost confusion. At once it struck him that Daniel had +been borrowing money of her, and the thought aroused strong +indignation. His own hundred and fifty pounds he had never recovered, +for all Daniel's fine speeches, and notwithstanding the fact that he +had taken suggestive care to let the borrower know his address in +Russia. Rapidly he turned in his mind the question whether he ought not +to let Mrs. Hannaford know of Daniel's untrustworthiness; but before he +could decide, she launched into another subject. +</P> + +<P> +"So this is to be your place of business? Here you will sit day after +day. If good wishes could help, how you would flourish! Is it orthodox +to pray for a friend's success in business?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not? Provided you add—so long as he is guilty of no rascality." +</P> + +<P> +"That, <I>you</I> will never be." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, to tell you the truth, I shouldn't know how to go about it. Not +everyone who wishes becomes a rascal in business. It's difficult enough +for me to pursue commerce on the plain, honest track; knavery demands +an expertness altogether beyond me. Wherefore, let us give thanks for +my honest stupidity!" +</P> + +<P> +They chatted a while of these things. Then Piers, grasping his courage, +uttered what was burning within him. +</P> + +<P> +"When is Miss Derwent to be married?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford's eyes escaped his hard look. She murmured that no date +had yet been settled. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me—I beg you will tell me—is her engagement absolutely certain?" +</P> + +<P> +"I feel sure it is." +</P> + +<P> +"No! I want more than that. Do you know that it is?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can only say that her father believes it to be a certain thing. No +announcement has yet been made." +</P> + +<P> +"H'm! Then it isn't settled at all." +</P> + +<P> +Piers sat stiffly upon his chair. He held an ivory paperknife, which he +kept bending across his knee, and of a sudden the thing snapped in two. +But he paid no attention, merely flinging the handle away. Mrs. +Hannaford looked him in the face; he was deeply flushed; his lips and +his throat trembled like those of a child on the point of tears. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't! Oh, don't take it so to heart! It seems impossible—after all +this time——" +</P> + +<P> +"Impossible or not, it <I>is</I>!" he replied impetuously. "Mrs. Hannaford, +you will do something for me. You will let me come down to Malvern, +whilst she is with you, and see her—speak with her alone." +</P> + +<P> +She drew back, astonished. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! how can you think of it, Mr. Otway?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why should I not?" he spoke in a low and soft voice, but with +vehemence. "Does she know all about me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Everything. It was not I who told her. There has been talk——" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course there has"—he smiled—"and I am glad of it. I wished her to +know. Otherwise, I should have told her. Yes, I should have told her! +It shocks you, Mrs. Hannaford? But try to understand what this means to +me. It is the one thing I greatly desire in all the world, shall I be +hindered by a petty consideration of etiquette? A wild desire—you +think. Well, the man sentenced to execution clings to life, clings to +it with a terrible fierce desire; is it less real because utterly +hopeless? Perhaps I am behaving frantically; I can't help myself. As +that engagement is still doubtful—you admit it to be doubtful—I shall +speak before it is too late. Why not have done so before? Simply, I +hadn't the courage. I suppose I was too young. It didn't mean so much +to me as it does now. Something tells me to act like a man, before it +is too late. I feel I <I>can</I> do it. I never could have, till now." +</P> + +<P> +"But listen to me—do listen! Think how extraordinary it will seem to +her. She has no suspicion of——" +</P> + +<P> +"She has! She knows! I sent her: a year ago, a poem—some verses of my +writing, which told her." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford kept silence with a face of distress. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there any harm," he pursued, "in asking you whether she has ever +spoken of me lately—since that time?" +</P> + +<P> +"She has," admitted the other reluctantly, "but not in a way to make +one think——" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! I expected nothing of the kind. She has mentioned me; that is +enough. I am not utterly expelled from her thoughts, as a creature +outlawed by all decent people——" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not. She is too reasonable and kind." +</P> + +<P> +"That she is!" exclaimed Piers, with a passionate delight on his visage +and in his voice. "And she would <I>rather</I> I spoke to her—I feel she +would! She, with her fine intelligence and noble heart, she would think +it dreadful that a man did not dare to approach her, just because of +something not his fault, something that made him no bit the less a man, +and capable of honour. I know that thought would shake her with pity +and indignation. So far I can read in her. What! You think I know her +too little? And the thought of her never out of my mind for these five +years! I have got to know her better and better, as time went on. Every +word she spoke at Ewell stayed in my memory, and by perpetual +repetition has grown into my life. Every sentence has given me its full +meaning. I didn't need to be near her to study her. She was in my mind; +I heard her and saw her whenever I wished; as I have grown older and +more experienced in life, I have been better able to understand her. I +used to think this was enough. I had—you know—that exalted sort of +mood; Dante's Beatrice, and all that! It <I>was</I> enough for the time, +seeing that I lived with it, and through it. But now—no! And there is +no single reason why I should be ashamed to stand before her, and tell +her that—What I feel." +</P> + +<P> +He checked himself, and gloomed for an instant, then continued in +another tone: +</P> + +<P> +"Yet that isn't true. There <I>are</I> reasons—I believe no man living +could say that when speaking of such a woman as Irene Derwent. I cannot +face her without shame—the shame of every man who stands before a +pure-hearted girl. We have to bear that, and to hide it as best we can." +</P> + +<P> +The listener bent upon him a wondering gaze, and seemed unable to avert +it, till his look answered her. +</P> + +<P> +"You will give me this opportunity, Mrs. Hannaford?" he added +pleadingly. +</P> + +<P> +"I have no right whatever to refuse it. Besides, how could I, if I +wished? +</P> + +<P> +"When shall I come? I must remember that I am not free to wander about. +If it could be a Sunday——" +</P> + +<P> +"I have forgotten something I ought to have told you already," said +Mrs. Hannaford. "Whilst she was on her travels, Irene had an offer from +someone else." +</P> + +<P> +Piers laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Can that surprise one? Should I wonder if I were told she had fifty?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but this was not of the ordinary kind. You know that Mr. Jacks is +well acquainted with Trafford Romaine. And it was Trafford Romaine +himself." +</P> + +<P> +The news did not fail of its impression. Piers smiled vaguely, and on +the smile came a look of troubled pride. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it is not astonishing, but it gives me a better opinion of the +man. I shall always feel a sort of sympathy when I come across his +name. Why did you think I ought to know?" +</P> + +<P> +"For a reason I feel to be rather foolish, now I come to speak of it," +replied Mrs. Hannaford. "But—I had a feeling that Irene is by nature +rather ambitious; and if, after such an experience as that, she so soon +accepts a man who has done nothing particular, whose position is not +brilliant——" +</P> + +<P> +"I understand. She must, you mean, be very strongly drawn to him. But +then I needed no such proof of her feeling—if it is <I>certain</I> that she +is going to marry him. Could I imagine her marrying a man for any +reason but one? Surely you could not?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—no——" +</P> + +<P> +The denial had a certain lack of emphasis. Otway's eyes flashed. +</P> + +<P> +"You doubt? You speak in that way of Irene Derwent?" +</P> + +<P> +Gazing into Mrs. Hannaford's face, he saw rising tears. She gave a +little laugh, which did not disguise her emotion as she answered him. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, what an idealist it makes a man!—don't talk of your unworthiness. +If some women are good, it is because they try hard to be what the best +men think them. No, no, I have no doubts of Irene. And that is why it +really grieves me to see you still hoping. She would never have gone so +far——" +</P> + +<P> +"But there's the very question!" cried Piers excitedly. "Who knows how +far she has gone? It may be the merest conjecture on your part, and her +father's. People are so ready to misunderstand a girl who respects +herself enough to be free and frank in her association with men. Let me +shame myself by making a confession. Five years ago, when I all but +went mad about her, I was contemptible enough to think she had treated +me cruelly." He gave a scornful laugh. "You know what I mean. At Ewell, +when I lived only for my books, and she drew me away from them. +Conceited idiot! And she so bravely honest, so simple and direct, so +human! Was it <I>her</I> fault if I lost my head?" +</P> + +<P> +"She certainly changed the whole course of your life," said Mrs. +Hannaford thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"True, she did. And to my vast advantage! What should I have become? A +clerkship at Whitehall—heaven defend us! At best a learned pedant, in +my case. She sent me out into the world, where there is always hope. +She gave me health and sanity. Above all, she set before me an ideal +which has never allowed me to fall hopelessly—never will let me become +a contented brute! If she never addresses another word to me, I shall +owe her an infinite debt as long as I live. And I want her to hear that +from my own lips, if only once." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford held out her hand impulsively. +</P> + +<P> +"Do what you feel you must. You make me feel very strangely. I never +knew what——" +</P> + +<P> +Her voice faltered. She rose. +</P> + +<P> +When she had left him, Piers sat for some time communing with his +thoughts. Then he went home to the simple meal he called dinner, and +afterwards, as the evening was clear, walked for a couple of hours away +from the louder streets. His resolve gave him a night of quiet rest. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIX +</H3> + +<P> +Again Irene was going down into Cheshire, to visit the two old ladies, +her relatives. It was arranged that she should accompany Mrs. Hannaford +to Malvern, and spend a couple of days there. The travellers arrived on +a Friday evening. Before leaving town Mrs. Hannaford had written to +Piers Otway to give him the address of the house at Malvern in which +rooms had been taken for them. +</P> + +<P> +On Saturday morning there was sunshine over the hills. Irene walked, +and talked, but it was evident with thoughts elsewhere. When they sat +down to rest and to enjoy the landscape before them, the rich heart of +England, with its names that echo in history and in song, Irene plucked +at the grass beside her, and presently began to strip a stem, after the +manner of children playing at a tell-fortune game. She stripped it to +the end; her hands fell and she heaved a little sigh. From that moment +she grew merry and talked without pre-occupation. +</P> + +<P> +After lunch she wrote a short letter, and herself took it to the post. +Mrs. Hannaford was lying on the sofa, with eyes closed, but not in +sleep; her forehead and lips betraying the restless thoughts which +beset her now as always. On returning, Irene took a chair, as if to +read; but she gave only an absent glance at the paper in her hands, and +smiled to herself in musing. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sure those thoughts are worth far more than a penny," fell from +the lady on the couch, who had observed her for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"I may as well tell you them," was the gently toned reply, as Irene +bent forward. "I have just done something decisive." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford raised herself, a sudden anxiety in her features; she +waited. +</P> + +<P> +"You guess, aunt? Yes, that's it, I have written to Mr. Jacks." +</P> + +<P> +"To—to——?" +</P> + +<P> +"To answer an ultimatum. In the right way, I hope; any way, it's done." +</P> + +<P> +"You have accepted him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Even so." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford tried to smile, but could not smooth away the uneasiness +which had come into her look. She spoke a few of the natural words, and +in doing so looked at the clock. +</P> + +<P> +"There is something I have forgotten," she said, starting to her feet +hurriedly. "You reminded me of it—speaking of a letter; I must send a +telegram at once—indeed I must. No, no, I will go myself, dear. I had +rather!" +</P> + +<P> +She hastened away, leaving Irene in wonder. +</P> + +<P> +When they were together again, Mrs. Hannaford seemed anxious to atone +for her brevity on the all-important subject. She spoke with pleasure +of her niece's decision thought it wise; abounded in happy prophecy; +through the rest of the day she had a face which spoke relief, all but +contentment. The morning of Sunday saw her nervous. She made an excuse +of the slightly clouded sky for lingering within doors; she went often +to the window and looked this way and that along the road, as if +judging the weather, until Irene, when the church bells had ceased, +grew impatient for the open air. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, we will go," said her aunt. "I think we safely may." +</P> + +<P> +Each went to her room to make ready. At Mrs. Hannaford's door, just as +she was about to come forth, there sounded a knock; the servant +announced that a gentleman had called to see her—Mr. Otway. Quivering, +death-pale, she ran to the sitting-room. Irene had not yet reappeared. +Piers Otway stood there alone. +</P> + +<P> +"You didn't get my telegram?" broke from her lips, in a hurried +whisper. "Oh! I feared it would be too late, and all is too late." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean——" +</P> + +<P> +"The engagement is announced." +</P> + +<P> +She had time to say no more. At that moment Irene entered the room, +dressed for walking. At first she did not seem to recognise the +visitor, then her face lighted up; she smiled, subdued the slight +embarrassment which had succeeded to her perplexity, and stepped +quickly forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Otway! You are staying here?" +</P> + +<P> +"A few hours only. I came down yesterday on business—which is +finished." +</P> + +<P> +His voice was so steady, his bearing so self-possessed, that Irene +found herself relieved from the immediate restraint of the situation. +She could not quite understand his presence here; there was a mystery, +in which she saw that her aunt was involved; the explanation might be +forthcoming after their visitor's departure. For the moment, enough to +remark that the sun was dispersing the clouds, and that all were ready +to enjoy a walk. Mrs. Hannaford, glancing anxiously at Irene before she +spoke, hoped that Mr. Otway would return with them to lunch; Irene +added her voice to the invitation; and Piers at once accepted. +</P> + +<P> +Talk suggested by the locality occupied them until they were away from +the houses; by that time Irene had thoroughly reassured herself, and +was as tranquil in mind as in manner. Whatever the meaning of Piers +Otway's presence, no difficulty could come about in the few hours he +was to spend with them. Involuntarily she found herself listening to +the rhythm of certain verses which she had received some months ago, +and which she still knew by heart; but nothing in the author's voice or +look indicated a desire to remind her of that romantic passage in their +acquaintance. If they were still to meet from time to time—and why +not?—common sense must succeed to vain thoughts in the poet's mind. He +was quite capable of the transition, she felt sure. His way of talking, +the short and generally pointed sentences in which he spoke on whatever +subject, betokened a habit of lucid reflection. Had it been +permissible, she would have dwelt with curiosity on the problem of +Piers Otway's life and thoughts; but that she resolutely ignored, +strong in the irrevocable choice which she had made only yesterday. He +was interesting, but not to her. She knew him on the surface, and cared +to know no more. +</P> + +<P> +Business was a safe topic; at the first noticeable pause, Irene led to +it. +</P> + +<P> +Piers laughed with pleasure as he began to describe Andre Moncharmont. +A man of the happiest vivacity, of the sweetest humour, irresistibly +amusing, yet never ridiculous—entirely competent in business, yet with +a soul as little mercantile as man's could be. Born a French Swiss, he +had lived a good deal in Italy, and had all the charm of Italian +manners; but in whatever country, he made himself at home, and by +virtue of his sunny temper saw only the best in each nationality. His +recreation was music, and he occasionally composed. +</P> + +<P> +"There is a song of Musset's—you know it, perhaps—beginning '<I>Quand +on perd, par triste occurrence</I>'—which he has set, to my mind, +perfectly. I want him to publish it. If he does I must let you see it." +</P> + +<P> +Irene did not know the verses and made no remark. +</P> + +<P> +"There are English men of business," pursued Otway, "who would smile +with pity at Moncharmont. He is by no means their conception of the +merchant. Yet the world would be a vastly better place if its business +were often in the hands of such men. He will never make a large +fortune, no; but he will never fall into poverty. He sees commerce from +the human point of view, not as the brutal pitiless struggle which +justifies every form of ferocity and of low cunning. I never knew him +utter an ignoble thought about trade and money-making. An English +acquaintance asked me once, 'Is he a gentleman?' I was obliged to +laugh—delicious contrast between what <I>he</I> meant by a gentleman and +all I see in Moncharmont." +</P> + +<P> +"I picture him," said Irene, smiling, "and I picture the person who +made that inquiry." +</P> + +<P> +Piers flashed a look of gratitude. He had, as yet, hardly glanced at +her; he durst not; his ordeal was to be gone through as became a man. +Her voice, at moments, touched him to a sense of faintness; he saw her +without turning his head; the wave of her dress beside him was like a +perfume, was like music; part of him yielded, languished, part made +splendid resistance. +</P> + +<P> +"He is a lesson in civilisation. If trade is not to put an end to human +progress, it must be pursued in Moncharmont's spirit. It's only +returning to a better time; our man of business is a creation of our +century, and as bad a thing as it has produced. Commerce must be +humanised once more. We invented machinery, and it has enslaved us—a +rule of iron, the servile belief that money-making is an end in itself, +to be attained by hard selfishness." +</P> + +<P> +He checked himself, laughed, and said something about the beauty of the +lane along which they were walking. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think," fell from Irene's lips, "that Mr. John Jacks is a +very human type of the man of business?" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed he is!" replied Piers, with spirit. "An admirable type." +</P> + +<P> +"I have been told that he owed most of his success to his brothers, who +are a different sort of men." +</P> + +<P> +"His wealth, perhaps." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, there's a difference," said Irene, glancing at him. "You may be +successful without becoming wealthy; though not of course in the common +opinion. But what would have been the history of England these last +fifty years, but for our men of iron selfishness? Isn't it a fact that +only in this way could we have built up an Empire which ensures the +civilisation of the world?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers could not answer with his true thought, for he knew all that was +implied in her suggestion of that view. He bent his head and spoke very +quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Some of our best men think so." +</P> + +<P> +An answer which gratified Irene more keenly than he imagined; she +showed it in her face. +</P> + +<P> +When they returned to luncheon, and the ladies went upstairs, Mrs. +Hannaford stepped into her niece's room. +</P> + +<P> +"What you told me yesterday," she asked, in a nervous undertone, "may +it be repeated?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly—to anyone." +</P> + +<P> +"Then please not to come down until I have had a few minutes' talk with +Mr. Otway. All this shall be explained, dear, when we are alone again." +</P> + +<P> +On entering the sitting-room Irene found it harder to preserve a +natural demeanour than at her meeting with the visitor a couple of +hours ago. Only when she had heard him speak and in just the same voice +as during their walk was she able to turn frankly towards him. His look +had not changed. Impossible to divine the thoughts hidden by his smile; +he bore himself with perfect control. +</P> + +<P> +At table all was cheerfulness. Speaking of things Russian, Irene +recalled her winter in Finland, which she had so greatly enjoyed. +</P> + +<P> +"I remember," said Otway, "you had just returned when I met you for the +first time." +</P> + +<P> +It was said with a peculiar intonation, which fell agreeably on the +listener's ear; a note familiar, in the permitted degree, yet +touchingly respectful; a world of emotion subdued to graceful +friendliness. Irene passed over the reminiscence with a light word or +two, and went on to gossip merely of trifles. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you like caviare, Mr. Otway?" +</P> + +<P> +"Except perhaps that supplied by the literary censor," was his laughing +reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Now I am <I>intriguee</I>. Please explain." +</P> + +<P> +"We call caviare the bits blacked out in our newspapers and +periodicals." +</P> + +<P> +"Unpalatable enough!" laughed Irene. "How angry that would make me!" +</P> + +<P> +"I got used to it," said Piers, "and thought it rather good fun +sometimes. After all, a wise autocrat might well prohibit newspapers +altogether, don't you think? They have done good, I suppose, but they +are just as likely to do harm. When the next great war comes, +newspapers will be the chief cause of it. And for mere profit, that's +the worst. There are newspaper proprietors in every country, who would +slaughter half mankind for the pennies of the half who were left, +without caring a fraction of a penny whether they had preached war for +a truth or a lie." +</P> + +<P> +"But doesn't a newspaper simply echo the opinions and feelings of its +public?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid it manufactures opinion, and stirs up feeling. Consider how +very few people know or care anything about most subjects of +international quarrel. A mere handful at the noisy centre of things who +make the quarrel. The business of newspapers, in general, is to give a +show of importance to what has no real importance at all—to prevent +the world from living quietly—to arouse bitterness when the natural +man would be quite different." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, surely you paint them too black! We must live, we can't let the +world stagnate. Newspapers only express the natural life of peoples, +acting and interacting." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose I quarrel with them," said Piers, once more subduing +himself, "because they have such gigantic power and don't make anything +like the best use of it." +</P> + +<P> +"That is to say, they are the work of men—I don't mean," Irene added +laughingly, "of men instead of women. Though I'm not sure that women +wouldn't manage journalism better, if it were left to them." +</P> + +<P> +"A splendid idea! All men to go about their affairs and women to report +and comment. Why, it would solve every problem of society! There's the +hope of the future, beyond a doubt! Why did I never think of it!" +</P> + +<P> +The next moment Piers was talking about nightingales, how he had heard +them sing in Little Russia, where their song is sweeter than in any +other part of Europe. And so the meal passed pleasantly, as did the +hour or two after it, until it was time for Otway to take leave. +</P> + +<P> +"You travel straight back to London?" asked Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"Straight back," he answered, his eyes cast down. +</P> + +<P> +"To-morrow," said Mrs. Hannaford, "we think of going to Stratford." +</P> + +<P> +Piers had an impulse which made his hands tremble and his head throb; +in spite of himself he had all but asked whether, if he stayed at +Malvern overnight, he might accompany them on that expedition. Reason +prevailed, but only just in time, and the conquest left him under a +gloomy sense of self-pity, which was the worst thing he had suffered +all day. Not even Mrs. Hannaford's whispered words on his arrival had +been so hard to bear. +</P> + +<P> +He sat in silence, wishing to rise, unable to do so. When at length he +stood up, Irene let her eyes fall upon him, and continued to observe +him, as if but half consciously whilst he shook hands with Mrs. +Hannaford. He turned to her, and his lips moved, but what he had tried +to say went unexpressed. Nor did Irene speak; she could have uttered +only a civil commonplace, and the tragic pallor of his countenance in +that moment kept her mute. He touched her hand and was gone. +</P> + +<P> +When the house door had closed behind him, the eyes of the two women +met. Standing as before, they conversed with low voices, with troubled +brows. Mrs. Hannaford rapidly explained her part in what had happened. +</P> + +<P> +"You will forgive me, Irene? I see now that I ought to have told you +about it yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"Better as it was, perhaps, so far as I am concerned. But he—I'm +sorry——" +</P> + +<P> +"He behaved well, don't you think?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied Irene thoughtfully, slowly, "he behaved well." +</P> + +<P> +They moved apart, and Irene laid her hand on a book, but did not sit +down. +</P> + +<P> +"How old is he?" she asked of a sudden. +</P> + +<P> +"Six-and-twenty." +</P> + +<P> +"One would take him for more. But of course his ways of thinking show +how young he is." She fluttered the pages of her book, and smiled. "It +will be interesting to see him in another five years." +</P> + +<P> +That was all. Neither mentioned Otway's name again during the two more +days they spent together. +</P> + +<P> +But Irene's mind was busy with the contrast between him and Arnold +Jacks. She pursued this track of thought whithersoever it led her, +believing it a wholesome exercise in her present mood. Her choice was +made, and irrevocable; reason bade her justify it by every means that +offered. And she persuaded herself that nothing better could have +happened, at such a juncture, than this suggestion of an alternative so +widely different. +</P> + +<P> +An interesting boy—six-and-twenty is still a boyish age—with all +sorts of vague idealisms; nothing ripe; nothing that convinced; a +dreary cosmopolite, little likely to achieve results in any direction. +On the other hand, a mature and vigorous man, English to the core, +stable in his tested views of life, already an active participant in +the affairs of the nation and certain to move victoriously onward; a +sure patriot, a sturdy politician. It was humiliating to Piers Otway. +Indeed, unfair! +</P> + +<P> +On Monday, when she returned from her visit to Stratford, a telegram +awaited her. "Thank you, letter tomorrow, Arnold." That pleased her; +the British laconicism; the sensible simplicity of the thing! And when +the letter arrived (two pages and a half) it seemed a suitable reply to +hers of Saturday, in which she had used only everyday words and +phrases. No gushing in Arnold Jacks! He was "happy," he was "grateful"; +what more need an honest man say to the woman who has accepted him? She +was his "Dearest Irene"; and what more could she ask to be? +</P> + +<P> +A curious thing happened that evening. Mrs. Hannaford and her niece, +both tired after the day's excursion, and having already talked over +its abundant interests, sat reading, or pretending to read. Suddenly, +Irene threw her book aside, with a movement of impatience, and stood up. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you find it very close?" she said, almost irritably. "I shall go +upstairs. Good-night!" +</P> + +<P> +Her aunt gazed at her in surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"You are tired, my dear." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose I am—Aunt, there is something I should like to say, if you +will let me. You are very kind and good, but that makes you, sometimes, +a little indiscreet. Promise me, please, never to make me the subject +of conversation with anyone to whom you cannot speak of me quite +openly, before all the world." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford was overcome with astonishment, with distress. She tried +to reply, but before she could shape a word Irene had swept from the +room. +</P> + +<P> +When they met again at breakfast, the girl stepped up to her aunt and +kissed her on both cheeks—an unusual greeting. She was her bright self +again; talked merrily; read aloud a letter from her father, which +proved that at the time of writing he had not seen Arnold Jacks. +</P> + +<P> +"I must write to the Doctor to-morrow," she said, with an air of +reflection. +</P> + +<P> +At ten o'clock they drove to the station. While Miss Derwent took her +ticket Mrs. Hannaford walked on the platform. On issuing from the +booking-office, Irene saw her aunt in conversation with a man, who, in +the same moment, turned abruptly and walked away. Neither she nor her +aunt spoke of this incident, but Irene noticed that the other was a +little flushed. +</P> + +<P> +She took her seat; Mrs. Hannaford stood awaiting the departure of the +train. Before it moved, the man Irene had noticed came back along the +platform, and passed them without a sign. Irene saw his face, and +seemed to recognise it, but could not remember who he was. +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour later, the face came back to her, and with it a name. +</P> + +<P> +"Daniel Otway!" she exclaimed to herself. +</P> + +<P> +It was five years and more since her one meeting with him at Ewell, but +the man, on that occasion, had impressed her strongly in a very +disagreeable way. She had since heard of him, in relation to Piers +Otway's affairs, and knew that her aunt had received a call from him in +Bryanston Square. What could be the meaning of this incident on the +platform? Irene wondered, and had an unpleasant feeling about it. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XX +</H3> + +<P> +On the journey homeward, and for two or three days after, Piers held +argument with his passions, trying to persuade himself that he had in +truth lost nothing, inasmuch as his love had never been founded upon a +reasonable hope. Irene Derwent was neither more nor less to him now +than she had been ever since he first came to know her: a far ideal, +the woman he would fain call wife, but only in a dream could think of +winning. What audacity had speeded him on that wild expedition? It was +well that he had been saved from declaring his folly to Irene herself, +who would have shared the pain her answer inflicted. Nay, when the +moment came, reason surely would have checked his absurd impulse. In +seeing her once more, he saw how wide was the distance between them. No +more of that! He had lost nothing but a moment's illusion. +</P> + +<P> +The ideal remained; the worship, the gratitude. How much she had been +to him! Rarely a day—very rarely a day—that the thought of Irene did +not warm his heart and exalt his ambition. He had yielded to the +fleshly impulse, and the measure of his lapse was the sincerity of that +nobler desire; he had not the excuse of the ordinary man, nor ever +tried to allay his conscience with facile views of life. What times +innumerable had he murmured her name, until it was become to him the +only woman's name that sounded in truth womanly—all others cold to his +imagination. What long evenings had he passed, yonder by the Black Sea, +content merely to dream of Irene Derwent; how many a summer night had +he wandered in the acacia-planted streets of Odessa, about and about +the great square, with its trees, where stands the cathedral; how many +a time had his heart throbbed all but to bursting when he listened to +the music on the Boulevard, and felt so terribly alone—alone! Irene +was England. He knew nothing of the patriotism which is but shouted +politics; from his earliest years of intelligence he had learnt, +listening to his father, a contempt for that loud narrowness; but the +tongue which was Irene's, the landscape where shone Irene's +figure—these were dear to him for Irene's sake. He believed in his +heart of hearts that only the Northern Island could boast the perfect +woman—because he had found her there. +</P> + +<P> +Should he talk of loss—he who had gained so unspeakably by an ideal +love through the hot years of his youth, who to the end of his life +would be made better by it? That were the basest ingratitude. Irene +owed him nothing, yet had enriched him beyond calculation. He did not +love her less; she was the same power in his life. This sinking of the +heart, this menace of gloom and rebellion, was treachery to his better +self. He fought manfully against it. +</P> + +<P> +Circumstances were unfavourable to such a struggle. Work, absorption in +the day's duty, well and good; but when work and duty led one into the +City of London! At first, he had found excitement in the starting of +his business; so much had to be done, so many points to be debated and +decided, so many people to be seen and conversed with, contended with; +it was all an exhilarating effort of mind and body. He felt the joy of +combat; sped to the City like any other man, intent on holding his own +amid the furious welter, seeing a delight in the computation of his +chances; at once a fighter and a gambler, like those with whom he +rubbed shoulders in the roaring ways. He overtaxed his energy, and in +any case there must have come reaction. It came with violence soon +after that day at Malvern. +</P> + +<P> +The weather was hot; one should have been far away from these huge +rampart-streets, these stifling burrows of commerce. But here toil and +stress went on as usual, and Piers Otway saw it all in a lurid light. +These towering edifices with inscriptions numberless, announcing every +imaginable form of trade with every corner of the world; here a vast +building, consecrate in all its commercial magnificence, great windows +and haughty doorways, the gleam of gilding and of brass, the lustre of +polished woods, to a single company or firm; here a huge structure +which housed on its many floors a crowd of enterprises, names by the +score signalled at the foot of the gaping staircase; arrogant +suggestions of triumph side by side with desperate beginnings; titles +of world-wide significance meeting the eye at every turn, vulgar names +with more weight than those of princes, words in small lettering which +ruled the fate of millions of men;—no nightmare was ever so crushing +to one in Otway's mood. The brute force of money; the negation of the +individual—these, the evils of our time, found there supreme +expression in the City of London. Here was opulence at home and superb; +here must poverty lurk and shrink, feeling itself alive only on +sufferance; the din of highway and byway was a voice of blustering +conquest, bidding the weaker to stand aside or be crushed. Here no man +was a human being, but each merely a portion of an inconceivably +complicated mechanism. The shiny-hatted figure who rushed or sauntered, +gloomed by himself at corners or made one of a talking group, might +elsewhere be found a reasonable and kindly person, with traits, +peculiarities; here one could see in him nothing but a money-maker of +this or that class, ground to a certain pattern. The smooth working of +the huge machine made it only the more sinister; one had but to +remember what cold tyranny, what elaborate fraud, were served by its +manifold ingenuities, only to think of the cries of anguish stifled by +its monotonous roar. +</P> + +<P> +Piers had undertaken a task and would not shirk it; but in spite of all +reasonings and idealisms he found life a hard thing during those weeks +of August. He lost his sleep, turned from food, and for a moment feared +collapse such as he had suffered soon after his first going to Odessa. +</P> + +<P> +By the good offices of John Jacks he had already been elected to a +convenient club, and occasionally he passed an evening there; but his +habit was to go home to Guildford Street, and sit hour after hour in +languid brooding. He feared the streets at night-time; in his +loneliness and misery, a gleam upon some wanton face would perchance +have lured him, as had happened ere now. Not so much at the bidding of +his youthful blood, as out of mere longing for companionship, the +common cause of disorder in men condemned to solitude in great cities. +A woman's voice, the touch of a soft hand—this is what men so often +hunger for, when they are censured for lawless appetite. But Piers +Otway knew himself, and chose to sit alone in the dreary lodging-house. +Then he thought of Irene, trying to forget what had happened. Now and +then successfully; in a waking dream he saw and heard her, and knew +again the exalting passion that had been the best of his life, and was +saved from ignoble impulse. +</P> + +<P> +When he was at the lowest, there came a letter from Olga Hannaford, the +first he had ever received in her writing. Olga had joined her mother +at Malvern, and Mrs. Hannaford was so unwell that it seemed likely they +would remain there for a few weeks. "When we can move, the best thing +will be to take a house in or near London. Mother has decided not to +return to Bryanston Square, and I, for my part, shall give up the life +you made fun of. You were quite right; of course it was foolish to go +on in that way." She asked him to write to her mother, whom a line from +him would cheer. Piers did so; also replying to his correspondent, and +trying to make a humorous picture of the life he led between the City +and Guilford Street. It was a sorry jest, but it helped him against his +troubles. When, in a week's time, Olga again wrote, he was glad. The +letter seemed to him interesting; it revived their common memories of +life at Geneva, whither Olga said she would like to return. "What to +do—how to pass the years before me—is the question with me now, as I +suppose it is with so many girls of my age. I must find a <I>mission</I>. +Can you suggest one? Only don't let it have anything humanitarian about +it. That would make me a humbug, which I have never been yet. It must +be something entirely for my own pleasure and profit. Do think about it +in an idle moment." +</P> + +<P> +With recovery from his physical ill-being came a new mental +restlessness; the return, rather, of a mood which had always assailed +him when he lost for a time his ideal hope. He demanded of life the joy +natural to his years; revolted against the barrenness of his lot. A +terror fell upon him lest he should be fated never to know the supreme +delight of which he was capable, and for which alone he lived. Even now +was he not passing his prime, losing the keener faculties of youth? He +trembled at the risks of every day; what was his assurance against the +common ill-hap which might afflict him with disease, blight his life +with accident, so that no woman's eye could ever be tempted to rest +upon him? He cursed the restrictions which held him on a straight path +of routine, of narrow custom, when a world of possibilities spread +about him on either hand, the mirage of his imprisoned spirit. +Adventurous projects succeeded each other in his thoughts. He turned to +the lands where life was freer, where perchance his happiness awaited +him, had he but the courage to set forth. What brought him to London, +this squalid blot on the map of the round world? Why did he consume the +irrecoverable hours amid its hostile tumult, its menacing gloom? +</P> + +<P> +On the first Sunday in September he aroused himself to travel by an +early train, which bore him far into the country. He had taken a ticket +at hazard for a place with a pleasant-sounding name, and before village +bells had begun to ring he was wandering in deep lanes amid the weald +of Sussex. All about him lay the perfect loveliness of that rural +landscape which is the old England, the true England, the England dear +to the best of her children. Meadow and copse, the yellow rank of +new-reaped sheaves, brown roofs of farm and cottage amid shadowing +elms, the grassy borders of the road, hedges with their flowered +creepers and promise of wild fruit—these things brought him comfort. +Mile after mile he wandered, losing himself in simplest enjoyment, +forgetting to ask why he was alone. When he felt hungry, an inn +supplied him with a meal. Again he rambled on, and in a leafy corner +found a spot where he could idle for an hour or two, until it was time +to think of the railway station. +</P> + +<P> +He had tired himself; his mind slipped from the beautiful things around +him, and fell into the old reverie. He murmured the haunting +name—Irene. As well as for her who bore it, he loved the name for its +meaning. Peace! As a child he had been taught that no word was more +beautiful, more solemn; at this moment, he could hear it in his +father's voice, sounding as a note of music, with a tremor of deep +feeling. Peace! Every year that passed gave him a fuller understanding +of his father's devotion to that word in all its significance; he +himself knew something of the same fervour, and was glad to foster it +in his heart. Peace! What better could a man pursue? From of old the +desire of wisdom, the prayer of the aspiring soul. +</P> + +<P> +And what else was this Love for which he anguished? Irene herself, the +beloved, sought with passion and with worship, what more could she give +him, when all was given, than content, repose, peace? +</P> + +<P> +He had been too ambitious. It was the fault of his character, and, thus +far on his life's journey, in recognising the error might he not +correct it? Unbalanced ambition explained his ineffectiveness. At +six-and-twenty he had done nothing, and saw no hope of activity +correspondent with his pride. In Russia he had at least felt that he +was treading an uncrowded path: he had made his own a language familiar +to very few western Europeans, and constantly added to his knowledge of +a people moving to some unknown greatness; the position was not +ignoble. But here in London he was lost amid the uproar of striving +tradesmen. The one thing which would still have justified him, hope of +wealth, had all but vanished. He must get rid of his absurd +self-estimate, see himself in the light of common day. +</P> + +<P> +Peace! He could only hope for it in marriage; but what was marriage +without ideal love? Impossible that he should ever love another woman +as he had loved, as he still loved, Irene. The ordinary man seeks a +wife just as he takes any other practical step necessary to his +welfare; he marries because he must, not because he has met with the +true companion of his life; he mates to be quiet, to be comfortable, to +get on with his work, whatever it be. Love in the high sense between +man and woman is of all things the most rare. Few are capable of it; to +fewer still is it granted. "The crown of life!" said Jerome Otway. A +truth, even from the strictly scientific point of view; for is not a +great mutual passion the culminating height of that blind reproductive +impulse from which life begins? Supreme desire; perfection of union. +The purpose of Nature translated into human consciousness, become the +glory of the highest soul, uttered in the lyric rapture of noblest +speech. +</P> + +<P> +That, he must renounce. But not thereby was he condemned to a foolish +or base alliance. Women innumerable might be met, charming, sensible, +good, no unfit objects of his wooing; in all modesty he might hope for +what the world calls happiness. But, put it at the best, he would be +doing as other men do, taking a wife for his solace, for the defeat of +his assailing blood. It was the bitterness of his mere humanity that he +could not hope to live alone and faithful. Five years ago he might have +said to himself, "Irene or no one!" and have said it with the honesty +of youth, of inexperience. No such enthusiasm was possible to him now. +For the thing which is common in fable is all but unknown in life: a +man, capable of loving ardently, who for the sake of one woman, beyond +his hope, sacrifices love altogether. Piers Otway, who read much verse, +had not neglected his Browning. He knew the transcendent mood of +Browning's ideal lover—the beatific dream of love eternal, world after +world, hoping for ever, and finding such hope preferable to every less +noble satisfaction. For him, a mood only, passing with a smile and a +sigh. To that he was not equal; these heights heroic were not for his +treading. Too insistent were the flesh and blood that composed his +earthly being. +</P> + +<P> +He must renounce the best of himself, step consciously to a lower +level. Only let it not prove sheer degradation. +</P> + +<P> +In all his struggling against the misery of loss, one thought never +tempted him. Never for a fleeting instant did he doubt that his highest +love was at the same time highest reason. Men woefully deceive +themselves, yearning for women whose image in their minds is a mere +illusion, women who scarce for a day could bring them happiness, and +whose companionship through life would become a curse. Be it so; Piers +knew it, dwelt upon it as a perilous fact; it had no application to his +love for Irene Derwent. Indeed, Piers was rich in that least common +form of intelligence—the intelligence of the heart. Emotional +perspicacity, the power of recognising through all forms of desire +one's true affinity in the other sex, is bestowed upon one mortal in a +vast multitude. Not lack of opportunity alone accounts for the failure +of men and women to mate becomingly; only the elect have eyes to see, +even where the field of choice is freely opened to them. But Piers +Otway saw and knew, once and for ever. He had the genius of love: where +he could not observe, divination came to his help. His knowledge of +Irene Derwent surpassed that of the persons most intimate with her, and +he could as soon have doubted his own existence as the certainty that +Irene was what he thought her, neither more nor less. But he had erred +in dreaming it possible that he might win her love. That he was not all +unworthy of it, his pride continued to assure him; what he had failed +to perceive was the impossibility, circumstances being as they were, of +urging a direct suit, of making himself known to Irene. His birth, his +position, the accidents of his career—all forbade it. This had been +forced upon his consciousness from the very first, in hours of +despondency or of torment; but he was too young and too ardent for the +fact to have its full weight with him. Hope resisted; passion refused +acquiescence. Nothing short of what had happened could reveal to him +the vanity of his imaginings. He looked back on the years of patient +confidence with wonder and compassion. Had he really hoped? Yes, for he +had lived so long alone. +</P> + +<P> +Paragraphs, morning, evening, and weekly, had long since published Miss +Derwent's engagement. Those making simple announcement of the fact were +trial enough to him when his eye fell upon them; intolerable were those +which commented, as in the case of a society journal which he had idly +glanced over at his club. This taught him that Irene had more social +importance than he guessed; her marriage would be something of an +event. Heaven grant that he might read no journalistic description of +the ceremony! Few things more disgusted him than the thought of a +fashionable wedding; he could see nothing in it but profanation and +indecency. That mattered little, to be sure, in the case of ordinary +people, who were born, and lived, and died, in fashionable routine, +anxious only to exhibit themselves at any given moment in the way held +to be good form; but it was hard to think that custom's tyranny should +lay its foul hand on Irene Derwent. Perhaps her future husband meant no +such thing, and would arrange it all with quiet becomingness. Certainly +her father would not favour the tawdry and the vulgar. +</P> + +<P> +No date was announced. Paragraphs said merely that it would be "before +the end of the year." +</P> + +<P> +After all, his day amid the fields was spoilt. He had allowed his mind +to stray in the forbidden direction, and the seeming quiet to which he +had attained was overthrown once more. Heavily he moved towards the +wayside station, and drearily he waited for the train that was to take +him back to his meaningless toil and strife. +</P> + +<P> +In the compartment he entered, an empty one, some passenger had left a +weekly periodical; Piers seized upon it gladly, and read to distract +his thoughts. One article interested him; it was on the subject of +national characteristics: cleverly written, what is called "smart" +journalism, with grip and epigram, with hint of universal knowledge and +the true air of British superiority. Having scanned the writer's +comment on the Slavonic peoples, Piers laughed aloud; so evidently it +was a report at second or third hand, utterly valueless to one who had +any real acquaintance with the Slavs. This moment of spontaneous mirth +did him good, helped to restore his self-respect. And as he pondered +old ambitions stirred again in him. Could he not make some use of the +knowledge he had gained so laboriously—some use other than that +whereby he earned his living? Not so long ago, he had harboured great +designs, vague but not irrational. And to-day, even in bidding himself +be humble, his intellect was little tuned to humility. He had never, at +his point of darkest depression, really believed that life had no +shining promise for him. The least boastful of men, he was at heart one +of the most aspiring. His moods varied wonderfully. When he alighted at +the London terminus, he looked and felt like a man refreshed by some +new hope. +</P> + +<P> +Half by accident, he kept the paper he had been reading. It lay on his +table in Guildford Street for weeks, for months. Years after, he came +upon it one day in turning out the contents of a trunk, and remembered +his ramble in the Sussex woodland, and smiled at the chances of life. +</P> + +<P> +On Monday morning he had a characteristic letter from Moncharmont, part +English, part French, part Russian. Nothing, or only a passing word, +about business; communications of that sort were all addressed to the +office, and were as concise, as practical, as any trader could have +desired. In his friendly letter, Moncharmont chatted of a certain +Polish girl with whom he had newly made acquaintance, whose beauty, +according to the good Andre, was a thing to dream of, not to tell. It +meant nothing, as Piers knew. The cosmopolitan Swiss fell in love some +dozen times a year, with maidens or women of every nationality and +every social station. Be the issue what it might, he was never unhappy. +He had a gallery of photographs, and delighted to pore over it, +indulging reminiscences or fostering hopes. Once in a twelvemonth or +so, he made up his mind to marry, but never went further than the +intention. It was doubtful whether he would ever commit himself +irrevocably. "It seems such a pity," he often said, with his pensively +humorous smile, "to limit the scope of one's emotions—<I>borner la +carriere a ses emotions</I>!" Then he sighed, and was in the best of +spirits. +</P> + +<P> +Not even to Moncharmont—with whom he talked more freely than with any +other man—had Piers ever spoken of Irene. Andre of course suspected +some romantic attachment, and was in constant amaze at Piers' fidelity. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, you English! you English!" he would exclaim. "You are the stoics +of the modern world. I admire; yes, I admire; but, my friend, I do not +wish to imitate." +</P> + +<P> +The letter cheered Otway's breakfast; he read it instead of the +newspaper, and with vastly more benefit. +</P> + +<P> +Another letter had come to his private address, a note from Mrs. +Hannaford. She was regaining strength, and hoped soon to come South +again. Her brother had already taken a nice little house for her at +Campden Hill, where Olga would have a sort of studio, and, she trusted, +would make herself happy. Both looked forward to seeing Piers; they +sent him their very kindest remembrances. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXI +</H3> + +<P> +The passionate temperament is necessarily sanguine. To desire with all +one's being is the same thing as to hope. In Piers Otway's case, the +temper which defies discouragement existed together with the intellect +which ever tends to discourage, with the mind which probes appearances, +makes war upon illusions. Hence his oft varying moods, as the one or +the other part of him became ascendent. Hence his fervours of idealism, +and the habit of destructive criticism which seemed inconsistent with +them. Hence his ardent ambitions, and his appearance of plodding +mediocrity in practical life. +</P> + +<P> +Intensely self-conscious, he suffered much from a habit of comparing, +contrasting himself with other men, with men who achieved things, who +made their way, who played a part in the world. He could not read a +newspaper without reflecting, sometimes bitterly, on the careers and +position of men whose names were prominent in its columns. So often, he +well knew, their success came only of accident—as one uses the word: +of favouring circumstance, which had no relation to the man's powers +and merits. Piers had no overweening self-esteem; he judged his +abilities more accurately, and more severely, than any observer would +have done; yet it was plain to him that he would be more than capable, +so far as endowment went, of filling the high place occupied by this or +the other far-shining personage. He frankly envied their +success—always for one and the same reason. +</P> + +<P> +Nothing so goaded his imagination as a report of the marriage of some +leader in the world's game. He dwelt on these paragraphs, filled up the +details, grew faint with realisation of the man's triumphant happiness. +At another moment, his reason ridiculed this self-torment. He knew that +in all probability such a marriage implied no sense of triumph, +involved no high emotions, promised nothing but the commonest domestic +satisfaction. Portraits of brides in an illustrated paper sometimes +wrought him to intolerable agitation—the mood of his early manhood, as +when he stood before the print shop in the Haymarket; now that he had +lost Irene, the whole world of beautiful women called again to his +senses and his soul. With the cooler moment came a reminder that these +lovely faces were for the most part mere masks, tricking out a very +ordinary woman, more likely than not unintelligent, unhelpful, as the +ordinary human being of either sex is wont to be. What seemed to <I>him</I> +the crown of a man's career, was, in most cases, a mere incident, +deriving its chief importance from social and pecuniary considerations. +Even where a sweet countenance told truth about the life behind it, how +seldom did the bridegroom appreciate what he had won! For the most +part, men who have great good fortune, in marriage, or in anything +else, are incapable of tasting their success. It is the imaginative +being in the crowd below who marvels and is thrilled. +</P> + +<P> +How was it with Arnold Jacks? Did he understand what had befallen him? +If so, on what gleaming heights did he now live and move! What rapture +of gratitude must possess the man! What humility! What arrogance! +</P> + +<P> +Piers had not met him since the engagement was made known; he hoped not +to meet him for a long time. Happily, in this holiday season, there was +no fear of an invitation to Queen's Gate. +</P> + +<P> +Yet the unexpected happened. Early in September, he received a note +from John Jacks, asking him to dine. The writer said that he had been +at the seaside, and was tired of it, and meant to spend a week or two +quietly in London; he was quite alone, so Otway need not dress. +</P> + +<P> +Reassured by the last sentence of the letter, Piers gladly went; for he +liked to talk with John Jacks, and had a troubled pleasure in the +thought that he might hear something about the approaching marriage. On +his arrival, he was shown into the study, where his host lay on a sofa. +The greeting was cordial, the voice cheery as ever, but as Mr. Jacks +rose he had more of the appearance of old age than Piers had yet seen +in him; he seemed to stand with some difficulty, his face betokening a +body ill at ease. +</P> + +<P> +"How pleasant London is in September!" he exclaimed, with a laugh. +"I've been driving about, as one does in a town abroad, just to see the +streets. Strange that one knows Paris and Rome a good deal better than +London. Yet it's really very interesting—don't you think?" +</P> + +<P> +The twinkling eye, the humorous accent, which had won Piers' affection, +soon allayed his disquietude at being in this house. He spoke of his +own recent excursion, confessing that he better appreciated London from +a distance. +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, ay! I know all about that," replied Mr. Jacks, his Yorkshire note +sounding, as it did occasionally. "But you're young, you're young; what +does it matter where you live? To be your age again, I'd live at St. +Helens, or Widnes. You have hope, man, always hope. And you may live to +see what the world is like half a century from now. It's strange to +look at you, and think that!" +</P> + +<P> +John Jacks' presence in London, and alone, at this time of the year had +naturally another explanation than that he felt tired of the seaside. +In truth, he had come up to see a medical specialist. Carefully he kept +from his wife the knowledge of a disease which was taking hold upon +him, which—as he had just learnt—threatened rapidly fatal results. +From his son, also, he had concealed the serious state of his health, +lest it should interfere with Arnold's happy mood in prospect of +marriage. He was no coward, but a life hitherto untroubled by sickness +had led him to hope that he might pass easily from the world, and a +doom of extinction by torture perturbed his philosophy. +</P> + +<P> +He liked to forget himself in contemplation of Piers Otway's youth and +soundness. He had pleasure, too, in Piers' talk, which reminded him of +Jerome Otway, some half-century ago. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Jacks was staying with her own family, and from that house would +pass to others, equally decorous, where John had promised to join her. +Of course she was uneasy about him; that entered into her role of model +spouse: but the excellent lady never suspected the true cause of that +habit of sadness which had grown upon her husband during the last few +years, a melancholy which anticipated his decline in health. John Jacks +had made the mistake natural to such a man; wedding at nearly sixty a +girl of much less than half his age, he found, of course, that his wife +had nothing to give him but duty and respect, and before long he +bitterly reproached himself with the sacrifice of which he was guilty. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "Soar on thy manhood clear of those<BR> + Whose toothless Winter claws at May,<BR> + And take her as the vein of rose<BR> + Athwart an evening grey."<BR> +</P> + +<P> +These lines met his eye one day in a new volume which bore the name of +George Meredith, and they touched him nearly; the poem they closed gave +utterance to the manful resignation of one who has passed the age of +love, yet is tempted by love's sweetness, and John Jacks took to heart +the reproach it seemed to level at himself. Putting aside the point of +years, he had not chosen with any discretion; he married a handsome +face, a graceful figure, just as any raw boy might have done. His wife, +he suspected, was not the woman to suffer greatly in her false +position; she had very temperate blood, and a thoroughly English +devotion to the proprieties; none the less he had done her wrong, for +she belonged to a gentle family in mediocre circumstances, and his +prospective "M.P.," his solid wealth, were sore temptations to put +before such a girl. He had known—yes, he assuredly knew—that it was +nothing but a socially sanctioned purchase. Beauty should have become +to him but the "vein of rose," to be regarded with gentle admiration +and with reverence, from afar. He yielded to an unworthy temptation, +and, being a man of unusual sensitiveness, very soon paid the penalty +in self-contempt. +</P> + +<P> +He could not love his wife; he could scarce honour her—for she too +must consciously have sinned against the highest law. Her +irreproachable behaviour only saddened him. Now that he found himself +under sentence of death, his solace was the thought that his widow +would still be young enough to redeem her error—if she were capable of +redeeming it. +</P> + +<P> +Alone with his guest in the large dining-room, and compelled to make +only pretence of eating and drinking, he talked of many things with the +old spontaneity, the accustomed liberal kindliness, and dropped at +length upon the subject Piers was waiting for. +</P> + +<P> +"You know, I daresay, that Arnold is going to marry?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have heard of it," Piers answered, with the best smile he could +command. +</P> + +<P> +"You can imagine it pleases me. I don't see how he could have been +luckier. Dr. Derwent is one of the finest men I know, and his daughter +is worthy of him." +</P> + +<P> +"She is, I am sure," said Piers, in a balanced voice, which sounded +mere civility. +</P> + +<P> +And when silence had lasted rather too long, the host having fallen +into reverie, he added: +</P> + +<P> +"Will it take place soon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah—the wedding? About Christmas, I think. Arnold is looking for a +house. By the bye, you know young Derwent—Eustace?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers answered that he had only the slightest acquaintance with the +young man. +</P> + +<P> +"Not brilliant, I think," said Mr. Jacks musingly. "But amiable, +straight. I don't know that he'll do much at the Bar." +</P> + +<P> +Again he lost himself for a little, his knitted brows seeming to +indicate an anxious thought. +</P> + +<P> +"Now you shall tell me anything you care to, about business," said the +host, when they had seated themselves in the library. "And after that I +have something to show you—something you'll like to see, I think." +</P> + +<P> +Otway's curiosity was at a loss when presently he saw his host take +from a drawer a little packet of papers. +</P> + +<P> +"I had forgotten all about these," said Mr. Jacks. "They are +manuscripts of your father; writings of various kinds which he sent me +in the early fifties. Turning out my old papers, I came across them the +other day, and thought I would give them to you." +</P> + +<P> +He rustled the faded sheets, glancing over them with a sad smile. +</P> + +<P> +"There's an amusing thing—called 'Historical Fragment.' I remember, oh +I remember very well, how it pleased me when I first read it." +</P> + +<P> +He read it aloud now, with many a chuckle, many a pause of sly emphasis. +</P> + +<P> +"'The Story of the last war between the Asiatic kingdoms of Duroba and +Kalaya, though it has reached us in a narrative far too concise, is one +of the most interesting chapters in the history of ancient civilisation. +</P> + +<P> +"'They were bordering states, peopled by races closely akin, whose +languages, it appears, were mutually intelligible; each had developed +its own polity, and had advanced to a high degree of refinement in +public and private life. Wars between them had been frequent, but at +the time with which we are concerned the spirit of hostility was all +but forgotten in a happy peace of long duration. Each country was ruled +by an aged monarch, beloved of the people, but, under the burden of +years, grown of late somewhat less vigilant than was consistent with +popular welfare. Thus it came to pass that power fell into the hands of +unscrupulous statesmen, who, aided by singular circumstances, succeeded +in reviving for a moment the old sanguinary jealousies. +</P> + +<P> +"'We are told that a General in the army of Duroba, having a turn for +experimental chemistry, had discovered a substance of terrible +explosive power, which, by the exercise of further ingenuity, he had +adapted for use in warfare. About the same time, a public official in +Kalaya, whose duty it was to convey news to the community by means of a +primitive system of manuscript placarding, hit upon a mechanical method +whereby news-sheets could be multiplied very rapidly and be sold to +readers all over the kingdom. Now the Duroban General felt eager to +test his discovery in a campaign, and, happening to have a quarrel with +a politician in the neighbouring state, did his utmost to excite +hostile feeling against Kalaya. On the other hand, the Kalayan +official, his cupidity excited by the profits already arising from his +invention, desired nothing better than some stirring event which would +lead to still greater demand for the news-sheets he distributed, and so +he also was led to the idea of stirring up international strife. To be +brief, these intrigues succeeded only too well; war was actually +declared, the armies were mustered, and marched to the encounter. +</P> + +<P> +"'They met at a point of the common frontier where only a little brook +flowed between the two kingdoms. It was nightfall; each host encamped, +to await the great engagement which on the morrow would decide between +them. +</P> + +<P> +"'It must be understood that the Durobans and the Kalayans differed +markedly in national characteristics. The former people was +distinguished by joyous vitality and a keen sense of humour; the +latter, by a somewhat meditative disposition inclining to timidity; and +doubtless these qualities had become more pronounced during the long +peace which would naturally favour them. Now, when night had fallen on +the camps, the common soldiers on each side began to discuss, over +their evening meal, the position in which they found themselves. The +men of Duroba, having drunk well, as their habit was, fell into an odd +state of mind. "What!" they exclaimed to one another. "After all these +years of tranquillity, are we really going to fight with the Kalayans, +and to slaughter them and be ourselves slaughtered! Pray, what is it +all about? Who can tell us?" Not a man could answer, save with the +vaguest generalities. And so, the debate continuing, the wonder growing +from moment to moment, at length, and all of a sudden, the Duroban camp +echoed with huge peals of laughter. "Why, if we soldiers have no cause +of quarrel, what are we doing here? Shall we be mangled and killed to +please our General with the turn for chemistry? That were a joke, +indeed!" And, as soon as mirth permitted, the army rose as one man, +threw together their belongings, and with jovial songs trooped off to +sleep comfortably in a town a couple of miles away. +</P> + +<P> +"'The Kalayans, meanwhile, had been occupied with the very same +question. They were anything but martial of mood, and the soldiery, ill +at ease in their camp, grumbled and protested. "After all, why are we +here?" cried one to the other. "Who wants to injure the Durobans? And +what man among us desires to be blown to pieces by their new +instruments of war? Pray, why should we fight? If the great officials +are angry, as the news-sheets tell us, e'en let them do the fighting +themselves." At this moment there sounded from the enemy's camp a +stupendous roar; it was much like laughter; no doubt the Durobans were +jubilant in anticipation of their victory. Fear seized the Kalayans; +they rose like one man, and incontinently fled far into the sheltering +night! +</P> + +<P> +"'Thus ended the war—the last between these happy nations, who, not +very long after, united to form a noble state under one ruler. It is +interesting to note that the original instigators of hostility did not +go without their deserts. The Duroban General, having been duly tried +for a crime against his country, was imprisoned in a spacious building, +the rooms of which were hung with great pictures representing every +horror of battle with the ghastliest fidelity; here he was supplied +with materials for chemical experiment, to occupy his leisure, and very +shortly, by accident, blew himself to pieces. The Kalayan publicist was +also convicted of treason against the state; they banished him to a +desert island, where for many hours daily he had to multiply copies of +his news-sheet—that issue which contained the declaration of war—and +at evening to burn them all. He presently became imbecile, and so +passed away.'" +</P> + +<P> +Piers laughed with delight. +</P> + +<P> +"Whether it ever got into print," said Mr. Jacks, "I don't know. Your +father was often careless about his best things. I'm afraid he was +never quite convinced that ideals of that kind influence the world. Yet +they do, you know, though it's a slow business. It's thought that +leads." +</P> + +<P> +"The multitude following in its own fashion," said Piers drily. +"Rousseau teaches liberty and fraternity; France learns the lesson and +plunges into '93." +</P> + +<P> +"With Nap to put things straight again. For all that a step was taken. +We are better for Jean Jacques—a little better." +</P> + +<P> +"And for Napoleon, too, I suppose. Napoleon—a wild beast with a genius +for arithmetic." +</P> + +<P> +John Jacks let his eyes rest upon the speaker, interested and amused. +</P> + +<P> +"That's how you see him? Not a bad definition. I suppose the truth is, +we know nothing about human history. The old view was good for working +by—Jehovah holding his balance, smiting on one side, and rewarding on +the other. It's our national view to this day. The English are an Old +Testament people; they never cared about the New. Do you know that +there's a sect who hold that the English are the Lost Tribes—the +People of the Promise? I see a great deal to be said for that idea. No +other nation has such profound sympathy with the history and the creeds +of Israel. Did you ever think of it? That Old Testament religion suits +us perfectly—our arrogance and our pugnaciousness; this accounts for +its hold on the mind of the people; it couldn't be stronger if the +bloodthirsty old Tribes were truly our ancestors. The English seized +upon their spiritual inheritance as soon as a translation of the Bible +put it before them. In Catholic days we fought because we enjoyed it, +and made no pretences; since the Reformation we have fought for +Jehovah." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose," said Piers, "the English are the least Christian of all +so-called Christian peoples." +</P> + +<P> +"Undoubtedly. They simply don't know the meaning of the prime Christian +virtue—humility. But that's neither here nor there, in talking of +progress. You remember Goldsmith— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + 'Pride in their port, defiance in their eye,<BR> + I see the lords of human kind pass by.'<BR> +</P> + +<P> +"Our pride has been a good thing, on the whole. Whether it will still +be, now that it's so largely the pride of riches, let him say who is +alive fifty years hence." +</P> + +<P> +He paused and added gravely: +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid the national character is degenerating. We were always too +fond of liquor, and Heaven knows our responsibility for drunkenness all +over the world; but worse than that is our gambling. You may drink and +be a fine fellow; but every gambler is a sneak, and possibly a +criminal. We're beginning, now, to gamble for slices of the world. +We're getting base, too, in our grovelling before the millionaire—who +as often as not has got his money vilely. This sort of thing won't do +for 'the lords of human kind.' Our pride, if we don't look out, will +turn to bluffing and bullying. I'm afraid we govern selfishly where +we've conquered. We hear dark things of India, and worse of Africa. And +hear the roaring of the Jingoes! Johnson defined Patriotism you know, +as the last refuge of a scoundrel; it looks as if it might presently be +the last refuge of a fool." +</P> + +<P> +"Meanwhile," said Piers, "the real interests of England, real progress +in national life, seem to be as good as lost sight of." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, more and more. They think that material prosperity is progress. +So it is—up to a certain point, and who ever stops there? Look at +Germany." +</P> + +<P> +"Once the peaceful home of pure intellect, the land of Goethe." +</P> + +<P> +"Once, yes. And my fear is that our brute, blustering Bismarck may be +coming. But," he suddenly brightened, "croakers be hanged! The +civilisers are at work too, and they have their way in the end. Think +of a man like your father, who seemed to pass and be forgotten. Was it +really so? I'll warrant that at this hour Jerome Otway's spirit is +working in many of our best minds. There's no calculating the power of +the man who speaks from his very heart. His words don't perish, though +he himself may lose courage." +</P> + +<P> +Listening, Piers felt a glow pass into all the currents of his life. +</P> + +<P> +"If only," he exclaimed, in a voice that trembled, "I had as much +strength as desire to carry on his work!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, who knows?" replied John Jacks, looking with encouragement +wherein mingled something of affection. +</P> + +<P> +"You have the power of sincerity, I see that. Speak always as you +believe, and who knows what opportunity you may find for making +yourself heard!" +</P> + +<P> +John Jacks reflected deeply for a few moments. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going away in a day or two," he said at length, in a measured +voice, "and my movements are uncertain—uncertain. But we shall meet +again before the end of the year." +</P> + +<P> +When he had left the house, Piers recalled the tone of this remark, and +dwelt upon it with disquietude. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXII +</H3> + +<P> +The night being fair, Piers set out to walk a part of the way home. It +was only by thoroughly tiring himself with bodily exercise that he +could get sound and long oblivion. Hours of sleeplessness were his +dread. However soon he awoke after daybreak, he rose at once and drove +his mind to some sort of occupation. To escape from himself was all he +lived for in these days. An ascetic of old times, subduing his flesh in +cell or cave, battled no harder than this idealist of London City +tortured by his solitude. +</P> + +<P> +On the pavement of Piccadilly he saw some yards before him, a man +seemingly of the common lounging sort, tall-hatted and frock-coated, +who was engaged in the cautious pursuit of a female figure, just in +advance. A light and springy and half-stalking step; head jutting a +little forward; the cane mechanically swung—a typical woman-hunter, in +some doubt as to his quarry. On an impulse of instinct or calculation, +the man all at once took a few rapid strides, bringing himself within +sideview of the woman's face. Evidently he spoke a word; he received an +obviously curt reply; he fell back, paced slowly, turned and Piers +became aware of a countenance he knew—that of his brother Daniel. +</P> + +<P> +It was a disagreeable moment. Daniel's lean, sallow visage had no +aptitude for the expression of shame, but his eyes grew very round, and +his teeth showed in a hard grin. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Piers, my boy! Again we meet in a London street—which is rhyme, +and sounds like Browning, doesn't it? <I>Comment ca va-t-il</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers shook hands very coldly, without pretence of a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"I am walking on," he said. "Yours is the other way, I think." +</P> + +<P> +"What! You wish to cut me? Pray, your exquisite reason?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, then, I think you have behaved meanly and dishonourably to me. I +don't wish to discuss the matter, only to make myself understood." +</P> + +<P> +His ability to use this language, and to command himself as he did so, +was a surprise to Piers. Nothing he disliked more than personal +altercation; he shrank from it at almost any cost. But the sight of +Daniel, the sound of his artificial voice, moved him deeply with +indignation, and for the first time in his life he spoke out. Having +done so, he had a pleasurable sensation; he felt his assured manhood. +</P> + +<P> +Daniel was astonished, disconcerted, but showed no disposition to close +the interview; turning, he walked along by his brother. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose I know what you refer to. But let me explain. I think my +explanation will interest you." +</P> + +<P> +"No, I'm afraid it will not," replied Piers quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"In any case, lend me your ears. You are offended by my failure to pay +that debt. Well, my nature is frankness, and I will plead guilty to a +certain procrastination. I meant to send you the money; I fully meant +to do so. But in the first place, it took much longer than I expected +to realise the good old man's estate, and when at length the money came +into my hands, I delayed and delayed—just as one does, you know; let +us admit these human weaknesses. And I procrastinated till I was really +ashamed—you follow the psychology of the thing? Then I said to myself: +Now it is pretty certain Piers is not in actual want of this sum, or he +would have pressed for it. On the other hand, a day may come when he +will really be glad to remember that I am his banker for a hundred and +fifty pounds. Yes—I said—I will wait till that moment comes; I will +save the money for him, as becomes his elder brother. Piers is a good +fellow, and will understand. <I>Voila</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +Piers kept silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me, my dear boy," pursued the other. "Alexander of course paid +that little sum he owed you?" +</P> + +<P> +"He too has preferred to remain my banker." +</P> + +<P> +"Now I call that very shameful!" burst out Daniel. "No, that's too bad!" +</P> + +<P> +"How did you know he owed me money?" inquired Piers. +</P> + +<P> +"How? Why, he told me himself, down at Hawes, after you went. We were +talking of you, of your admirable qualities, and in his bluff, genial +way he threw out how generously you had behaved to him, at a moment +when he was hard up. He wanted to repay you immediately, and asked me +to lend him the money for that purpose; unfortunately, I hadn't it to +lend. And to think that, after all, he never paid you! A mere fifty +pounds! Why, the thing is unpardonable! In my case the sum was +substantial enough to justify me in retaining it for your future +benefit. But to owe fifty pounds, and shirk payment—no, I call that +really disgraceful. If ever I meet Alexander——!" +</P> + +<P> +Piers was coldly amused. When Daniel sought to draw him into general +conversation, with inquiries as to his mode of life, and where he +dwelt, the younger brother again spoke with decision. They were not +likely, he said, to see more of each other, and he felt as little +disposed to give familiar information as to ask it; whereupon Daniel +drew himself up with an air of dignified offence, and saying, "I wish +you better manners," turned on his heel. +</P> + +<P> +Piers walked on at a rapid pace. Noticing again a well-dressed prowler +of the pavement, whose approaches this time were welcomed, a feeling of +nausea came upon him. He hailed a passing cab, and drove home. +</P> + +<P> +A week later, he heard from Mrs. Hannaford that she and Olga were +established in their own home; she begged him to come and see them +soon, mentioning an evening when they would be glad if he could dine +with them. And Piers willingly accepted. +</P> + +<P> +The house was at Campden Hill; a house of the kind known to agents as +"desirable," larger than the two ladies needed for their comfort, and, +as one saw on entering the hall, furnished with tasteful care. The work +had been supervised by Dr. Derwent, who thought that his sister and his +niece might thus be tempted to live the orderly life so desirable in +their unfortunate circumstances. When Piers entered, Mrs. Hannaford sat +alone in the drawing room; she still had the look of an invalid, but +wore a gown which showed to advantage the lines of her figure. Otway +had been told not to dress, and it caused him some surprise to see his +hostess adorned as if for an occasion of ceremony. Her hair was done in +a new way, which changed the wonted character of her face, so that she +looked younger. A bunch of pale flowers rested against her bosom, and +breathed delicate perfume about her. +</P> + +<P> +"It was discussed," she said, in a low, intimate voice, "whether we +should settle in London or abroad. But we didn't like to go away. Our +only real friends are in England, and we must hope to make more. Olga +is so good, now that she sees that I really need her. She has been so +kind and sweet during my illness." +</P> + +<P> +Whilst they were talking, Miss Hannaford silently made her entrance. +Piers turned his head, and felt a shock of surprise. Not till now had +he seen Olga at her best; he had never imagined her so handsome; it was +a wonderful illustration of the effect of apparel. She, too, had +reformed the fashion of her hair, and its tawny abundance was much more +effective than in the old careless style. She looked taller; she +stepped with a more graceful assurance, and in offering her hand, +betrayed consciousness of Otway's admiration in a little flush that +well became her. +</P> + +<P> +She had subdued her voice, chastened her expressions. The touch of +masculinity on which she had prided herself in her later "Bohemian" +days, was quite gone. Wondering as they conversed, Piers had a +difficulty in meeting her look; his eyes dropped to the little silk +shoe which peeped from beneath her skirt. His senses were gratified; he +forgot for the moment his sorrow and unrest. +</P> + +<P> +The talk at dinner was rather formal. Piers, with his indifferent +appetite, could do but scanty justice to the dainties offered him, and +the sense of luxury added a strangeness to his new relations with Mrs. +Hannaford and her daughter. Olga spoke of a Russian novel she had been +reading in a French translation, and was anxious to know whether it +represented life as Otway knew it in Russia. She evinced a wider +interest in several directions, emphasised—perhaps a little too +much—her inclination for earnest thought: was altogether a more +serious person than hitherto. +</P> + +<P> +Afterwards, when they grouped themselves in the drawing-room, this +constraint fell away. Mrs. Hannaford dropped a remark which awakened +memories of their life together at Geneva, and Piers turned to her with +a bright look. +</P> + +<P> +"You used to play in those days," he said, "and I've never heard you +touch a piano since." +</P> + +<P> +There was one in the room. Olga glanced at it, and then smilingly at +her mother. +</P> + +<P> +"My playing was so very primitive," said Mrs. Hannaford, with a laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"I liked it." +</P> + +<P> +"Because you were a boy then." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me try to be a boy again. Play something you used to. One of those +bits from 'Tell,' which take me back to the lakes and the mountains +whenever I hear them." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Hannaford rose, laughing as if ashamed; Olga lit the candles on +the piano. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall have to play from memory—and a nice mess I shall make of it." +</P> + +<P> +But memory served her for the passages of melody which Piers wished to +hear. He listened with deep pleasure, living again in the years when +everything he desired seemed a certainty of the future, depending only +on the flight of time, on his becoming "a man." He remembered his vivid +joy in the pleasures of the moment, the natural happiness now, and for +years, unknown to him. So long ago, it seemed; yet Mrs. Hannaford, +sitting at the piano, looked younger to him than in those days. And +Olga, whom as a girl of fourteen he had not much liked, thinking her +both conceited and dull, now was a very different person to him, a +woman who seemed to have only just revealed herself, asserting a power +of attraction he had never suspected in her. He found himself trying to +catch glimpses of her face at different angles, as she sat listening +abstractedly to the music. +</P> + +<P> +When it was time to go, he took leave with reluctance. The talk had +grown very pleasantly familiar. Mrs. Hannaford said she hoped they +would often see him, and the hope had an echo in his own thoughts. This +house might offer him the refuge he sought when loneliness weighed too +heavily. It was true, he could not accept the idea with a whole heart; +some vague warning troubled his imagination; but on the way home he +thought persistently of the pleasure he had experienced, and promised +himself that it should be soon repeated. +</P> + +<P> +A melody was singing in his mind; becoming conscious of it, he +remembered that it was the air to which his friend Moncharmont had set +the little song of Alfred de Musset. At Odessa he had been wont to sing +it—in a voice which Moncharmont declared to have the quality of a very +fair tenor, and only to need training. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + "Quand on perd, par triste occurrence,<BR> + Son esperance<BR> + Et sa gaité,<BR> + Le remède au mélancolique<BR> + C'est la musique<BR> + Et la beauté.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> + Plus oblige et peut davantage<BR> + Un beau visage<BR> + Qu'un homme armé,<BR> + Et rien n'est meilleur que d'entendre<BR> + Air doux et tendre<BR> + Jadis aimé!"<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It haunted him after he had gone to rest, and for once he did not mind +wakefulness. +</P> + +<P> +A week passed. On Friday, Piers said to himself that to-morrow he would +go in the afternoon to Campden Hill, on the chance of finding his +friends at home. On Saturday morning the post brought him a letter +which he saw to be from Mrs. Hannaford, and he opened it with pleasant +anticipation; but instead of the friendly lines he expected he found a +note of agitated appeal. The writer entreated him to come and see her +exactly at three o'clock; she was in very grave trouble, had the most +urgent need of him. Three o'clock; neither sooner or later; if he could +possibly find time. If he could not come, would he telegraph an +appointment for her at his office? +</P> + +<P> +With perfect punctuality, he arrived at the house, and in the +drawing-room found Mrs. Hannaford awaiting him. She came forward with +both her hands held out; in her eyes a look almost of terror. Her +voice, at first, was in choking whispers, and the words so confusedly +hurried as to be barely intelligible. +</P> + +<P> +"I have sent Olga away—I daren't let her know—she will be away for +several hours, so we can talk—oh, you will help me—you will do your +best——" +</P> + +<P> +Perplexed and alarmed, Piers held her hand as he tried to calm her. She +seemed incapable of telling him what had happened, but kept her eyes +fixed upon him in a wild entreaty, and uttered broken phrases which +conveyed nothing to him; he gathered at length that she was in fear of +some person. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down and let me hear all about it," he urged. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes—but I'm so ashamed to speak to you about such things. I +don't know whether you'll believe me. Oh, the shame—the dreadful +shame! It's only because there seems just this hope. How shall I bring +myself to tell you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dear Mrs. Hannaford, we have been friends so long. Trust me to +understand you. Of course, of course I shall believe what you say!" +</P> + +<P> +"A dreadful, a shameful thing has happened. How shall I tell you?" Her +haggard face flushed scarlet. "My husband has given me notice that he +is going to sue for a divorce. He brings a charge against me—a false, +cruel charge! It came yesterday. I went to the solicitor whose name was +given, and learnt all I could. I have had to hide it from Olga, and oh! +what it cost me! At once I thought of you; then it seemed impossible to +speak to you; then I felt I must, I must. If only you can believe me! +It is—your brother." +</P> + +<P> +Piers was overcome with amazement. He sat looking into the eyes which +stared at him with their agony of shame. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean Daniel?" he faltered. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—Daniel Otway. It is false—it is false! I am not guilty of this! +It seems to me like a hateful plot—if one could believe anyone so +wicked. I saw him last night. Oh, I must tell you all, else you'll +never believe me—I saw him last night. How can anyone behave so to a +helpless woman? I never did him anything but kindness. He has me in his +power, and he is merciless." +</P> + +<P> +A passion of disgust and hatred took hold on Piers as he remembered the +meeting in Piccadilly. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean to say you have put yourself into that fellow's power?" he +exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +"Not willingly! Oh, not willingly! I meant only kindness to him. Yes, I +have been weak, I know, and so foolish! It has gone on so long.—You +remember when I first saw him, at Ewell? I liked him, just as a friend. +Of course I behaved foolishly. It was my miserable life—you know what +my life was. But nothing happened—I mean, I never thought of him for a +moment as anything but an ordinary friend—until I had my legacy." +</P> + +<P> +The look on the listener's face checked her. +</P> + +<P> +"I begin to understand," said Piers, with bitterness. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! Don't say that—don't speak like that!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's not you I am thinking of, Mrs. Hannaford. As soon as money comes +in—. But tell me plainly. I have perfect confidence in what you say, +indeed I have." +</P> + +<P> +"It does me good to hear you say that! I can tell you all, now that I +have begun. It is true, he <I>did</I> ask me to go away with him, again and +again. But he had no right to do that—I was foolish in showing that I +liked him. Again and again I forbade him ever to see me; I tried so +hard to break off! It was no use. He always wrote, wherever I was, +sending his letters to Dr. Derwent to be forwarded. He made me meet him +at all sorts of places—using threats at last. Oh, what I have gone +through!" +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt," said Piers gently, "you have lent him money?" +</P> + +<P> +She reddened again; her head sank. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—I have lent him money, when he was in need. Just before the death +of your father." +</P> + +<P> +"Once only?" +</P> + +<P> +"Once—or twice——" +</P> + +<P> +"To be sure. Lately, too, I daresay?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes——" +</P> + +<P> +"Then you quite understand his character?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do now," Mrs. Hannaford replied wretchedly. "But I must tell you +more. If it were only a suspicion of my husband's I should hardly care +at all. But someone must have betrayed me to him, and have told +deliberate falsehoods. I am accused—it was when I was at the seaside +once—and he came to the same hotel—Oh, the shame, the shame!" +</P> + +<P> +She covered her face with her hands, and turned away. +</P> + +<P> +"Why," cried Piers, in wrath, "that fellow is quite capable of having +betrayed you himself. I mean, of lying about you for his own purposes." +</P> + +<P> +"You think he could be so wicked?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't doubt it for a moment. He has done his best to persuade you to +ruin yourself for him, and he thinks, no doubt, that if you are +divorced, nothing will stand between him and you—in other words, your +money." +</P> + +<P> +"He said, when I saw him yesterday, that now it had come to this, I had +better take that step at once. And when I spoke of my innocence, he +asked who would believe it? He seemed sorry; really he did. Perhaps he +is not so bad as one fears?" +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you see him yesterday?" asked Otway. +</P> + +<P> +"At his lodgings. I was <I>obliged</I> to go and see him as soon as +possible. I have never been there before. He behaved very kindly. He +said of course he should declare my innocence——" +</P> + +<P> +"And in the same breath assured you no one would believe it? And +advised you to go off with him at once?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know how bad it seems," said Mrs. Hannaford. "And yet, it is all my +own fault—my own long folly. Oh, you must wonder why I have brought +you here to tell you this! It's because there is no one else I could +speak to, as a friend, and I felt I should go mad if I couldn't ask +someone's advice. Of course I could go to a lawyer—but I mean someone +who would sympathise with me. I am not very strong; you know I have +been ill: this blow seems almost more than I can bear; I thought I +would ask you if you could suggest anything—if you would see him, and +try to arrange something." She looked at Piers distractedly. "Perhaps +money would help. My husband has been having money from me; perhaps if +we offered him more? Ought I to see him, myself? But there is +ill-feeling between us; and I fear he would be glad to injure me, glad!" +</P> + +<P> +"I will see Daniel," said Piers, trying to see hope where reason told +him there was none. "With him, at all events, money can do much." +</P> + +<P> +"You will? You think you may be able to help me? I am in such terror +when I think of my brother hearing of this. And Irene! Think, if it +becomes public—everyone talking about the disgrace—what will Irene +do? Just at the time of her marriage!" She held out her hands, +pleadingly. "You would be glad to save Irene from such a shame?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers had not yet seen the scandal from this point of view. It came +upon him with a shock, and he stood speechless. +</P> + +<P> +"My husband hates them," pursued Mrs. Hannaford, "and you don't know +what <I>his</I> hatred means. Just for that alone, he will do his worst +against me—hoping to throw disgrace on the Derwents." +</P> + +<P> +"I doubt very much," said Piers, who had been thinking hard, "whether, +in any event, this would affect the Derwents in people's opinion." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't think so? But do you know Arnold Jacks? I feel sure he is +the kind of man who would resent bitterly such a thing as this. He is +very proud—proud in just that kind of way—do you understand? Oh, I +know it would make trouble between him and Irene." +</P> + +<P> +"In that case," Piers began vehemently, and at once checked himself. +</P> + +<P> +"What were you going to say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing that could help us." +</P> + +<P> +When he raised his eyes again, Mrs. Hannaford was gazing at him with +pitiful entreaty. +</P> + +<P> +"For <I>her</I> sake," she said, in a low, shaken voice, "you will try to do +something?" +</P> + +<P> +"If only I can!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes! I know you! You are good and generous—It ought surely to be +possible to stop this before it gets talked about? If I were guilty, it +would be different. But I have done no wrong; I have only been weak and +foolish. I thought of going straight to my brother, but there is the +dreadful thought that he might not believe me. It is so hard for a +woman accused in this way to seem innocent; men always see the dark +side. He has no very good opinion of me, as it is, I know he hasn't. I +turned so naturally to you; I felt you would do your utmost for me in +my misery.—If only my husband can be brought to see that I am not +guilty, that he wouldn't win the suit, then perhaps he would cease from +it. I will give all the money I can—all I have!" +</P> + +<P> +Piers stood reflecting. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me all the details you have learnt," he said. "What evidence do +they rely on?" +</P> + +<P> +Her head bowed, her voice broken, she told of place and time and the +assertions of so-called witnesses. +</P> + +<P> +"Why has this plot against you been a year in ripening?" asked Otway. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps we are wrong in thinking it a plot. My husband may only just +have discovered what he thinks my guilt in some chance way. If so, +there is hope." +</P> + +<P> +They sat mute for a minute or two. +</P> + +<P> +"If only I can hide this from Olga," said Mrs. Hannaford. "Think how +dreadful it is for me, with her! We were going to ask you to spend +another evening with us—but how is it possible? If I send you the +invitation, will you make an answer excusing yourself—saying you are +too busy? To prevent Olga from wondering. How hard, how cruel it is! +Just when we had made ourselves a home here, and might have been happy!" +</P> + +<P> +Piers stood up, and tried to speak words of encouragement. The charge +being utterly false, at worst a capable solicitor might succeed in +refuting it. He was about to take his leave, when he remembered that he +did not know Daniel's address: Mrs. Hannaford gave it. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry you went there," he said. +</P> + +<P> +And as he left the room, he saw the woman's eyes follow him with that +look of woe which signals a tottering mind. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIII +</H3> + +<P> +Without investigating her motives, Irene Derwent deferred as long as +possible her meeting with the man to whom she had betrothed herself. +Nor did Arnold Jacks evince any serious impatience in this matter. They +corresponded in affectionate terms, exchanging letters once a week or +so. Arnold, as it chanced, was unusually busy, his particular section +of the British Empire supplying sundry problems just now not to be +hurriedly dealt with by those in authority; there was much drawing-up +of reports, and translating of facts into official language, in +Arnold's secretarial department. Of these things he spoke to his +bride-elect as freely as discretion allowed; and Irene found his +letters interesting. +</P> + +<P> +The ladies in Cheshire were forewarned of the new Irene who was about +to visit them; political differences did not at all affect their +kindliness; indeed, they saw with satisfaction the girl's keen mood of +loyalty to the man of her choice. She brought with her the air of +Greater Britain; she spoke much, and well, of the destinies of the +Empire. +</P> + +<P> +"I see it all more clearly since this bit of Colonial experience," she +said. "Our work in the world is marked out for us; we have no choice, +unless we turn cowards. Of course we shall be hated by other countries, +more and more. We shall be accused of rapacity, and arrogance, and +everything else that's disagreeable in a large way; we can't help that. +If we enrich ourselves, that is a legitimate reward for the task we +perform. England means liberty and enlightenment; let England spread to +the ends of the earth! We mustn't be afraid of greatness! We <I>can't</I> +stop—still less draw back. Our politics have become our religion. Our +rulers have a greater responsibility than was ever known in the world's +history—and they will be equal to it!" +</P> + +<P> +The listeners felt that a little clapping of the hands would have been +appropriate; they exchanged a glance, as if consulting each other as to +the permissibility of such applause. But Irene's eloquent eyes and +glowing colour excited more admiration than criticism; in their hearts +they wished joy to the young life which would go on its way through an +ever changing world long after they and their old-fashioned ideas had +passed into silence. +</P> + +<P> +In a laughing moment, Irene told them of the proposal she had received +from Trafford Romaine. This betokened her high spirits, and perchance +indicated a wish to make it understood that her acceptance of Arnold +Jacks was no unconsidered impulse. The ladies were interested, but felt +this confidence something of an indiscretion, and did not comment upon +it. They hoped she would not be tempted to impart her secret to persons +less capable of respecting it. +</P> + +<P> +During these days there came a definite invitation from Mrs. Borisoff, +who was staying in Hampshire, at the house of her widowed mother, and +Irene gladly accepted it. She wished to see more of Helen Borisoff, +whose friendship, she felt, might have significance for her at this +juncture of life. The place and its inhabitants, she found on arriving, +answered very faithfully to Helen's description; an old manor-house, +beautifully situated, hard by a sleepy village; its mistress a rather +prim woman of sixty, conventional in every thought and act, but too +good-natured to be aggressive, and living with her two unmarried +daughters, whose sole care was the spiritual and material well-being of +the village poor. +</P> + +<P> +"Where I come from, I really don't know," said Helen to her friend. "My +father was the staidest of country gentlemen. I'm a sport, plainly. You +will see my mother watch me every now and then with apprehension. I +fancy it surprises her that I really do behave myself—that I don't +even say anything shocking. With you, the dear old lady is simply +delighted; I know she prays that I may not harm you. You are the first +respectable acquaintance I have made since my marriage." +</P> + +<P> +In the lovely old garden, in the still meadows, and on the +sheep-cropped hillsides, they had many a long talk. Now that Irene was +as good as married, Mrs. Borisoff used less reserve in speaking of her +private circumstances; she explained the terms on which she stood with +her husband. +</P> + +<P> +"Marriage, my dear girl, is of many kinds; absurd to speak of it as one +and indivisible. There's the marriage of interest, the marriage of +reason, the marriage of love; and each of these classes can be almost +infinitely subdivided. For the majority of folk, I'm quite sure it +would be better not to choose their own husbands and wives, but to +leave it to sensible friends who wish them well. In England, at all +events, they <I>think</I> they marry for love, but that's mere nonsense. Did +you ever know a love match? I never even heard of one, in my little +world. Well," she added, with her roguish smile, "putting yourself out +of the question." +</P> + +<P> +Irene's countenance betrayed a passing inquietude. She had an air of +reflection; averted her eyes; did not speak. +</P> + +<P> +"The average male or female is <I>never</I> in love," pursued Helen. "They +are incapable of it. And in this matter I—<I>moi qui vous parle</I>—am +average. At least, I think I am; all evidence goes to prove it, so far. +I married my husband because I thought him the most interesting man I +had ever met. That was eight years ago, when I was two-and-twenty. +Curiously, I didn't try to persuade myself that I was in love; I take +credit for this, my dear! No, it was a marriage of reason. I had money, +which Mr. Borisoff had not. He really liked me, and does still. But we +are reasonable as ever. If we felt obliged to live always together, we +should be very uncomfortable. As it is, I travel for six months when +the humour takes me, and it works <I>a merveille</I>. Into my husband's +life, I don't inquire; I have no right to do so, and I am not by nature +a busybody. As for my own affairs, Mr. Borisoff is not uneasy; he has +great faith in me—which, speaking frankly, I quite deserve. I am, my +dear Irene, a most respectable woman—there comes in my parentage." +</P> + +<P> +"Then," said Irene, looking at her own beautiful fingernails, "your +experience, after all, is disillusion." +</P> + +<P> +"Moderate disillusion," replied the other, with her humorously judicial +air. "I am not grievously disappointed. I still find my husband an +interesting—a most interesting—man. Both of us being so thoroughly +reasonable, our marriage may be called a success." +</P> + +<P> +"Clearly, then, you don't think love a <I>sine qua non</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Clearly not. Love has nothing whatever to do with marriage, in the +statistical—the ordinary—sense of the term. When I say love, I mean +love—not domestic affection. Marriage is a practical concern of +mankind at large; Love is a personal experience of the very few. Think +of our common phrases, such as 'choice of a wife'; think of the +perfectly sound advice given by sage elders to the young who are +thinking of marriage, implying deliberation, care. What have these +things to do with love? You can no more choose to be a lover, than to +be a poet. <I>Nascitur non fit</I>—oh yes, I know my Latin. Generally, the +man or woman born for love is born for nothing else." +</P> + +<P> +"A deplorable state of things!" exclaimed Irene, laughing. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—or no. Who knows? Such people ought to die young. But I don't say +that it is invariably the case. To be capable of loving, and at the +same time to have other faculties, and the will to use them—ah! +There's your complete human being." +</P> + +<P> +"I think——" Irene began, and stopped, her voice failing. +</P> + +<P> +"You think, <I>belle Irene</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I was going to say that all this seems to me sensible and right. +It doesn't disturb me." +</P> + +<P> +"Why should it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think I will tell you, Helen, that my motive in marrying is the same +as yours was." +</P> + +<P> +"I surmised it." +</P> + +<P> +"But, you know, there the similarity will end. It is quite +certain"—she laughed—"that I shall have no six-months' vacations. At +present, I don't think I shall desire them." +</P> + +<P> +"No. To speak frankly, I auger well of your marriage." +</P> + +<P> +These words affected Irene with a sense of relief. She had imagined +that Mrs. Borisoff thought otherwise. A bright smile sunned her +countenance; Helen, observing it, smiled too, but more thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"You must bring your husband to see me in Paris some time next year. By +the bye, you don't think he will disapprove of me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you imagine Mr. Jacks——" +</P> + +<P> +"What were you going to say?" +</P> + +<P> +Irene had stopped as if for want of the right word She was reflecting. +</P> + +<P> +"It never struck me," she said, "that he would wish to regulate my +choice of friends. Yet I suppose it would be within his right?" +</P> + +<P> +"Conventionally speaking, undoubtedly." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't think I am in uncertainty about this particular instance," said +Irene. "No, he has already told me that he liked you. But of the +general question, I had never thought." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear, who does, or can, think before marriage of all that it +involves? After all, the pleasures of life consist so largely in the +unexpected." +</P> + +<P> +Irene paced a few yards in silence, and when she spoke again it was of +quite another subject. +</P> + +<P> +Whether this sojourn with her experienced and philosophical friend made +her better able to face the meeting with Arnold Jacks was not quite +certain. At moments she fancied so; she saw her position as wholly +reasonable, void of anxiety; she was about to marry the man she liked +and respected—safest of all forms of marriage. But there came +troublesome moods of misgiving. It did not flatter her self-esteem to +think of herself as excluded from the number of those who are capable +of love; even in Helen Borisoff's view, the elect, the fortunate. Of +love, she had thought more in this last week or two than in all her +years gone by. Assuredly, she knew it not, this glory of the poets. Yet +she could inspire it in others; at all events, in one, whose rhythmic +utterance of the passion ever and again came back to her mind. +</P> + +<P> +A temptation had assailed her (but she resisted it) to repeat those +verses of Piers Otway to her friend. And in thinking of them, she half +reproached herself for the total silence she had preserved towards +their author. Perhaps he was uncertain whether the verses had ever +reached her. It seemed unkind. There would have been no harm in letting +him know that she had read the lines, and—as poetry—liked them. +</P> + +<P> +Was her temper prosaic? It would at any time have surprised her to be +told so. Owing to her father's influence, she had given much time to +scientific studies, but she knew herself by no means defective in +appreciation of art and literature. By whatever accident, the friends +of her earlier years had been notable rather for good sense and good +feeling than for aesthetic fervour; the one exception, her cousin Olga, +had rather turned her from thoughts about the beautiful, for Olga +seemed emotional in excess, and was not without taint of affectation. +In Helen Borisoff she knew for the first time a woman who cared +supremely for music, poetry, pictures, and who combined with this a +vigorous practical intelligence. Helen could burn with enthusiasm, yet +never exposed herself to suspicion of weak-mindedness. Posturing was +her scorn, but no one spoke more ardently of the things she admired. +Her acquaintance with recent literature was wider than that of anyone +Irene had known; she talked of it in the most interesting way, giving +her friend new lights, inspiring her with a new energy of thought. And +Irene was sorry to go away. She vaguely felt that this companionship +was of moment in the history of her mind; she wished for a larger +opportunity of benefiting by it. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Derwent and his son were now at Cromer; there Irene was to join +them; and thither, presently, would come Arnold Jacks. +</P> + +<P> +On the day of her departure there arose a storm of wind and rain, which +grew more violent as she approached the Norfolk coast; and nothing +could have pleased her better. Her troubled mood harmonised with the +darkened, roaring sea; moreover, this atmospheric disturbance made +something to talk about on arriving. She suffered no embarrassment at +the meeting with her father and Eustace, who of course awaited her at +the station. To their eyes, Irene was in excellent spirits, though +rather wearied after the tiresome journey. She said very little about +her stay in Hampshire. +</P> + +<P> +The last person in the world with whom Irene would have chosen to +converse about her approaching marriage was her excellent brother +Eustace; but the young man was not content with offering his good +wishes; to her surprise, he took the opportunity of their being alone +together on the beach, to speak with most unwonted warmth about Arnold +Jacks. +</P> + +<P> +"I really was glad when I heard of it! To tell you the truth, I had +hoped for it. If there is a man living whom I respect, it is Arnold. +There's no end to his good qualities. A downright good and sensible +fellow!" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I'm very glad you think so, Eustace," replied his sister, +stooping to pick up a shell. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed I do. I've often thought that one's sister's choice in marriage +must be a very anxious thing; it would have worried me awfully if I had +felt any doubts about the man." +</P> + +<P> +Irene was inclined to laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"It's very good of you." she said. +</P> + +<P> +"But I mean it. Girls haven't quite a fair chance, you know. They can't +see much of men." +</P> + +<P> +"If it comes to that," said Irene merrily, "men seem to me in much the +same position." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it's so different. Girls—women—are good. There's nothing +unpleasant to be known about them." +</P> + +<P> +"Upon my word, Eustace! <I>On n'est pas plus galant</I>! But I really feel +it my duty to warn you against that amiable optimism. If you were so +kind as to be uneasy on my account, I shall be still more so on yours. +Your position, my dear boy, is a little perilous." +</P> + +<P> +Eustace laughed, not without some amiable confusion. To give himself a +countenance, he smote at pebbles with the head of his walking-stick. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I shan't marry for ages!" +</P> + +<P> +"That shows rather more prudence than faith in your doctrine." +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind. Our subject is Arnold Jacks. He's a splendid fellow. The +best and most sensible fellow I know." +</P> + +<P> +It was not the eulogy most agreeable to Irene in her present state of +mind. She hastened to dismiss the topic, but thought with no little +surprise and amusement of Eustace's self-revelation. Brothers and +sisters seldom know each other; and these two, by virtue of widely +differing characteristics, were scarce more than mutually well-disposed +strangers. +</P> + +<P> +Less emphatic in commendation, Dr. Derwent appeared not less satisfied +with his future son-in-law. Irene's scrutiny, sharpened by intense +desire to read her father's mind, could detect no qualification of his +contentment. As his habit was, the Doctor, having found an opportunity, +broached the subject with humorous abruptness. +</P> + +<P> +"It's no business of mine; I don't wish to be impertinent; but if I +<I>may</I> be allowed to express approval——" +</P> + +<P> +Irene raised her eyes for a moment, bestowing upon him a look of +affection and gratitude. +</P> + +<P> +"He's a thorough Englishman, and that means a good deal in the +laudatory sense. The best sort of husband for an English girl, I've no +manner of doubt." +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Derwent was not effusive; he had said as much as he cared to say on +the more intimate aspect of the matter. But he spoke long and carefully +regarding things practical. Irene had his entire confidence; nothing in +the state of his affairs needed to be kept from her knowledge. He spoke +of the duty he owed to his two children respectively, and in sufficient +detail of Arnold Jacks' circumstances. On the death of John Jacks +(which the Doctor suspected was not remote) Arnold would be something +more than a well-to-do man; his wife, if she aimed that way, might look +for a social position such as the world envied. +</P> + +<P> +"And on the whole," he added, "as society must have leaders, I prefer +that they should be people with brains as well as money. The ambition +is quite legitimate. Do your part in civilising the drawing-room, as +Arnold conceives he is doing his on a larger scale. A good and +intelligent woman is no superfluity in the world of wealth nowadays." +</P> + +<P> +Irene tried to believe that this ambition appealed to her. Nay, at +times it certainly did so, for she liked the brilliant and the +commanding. On the other hand, it seemed imperfect as an ideal of life. +In its undercurrents her thought was always more or less turbid. +</P> + +<P> +A letter from Arnold announced his coming. A day after, he arrived. +</P> + +<P> +Many times as she had enacted in fancy the scene of their meeting, +Irene found in the reality something quite unlike her anticipation. +Arnold, it was true, behaved much as she expected; he was perfect in +well-bred homage; he said the right things in the right tone; his face +declared a sincere emotion, yet he restrained himself within due limits +of respect. The result in Irene's mind was disappointment and fear. +</P> + +<P> +He gave her too little; he seemed to ask too much. +</P> + +<P> +The first interview—in a private sitting-room at the hotel where they +were all staying—lasted about half an hour; it wrought a change in +Irene for which she had not at all prepared herself, though the doubts +and misgivings which had of late beset her pointed darkly to such a +revulsion of feeling. She had not understood; she could not understand, +until enlightened by the very experience. Alone once more, she sat down +all tremulous; pallid as if she had suffered a shock of fright. An +indescribable sense of immodesty troubled her nerves: she seemed to +have lost all self-respect: the thought of going forth again, of facing +her father and brother, was scarcely to be borne. This acute distress +presently gave way to a dull pain, a sinking at the heart. She felt +miserably alone. She longed for a friend of her own sex, not +necessarily to speak of what she was going through, but for the moral +support of a safe companionship. Never had she known such a feeling of +isolation, and of over-great responsibility. +</P> + +<P> +A few tears relieved her. Irene was not prone to weeping; only a great +crisis of her fate would have brought her to this extremity. +</P> + +<P> +It was over in a quarter of an hour—or seemed so. She had recovered +command of her nerves, had subdued the excess of emotion. As for what +had happened, that was driven into the background of her mind, to await +examination at leisure. She was a new being, but for the present could +bear herself in the old way. Before leaving her room, she stood before +the looking-glass, and smiled. Oh yes, it would do! +</P> + +<P> +Arnold Jacks was in the state of mind which exhibited him at his very +best. An air of discreet triumph sat well on this elegant Englishman; +it prompted him to continuous discourse, which did not lack its touch +of brilliancy; his features had an uncommon animation, and his slender, +well-knit figure—of course clad with perfect seaside +propriety—appeared to gain an inch, so gallantly he held himself. He +walked the cliffs like one on guard over his country. Without for a +moment becoming ridiculous, Arnold, with his first-rate English +breeding, could carry off a great deal of radiant self-consciousness. +</P> + +<P> +Side by side, he and Irene looked very well; there was suitability of +stature, harmony of years. Arnold's clean-cut visage, manly yet +refined, did no discredit to the choice of a girl even so striking in +countenance as Irene. They drew the eyes of passers-by. Conscious of +this, Irene now and then flinched imperceptibly; but her smile held +good, and its happiness flattered the happy man. +</P> + +<P> +Eustace Derwent departed in a day or two, having an invitation to join +friends in Scotland. He had vastly enjoyed the privilege of listening +to Arnold's talk. Indeed to his sister's amusement, he plainly sought +to model himself on Mr. Jacks, in demeanour, in phraseology, and in +sentiments; not without success. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIV +</H3> + +<P> +On one of those evenings at the seaside, Dr. Derwent, glancing over the +newspapers, came upon a letter signed "Lee Hannaford." It had reference +to some current dispute about the merits of a new bullet. Hannaford, +writing with authority, criticised the invention; he gave particulars +(the result of an experiment on an old horse) as to its mode of +penetrating flesh and shattering bone; there was a gusto in his style, +that of the true artist in bloodshed. Pointing out the signature to +Arnold Jacks, Dr. Derwent asked in a subdued tone, as when one speaks +of something shameful: +</P> + +<P> +"Have you seen or heard of him lately?" +</P> + +<P> +"About ten days ago," replied Arnold. "He was at the Hyde Wilson's, and +he had the impertinence to congratulate me. He did it, too, before +other people, so that I couldn't very well answer as I wished. You are +aware, by the bye, that he is doing very well—belongs to a firm of +manufacturers of explosives?" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed?—I wish he would explode his own head off." +</P> + +<P> +The Doctor spoke with most unwonted fierceness. Arnold Jacks, without +verbally seconding the wish, showed by an uneasy smile that he would +not have mourned the decease of this relative of the Derwents. Mrs. +Hannaford's position involved no serious scandal, but Arnold had a +strong dislike for any sort of social irregularity; here was the one +detail of his future wife's family circumstances which he desired to +forget. What made it more annoying than it need have been was his +surmise that Lee Hannaford nursed rancour against the Derwents, and +would not lose an opportunity of venting it. In the public +congratulation of which Arnold spoke, there had been a distinct touch +of malice. It was not impossible that the man hinted calumnies with +regard to his wife, and, under the circumstances, slander of that kind +was the most difficult thing to deal with. +</P> + +<P> +But in Irene's society these unwelcome thoughts were soon dismissed. +With the demeanour of his betrothed, Arnold was abundantly satisfied; +he saw in it the perfect medium between demonstrativeness and +insensibility. Without ever having reflected on the subject, he felt +that this was how a girl of entire refinement should behave in a +situation demanding supreme delicacy. Irene never seemed in "a +coming-on disposition," to use the phrase of a young person who had not +the advantage of English social training; it was evidently her wish to +behave, as far as possible, with the simplicity of mere friendship. In +these days, Mr. Jacks, for the first time, ceased to question himself +as to the prudence of the step he had taken. Hitherto he had been often +reminded that, socially speaking, he might have made a better marriage; +he had felt that Irene conquered somewhat against his will, and that he +wooed her without quite meaning to do so. On the cliffs and the sands +at Cromer, these indecisions vanished. The girl had never looked to +such advantage; he had never been so often apprised of the general +admiration she excited. Beyond doubt, she would do him credit—in +Arnold's view the first qualification in a wife. She was really very +intelligent, could hold her own in any company, and with experience +might become a positively brilliant woman. +</P> + +<P> +For caresses, for endearments, the time was not yet; that kind of +thing, among self-respecting people of a certain class, came only with +the honeymoon. Yet Arnold never for a moment doubted that the girl was +very fond of him. Of course it was for his sake that she had refused +Trafford Romaine—a most illuminating incident. That she was proud of +him, went without saying. He noted with satisfaction how thoroughly she +had embraced his political views, what a charming Imperialist she had +become. In short, everything promised admirably. At moments, Arnold +felt the burning of a lover's impatience. +</P> + +<P> +They parted. The Derwents returned to London; Arnold set off to pay a +hasty visit or two in the North. The wedding was to take place a couple +of months hence, and the pair would spend their Christmas in Egypt. +</P> + +<P> +A few days after her arrival in Bryanston Square, Irene went to see the +Hannafords. She found her aunt in a deplorable state, unable to +converse, looking as if on the verge of a serious illness. Olga behaved +strangely, like one in harassing trouble of which she might not speak. +It was a painful visit, and on her return home Irene talked of it to +her father. +</P> + +<P> +"Something wretched is going on of which we don't know," she declared. +"Anyone could see it. Olga is keeping some miserable secret, and her +mother looks as if she were being driven mad." +</P> + +<P> +"That ruffian, I suppose," said the Doctor. "What can he be doing?" +</P> + +<P> +The next day he saw his sister. He came home with a gloomy countenance, +and called Irene into his study. +</P> + +<P> +"You were right. Something very bad indeed is going on, so bad that I +hardly like to speak to you about it. But secrecy is impossible; we +must use our common sense—Hannaford is bringing a suit for divorce." +</P> + +<P> +Irene was so astonished that she merely gazed at her father, waiting +his explanation. Under her eyes Dr. Derwent suffered an increase of +embarrassment, which tended to relieve itself in anger. +</P> + +<P> +"It will kill her," he exclaimed, with a nervous gesture. "And then, if +justice were done, that scoundrel would be hanged!" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean her husband?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Though I'm not sure that there isn't another who deserves the +name. She wants to see you, Irene, and I think you must go at once. She +says she has things to tell you that will make her mind easier. I'm +going to send a nurse to be with her: she mustn't be left alone. It's +lucky I went to-day. I won't answer for what may happen in +four-and-twenty hours. Olga isn't much use, you know, though she's +doing what she can." +</P> + +<P> +It was about one o'clock. Saying she would be able to lunch at her +aunt's house, Irene forthwith made ready, and drove to Campden Hill. +She was led into the drawing-room, and sat there, alone, for five +minutes; then Olga entered. The girls advanced to each other with a +natural gesture of distress. +</P> + +<P> +"She's asleep, I'm glad to say," Olga whispered, as if still in a +sickroom. "I persuaded her to lie down. I don't think she has closed +her eyes the last two or three nights. Can you wait? Oh, do, if you +can! She does so want to see you." +</P> + +<P> +"But why, dear? Of course I will wait; but why does she ask for <I>me</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +Olga related all that had come to pass, in her knowledge. Only by +ceaseless importunity had she constrained her mother to reveal the +cause of an anguish which could no longer be disguised. The avowal had +been made yesterday, not long before Dr. Derwent's coming to the house. +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted to tell you, but she had forbidden me to speak to anyone. +What's the use of trying to keep such a thing secret? If uncle had not +come, I should have telegraphed for him. Of course he made her tell +him, and it has put her at rest for a little; she fell asleep as soon +as she lay down. Her dread is that we shan't believe her. She wants, I +think, only to declare to you that she has done no wrong." +</P> + +<P> +"As if I could doubt her word!" +</P> + +<P> +Irene tried to shape a question, but could not speak. Her cousin also +was mute for a moment. Their eyes met, and fell. +</P> + +<P> +"You remember Mr. Otway's brother?" said Olga, in an unsteady voice, +and then ceased. +</P> + +<P> +"He? Daniel Otway?" +</P> + +<P> +Irene had turned pale; she spoke under her breath. At once there +recurred to her the unexplained incident at Malvern Station. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew mother was foolish in keeping up an acquaintance with him," +Olga answered, with some vehemence. "I detested the man, what I saw of +him. And I suspect—of course mother won't say—he has been having +money from her." +</P> + +<P> +An exclamation of revolted feeling escaped Irene. She could not speak +her thoughts; they were painful almost beyond endurance. She could not +even meet her cousin's look. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a hideous thing to talk about," Olga pursued, her head bent and +her hands crushing each other, "no wonder it seems to be almost driving +her mad. What do you think she did, as soon as she received the notice? +She sent for Piers Otway, and told him, and asked him to help her. He +came in the afternoon, when I was out. Think how dreadful it must have +been for her!" +</P> + +<P> +"How could <I>he</I> help her?" asked Irene, in a strangely subdued tone, +still without raising her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"By seeing his brother, she thought, and getting him, perhaps, to +persuade my father—how I hate the name!—that there were no grounds +for such an action." +</P> + +<P> +"What"—Irene forced each syllable from her lips—"what are the grounds +alleged?" +</P> + +<P> +Olga began a reply, but the first word choked her. Her self-command +gave way, she sobbed, and turned to hide her face. +</P> + +<P> +"You, too, are being tried beyond your strength," said Irene, whose +womanhood fortified itself in these moments of wretched doubt and +shame. "Come, we must have some lunch whilst aunt is asleep." +</P> + +<P> +"I want to get it all over—to tell you as much as I know," said the +other. "Mother says there is not even an appearance of wrong-doing +against her—that she can only be accused by deliberate falsehood. She +hasn't told me more than that—and how can I ask? Of course <I>he</I> is +capable of everything—of any wickedness!" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean Daniel Otway?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—her husband—I will never again call him by the other name." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know whether Piers Otway has seen his brother?" +</P> + +<P> +"He hadn't up to yesterday, when he sent mother a note, saying that the +man was away, and couldn't be heard of." +</P> + +<P> +With an angry effort Olga recovered her self-possession. Apart from the +natural shame which afflicted her, she seemed to experience more of +indignation and impatience than any other feeling. Growing calmer, she +spoke almost with bitterness of her mother's folly. +</P> + +<P> +"I told her once, quite plainly, that Daniel Otway wasn't the kind of +man she ought to be friendly with. She was offended: it was one of the +reasons why we couldn't go on living together. I believe, if the truth +were known, it was worry about him that caused her breakdown in health. +She's a weak, soft-natured woman, and he—I know very well what <I>he</I> +is. He and the other one—both Piers Otway's brothers—have always been +worthless creatures. She knew it well enough, and yet——! I suppose +their mother——" +</P> + +<P> +She broke off in a tone of disgust. Irene, looking at her with more +attentiveness, waited for what she would next say. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you remember," Olga added, after a pause, "that they are +only half-brothers to Piers Otway?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I do." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>His</I> mother must have been a very different woman. You have +heard——?" +</P> + +<P> +They exchanged looks. Irene nodded, and averted her eyes, murmuring, +"Aunt explained to me, after his father's death." +</P> + +<P> +"One would have supposed," said Olga, "that <I>they</I> would turn into the +honourable men, and <I>he</I> the scamp. Nature doesn't seem to care much +about setting us a moral lesson." +</P> + +<P> +And she laughed—a short, bitter laugh. Irene, her brows knit in +painful thought, kept silence. +</P> + +<P> +They were going to the dining-room, when a servant made known to them +that Mrs. Hannaford was asking for her daughter. +</P> + +<P> +"Do have something to eat," said Olga, "and I'll tell her you are here. +You <I>shall</I> have lunch first; I insist upon it, and I'll join you in a +moment." +</P> + +<P> +In a quarter of an hour, Irene went up to her aunt's room. Mrs. +Hannaford was sitting in an easy chair, placed so that a pale ray of +sunshine fell upon her. She rose, feebly, only to fall back again; her +hands were held out in pitiful appeal, and tears moistened her cheeks. +Beholding this sad picture, Irene forgot the doubt that offended her; +she was all soft compassion. The suffering woman clung about her neck, +hid her face against her bosom, sobbed and moaned. +</P> + +<P> +They spoke together till dusk. The confession which Mrs. Hannaford made +to her niece went further than that elicited from her either by Olga or +Dr. Derwent. In broken sentences, in words of shamefaced incoherence, +but easily understood, she revealed a passion which had been her +torturing secret, and a temptation against which she had struggled year +after year. The man was unworthy; she had long known it; she suffered +only the more. She had been imprudent, once or twice all but reckless, +never what is called guilty. Convinced of the truth of what she heard, +Irene drew a long sigh, and became almost cheerful in her ardour of +solace and encouragement. No one had ever seen the Irene who came forth +under this stress of circumstance; no one had ever heard the voice with +which she uttered her strong heart. The world? Who cared for the world? +Let it clack and grin! They would defend the truth, and quietly wait +the issue. No more weakness Brain and conscience must now play their +part. +</P> + +<P> +"But if it should go against me? If I am made free of that man——?" +</P> + +<P> +"Then be free of him!" exclaimed the girl, her eyes flashing through +tears. "Be glad!" +</P> + +<P> +"No—no! I am afraid of myself——" +</P> + +<P> +"We will help you. When you are well again, your mind will be stronger +to resist. Not <I>that</I>—never <I>that</I>! You know it is impossible." +</P> + +<P> +"I know. And there is one thing that would really make it so. I haven't +told you—another thing I had to say—why I wanted so to see you." +</P> + +<P> +Irene looked kindly into the agitated face. +</P> + +<P> +"It's about Piers Otway. He came to see us here. I had formed a +hope——" +</P> + +<P> +"Olga?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Oh, if that could be!" +</P> + +<P> +She caught the girl's hand in her hot palms, and seemed to entreat her +for a propitious word. Irene was very still, thinking; and at length +she smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"Who can say? Olga is good and clever——" +</P> + +<P> +"It might have been; I know it might. But after this?" +</P> + +<P> +"More likely than not," said Irene, with a half-absent look, "this +would help to bring it about." +</P> + +<P> +"Dear, only your marriage could have changed him—nothing else. Oh, I +am sure, nothing else! He has the warmest and truest heart!" +</P> + +<P> +Irene sat with bowed head, her lips compressed; she smiled again, but +more faintly. In the silence there sounded a soft tap at the door. +</P> + +<P> +"I will see who it is," said Irene. +</P> + +<P> +Olga stood without, holding a letter. She whispered that the +handwriting of the address (to Mrs. Hannaford) was Piers Otway's, and +that possibly this meant important news. Irene took the letter, and +re-entered the room. It was necessary to light the gas before Mrs. +Hannaford could read the sheet that trembled in her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"What I feared! He can do nothing." +</P> + +<P> +She held the letter to Irene, who perused it. Piers began by saying +that as result of a note he had posted yesterday, Daniel had this +morning called upon him at his office. They had had a long talk. +</P> + +<P> +"He declared himself quite overcome by what had happened, and said he +had been away from town endeavouring to get at an understanding of the +so-called evidence against him. Possibly his inquiries might effect +something; as yet they were useless. He was very vague, and did not +reassure me; I could not make him answer simple questions. There is no +honesty in the man. Unfortunately I have warrant for saying this, on +other accounts. Believe me when I tell you that the life he leads makes +him unworthy of your lightest thought. He is utterly, hopelessly +ignoble. It is a hateful memory that I, who feel for you a deep respect +and affection, was the cause of your coming to know him. +</P> + +<P> +"But for the fear of embarrassing you, I should have brought this news, +instead of writing it. If you are still keeping your trouble a secret, +I beseech you to ease your mind by seeing Dr. Derwent, and telling him +everything. It is plain that your defence must at once be put into +legal hands. Your brother is a man of the world, and much more than +that; he will not, cannot, refuse to believe you, and his practical aid +will comfort you in every way. Do not try to hide the thing even from +your daughter; she is of an age to share your suffering, and to +alleviate it by her affection. Believe me, silence is mistaken +delicacy. You are innocent; you are horribly wronged; have the courage +of a just cause. See Dr. Derwent at once; I implore you to do so, for +your own sake, and for that of all your true friends." +</P> + +<P> +At the end, Irene drew a deep breath. +</P> + +<P> +"He, certainly, is one of them," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Of my true friends? Indeed, he is." +</P> + +<P> +Again they were interrupted. Olga announced the arrival of the nurse +sent by Dr. Derwent to tend the invalid. Thereupon Irene took leave of +her aunt, promising to come again on the morrow, and went downstairs, +where she exchanged a few words with her cousin. They spoke of Piers +Otway's letter. +</P> + +<P> +"Pleasant for us, isn't it?" said Olga, with a dreary smile. "Picture +us entertaining friends who call!" +</P> + +<P> +Irene embraced her gently, bade her be hopeful, and said good-bye. +</P> + +<P> +At home again, she remembered that she had an engagement to dine out +this evening, but the thought was insufferable. Eustace, who was to +have accompanied her, must go alone. Having given the necessary orders, +she went to her room, meaning to sit there until dinner. But she grew +restless and impatient; when the first bell rang, she made a hurried +change of dress, and descended to the drawing-room. An evening +newspaper failed to hold her attention; with nervous movements, she +walked hither and thither. It was a great relief to her when the door +opened and her father came in. +</P> + +<P> +Contrary to his custom, the Doctor had not dressed. He bore a wearied +countenance, but at the sight of Irene tried to smooth away the lines +of disgust. +</P> + +<P> +"It was all I could do to get here by dinner-time. Excuse me, Mam'zelle +Wren; they're the clothes of an honest working-man." +</P> + +<P> +The pet syllable (a joke upon her name as translated by Thibaut +Rossignol) had not been frequent on her father's lips for the last year +or two; he used it only in moments of gaiety or of sadness. Irene did +not wish to speak about her aunt just now, and was glad that the +announcement of dinner came almost at once. They sat through an +unusually silent meal, the few words they exchanged having reference to +public affairs. As soon as it was over, Irene asked if she might join +her father in the library. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, come and be smoked," was his answer. +</P> + +<P> +This mood did not surprise her. It was the Doctor's principle to combat +anxiety with jests. He filled and lit one of his largest pipes, and +smoked for some minutes before speaking. Irene, still nervous, let her +eyes wander about the book-covered walls; a flush was on her cheeks, +and with one of her hands she grasped the other wrist, as if to +restrain herself from involuntary movement. +</P> + +<P> +"The nurse came," she said at length, unable to keep silence longer. +</P> + +<P> +"That's right. An excellent woman; I can trust her." +</P> + +<P> +"Aunt seemed better when I came away." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad." +</P> + +<P> +Volleys of tobacco were the only sign of the stress Dr. Derwent +suffered. He loathed what seemed to him the sordid tragedy of his +sister's life, and he resented as a monstrous thing his daughter's +involvement in such an affair. This was the natural man; the scientific +observer took another side, urging that life was life and could not be +escaped, refine ourselves as we may; also that a sensible girl of +mature years would benefit rather than otherwise by being made helpful +to a woman caught in the world's snare. +</P> + +<P> +"Whilst I was there," pursued Irene, "there came a letter from Mr. +Otway. No, no; not from <I>him</I>; from Mr. Piers Otway." +</P> + +<P> +She gave a general idea of its contents, and praised its tone. "I +daresay," threw out her father, almost irritably, "but I shall strongly +advise her to have done with all of that name." +</P> + +<P> +"It's true they are of the same family," said Irene, "but that seems a +mere accident, when one knows the difference between our friend Mr. +Otway and his brothers." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe; I shall never like the name. Pray don't speak of 'our friend.' +In any case, as you see, there must be an end of that." +</P> + +<P> +"I should like you to see his letter, father. Ask aunt to show it you." +</P> + +<P> +The Doctor smoked fiercely, his brows dark. Rarely in her lifetime had +Irene seen her father wrathful—save for his outbursts against the +evils of the world and the time. To her he had never spoken an angry +word. The lowering of his features in this moment caused her a painful +flutter at the heart; she became mute, and for a minute or two neither +spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"By the bye," said Dr. Derwent suddenly, "it is a most happy thing that +your aunt's money was so strictly tied up. No one can be advantaged by +her death—except that American hospital. Her scoundrelly acquaintances +are aware of that fact no doubt." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a little hard, isn't it, that Olga would have nothing?" +</P> + +<P> +"In one way, yes. But I'm not sure she isn't safer so." Again there +fell silence. +</P> + +<P> +Again Irene's eyes wandered, and her hands moved nervously. +</P> + +<P> +"There is one thing we must speak of," she said at length "If the case +goes on, Arnold will of course hear of it." +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Derwent looked keenly at her before replying. +</P> + +<P> +"He knows already." +</P> + +<P> +"He knows? How?" +</P> + +<P> +"By common talk in some house he frequents. Agreeable! I saw him this +afternoon; he took me aside and spoke of this. It is his belief that +Hannaford himself has set the news going." +</P> + +<P> +Irene seemed about to rise. She sat straight, every nerve tense, her +face glowing with indignation. +</P> + +<P> +"What an infamy!" +</P> + +<P> +"Just so. It's the kind of thing we're getting mixed up with." +</P> + +<P> +"How did Arnold speak to you? In what tone?" +</P> + +<P> +"As any decent man would—I can't describe it otherwise. He said that +of course it didn't concern him, except in so far as it was likely to +annoy our family. He wanted to know whether you had heard, +and—naturally enough—was vexed that you couldn't be kept out of it. +He's a man of the world, and knows that, nowadays, a scandal such as +this matters very little. Our name will come into it, I fear, but it's +all forgotten in a week or two." +</P> + +<P> +They sat still and brooded for a long time. Irene seemed on the point +of speaking once or twice, but checked herself. When at length her +father's face relaxed into a smile, she rose, said she was weary, and +stepped forward to say good-night. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll have no more of this subject, unless compelled," said the +Doctor. "It's worse that vivisection." +</P> + +<P> +And he settled to a book—or seemed to do so. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXV +</H3> + +<P> +Irene passed a restless night. The snatches of unrefreshing sleep which +she obtained as the hours dragged towards morning were crowded with +tumultuous dreams; she seemed to be at strife with all manner of +people, now defending herself vehemently against some formless +accusation, now arraigning others with a violence strange to her +nature. Worst of all, she was at odds with her father, about she knew +not what; she saw his kind face turn cold and hard in reply to a +passionate exclamation with which she had assailed him. The wan glimmer +of a misty October dawn was very welcome after this pictured darkness. +Yet it brought reflections that did not tend to soothe her mind. +</P> + +<P> +Several letters for her lay on the breakfast-table; among them, one +from Arnold Jacks, which she opened hurriedly. It proved to be a mere +note, saying that at last he had found a house which seemed in every +respect suitable, and he wished Irene to go over it with him as soon as +possible; he would call for her at three o'clock. "Remember," he added, +"you dine with us. We are by ourselves." +</P> + +<P> +She glanced at her father, as if to acquaint him with this news; but +the Doctor was deep in a leading-article, and she did not disturb him. +Eustace had correspondence of his own which engrossed him. No one +seemed disposed for talk this morning. +</P> + +<P> +The letter which most interested her came from Helen Borisoff, who was +now at home, in Paris. It was the kind of letter that few people are so +fortunate as to receive nowadays, covering three sheets with gaiety and +good-nature, with glimpses of interesting social life and many an +amusing detail. Mrs. Borisoff was establishing herself for the winter, +which promised all sorts of good things yonder on the Seine. She had +met most of the friends she cared about, among whom were men and women +with far-echoing names. With her husband she was on delightful terms; +he had welcomed her charmingly; he wished her to convey his respectful +homage to the young English lady with whom his wife had become <I>liee</I>, +and the hope that at no distant time he might make her acquaintance. +After breakfast, Irene lingered over this letter, which brightened her +imagination. Paris shone luringly as she read. Had circumstances been +different, she would assuredly have spent a month there with Helen. +</P> + +<P> +Well, she was going to Egypt, after— +</P> + +<P> +One glance she gave at Arnold's short note. "My dear Irene"—"In haste, +but ever yours." These lines did not tempt her to muse. Yet Arnold was +ceaselessly in her mind. She wished to see him, and at the same time +feared his coming. As for the house, it occupied her thoughts with only +a flitting vagueness. Why so much solicitude about the house? In any +decent quarter of London, was not one just as good as another? But for +the risk of hurting Arnold, she would have begged him to let her off +the inspection, and to manage the business as he thought fit. +</P> + +<P> +A number of small matters claimed her attention during the morning, +several of them connected with her marriage. Try as she might, she +could not bring herself to a serious occupation with these things; they +seemed trivial and tiresome. Her thoughts wandered constantly to the +house at Campden Hill, which had a tragic fascination. She had promised +to see her aunt to-day, but it would be difficult to find time, unless +she could manage to get there between her business with Arnold and the +hour of dinner. Olga was to telegraph if anything happened. A chill +misgiving took hold upon her as often as she saw her aunt's face, so +worn and woe-stricken; and it constantly hovered before her mind's eye. +</P> + +<P> +The revelation made to her yesterday had caused a mental shock greater +than she had yet realised. That Mrs. Hannaford, a woman whom she had +for many years regarded as elderly, should be possessed and overcome by +the passion of love, was a thing so strange, so at conflict with her +fixed ideas, as to be all but incredible. In her aunt's presence, she +scarcely reflected upon it; she saw only a woman bound to her by +natural affection, who had fallen into dire misfortune and +wretchedness. Little by little the story grew upon her understanding; +the words in which it had been disclosed came back to her, and with a +new significance, a pathos hitherto unfelt. She remembered that Olga's +mother was not much more than forty years old; that this experience +began more than five years ago; that her life had been loveless; that +she was imaginative and of emotional temper. To dwell upon these facts +was not only to see one person in a new light, but to gain a wider +perception of life at large. Irene had a sense of enfranchisement from +the immature, the conventional. +</P> + +<P> +She would have liked to be alone, to sit quietly and think. She wanted +to review once more, and with fuller self-consciousness, the +circumstances which were shaping her future. But there was no leisure +for such meditation; the details of life pressed upon her, urged her +onward, as with an impatient hand. This sense of constraint became an +irritation—due in part to the slight headache, coming and going, which +reminded her of her bad night. Among the things she meant to do this +morning was the writing of several letters to so-called friends, who +had addressed her in the wonted verbiage on the subject of her +engagement. Five minutes proved the task impossible. She tore up a +futile attempt at civility, and rose from the desk with all her nerves +quivering. +</P> + +<P> +"How well I understand," she said to herself, "why men swear!" +</P> + +<P> +At eleven o'clock, unable to endure the house, she dressed for going +out, and drove to Mrs. Hannaford's. +</P> + +<P> +Olga was not at home. Before going into her aunt's room, Irene spoke +with the nurse, who had no very comforting report to make; Mrs. +Hannaford could not sleep, had not closed her eyes for some +four-and-twenty hours; Dr. Derwent had looked in this morning, and was +to return later with another medical man. The patient longed for her +niece's visit; it might do good. +</P> + +<P> +She stayed about an hour, and it was the most painful hour her life had +yet known. The first sight of Mrs. Hannaford's face told her how +serious this illness was becoming; eyes unnaturally wide, lips which +had gone so thin, head constantly moving from side to side as it lay +back on the cushion of the sofa, were indications of suffering which +made Irene's heart ache. In a faint, unsteady, lamenting voice, the +poor woman talked ceaselessly; now of the wrong that was being done +her, now of her miseries in married life, now again of her present +pain. Once or twice Irene fancied her delirious, for she seemed to +speak without consciousness of a hearer. To the inquiry whether it was +in her niece's power to be of any service, she answered at first with +sorrowful negatives, but said presently that she would like to see +Piers Otway; could Irene write to him, and ask him to come? +</P> + +<P> +"He shall come," was the reply. +</P> + +<P> +On going down, Irene met her cousin, just returned. To her she spoke of +Mrs. Hannaford's wish. +</P> + +<P> +"I promised he should be sent for. Will you do it, Olga?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is already done," Olga answered. "Did she forget? One of the things +I went out for was to telegraph to him." +</P> + +<P> +They gazed at each other with distressful eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, what does the man deserve who has caused this?" exclaimed Olga, +who herself began to look ill. "It's dreadful! I am afraid to go into +the room. If I had someone here to live with me!" +</P> + +<P> +Irene's instinct was to offer to come, but she remembered the +difficulties. Her duties at home were obstacles sufficient. She had to +content herself with promising to call as often as possible. +</P> + +<P> +Returning to Bryanston Square, she thought with annoyance of the +possibility that her father and Piers Otway might come face to face in +that house. Never till now had she taxed her father with injustice. It +seemed to her an intolerable thing that the blameless man should be +made to share in obloquy merited by his brother. And what memory was +this which awoke in her? Did not she herself once visit upon him a +fault in which he had little if any part? She recalled that evening, +long ago, at Queen's Gate, when she was offended by the coarse +behaviour of Piers Otway's second brother. True, there was something +else that moved her censure on that occasion, but she would scarcely +have noticed it save for the foolish incident at the door. Fortune was +not his friend. She thought of the circumstances of his birth, which +had so cruelly wronged him when Jerome Otway died. Now, more likely +than not, her father would resent his coming to Mrs. Hannaford's, would +see in it something suspicious, a suggestion of base purpose. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't stand that!" Irene exclaimed to herself. "If he is +calumniated, I shall defend him, come of it what may!" +</P> + +<P> +At luncheon, Dr. Derwent was grave and disinclined to converse. On +learning where Irene had been, he nodded, making no remark. It was a +bad sign that his uneasiness could no longer be combated with a dry +joke. +</P> + +<P> +As three o'clock drew near, Irene made no preparation for going out. +She sat in the drawing-room, unoccupied, and was found thus when Arnold +Jacks entered. +</P> + +<P> +"You got my note?" he began, with a slight accent of surprise. +</P> + +<P> +Irene glanced at him, and perceived that he did not wear his wonted +countenance. This she had anticipated, with an uneasiness which now +hardened in her mind to something like resentment. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I hoped you would excuse me. I have a little headache." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm sorry!" +</P> + +<P> +He was perfectly suave. He looked at her with a good-natured anxiety. +Irene tried to smile. +</P> + +<P> +"You won't mind if I leave all that to you? Your judgment is quite +enough. If you really like the house, take it at once. I shall be +delighted." +</P> + +<P> +"It's rather a responsibility, you know. Suppose we wait till +to-morrow?" +</P> + +<P> +Irene's nerves could not endure an argument. She gave a strange laugh, +and exclaimed: +</P> + +<P> +"Are you afraid of responsibilities? In this case, you must really face +it. Screw up your courage." +</P> + +<P> +Decidedly, Arnold was not himself. He liked an engagement of banter; it +amused him to call out Irene's spirit, and to conquer in the end by +masculine force in guise of affectionate tolerance. To-day he seemed +dull, matter-of-fact, inclined to vexation; when not speaking, he had a +slightly absent air, as if ruminating an unpleasant thought. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I will do as you wish, Irene. Just let me describe the +house——" +</P> + +<P> +She could have screamed with irritation. +</P> + +<P> +"Arnold, I entreat you! The house is nothing to me. I mean, one will do +as well as another, if <I>you</I> are satisfied." +</P> + +<P> +"So be it. I will never touch on the subject again." +</P> + +<P> +His tone was decisive. Irene knew that he would literally keep his +word. This was the side of his character which she liked, which had +always impressed her; and for the moment her nerves were soothed. +</P> + +<P> +"You will forgive me?" she said gently. +</P> + +<P> +"Forgive you for having a headache?—Will it prevent you from coming to +us this evening?" +</P> + +<P> +"I should be grateful if you let me choose another day." +</P> + +<P> +He did not stay very long. At leave-taking, he raised her hand to his +lips, and Irene felt that he did it gracefully. But when she was alone +again, his manner, so slightly yet so noticeably changed, became the +harassing subject of her thought. That the change resulted from +annoyance at the scandal in her family she could not doubt; such a +thing would be hard for Arnold to bear. When were they to speak of it? +Speak they must, if the affair went on to publicity. And, considering +the natural difficulty Arnold would find in approaching such a subject, +ought not she to take some steps of her own initiative? +</P> + +<P> +By evening, she saw the position in a very serious light. She asked +herself whether it did not behove her to offer to make an end of their +engagement. +</P> + +<P> +"Your aunt has brain fever," said Dr. Derwent, in the library after +dinner. And Irene shuddered with dread. +</P> + +<P> +Early next morning she accompanied her father to Mrs. Hannaford's. The +Doctor went upstairs; Irene waited in the dining-room, where she was +soon joined by Olga. The girl's face was news sufficient; her mother +grew worse—had passed a night of delirium. Two nurses were in the +house, and the medical man called every few hours. Olga herself looked +on the point of collapse; she was haggard with fear; she trembled and +wept. In spite of her deep concern and sympathy, Irene's more +courageous temper reproved this weakness, wondered at it as unworthy of +a grown woman. +</P> + +<P> +"Did Mr. Otway come?" she asked, as soon as It was possible to converse. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. He was a long time in mother's room, and just before he left her +your father came." +</P> + +<P> +"They met?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Uncle seemed angry when I told him. He said, 'Get rid of him at +once!' I suppose he dislikes him because of his brother. It's very +unjust." +</P> + +<P> +Irene kept silence. +</P> + +<P> +"He came down—and we talked. I am so glad to have any friend near me! +I told him how uncle felt. Of course he will not come again——" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not? This is <I>your</I> house, not my father's!" +</P> + +<P> +"But poor mother couldn't see him now—wouldn't know him. I promised to +send him news frequently. I'm going to telegraph this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course," said Irene, with emphasis. "He must understand that <I>you</I> +have no such feeling——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, he knows that! He knows I am grateful to him—very grateful——" +</P> + +<P> +She broke down again, and sobbed. Irene, without speaking, put her arms +around the girl and kissed her cheek. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Derwent and his daughter met again at luncheon. Afterwards, Irene +followed into the library. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish to ask you something, father. When you and Arnold spoke about +this hateful thing, did you tell him, unmistakably, that aunt was +slandered?" +</P> + +<P> +"I told him that I myself had no doubt of it." +</P> + +<P> +"Did he seem—do you think that <I>he</I> doubts?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" +</P> + +<P> +Irene kept silence, feeling that her impression was too vague to be +imparted. +</P> + +<P> +"Try," said her father, "to dismiss the matter from your thoughts. It +doesn't concern you. You will never hear an allusion to it from Jacks. +Happen what may"—his voice paused, with suggestive emphasis—"you have +nothing to do with it. It doesn't affect your position or your future +in the least." +</P> + +<P> +As she withdrew, Irene was uneasily conscious of altered relations with +her father. The change had begun when she wrote to him announcing her +engagement; since, they had never conversed with the former freedom, +and the shadow now hanging over them seemed to chill their mutual +affection. For the first time, she thought with serious disquiet of the +gulf between old and new that would open at her marriage, of all she +was losing, of the duties she was about to throw off—duties which +appeared so much more real, more sacred, than those she undertook in +their place. Her father's widowerhood had made him dependent upon her +in a higher degree than either of them quite understood until they had +to reflect upon the consequences of parting; and Irene now perceived +that she had dismissed this consideration too lightly. She found +difficulty in explaining her action, her state of mind, her whole self. +Was it really only a few weeks ago? To her present mood, what she had +thought and done seemed a result of youth and inexperience, a condition +long outlived. +</P> + +<P> +When she had sat alone for half an hour in the drawing-room, Eustace +joined her. He said their father had gone out. They talked of +indifferent things till bedtime. +</P> + +<P> +In the morning, the servant who came into Irene's room gave her a note +addressed in the Doctor's hand. It contained the news that Mrs. +Hannaford had died before daybreak. Dr. Derwent himself did not appear +till about ten o'clock, when he arrived together with his niece. Olga +had been violently hysterical; it seemed the wisest thing to bring her +to Bryanston Square; the change of surroundings and Irene's sympathy +soon restored her to calm. +</P> + +<P> +At midday a messenger brought Irene a letter from Arnold Jacks. Arnold +wrote that he had just heard of her aunt's death: that he was deeply +grieved, and hastened to condole with her. He did not come in person, +thinking she would prefer to let this sad day pass over before they +met, but he would call to-morrow morning. In the meantime, he would be +grateful for a line assuring him that she was well. +</P> + +<P> +Having read this, Irene threw it aside as if it had been a tradesman's +circular. Not thus should he have written—if write he must instead of +coming. In her state of agitation after the hours spent with Olga, this +bald note of sympathy seemed almost an insult; to keep silence as to +the real cause of Mrs. Hannaford's death was much the same, she felt, +as hinting a doubt of the poor lady's innocence. Arnold Jacks was +altogether too decorous. Would it not have been natural for a man in +his position to utter at least an indignant word? It might have been as +allusive as his fine propriety demanded, but surely the word should +have been spoken! +</P> + +<P> +After some delay, she replied in a telegram, merely saying that she was +quite well. +</P> + +<P> +Olga, as soon as she felt able, had sat down to write a letter. She +begged her cousin to have it posted at once. +</P> + +<P> +"It's to Mr. Otway," she said, in an unsteady voice. And, when the +letter had been despatched, she added, "It will be a great blow to him. +I had a letter last night asking for news—Oh, I meant to bring it!" +she exclaimed, with a momentary return of her distracted manner. "I +left it in my room. It will be lost-destroyed!" +</P> + +<P> +Irene quieted her, promising that the letter should be kept safe. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps he will call," Olga said presently. "But no, not so soon. He +may have written again. I must have the letter if there is one. Someone +must go over to the house this evening." +</P> + +<P> +Through a great part of the afternoon, she slept, and whilst she was +sleeping there arrived for her a telegram, which, Irene did not doubt, +came from Piers Otway. It proved to be so, and Olga betrayed nervous +tremors after reading the message. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall have a letter in the morning," she said to her cousin, several +times; and after that she did not care to talk, but sat for hours busy +with her thoughts, which seemed not altogether sad. +</P> + +<P> +At eleven o'clock next morning, Arnold Jacks was announced. Irene, who +sat with Olga in the drawing-room, had directed that her visitor should +be shown into the library, and there she received him. Arnold stepped +eagerly towards her; not smiling indeed, but with the possibility of a +smile manifest in every line of his countenance. There could hardly +have been a stronger contrast with his manner of the day before +yesterday. For this Irene had looked. Seeing precisely what she +expected, her eyes fell; she gave a careless hand; she could not speak. +</P> + +<P> +Arnold talked, talked. He said the proper things, and said them well; +to things the reverse of proper, not so much as the faintest reference. +This duty discharged, he spoke of the house he had taken; his voice +grew animated; at length the latent smile stole out through his eyes +and spread to his lips. Irene kept silence. Respecting her natural +sadness, the lover made his visit brief, and retired with an air of +grave satisfaction. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap26"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVI +</H3> + +<P> +Olga knew that by her mother's death she became penniless. The income +enjoyed by Mrs. Hannaford under the will of her sister in America was +only for life by allowing a third of it to her husband, she had made +saving impossible, and, as she left no will, her daughter could expect +only such trifles as might legally fall to her share when things were +settled. To her surviving parent, the girl was of course no more than a +stranger. It surprised no one that Lee Hannaford, informed through the +lawyers of what had happened, simply kept silence, leaving his wife's +burial to the care of Dr. Derwent. +</P> + +<P> +Three days of gloom went by; the funeral was over; Irene and her cousin +sat together in their mourning apparel, not simply possessed by natural +grief, but overcome with the nervous exhaustion which results from our +habits and customs in presence of death. Olga had been miserably +crying, but was now mute and still; Irene, pale, with an expression of +austere thoughtfulness, spoke of the subject they both had in mind. +</P> + +<P> +"There is no necessity to take any step at all—until you are quite +yourself again—until you really wish. This is your home; my father +would like you to stay." +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't live here after you are married," replied the other, +weakly, despondently. +</P> + +<P> +Irene glanced at her, hung a moment on the edge of speech, then spoke +with a self-possession which made her seem many years older than her +cousin. +</P> + +<P> +"I had better tell you now, that we may understand each other. I am not +going to be married." +</P> + +<P> +To Olga's voiceless astonishment she answered with a pale smile. Grave +again, and gentle as she was firm, Irene continued. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to break my engagement. It has been a mistake. To-night I +shall write a letter to Mr. Jacks, saying that I cannot marry him; when +it has been sent, I shall tell my father." +</P> + +<P> +Olga had begun to tremble. Her features were disturbed with an emotion +which banished every sign of sorrow; which flushed her cheeks and made +her eyes seem hostile in their fixed stare. +</P> + +<P> +"How can you do that?" she asked, in a hard voice "How is it possible?" +</P> + +<P> +"It seems to me far more possible then the alternative—a life of +repentence." +</P> + +<P> +"But—what do you mean, Irene? When everything is settled—when your +house is taken—when everyone knows! What do you mean? Why shall you do +this?" +</P> + +<P> +The words rushed forth impetuously, quivering on a note of resentment. +The flushed cheeks were turning pallid; the girl's breast heaved with +indignant passion. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't fully explain it to you, Olga." The speaker's tones sounded +very soft and reasonable after that outbreak. "I am doing what many a +girl would do, I feel sure, if she could find courage—let us say, if +she saw clearly enough. It will cause confusion, ill-feeling, possibly +some unhappiness, for a few weeks, for a month or two; then Mr. Jacks +will feel grateful to me, and my father will acknowledge I did right; +and everybody else who knows anything about it will have found some +other subject of conversation." +</P> + +<P> +"You are fond of somebody else?" +</P> + +<P> +It was between an exclamation and an inquiry. Bending forward, Olga +awaited the reply as if her life depended upon it. +</P> + +<P> +"I am fond of no one—in that sense." +</P> + +<P> +Irene's look was so fearless, her countenance so tranquil in its +candour, that the agitated girl grew quieter. +</P> + +<P> +"It isn't because you are <I>thinking</I> of someone else that you can't +marry Mr. Jacks?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am thinking simply of myself. I am afraid to marry him. No thought +of the kind you mean has entered my head." +</P> + +<P> +"But how will it be explained to everybody?" +</P> + +<P> +"By telling the truth—always the best way out of a difficulty. I shall +take all the blame on myself, as I ought." +</P> + +<P> +"And you will live on here, just as usual, seeing people——?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, I don't think I could do that. Most likely I shall go for a time +to Paris." +</P> + +<P> +Olga's relief expressed itself in a sigh. +</P> + +<P> +"In all this," continued Irene, "there's no reason why you shouldn't +stay here. Everything, you may be sure, will be settled very quietly. +My father is a reasonable man." +</P> + +<P> +After a short reflection, Olga said that she could not yet make up her +mind. And therewith ended their dialogue. Each was glad to go apart +into privacy, to revolve anxious thoughts, and to seek rest. +</P> + +<P> +That her father was "a reasonable man," Irene had always held a +self-evident proposition. She had never, until a few days ago, +conceived the possibility of a conflict between his ideas of right and +her own. Domestic discord was to her mind a vulgar, no less than an +unhappy, state of things. Yet, in the step she was now about to take, +could she feel any assurance that Dr. Derwent would afford her the help +of his sympathy—or even that he would refrain from censure? Reason +itself was on her side; but an otherwise reasonable man might well find +difficulty in acknowledging it, under the circumstances. +</P> + +<P> +The letter to Arnold Jacks was already composed; she knew it by heart, +and had but to write it out. In the course of a sleepless night, this +was done. In the early glimmer of a day of drizzle and fog, the letter +went to post. +</P> + +<P> +There needed courage—yes, there needed courage—on a morning such as +this, when the skyless atmosphere weighed drearily on heart and mind, +when hope had become a far-off thing, banished for long months from a +grey, cold world, to go through with the task which Irene had set +herself. Could she but have slept, it might have been easier for her; +she had to front it with an aching head, with eyes that dazzled, with +blood fevered into cowardice. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Derwent was plainly in no mood for conversation. His voice had been +seldom heard during the past week. At the breakfast-table he read his +letters, glanced over the paper, exchanged a few sentences with +Eustace, said a kind word to Olga; when he rose, one saw that he hoped +for a quiet morning in his laboratory. +</P> + +<P> +"Could I see you for half an hour before lunch, father?" +</P> + +<P> +He looked into the speaker's face, surprised at something unusual in +her tone, and nodded without smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"When you like." +</P> + +<P> +She stood at the window of the drawing-room, looking over the enclosure +in the square, the dreary so-called garden, with its gaunt leafless +trees that dripped and oozed. Opposite was the long facade of +characterless houses, like to that in which she lived; the steps, the +door-columns, the tall narrow windows; above them, murky vapour. +</P> + +<P> +She moved towards the door, hesitated, looked about her with +unconsciously appealing eyes. She moved forward again, and on to her +purpose. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" said the Doctor, who stood before a table covered with +scientific apparatus. "Is it about Olga?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, dear father. It's about Irene." +</P> + +<P> +He smiled; his face softened to tenderness. +</P> + +<P> +"And what about Mam'zelle Wren? It's hard on Wren, all this worry at +such a time." +</P> + +<P> +"If it didn't sound so selfish, I should say it had all happened for my +good. I suppose we can't help seeing the world from our own little +point of view." +</P> + +<P> +"What follows on this philosophy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Something you won't like to hear, I know; but I beg you to be patient +with me. When were you not? I never had such need of your patience and +forbearance as now—Father, I cannot marry Arnold Jacks. And I have +told him that I can't." +</P> + +<P> +The Doctor very quietly laid down a microscopic slide. His forehead +grew wrinkled; his lips came sharply together; he gazed for a moment at +an open volume on a high desk at his side, then said composedly: +</P> + +<P> +"This is your affair, Irene. All I can do is to advise you to be sure +of your own mind." +</P> + +<P> +"I <I>am</I> sure of it—very sure of it!" +</P> + +<P> +Her voice trembled a little; her hand, resting upon the table, much +more. +</P> + +<P> +"You say you have told Jacks?" +</P> + +<P> +"I posted a letter to him this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"With the first announcement of your change of mind?—How do you +suppose he will reply?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't feel sure." +</P> + +<P> +There was silence. The Doctor took up a piece of paper, and began +folding and re-folding it, the while he meditated. +</P> + +<P> +"You know, of course," he said at length, "what the world thinks of +this sort of behaviour?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know what the world is likely to <I>say</I> about it. Unfortunately, the +world seldom thinks at all." +</P> + +<P> +"Granted. And we may also assume that no explanation offered by you or +Jacks will affect the natural course of gossip. Still, you would wish +to justify yourself in the eyes of your friends." +</P> + +<P> +"What I wish before all, of course, is to save Mr. Jacks from any risk +of blame. It must be understood that I, and I alone, am responsible for +what happens." +</P> + +<P> +"Stick to your philosophy," said her father. "Recognise the fact that +you cannot save him from gossip and scandal—that people will credit as +much or as little as they like of any explanation put forth. Moreover, +bear in mind that this action of yours is defined by a vulgar word, +which commonly injures the man more than the woman. In the world's +view, it is worse to be made ridiculous than to act cruelly." +</P> + +<P> +A look of pain passed over the girl's face. +</P> + +<P> +"Father I am not acting cruelly. It is the best thing I can do, for him +as well as for myself. On his side, no deep feeling is involved, and as +for his vanity—I can't consider that." +</P> + +<P> +"You have come to the conclusion that he is not sufficiently devoted to +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't have put it in those words, but that is half the truth. The +other half is, that I was altogether mistaken in my own +feelings—Father, you are accustomed to deal with life and death. Do +you think that fear of gossip, and desire to spare Mr. Jacks a brief +mortification, should compel me to surrender all that makes life worth +living, and to commit a sin for which there is no forgiveness?" +</P> + +<P> +Her voice, thoroughly under control, its natural music subdued rather +than emphasised, lent to these words a deeper meaning than they would +have conveyed if uttered with vehemence. They woke in her father's mind +a memory of long years ago, recalled the sound of another voice which +had the same modulations. +</P> + +<P> +"I find no fault with you," he said gravely. "That you can do such a +thing as this proves to me how strongly you feel about it. But it is a +serious decision—more serious, perhaps, than you realise. Things have +gone so far. The mere inconvenience caused will be very great." +</P> + +<P> +"I know it. I have felt tempted to yield to that thought—to let things +slide, as they say. Convenience, I feel sure, is a greater power on the +whole than religion or morals or the heart. It doesn't weigh with me, +because I have had such a revelation of myself as blinds me to +everything else. I <I>dare</I> not go on!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't think I claim any authority over you," said the Doctor. "At your +age, my only right as your father is in my affection, my desire for +your welfare, Can you tell me more plainly how this change has come +about?" +</P> + +<P> +Irene reflected. She had seated herself, and felt more confidence now +that, by bending her head, she could escape her father's gaze. +</P> + +<P> +"I can tell you one of the things that brought me to a resolve," she +said. "I found that Mr. Jacks was disturbed by the fear of a public +scandal which would touch our name; so much disturbed that, on meeting +me after aunt's death, he could hardly conceal his gladness that she +was out of the way." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure you read him aright?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very sure." +</P> + +<P> +"It was natural—in Arnold Jacks." +</P> + +<P> +"It was. I had not understood that before." +</P> + +<P> +"His relief may have been as much on your account as his own." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't feel that," replied Irene. "If it were true, he could have +made me feel it. There would have been something—if only a word—in +the letter he wrote me about the death. I didn't expect him to talk to +me about the hateful things that were going on; I <I>did</I> hope that he +would give me some assurance of his indifference to their effect on +people's minds. Yet no; that is not quite true. Even then, I had got +past hoping it. Already I understood him too well." +</P> + +<P> +"Strange! All this new light came after your engagement?" +</P> + +<P> +Irene bent her head again, for her cheeks were warm. In a flash of +intellect, she wondered that a man so deep in the science of life +should be so at a loss before elementary facts of emotional experience. +She could only answer by saying nothing. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Derwent murmured his next words. +</P> + +<P> +"I, too, have a share in the blame of all this." +</P> + +<P> +"You, father?" +</P> + +<P> +"I knew the man better than you did or could. I shirked a difficult +duty. But one reason why I did so, was that I felt in doubt as to your +mind. The fact that you were my daughter did not alter the fact that +you were a woman, and I could not have any assurance that I understood +you. If there had been a question of his life, his intellectual powers, +his views—I would have said freely just what I thought. But there was +no need; no objection rose on that score; you saw the man, from that +point of view, much as I did—only with a little more sympathy. In +other respects, I trusted to what we call women's instinct, women's +perceptiveness. To me, he did not seem your natural mate; but then I +saw with man's eyes; I was afraid of meddling obtusely." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't reproach yourself, father. The knowledge I have gained could +only have come to me in one way." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course he will turn to me, in appeal against you." +</P> + +<P> +"If so, it will be one more proof how rightly I am acting." +</P> + +<P> +The Doctor smiled, all but laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Considering how very decent a fellow he is, your mood seems severe, +Irene. Well, you have made up your mind. It's an affair of no small +gravity, and we must get through it as best we can. I have no doubt +whatever it's worse for you than for anyone else concerned." +</P> + +<P> +"It is so bad for me, father, that, when I have gone through it, I +shall be at the end of my strength. I shall run away from the after +consequences." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall accept Mrs. Horisoff's invitation and go to Paris. It is +deserting you, but——" +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Derwent wore a doubtful look; he pondered, and began to pace the +floor. +</P> + +<P> +"We must think about that." +</P> + +<P> +Though her own mind was quite made up, Irene did not see fit to say +more at this juncture. She rose. Her father continued moving hither and +thither, his hands behind his back, seemingly oblivious of her +presence. To him, the trouble seemed only just beginning, and he was +not at all sure what the end would be. +</P> + +<P> +"Jacks will come this evening, I suppose?" he threw out, as Irene +approached the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps this afternoon." +</P> + +<P> +He looked at her with sympathy, with apprehension. Irene endeavouring +to smile in reply, passed from his view. +</P> + +<P> +Olga had gone out, merely saying that she wished to see a friend, and +that she might not be back to luncheon. She did not return. Father and +daughter were alone together at the meal. Contrary to Irene's +expectation, the Doctor had become almost cheerful; he made one or two +quiet jokes in the old way, of course on any subject but that which +filled their minds, and his behaviour was marked with an unusual +gentleness. Irene was so moved by grateful feeling, that now and then +she could not trust her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me remind you," he said, observing her lack of appetite, "that an +ill-nourished brain can't be depended upon for sanity of argument." +</P> + +<P> +"It aches a little," she replied quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"I was afraid so. What if you rest to-day, and let me postpone for you +that interview——?" +</P> + +<P> +The suggestion was dreadful; she put it quickly aside. She hoped with +all her strength that Arnold Jacks would have received the letter +already, and that he would come to see her this afternoon. To pass +another night with her suspense would be a strain scarce endurable. +</P> + +<P> +Fog still hung about the streets, shifting, changing its density, but +never allowing a glimpse of sky. Alone in the drawing-room Irene longed +for the end of so-called day, that she might shut out that +spirit-crushing blotch of bare trees and ugly houses. She thought of a +sudden, how much harder we make life than it need be, by dwelling amid +scenes that disgust, in air that lowers vitality. There fell on her a +mood of marvelling at the aims and the satisfactions of mankind. This +hideous oblong, known as Bryanston Square—how did it come to seem a +desirable place of abode? Nay, how was it for a moment tolerable to +reasoning men and women? This whole London now gasping in foul vapours +that half obscured, half emphasised its inexpressible monstrosity, its +inconceivable abominations—by what blighting of eye and soul did a +nation come to accept it as their world-shown pride, their supreme +City? She was lost in a truth-perceiving dream. Habit and association +dropped away; things declared themselves in their actuality; her mind +whirled under the sense of human folly, helplessness, endurance. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene——" +</P> + +<P> +A cry escaped her; she started at the sound of her name as if +terrified. Arnold Jacks had entered the room, and drawn near to her, +whilst she was deep in reverie. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry to have alarmed you," he added, smiling tolerantly. +</P> + +<P> +With embarrassment which was almost shame—for she despised womanish +nervousness—Irene turned towards the fireplace, where chairs invited +them. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us sit down and talk," she said, in a softened voice. "I am so +grateful to you for coming at once." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap27"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVII +</H3> + +<P> +His manner was that to which she had grown accustomed, or differed so +little from it that, in ordinary circumstances, she would have remarked +no peculiarity. He might have seemed, perhaps, a trifle less +matter-of-fact than usual, slightly more disposed to ironic +playfulness. At ease in the soft chair, his legs extended, with feet +crossed, he observed Irene from under humorously bent brows; watched +her steadily, until he saw that she could bear it no longer. Then he +spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought we should get through without it." +</P> + +<P> +"Without what?" +</P> + +<P> +"This little reaction. It comes into the ordinary prognosis, I believe; +but we seemed safe. Yet I can't say I'm sorry. It's better no doubt, to +get this over before marriage." +</P> + +<P> +Irene flushed, and for a moment strung herself to the attitude of +offended pride. But it passed. She smiled to his smile, and, playing +with the tassel of her chair, responded in a serious undertone. +</P> + +<P> +"I hoped my letter could not possibly be misunderstood." +</P> + +<P> +"I understand it perfectly. I am here to talk it over from your own +standpoint." +</P> + +<P> +Again he frowned jocosely. His elbows on the chair-arms, he tapped +together the points of his fingers, exhibiting nails which were all +that they should have been. Out of regard for the Derwents' mourning, +he wore a tie of black satin, and his clothes were of dark-grey, a +rough material which combined the effects of finish and of +carelessness—note of the well-dressed Englishman. +</P> + +<P> +"We cannot talk it over," rejoined Irene. "I have nothing to +say—except that I take blame and shame to myself, and that I entreat +your forgiveness." +</P> + +<P> +Under his steady eye, his good-humoured, watchful mastery, she was +growing restive. +</P> + +<P> +"I was in doubt whether to come to-day," said Jacks, in a reflective +tone. "I thought at first of sending a note, and postponing our +meeting. I understood so perfectly the state of mind in which you +wrote—the natural result of most painful events. The fact is, I am +guilty of bad taste in seeming to treat it lightly; you have suffered +very much, and won't be yourself for some days. But, after all, it +isn't as if one had to do with the ordinary girl. To speak frankly I +thought it was the kindest thing to come—so I came." +</P> + +<P> +Nothing Arnold had ever said to her had so appealed to Irene's respect +as this last sentence. It had the ring of entire sincerity; it was +quite simply spoken; it soothed her nerves. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," she answered with a grateful look. "You did right. I could +not have borne it—if you had just written and put it off. Indeed, I +could not have borne it." +</P> + +<P> +Arnold changed his attitude; he bent forward, his arms across his +knees, so as to be nearer to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think <I>I</I> should have had an easy time?" +</P> + +<P> +"I reproach myself more than I can tell you. But you must +understand—you <I>must</I> believe that I mean what I am saying!" Her voice +began to modulate. "It is not only the troubles we have gone through. I +have seen it coming—the moment when I should write that letter. +Through cowardice, I have put it off. It was very unjust to you; you +have every right to condemn my behaviour; I am unpardonable. And yet I +hope—I do so hope—that some day you will pardon me." +</P> + +<P> +In the man's eyes she had never been so attractive, so desirable, so +essentially a woman. The mourning garb became her, for it was moulded +upon her figure, and gave effect to the admirably pure tone of her +complexion. Her beauty, in losing its perfect healthfulness, gained a +new power over the imagination; the heavy eyes suggested one knew not +what ideal of painters and poets; the lips were more sensuous since +they had lost their mocking smile. All passion of which Arnold Jacks +was capable sounded in the voice with which he now spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall never pardon you, because I shall never feel you have injured +me. Say to me what you want to say. I will listen. What can I do better +than listen to your voice? I won't argue; I won't contradict. Relieve +your mind, and let us see what it all comes to in the end." +</P> + +<P> +Irene had a creeping sense of fear. This tone was so unlike what she +had expected. Physical weakness threatened a defeat which would have +nothing to do with her will. If she yielded now, there would be no +recovering her self-respect, no renewal of her struggle for liberty. +She wished to rise, to face him upon her feet, yet had not the courage. +His manner dictated hers. They were not playing parts on a stage, but +civilised persons discussing their difficulties in a soft-carpeted +drawing-room. The only thing in her favour was that the afternoon drew +on, and the light thickened. Veiled in dusk, she hoped to speak more +resolutely. +</P> + +<P> +"Must I repeat my letter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, if you feel sure that it still expresses your mind." +</P> + +<P> +"It does. I made a grave mistake. In accepting your offer of marriage, +I was of course honest, but I didn't know what it meant; I didn't +understand myself. Of course it's very hard on you that your serious +purpose should have for its only result to teach me that I was +mistaken. If I didn't know that you have little patience with such +words, I should say that it shows something wrong in our social habits. +Yet that's foolish; you are right, that is quite silly. It isn't our +habits that are to blame but our natures—the very nature of things. I +had to engage myself to you before I could know that I ought to have +done nothing of the kind." +</P> + +<P> +She paused, suddenly breathless, and a cough seized her. +</P> + +<P> +"You've taken cold," said Jacks, with graceful solicitude. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! It's nothing." +</P> + +<P> +Dusk crept about the room. The fire was getting rather low. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I ring for lamps?" asked Arnold, half rising. +</P> + +<P> +Irene wished to say no, but the proprieties were too strong. She +allowed him to ring the bell, and, without asking leave, he threw coals +upon the fire. For five minutes their dialogue suffered interruption; +when it began again, the curtains were drawn, and warm rays succeeded +to turbid twilight. +</P> + +<P> +"I had better explain to you," said Arnold, in a tone of delicacy +overcome, "this state of mind in which you find yourself. It is +perfectly natural; one has heard of it; one sees the causes of it. You +are about to take the most important step in your whole life, and, +being what you are, a very intelligent and very conscientious girl, you +have thought and thought about its gravity until it frightens you. +That's the simple explanation of your trouble. In a week—perhaps in a +day or two—it will have passed. Just wait. Don't think of it. Put your +marriage—put me—quite out of your mind. I won't remind you of my +existence for—let us say before next Sunday. Now, is it agreed?" +</P> + +<P> +"I should be dishonest if I pretended to agree." +</P> + +<P> +"But—don't you think you owe it to me to give what I suggest a fair +trial?" +</P> + +<P> +The words were trenchant, the tone was studiously soft. Irene strung +herself for contest, hoping it would come quickly and undisguised. +</P> + +<P> +"I owe you much. I have done you a great injustice. But waiting will do +no good. I know my mind at last. I see what is possible and what +impossible." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you imagine, Irene, that I can part with you on these terms? Do you +really think I could shake hands, and say good-bye, at this stage of +our relations?" +</P> + +<P> +"What can I do?" Her voice, kept low, shook with emotion. "I confess an +error—am I to pay for it with my life?" +</P> + +<P> +"I ask you only to be just to yourself as well as to me. Let three days +go by, and see me again." +</P> + +<P> +She seemed to reflect upon it. In truth she was debating whether to +persevere in honesty, or to spare her nerves with dissimulation. A +promise to wait three days would set her free forthwith; the temptation +was great. But something in her had more constraining power. +</P> + +<P> +"If I pretended to agree, I should be ashamed of myself. I should have +passed from error into baseness. You would have a right to despise me; +as it is, you have only a right to be angry." +</P> + +<P> +As though the word acted upon his mood, Arnold sprang forward from the +chair, fell upon one knee close beside her, and grasped her hands. +Irene instinctively threw herself back, looking frightened; but she did +not attempt to rise. His face was hot-coloured, his eyes shone +unpleasantly; but before he spoke, his lips parted in a laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you one of the women," he said, "who have to be conquered? I +didn't think so. You seemed so reasonable." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you dream of conquering a woman who cannot love you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I refuse to believe it. I recall your own words." +</P> + +<P> +He made a movement to pass one arm about her waist. +</P> + +<P> +"No! After what I have said——!" +</P> + +<P> +Her hands being free, she sprang up and broke away from him. Arnold +rose more slowly, his look lowered with indignation. Eyes bent on the +ground, hands behind him, he stood mute. +</P> + +<P> +"Must I leave you?" said Irene, when she could steady her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"That is my dismissal?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you cannot listen to me, and believe me—yes." +</P> + +<P> +"All things considered, you are a little severe." +</P> + +<P> +"You put yourself in the wrong. However unjust I have been to you, I +can't atone by permitting what you call conquest. No, I assure you, I +am <I>not</I> one of those women." +</P> + +<P> +His eyes were now fixed upon her; his lips announced a new +determination, set as they were in the lines of resentful dignity. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me put the state of things before you," he said in his softest +tones, just touched with irony. "The fact of our engagement has been +published. Our marriage is looked for by a host of friends and +acquaintances, and even by the mere readers of the newspapers. All but +at the last moment, on a caprice, an impulse you do not pretend to +justify to one's intelligence, you declare it is all at an end. Pray, +how do you propose to satisfy natural curiosity about such a strange +event?" +</P> + +<P> +"I take all the blame. I make it known that I have +behaved—unreasonably; if you will disgracefully." +</P> + +<P> +"That word," replied Jacks, faintly smiling, "has a meaning in this +connection which you would hardly care to reflect upon. Take it that +you have said this to your friends: what do <I>I</I> say to <I>mine</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +Irene could not answer. +</P> + +<P> +"I have a pleasant choice," he pursued. "I can keep silence—which +would mean scandal, affecting both of us, according to people's +disposition. Or I can say with simple pathos, 'Miss Derwent begged me +to release her.' Neither alternative is agreeable to me. It may be +unchivalrous. Possibly another man would beg to be allowed to sacrifice +his reputation, to ensure your quiet release. To be frank with you, I +value my reputation, I value my chances in life. I have no mind to make +myself appear worse than I am." +</P> + +<P> +Irene had sunk into her chair again. As he talked, Jacks moved to a +sofa near her, and dropped on to the end of it. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely there is a way," began the girl's voice, profoundly troubled. +"We could let it be known, first of all, that the marriage was +postponed. Then—there would be less talk afterwards." +</P> + +<P> +He leaned towards her, upon his elbow. +</P> + +<P> +"It interests me—your quiet assumption that my feelings count for +nothing." +</P> + +<P> +Irene reddened. She was conscious of having ignored that aspect of the +matter, and dreaded to have to speak of it. For the revelation made to +her of late taught her that, whatever Arnold Jacks' idea of love might +be, it was not hers. Yet perhaps in his way, he loved her—the way +which had found expression a few minutes ago. +</P> + +<P> +"I can only repeat that I am ashamed." +</P> + +<P> +"If you would grant me some explanation," Jacks resumed, with his most +positive air, that of the born man of business. "Don't be afraid of +hurting my sensibilities. Have I committed myself in any way?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is a change in myself—I was too hasty—I reflected afterwards +instead of before——" +</P> + +<P> +"Forgive me if I make the most of that admission. Your hastiness was +certainly not my fault. I did not unduly press you; there was no +importunity. Such being the case, don't you think I may suggest that +you ought to bear the consequences? I can't—I really can't think them +so dreadful." +</P> + +<P> +Irene kept silence, her face bent and averted. +</P> + +<P> +"Many a girl has gone through what you feel now, but I doubt whether +ever one before acted like this. They kept their word; it was a point +of honour." +</P> + +<P> +"I know; it is true." She forced herself to look at him. "And the +result was lives of misery—dishonour—tragedies." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, come now——" +</P> + +<P> +"You <I>dare</I> not contradict me!" Her eyes flashed; she let her feeling +have its way. "As a man of the world, you know the meaning of such +marriages, and what they may, what they do often, come to. A girl hears +of such facts—realises them too late. You smile. No, I don't want to +talk for effect; it isn't my way. All I mean is that I, like so many +girls who have never been in love, accepted an offer of marriage on the +wrong grounds, and came to feel my mistake—who knows how?—not long +after. What you are asking me to do, is to pay for the innocent error +with my life. The price is too great. You speak of your feelings; they +are not so strong as to justify such a demand—And there's another +thought that surely must have entered your mind. Knowing that I feel it +impossible to marry you, how can you still, with any shadow of +self-respect, urge me to do so? Is your answer, again, fear of what +people will say? That seems to me more than cowardice. How strange that +an honourable man doesn't see it so!" +</P> + +<P> +Jacks abandoned his easy posture, sat straight, and fixed upon her a +look of masculine disdain. +</P> + +<P> +"I simply don't believe in the impossibility of your becoming my wife." +</P> + +<P> +"Then talk is useless. I can only tell you the truth, and reclaim my +liberty." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a question of time. You wouldn't—well, say you couldn't marry me +to-morrow. A month hence you would be willing. Because you suffer from +a passing illusion, I am to unsettle all my arrangements, and face an +intolerable humiliation. The thing is impossible." +</P> + +<P> +With vast relief Irene heard him return upon this note, and strike it +so violently. She felt no more compunction. The man was finally +declared to her, and she could hold her own against him. Her headache +had grown fierce; her mouth was dry; shudders of hot and cold ran +through her. The struggle must end soon. +</P> + +<P> +"I am forgetting hospitality," she said, with sudden return to her +ordinary voice. "You would like tea." +</P> + +<P> +Arnold waved his hand contemptuously. +</P> + +<P> +"No?—Then let us understand each other in the fewest possible words." +</P> + +<P> +"Good." He smiled, a smile which seemed to tighten every muscle of his +face. "I decline to release you from your promise." +</P> + +<P> +She could meet his gaze, and did so as she answered with cold +collectedness: +</P> + +<P> +"I am very sorry. I think it unworthy of you." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall make no change whatever in my arrangements. Our marriage will +take place on the day appointed." +</P> + +<P> +"That can hardly be, Mr. Jacks, if the bride is not there." +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Derwent, the bride will be there!" +</P> + +<P> +He was not jesting. All the man's pride rose to assert dominion. The +prime characteristic of his nation, that personal arrogance which is +the root of English freedom, which accounts for everything best, and +everything worst, in the growth of English power, possessed him to the +exclusion of all less essential qualities. He was the subduer amazed by +improbable defiance. He had never seen himself in such a situation it +was as though a British admiral on his ironclad found himself mocked by +some elusive little gunboat, newly invented by the condemned foreigner. +His intellect refused to acknowledge the possibility of discomfiture; +his soul raged mightily against the hint of bafflement. Humour would +not come to his aid; the lighter elements of race were ousted; he was +solid insolence, wooden-headed self-will. +</P> + +<P> +Irene had risen. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not feeling quite myself. I have said all there is to be said, +and I must beg you to excuse me." +</P> + +<P> +"You should have begun by saying that. It is what I insisted upon." +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we shake hands, Mr. Jacks?" +</P> + +<P> +"To be sure!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is good-bye. You understand me? If, after this, you imagine an +engagement between us, you have only yourself to blame." +</P> + +<P> +"I take the responsibility." He released her hand, and made a stiff +bow. "In three days, I shall call." +</P> + +<P> +"You will not see me." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps not. Then, three days later. Nothing whatever is changed +between us. A little discussion of this sort is all to the good. +Plainly, you have thought me a much weaker man than I am: when that +error of judgment is removed, our relations will be better than ever." +</P> + +<P> +The temptation to say one word more overcame Irene's finer sense of the +becoming. Jacks had already taken his hat, and was again bowing, when +she spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"You are so sure that your will is stronger than mine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perfectly sure," he replied, with superb tranquillity. +</P> + +<P> +No one had ever seen, no one again would ever see, that face of high +disdainful beauty, pain-stricken on the fair brow, which Irene for a +moment turned upon him. As he withdrew, the smile that lurked behind +her scorn glimmered forth for an instant, and passed in the falling of +a tear. +</P> + +<P> +She went to her room, and lay down. The sleep she had not dared to hope +for fell upon her whilst she was trying to set her thoughts in order. +She slept until eight o'clock; her headache was gone. +</P> + +<P> +Neither with her father, nor with Olga, did she speak of what had +passed. +</P> + +<P> +Before going to bed, she packed carefully a large dress-basket and a +travelling-bag, which a servant brought down for her from the box-room. +Again she slept, but only for an hour or two, and at seven in the +morning she rose. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap28"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXVIII +</H3> + +<P> +The breakfast hour was nine o'clock. Dr. Derwent, as usual, came down a +few minutes before, and turned over the letters lying for him on the +table. Among them he found an envelope addressed in a hand which looked +very much like Irene's; it had not come by post. As he was reading the +note it contained, Eustace and Olga Hannaford entered together, +talking. He bade them good-morning, and all sat down to table. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene's late," said Eustace presently, glancing at the clock. +</P> + +<P> +The Doctor looked at him with an odd smile. +</P> + +<P> +"She left Victoria ten minutes ago," he said, "by the Calais-boat +express." +</P> + +<P> +Eustace and Olga stared, exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +"She suddenly made up her mind to accept an invitation from Mrs. +Borisoff." +</P> + +<P> +"But—what an extraordinary thing!" pealed Eustace, who was always +greatly disturbed by anything out of routine. "She didn't speak of it +yesterday!" +</P> + +<P> +Olga gazed at the Doctor. Her wan face had a dawn of brightness. +</P> + +<P> +"How long is she likely to stay, uncle?" +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't the least idea." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, she can't stay long," Eustace exclaimed. "Ah! I have it! Don't +you see, Olga? It means Parisian dresses and hats!" +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Derwent exploded in laughter. +</P> + +<P> +"Acute young man! Now the ordinary male might have lost himself for a +day in wild conjectures. This points to the woolsack, Olga!" +</P> + +<P> +She laughed for the first time in many days, and her appetite for +breakfast was at once improved. +</P> + +<P> +In his heart, Dr. Derwent did not grieve over the singular events of +yesterday and this morning. He had no fault to find with Arnold Jacks, +and could cheerfully accept him as a son-in-law; but it was easy to +imagine a husband more suitable for such a girl as Irene. Moreover, he +had suspected, since the engagement, that she had not thoroughly known +her own mind. But he was far from anticipating such original and +decisive action on the girl's part. The thing being done, he could +secretly admire it, and the flight to Paris relieved his mind from a +prospect of domestic confusion. Just for a moment he questioned himself +as to Irene's security, but only to recognise how firm was his +confidence in her. +</P> + +<P> +Socially, the position was awkward. He had a letter from Jacks, a +sensible and calmly worded letter, saying that Irene was overwrought by +recent agitations, that she had spoken of putting an end to their +engagement, but that doubtless a few days would see all right again. +Arnold must now be apprised of what had happened, and, as all +consideration was due to him, the Doctor despatched a telegram asking +him to call as soon as he could. This brought Jacks to Bryanston Square +at midday, and there was a conversation in the library. Arnold spoke +his mind; with civility, but in unmistakable terms; he accused the +Doctor of remissness. "Paternal authority," it seemed to him, should +have sufficed to prevent what threatened nothing less than a scandal. +Irene's father could not share this view; the girl was turned +three-and-twenty; there could be no question of dictating to her, and +as for expostulation, it had been honestly tried. +</P> + +<P> +"You are aware, I hope," said Jacks stiffly, "that Mrs. Borisoff has +not quite an unclouded reputation?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know no harm against her." +</P> + +<P> +"She is as good as parted from her husband, and leads a very dubious +wandering life." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it's all right. People countenance her who wouldn't do so if there +were anything really amiss." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Dr. Derwent," said the young man in a conclusive tone, +"evidently all is at an end. It remains for us to agree upon the manner +of making it known. Should the announcement come from your side or from +mine?" +</P> + +<P> +The Doctor reflected. +</P> + +<P> +"You no longer propose to wait the effect of a little time?" +</P> + +<P> +"Emphatically, no. This step of Miss Derwent's puts that out of the +question." +</P> + +<P> +"I see—Perhaps you feel that, in justice to yourself, it should be +made known that she has done something of which you disapprove?" +</P> + +<P> +Arnold missed the quiet irony of this question. +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all. Our engagement ended yesterday; with to-day's events I +have nothing to do." +</P> + +<P> +"That is the generous view," said Dr. Derwent, smiling pleasantly. "Do +you know, I fancy we had better each of us tell the story in his own +way. It will come to that in the end, won't it? You had a disagreement; +you thought better of your proposed union; what more simple? I see no +room for scandal." +</P> + +<P> +"Be it so. Have the kindness to acquaint Miss Derwent with what has +passed between us." +</P> + +<P> +After dinner that evening, Dr. Derwent related the matter to his son. +Eustace was astounded, and presently indignant. It seemed to him +inconceivable that Arnold Jacks should have suffered this affront. He +would not look at things from his sister's point of view; absurd to +attempt a defence of her; really, really, she had put them all into a +most painful position! An engagement was an engagement, save in the +event of grave culpability on either side. Eustace spoke as a lawyer; +his professional instincts were outraged. He should certainly call upon +the Jacks' and utterly dissociate himself from his sister in this +lamentable affair. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, what a shock it will be to Mrs. Jacks!" +</P> + +<P> +"She'll get over it, I fancy," remarked the Doctor drily. +</P> + +<P> +The young barrister withdrew to his room, where he read hard until very +late. Eustace was no trifler; he had brains, and saw his way to make +use of them to the one end which addressed his imagination, that of +social self-advancement. His studies to-night were troubled with a +resentful fear lest Irene's "unwomanly" behaviour (a generation ago it +would have been "unladylike") should bring the family name into some +discredit. Little ejaculations escaped him, such as "Really!" and "Upon +my word!" Eustace had never been known to use stronger language. +</P> + +<P> +When his son had retired, Dr. Derwent stepped up to the drawing-room, +where Olga Hannaford was sitting. After kindly regretting that she +should be alone, he repeated to his niece what he had just told +Eustace. Doubtless she would here very soon from Irene. +</P> + +<P> +"I have already heard something about this," said Olga. "I'm sure she +has done right, but no one will ever know what it cost her." +</P> + +<P> +"That's the very point we have all been losing sight of," observed her +uncle, gratified. "It would have been a good deal easier, no doubt, to +go on to the marriage." +</P> + +<P> +"Easier!" echoed the girl. "She has done the most wonderful thing! I +admire her, and envy her strength of character." +</P> + +<P> +The Doctor's eyes had fallen upon that crayon portrait which held the +place of honour on the drawing-room walls. Playing with superstition, +as does every man capable of high emotional life, he was wont to see in +the pictured countenance of his dead wife changes of expression, +correspondent with the mood in which he regarded it. At one time the +beloved features smiled upon him; at another they were sad, or anxious. +To-night, the eyes, the lips were so strongly expressive of gladness +that he felt startled as he gazed. A joy from the years gone by +suddenly thrilled him. He sat silent, too deeply moved by memories for +speech about the present. And when at length he resumed talk with Olga, +his voice was very gentle, his words all kindliness. The girl had never +known him so sympathetic with her. +</P> + +<P> +On the morrow—it was Saturday—Olga received a letter from Piers +Otway, who said that he had something of great importance to speak +about, and must see her; could they not meet at the Campden Hill House, +it being inadvisable for him to call at Dr. Derwent's? Either this +afternoon or to-morrow would do, if Olga would appoint a time. +</P> + +<P> +She telegraphed, appointing this afternoon at three. +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour before that, she entered the house, which was now occupied +only by a caretaker. Dr. Derwent was trying to let it furnished for the +rest of the short lease. Olga had a fire quickly made in the +drawing-room, and ordered tea. She laid aside her outdoor things, +viewed herself more than once in a mirror, and moved about restlessly. +When there sounded a visitor's knock at the front door, she flushed and +was overcome with nervousness; she stepped forward to meet her friend, +but could not speak. Otway had taken her hand in both his own; he +looked at her with grave kindliness. It was their first meeting since +Mrs. Hannaford's death. +</P> + +<P> +"I hesitated about asking you to see me here," he said. "But I +thought—I hoped——" +</P> + +<P> +His embarrassment increased, whilst Olga was gaining self-command. +</P> + +<P> +"You were quite right," she said. "I think I had rather see you here +than anywhere else. It isn't painful to me—oh! anything but painful!" +</P> + +<P> +They sat down. Piers was holding a large envelope, bulgy with its +contents, whatever they were, and sealed; his eyes rested upon it. +</P> + +<P> +"I have to speak of something which at first will sound unwelcome to +you; but it is only the preface to what will make you very glad. It is +about my brother. I have seen him two or three times this last week on +a particular business, in which at length I have succeeded. Here," he +touched the envelope, "are all the letters he possessed in your +mother's writing." +</P> + +<P> +Olga looked at him in distressful wonder and suspense. +</P> + +<P> +"Not one of them," he pursued, "contains a line that you should not +read. They prove absolutely, beyond shadow of doubt, that the charge +brought against your mother was false. The dates cover nearly five +years—from a simple note of invitation to Ewell—you remember—down to +a letter written about three weeks ago. Of course I was obliged to read +them through; I knew to begin with what I should find. Now I give them +to you. Let Dr. Derwent see them. If any doubt remains in his mind, +they will make an end of it." +</P> + +<P> +He put the packet into Olga's hands. She, overcome for the moment by +her feelings, looked from it to him, at a loss for words. She was +struck with a change in Otway. That he should speak in a grave tone, +with an air of sadness, was only natural; but the change went beyond +this; he had not his wonted decision in utterance; he paused between +sentences, his eyes wandering dreamily; one would have taken him for an +older man than he was wont to appear, and of less energy. Thus might he +have looked and spoken after some great effort, which left him wearied, +almost languid, incapable of strong emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"Why didn't he show these letters before?" she asked, turning over the +sealed envelope. +</P> + +<P> +"He had no wish to do so," answered Piers, in an undertone. +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that he would have let anything happen—which he could have +prevented?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid he would." +</P> + +<P> +"But he offered them now?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—or rather yes, he offered them," Piers smiled bitterly. "Not +however, out of wish to do justice." +</P> + +<P> +Olga could not understand. She gazed at him wistfully. +</P> + +<P> +"I bought them," said Piers. "It made the last proof of his baseness." +</P> + +<P> +"You gave money for them? And just that you might give them to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Wouldn't you have done the same, to clear the memory of someone you +loved?" +</P> + +<P> +Olga laid the packet aside; then, with a quick movement, stepped +towards him, caught his hand, pressed it to her lips. Piers was taken +by surprise, and could not prevent the action; but at once Olga's own +hand was prisoned in his; they stood face to face, she blushing +painfully, he pale as death, with lips that quivered in their vain +effort to speak. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be grateful to you as long as I live," the girl faltered, +turning half away, trying gently to release herself. +</P> + +<P> +Piers kissed her hand, again and again, still speechless. When he +allowed her to draw it away, he stood gazing at her like a man +bewildered; there was moisture on his forehead; he seemed to struggle +for breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us sit down again and talk," said Olga, glancing at him. +</P> + +<P> +But he moved towards her, the strangest look in his eyes, the fixed +expressionless gaze of a somnambulist. +</P> + +<P> +"Olga——" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no!" she exclaimed, as if suddenly stricken with fear, throwing +out her arms to repel him. "You didn't mean that! It is my fault. You +never meant that." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes! Give me your hand again!" he said in a thick voice, the blood +rushing into his cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"Not now. You misunderstood me. I oughtn't to have done that. It was +because I could find no word to thank you." +</P> + +<P> +She panted the sentences, holding her chair as if to support herself, +and with the other hand still motioning him away. +</P> + +<P> +"I misunderstood——?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am ashamed—it was thoughtless—sit down and let us talk as we were +doing. Just as friends, it is so much better. We meant nothing else." +</P> + +<P> +It was as if the words fell from her involuntarily; they were babbled, +rather than spoken; she half laughed, half cried. And Otway, a mere +automaton, dropped upon his chair, gazing at her, trembling. +</P> + +<P> +"I will let my uncle see the letters at once," Olga went on, in +confused hurry. "I am sure he will be very grateful to you. But for +you, we should never have had this proof. I, of course, did not need +it; as if I doubted my mother! But he—I can't be sure what he still +thinks. How kind you have always been to us!" +</P> + +<P> +Piers stood up again, but did not move toward her. She watched him +apprehensively. He walked half down the room and back again, then +exclaimed, with a wild gesture: +</P> + +<P> +"I never knew what a curse one's name could be! I used to be proud of +it, because it was my father's; now I would gladly take any other." +</P> + +<P> +"Just because of that man?" Olga protested. "What does it matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"You know well what it matters," he replied, with an unnatural laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"To me—nothing whatever." +</P> + +<P> +"You try to think not. But the name will be secretly hateful to you as +long as you live." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! How can you say that! The name is yours, not his. Think how long +we knew you before we heard of him! I am telling the simple truth. It +is you I think of, when——" +</P> + +<P> +He was drawing nearer to her, and again that strange, fixed look came +into his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted to ask you something," said Olga quickly. "Do sit down—will +you? Let us talk as we used to—you remember?" +</P> + +<P> +He obeyed her, but kept his eyes on her face. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you wish to ask, Olga?" +</P> + +<P> +The name slipped from his tongue; he had not meant to use it, and did +not seem conscious of having done so. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you seen old Mr. Jacks lately?" +</P> + +<P> +"I saw him last night." +</P> + +<P> +"Last night?" Her breath caught. "Had he anything—anything interesting +to say?" +</P> + +<P> +"He is ill. I only sat with him for half an hour. I don't know what it +is. It doesn't keep him in bed; but he lies on a sofa, and looks +dreadfully ill, as if he suffered much pain." +</P> + +<P> +"He told you nothing?" +</P> + +<P> +Their eyes met. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing that greatly interested me," replied Piers heavily, with the +most palpable feint of carelessness. "He mentioned what of course you +know, that Arnold Jacks is not going to be married after all." +</P> + +<P> +Olga's head drooped, as she said in a voice barely audible: +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, you knew it." +</P> + +<P> +"What of that?" +</P> + +<P> +"I see—you knew it——" +</P> + +<P> +"What of that, Olga?" he repeated impatiently. "I knew it as a bare +fact—no explanation. What does it mean? You know, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +In spite of himself, look and tones betrayed his eagerness for her +reply. +</P> + +<P> +"They disagreed about something," said Olga. "I don't know what. I +shouldn't wonder if they make it up again." +</P> + +<P> +At this moment the woman in care of the house entered with the +tea-tray. To give herself a countenance, Olga spoke of something +indifferent, and when they were alone again, their talk avoided the +personal matters which had so embarrassed both of them. Olga said +presently that she was going to see her friend Miss Bonnicastle +to-morrow. +</P> + +<P> +"If I could see only the least chance of supporting myself, I would go +to live with her again. She's the most sensible girl I know, and she +did me good." +</P> + +<P> +"How, did you good?" +</P> + +<P> +"She helped me against myself," replied Olga abruptly. "No one else +ever did that." +</P> + +<P> +Then she turned again to the safer subjects. +</P> + +<P> +"When shall I see you again?" Otway inquired, rising after a long +silence, during which both had seemed lost in their thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"Who knows?—But I will write and tell you what my uncle says about the +letters, if he says anything. Again, thank you!" +</P> + +<P> +She gave her hand frankly. Piers held it, and looked into her face as +once before. +</P> + +<P> +"Olga——" +</P> + +<P> +The girl uttered a cry of distress, drew her hand away, and exclaimed +in a half-hysterical voice: +</P> + +<P> +"No! What right have you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Every right! Do you know what your mother said to me—her last words +to me——?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mustn't tell me!" Her tones were softer. "Not to-day. If we meet +again——" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course we shall meet again!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. Yes, yes; we shall. But you must go now; it is time I +went home." +</P> + +<P> +He touched her hand again, and left the room without looking back. +Before the door had closed behind him, Olga ran forward with a stifled +cry. The door was shut. She stood before it with tears in her eyes, her +fingers clenched together on her breast, and sobbed miserably. +</P> + +<P> +For nearly half an hour she sat by the fire, head on hands, deeply +brooding. In the house there was not a sound. All at once it seemed to +her that a voice called, uttering her name; she started, her blood +chilled with fear. The voice was her mother's; she seemed still to hear +it, so plainly had it been audible, coming from she knew not where. +</P> + +<P> +She ran to her hat and jacket, which lay in a corner of the room, put +them on with feverish haste, and fled out into the street. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap29"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXIX +</H3> + +<P> +"I will be frank with you, Piers," said Daniel Otway, as he sat by the +fireside in his shabby lodgings, his feet on the fender, a cigarette +between his fingers. He looked yellow and dried up; shivered now and +then, and had a troublesome cough. "If I could afford to be generous, I +would be; I should enjoy it. It's one of the worst evils of poverty, +that a man can seldom obey the promptings of his better self. I can't +give you these letters; can't afford to do so. You have glanced through +them; you see they really are what I said. The question is, what are +they worth to you?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers looked at the threadbare carpet, reflected, spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll give you fifty pounds." +</P> + +<P> +A smile crept from the corners of Daniel's shrivelled lips to his +bloodshot eye. +</P> + +<P> +"Why are you so anxious to have them," he said, "I don't know and don't +ask. But if they are worth fifty to you, they are worth more. You shall +have them for two hundred." +</P> + +<P> +And at this figure the bundle of letters eventually changed hands. It +was a serious drain on Piers Otway's resources, but he could not +bargain long, the talk sickened him. And when the letters were in his +possession, he felt a joy which had no equivalent in terms of cash. +</P> + +<P> +He said to himself that he had bought them for Olga. In a measure, of +course, for all who would be relieved by knowing that Mrs. Hannaford +had told the truth; but first and foremost for Olga. On Olga he kept +his thoughts. He was persuading himself that in her he saw his heart's +desire. +</P> + +<P> +For Piers Otway was one of those men who cannot live without a woman's +image to worship. Irene Derwent being now veiled from him, he turned to +another beautiful face, in whose eyes the familiar light of friendship +seemed to be changing, softening. Ambition had misled him; not his to +triumph on the heights of glorious passion; for him a humbler happiness +a calmer love. Yet he would not have been Piers Otway had this mood +contented him. On the second day of his dreaming about Olga, she began +to shine before his imagination in no pale light. He mused upon her +features till they became the ideal beauty; he clad her, body and soul, +in all the riches of love's treasure-house; she was at length his +crowned lady, his perfect vision of delight. +</P> + +<P> +With such thoughts had he sat by Mrs. Hannaford, at the meeting which +was to be their last. He was about to utter them, when she spoke Olga's +name. "In you she will always have a friend? If the worst happens——?" +And when he asked, "May I hope that she would some day let me be more +than that?" the glow of joy on that stricken face, the cry of rapture, +the hand held to him, stirred him so deeply that his old love-longing +seemed a boyish fantasy. "Oh, you have made me happy! You have blotted +out all my follies and sufferings!" Then the poor tortured mind lost +itself. +</P> + +<P> +This was the second death which had upon Piers Otway the ageing effect +known to all men capable of thoughts about mortality. The loss of his +father marked for him the end of irresponsible years; he entered upon +manhood with that grief blended of reverence and affection. By the +grave of Mrs. Hannaford (he stood there only after the burial) he was +touched again by the advancing shadow of life's dial, and it marked the +end of youth. For youth is a term relative to heart and mind. At +six-and-twenty many a man has of manhood only the physique; many +another is already falling through experience to a withered age. Piers +had the sense of transition; the middle years were opening before him. +The tears he shed for his friend were due in part to the poignant +perception of utter severance with boyhood. But a few weeks ago, +talking with Mrs. Hannaford, he could revive the spirit of those old +days at Geneva, feel his identity with the Piers Otway of that time. It +would never be within his power again. He might remember, but memory +showed another than himself. +</P> + +<P> +A note from John Jacks summoned him to Queen's Gate. Not till +afterwards did he understand that Mr. Jacks' real motive in sending for +him was to get light upon the rupture between Arnold and Miss Derwent. +Piers' astonishment at what he heard caused his friend to quit the +subject. +</P> + +<P> +In the night that followed, Piers for the first time in his life felt +the possibility of base action. The experience has come to all men, +and, whatever the result, always leaves its mark. Looking at the fact +of Irene's broken engagement, he could explain it only in one way; the +cause must be Mrs. Hannaford—the doubt as to her behaviour, the +threatened scandal. Idle to attempt surmises as to the share of either +side in what had come about; the difference had been sufficiently grave +to part them. And this parting was to him a joy which shook his whole +being. He could have raised a song of exultation. +</P> + +<P> +And in his hands lay complete evidence of the dead woman's +guiltlessness. To produce it was possibly to reconcile Arnold Jacks and +Irene. Viewed by his excited mind, the possible became certain; he +evolved a whole act of drama between those two, turning on prejudices, +doubts, scruples natural in their position; he saw the effect of their +enlightenment. Was it a tempting thought, that he could give Irene back +again into her bridegroom's arms. +</P> + +<P> +It brought sweat to his forehead; it shook him with the fierce torture +of a jealous imagination. He fortified base suggestion by the natural +revolt of his flesh. Once had he passed through the fire; to suffer +that ordeal again was beyond human endurance. Irene was free. He paced +the room, repeating wildly that Irene was free. And the mere fact of +her freedom proved that she did not love the man—so it seemed to him, +in his subordination of every motive to that passionate impulse. To him +it brought no hope—what of that! Irene did not belong to another man. +</P> + +<P> +The fire needed stirring. As he broke the black surface of coal, a +flame shot up, red, lambent, a serpent's tongue. It had a voice; it +tempted. He took the packet of letters from the table. +</P> + +<P> +He had not yet read them through; had only tested them here and there +under his brother's eye. Yes, they were the letters of a woman, who, +suffering (as he knew) the strongest temptation to which her nature +could be exposed, subdued herself in obedience to what she held the law +of duty. He read page after page. Again and again she all but said, "I +love you"; again and again she told her tempter that his suit was +useless, that she would rather die than yield. Daniel Otway had used +every argument to persuade her to defy the world and follow him—easy +to understand his motives. One saw that, if she had been alone, she +would have done so; but there was her daughter, there was her brother; +to them she sacrificed what seemed to her the one chance of happiness +left in a wasted life. +</P> + +<P> +Piers interrupted his reading to hear once more the voice that +counselled baseness. Whom would it injure, if he destroyed these +papers? Certainly not Irene, his first thought, who, he held it proved, +was well rescued from a mistaken marriage. Not Dr. Derwent, or Olga, +who, he persuaded himself, had already no doubt whatever of Mrs. +Hannaford's innocence. Not the poor dead woman herself—— +</P> + +<P> +What was this passage on which his eye had fallen? "I have long had a +hope that your brother Piers might marry Olga. It would make me very +happy; I cannot imagine for her a better husband. It came first into my +mind years ago, at Geneva, and I have never lost the wish. Ah! how +grateful you would make me, if, forgetting ourselves, you would join me +in somehow trying to bring about this happiness for those two! Piers is +coming to live in London. Do see as much of him as you can. I think +very, very highly of him, and he is almost as dear to me as a son of my +own. Speak to him of Olga. Sometimes a suggestion—and you know that I +desire only his good." +</P> + +<P> +The voice spoke to him from the grave; it had a sweeter tone than that +other. He read on; he came to the last sheet—so sad, so hopeless, that +it brought tears to his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Cannot you defend me? Cannot you prove the falsehood of that story? +Cannot you save me from this bitter disgrace? Oh, who will show the +truth and do me justice?" +</P> + +<P> +Could he burn that letter? Could he close his ears against that cry of +one driven to death by wrong? +</P> + +<P> +He drew a deep sigh, and looked about him as if waking from a bad +dream. Why, he had come near to whole brotherhood with a man as coldly +cruel and infamous as any that walked the earth! Destroying these +letters, he would have been worse than Daniel. +</P> + +<P> +Straightway he wrote to Olga, requesting the appointment with her. Upon +Olga once more he fixed his mind. He resolved that he would not part +from her without asking her to be his wife. If he had but done so +before hearing that news from John Jacks! Then it seemed to him that +Olga was his happiness. +</P> + +<P> +From the house at Campden Hill he came away in a strangely excited +mood; glad, sorry; cold, desirous; torn this way and that by conflict +of passions and reasons. The only clear thought in his mind was that he +had done a great act of justice. How often does it fall to a man to +enjoy this privilege? Not once in a lifetime to the multitude such +opportunity is the signal favour of fate. Had he let it pass, Piers +felt he must have sunk so in his own esteem, that no light of noble +hope would ever again have shone before him. He must have gone plodding +the very mire of existence—Daniel's brother, never again anything but +Daniel's brother. +</P> + +<P> +Would Dr. Derwent give him a thought of thanks? Would Irene hear how +these letters were recovered? +</P> + +<P> +Sunday passed, he knew not well how. He wrote a letter to Olga, but +destroyed it. On Monday he was very busy, chiefly at the warehouses of +the Commercial Docks; a man of affairs; to look upon, not strikingly +different from many another with whom he rubbed shoulders in Fenchurch +Street and elsewhere. On Tuesday he had to go to Liverpool, to see an +acquaintance of Moncharmont who might perchance be useful to them. The +journey, the change, were not unpleasant. He passed the early evening +with the man in question, who asked him at what hotel he meant to +sleep. Piers named the house he had carelessly chosen, adding that he +had not been there yet; his bag was still at the station. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't go there," said his companion. "It's small and uncomfortable and +dear. You'll do much better at——" +</P> + +<P> +Without giving a thought to the matter, Otway accepted this advice. He +went to the station, withdrew his bag, and bade a cabman drive him to +the hotel his acquaintance had named. But no sooner had the cab started +than he felt an unaccountable misgiving, an uneasiness as to this +change of purpose. Strange as he was to Liverpool, there seemed no +reason why he should hesitate so about his hotel; yet the mental +disturbance became so strong that, when all but arrived, he stopped the +cab and bade his driver take him to the other house, that which he had +originally chosen. A downright piece of superstition, he said to +himself, with a nervous laugh. He could not remember to have ever +behaved so capriciously. +</P> + +<P> +The hotel pleased him. After inspecting his bedroom, he came down again +to smoke and glance over the newspapers; it was about half-past nine. +Half a dozen men were in the smoking-room; by ten o'clock there +remained, exclusive of Piers, only three, of whom two were discussing +politics by the fireside, whilst the third sat apart from them in a +deep chair, reading a book. The political talk began to interest Otway; +he listened, behind his newspaper. The louder of the disputants was a +man of about fifty, dressed like a prosperous merchant; his cheeks were +flabby, his chin triple or quadruple, his short neck, always very red, +grew crimson as he excited himself. He was talking about the +development of markets for British wares, and kept repeating the phrase +"trade outlets," as if it had a flavour which he enjoyed. England, he +declared, was falling behind in the competition for the world's trade. +</P> + +<P> +"It won't do. Mark my word, if we don't show more spirit, we shall be +finding ourselves in Queer Street. Look at China, now! I call it a +monstrous thing, perfectly monstrous, the way we're neglecting China." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear sir," said the other, a thin, bilious man, with an undecided +manner, "we can't force our goods on a country——" +</P> + +<P> +"What! Why, that's exactly what we <I>can</I> do, and ought to do! What we +always <I>have</I> done, and always <I>must</I> do, if we're going to hold our +own," vociferated he of the crimson neck. "I was speaking of China, if +you hadn't interrupted me. What are the Russians doing? Why, making a +railway straight to China! And we look on, as if it didn't matter, when +the matter is national life or death. Let me give you some figures. I +know what I'm talking about. Are you aware that our trade with China +amounts to only half a crown a head of the Chinese population? Half a +crown! While with little Japan, our trade comes to something like +eighteen shillings a head. Let me tell you that the equivalent of that +in China would represent about three hundred and sixty millions per +annum!" +</P> + +<P> +He rolled out the figures with gusto culminating in rage. His eyes +glared; he snorted defiance, turning from his companion to the two +strangers whom he saw seated before him. +</P> + +<P> +"I say that it's our duty to force our trade upon China. It's for +China's good—can you deny that? A huge country packed with wretched +barbarians! Our trade civilises them—can you deny it? It's our duty, +as the leading Power of the world! Hundreds of millions of poor +miserable barbarians. And"—he shouted—"what else are the Russians, if +you come to that? Can <I>they</I> civilise China? A filthy, ignorant nation, +frozen into stupidity, and downtrodden by an Autocrat!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well," murmured the diffident objector, "I'm no friend of tyranny; I +can't say much for Russia——" +</P> + +<P> +"I should think you couldn't. Who can? A country plunged in the +darkness of the Middle Ages! The country of the <I>knout</I>! Pah! Who <I>can</I> +say anything for Russia?" +</P> + +<P> +Vociferating thus, the champion of civilisation fixed his glare upon +Otway, who, having laid down the paper, answered this look of challenge +with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"As you seem to appeal to me," sounded in Piers' voice, which was +steady and good-humoured, "I'm bound to say that Russia isn't +altogether without good points. You spoke of it, by the bye, as the +country of the knout; but the knout, as a matter of fact, was abolished +long ago." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well—yes; yes—one knows all about that," stammered the loud +man. "But the country is still ruled in the <I>spirit</I> of the knout. It +doesn't affect my argument. Take it broadly, on an ethnological basis." +He expanded his chest, sticking his thumbs into the armholes of his +waistcoat. "The Russians are a Slavonic people, I presume?" +</P> + +<P> +"Largely Slav, yes." +</P> + +<P> +"And pray, sir, what have the Slavs done for the world? What do we owe +them? What Slavonic name can anyone mention in the history of progress?" +</P> + +<P> +"Two occur to me," replied Piers, in the same quiet tone, "well worthy +of a place in the history of intellectual progress. There was a Pole +named Kopernik, known to you, no doubt, as Copernicus, who came before +Galileo; and there was a Czech named Huss—John Huss—who came before +Luther." +</P> + +<P> +The bilious man was smiling. The fourth person present in the room, who +sat with his book at some distance, had turned his eyes upon Otway with +a look of peculiar interest. +</P> + +<P> +"You've made a special study, I suppose, of this sort of thing," said +the fat-faced politician, with a grin which tried to be civil, +conveying in truth, the radical English contempt for mere intellectual +attainment. "You're a supporter of Russia, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have no such pretension. Russia interests me, that's all." +</P> + +<P> +"Come now, would you say that in any single point Russia, modern +Russia, as we understand the term, had shown the way in <I>practical</I> +advance?" +</P> + +<P> +All were attentive—the silent man with the book seeming particularly +so. +</P> + +<P> +"I should say in one rather important point," Piers replied. "Russia +was the first country to abolish capital punishment for ordinary crime." +</P> + +<P> +The assailant showed himself perplexed, incredulous. But this state of +mind, lasting only for a moment, gave way to genial bluster. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, come now! That's a matter of opinion. To let murderers go +unhung——" +</P> + +<P> +"As you please. I could mention another interesting fact. Long before +England dreamt of the simplest justice for women, it was not an +uncommon thing for a Russian peasant who had appropriated money earned +by his wife, to be punished with a flogging by the village commune." +</P> + +<P> +"A flogging! Why, there you are!" cried the other, with hoarse +laughter—"What did I say? If it isn't the knout, it's something +equivalent. As if we hadn't proved long ago the demoralising effect of +corporal chastisement! We should be ashamed, sir, to flog men nowadays +in the army or navy. It degrades: we have outgrown it— No, no, sir, it +won't do! I see you have made a special study and you've mentioned very +interesting facts; but you must see that they are wide of the +mark—painfully wide of the mark—I must be thinking of turning in; +have to be up at six, worse luck, to catch a train. Good-night, Mr. +Simmonds! Good-night to you, sir—good-night!" +</P> + +<P> +He bustled away, humming to himself; and, after musing a little, the +bilious man also left the room. Piers thought himself alone, but a +sound caused him to turn his head; the person whom he had forgotten, +the silent reader, had risen and was moving his way. A tall, slender, +graceful man, well dressed, aged about thirty. He approached Otway, +came in front of him, looked at him with a smile, and spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"Sir, will you permit me to thank you for what you have said in defence +of Russia—my country?" +</P> + +<P> +The English was excellent; almost without foreign accent. Piers stood +up, and held out his hand, which was cordially grasped. He looked into +a face readily recognizable as that of a Little Russian; a rather +attractive face, with fine, dreamy eyes and a mouth expressive of quick +sensibility; above the good forehead, waving chestnut hair. +</P> + +<P> +"You have travelled in Russia?" pursued the stranger. +</P> + +<P> +"I lived at Odessa for some years, and I have seen something of other +parts." +</P> + +<P> +"You speak the language?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers offered proof of this attainment, by replying in a few Russian +sentences. His new acquaintance was delighted, again shook hands, and +began to talk in his native tongue. They exchanged personal +information. The Russian said that his name was Korolevitch; that he +had an estate in the Government of Poltava, where he busied himself +with farming, but that for two or three months of each year he +travelled. Last winter he had spent in the United States; he was now +visiting the great English seaports, merely for the interest of the +thing. Otway felt how much less impressive was the account he had to +give of himself, but his new friend talked with such perfect +simplicity, so entirely as a good-humoured man of the world, that any +feeling of subordination was impossible. +</P> + +<P> +"Poltava I know pretty well," he said gaily. "I've been more than once +at the July fair, buying wool. At Kharkoff too, on the same business." +</P> + +<P> +They conversed for a couple of hours, at first amusing themselves with +the rhetoric and arguments of the red-necked man. Korolevitch was a +devoted student of poetry, and discovered not without surprise the +Englishman's familiarity with that branch of Russian literature. He +heard with great interest the few words Otway let fall about his +father, who had known so many Russian exiles. In short, they got along +together admirably, and, on parting for the night, promised each other +to meet again in London some ten days hence. +</P> + +<P> +When he had entered his bedroom, and turned the key in the lock, Piers +stood musing over this event. Of a sudden there came into his mind the +inexplicable impulse which brought him to this hotel, rather than to +that recommended by the Liverpool acquaintance. An odd incident, +indeed. It helped a superstitious tendency of Otway's mind, the +disposition he had, spite of obstacle and misfortune, to believe that +destiny was his friend. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap30"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXX +</H3> + +<P> +At home again, Piers wrote to Olga, the greater part of the letter +being occupied with an account of what had happened at Liverpool. It +was not a love-letter, yet differed in tone from those he had hitherto +written her; he spoke with impatience of the circumstances which made +it difficult for them to meet, and begged that it might not be long +before he saw her again. Olga's reply came quickly; it was frankly +intimate, with no suggestion of veiled feeling. Her mother's letters, +she said, were in Dr. Derwent's hands. "I told him who had given them +to me, and how you obtained them. I doubt whether he will have anything +to say to me about them, but that doesn't matter; he knows the truth." +As for their meeting, any Sunday afternoon he would find her at Miss +Bonnicastle's, in Great Portland Street. "I wish I were living there +again," she added. "My uncle is very kind, but I can't feel at home +here, and I hope I shall not stay very long." +</P> + +<P> +So, on the next Sunday, Piers wended his way to Great Portland Street. +Arriving about three o'clock, he found the artist of the posters +sitting alone by her fire, legs crossed and cigarette in mouth. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Mr. Otway!" she exclaimed, turning her head to see who entered in +reply to her cry of "Don't be afraid!" Without rising, she held a hand +to him. "I didn't think I should ever see you here again. How are you +getting on? Beastly afternoon—come and warm your toes." +</P> + +<P> +The walls were hung with clever brutalities of the usual kind. Piers +glanced from them to Miss Bonnicastle, speculating curiously about her. +He had no active dislike for this young woman, and felt a certain +respect for her talent, but he thought, as before, how impossible it +would be ever to regard her as anything but an abnormality. She was not +ill-looking, but seemed to have no single characteristic of her sex +which appealed to him. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think of that?" she asked abruptly, handing him an +illustrated paper which had lain open on her lap. +</P> + +<P> +The page she indicated was covered with some half-dozen small drawings, +exhibiting scenes from a popular cafe in Paris, done with a good deal +of vigour, and some skill in the seizing of facial types. +</P> + +<P> +"Your work?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Mine?" she cried scoffingly. "I could no more do that than swim the +channel. Look at the name, can't you?" +</P> + +<P> +He found it in a corner. +</P> + +<P> +"Kite? Our friend?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's the man. He's been looking up since he went to Paris. Some +things of his in a French paper had a lot of praise; nude +figures—queer symbolical stuff, they say, but uncommonly well done. I +haven't seen them; in London they'd be called indecent, the man said +who was telling me about them. Of course that's rot. He'll be here in a +few days, Olga says." +</P> + +<P> +"She hears from him?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was a surprise letter; he addressed it to this shop, and I sent it +on—that's only pot-boiling, of course." She snatched back the paper. +"But it's good in its way—don't you think?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very good." +</P> + +<P> +"We must see the other things they talk about—the nudes." +</P> + +<P> +There was a knock at the door. "Come along!" cried Miss Bonnicastle, +craning back her head to see who would enter. And on the door opening, +she uttered an exclamation of surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, this is a day of the unexpected! Didn't know you were in +England." +</P> + +<P> +Piers saw a slim, dark, handsome man, who, in his elegant attire, +rather reminded one of a fashion plate; he came briskly forward, +smiling as if in extreme delight, and bent over the artist's hand, +raising it to his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, <I>you'd</I> never do that," said Miss Bonnicastle, addressing Otway, +with an air of mock gratification. "This is Mr. Florio, the +best-behaved man I know. Signor, you've heard us speak of Mr. Otway. +Behold him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! Mr. Otway, Mr. Otway!" cried the Italian joyously. "Permit me the +pleasure to shake hands with you! One more English friend! I collect +English friends, as others collect pictures, bric-a-brac, what you +will. Indeed, it is my pride to add to the collection—my privilege, my +honour." +</P> + +<P> +After exchange of urbanities, he turned to the exhibition on the walls, +and exhausted his English in florid eulogy, not a word of which but +sounded perfectly sincere. From this he passed to a glorification of +the art of advertisement. It was the triumph of our century, the +supreme outcome of civilisation! Otway, amusedly observant, asked with +a smile what progress the art was making in Italy. +</P> + +<P> +"Progress!" cried Florio, with indescribable gesture. "Italy and +progress!—Yet," he proceeded, with a change of voice, "where would +Italy be, but for advertisements? Italy lives by advertisements. She is +the best advertised country in the world! Suppose the writers and +painters ceased to advertise Italy; suppose it were no more talked +about; suppose foreigners ceased to come! What would happen to Italy, I +ask you?" +</P> + +<P> +His face conveyed so wonderfully the suggestion of ravenous hunger, +that Miss Bonnicastle screamed with laughter. Piers did not laugh, and +turned away for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +Soon after, there entered Olga Hannaford. Seeing the two men, she +reddened and looked confused, but Miss Bonnicastle's noisy greeting +relieved her. Her hand was offered first to Otway, who pressed it +without speaking; their eyes met, and to Piers it seemed that she made +an appeal for his forbearance, his generosity. The behaviour of the +Italian was singular. Mute and motionless, he gazed at Olga with a +wonder which verged on consternation; when she turned towards him, he +made a profound bow, as though he met her for the first time. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you remember me, Mr. Florio?" she asked, in an uncertain voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh—indeed—perfectly," was the stammered reply. +</P> + +<P> +He took her fingers with the most delicate respectfulness, again bowing +deeply; then drew back a little, his eyes travelling rapidly to the +faces of the others, as if seeking an explanation. Miss Bonnicastle +broke the silence, saying they must have some tea, and calling upon +Olga to help her in preparing it. For a minute or two the men were left +alone. Florio, approaching Piers on tiptoe, whispered anxiously: +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Hannaford is in mourning?" +</P> + +<P> +"Her mother is dead." +</P> + +<P> +With a gesture of desolation, the Italian moved apart, and stood +staring absently at a picture on the wall. For the next quarter of an +hour, he took scarcely any part in the conversation; his utterances +were grave and subdued; repeatedly he glanced at Olga, and, if able to +do so unobserved, let his eyes rest upon her with agitated interest. +But for the hostess, there would have been no talk at all, and even she +fell far short of her wonted vivacity When things were at their most +depressing, someone knocked. +</P> + +<P> +"Who's that, I wonder?" said Miss Bonnicastle. "All right!" she called +out. "Come along." +</P> + +<P> +A head appeared; a long, pale, nervous countenance, with eyes that +blinked as if in too strong a light. Miss Bonnicastle started up, +clamouring an excited welcome. Olga flushed and smiled. It was Kite who +advanced into the room; on seeing Olga he stood still, became painfully +embarrassed, and could make no answer to the friendly greetings with +which Miss Bonnicastle received him. Forced into a chair at length, and +sitting sideways, with his long legs intertwisted, and his arms +fidgeting about, he made known that he had arrived only this morning +from Paris, and meant to stay in London for a month or two—perhaps +longer—it depended on circumstances. His health seemed improved, but +he talked in the old way, vaguely, languidly. Yes, he had had a little +success; but it amounted to nothing; his work—rubbish! rubbish! +Thereupon the cafe sketches in the illustrated papers were shown to +Florio, who poured forth exuberant praise. A twinkle of pleasure came +into the artist's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"But the other things we heard about?" said Miss Bonnicastle. "The +what-d'ye-call 'ems, the figures——" +</P> + +<P> +Kite shrugged his shoulders, and looked uneasy. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, pot-boilers! Poor stuff. Happened to catch people's eyes. Who told +you about them?" +</P> + +<P> +"Some man—I forget. And what are you doing now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, nothing. A little black-and-white for that thing," he pointed +contemptuously to the paper. "Keeps me from idleness." +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you going to live?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. I shall find a garret somewhere. Do you know of one +about here?" +</P> + +<P> +Olga's eyes chanced to meet a glance from Otway. She moved, hesitated, +and rose from her chair. Kite and the Italian gazed at her, then cast a +look at each other, then both looked at Otway, who had at once risen. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you walk home?" said Piers, stepping towards her. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd better have a cab." +</P> + +<P> +It was said in a quietly decisive tone, and Piers made no reply. Both +took leave with few words. Olga descended the stairs rapidly, and, +without attention to her companion, turned at a hurried pace down the +dark street. They had walked nearly a hundred yards when she turned her +head and spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you suggest some way for me to earn my living? I mean it. I must +find something." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you spoken to your uncle about it?" asked Piers mechanically. +</P> + +<P> +"No; it's difficult. If I could go to him with something definite." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you spoken to your cousin?" +</P> + +<P> +Olga delayed an instant, and answered with an embarrassed abruptness. +</P> + +<P> +"She's gone to Paris." +</P> + +<P> +Before Piers could recover from his surprise, she had waved to an empty +hansom driving past. +</P> + +<P> +"Think about it," she added, "and write to me. I must do something. +This life of loneliness and idleness is unbearable." +</P> + +<P> +And Piers thought; to little purpose, for his mind was once more turned +to Irene, and it cost him a painful effort to dwell upon Olga's +circumstances. He postponed writing to her, until shame compelled him, +and the letter he at length despatched seemed so empty, so futile, that +he could not bear to think of her reading it. With astonishment he +received an answer so gratefully worded that it moved his heart. She +would reflect on the suggestions he had made; moreover, as he advised, +she would take counsel frankly with the Doctor; and, whatever was +decided, he should hear at once. She counted on him as a friend, a true +friend; in truth, she had no other. He must continue to write to her, +but not often, not more than once a fortnight or so. And let him be +assured that she never for a moment forgot her lifelong debt to him. +</P> + +<P> +This last sentence referred, no doubt, to her mother's letters. Dr. +Derwent, it seemed, would make no acknowledgment of the service +rendered him by a brother of the man whom he must regard as a pitiful +scoundrel. How abhorred by him must be the name of Otway! +</P> + +<P> +And could it be less hateful to his daughter, to Irene? +</P> + +<P> +The days passed. A pleasant surprise broke the monotony of work and +worry when, one afternoon, the office-boy handed in a card bearing the +name Korolevitch. The Russian was spending a week in London, and Otway +saw him several times; on one occasion they sat talking together till +three in the morning. To Piers this intercourse brought vast mental +relief, and gave him an intellectual impulse of which he had serious +need in his life of solitude, ever tending to despondency. Korolevitch, +on leaving England, volunteered to call upon Moncharmont at Odessa. He +had wool to sell, and why not sell it to his friends? But he, as well +as Piers, looked for profit of another kind from this happy +acquaintance. +</P> + +<P> +It was not long before Otway made another call upon Miss Bonnicastle, +and at this time, as he had hoped, he found her alone, working. He led +their talk to the subject of Kite. +</P> + +<P> +"You ought to go and see him in his garret," said Miss Bonnicastle. +"He'd like you to." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me, if you know," threw out the other, looking into her broad, +good-natured face. "Is he still interested in Miss Hannaford?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, of course! He's one of the stupids who keep up that kind of thing +for a lifetime. But 'he that will not when he may'! Poor silly fellow! +How I should enjoy boxing his ears!" +</P> + +<P> +They laughed, but Miss Bonnicastle seemed very much in earnest. +</P> + +<P> +"He's tormenting his silly self," she went on, "because he has been +unfaithful to her. There was a girl in Paris. Oh, he tells me +everything! We're good friends. The girl over there did him enormous +good, that's all I know. It was she that set him to work, and supplied +him with his model at the same time! What better could have happened. +And now the absurd creature has qualms of conscience!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well," said Piers, smiling uneasily, "it's intelligible." +</P> + +<P> +"Bosh! Don't be silly! A man has his work to do, and he must get what +help he can. I shall pack him off back to Paris." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go and see him, I think. About the Italian, Florio. Has he also +an interest?" +</P> + +<P> +"In Olga? Yes, I fancy he has, but I don't know much about him. He +comes and goes, on business. There's a chance, I think, of his dropping +in for money before long. He isn't a bad sort—what do you think?" +</P> + +<P> +That same afternoon Piers went in search of Kite's garret. It was a +garret literally, furnished with a table and a bed, and little else, +but a large fire burned cheerfully, and on the table, beside a +drawing-board, stood a bottle of wine. When he had welcomed his +visitor, Kite pointed to the bottle. +</P> + +<P> +"I got used to it in Paris," he said, "and it helps me to work. I +shan't offer you any, or you might be made ill; the cheapest claret on +the market, but it reminds me of—of things." +</P> + +<P> +There rose in Otway's mind a suspicion that, to-day at all events, Kite +had found his cheap claret rather too seductive. His face had an +unwonted warmth of colour, and his speech an unusual fluency. Presently +he opened a portfolio and showed some of the work he had done in Paris: +drawings in pen-and-ink, and the published reproductions of others; +these latter, he declared, were much spoilt in the process work. The +motive was always a nude female figure, of great beauty; the same face, +with much variety of expression; for background all manner of fantastic +scenes, or rather glimpses and suggestions of a poet's dreamland. +</P> + +<P> +"You see what I mean?" said Kite. "It's simply Woman, as a beautiful +thing, as a—a—oh, I can't get it into words. An ideal, you +know—something to live for. Put her in a room—it becomes a different +thing. Do you feel my meaning? English people wouldn't have these, you +know. They don't understand. They call it sensuality." +</P> + +<P> +"Sensuality!" cried Piers, after dreaming for a moment. "Great heavens! +then why are human bodies made beautiful?" +</P> + +<P> +The artist gave a strange laugh of gratification. +</P> + +<P> +"There you hit it! Why—why? The work of the Devil, they say." +</P> + +<P> +"The worst of it is," said Piers, "that they're right as regards most +men. Beauty, as an inspiration, exists only for the few. Beauty of any +and every kind—it's all the same. There's no safety for the world as +we know it, except in utilitarian morals." +</P> + +<P> +Later, when he looked back upon these winter months, Piers could +distinguish nothing clearly. It was a time of confused and obscure +motives, of oscillation, of dreary conflict, of dull suffering. His +correspondence with Olga, his meetings with her, had no issue. He made +a thousand resolves; a thousand times he lost them. But for the day's +work, which kept him in an even tenor for a certain number of hours, he +must have drifted far and perilously. +</P> + +<P> +It was a life of solitude. The people with whom he talked were mere +ghosts, intangible, not of his world. Sometimes, amid a crowd of human +beings, he was stricken voiceless and motionless: he stared about him, +and was bewildered, asking himself what it all meant. +</P> + +<P> +His health was not good; he suffered much from headaches; he fell into +languors, lassitude of body and soul. As a result, imagination seemed +to be dead in him. The torments of desire were forgotten. When he heard +that Irene Derwent had returned to London, the news affected him only +with a sort of weary curiosity. Was it true that she would not marry +Arnold Jacks? It seemed so. He puzzled over the story, wondered about +it; but only his mind was concerned, never his emotions. +</P> + +<P> +Once he was summoned to Queen's Gate. John Jacks lay on a sofa, in his +bedroom; he talked as usual, but in a weaker voice, and had the face of +a man doomed. Piers saw no one else in the house, and on going away +felt that he had been under that roof for the last time. +</P> + +<P> +His mind was oppressed with the thought of death. As happens, probably, +to every imaginative man at one time or another, he had a conviction +that his own days were drawing to a premature close. Speculation about +the future seemed idle; he had come to the end of hopes and fears. +Night after night his broken sleep suffered the same dream; he saw Mrs. +Hannaford, who stretched her hands to him, and with a face of silent +woe seemed to implore his help. Help against Death; and his +powerlessness wrung his heart with anguish. Waking, he thought of all +the women—beautiful, tender, objects of infinite passion and +worship—who even at that moment lay smitten by the great destroyer; +the gentle, the loving, racked, disfigured, flung into the horror of +the grave. And his being rose in revolt; he strove in silent agony +against the dark ruling of the world. +</P> + +<P> +One day there was of tranquil self-possession, of blessed calm. A +Sunday in January, when, he knew not how, he found himself amid the +Sussex lanes, where he had rambled in the time of harvest. The weather, +calm and dry and mild, but without sunshine, soothed his spirit. He +walked for hours, and towards nightfall stood upon a wooded hill, +gazing westward. An overcast, yet not a gloomy sky; still, +soft-dappled; with rifts and shimmerings of pearly blue scattered among +multitudinous billows, which here were a dusky yellow, there a deep +neutral tint. In the low west, beneath the long dark edge, a soft +splendour, figured with airy cloudlets, waited for the invisible +descending sun. Moment after moment the rifts grew longer, the tones +grew warmer; above began to spread a rosy flush; in front, the glory +brightened, touching the cloud-line above it with a tender crimson. +</P> + +<P> +If all days could be like this! One could live so well, he thought, in +mere enjoyment of the beauty of earth and sky, all else forgotten. +Under this soft-dusking heaven, death was welcome rest, and passion +only a tender sadness. +</P> + +<P> +He said to himself that he had grown old in hopeless love—only to +doubt in the end whether he had loved at all. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap31"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXI +</H3> + +<P> +The lad he employed in his office was run over by a cab one slippery +day, and all but killed. Piers visited him in the hospital, thus seeing +for the first time the interior of one of those houses of pain, which +he always disliked even to pass. The experience did not help to +brighten his mood; he lacked that fortunate temper of the average man, +which embraces as a positive good the less of two evils. The long, +grey, low-echoing ward, with its atmosphere of antiseptics; the rows of +little white camp-beds, an ominous screen hiding this and that; the +bloodless faces, the smothered groan, made a memory that went about +with him for many a day. +</P> + +<P> +It strengthened his growing hatred of London, a huge battlefield +calling itself the home of civilisation and of peace; battlefield on +which the wounds were of soul no less than of body. In these gaunt +streets along which he passed at night, how many a sad heart suffered, +by the dim glimmer that showed at upper windows, a hopeless solitude +amid the innumerable throng! Human cattle, the herd that feed and +breed, with them it was well; but the few born to a desire for ever +unattainable, the gentle spirits who from their prisoning circumstance +looked up and afar how the heart ached to think of them! Some girl, of +delicate instinct, of purpose sweet and pure, wasting her unloved life +in toil and want and indignity; some man, whose youth and courage +strove against a mean environment, whose eyes grew haggard in the vain +search for a companion promised in his dreams; they lived, these two, +parted perchance only by the wall of neighbour houses, yet all huge +London was between them, and their hands would never touch. Beside this +hunger for love, what was the stomach-famine of a multitude that knew +no other? +</P> + +<P> +The spring drew nigh, and Otway dreaded its coming. It was the time of +his burning torment, of imagination traitor to the worthier mind; it +was the time of reverie that rapt him above everything ignoble, only to +embitter by contrast the destiny he could not break. He rose now with +the early sun; walked fast and far before the beginning of his day's +work, with an aim he knew to be foolish, yet could not abandon. From +Guildford Street, along the byways, he crossed Tottenham Court Road, +just rattling with its first traffic, crossed Portland Place, still in +its soundest sleep, and so onward till he touched Bryanston Square. The +trees were misty with half-unfolded leafage birds twittered cheerily +among the branches; but Piers heeded not these things. He stood before +the high narrow-fronted house, which once he had entered as a guest, +where never again would he be suffered to pass the door. Irene was +here, he supposed, but could not be sure, for on the rare occasions +when he saw Olga Hannaford they did not speak of her cousin. Of the +course her life had taken, he knew nothing whatever. Here, in the chill +bright morning, he felt more a stranger to Irene than on the day, six +years ago, when with foolish timidity he ventured his useless call. She +was merely indifferent to him then; now she shrank from the sound of +his name. +</P> + +<P> +On such a morning, a few weeks later, he pursued his walk in the +direction of Kensington, and passed along Queen's Gate. It was between +seven and eight o'clock. Nearing John Jacks house, he saw a carriage at +the door; it could of course be only the doctor's, and he became sad in +thinking of his kind old friend, for whom the last days of life were +made so hard. Just as he was passing, the door opened, and a man, +evidently a doctor, came quickly forth. With movement as if he were +here for this purpose, Otway ran up the steps; the servant saw him, and +waited with the door still open. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you tell me how Mr. Jacks is?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry to say, sir," was the subdued answer, "that Mr. Jacks died +at three this morning." +</P> + +<P> +Piers turned away. His eyes dazzled in the sunshine. +</P> + +<P> +The evening papers had the news, with a short memoir—half of which was +concerned not with John Jacks, but with his son Arnold. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to him just possible that he might receive an invitation to +attend the funeral; but nothing of the kind came to him. The slight, he +took it for granted, was not social, but personal. His name, of course, +was offensive to Arnold Jacks, and probably to Mrs. John Jacks; only +the genial old man had disregarded the scandal shadowing the Otway name. +</P> + +<P> +On the morrow, it was made known that the deceased Member of Parliament +would be buried in Yorkshire, in the village churchyard which was on +his own estate. And Otway felt glad of this; the sombre and crowded +hideousness of a London cemetery was no place of rest for John Jacks. +</P> + +<P> +A fortnight later, at eleven o'clock on Sunday morning, Piers mounted +with a quick stride the stairs leading to Miss Bonnicastle's abode. The +door of her workroom stood ajar; his knock brought no response; after +hesitating a little, he pushed the door open and went in. +</P> + +<P> +Accustomed to the grotesques and vulgarities which generally met his +eye upon these walls, he was startled to behold a life-size figure of +great beauty, suggesting a study for a serious work of art rather than +a design for a street poster. It was a woman, in classic drapery, +standing upon the seashore, her head thrown back, her magnificent hair +flowing unrestrained, and one of her bare arms raised in a gesture of +exultation. As he gazed at the drawing with delight, Miss Bonnicastle +appeared from the inner room, dressed for walking. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think of <I>that</I>?" she exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +"Better than anything you ever did!" +</P> + +<P> +"True enough! That's Kite. Don't you recognise his type?" +</P> + +<P> +"One thinks of Ariadne," said Piers, "but the face won't do for her." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it's Ariadne—but I doubt if I shall have the brutality to finish +out my idea. She is to have lying on the sand by her a case of +Higginson's Hair-wash, stranded from a wreck, and a bottle of it in her +hand. See the notion? Her despair consoled by discovery of Higginson!" +</P> + +<P> +They laughed, but Piers broke off in half-serious anger. +</P> + +<P> +"That's damnable! You won't do it. For one thing, the mob wouldn't +understand. And in heaven's name do spare the old stories! I'm amazed +that Kite should consent to it." +</P> + +<P> +"Poor old fellow!" said Miss Bonnicastle, with an indulgent smile, +"he'll do anything a woman asks of him. But I shan't have the heart to +spoil it with Higginson; I know I shan't." +</P> + +<P> +"After all," Piers replied, "I don't know why you shouldn't. What's the +use of our scruples? That's the doom of everything beautiful." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll talk about it another time. I can't stop now. I have an +appointment. Stay here if you like, and worship Ariadne. I shouldn't +wonder if Olga looks round this morning, and it'll disappoint her if +there's nobody here." +</P> + +<P> +Piers was embarrassed. He had asked Olga to meet him, and wondered +whether Miss Bonnicastle knew of it. But she spared him the necessity +of any remark by speeding away at once, bidding him slam the door on +the latch when he departed. +</P> + +<P> +In less than ten minutes, there sounded a knock without, and Piers +threw the door open. It was Olga, breathing rapidly after her ascent of +the stairs, and a startled look in her eyes as she found herself face +to face with Otway. He explained his being here alone. +</P> + +<P> +"It is kind of you to have come!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I have enjoyed the walk. A delicious morning! And how happy one +feels when the church bells suddenly stop!" +</P> + +<P> +"I have often known that feeling," said Piers merrily. "Isn't it +wonderful, how London manages to make things detestable which are +pleasant in other places! The bells in the country!—But sit down. You +look tired——" +</P> + +<P> +She seated herself, and her eyes turned to the beautiful figure on the +wall. Piers watched her countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"You have seen it already?" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"A few days ago." +</P> + +<P> +"You know who did it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Kite, I am told," she answered absently. "And," she added, after a +pause, "I think he disgraced himself by lending his art to such a +purpose." +</P> + +<P> +Piers said nothing, and looked away to hide his smile of pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +"I asked you to come," were his next words, "to show you a letter I +have had from John Jacks' solicitors." +</P> + +<P> +Glancing at him with surprise, Olga took the letter he held out, and +read it. In this communication, Piers Otway was informed that the will +of the late Mr. Jacks bequeathed to him the capital which the testator +had invested in the firm of Moncharmont & Co., and the share in the +business which it represented. +</P> + +<P> +"This is important to you," said the girl, after reflecting for a +moment, her eyes down. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it is important," Piers answered, in a voice not quite under +control. "It means that, if I choose, I can live without working at the +business. Just live; no more, at present, though it may mean more in +the future. Things have gone well with us, for a beginning; much better +than I, at all events, expected. What I should like to do, now, would +be to find a man to take my place in London. I know someone who, just +possibly, might be willing—a man at Liverpool." +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it a risk?" said Olga, regarding him with shamefaced anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think so. If <I>I</I> could do so well, almost any real man of +business would be sure to do better. Moncharmont, you know, is the +indispensable member of the firm." +</P> + +<P> +"And—what would you do? Go abroad, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"For a time, at all events. Possibly to Russia—I have a purpose—too +vague to speak of yet—I should frighten myself if I spoke of it. But +it all depends upon——" He broke off, unable to command his voice. A +moment's silence, during which he stared at the woman on the wall, and +he could speak again. "I can't go alone. I can't do—can't think +of—anything seriously, whilst I am maddened by solitude!" +</P> + +<P> +Olga sat with her head bent. He drew nearer to her. +</P> + +<P> +"It depends upon you. I want you for my companion—for my wife——" +</P> + +<P> +She looked him in the face—a strange, agitated, half-defiant look. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think that is true! You don't want <I>me</I>——" +</P> + +<P> +"You! Yes, you, Olga! And only you!" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe it. You mean—any woman." Her voice all but choked. +"If that one"—she pointed to the wall—"could step towards you, you +would as soon have her. You would <I>rather</I>, because she is more +beautiful." +</P> + +<P> +"Not in my eyes!" He seized her hand, and said, half laughing, shaken +with the moment's fever, "Come and stand beside her, and let me see how +the real living woman makes pale the ideal!" +</P> + +<P> +Flushing, trembling at his touch, she rose. Her lips parted; she had +all but spoken; when there came a loud knock at the door of the room. +Their hands fell, and they gazed at each other in perturbation. +</P> + +<P> +"Silence!" whispered Otway. "No reply!" +</P> + +<P> +He stepped softly to the door; silently he turned the key in the lock. +No sooner had he done so, than someone without tried the handle; the +door was shaken a little, and there sounded another knock, loud, +peremptory. Piers moved to Olga's side, smiled at her reassuringly, +tried to take her hand; but, with a frightened glance towards the door, +she shrank away. +</P> + +<P> +Two minutes of dead silence; then Otway spoke just above his breath. +</P> + +<P> +"Gone! Didn't you hear the footstep on the stairs?" +</P> + +<P> +Had she just escaped some serious peril, Olga could not have worn a +more agitated look. Her hand resisted Otway's approach; she would not +seat herself, but moved nervously hither and thither, her eyes +constantly turning to the door. It was in vain that Piers laughed at +the incident, asking what it could possibly matter to them that some +person had wished to see Miss Bonnicastle, and had gone away thinking +no one was within; Olga made a show of assenting, she smiled and +pretended to recover herself, but was still tremulous and unable to +converse. +</P> + +<P> +He took her hands, held them firmly, compelled her to meet his look. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us have an end of this, Olga! Your life is unhappy—let me help +you to forget. And help <I>me</I>! I want your love. Come to me—we can help +each other—put an end to this accursed loneliness, this longing and +raging that eats one's heart away!" +</P> + +<P> +She suffered him to hold her close—her head bent back, the eyes half +veiled by their lids. +</P> + +<P> +"Give me one day—to think——" +</P> + +<P> +"Not one hour, not one minute! Now!" +</P> + +<P> +"Because you are stronger than I am, that doesn't make me really +yours." She spoke in stress of spirit, her eyes wide and fearful. "If I +said 'yes,' I might break my promise. I warn you! I can't trust +myself—I warn you not to trust me!" +</P> + +<P> +"I will take the risk!" +</P> + +<P> +"I have warned you. Yes, yes! I will try!—Let me go now, and stay here +till I have gone. I <I>must</I> go now!" She shook with hysterical passion. +"Else I take back my promise!—I will see you in two days; not here; I +will think of some place." +</P> + +<P> +She drew towards the exit, and when her one hand was on the key, Piers, +with sudden self-subdual, spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"You have promised!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I will write very soon." +</P> + +<P> +With a look of gratitude, a smile all but of tenderness, she passed +from his sight. +</P> + +<P> +On the pavement, she looked this way and that. Fifty yards away, on the +other side of the street, a well-dressed man stood supporting himself +on his umbrella, as if he had been long waiting; though to her +shortness of sight the figure was featureless, Olga trembled as she +perceived it, and started at a rapid walk towards the cabstand at the +top of the street. Instantly, the man made after her, almost running. +He caught her up before she could approach the vehicles. +</P> + +<P> +"So you were there! Something told me you were there!" +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean, Mr. Florio?" +</P> + +<P> +The man was raging with jealous anger; trying to smile, he showed his +teeth in a mere grin, and sputtered his words. +</P> + +<P> +"The door was shut with the key! Why was that?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mustn't speak to me in this way," said Olga, with troubled +remonstrance rather than indignation. "When I visit my friend, we don't +always care to be disturbed——-" +</P> + +<P> +"Ha! Your friend—Miss Bonnicastle—was <I>not</I> there! I have seen her in +Oxford Street! She said no one was there this morning, but I doubted—I +came!" +</P> + +<P> +Whilst speaking, he kept a look turned in the direction of the house +from which Olga had come. And of a sudden his eyes lit with fierce +emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"See! Something told me! <I>That</I> is your friend!" +</P> + +<P> +Piers Otway had come out. Olga could not have recognised him at this +distance, but she knew the Italian's eyes would not be deceived. +Instantly she took to flight, along a cross-street leading eastward. +Florio kept at her side, and neither spoke until breathlessness stopped +her as she entered Fitzroy Square. +</P> + +<P> +"You are safe," said her pursuer, or companion. "He is gone the other +way. Ah! you are pale! You are suffering! Why did you run—run—run? +There was no need." +</P> + +<P> +His voice had turned soothing, caressing; his eyes melted in compassion +as they bent upon her. +</P> + +<P> +"I have given you no right to hunt me like this," said Olga, panting, +timid, her look raised for a moment to his. +</P> + +<P> +"I take the right," he laughed musically. "It is the right of the man +who loves you." +</P> + +<P> +She cast a frightened glance about the square, which was almost +deserted, and began to walk slowly on. +</P> + +<P> +"Why was the door shut with the key?" asked Florio, his head near to +hers. "I thought I would break it open And I wish I had done so," he +added, suddenly fierce again. +</P> + +<P> +"I have given you no right," stammered Olga, who seemed to suffer under +a sort of fascination, which dulled her mind. +</P> + +<P> +"I take it!—Has <I>he</I> a right? Tell me that! You are not good to me; +you are not honest to me; you deceive—deceive! Why was the door shut +with the key? I am astonished! I did not think this was done in +England—a lady—a young lady!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, what do you mean?" Olga exclaimed, with a face of misery. "There +was no harm. It wasn't <I>I</I> who wished it to be locked!" +</P> + +<P> +Florio gazed at her long and searchingly, till the blood burned in her +face. +</P> + +<P> +"Enough!" he said with decision, waving his arm. "I have learnt +something. One always learns something new in England. The English are +wonderful—yes, they are wonderful. <I>Basta</I>! and <I>addio</I>!" +</P> + +<P> +He raised his hat, turned, moved away. As if drawn irresistibly, Olga +followed. Head down, arms hanging in the limpness of shame, she +followed, but without drawing nearer. At the corner of the square, +Florio, as if accidentally, turned his head; in an instant, he stood +before her. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you do not wish good-bye?" +</P> + +<P> +"You are very cruel! How can I let you think such things? You <I>know</I> +it's false!" +</P> + +<P> +"But there must be explanation!" +</P> + +<P> +"I can easily explain. But not here—one can't talk in the street——" +</P> + +<P> +"Naturally!—Listen! It is twelve o'clock. You go home; you eat: you +repose. At three o'clock, I pay you a visit. Why not? You said it +yourself the other day, but I could not decide. Now I have decided. I +pay you a visit; you receive me privately—can you not? We talk, and +all is settled!" +</P> + +<P> +Olga thought for a moment, and assented. A few minutes afterwards, she +was roiling in a cab towards Bryanston Square. +</P> + +<P> +On Monday evening, Piers received a note from Olga. It ran thus: +</P> + +<P> +"I warned you not to trust me. It is all over now; I have, in your own +words, 'put an end to it.' We could have given no happiness to each +other. Miss Bonnicastle will explain. Good-bye!" +</P> + +<P> +He went at once to Great Portland Street. Miss Bonnicastle knew +nothing, but looked anxious when she had seen the note and heard its +explanation. +</P> + +<P> +"We must wait till the morning," she said. "Don't worry. It's just what +one might have expected." +</P> + +<P> +Don't worry! Piers had no wink of sleep that night. At post-time in the +morning he was at Miss Bonnicastle's, but no news arrived. He went to +business; the day passed without news; he returned to Great Portland +Street, and there waited for the last postal delivery. It brought the +expected letter; Olga announced her marriage that morning to Mr. Florio. +</P> + +<P> +"It's better than I feared," said Miss Bonnicastle. "Now go home to +bed, and sleep like a philosopher." +</P> + +<P> +Good advice, but not of much profit to one racked and distraught with +amorous frenzy, with disappointment sharp as death. Through the warm +spring night, Piers raved and agonised. The business hour found him +lying upon his bed, sunk in dreamless sleep. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap32"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXII +</H3> + +<P> +Again it was springtime—the spring of 1894. Two years had gone by +since that April night when Piers Otway suffered things unspeakable in +flesh and spirit, thinking that for him the heavens had no more +radiance, life no morrow. The memory was faint; he found it hard to +imagine that the loss of a woman he did not love could so have +afflicted him. Olga Hannaford—Mrs. Florio—was matter for a smile; he +hoped that he might some day meet her again, and take her hand with the +old friendliness, and wish her well. +</P> + +<P> +He had spent the winter in St. Petersburg, and was making arrangements +for a visit to England, when one morning there came to him a letter +which made his eyes sparkle and his heart beat high with joy. In the +afternoon, having given more than wonted care to his dress, he set +forth from the lodging he occupied at the lower end of the Nevski +Prospect, and walked to the Hotel de France, near the Winter Palace, +where he inquired for Mrs. Borisoff. After a little delay, he was +conducted to a private sitting-room, where again he waited. On a table +lay two periodicals, at which he glanced, recognising with a smile +recent numbers of the <I>Nineteenth Century</I> and the <I>Vyestnik Evropy</I>. +</P> + +<P> +There entered a lady with a bright English face, a lady in the years +between youth and middle age, frank, gracious, her look of interest +speaking a compliment which Otway found more than agreeable. +</P> + +<P> +"I have kept you waiting," she said, in a tone that dispensed with +formalities, "because I was on the point of going out when they brought +your card——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I am sorry——" +</P> + +<P> +"But I am not. Instead of twaddle and boredom round somebody or other's +samovar, I am going to have honest talk under the chaperonage of an +English teapot—my own teapot, which I carry everywhere. But don't be +afraid; I shall not give you English tea. What a shame that I have been +here for two months without our meeting! I have talked about +you—wanted to know you. Look!" +</P> + +<P> +She pointed to the periodicals which Piers had already noticed. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she went on, checking him as he was about to sit down, "<I>that</I> is +your chair. If you sat on the other, you would be polite and grave +and—like everybody else; I know the influence of chairs. That is the +chair my husband selects when he wishes to make me understand some +point of etiquette. Miss Derwent warned you, no doubt, of my +shortcomings in etiquette?" +</P> + +<P> +"All she said to me," replied Piers, laughing, "was that you are very +much her friend." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, that is true, I hope. Tell me, please; is the article in the +<I>Vyestnik</I> your own Russian?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not entirely. I have a friend named Korolevitch, who went through it +for me." +</P> + +<P> +"Korolevitch? I seem to know that name. Is he, by chance, connected +with some religious movement, some heresy?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was going to say I am sorry he is; yet I can't be sorry for what +honours the man. He has joined the Dukhobortsi; has sold his large +estate, and is devoting all the money to their cause. I'm afraid he'll +go to some new-world colony, and I shall see little of him henceforth. +A great loss to me." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Borisoff kept her eyes upon him as he spoke, seeming to reflect +rather than to listen. +</P> + +<P> +"I ought to tell you," she said, "that I don't know Russian. +Irene—Miss Derwent almost shamed me into working at it; but I am so +lazy—ah, so lazy! you are aware, of course, that Miss Derwent has +learnt it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Has learnt Russian?" exclaimed Piers. "I didn't know—I had no +idea——" +</P> + +<P> +"Wonderful girl! I suppose she thinks it a trifle." +</P> + +<P> +"It's so long," said Otway, "since I had any news of Miss Derwent. I +can hardly consider myself one of her friends—at least, I shouldn't +have ventured to do so until this morning, when I was surprised and +delighted to have a letter from her about that <I>Nineteenth Century</I> +article, sent through the publishers. She spoke of you, and asked me to +call—saying she had written an introduction of me by the same post." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Borisoff smiled oddly. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes; it came. She didn't speak of the <I>Vyestnik</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Yet she has read it—I happen to know. I'm sorry I can't. Tell me +about it, will you?" +</P> + +<P> +The Russian article was called "New Womanhood in England." It began +with a good-tempered notice of certain novels then popular, and passed +on to speculations regarding the new ideals of life set before English +women. Piers spoke of it as a mere bit of apprentice work, meant rather +to amuse than as a serious essay. +</P> + +<P> +"At all events, it's a success," said his listener. "One hears of it in +every drawing-room. Wonderful thing—you don't sneer at women. I'm told +you are almost on our side—if not quite. I've heard a passage read +into French—the woman of the twentieth century. I rather liked it." +</P> + +<P> +"Not altogether?" said Otway, with humorous diffidence. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! A woman never quite likes an ideal of womanhood which doesn't +quite fit her notion of herself. But let us speak of the other thing, +in the <I>Nineteenth Century</I>—'The Pilgrimage to Kief.' For life, +colour, sympathy, I think it altogether wonderful. I have heard +Russians say that they couldn't have believed a foreigner had written +it." +</P> + +<P> +"That's the best praise of all." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean to go on with this kind of thing? You might become a sort of +interpreter of the two nations to each other. An original idea. The +everyday thing is to exasperate Briton against Russ, and Russ against +Briton, with every sort of cheap joke and stale falsehood. All the same +Mr. Otway, I'm bound to confess to you that I don't like Russia." +</P> + +<P> +"No more do I," returned Piers, in an undertone. "But that only means, +I don't like the worst features of the Middle ages. The +Russian-speaking cosmopolitan whom you and I know isn't Russia; he +belongs to the Western Europe of to-day, his country represents Western +Europe of some centuries ago. Not strictly that, of course; we must +allow for race; but it's how one has to think of Russia." +</P> + +<P> +Again Mrs. Borisoff scrutinised him as he spoke, averting her eyes at +length with an absent smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Here comes my tutelary teapot," she said, as a pretty maid-servant +entered with a tray. "A phrase I got from Irene, by the bye—from Miss +Derwent, who laughs at my carrying the thing about in my luggage. She +has clever little phrases of that sort, as you know." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," fell from Piers, dreamily. "But it's so long since I heard her +talk." +</P> + +<P> +When he had received his cup of tea, and sipped from it, he asked with +a serious look: +</P> + +<P> +"Will you tell me about her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I will. But you must first tell me about yourself. You were +in business in London, I believe?" +</P> + +<P> +"For about a year. Then I found myself with enough to live upon, and +came back to Russia. I had lived at Odessa——" +</P> + +<P> +"You may presuppose a knowledge of what came before," interrupted Mrs. +Borisoff, with a friendly nod. +</P> + +<P> +"I lived for several months with Korolevitch, on his estate near +Poltava. We used to talk—heavens! how we talked! Sometimes eight hours +at a stretch. I learnt a great deal. Then I wandered up and down +Russia, still learning." +</P> + +<P> +"Writing, too?" +</P> + +<P> +"The time hadn't come for writing. Korolevitch gave me no end of useful +introductions. I've had great luck on my travels." +</P> + +<P> +"Pray, when did you make your studies of English women?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers tried to laugh; declared he did not know. +</P> + +<P> +"I shouldn't wonder if you generalise from one or two?" said his +hostess, letting her eyelids droop as she observed him lazily. "Do you +know Russian women as well?" +</P> + +<P> +By begging for another cup of tea, and adding a remark on some other +subject, Piers evaded this question. +</P> + +<P> +"And what are you going to do?" asked Mrs. Borisoff "Stay here, and +write more articles?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to England in a few days for the summer." +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I think I shall do. But I don't know what part to go to. +Advise me, can you? Seaside—no; I don't like the seaside. Do you +notice how people—our kind of people, I mean—are losing their taste +for it in England? It's partly, I suppose, because of the excursion +train. One doesn't grudge the crowd its excursion train, but it's so +much nicer to imagine their blessedness than to see it. Or are you for +the other point of view?" +</P> + +<P> +Otway gave an expressive look. +</P> + +<P> +"That's right. Oh, the sham philanthropic talk that goes on in England! +How it relieves one to say flatly that one does <I>not</I> love the +multitude!—No seaside, then. Lakes—no; Wales—no; Highlands—no. +Isn't there some part of England one would like if one discovered it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you want solitude?" asked Piers, becoming more interested. +</P> + +<P> +"Solitude? H'm!" She handed a box of cigarettes, and herself took one. +"Yes, solitude. I shall try to get Miss Derwent to come for a time. New +Forest—no, Please, please, do suggest! I'm nervous; your silence +teases me." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know the Yorkshire dales?" asked Otway, watching her as she +watched a nice little ring of white smoke from the end of her cigarette. +</P> + +<P> +"No! That's an idea. It's your own country, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"But—how do you know that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dreamt it." +</P> + +<P> +"I wasn't born there, but lived there as a child, and later a little. +You might do worse than the dales, if you like that kind of country. +Wensleydale, for instance. There's an old Castle, and a very +interesting one, part of it habitable, where you can get quarters." +</P> + +<P> +"A Castle? Superb!" +</P> + +<P> +"Where Queen Mary was imprisoned for a time, till she made an +escape——" +</P> + +<P> +"Magnificent! Can I have the whole Castle to myself?" +</P> + +<P> +"The furnished part of it, unless someone else has got it already for +this summer. There's a family, the caretakers, always in possession—if +things are still as they used to be." +</P> + +<P> +"Write for me at once, will you? Write immediately! There is paper on +the desk." +</P> + +<P> +Piers obeyed. Whilst he sat penning the letter, Mrs. Borisoff lighted a +second cigarette, her face touched with a roguish smile. She studied +Otway's profile for a moment; became grave; fell into a mood of +abstraction, which shadowed her features with weariness and melancholy. +Turning suddenly to put a question, Piers saw the change in her look, +and was so surprised that he forgot what he was going to say. +</P> + +<P> +"Finished?" she asked, moving nervously in her chair. +</P> + +<P> +When the letter was written, Mrs. Borisoff resumed talk in the same +tone as before. +</P> + +<P> +"You have heard of Dr. Derwent's discoveries about diphtheria?— That's +the kind of thing one envies, don't you think? After all, what can we +poor creatures do in this world, but try to ease each other's pain? The +man who succeeds in <I>that</I> is the man I honour." +</P> + +<P> +"I too," said Piers. "But he is lost sight of, nowadays, in comparison +with the man who invents a new gun or a new bullet." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—the beasts!" exclaimed Mrs. Borisoff, with a laugh. "What a +world! I'm always glad I have no children. But you wanted to speak, not +about Dr. Derwent, but Dr. Derwent's daughter." +</P> + +<P> +Piers bent forward, resting his chin on his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me about her—will you?" +</P> + +<P> +"There's not much to tell. You knew about the broken-off marriage?" +</P> + +<P> +"I knew it <I>was</I> broken off." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, that's all anyone knows, except the two persons concerned. It +isn't our business. The world talks far too much about such +things—don't you think? when we are civilised, there'll be no such +things as public weddings, and talk about anyone's domestic concerns +will be the grossest impertinence. That's an <I>obiter dictum</I>. I was +going to say that Irene lives with her father down in Kent. They left +Bryanston Square half a year after the affair. They wander about the +Continent together, now and then. I like that chumming of father and +daughter; it speaks well for both." +</P> + +<P> +"When did you see her last?" +</P> + +<P> +"About Christmas. We went to a concert together. That's one of the +things Irene is going in for—music. When I first knew her, she didn't +seem to care much about it, though she played fairly well." +</P> + +<P> +"I never heard her play," fell from Piers in an undertone. +</P> + +<P> +"No; she only did to please her father now and then. It's a mental and +moral advance, her new love of music. I notice that she talks much less +about science, much more about the things one really likes—I speak for +myself. Well, it's just possible I have had a little influence there. I +confess my inability to chat about either physic or physics. It's weak, +of course, but I have no place in your new world of women." +</P> + +<P> +"You mistake, I think," said Piers. "That ideal has nothing to do with +any particular study. It supposes intelligence, that's all." +</P> + +<P> +"So much the better. You must write about it in English; then we'll +debate. By the bye, if I go to your Castle, you must come down to show +me the country." +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that's part of the plan. If we don't get the Castle, you must find +some other place for me. I leave it in your hands—with an apology for +my impudence." +</P> + +<P> +After a pause, during which each of them mused smiling, they began to +talk of their departure for England. Otway would go direct in a few +days' time; Mrs. Borisoff had to travel a long way round, first of all +accompanying her husband to the Crimea, on a visit to relatives. She +mentioned her London hotel, and an approximate date when she might be +heard of there. +</P> + +<P> +"Get the Castle if you possibly can," were her words as they parted. "I +have set my heart on the Castle." +</P> + +<P> +"So have I," said Piers, avoiding her look. +</P> + +<P> +And Mrs. Borisoff laughed. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap33"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXIII +</H3> + +<P> +Once in the two years' interval he had paid a short visit to England. +He came on disagreeable business—to see his brother Daniel, who had +fallen into the hands of the police on an infamous charge, and only by +the exertions of clever counsel (feed by Piers) received the benefit of +a doubt and escaped punishment. Daniel had already written him several +begging letters, and, when detected in what looked like crime, declared +that poverty and ill-health were his excuse. He was a broken man. +Surmising his hidden life, Piers wondered at the pass a man can be +brought to, in our society, by his primitive instincts; instincts which +may lead, when they are impetuous, either to grimiest degradation or +loftiest attainment. To save him, if possible, from the worst +extremities, Piers granted him a certain small income, to be paid +weekly, and therewith bade him final adieu. +</P> + +<P> +The firm of Moncharmont & Co. grew in moderate prosperity. Its London +representative was a far better man, from the commercial point of view, +than Piers Otway, and on visiting the new offices—which he did very +soon after reaching London, in the spring of 1894—Piers marvelled how +the enterprise had escaped shipwreck during those twelve months which +were so black in his memory with storm and stress. The worst twelve +month of his life!—with the possible exception of that which he spent +part at Ewell, part at Odessa. +</P> + +<P> +Since, he had sailed in no smooth water; had seen no haven. But at +least he sailed onward, which gave him courage. Was courage to be now +illumined with hope? He tried to keep that thought away from him; he +durst not foster it. Among the papers he brought with him to England +was a letter, which, having laid it aside, he never dared to open +again. He knew it by heart—unfortunately for his peace. +</P> + +<P> +He returned to another London than that he had known, a London which +smiled welcome. It was his duty, no less than his pleasure, to call +upon certain people for whom he had letters of introduction from +friends in Russia, and their doors opened wide to him. Upon formalities +followed kindness; the season was beginning, and at his modest lodgings +arrived cards, notes, bidding to ceremonies greater and less; one or +two of these summonses bore names which might have stirred envy in the +sons of fashion. +</P> + +<P> +<I>Solus feci</I>! He allowed himself a little pride. His doing, it was +true, had as yet been nothing much to the eye of the world; but he had +made friends under circumstances not very favourable, friends among the +intelligent and the powerful. That gift, it seemed, was his, if no +other—the ability to make himself liked, respected. He, by law the son +of nobody, had begun to approve himself true son of the father he loved +and honoured. +</P> + +<P> +His habits were vigorous. Rising very early, he walked across the Park, +and had a swim in the Serpentine. The hours of the solid day he spent, +for the most part, in study at the British Museum. Then, if he had no +engagement, he generally got by train well out of town, and walked in +sweet air until nightfall; or, if weather were bad, he granted himself +the luxury of horse-hire, and rode—rode, teeth set against wind and +rain. This earned him sleep—his daily prayer to the gods. +</P> + +<P> +At the date appointed, he went in search of Mrs. Borisoff, who welcomed +him cordially. Her first inquiry was whether he had got the Castle. +</P> + +<P> +"I have got it," Piers replied, and entered into particulars. They +talked about it like children anticipating a holiday. Mrs. Borisoff +then questioned him about his doings since he had been in England. On +his mentioning a certain great lady, a Russian, with whom he was to +dine next week, his friend replied with a laugh, which she refused to +explain. +</P> + +<P> +"When can you spend an evening here? I don't mean a dinner. I'll give +you something to eat, but it doesn't count; you come to talk, as I know +you can, though you didn't let me suspect it at Petersburg. I shall +have one or two others, old chums, not respectable people. Name your +own day." +</P> + +<P> +When the evening came, Piers entered Mrs. Borisoff's drawing-room with +trepidation. He glanced at the guest who had already arrived—a lady +unknown to him. When again the door opened, he looked, trembling. His +fearful hope ended only in a headache, but he talked, as was expected +of him, and the hostess smiled approval. +</P> + +<P> +"These friends of yours," he said aside to her, before leaving, "are +nice people to know. But——" +</P> + +<P> +And he broke off, meeting her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand," said his hostess, with a perplexed look. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I daren't try to make you." +</P> + +<P> +A few days after, at the great house of the great Russian lady, he +ascended the stairs without a tremor, glanced round the room with +indifference. No one would be there whom he could not face calmly. +Brilliant women awed him a little at first, but it was not till +afterwards, in the broken night following such occasions as this, that +they had power over his imagination; then he saw them, drawn upon +darkness, their beauty without that halo of worldly grandeur which +would not allow him to forget the gulf between them. The hostess +herself shone by quality of intellect rather than by charm of feature; +she greeted him with subtlest flattery, a word or two of simple +friendliness in her own language, and was presenting him to her +husband, when, from the doorway, sounded a name which made Otway's +heart leap, and left him tongue-tied. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Borisoff and Miss Derwent." +</P> + +<P> +He turned, but with eyes downcast: for a moment he durst not raise +them. He moved, insensibly, a few steps backward, shadowed himself +behind two men who were conversing together. And at length he looked. +</P> + +<P> +With thrill of marvelling and rapture, with chill of self-abasement. +When, years ago, he saw Irene in the dress of ceremony, she seemed to +him peerlessly radiant; but it was the beauty and the dignity of one +still girlish. What he now beheld was the exquisite fulfilment of that +bright promise. He had not erred in worship; she who had ever been to +him the light of life, the beacon of his passionate soul, shone before +him supreme among women. What head so noble in its unconscious royalty! +What form so faultless in its mould and bearing! He heard her +speak—the graceful nothings of introduction and recognition; it was +Irene's voice toned to a fuller music. Then her face dazzled, grew +distant; he turned away to command himself. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Borisoff spoke beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you no good-evening for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"So this is what you meant?" +</P> + +<P> +"You have a way of speaking in riddles." +</P> + +<P> +"And you—a way of acting divinely. Tell me," his voice sank, and his +words were hurried. "May I go up to her as any acquaintance would? May +I presume that she knows me?" +</P> + +<P> +"You mean Miss Derwent? But—why not? I don't understand you." +</P> + +<P> +"No—I forget—it seems to you absurd. Of course—she wrote and +introduced me to you——" +</P> + +<P> +"You are amusing—which is more than can be said of everyone." +</P> + +<P> +She bent her head and turned to speak with someone else. Piers, with +what courage he knew not, stepped across the carpet to where Miss +Derwent was sitting. She saw his approach, and held her hand to him as +if they had met only the other day. That her complexion was a little +warmer than its wont, Piers had no power of perceiving; he saw only her +eyes, soft-shining as they rose to his, in their depths an infinite +gentleness. +</P> + +<P> +"How glad I am that you got my letter just before leaving Petersburg!" +</P> + +<P> +"How kind of you to introduce me to Mrs. Borisoff!" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you would soon be friends." +</P> + +<P> +It was all they could say. At this moment, the host murmured his +request that Otway would take down Mrs. Borisoff; the hostess led up +someone to be introduced to Miss Derwent. Then the procession began. +</P> + +<P> +Piers was both disappointed and relieved. To have felt the touch upon +his arm of Irene's hand would have been a delight unutterable, yet to +desire it was presumption. He was not worthy of that companionship; it +would have been unjust to Irene to oblige her to sit by him through the +dinner, with the inevitable thoughts rising in her mind. Better to see +her from a distance—though it was hard when she smiled at the +distinguished and clever-looking man who talked, talked. It cost him, +at first, no small effort to pay becoming attention to Mrs. Borisoff; +the lady on his other hand, a brilliant beauty, moved him to a feeling +almost hostile—he knew not why. But as the dinner progressed, as the +kindly vintage circled in his blood, he felt the stirrings of a deep +joy. By his own effort he had won reception into Irene's world. It was +something; it was much—remembering all that had gone before. +</P> + +<P> +He spoke softly to his partner. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to drink a silent health—that of my friend Korolevitch. To +him I owe everything." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe <I>that</I>, but I will drink it too—I was speaking of him +to Miss Derwent. She wants to know all about the Dukhobortsi. Instruct +her, afterwards, if you get a chance. Do you think her altered?" +</P> + +<P> +"No—yes!" +</P> + +<P> +"By the bye, how long is it really since you first knew her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Eight years—just eight years." +</P> + +<P> +"You speak as if it were eighty." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, so it seems, when I look back. I was a boy, and had the strangest +notions of the world." +</P> + +<P> +"You shall tell me all about that some day," said Mrs. Borisoff, +glancing at him. "At the Castle, perhaps——" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes! At the Castle!" +</P> + +<P> +When the company divided, and Piers had watched Irene pass out of +sight, he sat down with a tired indifference. But his host drew him +into conversation on Russian subjects, and, as had happened before now +in gatherings of this kind, Otway presently found himself amid +attentive listeners, whilst he talked of things that interested him. At +such moments he had an irreflective courage, which prompted him to +utter what he thought without regard to anything but the common +civilities of life. His opinions might excite surprise; but they did +not give offence; for they seemed impersonal, the natural outcome of +honest and capable observation, with never a touch of national +prejudice or individual conceit. It was well, perhaps, for the young +man's natural modesty, that he did not hear certain remarks afterwards +exchanged between the more intelligent of his hearers. +</P> + +<P> +When they passed to the drawing-room, the piano was sounding there. It +stopped; the player rose, and moved away, but not before Piers had seen +that it was Irene. He felt robbed of a delight. Oh, to hear Irene play! +</P> + +<P> +Better was in store for him. With a boldness natural to the hour, he +drew nearer, nearer, watching his opportunity. The chair by Irene's +side became vacant; he stepped forward, and was met with a frank +countenance, which invited him to take the coveted place. Miss Derwent +spoke at once of her interest in the Russian sectaries with whom—she +had heard—Otway was well acquainted, the people called Dukhobortsi, +who held the carrying of arms a sin, and suffered persecution because +of their conscientious refusal to perform military service. Piers spoke +with enthusiasm of these people. +</P> + +<P> +"They uphold the ideal above all necessary to our time. We ought to be +rapidly outgrowing warfare; isn't that the obvious next step in +civilisation? It seems a commonplace that everyone should look to that +end, and strive for it. Yet we're going back—there's a military +reaction—fighting is glorified by everyone who has a loud voice, and +in no country more than in England. I wish you could hear a Russian +friend of mine speak about it, a rich man who has just given up +everything to join the Dukhobortsi. I never knew before what religious +passion meant. And it seems to me that this is the world's only +hope—peace made a religion. The forms don't matter; only let the +supreme end be peace. It is what people have talked so much about—the +religion of the future." +</P> + +<P> +His tones moved the listener, as appeared in her look and attitude. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely all the best in every country lean to it," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course! That's our hope—but at the same time the pitiful thing; +for the best hold back, keep silence, as if their quiet contempt could +prevail against this activity of the reckless and the foolish." +</P> + +<P> +"One can't <I>make</I> a religion," said Irene sadly. "It is just this +religious spirit which has decayed throughout our world. Christianity +turns to ritualism. And science—we were told you know, that science +would be religion enough." +</P> + +<P> +"There's the pity—the failure of science as a civilising force. I +know," added Piers quickly, "that there are men whose spirit, whose +work, doesn't share in that failure; they are the men—the very +few—who are above self-interest. But science on the whole, has come to +mean money-making and weapon-making. It leads the international +struggle; it is judged by its value to the capitalist and the soldier." +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't this perhaps a stage of evolution that the world must live +through—to its extreme results?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very likely. The signs are bad enough." +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't yourself that enthusiastic hope?" +</P> + +<P> +"I try to hope," said Piers, in a low, unsteady voice, his eyes falling +timidly before her glance. "But what you said is so true—one can't +create the spirit of religion. If one hasn't it——" He broke off, and +added with a smile, "I think I have a certain amount of enthusiasm. But +when one has seen a good deal of the world, it's so very easy to feel +discouraged. Think how much sheer barbarism there is around us, from +the brutal savage of the gutter to the cunning savage of the Stock +Exchange!" +</P> + +<P> +Irene had a gleam in her eyes; she nodded appreciation. +</P> + +<P> +"If," he went on vigorously, "if one could make the multitude really +understand—understand to the point of action—how enormously its +interest is peace!" +</P> + +<P> +"More hope that way, I'm afraid," said Irene, "than through idealisms." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes. If it comes at all, it'll be by the way of self-interest. +And really it looks as if the military tyrants might overreach +themselves here and there. Italy, for instance. Think of Italy, crushed +and cursed by a blood-tax that the people themselves see to be futile. +One enters into the spirit of the men who freed Italy from +foreigners—it was glorious; but how much more glorious to excite a +rebellion there against her own rulers! Shouldn't you enjoy doing that?" +</P> + +<P> +At times, there is no subtler compliment to a woman than to address her +as if she were a man. It must be done involuntarily, as was the case +with this utterance of Otway's. Irene rewarded him with a look such as +he had never had from her, the look of rejoicing comradeship. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed I should! Italy is becoming a misery to those who love her. Is +no plot going on? Couldn't one start a conspiracy against that infamous +misgovernment?" +</P> + +<P> +"There's an arch-plotter at work. His name is Hunger. Let us be glad +that Italy can't enrich herself by manufactures. Who knows? The +revolution against militarism may begin there, as that against +feudalism did in France. Talk of enthusiasm! How should we feel if we +read in the paper some morning that the Italian people had formed into +an army of peace—refusing to pay another centesimo for warfare? +</P> + +<P> +"The next boat for Calais! The next train for Rome!" Their eyes met, +interchanging gleams of laughter. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, but the crowd, the crowd!" sighed Piers. "What is bad enough to +say of it? who shall draw its picture with long enough ears?" +</P> + +<P> +"It has another aspect, you know." +</P> + +<P> +"It has. At its best, a smiling simpleton; at its worst, a murderous +maniac." +</P> + +<P> +"You are not exactly a socialist," remarked Irene, with that smile +which, linking past and present, blended in Otway's heart old love and +new—her smile of friendly irony. +</P> + +<P> +"Socialism? I seldom think of it; which means, that I have no faith in +it.—When we came in, you were playing." +</P> + +<P> +"I miss the connection," said Irene, with a puzzled air. +</P> + +<P> +"Forgive me. I am fond of music, and it has been in my mind all the +time—the hope that you would play again." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that was merely the slow music, as one might say, of the +drawing-room mysteries—an obligato in the after-dinner harmony. I play +only to amuse myself—or when it is a painful duty." +</P> + +<P> +Piers was warned by his tactful conscience that he had held Miss +Derwent quite long enough in talk. A movement in their neighbourhood +gave miserable opportunity; he resigned his seat to another expectant, +and did his best to converse with someone else. +</P> + +<P> +Her voice went with him as he walked homewards across the Park, under a +fleecy sky silvered with moonlight; the voice which now and again +brought back so vividly their first meeting at Ewell. He lived through +it all again, the tremors, the wild hopes, the black despair of eight +years ago. How she encountered him on the stairs, talked of his long +hours of study, and prophesied—with that indescribable blending of +gravity and jest, still her characteristic—that he would come to grief +over his examination. Irene! Irene! Did she dream what was in his mind +and heart? The long, long love, his very life through all labours and +cares and casualties—did she suspect it, imagine it? If she had +received his foolish verses (he grew hot to think of them), there must +have been at least a moment when she knew that he worshipped her, and +does such knowledge ever fade from a woman's memory? +</P> + +<P> +Irene! Irene! Was she brought nearer to him by her own experience of +heart-trouble? That she had suffered, he could not doubt; impossible +for her to have given her consent to marriage unless she believed +herself in love with the man who wooed her. It could have been no +trifling episode in her life, whatever the story; Irene was not of the +women who yield their hands in jest, in pique, in lighthearted +ignorance. The change visible in her was more, he fancied, than could +be due to the mere lapse of time; during her silences, she had the look +of one familiar with mental conflict, perhaps of one whose pride had +suffered an injury. The one or two glances which he ventured whilst she +was talking with the man who succeeded to his place beside her, +perceived a graver countenance, a reserve such as she had not used with +him; and of this insubstantial solace he made a sort of hope which +winged the sleepless hours till daybreak. +</P> + +<P> +He had permission to call upon Mrs. Borisoff at times alien to polite +routine. Thus, when nearly a week had passed, he sought her company at +midday, and found her idling over a book, her seat by a window which +viewed the Thames and the broad Embankment with its plane trees, and +London beyond the water, picturesque in squalid hugeness through summer +haze and the sagging smoke of chimneys numberless. She gave a languid +hand, pointed to a chair, gazed at him with embarrassing fixity. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know about the Castle," were her first words. "Perhaps I shall +give it up." +</P> + +<P> +"You are not serious?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers spoke and looked in dismay; and still she kept her heavy eyes on +him. +</P> + +<P> +"What does it matter to <I>you</I>?" she asked carelessly. +</P> + +<P> +"I counted on—on showing you the dales——" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Borisoff nodded twice or thrice, and laughed, then pointed to the +prospect through the window. +</P> + +<P> +"This is more interesting. Imagine historians living a thousand years +hence—what would they give to see what we see now!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, one often has that thought. It's about the best way of making +ordinary life endurable." +</P> + +<P> +They watched the steamers and barges, silent for a minute or two. +</P> + +<P> +"So you had rather I didn't give up the castle?" +</P> + +<P> +"I should be horribly disappointed." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—no doubt you would. Why did you come to see me to-day? No, no, +no! The real reason. +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted to talk about Miss Derwent," Piers answered, bracing himself +to frankness. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Borisoff's lips contracted, in something which was not quite a +smile, but which became a smile before she spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"If you hadn't told the truth, Mr. Otway, I would have sent you about +your business. Well, talk of her; I am ready." +</P> + +<P> +"But certainly not if it wearies you——" +</P> + +<P> +"Talk! talk!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll begin with a question. Does Miss Derwent go much into society?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; not very much. And it's only the last few months that she has been +seen at all in London—I mean, since the affair that people talked +about." +</P> + +<P> +"Did they talk—disagreeably?" +</P> + +<P> +"Gossip—chatter—half malicious without malicious intention—don't you +know the way of the sweet creatures? I would tell you more if I could. +The simple truth is that Irene has never spoken to me about it—never +once. When it happened, she came suddenly to Paris, to a hotel, and +from there wrote me a letter, just saying that her marriage was off; no +word of explanation. Of course I fetched her at once to my house, and +from that moment to this I have heard not one reference from her to the +matter. You would like to know something about the hero? He has been +away a good deal—building up the Empire, as they say; which means, of +course, looking after his own and other people's dividends." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you. Now let us talk about the Castle." +</P> + +<P> +But Mrs. Borisoff was not in a good humour to-day, and Piers very soon +took his leave. Her hand felt rather hot; he noticed this particularly, +as she let it lie in his longer than usual—part of her +absent-mindedness. +</P> + +<P> +Piers had often resented, as a weakness, his susceptibility to the +influence of others' moods; he did so to-day, when having gone to Mrs. +Borisoff in an unusually cheerful frame of mind, he came away languid +and despondent. But his scheme of life permitted no such idle brooding +as used to waste his days; self-discipline sent him to his work, as +usual, through the afternoon, and in the evening he walked ten miles. +</P> + +<P> +The weather was brilliant. As he stood, far away in rural stillness, +watching a noble sunset, he repeated to himself words which had of late +become his motto, "Enjoy now! This moment will never come again." But +the intellectual resolve was one thing, the moral aptitude another. He +did not enjoy; how many hours in all his life had brought him real +enjoyment? Idle to repeat and repeat that life was the passing minute, +which must be seized, made the most of; he could not live in the +present; life was to him for ever a thing postponed. "I will live—I +will enjoy—some day!" As likely as not that day would never dawn. +</P> + +<P> +Was it true, as admonishing reason sometimes whispered, that happiness +cometh not by observation, that the only true content is in the moments +which we pass without self-consciousness? Is all attainment followed by +disillusion? A man aware of his health is on the verge of malady. Were +he to possess his desire, to exclaim, "I am happy," would the Fates +chastise his presumption? +</P> + +<P> +That way lay asceticism, which his soul abhorred. On, rather, following +the great illusion, if this it were! "The crown of life"—philosophise +as he might, that word had still its meaning, still its inspiration. +Let the present pass untasted; he preferred his dream of a day to come. +</P> + +<P> +Next morning, very unexpectedly, he received a note from Mrs. Borisoff +inviting him to dine with her a few days hence. About her company she +said nothing, and Piers went, uncertain whether it was a dinner +<I>tete-a-tete</I> or with other guests. When he entered the room, the first +face he beheld was Irene's. +</P> + +<P> +It was a very small party, and the hostess wore her gayest countenance. +A delightful evening, from the social point of view; for Piers Otway a +time of self-forgetfulness in the pleasures of sight and hearing. He +could have little private talk with Irene; she did not talk much with +anyone; but he saw her, he heard her voice, he lived in the glory of +her presence. Moreover, she consented to play. Of her skill as a +pianist, Otway could not judge; what he heard was Music, music +absolute, the very music of the spheres. When it ceased, Mrs. Borisoff +chanced to look at him; he was startlingly pale, his eyes wide as if in +vision more than mortal. +</P> + +<P> +"I leave town to-morrow," said his hostess, as he took leave. "Some +friends are going with me. You shall hear how we get on at the Castle." +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps her look was meant to supplement this bare news. It seemed to +offer reassurance. Did she understand his look of entreaty in reply? +</P> + +<P> +Music breathed about him in the lonely hours. It exalted his passion, +lulled the pains of desire, held the flesh subservient to spirit. What +is love, says the physiologist, but ravening sex? If so, in Piers +Otway's breast the primal instinct had undergone strange +transformation. How wrought?—he asked himself. To what destiny did it +correspond, this winged love soaring into the infinite? This rapture of +devotion, this utter humbling of self, this ardour of the poet soul +singing a fellow-creature to the heaven of heavens—by what alchemy +comes it forth from blood and tissue? Nature has no need of such lyric +life her purpose is well achieved by humbler instrumentality. Romantic +lovers are not the ancestry of noblest lines. +</P> + +<P> +And if—as might well be—his love were defeated, fruitless, what end +in the vast maze of things would his anguish serve? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap34"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXIV +</H3> + +<P> +After his day's work, he had spent an hour among the pictures at +Burlington House. He was lingering before an exquisite landscape, +unwilling to change this atmosphere of calm for the roaring street, +when a voice timidly addressed him: +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Otway!" +</P> + +<P> +How altered! The face was much, much older, and in some indeterminable +way had lost its finer suggestions. At her best, Olga Hannaford had a +distinction of feature, a singularity of emotional expression, which +made her beautiful in Olga Florio the lines of visage were far less +subtle, and classed her under an inferior type. Transition from +maidenhood to what is called the matronly had been too rapid; it was +emphasised by her costume, which cried aloud in its excess of modish +splendour. +</P> + +<P> +"How glad I am to see you again!" she sighed tremorously, pressing his +hand with fervour, gazing at him with furtive directness. "Are you +living in England now?" +</P> + +<P> +Piers gave an account of himself. He was a little embarrassed but quite +unagitated. A sense of pity averted his eyes after the first wondering +look. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you—may I venture—can you spare the time to come and have tea +with me? My carriage is waiting—I am quite alone—I only looked in for +a few minutes, to rest my mind after a lunch with, oh, such tiresome +people!" +</P> + +<P> +His impulse was to refuse, at all costs to refuse. The voice, the +glance, the phrases jarred upon him, shocked him. Already he had begun +"I am afraid"—when a hurried, vehement whisper broke upon his excuse. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't be unkind to me! I beg you to come! I entreat you!" +</P> + +<P> +"I will come with pleasure," he said in a loud voice of ordinary +civility. +</P> + +<P> +At once she turned, and he followed. Without speaking, they descended +the great staircase; a brougham drove up; they rolled away westward. +Never had Piers felt such thorough moral discomfort; the heavily +perfumed air of the carriage depressed and all but nauseated him; the +inevitable touch of Olga's garments made him shrink. She had begun to +talk, and talked incessantly throughout the homeward drive; not much of +herself, or of him, but about the pleasures and excitements of the +idle-busy world. It was meant, he supposed, to convey to him an idea of +her prosperous and fashionable life. Her husband, she let fall, was for +the moment in Italy; affairs of importance sometimes required his +presence there; but they both preferred England. The intellectual +atmosphere of London—where else could one live on so high a level? +</P> + +<P> +The carriage stopped in a street beyond Edgware Road, at a house of +more modest appearance than Otway had looked for. Just as they +alighted, a nursemaid with a perambulator was approaching the door; +Piers caught sight of a very pale little face shadowed by the hood, but +his companion, without heeding, ran up the steps, and knocked +violently. They entered. +</P> + +<P> +Still the oppressive atmosphere of perfumes. Left for a few minutes in +a little drawing-room, or boudoir, Piers stood marvelling at the +ingenuity which had packed so much furniture and bric-tate-brac, so +many pictures, so much drapery, into so small a space. He longed to +throw open the window; he could not sit still in this odour-laden +hothouse, where the very flowers were burdensome by excess. When Olga +reappeared, she was gorgeous in flowing tea-gown; her tawny hair hung +low in artful profusion; her neck and arms were bare, her feet +brilliantly slippered. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! How good, how good, it is to sit down and talk to you once +more!—Do you like my room?" +</P> + +<P> +"You have made yourself very comfortable," replied Otway, striking a +note as much as possible in contrast to that of his hostess. "Some of +these drawings are your own work, no doubt?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, some of them," she answered languidly. "Do you remember that +pastel? Ah, surely you do—from the old days at Ewell!" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course!—That is a portrait of your husband?" he added, indicating +a head on a little easel. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—idealised!" +</P> + +<P> +She laughed and put the subject away. Then tea was brought in, and +after pouring it, Olga grew silent. Resolute to talk, Piers had the +utmost difficulty in finding topics, but he kept up an everyday sort of +chat, postponing as long as possible the conversation foreboded by his +companion's face. When he was weary, Olga's opportunity came. +</P> + +<P> +"There is something I <I>must</I> say to you——" +</P> + +<P> +Her arms hung lax, her head drooped forward, she looked at him from +under her brows. +</P> + +<P> +"I have suffered so much—oh, I have suffered! I have longed for this +moment. Will you say—that you forgive me?" +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Mrs. Florio"—Piers began with good-natured expostulation, a +sort of forced bluffness; but she would not hear him. +</P> + +<P> +"Not that name! Not from <I>you</I>. There's no harm; you won't—you can't +misunderstand me, such old friends as we are. I want you to call me by +my own name, and to make me feel that we are friends still—that you +can really forgive me." +</P> + +<P> +"There is nothing in the world to forgive," he insisted, in the same +tone. "Of course we are friends! How could we be anything else?" +</P> + +<P> +"I behaved infamously to you! I can't think how I had the heart to do +it!" +</P> + +<P> +Piers was tortured with nervousness. Had her voice and manner declared +insincerity, posing, anything of that kind, he would have found the +situation much more endurable; but Olga had tears in her eyes, and not +the tears of an actress; her tones had recovered something of their old +quality, and reminded him painfully of the time when Mrs. Hannaford was +dying. She held a hand to him, her pale face besought his compassion. +</P> + +<P> +"Come now, let us talk in the old way, as you wish," he said, just +pressing her fingers. "Of course I felt it—but then I was myself +altogether to blame. I importuned you for what you couldn't give. +Remembering that, wasn't your action the most sensible, and really the +kindest?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," Olga murmured, in a voice just audible. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course it was! There now, we've done with all that. Tell me more +about your life this last year or two. You are such a brilliant person. +I felt rather overcome——" +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense!" But Olga brightened a little. "What of your own brilliancy? +I read somewhere that you are a famous man in Russia——" +</P> + +<P> +Piers laughed, spontaneously this time, and, finding it a way of +escape, gossiped about his own achievements with mirthful exaggeration. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you see the Derwents?" Mrs. Florio asked of a sudden, with a +sidelong look. +</P> + +<P> +So vexed was Otway at the embarrassment he could not wholly hide, and +which delayed his answer, that he spoke the truth with excessive +bluntness. +</P> + +<P> +"I have met Miss Derwent in society." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't often see them," said Olga, in a tone of weariness. "I suppose +we belong to different worlds." +</P> + +<P> +At the earliest possible moment, Piers rose with decision. He felt that +he had not pleased Mrs. Florio, that perhaps he had offended her, and +in leaving her he tried to atone for involuntary unkindness. +</P> + +<P> +"But we shall see each other again, of course!" she exclaimed, +retaining his hand. "You will come again soon?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly I will." +</P> + +<P> +"And your address—let me have your address——" +</P> + +<P> +He breathed deeply in the open air. Glancing back at the house when he +had crossed the street, he saw a white hand waved to him at a window; +it hurried his step. +</P> + +<P> +On the following day, Mrs. Florio visited her friend Miss Bonnicastle, +who had some time since exchanged the old quarters in Great Portland +Street for a house in Pimlico, where there was a larger studio +(workshop, as she preferred to call it), hung about with her own and +other people's designs. The artist of the poster was full as ever of +vitality and of good-nature, but her humour had not quite the old +spice; a stickler for decorum would have said that she was decidedly +improved, that she had grown more womanly; and something of this change +appeared also in her work, which tended now to the graceful rather than +the grotesque. She received her fashionable visitant with off-hand +friendliness, not altogether with cordiality. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I've something to show you. Do you know that name?" +</P> + +<P> +Olga took a business-card, and read upon it: "Alexander Otway, Dramatic +& Musical Agent." +</P> + +<P> +"It's his brother," she said, in a voice of quiet surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought so. The man called yesterday—wants a fetching thing to boom +an Irish girl at the halls. There's her photo." +</P> + +<P> +It represented a piquant person in short skirts; a face neither very +pretty nor very young, but likely to be deemed attractive by the public +in question. They amused themselves over it for a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"He used to be a journalist," said Olga. "Does he seem to be doing +well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Couldn't say. A great talker, and a furious Jingo." +</P> + +<P> +"Jingo?" +</P> + +<P> +"This woman is to sing a song of his composition, all about the Empire. +Not the hall; the British. Glorifies the Flag, that blessed rag—a +rhyme I suggested to him, and asked him to pay me for. It's a taking +tune, and we shall have it everywhere, no doubt. He sang a verse—I +wish you could have heard him. A queer fish!" +</P> + +<P> +Olga walked about, seeming to inspect the pictures, but in reality much +occupied with her thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," she said presently, "I only looked in, dear, to say +how-do-you-do." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Bonnicastle was drawing; she turned, as if to shake hands, but +looked her friend in the face with a peculiar expression, far more +earnest than was commonly seen in her. +</P> + +<P> +"You called on Kite yesterday morning." +</P> + +<P> +Olga, with slight confusion, admitted that she had been to see the +artist. For some weeks Kite had suffered from an ailment which confined +him to the house; he could not walk, and indeed could do nothing but +lie and read, or talk of what he would do, when he recovered his +health. Cheap claret having lost its inspiring force, the poor fellow +had turned to more potent beverages, and would ere now have sunk into +inscrutable deeps but for Miss Bonnicastle, who interested herself in +his welfare. Olga, after losing sight of him for nearly two years, by +chance discovered his whereabouts and his circumstances, and twice in +the past week had paid him a visit. +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted to tell you," pursued Miss Bonnicastle, in a steady, +matter-of-fact voice, "that he's going to have a room in this house, +and be looked after." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed?" +</P> + +<P> +There was a touch of malice in Olga's surprise. She held herself rather +stiffly. +</P> + +<P> +"It's just as well to be straightforward," continued the other. "I +should like to say that it'll be very much better if you don't come to +see him at all." +</P> + +<P> +Olga was now very dignified indeed. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, pray say no more I quite understand—quite!" +</P> + +<P> +"I shouldn't have said it at all," rejoined Miss Bonnicastle, "if I +could have trusted your—discretion. The fact is, I found I couldn't." +</P> + +<P> +"Really!" exclaimed Olga, red with anger. "You might spare me insults!" +</P> + +<P> +"Come, come! We're not going to fly at each other, Olga. I intended no +insult; but, whilst we're about it, do take advice from one who means +it well. Sentiment is all right, but sentimentality is all wrong. Do +get rid of it, there's a good girl. You're meant for something better." +</P> + +<P> +Olga made a great sweep of the floor with her skirts, and vanished in a +whirl of perfume. +</P> + +<P> +She drove straight to the address which she had seen on Alexander +Otway's card. It was in a decently sordid street south of the river; in +a window on the ground floor hung an announcement of Alexander's name +and business. As Olga stood at the door, there came out, showily +dressed for walking, a person in whom she at once recognised the +original of the portrait at Miss Bonnicastle's. It was no other than +Mrs. Otway, the "Biddy" whose simple singing had so pleased her +brother-in-law years ago. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it the agent you want to see?" she asked, in her tongue of County +Wexford. "The door to the right." +</P> + +<P> +Alexander jumped up, all smiles at the sight of so grand a lady. He had +grown very obese, and very red about the neck; his linen might have +been considerably cleaner, and his coat better brushed. But he seemed +in excellent spirits, and glowed when his visitor began by saying that +she wished to speak in confidence of a delicate matter. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Otway, you have an elder brother, his name Daniel." +</P> + +<P> +The listener's countenance fell. +</P> + +<P> +"Madam, I'm sorry to say I have." +</P> + +<P> +"He has written to me, more than once, a begging letter. My name +doesn't matter; I'll only say now that he used to know me slightly long +ago. I wish to ask you whether he is really in want." +</P> + +<P> +Alexander hesitated, with much screwing of the features. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, he may be, now and then," was his reply at length. "I have +helped him, but, to tell the truth, it's not much good. So far as I +know, he has no regular supplies—but it's his own fault." +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly." Olga evidently approached a point still more delicate. "I +presume he has worn out the patience of <I>both</I> brothers?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" The agent shook his head, "I'm sorry to say that the <I>other's</I> +patience—I see you know something of our family circumstances—never +allowed itself to be tried. He's very well off, I believe, but he'll do +nothing for poor Dan, and never would. I'm bound to admit Dan has his +faults, but still——" +</P> + +<P> +His brows expressed sorrow rather than anger on the subject of his +hard-fisted relative. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you happen to know anything," pursued Olga, lowering her voice, "of +a transaction about certain—certain letters, which were given up by +Daniel Otway?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why—yes. I've heard something about that affair." +</P> + +<P> +"Those letters, I always understood, were purchased from him at a +considerable price." +</P> + +<P> +"That's true," replied Alexander, smiling familiarly as he leaned +across the table. "But the considerable price was never paid—not one +penny of it." +</P> + +<P> +Olga's face changed. She had a wondering lost, pained look. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Otway, are you <I>sure</I> of that?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, pretty sure. Dan has talked of it more than once, and I don't +think he could talk as he does if there wasn't a real grievance. I'm +very much afraid he was cheated. Perhaps I oughtn't to use that word; I +daresay Dan had no right to ask money for the letters at all. But there +was a bargain, and I'm afraid it wasn't honourably kept on the other +side." +</P> + +<P> +Olga reflected for a moment, and rose, saying that she was obliged, +that this ended her business. Alexander's curiosity sought to prolong +the conversation, but in vain. He then threw out a word concerning his +professional interests; would the lady permit him to bespeak her +countenance for a new singer, an Irish girl of great talent, who would +be coming out very shortly? +</P> + +<P> +"She has a magnificent song, madam! The very spirit of +Patriotism—stirring, stirring! Let me offer you one of her photos. +Miss Ennis Corthy—you'll soon see the announcements." +</P> + +<P> +Olga drove away in a troubled dream. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap35"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXV +</H3> + +<P> +"The 13th will suit admirably," wrote Helen Borisoff. +</P> + +<P> +"That morning my guests leave, and we shall be quiet—except for the +popping of guns round about. Which reminds me that my big, healthy +Englishman of a cousin (him you met in town) will be down here to +slaughter little birds in aristocratic company, and may most likely +look in to tell us of his bags. I will meet you at the station." +</P> + +<P> +So Irene, alone, journeyed from King's Cross into the North Riding. At +evening, the sun golden amid long lazy clouds that had spent their +showers, she saw wide Wensleydale, its closing hills higher to north +and south as the train drew onward, green slopes of meadow and woodland +rising to the beat and the heather. At a village station appeared the +welcoming face of her friend Helen. A countryman with his homely gig +drove them up the hillside, the sweet air singing about them from +moorland heights, the long dale spreading in grander prospect as they +ascended, then hidden as they dropped into a wooded glen, where the +horse splashed through a broad beck and the wheels jolted over boulders +of limestone. Out again into the sunset, and at a turn of the climbing +road stood up before them the grey old Castle, in its shadow the church +and the hamlet, and all around the glory of rolling hills. +</P> + +<P> +Of the four great towers, one lay a shattered ruin, one only remained +habitable. Above the rooms occupied by Mrs. Borisoff and her guests was +that which had imprisoned the Queen of Scots; a chamber of bare stone, +with high embrasure narrowing to the slit of window which admitted +daylight, and, if one climbed the sill, gave a glimpse of far +mountains. Down below, deep under the roots of the tower, was the +Castle's dungeon, black and deadly. Early on the morrow Helen led her +friend to see these things. Then they climbed to the battlements, where +the sun shone hot, and Helen pointed out the features of the vast +landscape, naming heights, and little dales which pour their +tributaries into the Ure, and villages lying amid the rich pasture. +</P> + +<P> +"And yonder is Hawes," said Irene, pointing to the head of the dale. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; too far to see." +</P> + +<P> +They did not exchange a look. Irene spoke at once of something else. +</P> + +<P> +There came to lunch Mrs. Borisoff's cousin, a grouse-guest at a house +some miles away. He arrived on horseback, and his approach was watched +with interest by two pairs of eyes from the Castle windows. Mr. March +looked well in the saddle, for he was a strong, comely man of about +thirty, who lived mostly under the open sky. Irene had met him only +once, and that in a drawing-room; she saw him now to greater advantage, +heard him talk freely of things he understood and enjoyed, and on the +whole did not dislike him. With Helen he was a favourite; she affected +to make fun of him, but had confessed to Irene that she respected him +more than any other of her county-family kinsfolk. As he talked of his +two days' shooting, he seemed to become aware that Miss Derwent had no +profound interest in this subject, and there fell from him an +unexpected apology. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course it isn't a very noble kind of sport," he said, with a laugh. +"One is invited—one takes it in the course of things. I prefer the big +game, where there's a chance of having to shoot for your life." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose one <I>must</I> shoot something," remarked Irene, as if musing a +commonplace. +</P> + +<P> +March took it with good nature, like a man who cannot remember whether +that point of view ever occurred to him, but who is quite willing to +think about it. Indeed, he seemed more than willing to give attention +to anything Miss Derwent choose to say: something of this inclination +had appeared even at their first meeting, and to-day it was more +marked. He showed reluctance when the hour obliged him to remount his +horse. Mrs. Borisoff's hope that she might see him again before he left +this part of the country received a prompt and cheerful reply. +</P> + +<P> +Later, that afternoon, the two friends climbed the great hillside above +the Castle, and rambled far over the moorland, to a windy height where +they looked into deep wild Swaledale. Their talk was only of the scenes +around them, until, on their way back, they approached a line of +three-walled shelters, built of rough stone, about the height of a man. +In reply to Irene's question, Helen explained the use of these +structures; she did so in an off-hand way, with the proper terms, and +would have passed on, but Irene stood gazing. +</P> + +<P> +"What! They lie in ambush here, whilst the men drive the birds towards +them, to be shot?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's sport," rejoined the other indifferently. +</P> + +<P> +"I see. And here are the old cartridges." A heap of them lay close by +amid the ling. "I don't wonder that Mr. March seemed a little ashamed +of himself." +</P> + +<P> +"But surely you knew all about this sort of thing!" said Mrs. Borisoff, +with a little laugh of impatience. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I didn't." +</P> + +<P> +She had picked up one of the cartridge-cases, and, after examining it, +her eyes wandered about the vast-rolling moor. The wind sang low; the +clouds sailed across the mighty dome of heaven; not a human dwelling +was visible, and not a sound broke upon nature's infinite calm. +</P> + +<P> +"It amazes me," Irene continued, subduing her voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Incredible that men can come up here just to bang guns and see +beautiful birds fall dead! One would think that what they <I>saw</I> here +would stop their hands—that this silence would fill their minds and +hearts, and make it impossible!" +</P> + +<P> +Her voice had never trembled with such emotion in Helen's hearing. It +was not Irene's habit to speak in this way. She had the native +reticence of English women, preferring to keep silence when she felt +strongly, or to disguise her feeling with irony and jest. But the hour +and the place overcame her; a noble passion shone in her clear eyes, +and thrilled in her utterance. +</P> + +<P> +"What barbarians!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yet you know they are nothing of the kind," objected Helen. "At least, +not all of them." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. March?—You called him, yourself, a fine barbarian, quoting from +Matthew Arnold. I never before understood how true that description +was." +</P> + +<P> +"I assure you, it doesn't apply to him, whatever I may have said in +joke. This shooting is the tradition of a certain class. It's one of +the ways in which great, strong men get their necessary exercise. Some +of them feel, at moments, just as you do, I've no doubt; but there they +are, a lot of them together, and a man can't make himself ridiculous, +you know." +</P> + +<P> +"You're not like yourself in this, Helen," said Irene. "You're not +speaking as you think. Another time, you'll confess it's abominable +savagery, with not one good word to be said for it. And more +contemptible than I ever suspected! I'm so glad I've seen this. It +helps to clear my thoughts about—about things in general." +</P> + +<P> +She flung away the little yellow cylinder-flung it far from her with +disgust, and, as if to forget it, plucked as she walked on a spray of +heath, which glowed with its purple bells among the redder ling. +Helen's countenance was shadowed. She spoke no more for several minutes. +</P> + +<P> +When two days had passed, March again came riding up to the Castle, and +lunched with the ladies. Irene was secretly vexed. At breakfast she had +suggested a whole day's excursion, which her friend persuaded her to +postpone; the reason must have been Helen's private knowledge that Mr. +March was coming. In consequence, the lunch fell short of perfect +cheerfulness. For reasons of her own, Irene was just a little formal in +her behaviour to the guest; she did not talk so well as usual, and bore +herself as a girl must who wishes, without unpleasantness, to check a +man's significant approaches. +</P> + +<P> +In the hot afternoon, chairs were taken out into the shadow of the +Castle walls, and there the three sat conversing. Someone drew near, a +man, whom the careless glance of Helen's cousin took for a casual +tourist about to view the ruins. Helen herself, and in the same moment, +Irene, recognised Piers Otway. It seemed as though Mrs. Borisoff would +not rise to welcome him; her smile was dubious, half surprised. She +cast a glance at Irene, whose face was set in the austerest +self-control, and thereupon not only stood up, but stepped forward with +cordial greeting. +</P> + +<P> +"So you have really come! Delighted to see you! Are you walking—as you +said?" +</P> + +<P> +"Too hot!" Piers replied, with a laugh. "I spent yesterday at York, and +came on in a cowardly way by train." +</P> + +<P> +He was shaking hands with Irene, who dropped a word or two of mere +courtesy. In introducing him to March, Mrs. Borisoff said, "An old +friend of ours," which caused her stalwart cousin to survey the dark, +slimly-built man very attentively. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll get you a chair, Mr. Otway——" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! Let me sit or lie here on the grass. It's all I feel fit for +after the climb." +</P> + +<P> +He threw himself down, nearer to Helen than to her friend, and the talk +became livelier than before his arrival. Irene emerged from the +taciturnity into which she had more and more withdrawn, and March, not +an unobservant man, evidently noted this, and reflected upon it. He had +at first regarded the new-comer with a civil aloofness, as one not of +his world; presently, he seemed to ask himself to what world the +singular being might belong—a man who knew how to behave himself, and +whose talk implied more than common <I>savoir-vivre</I>, yet who differed in +such noticeable points from an Englishman of the leisured class. +</P> + +<P> +Helen was in a mischievous mood. She broached the subject of grouse, +addressing to Otway an ambiguous remark which led March to ask, with +veiled surprise, whether he was a sportsman. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Otway's taste is for bigger game," she exclaimed, before Piers +could reply. "He lives in hope of potting Russians on the Indian +frontier." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I can sympathise with him in that," said the large-limbed man, +puzzled but smiling. "He'll probably have a chance before very long." +</P> + +<P> +No sooner had he spoken that a scarlet confusion glowed upon his face. +In speculating about Otway, he had for the moment forgotten his +cousin's name. +</P> + +<P> +"I <I>beg</I> your pardon, Helen!—What an idiot I am Of course you were +joking, and I——" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't, don't, don't apologise, Edward! Tell truth and shame—your +Russian relatives! I like you all the better for it." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," he answered. "And after all, there's no harm in a little +fighting. It's better to fight and have done with it than keeping on +plotting between compliments. Nations arc just like schoolboys, you +know; there has to be a round now and then; it settles things, and is +good for the blood." +</P> + +<P> +Otway was biting a blade of grass; he smiled and said nothing. Mrs. +Borisoff glanced from him to Irene, who also was smiling, but looked +half vexed. +</P> + +<P> +"How can it be good, for health or anything else?" Miss Derwent asked +suddenly, turning to the speaker. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, we couldn't do without fighting. It's in human nature." +</P> + +<P> +"In uncivilised human nature, yes." +</P> + +<P> +"But really, you know," urged March, with good-natured deference, "it +wouldn't do to civilise away pluck—courage—heroism—whatever one +likes to call it." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course it wouldn't. But what has pluck or heroism to do with +bloodshed? How can anyone imagine that courage is only shown in +fighting? I don't happen to have been in a battle, but one knows very +well how easy it must be for any coward or brute, excited to madness, +to become what's called a hero. Heroism is noble courage in ordinary +life. Are you serious in thinking that life offers no opportunities for +it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well—it's not quite the same thing——" +</P> + +<P> +"Happily, not! It's a vastly better thing. Every day some braver deed +is done by plain men and women—yes, women, if you please—than was +ever known on the battle-field. One only hears of them now and then. On +the railway—on the sea—in the hospital—in burning houses—in +accidents of road and street—are there no opportunities for courage? +In the commonest everyday home life, doesn't any man or woman have +endless chances of being brave or a coward? And this is civilised +courage, not the fury of a bull at a red rag." +</P> + +<P> +Piers Otway had ceased to nibble his blade of grass; his eyes were +fixed on Irene. When she had made a sudden end of speaking, when she +smiled her apology for the fervour forbidden in polite converse, he +still gazed at her, self-oblivious. Helen Borisoff watched him, askance. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us go in and have some tea," she said, rising abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +Soon after, March said good-bye, a definite good-bye; he was going to +another part of England. With all the grace of his caste he withdrew +from a circle, in which, temptations notwithstanding, he had not felt +quite at ease. Riding down the dale through a sunny shower, he was +refreshed and himself again. +</P> + +<P> +"Where do you put up to-night?" asked Helen of Otway, turning to him, +when the other man had gone, with a brusque familiarity. +</P> + +<P> +"At the inn down in Redmire." +</P> + +<P> +"And what do you do to-morrow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go to see the falls at Aysgarth, for one thing. There's been rain up +on the hills; the river will be grand." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps we shall be there." +</P> + +<P> +When Piers had left them, Helen said to her friend +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted to ask him to stay and dine—but I didn't know whether you +would like it." +</P> + +<P> +"I? I am not the hostess." +</P> + +<P> +"No, but you have humours, Irene. One has to be careful." +</P> + +<P> +Irene knitted her brows, and stood for a moment with face half averted. +</P> + +<P> +"If I cause this sort of embarrassment," she said frankly, "I think I +oughtn't to stay." +</P> + +<P> +"It's easily put right, my dear girl. Answer me a simple question. If I +lead Mr. Otway to suppose that his company for a few days is not +disagreeable to us, shall I worry you, or not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not in the least," was the equally direct answer. +</P> + +<P> +"That's better. We've always got along so well, you know, that it's +annoying to feel there's something not quits understood between us. +Then I shall send a note down to the inn where he's staying, to appoint +a meeting at Aysgarth to-morrow. And I shall ask him to come here for +the rest of the day, if he chooses." +</P> + +<P> +At nightfall, the rain-clouds spread from the hills of Westmorland, and +there were some hours of downpour. This did not look hopeful for the +morrow, but, on the other hand, it promised a finer sight at the falls, +if by chance the weather grew tolerable. The sun rose amid dropping +vapours, and at breakfast-time had not yet conquered the day, but a +steady brightening soon put an end to doubt. The friends prepared to +set forth. +</P> + +<P> +As they were entering the carriage there arrived the postman, with +letters for both, which they read driving down to the dale. One of +Irene's correspondents was her brother, and the contents of Eustace's +letter so astonished her that she sat for a time absorbed in thought. +</P> + +<P> +"No bad news, I hope?" said Helen, who had glanced quickly over the few +lines from her husband, now at Ostend. +</P> + +<P> +"No, but startling. You may as well read the letter." +</P> + +<P> +It was written in Eustace Derwent's best style; really a very good +letter, both as to composition and in the matter of feeling. After duly +preparing his sister for what might come as a shock, he made known to +her that he was about to marry Mrs. John Jacks, the widow of the late +member of Parliament. "I can quite imagine," he proceeded, "that this +may trouble your mind by exciting unpleasant memories, and perhaps may +make you apprehensive of disagreeable things in the future. Pray have +no such uneasiness. Only this morning I had a long talk with Arnold +Jacks, who was very friendly, and indeed could not have behaved better. +He spoke of you, and quite in the proper way; I was to remember him +very kindly to you, if I thought the remembrance would not be +unwelcome. As for my dear Marian, you will find her everything that a +sister should be." Followed sundry details and promise of more +information when they met again in town. +</P> + +<P> +"Describe her to me," said Helen, who had a slight acquaintance with +Irene's brother. +</P> + +<P> +"One word does it—irreproachable. A couple of years older than +Eustace, I think; John Jacks was more than twice her age, so it's only +fair. The dear boy will probably give up his profession, and become an +ornament of society, a model of all the proprieties. Wonderful I shan't +realise it for a few days." +</P> + +<P> +As they drove on to the bridge at Aysgarth, Piers Otway stood there +awaiting them. They exchanged few words; the picture before their eyes, +and the wild music that filled the air, imposed silence. Headlong +between its high banks plunged the swollen torrent, the roaring spate; +brown from its washing of the peaty moorland, and churned into flying +flakes of foam. Over the worn ledges, at other times a succession of +little waterfalls, rolled in resistless fury a mighty cataract; at +great rocks in mid-channel it leapt with surges like those of an angry +sea. The spectacle was fascinating in its grandeur, appalling in its +violence; with the broad leafage of the glen arched over it in warm, +still sunshine, wondrously beautiful. +</P> + +<P> +They wandered some way by the river banks; then drove to other spots of +which Otway spoke, lunched at a village inn, and by four o'clock +returned altogether to the Castle. After tea, Piers found himself alone +with Irene. Mrs. Borisoff had left the room whilst he was speaking, and +so silently that for a moment he was not aware of her withdrawal. Alone +with Irene, for the first time since he had known her; even at Ewell, +long ago, they had never been together without companionship. There +fell a silence. Piers could not lift his eyes to the face which had all +day been before him, the face which seemed more than ever beautiful +amid nature's beauties. He wished to thank her for the letter she had +written him to St. Petersburg, but was fearful of seeming to make too +much of this mark of kindness. Irene herself resumed the conversation. +</P> + +<P> +"You will continue to write for the reviews, I hope?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall try to," he answered softly. +</P> + +<P> +"Your Russian must be very idiomatic. I found it hard in places." +</P> + +<P> +Overcome with delight, he looked at her and bent towards her. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Borisoff told me you had learnt. I know what that means—learning +Russian in England, out of books. I began to do it at Ewell—do you +remember?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I remember very well. Have you written anything besides these two +articles?" +</P> + +<P> +"Written—yes, but not published. I have written all sorts of things." +His voice shook. "Even—verse." +</P> + +<P> +He repented the word as soon as it was uttered. Again his eyes could +not move towards hers. +</P> + +<P> +"I know you have," said Irene, in the voice of one who smiles. +</P> + +<P> +"I have never been sure that you knew it—that you received those +verses." +</P> + +<P> +"To tell you the truth, I didn't know how to acknowledge them. I never +received the dedication of a poem, before or since, and in my +awkwardness I put off my thanks till it was too late to send them. But +I remember the lines; I think they were beautiful. Shall you ever +include them in a volume?" +</P> + +<P> +"I wrote no more, I am no poet. Yet if you had given a word of +praise"—he laughed, as one does when emotion is too strong—"I should +have written on and on, with a glorious belief in myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps it was as well, then, that I said nothing. Poetry must come of +itself, without praise—don't you think?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I lived it—or tried to live it—instead of putting it into +metre." +</P> + +<P> +"That's exactly what I once heard my father say about himself. And he +called it consuming his own smoke." +</P> + +<P> +Piers could not but join in her quiet laugh, yet he had never felt a +moment less opportune for laughter. As if to prove that she purposely +changed the note of their dialogue, Irene reached a volume from the +table, and said in the most matter-of-fact voice: +</P> + +<P> +"Here's a passage of Tolstoi that I can't make out. Be my professor, +please. First of all, let me hear you read it aloud for the accent." +</P> + +<P> +The lesson continued till Helen entered the room again. Irene so willed +it. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap36"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXVI +</H3> + +<P> +She sat by her open window, which looked over the dale to the long high +ridge of moors, softly drawn against a moonlit sky. Far below sounded +the rushing Ure, and at moments there came upon the fitful breeze a +deeper music, that of the falls at Aysgarth, miles away. It was an hour +since she had bidden good-night to Helen, and two hours or more since +all else in the Castle and in the cottages had been still and dark. She +loved this profound quiet, this solitude guarded by the eternal powers +of nature. She loved the memories and imaginings borne upon the +stillness of these grey old towers. +</P> + +<P> +The fortress of warrior-lords, the prison of a queen, the Royalist +refuge—fallen now into such placid dreaminess of age. Into the dark +chamber above, desolate, legend-haunted, perchance in some moment of +the night there fell through the narrow window-niche a pale moonbeam, +touching the floor, the walls of stone; such light in gloom as may have +touched the face of Mary herself, wakeful with her recollections and +her fears. Musing it in her fancy, Irene thought of love and death. +</P> + +<P> +Had it come to her at length, that love which was so strange and +distant when, in ignorance, she believed it her companion? Verses in +her mind, verses that would never be forgotten, however lightly she +held them, sang and rang to a new melody. They were not poetry—said he +who wrote them. Yet they were truth, sweetly and nobly uttered. The +false, the trivial, does not so cling to memory year after year. +</P> + +<P> +They had helped her to know him, these rhyming lines, or so she +fancied. They shaped in her mind, slowly, insensibly, an image of the +man, throughout the lapse of time when she neither saw him nor heard of +him. Whether a true image how should she assure herself? She only knew +that no feature of it seemed alien when compared with the impression of +those two last days. Yet the picture was an ideal; the very man she +could honour, love; he and no other. Did she perilously deceive herself +in thinking that this ideal and the man who spoke with her, were one? +</P> + +<P> +It had grown without her knowledge, apart from her will, this +conception of Piers Otway. The first half-consciousness of such a +thought came to her when she heard from Olga of those letters, obtained +by him for a price, and given to the kinsfolk of the dead woman. An +interested generosity? She had repelled the suggestion as unworthy, +ignoble. Whether the giver was ever thanked, she did not know. Dr. +Derwent kept cold silence on the subject, after once mentioning it to +her in formal words. Thanks, undoubtedly, were due to him. To-night it +pained her keenly to think that perhaps her father had said nothing. +</P> + +<P> +She began to study Russian, and in secret; her impulse dark, or so +obscurely hinted that it caused her no more than a moment's reverie. +Looking back, she saw but one explanation of the energy, the zeal which +had carried her through these labours. It shone clear on the day when a +letter from Helen Borisoff told her that an article in a Russian +review, just published, bore the name of Piers Otway. Thence onward, +she was frank with herself. She recognised the meaning of the +intellectual process which had tended to harmonise her life with that +she imagined for her ideal man. There came a prompting of emotion, and +she wrote the letter which Piers received. +</P> + +<P> +All things were made new to her; above all, her own self. She was +acting in a way which was no result of balanced purpose, yet, as she +perfectly understood, involved her in the gravest responsibilities. She +had no longer the excuse which palliated her conduct eight years ago; +that heedlessness was innocent indeed compared with the blame she would +now incur, if she excited a vain hope merely to prove her feelings, to +read another chapter of life. Solemnly in this charmed stillness of +midnight, she searched her heart. It did not fail under question. +</P> + +<P> +A morning sleep held her so much later than usual that, before she had +left her chamber, letters were brought to the door by the child who +waited upon her. On one envelope she saw the Doctor's handwriting; on +the other that of her cousin, Mrs. Florio. Surprised to hear from Olga, +with whom she had had very little communication for a year or two, she +opened that letter first. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear Irene," it began, "something has lately come to my knowledge +which I think I am only doing a duty in acquainting you with. It is +very unpleasant, but not the first unpleasant piece of news that you +and I have shared together. You remember all about Piers Otway and +those letters of my poor mother's, which he said he bought for us from +his horrid brother? Well, I find that he did <I>not</I> buy them—at all +events that he never paid for them. Daniel Otway is now broken-down in +health, and depends on help from the other brother, Alexander, who has +gone in for some sort of music-hall business! Not only did Piers +<I>cheat</I> him out of the money promised for the letters (I fear there's +no other word for it), but he has utterly refused to give the man a +farthing—though in good circumstances, I hear. This is all very +disagreeable, and I don't like to talk about it, but as I hear Piers +Otway has been seeing you, it's better you should know." She added +"very kind regards," and signed herself "yours affectionately." Then +came a postscript. "Mrs. A. Otway is actually on the music-hall stage +herself, in short skirts!" +</P> + +<P> +The paper shook in Irene's hand. She turned sick with fear and misery. +</P> + +<P> +Mechanically the other letter was torn open. Dr. Derwent wrote about +Eustace's engagement. It did not exactly surprise him; he had observed +significant things. Nor did it exactly displease him, for since talking +with Eustace and with Marian Jacks (the widow), he suspected that the +match was remarkable for its fitness. Mrs. Jacks had a large +fortune—well, one could resign oneself to that. "After all, Mam'zelle +Wren, there's nothing to be uneasy about. Arnold Jacks is sure to marry +very soon (a dowager duchess, I should say), and on that score there'll +be no awkwardness. When the Wren makes a nest for herself, I shall +convert this house into a big laboratory, and be at home only to +bacteria." +</P> + +<P> +But the Doctor, too, had a postscriptum. "Olga has been writing to me, +sheer scandal, something about the letters you wot of having been +obtained in a dishonest way. I won't say I believe it, or that I +disbelieve it. I mention the thing only to suggest that perhaps I was +right in not making any acknowledgment of that obligation. I felt that +silence was the wise as well as the dignified thing—though someone +disagreed with me." +</P> + +<P> +When Irene entered the sitting-room, her friend had long since +breakfasted. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter?" Helen asked, seeing so pale and troubled a +countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing much; I overtired myself yesterday. I must keep quiet for a +little." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Borisoff herself was in no talkative frame of mind. She, too, an +observer might have imagined, had some care or worry. The two very soon +parted; Irene going back to her room, Helen out into the sunshine. +</P> + +<P> +A malicious letter this of Olga's; the kind of letter which Irene had +not thought her capable of penning. Could there be any substantial +reason for such hostile feeling? Oh, how one's mind opened itself to +dark suspicion, when once an evil whisper had been admitted! +</P> + +<P> +She would not believe that story of duplicity, of baseness. Her very +soul rejected it, declared it impossible, the basest calumny. Yet how +it hurt! How it humiliated! Chiefly, perhaps, because of the evil art +with which Olga had reminded her of Piers Otway's disreputable kinsmen. +Could the two elder brothers be so worthless, and the younger an +honest, brave man, a man without reproach—her ideal? +</P> + +<P> +Irene clutched at the recollection which till now she had preferred to +banish from her mind. Piers was not born of the same mother, might he +not inherit his father's finer qualities, and, together with them, +something noble from the woman whom his father loved? Could she but +know that history The woman was a law-breaker; repeatability gave her +hard names; but Irene used her own judgment in such matters, and asked +only for knowledge of facts. She had as good as forgotten the +irregularity of Piers Otway's birth. Whom, indeed, did it or could it +concern? Her father, least of all men, would dwell upon it as a subject +of reproach. But her father was very capable of pointing to Daniel and +Alexander, with a shake of the head. He had a prejudice against +Piers—this letter reminded her of it only too well. It might be feared +that he was rather glad than otherwise of the "sheer scandal" Olga had +conveyed to him. +</P> + +<P> +Confident in his love of her, which would tell ill on the side of his +reasonableness, his justice, she had not, during these crucial days, +thought much about her father. She saw his face now, if she spoke to +him of Piers. Dr. Derwent, like all men of brains, had a good deal of +the aristocratic temper; he scorned the vulgarity of the vulgar; he +turned in angry impatience from such sorry creatures as those two men; +and often lashed with his contempt the ignoble amusements of the crowd. +Olga doubtless had told him of the singer in short skirts—— +</P> + +<P> +She shed a few tears. The very meanness of the injury done her at this +crisis of emotion heightened its cruelty. +</P> + +<P> +Piers might come to the Castle this morning. Now and then she glanced +from her window, if perchance she should see him approaching; but all +she saw was a group of holiday-makers, the happily infrequent tourists +who cared to turn from the beaten track up the dale to visit the +Castle. She did not know whether Helen was at home, or had rambled +away. If Piers came, and his call was announced to her, could she go +forth and see him? +</P> + +<P> +Not to do so, would be unjust, both to herself and to him. The +relations between them demanded, of all things, honesty and courage. No +little courage, it was true; for she must speak to him plainly of +things from which she shrank even in communing with herself. +</P> + +<P> +Yet she had done as hard a thing as this. Harder, perhaps, that +interview with Arnold Jacks which set her free. Honesty and +courage—clearness of sight and strength of purpose where all but every +girl would have drifted dumbly the common way—had saved her life from +the worst disaster: saved, too, the man whom her weakness would have +wronged. Had she not learnt the lesson which life sets before all, but +which only a few can grasp and profit by? +</P> + +<P> +Towards midday she left her room, and went in search of Helen; not +finding her within doors, she stepped out on to the sward, and strolled +in the neighbourhood of the Castle. A child whom she knew approached +her. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you seen Mrs. Borisoff?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"She's down at the beck, with the gentleman," answered the little girl, +pointing with a smile to the deep, leaf-hidden glen half a mile away. +</P> + +<P> +Irene lingered for a few minutes and went in again. +</P> + +<P> +At luncheon-time Helen had not returned. The meal was delayed for her, +more than a quarter of an hour. When at length she entered, Irene saw +she had been hastening; but Helen's features seemed to betray some +other cause of discomposure than mere unpunctuality. Having glanced at +her once or twice, Irene kept an averted face. Neither spoke as they +sat down to table; only when they had begun the meal did Helen ask +whether her friend felt better. The reply was a brief affirmative. For +the rest of the time they talked a little, absently, about +trivialities; then they parted; without any arrangement for the +afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +Irene's mind was in that state of perilous commotion which invests with +dire significance any event not at once intelligible. Alone in her +chamber, she sat brooding with tragic countenance. How could Helen's +behaviour be explained? If she had met Piers Otway and spent part of +the morning with him, why did she keep silence about it? Why was she so +late in coming home, and what had heightened her colour, given that +peculiar shiftiness to her eyes? +</P> + +<P> +She rose, went to Helen's door, and knocked. +</P> + +<P> +"May I come in?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course—I have a letter to write by post-time." +</P> + +<P> +"I won't keep you long," said Irene, standing before her friend's +chair, and regarding her with grave earnestness. "Did Mr. Otway call +this morning?" +</P> + +<P> +"He was coming; I met him outside, and told him you weren't very well. +And"—she hesitated, but went on with a harder voice and a careless +smile—"we had a walk up the glen. It's very lovely, the higher part. +You must go. Ask him to take you." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand you," said Irene coldly. "Why should I ask Mr. +Otway to take me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I beg your pardon. You are become so critical of words and phrases. To +take <I>us</I>, I'll say." +</P> + +<P> +"That wouldn't be a very agreeable walk, Helen, whilst you are in this +strange mood. What does it all mean? I never foresaw the possibility of +misunderstandings such as this between us. Is it I who am to blame, or +you? Have I offended you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, dear," was the dreamy response. +</P> + +<P> +"Then why do you seem to wish to quarrel with me?" +</P> + +<P> +Helen had the look of one who strugglingly overcomes a paroxysm of +anger. She stood up. +</P> + +<P> +"Would you leave me alone for a little, Irene? I'm not quite able to +talk. I think we've both of us been doing too much—overtaxing +ourselves. It has got on my nerves." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes I will go," was the answer, spoken very quietly. "And to-morrow +morning I will return to London." +</P> + +<P> +She moved away. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes——?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have something to tell you before you go." Helen spoke with a set +face, forcing herself to meet her friend's eyes. "Mr. Otway wants an +opportunity of talking with you, alone. He hoped for it this morning. +As he couldn't see you, he talked about you to me—you being the only +subject he could talk about. I promised to be out of the way if he came +this afternoon." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you—but why didn't you tell me this before?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because, as I said, things have got rather on my nerves." She took a +step forward. "Will you overlook it—forget about it? Of course I +should have told you before he came." +</P> + +<P> +"It's strange that there should be anything to overlook or forget +between <I>us</I>," said Irene, with wide pathetic eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"There isn't really! It's not you and I that have got muddled—only +things, circumstances. If you had been a little more chummy with me. +There's a time for silence, but also a time for talking." +</P> + +<P> +"Dear, there are things one <I>can't</I> talk about, because one doesn't +know what to say, even to oneself." +</P> + +<P> +"I know! I know it!" replied Helen, with emphasis. +</P> + +<P> +And she came still nearer, with hand held out. +</P> + +<P> +"All nerves, Irene! Neuralgia of—of the common sense, my dear!" +</P> + +<P> +They parted with a laugh and a quick clasp of hands. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap37"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XXXVII +</H3> + +<P> +For half an hour Irene sat idle. She was waiting, and could do nothing +but wait. Then the uncertainty as to how long this suspense might hold +her grew insufferable; she was afraid too, of seeing Helen again, and +having to talk, when talk would be misery. A thought grew out of her +unrest—a thought clear-shining amid the tumult of turbid emotions. She +would go forth to meet him. He should see that she came with that +purpose—that she put away all trivialities of prescription and of +pride. If he were worthy, only the more would he esteem her. If she +deluded herself—it lay in the course of Fate. +</P> + +<P> +His way up from Redmire was by the road along which she had driven on +the evening of her arrival, the road that dipped into a wooded glen, +where a stream tumbled amid rocks and boulders, over smooth-worn slabs +and shining pebbles, from the moor down to the river of the dale. He +might not come this way. She hoped—she trusted Destiny. +</P> + +<P> +She stood by the crossing of the beck. The flood of yesterday had +fallen; the water was again shallow at this spot, but nearly all the +stepping-stones had been swept away. For help at such times, a crazy +little wooden bridge spanned the current a few yards above. Irene +brushed through the long grass and the bracken, mounted on to the +bridge, and, leaning over the old bough which formed a rail, let the +voice of the beck soothe her impatience. +</P> + +<P> +Here one might linger for hours, in perfect solitude; very rarely in +the day was this happy stillness broken by a footfall, a voice, or the +rumbling of a peasant's cart. A bird twittered, a breeze whispered in +the branches; ever and ever the water kept its hushing note. +</P> + +<P> +But now someone was coming. Not with audible footstep; not down the +road at which Irene frequently glanced; the intruder approached from +the lower part of the glen, along the beckside, now walking in soft +herbage, now striding from stone to stone, sometimes lifting the bough +of a hazel or a rowan that hung athwart his path. He drew near to the +crossing. He saw the figure on the bridge, and for a moment stood at +gaze. +</P> + +<P> +Irene was aware of someone regarding her. She moved. He stood below, +the ripple-edge of the water touching his foot. Upon his upturned face, +dark eyes wide in joy and admiration, firm lips wistfully subduing +their smile, the golden sunlight shimmered through overhanging foliage. +She spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"Everything around is beautiful, but this most of all." +</P> + +<P> +"There is nothing more beautiful," he answered, "in all the dales." +</P> + +<P> +The words had come to her easily and naturally, after so much trouble +as to what the first words should be. His look was enough. She scorned +her distrust, scorned the malicious gossip that had excited it. Her +mind passed into consonance with the still, warm hour, with the +loveliness of all about her. +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't been that way yet." She pointed up the glen. "Will you come?" +</P> + +<P> +"Gladly! I was here with Mrs. Borisoff this morning, and wished so much +you had been with us." +</P> + +<P> +Irene stepped down from the bridge down to the beckside. The briefest +shadow of annoyance had caused her to turn her face away; there +followed contentment that he spoke of the morning, at once and so +frankly. She was able to talk without restraint, uttering her delight +at each new picture as they went along. They walked very slowly, ever +turning to admire, stopping to call each other's attention with glowing +words. At a certain point, they were obliged to cross the water, their +progress on this side barred by natural obstacles. It was a crossing of +some little difficulty for Irene, the stones being rugged, and rather +far apart; Piers guided her, and at the worst spot held out his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Jump! I won't let you fall." +</P> + +<P> +She sprang with a happy girlish laugh to his side, and withdrew her +hand very gently. +</P> + +<P> +"Here is a good place to rest," she said, seating herself on a boulder. +And Piers sat down at a little distance. +</P> + +<P> +The bed of the torrent was full of great stones, very white, rounded +and smoothed by the immemorial flow, by their tumbling and grinding in +time of spate; they formed innumerable little cataracts, with here and +there a broad plunge of foam-streaked water, perilously swift and deep. +By the bank the current spread into a large, still pool, of colour a +rich brown where the sunshine touched it, and darkly green where it lay +beneath spreading branches; everywhere limpid, showing the pebbles or +the sand in its cool depths. Infinite were the varyings of light and +shade, from a dazzling gleam on the middle water, to the dense +obscurity of leafy nooks. On either hand was a wood, thick with +undergrowth; great pines, spruces, and larches, red-berried rowans, +crowding on the steep sides of the ravine; trees of noble stature, +shadowing fern and flower, towering against the sunny blue. Just below +the spot where Piers and Irene rested, a great lichened hazel stretched +itself all across the beck; in the upward direction a narrowing vista, +filled with every tint of leafage, rose to the brown of the moor and +the azure of the sky. All about grew tall, fruiting grasses, and many a +bright flower; clusters of pink willow-weed, patches of yellow ragwort, +the perfumed meadowsweet, and, amid bracken and bramble, the purple +shining of a great campanula. +</P> + +<P> +On the open moor, the sun blazed with parching heat; here was freshness +as of spring, the waft of cool airs, the scent of verdure moistened at +the root. +</P> + +<P> +"Once upon a time," said Otway, when both had been listening to their +thoughts, "I fancied myself as unlucky a man as walked the earth. I've +got over that." +</P> + +<P> +Irene did not look at him; she waited for the something else which his +voice promised. +</P> + +<P> +"Think of my good fortune in meeting you this afternoon. If I had gone +to the Castle another way, I should have missed you; yet I all but did +go by the fields. And there was nothing I desired so much as to see you +somewhere—by yourself." +</P> + +<P> +The slight failing of his voice at the end helped Irene to speak +collectedly. +</P> + +<P> +"Chance was in my favour, too. I came down to the beck, hoping I might +meet you." +</P> + +<P> +She saw his hand move, the fingers clutch together. Before he could say +anything, she continued: +</P> + +<P> +"I want to tell you of an ill-natured story that has reached my ears. +Not to discuss it; I know it is untrue. Your two brothers—do you know +that they speak spitefully of you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't know it. I don't think I have given them cause." +</P> + +<P> +"I am very sure you haven't. But I want you to know about it, and I +shall tell you the facts. After the death of my aunt, Mrs. Hannaford, +you got from the hands of Daniel Otway a packet of her letters; he +bargained with you, and you paid his price, wishing those letters to be +seen by my father and my cousin Olga, whose minds they would set at +rest. Now, Daniel Otway is telling people that you never paid the sum +you promised him, and that, being in poverty, he vainly applies to you +for help." +</P> + +<P> +She saw his hand grasp a twig that hung near him, and drag it rudely +down; she did not look at his face. +</P> + +<P> +"I should have thought," Piers answered with grave composure, "that +nothing Daniel Otway said could concern me. I see it isn't so. It must +have troubled you, for you to speak of it." +</P> + +<P> +"It has; I thought about it. I rejected it as a falsehood." +</P> + +<P> +"There's a double falsehood. I paid him the price he asked, on the day +he asked it, and I have since"—he checked himself—"I have not refused +him help in his poverty." +</P> + +<P> +Irene's heart glowed within her. Even thus, and not otherwise, would +she have desired him to refute the slander. It was a test she had +promised herself; she could have laughed for joy. Her voice betrayed +this glad emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"Let him say what he will; it doesn't matter now. But how comes it that +he is poor?" +</P> + +<P> +"That I should like to know." Piers threw a pebble into the still, +brown water near him. "Five years ago, he came into a substantial sum +of money. I suppose—it went very quickly. Daniel is not exactly a +prudent man." +</P> + +<P> +"I imagine not," remarked Irene, allowing herself a glimpse of his +countenance, which she found to be less calm than his tone. "Let us +have done with him. Five years ago," she added, with soft accents, +"some of that money ought to have been yours, and you received nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing was legally due to me," he answered, in a voice lower than +hers. +</P> + +<P> +"That I know. I mention it—you will forgive me?—because I have +sometimes feared that you might explain to yourself wrongly my failure +to reply when you sent me those verses, long ago. I have thought, +lately, that you might suppose I knew certain facts at that time. I +didn't; I only learnt them afterwards. At no time would it have made +any difference." +</P> + +<P> +Piers could not speak. +</P> + +<P> +"Look!" said Irene, in a whisper, pointing. +</P> + +<P> +A great dragon-fly, a flash of blue, had dropped on to the surface of +the pool, and lay floating. As they watched it rose, to drop again upon +a small stone amid a shallow current; half in, half out of, the sunny +water, it basked. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, how lovely everything is!" exclaimed Irene, in a voice that +quivered low. "How perfect a day!" +</P> + +<P> +"It was weather like this when I first saw you," said Piers. "Earlier, +but just as bright. My memory of you has always lived in sunshine. I +saw you first from my window; you were standing in the garden at Ewell; +I heard your voice. Do you remember telling the story of Thibaut +Rossignol?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh yes, yes!" +</P> + +<P> +"Is he still with your father?" +</P> + +<P> +"Thibaut? Why, Thibaut is an institution. I can't imagine our house +without him. Do you know that he always calls me Mademoiselle Irene?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your name is beautiful in any language. I wonder how many times I have +repeated it to myself? And thought, too, so often of its meaning; +longed, for <I>that</I>—and how vainly!" +</P> + +<P> +"Say the name—now," she faltered. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene!—Irene!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, you make music of it! I never knew how musical it sounded. Hush! +look at that thing of light and air!" +</P> + +<P> +The dragon-fly had flashed past them. This way and that it darted above +the shining water, then dropped once more, to float, to sail idly with +its gossamer wings. +</P> + +<P> +Piers stole nearer. He sat on a stone by her side. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I like the name when you say it." +</P> + +<P> +"May I touch your hand?" +</P> + +<P> +Still gazing at the dragon-fly, as if careless of what she did, she +held her hand to him. Piers folded it in both his own. +</P> + +<P> +"May I hold it as long as I live?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is that a new thought of yours?" she asked, in a voice that shook as +it tried to suggest laughter in her mind. +</P> + +<P> +"The newest! The most daring and the most glorious I ever had." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, then I have been mistaken," she said softly, for an instant +meeting his eyes. "I fancied I owed you something for a wrong I did, +without meaning it, more than eight years gone by." +</P> + +<P> +"That thought had come to you?" Piers exclaimed, with eyes gleaming. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed it had. I shall be more than half sorry if I have to lose it." +</P> + +<P> +"How foolish I was! What wild, monstrous folly! How could you have +dreamt for a moment that such a one as I was could dare to love +you?—Irene, you did me no wrong. You gave me the ideal of my +life—something I should never lose from my heart and mind—something +to live towards! Not a hope; hope would have been madness. I have loved +you without hope; loved you because I had found the only one I could +love—the one I must love—on and on to the end." +</P> + +<P> +She laid her free hand upon his that clasped the other, and bowed him +to her reasoning mood. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me speak of other things—that have to be made plain between you +and me. First of all, a piece of news. I have just heard that my +brother is going to marry Mrs. John Jacks." +</P> + +<P> +Piers was mute with astonishment. It was so long since he had seen Mrs. +Jacks, and he pictured her as a woman much older than Eustace Derwent. +His clearest recollection of her was that remark she made at the +luncheon-table about the Irish, that they were so "sentimental"; it had +blurred her beauty and her youth in his remembrance. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Eustace is going to marry her; and I shouldn't wonder if the +marriage turns out well. It leads to the disagreeable thing I have to +talk about. You know that I engaged myself to Arnold Jacks. I did so +freely, thinking I did right. When the time of the marriage drew near, +I had learnt that I had done <I>wrong</I>. Not that I wished to be the wife +of anyone else. I loved nobody; I did not love the man I was pretending +to. As soon as I knew that—what was I to do? To marry him was a +crime—no less a crime for its being committed every day. I took my +courage in both hands. I told him I did not love him, I would not marry +him. And—I ran away." +</P> + +<P> +The memory made her bosom heave, her cheeks flush. +</P> + +<P> +"Magnificent!" commented the listener, with a happy smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! but I didn't do it very well. I treated him badly—yes, +inconsiderately, selfishly. The thing had to be done—but there were +ways of doing it. Unfortunately I had got to resent my captivity, and I +spoke to him as if <I>he</I> were to blame. From the point of view of +delicacy, perhaps he was; he should have released me at once, and that +he wouldn't. But I was too little regardful of what it meant to +him—above all to his pride. I have so often reproached myself. I do it +now for the last time. There!" She picked up a pebble to fling away. +"It is gone! We speak of the thing no more." +</P> + +<P> +A change was coming upon the glen. The sun had passed; it shone now +only on the tree-tops. But the sky above was blue and warm as ever. +</P> + +<P> +"Another thing," she pursued, more gravely. "My father——" +</P> + +<P> +Piers waited a moment, then said with eyes downcast: +</P> + +<P> +"He does not think well of me?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is my grief, and my trouble. However, not a serious trouble. Of +you, personally, he has no dislike; it was quite the opposite when he +met you; when you dined at our house—you remember? He said things of +you I am not going to repeat, sir. It was only after the disaster which +involved your name. Then he grew prejudiced." +</P> + +<P> +"Who can wonder?" +</P> + +<P> +"It will pass over. My father is no stage-tyrant. If <I>he</I> is not open +to reason, what man living is? And no man has a tenderer heart. He was +all kindness and forbearance and understanding when I did a thing which +might well have made him angry. Some day you shall see the letter he +wrote me, when I had run away to Paris. In it, he spoke, as never to me +before, of his own marriage—of his love for my mother. Every word +remains in my memory, but I can't trust my voice to repeat them, and +perhaps I ought not—even to you." +</P> + +<P> +"May I go to him, and speak for myself?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes—but not till I have seen him." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't I spare you that?" said Piers, in a voice which, for the first +time, sounded his triumphant manhood. "Do you think I fear a meeting +with your father, or doubt of its result? If I had gone merely on my +own account, to try to remove his prejudice and win his regard, it +would have been a different thing; indeed, I could never have done +that; I felt too keenly his reasons for disliking me. But now! In what +man's presence should I shrink, and feel myself unworthy? You have put +such words into my heart as will gain my cause for me the moment they +are spoken. I have no false shame—no misgivings. I shall speak the +truth of myself and you, and your father will hear me." +</P> + +<P> +Irene listened with the love-light in her hazel eyes; the face she +turned upon him brought back a ray of sunshine to the slowly shadowing +glen. +</P> + +<P> +"I will think till to-morrow," she said. "Come to the Castle to-morrow +morning, and I shall have settled many things. But now we must go; +Helen will wonder what has become of me; I didn't tell her I was going +out." +</P> + +<P> +He bent over her hand; she did not withdraw it from him as they walked +through the bracken, and beneath the green boughs, and picked their way +over the white stones of the rushing beck. +</P> + +<P> +At the road, they parted. +</P> + +<P> +An hour after sunset, Piers was climbing the hillside towards the +Castle, now a looming shape against a sky still duskily purpled from +the west. He climbed slowly, doubting at each step whether to go +nearer, or to wave his hand and turn. Still, he approached. In the +cottages a few lights were seen; but no one moved; there was no voice. +His own footstep on the sward fell soundless. +</P> + +<P> +He stood before the tower which was inhabited, and looked at the +dim-lighted windows. To the entrance led a long flight of steps, and as +he gazed through the gloom, he seemed to discern a figure standing +there, before the doorway. He was not mistaken; the figure moved, +descended. Motionless, he saw it turn towards him. Then he knew the +step, the form; he sprang forward. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene!" +</P> + +<P> +"You have come to say good-night? See how our thoughts chime; I guessed +you would." +</P> + +<P> +Her voice had a soft, caressing tremor; her hand sought his. +</P> + +<P> +"Irene! You have given me a new life, a new soul!" +</P> + +<P> +Her lips were near as she answered him. +</P> + +<P> +"Rest from your sorrows, my dearest. I love you! I love you!" +</P> + +<P> +He was alone again in the darkness, on the hillside. He heard the voice +of the far-off river, and to his rapturous mood it sounded as a +moaning, brought a sudden sadness. All at once, he thought amid his +triumph of those unhappy ones whom the glory of love would never bless; +those, men and women, born to a vain longing such as he had known, +doomed to the dread solitude from which he by miracle had been saved. +His heart swelled, and his eyes were hot with tears. +</P> + +<P> +But as he went down to the dale, the calm of the silent hour crept over +him. He whispered the beloved name, and it gave him peace; such peace +as follows upon the hallowing of a profound passion, justified of +reason, and proof under the hand of time. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Crown of Life, by George Gissing + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CROWN OF LIFE *** + +***** This file should be named 4541-h.htm or 4541-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/5/4/4541/ + +Produced by Charles Aldarondo. 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