diff options
| author | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-06 21:29:27 -0800 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-06 21:29:27 -0800 |
| commit | 2a0861dbafd3ddfd3c4bf65f00aab713c95bcc06 (patch) | |
| tree | 44829290bfa0f9275cf04be5e3c2e12c7d32bcc8 | |
| parent | 5368c99f7195de8a6141a0d5896217ecc4c4cb13 (diff) | |
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 4 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54100-0.txt | 15979 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54100-0.zip | bin | 307042 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54100-h.zip | bin | 598187 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54100-h/54100-h.htm | 19552 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54100-h/images/0001.jpg | bin | 116794 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54100-h/images/0007.jpg | bin | 40770 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54100-h/images/cover.jpg | bin | 116794 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/54100-h/images/enlarge.jpg | bin | 789 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/old/2017-02-03-54100-0.zip | bin | 307267 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/old/2017-02-03-54100-h.zip | bin | 597787 -> 0 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/old/54100-h.htm.2018-10-19 | 19551 |
14 files changed, 17 insertions, 55082 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8b2561a --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54100 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54100) diff --git a/old/54100-0.txt b/old/54100-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0e38b83..0000000 --- a/old/54100-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,15979 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Wayfaring Men, by Edna Lyall - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Wayfaring Men - A Novel - -Author: Edna Lyall - -Release Date: February 3, 2017 [EBook #54100] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAYFARING MEN *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - - - - -WAYFARING MEN - -A Novel - -By Edna Lyall - -Author of “Doreen,” “Donovan,” “We Two,” “To Right the Wrong,” etc., etc. - -_“Every man’s task is his life-preserver. The conviction that his work -is dear to God and cannot be spared, defends him.”_ - ---Emerson - -New York - -Longmans, Green, and Co. - -London And Bombay - -1896 - - - Thou goest thine, and I go mine, - - Many ways we wend; - - Many days, and many ways, - - Ending in one end. - - Many a wrong, and its curing song; - - Many a road, and many an inn; - - Room to roam, but only one home - - For all the world to win.” - - --George MacDonald - -[Illustration: 0001] - -[Illustration: 0007] - - - - -WAYFARING MEN - - - - -CHAPTER I - - - “So is detached, so left all by itself, - - The little life, the fact which means so much. - - Shall not God stoop the kindlier to His work, - - Now that the hand He trusted to receive, - - And hold it, lets the treasure fall perforce? - - The better; He shall have in orphanage - - His own way all the clearlier.” - - R. Browning. - -|I wonder what will become of Ralph Denmead,” said Lady Tresidder, “it -is one of the saddest cases I ever heard of; the poor boy seems to be -left without a single relation.” - -“Yes,” said Sir John, musingly. “Just the way with these old decayed -families, they dwindle slowly away and then become extinct. There was -no spirit or energy in poor Denmead, the man was a mere hermit and -knew nothing of the world or he wouldn’t have made such a mull of his -affairs.” - -“Yet Ralph seems to have the energy of ten people,” said Lady Tresidder, -glancing as she walked at the river which wound its peaceful way through -the park and reflected in the afternoon light the early spring tints of -the wooded bank on its further side. At no great distance a boat glided -swiftly over the calm water: in the stern sat a dark-haired, handsome -girl of nineteen, while the vigorous little rower seemed to be not more -than eleven. - -“Poor little chap,” said Sir John, “he is terribly cut up about his -father’s death. I wish we could have kept him here a few days longer, -but it’s better that he should be put at once into his guardian’s hands. -There’s no fear that Sir Matthew Mactavish will not do all that’s right -for him, if only for the sake of his own reputation.” - -“I suppose he is a very charitable man,” said Lady Tresidder. - -“Oh, yes, extremely charitable, and very well thought of. For myself, -I frankly own I don’t like the way in which he mixes up speculation and -philanthropy, and I’m not at all sure that he was always a good adviser -to poor Denmead. But he’ll be kind enough to Ralph I’ve no doubt. The -boy is his godson, and Denmead was one of his oldest friends. By the -bye he was to be at the Rectory by five o’clock, and the boy ought to -be there to receive him. They had better be landing, and Mabel can drive -him to Whinhaven in the pony chaise.” - -He began to make vigorous signals to the occupants of the boat, who -somewhat reluctantly came ashore and slowly mounted the rising ground to -the house. - -“Come in and have some tea while they are putting in Ranger,” said Lady -Tresidder, kindly. “Sir John thinks you ought to be at the Rectory when -your guardian arrives, and Mab will like a drive with you.” - -Ralph grew grave at the thought of a return to the desolate Rectory -with its darkened windows and awful stillness; he sighed as he followed -comfortable motherly Lady Tresidder into the drawing-room where flowers -and well-used books and a cosy tea-table, and some needle work, just put -aside, gave a curiously homelike air to the whole place. - -“Come and sit by me,” said his hostess in that friendly voice which more -than anything helped him to forget his troubles. And perhaps it was the -thought of the hard future confronting him which made Lady Tresidder -glance so often at the little fellow who had outgrown the stage for -petting, and who in spite of his smallness was really thirteen, innocent -and ignorant of the world, and with a touch of the chivalrous gentleness -of manner that had characterised his father, but in other respects just -a high spirited, enthusiastic, hungry boy. - -His honest brown eyes grew less wistful as he waded blissfully through -the huge slice of Buzzard cake with which Mabel had provided him, but he -found the goodbyes hard to say, all the harder because of the kindness -he received. It was only afterwards, as they drove up the steep hill -in the park, and turned for a last look at the river, that he could -remember without a choking in his throat, Lady Tresidder’s motherly -kiss, and Sir John’s kindly farewell and cheery words about future -visits, and the half sovereign with which he had “tipped” him. - -There had been no particular reason why the Tresidders should have -been so good to him. Sir John was not the Squire of Whinhaven, indeed -Westbrook Hall was not even in his father’s parish: but they had been -practically Ralph’s only friends ever since he could remember and some -of his happiest hours had been spent with Mab, who being many years his -senior and a country girl of the best sort, had been able to teach him -to ride and drive, to fish, to row, and to care for animals as devotedly -as she herself did. - -Mab had a frank, hail fellow well met manner which contrasted rather -curiously with her beautiful womanly face and delicately chiselled -features; the world in general considered her somewhat off-hand and -brusque, but she had in her the makings of a very noble woman, and the -boy owed much to her companionship. They were very silent as they drove -through the park, but it was the comfortable silence of friends who -have perfect confidence in each other. Ralph seemed to be looking -with wistful eyes at every familiar turn of the road; his eyes rested -lingeringly on the grey walls of the house down below, and the gleaming -silvery river, and the old hawthorn bushes, and the fine old chestnut -trees. - -“Mab,” he said at length, “may we stop for a minute, and just see the -bullfinches? Look, there is one of them out of the nest and trying to -fly; the cat will get hold of it.” - -“Why, to be sure,” said Mab. “Will you care to take it with you to -London? It is fledged and I think you could rear it. Would you like it?” - -“Rather!” said Ralph emphatically. “And I have a cage at home that would -do for it.” - -So the young bullfinch was carefully placed in a covered basket, and -half an hour later Mabel Tresidder put down the two forlorn young things -at the door of Whinhaven Rectory wondering how they would prosper in -life. - -A severe-looking old housekeeper came out at the sound of the wheels. - -“So you’ve come back, Master Ralph,” she said looking him over -critically to see that he was clean and presentable. “That’s a good job, -for Sir Matthew has been here ten minutes or more, and the lawyer from -London with him. Are you coming in, Miss?” she added glancing with no -great favour at Miss Tresidder, and calling to mind how often in past -days she had led Ralph through bush and through brier to the great -detriment of his clothes. - -“No, I will not come in,” said Mab, “and this is not my real good-bye -to you, Ralph, for I shall stay and speak to you to-morrow morning after -the service.” - -She waved her hand to him, and drove swiftly off, while old Mrs. Grice -muttered something uncomplimentary about “new-fangled” ways, and not -liking females at a funeral. - -Ralph, meanwhile, had carefully hidden away the basket containing the -bullfinch, and now stood in the little hall with a heavy heart. The -quiet of the house was terrible, and the low murmur of strange voices in -the study accentuated the misery and desolateness, which seemed to grow -more and more oppressive every moment. - -“For goodness sake!” exclaimed old Mrs. Grice, “don’t stand there -staring at nothing, like a tragedy actor, but go in and make yourself -agreeable to the gentlemen; wait a bit, wait a bit, your hair’s all -rumpled up, not seen a brush since the morning, I’ll be bound.” - -Ralph, made meek by his misery, obediently turned into the room to -the right of the door, his own special sanctum where he had worked and -played ever since he could remember, and having brushed his wavy brown -hair into a state of immaculate order went slowly back once more to the -silent little hall which was not even enlivened now by the presence of -old Mrs. Grice. Nothing was to be heard save the ticking of the clock -and the low murmur of voices from the adjoining room, not a creature was -there to take compassion on the shy desolate boy. He looked up at the -black representation of Lord John Harsick and Katharine his wife, which -hung upon the wall above the old oak chest, and the tears started to his -eyes as he remembered how he had helped his father to mount this rubbing -from a brass, some two or three years before. The stately old couple -stood there holding each others’ hands, he fancied that they looked -down on him with a sort of pity because he was left so utterly alone. He -stood hesitatingly on the threshold of the study, dreading to enter, but -at length impelled to move by a worse fear. - -“If they come out and catch me here they’ll think I’m eavesdropping!” he -thought to himself, and therewith manfully turned the handle, and walked -in. - -The study was in reality the drawing-room of the Rectory, a pretty room -with a verandah and French windows opening on to it, and upon one side -of the fireplace there was a cosy little recess where the Rector had -been wont to keep his choicest flowers, and where the light from -a little western window fell upon the marble bust of a sweet-faced -woman--the mother whom Ralph could remember just in a vague dreamy -fashion. Seated now at his father’s writing-table was an old gentleman -with a kindly, astute face, and remarkably thick white hair. Standing -with his back to the fireplace was a middle-aged man whom Ralph at -once recognised from the photographs he had seen as his godfather, Sir -Matthew Mactavish. - -He looked up anxiously into the shrewd Scottish face, with its reddish -hair just touched with grey, its keen steel-coloured eyes, its somewhat -wrinkled forehead and ready smile. It was a powerful and an attractive -face, but with something about it curiously different to the faces to -which Ralph had been accustomed; the genial country squires, and the -country parsons had nothing in common with this brisk, managing man of -the world. - -“Well, my boy,” he said with a kindly greeting, “I’m glad to see you. -You’ll not remember me for you were but a little fellow when I was last -here. Let me see, they call you Raphe, don’t they?” - -“Not Raphe, but Ralph,” said the boy, and into his mind there darted -the recollection of a scene that had once been funny but now seemed -pathetic, of a discussion upon his name between his father and two old -antiquaries, and of how one of them had patted him on the head with the -gruff-voiced injunction, “If any one calls you ‘Raphe’ tell him he’s a -fool.” - -It was impossible to call such a man as Sir Matthew a fool, and the boy -turned to greet the lawyer, and was surprised to find that unlike the -typical solicitor of fiction he was a very noble looking man of the old -school, gentle and courtly in manner, and evidently understanding how -embarrassing the interview must be to a lad of thirteen. - -“Sit down, Ralph,” said Sir Matthew, motioning him to a chair, “there -are several things I must talk to you about.” - -Ralph obeyed, not without a curious sensation at being ordered about in -his own home by a perfect stranger. “Mr. Marriott and I,” resumed his -godfather, “have been looking into your father’s affairs on our way -from London, and as a matter of fact they were pretty well known to me -before. I grieve to say, my boy, that he has left you quite unprovided -for.” - -“I--I knew,” said Ralph, “that father had lost a great deal of money -lately--it was through some company that failed: he told me he never -would have speculated, but he wanted very much to make money and send -me to Winchester and then to Oxford; he couldn’t do that, you know, only -out of the living. But he blamed himself for having done it; he said it -was no better than gambling.” - -Sir Matthew had paced up and down the room restlessly during this -speech, he seemed to be moved by it, and it was the lawyer who first -broke the silence. “You are happy,” he said to Ralph, “in having the -memory of a father who was just enough to recognise his own mistakes, -and noble enough to confess them. Be warned, my boy, and never in the -future dabble in speculation.” - -Sir Matthew returned to his former position on the hearthrug. “In the -meantime,” he said with displeasure in his tone, “his more useful study -will be how to live in the present.” - -“That,” said Mr. Marriott gravely, “is a matter which you, Sir Matthew, -will no doubt help him to consider.” - -Ralph, with a child’s quick consciousness that something lay beneath -these words which he did not altogether understand, glanced from one to -the other in some perplexity. He saw that Sir Matthew was angry with the -lawyer, and that the lawyer disapproved somehow of Sir Matthew. - -“I wish Mr. Marriott had been my godfather,” he thought to himself. “I -like him twice as well. Sir Matthew orders one about as though he bossed -the whole world.” - -And then, as often happens, he was forced to modify his rather severe -criticism of his godfather, for Sir Matthew with a genuinely kind glance -drew him nearer, and laying a hand on his shoulder, said in the most -genial of voices: - -“Don’t you be afraid, my boy, I’ll see you through your trouble. Leave -everything to me. We’ll have you a Wykehamist as I know your father -wished, and then make a parson of you, eh?” - -“Oh no, thank you,” said Ralph, “I couldn’t be a clergyman, I don’t want -to be that at all.” - -“Eh! What! you have already some other idea? Come tell me, for it’s a -real help to know what a boy’s tastes are.” - -“I want to be an actor,” said Ralph quietly. - -“What!” cried Sir Matthew. “Go on the stage? Oh, that’s just a passing -fancy. No gentleman can take up play-acting as a profession. No, no, I -don’t send you to Winchester to fit you for such a trumpery calling as -that. If you’ll not be a parson what do you say to trying for the Indian -Civil Service? I’m much mistaken if you have not very good abilities, -and for a man who has to make his own way in the world, why India is the -right place.” - -“I should like to go to India,” said Ralph, thinking of certain tales of -jungle life and thrilling adventures with man-eating tigers that he had -lately read. - -“Very well,” said Sir Matthew briskly, “that’s decided then. To -Winchester for six years, then a choice of the Church or the Indian -Civil Service. There’s your future my boy, and I will see you fairly -started in life whichever line you choose. To-morrow you shall come back -with me to London, so run off now and let them get your things together, -and Mr. Marriott and I will make all the necessary arrangements with -regard to your father’s effects.” - -Not sorry to be dismissed, Ralph made his way upstairs, where he found -the housekeeper already busy with his packing. She made him collect what -few possessions he had, two or three pictures, some tools, some books -and a toy boat; but what she termed “the rubbish,” such as bird’s -eggs, mosses, fossils, imperfect models of engines, and such like, she -entirely declined to handle. “The rubbish” must be left, and Ralph with -an odd sinking of the heart, as he remembered how short was the time -remaining to him, began his sad round of farewells. He stole quietly up -to the attic from which the harbour could best be seen, and watched the -stately ships going into port. Then he walked through the garden with -lingering steps; he had worked in it with his father so long and so -happily that every plant was dear to him; to leave it just now in this -May weather, when the Gloire de Dijon on the south wall was covered with -exquisite roses, when the snapdragons, which as a little fellow he had -delighted in feeding with spoonfuls of sugar and water, were just coming -into flower, when the bedding-out plants, which but three weeks ago they -had planted were actually in bloom--this was hard indeed! Could it be -only three weeks since that half-holiday when, with no thought of coming -trouble, they had worked so merrily together? - -Passing through the green lauristinus arch he paced slowly on between -the strawberry-beds now white with blossom. That Saturday had been their -last really happy day, for the next morning’s post had brought the news -of his father’s great losses, and though the Sunday’s work had been -struggled through, the Rector had never been the same again, the -burdened look had never left his face. - -Ralph thought it all over as he rested his arms on the little iron gate -leading into the glebe, his eyes wandering sadly over that distant view -which he had always loved, with its stretch of gorse and heather, and -to the right the beautiful woods of Whinhaven park, just now in the full -perfection of their spring tints. Well, it was all over now, and the -place was to pass into the hands of strangers, and somehow he must get -through his goodbyes. Making his way to the stable, he flung his arms -about the neck of old Forester the pony, choked back a sob in his throat -as he unfastened Skipper the Irish terrier, and picking up in his arms -a scared-looking white cat, ran at full speed down the drive, across the -common, with its golden gorse and dark fir trees, until he reached the -coastguard station. Beneath the flag-staff, with a telescope tucked -under his arm, there stood a cheery-looking official in trim reefer and -gold-laced cap. It was Langston--the head of the coastguard station, and -one of Ralph’s best friends. - -“I have come to say good-bye, for to-morrow I’m going to London,” said -the boy hurriedly. “And I want to give you Skipper, if you care to -have him. He’s of a very good breed, father said, and he’s an awfully -friendly dog. And if you had room for Toots as well I should be awfully -obliged. I know he’s not worth anything, and ever since Benjamin was -lost Toots has been sort of queer, always mewing and roaming about -looking for him. But I think if you buttered his feet he would stay, and -he’s a real good mouser.” - -Langston promised to adopt both dog and cat, but he would not allow all -the giving to be on one side. He went into his house and returned in a -few minutes with a little pocket compass. - -“I’ll ask you to accept that, Master Ralph,” he said, as he gripped the -boy’s hand in a friendly grasp. “You’ll maybe have rough times in life, -but steer well, my lad, steer well, and be the man your father would -have had you.” - -“How does one steer if one doesn’t know which is the right way to go?” - said Ralph with a sigh. - -“Why it’s then that you’ll hear your captain’s orders,” said the -coastguardsman. “Cheer up, Master Ralph, it don’t all depend on the man -at the wheel.” - - - - -CHAPTER II - - - “Ill is that angel which erst fell from heaven, - - But not more ill than he, nor in worse case, - - Who hides a traitorous mind with smiling face, - - And with a dove’s white feather masks a raven, - - Each sin some colour hath it to adorn. - - Hypocrisy, Almighty God doth scorn.” - - Wm. Drummond, 1616. - -|Dinner proved a trying meal that evening, although Sir Matthew and Mr. -Marriott exerted themselves to talk, and were both of them very kind to -their small companion. Afterwards they adjourned once more to the study -where for the sake of the old lawyer a fire had been lighted. - -“The nights are still cold,” he said drawing a chair towards the hearth, -and warming his thin white hands; “May is but a treacherous month in -spite of the good things the poets say of it. I understand that your -father’s illness was caused by a chill,” he added, glancing kindly at -Ralph. - -“He caught cold one night when they sent for him down in the village,” - said Ralph, tears starting to his eyes. “He was called up at two o’clock -to see a man who was dying: there was an east wind, he said it seemed to -go right through him. But then you know he had been very much troubled -because of his losses; for the last ten days he had scarcely eaten -anything, and had slept badly.” - -Sir Matthew paced the room restlessly, but when he spoke his voice was -bland and calm. - -“A noble end!” he said, “dying in harness like that; carrying comfort to -the dying and then lying down upon his own death-bed; a very noble end.” - -Something in the tone of this speech grated on Ralph, he shrank a little -closer to the lawyer. - -“Why do I hate him?” thought the boy. “He’s going to send me to -Winchester with his own money, I ought to like him, but I -can’t--I can’t!” - -At that moment old Mrs. Grice appeared at the door asking to speak with -Mr. Marriott. He followed her into the hall returning in a minute or two -and approaching Ralph. - -“My boy,” he said, laying a kindly hand on his shoulder, “if you want to -see your father’s face again it must be now.” - -Together they went up the dimly lighted staircase to the room overhead, -Sir Matthew following slowly and with reluctance, a strange expression -lurking about the corners of his mouth. Many thoughts passed through -his mind as he stood looking down upon the still features of his dead -friend; if the pale lips could have spoken he well knew they might have -reproached him; and yet it was less painful to him to look at the stern -face of the dead, than to watch the grief of the little lad as, through -fast falling tears he gazed for the last time on his father’s face. It -was a relief to him when the old lawyer drew the boy gently away, and -persuaded him to return to the study fire. - -“I will be good to his son,” thought Sir Matthew as he looked once -more at the silent form. “I will make it up to Ralph. He shall have the -education his father would have given him. And then he must shift for -himself, I shall have done my duty, and he must sink or swim. The -very sight of him annoys me, but it will be only for a few years, and, -meantime, I must put up with it.” - -So Ralph for the last time slept in the only home he had ever known, -and woke the next day to endure as best he might all the last painful -ceremonies through which it was necessary that he should bear his part. -When the funeral was over he left Sir John Tresidder to talk with the -lawyer and Sir Matthew, and drew Mab away into a sheltered nook of the -walled kitchen garden where stood a rabbit-hutch. - -“These are the only things left,” he said, mournfully. “Should you care -to have them, Mab? I should like them to be at Westbrook for I know -you would be good to them. Rabbi Ben Ezra is the best rabbit that ever -lived, and he’ll soon get to care for you. Sarah Jane is rather dull, -but I suppose he likes her, and she doesn’t eat her little ones or do -anything horrid of that sort like some rabbits.” - -“I will take no end of care of them,” said Mab; “but it seems a pity that -you should leave them. Could you not take them with you?” - -“If I were going to live with Mr. Marriott I wouldn’t mind asking -leave,” said Ralph, “but there’s something about Sir Matthew--I don’t -know what it is--but one can’t ask a favour of him. I’d far rather give -up the rabbits.” - -“Perhaps you are right,” said Mab. “And by the bye Ralph, let me have -your new address, you are to live with your guardian are you not?” - -“They say Sir Matthew is not exactly my guardian. But father’s will was -made many years ago and he was named as sole executor, and father wrote -to him the day before he died asking him to see to me. Here comes the -man to say your carriage is ready.” - -“Very well,” said Mab. “And tell Mrs. Grice I will send over for the -rabbits. Good-bye, dear old boy. Don’t forget us all.” - -She stooped down, and for the first time in her life kissed him, and -Ralph having watched at the gate till the carriage was out of sight, -suddenly felt a horrible wave of desolation sweep over him, and knew -that he could not keep up one minute longer. Running down the road he -fled through the churchyard never stopping till he found himself in a -lovely sheltered fir grove--his favourite nook in the whole park; and -here, while the nightingales, and the cuckoos, and the thrushes sang -joyously overhead, he threw himself down at full length on the slippery -pine needles that covered the warm dry ground, and sobbed as though -his heart would break. They had always called this particular nook the -“Goodly Heritage,” because whenever friends had been brought to see it -they had always said to the Rector: “Ah, Denmead, your lines are fallen -in pleasant places.” Poor Ralph felt that this saying was no longer -true, he thought that the pleasantness had forever vanished from his -life, and the prospect of going forth into the world dependent for every -penny upon a man whom he vaguely disliked was almost more than he could -endure. The boy had a keenly sensitive artistic temperament, but luckily -his father’s strenuous endeavours had taught him self-control; he did -not long abandon himself to that passion of grief but pulled himself -together and began to pace slowly through the grove crushing into -his hand as he walked a rough hard fir-cone. And then gradually as he -breathed the soft pine scented air, and watched the sunbeams streaking -with light the dark fir trunks, and glorifying the silvery birch trees -in a distant glade which sloped steeply down to a little murmuring -brook, he realised that the past was his goodly heritage, his possession -of which no man could rob him, and in thankfulness for the home which -had been so happy for thirteen years he set his face bravely towards the -dark future. - -“Waterloo, first single, a child’s ticket,” said Sir Matthew Mactavish -entering the booking-office an hour or two later. - -“But I am thirteen,” said Ralph quickly. - -“Then he must have a whole ticket,” said the official, and Sir Matthew -frowned but was obliged to comply. - -“You are so absurdly small,” he said glancing with annoyance at his -charge as they passed out on to the platform, “you might very well have -passed for under twelve.” - -Ralph felt hot all over, partly because no boy likes to be told that he -is small, partly because he was angry at being reproved for not standing -calmly by to see the railway company cheated. How could it be that a man -as wealthy as Sir Matthew could stoop to do a thing which his father -in spite of narrow means would never have thought of doing? He could -as soon have imagined him stealing goods from a shop as attempting -to defraud in this meaner, because less risky, fashion. However, Mr. -Marriott happily diverted his thoughts just then. - -“Are you fond of Dickens?” he said kindly. “Have you read his ‘Tale of -Two Cities,’ or his ‘Christmas Tales?’” - -Ralph had read neither, and was soon leaning back in his corner of -the railway carriage, forgetful of all his wretchedness, cheered -and fascinated, amused and filled with kind thoughts by the story of -Scrooge, and Marley’s ghost, and Tiny Tim, and the Christmas turkey. - -It was with a pang of regret that he bade old Mr. Marriott farewell when -they reached London, and illogically yet naturally enough he felt far -more grateful for the parting sovereign and the kindly glance which the -lawyer bestowed on him, than for his adoption by Sir Matthew. A sense -of utter desolation stole over him as Mr. Marriott disappeared, and he -followed his guardian into a hansom and found himself for the first time -in the heart of London. To his country eyes the crowded thoroughfares, -the grim houses, the bustle and confusion, and the sordid misery seemed -absolutely hateful; it was not until they happened to pass a theatre, -and he caught sight of the name of a well known actor that his face -brightened and his tongue was unloosed. - -“Oh!” he exclaimed, “does Washington act there? Is that his own -theatre?” - -“Yes, to be sure,” said Sir Matthew; “you shall go some night and see -him.” - -“Oh, thank you!” said Ralph rapturously; “how awfully good of you. -Father took me once to hear him at Southampton, he was playing in ‘The -Bells’ one Saturday afternoon. It was splendid; there was the dream you -know, you saw it all before you. He dreamt of the court of justice, and -all the time it was his own conscience that was killing him, and his -remorse for having murdered the traveller in the sleigh. I thought I -should have choked at the end when he believed they were hanging him; he -just says, you know, in a sort of gasp, ‘Take the rope off my neck!’ and -then he falls back dead, and the play ends. It felt so jolly to get out -of the dark theatre into the street, and to find the sun shining, and -everything as jolly as usual, and to know that all that dreadful misery -wasn’t really true.” - -“Not true?” said Sir Matthew reflectively. “H’m!” He looked with a sort -of envy at the boy’s clear innocent eyes, then he turned away; whether -he were absorbed in his own thoughts or in the observation of the dingy -crowd, it would have been hard to say. - -They paused at a house in Bow Street where he had to make some inquiry, -and Ralph fell into a happy dream about his latest hero the great actor, -returning with a pang to the uncomfortable present when the hansom at -length drew up at a house in Queen Anne’s Gate. - -Feeling very small and desolate he followed his guardian up the broad -steps and into the imposing entrance hall. - -“Wipe your shoes,” said Sir Matthew, in his brisk authoritative tone. - -Ralph obediently complied, and saw somewhat to his amusement that the -same command was printed in large black letters on the mat. - -“When I have a house of my own,” he reflected, “there shall be a doormat -with SALVE on it. Then the chaps will know I’m awfully glad to see them, -and that I’m not thinking first of my carpets.” - -Sir Matthew, meantime, had been talking to a greyheaded butler; Ralph -only caught the closing remark: “And let someone show Master Denmead up -to the school-room.” - -The butler looked at the small lonely boy in his black suit. “Fraulein -and Miss Evereld are out, sir,” he replied unwilling to send this -sad-faced little lad into the utter solitude of the upper regions. - -“Oh, very well, then you had better come with me, Ralph,” said Sir -Matthew, and he led the way upstairs. The boy glanced nervously round -as they entered. This was not one of the homelike, comfortable, used -drawing-rooms such as he had grown to love at Westbrook Hall, but a -great saloon upholstered in the best style of a well-known firm, and as -lacking in soul and individuality as a Parisian doll. - -There were several people present. Lady Mactavish a peevish-looking -woman with small suspicious blue eyes and a nervous manner, shook hands -with him and looked him over in a dissatisfied way as though mentally -reflecting what in the world she was to do with him. - -“Janet,” she called turning to her elder daughter, “this is poor Mr. -Denmead’s son.” - -Janet, a somewhat sharp-featured clever-looking girl of four-and-twenty, -came up and shook hands with him, but her cold light eyes beneath the -fringe of red hair, looked to him unfriendly. She just passed him on to -her younger sister who was enjoying a comfortable little flirtation at -the other side of the room with a middle-aged officer. - -“This is Ralph Denmead, Minnie,” she said, returning to her former -place, and resuming the interrupted conversation with a lady caller. - -Minnie, who was also redhaired, had a more friendly expression, she -smiled at him as she shook hands. - -“Fraulein has taken Evereld to her French class, but they will soon be -home, and then they will look after you,” she said, motioning him to -a chair at some little distance from herself and the Major. It was a -modern imitation of an antique chair, very hard in the seat, very high -from the ground, and with rich carving all over the back which made any -sort of comfort impossible. As he sat on it with his legs uncomfortably -dangling, he saw the lady who was talking to Janet put up her -long-handled eye-glass, and inspect him critically as if he had been -some strange animal at the Zoological Gardens. However small schoolboys -were not interesting, she soon put down the eye-glass and turned to Miss -Mactavish with a question which arrested Ralph’s attention. - -“By the bye, have you read ‘The Marriage of Melissa’? It is the book of -the season, you must get it my dear at once, everyone is talking of it, -and it is an open secret that Sir Algernon Wyte and Mrs. Hereward Lyne -wrote it, though of course it appeared anonymously.” - -“What is it? A society novel?” - -“Yes, and such a plot! There’s a tremendous run upon it they say, and -wherever you go you hear people discussing it.” - -Then followed a graphic account of the chief characters, and the most -difficult situations; it was a plot which made the boy’s ears tingle. He -wriggled round in his chair and tried to become interested in the vapid -talk of Major Gillot and Minnie, it was doubtless very interesting to -them, but to him it seemed the most insane interchange of bantering -compliments and teasing replies that he had ever heard. Was this love -making? he wondered. If so, they did it much better in books. It was not -in this fashion that Frank Osbaldistone wooed Di Vernon, or that John -Kidd made love to Lorna Doone. - -He looked wearily across to the hearthrug where Sir Matthew was shouting -unintelligible jargon about the money market into the ear of a deaf -old Scotsman; then in desperation tried to listen to Lady Mactavish’s -grumbling voice as she related her difficulties to a soothing and -sympathetic friend. - -“You are always burdening yourself with other people’s affairs,” said -the purring voice of the adept in flattery. - -“Well,” said Lady Mactavish, “you see my husband is one of those men who -inspire confidence. They all turn to him naturally. And I do assure you -he has a perfect passion for adopting children. There’s this boy to-day. -To-morrow it will be some other sad case. A little while ago it was -Evereld Ewart, poor Sir Richard Ewart’s little girl. You must see her -by and bye. Yes, we have taken her in and her nurse and her German -governess. It’s been a very great anxiety to me, a great responsibility, -though I make no complaint of the child. Still one likes to have one’s -house to oneself.” - -“And dear Sir Matthew,” remarked the friend, “is fast turning it into an -orphan asylum. But there it’s just like him! so noble-minded! So ready -to give and glad to distribute!” - -There came a little interlude with the tea. Ralph handed about cups and -hot scones which looked very tempting he thought. But there was no cup -for him; evidently boys of his age were not supposed to feed in the -drawing-room. He returned to the mock antique chair with its bony -back and thought wistfully of the drawing-room at Westbrook Hall, and -wondered whether Mab was at this very moment finishing that particularly -good Buzzard cake to which she had so lavishly helped him yesterday. At -lunch he had been too miserable to eat, but now he was ravenous, and to -be at once hungry and lonely and unhappy was a sensation he had never -before experienced. How was he to bear this detestable new life? How was -he to take root in this uncongenial soil? - -His dismal reverie was interrupted by Lady Mactavish’s voice: “Just -ring the bell, Ralph. By this time she must surely be in.” Then as the -butler appeared, the welcome news came that Miss Evereld was at that -moment on the stairs. Orders were given that she should come in at once. - -Ralph looked eagerly towards the open door, and watched the entrance -of a little girl who was apparently about a year or two younger than -himself. She was dressed in a short black frock trimmed with crape, but -nothing else about her was mournful, her nut-brown hair seemed full -of golden sunbeams, her rosy face was dimpled and smiling; she seemed -neither shy nor forward, but stood patiently listening to the remarks -of Lady Mactavish, and old Lady Mountpleasant, as long as was necessary, -then having received a warm greeting from Sir Matthew, who appeared to -be genuinely fond of her, she caught sight of Ralph and crossing the -room shook hands with him in an eager friendly way. The tide of general -conversation rolled on, but the two children stood silently looking at -each other for a minute or two. At last Evereld had a happy intuition. - -“Are you not hungry?” she said. - -“Yes, starving,” said Ralph, with a pathetic glance at the scones. - -“It’s no good,” said Evereld, noting the look. “We never have anything -down here, but we’ll try and slip away quietly. No one really wants us -you see. And I’ll beg Bridget to make us some hot buttered toast. She is -the dearest old thing in the world.” - -“Does she live here?” said Ralph, as though he doubted whether anything -superlatively good would be found beneath Sir Matthew’s roof. - -“She is my nurse,” said Evereld. “We came from India you know last -February. Her husband was a soldier but he died, and then she came to be -our servant. Look, some more callers are coming in, now is our time to -slip out.” - -Ralph gladly followed the little girl as she glided dexterously from the -room, and it was with a sense of mingled triumph and relief that they -found themselves outside on the staircase. - -“Fraulein Ellerbeck and I have been talking all day about your coming,” - said Evereld, as they toiled up to the top of the house. “The telegram -only came at breakfast.” - -“They must all have thought it an awful bore to have me,” said Ralph, -remembering Lady Mactavish’s preference for having her house to herself. - -“We schoolroom people didn’t think it a bore,” said Evereld, gaily. “You -can’t think how dull it is to have no one to play with. I could hardly -do my French this afternoon for wondering about you, and once when the -master asked me something about the difference between _connaître_ -and _savoir_, I said, by mistake, ‘Ralph Denmead.’ It was dreadful! -Everyone laughed.” She laughed herself at the remembrance. “But, you -see, I had been thinking how well we should get to know each other.” - -A comforting sense of comradeship crept into Ralph’s sore heart; he -forgot his troubles for a while as he looked at the merry face beside -him. It was what he would have called an “awfully jolly” little face, -with soft curves and a dainty little mouth and chin, a rounded forehead -from which the hair was unfashionably thrown back, and a pair of clear -blue eyes that made him think of speedwell blossoms. - -Evereld led him in triumph to the schoolroom to introduce him to her -governess, and Miss Ellerbeck’s warm German greeting, so unlike the -chilly reception he had met with in the drawing-room, at once set him -at his ease. Bridget, too, accorded him a hearty welcome, and brought -in enough toast even to satisfy a hungry schoolboy. She was a motherly -person, with one of those rather melancholy dark faces of almost Spanish -outline which one meets with among the Mayo peasants. But not all her -wanderings or her troubles as a soldier’s wife and widow had robbed her -of that delicious quaint humour which brightens many a desolate Irish -cabin, and which brightened some parts of this great desolate London -house. - - - - -CHAPTER III - - - “I do not love thee, Dr. Fell, - - The reason why I cannot tell; - - But this alone I know full well, - - I do not love thee, Dr. Fell.” - -|Precisely why the house seemed to him so dreary Ralph would have found -it hard to say. It did not usually strike people as anything but a model -English home. Something had, however, given the boy a clue, and already -he vaguely guessed, what no one else suspected, that there was a -skeleton in the cupboard. Little enough had fallen from his father’s -lips during those last days, yet Ralph had gathered an impression that -in some way Sir Matthew was connected with that disastrous speculation -which had ruined his father. He was far too young and ignorant to -understand the matter, and even had he been sure that Mr. Marriott knew -all the facts he could not have asked the old lawyer to explain things -to him, for was not Sir Matthew his godfather? a godfather, moreover, -who had generously undertaken to provide for him till he was grown up? -He was ashamed of himself for not being able to feel more grateful, but -that vague dislike and distrust which he had felt during their first -talk at Whinhaven Rectory, only grew stronger each hour. - -When the last guest had departed, Sir Matthew was beset by eager -questions. - -“Why did you adopt that horrid little schoolboy, papa?” said Janet, -reproachfully. “You are far too generous.” - -“My dear, you forget; he is my godson, and I couldn’t leave him without -a helping hand. His father entrusted him to me.” - -“They are all ready to sponge upon you, papa,” said Minnie. “A -reputation for generosity is a terrible thing.” - -“For a man’s daughters, eh?” he said, laughingly. “Well, my dear, I -don’t want you to be troubled in the least. The boy will be going to -Winchester in September, and we shall only have him in the holidays. As -for little Evereld, we shall not be keeping her after her first season -unless I’m much mistaken.” - -“It’s true she is an heiress,” said Lady Mactavish, critically, “but -I doubt if she will make a very stylish girl. And she’s far too -conscientious to get on well in society.” - -“Well, well, we shall see,” said Sir Matthew, easily. “Already she has -one fervent admirer. Bruce Wylie makes himself a perfect fool about the -child.” - -“He’s old enough to be her father,” said Janet. - -“But she couldn’t have a better husband,” said Sir Matthew, in the voice -that meant that no more was to be said. “Nothing would give me greater -satisfaction than to see poor Ewart’s daughter safely under the -protection of a man like Wylie, before the heiress-hunters have had time -to torment her.” - -“You remember that he dines with us this evening?” said Lady Mactavish. - -“Yes, to be sure; let me have a list of the guests. And, my dear, remind -me that I promised Lady Mountpleasant to open the bazaar for the Decayed -Gentlefolk’s Aid Society at the Albert Hall next month.” - -“We are no sooner off with one bazaar than we are on with another,” - protested Minnie. “Bazaars seem to me the curse of the age.” - -“Blessings in disguise, my dear,” replied her father, with a smile. “The -days of simple humdrum giving are over, and nowadays, with great wisdom, -we kill two or more birds with one stone. To my mind, the bazaar is a -most useful institution, and I should be sorry to see it abandoned.” - -“Ah, you would ruin yourself with giving, if I allowed you to do -it,” said Lady Mactavish, glancing up at him with an air of pride and -admiration which for the moment made her hard face beautiful. - -The words touched him, and as he left the room he stooped and kissed her -forehead. Yet, on the way down to his library, an odd sarcastic smile -played about his lips, and he thought to himself, “They have yet to -learn that, had St. Paul been a man of the world, he would have added -a postscript to his famous chapter, and said, ‘For charity is the best -policy.’” - -In the meanwhile the schoolroom party were snugly ensconced in the -window-seat overlooking St. James’s Park. Ralph had been cheered by -the sight of a regiment of Horse Guards, and Miss Ellerbeck had been -beguiled into telling them stories of the Franco-Prussian War and of -her brother’s adventures during the campaign. By and bye, as the evening -advanced, they were interrupted by the appearance of old Geraghty the -butler. - -“Sir Matthew would like you to be in the drawing-room before dinner, Miss -Evereld,” he said, “and I was to say there was no need for the young -gentleman to come down. Maybe he’s tired after the journey,” concluded -the Irishman, adding these polite words of his own accord, for Sir -Matthew had curtly remarked, “Not Master Denmead, you understand.” - -“That means that Mr. Bruce Wylie is coming!” cried Evereld, joyously. -“He’s such a nice man, and he always brings me chocolate--real French -chocolate. I never go down unless Mr. Wylie is there. You’ll like him, -Ralph; he has such nice kind eyes, and such a soft voice.” - -“Well, you must run and dress, my child,” said Miss Ellerbeck; “and I, -too, must be wishing you both goodnight, for I go, as you remember, with -a friend to the Richter concert. We will light the gas for you, Ralph, -and then you must, for a short time, make yourself happy with your -Charles Dickens. Evereld will soon come back to you.” - -She bade him a kind good-night, and Ralph took up “The Cricket on the -Hearth” and tried to read. But it would not do; the book had ceased to -appeal to him. He threw it down, lowered the gas, and returned to the -open window, leaning his arms on the sill and looking down through the -bars at the dim road beneath, with its endless succession of cabs and -carriages. For a little while it amused him to count the red and yellow -lamps as they flitted by, but soon his sorrow overwhelmed him once more. -It was the first time he had been alone since that morning hour in the -fir-grove at Whinhaven, and now once more all the misery of his loss -forced itself upon him. He was well fed, well housed, and his immediate -future was provided for, yet, perhaps, in all London, there was not at -that moment a more desolate little fellow. To be violently plucked up -by the roots and for ever banished from that goodly heritage that had -so far been his, was in itself hard enough; but to belong to no one in -particular, to be planted down and expected to grow and thrive among -loveless strangers seemed intolerable, and no ambitious dreams of a -future in India came now to his help! He saw nothing before him but an -endless vista of this same pain and aching loss. Tomorrow would be as -to-day, and all real happiness had, he fancied, gone from him for ever. -There is nothing quite so poignant as a child’s first great grief, -though mercifully, like all acute pain, it cannot last long. - -The passing lights down below had long ceased to interest him, but -presently through his tears he happened to notice the pointers and the -Pole Star, and found a sort of comfort in what had for so long been -familiar. At any rate the same sky was over Whinhaven and London, -and the motto which he could remember puzzling over in his childhood, -illuminated in one of the Rectory rooms, returned now to his -mind--“Astra castra, Numen lumen.” It was true that the stars were his -canopy, but was God his light? Had He not plunged his whole life in -darkness, and set him far away from love and help and all that could -keep a boy straight? - -The Westminster chimes rang out just then into the night air, startling -him back from his perplexed wondering. Ralph was not of the temperament -that is liable to doubt. He took life very simply, and it would have -been almost impossible seriously to disturb the faith into which he had -grown up; the wave of wretched questioning passed, and he knew in his -heart that just as over the great city with its debates and crimes, its -sorrows and struggles, the bells ring out their message, so heavenly -voices are ringing through the consciences of men, guiding, controlling, -influencing all. Had not his father always said it was mere miserable -cowardice to believe that darkness would triumph over light, that -selfish competition would in the end conquer? Love was to be the victor. -Love was to rule. And the great deep bell as it boomed out the hour -seemed to his fancy to ring--“Love! Love! Love!” over the restless crowd -of hearers. - -In the meantime, however, his heart was still aching with the loss of -the man who had been friend and companion, teacher and father in one. -Surely since God loved him He would send some one to comfort him? Some -one whose voice he could hear, whose hand he could grasp. For after all -it was the outward tokens of love and comfort that he craved, as all -beings of a threefold nature must crave them. A spiritual love could not -as yet suffice him. - -Now as Ralph leant on the window-sill crying quietly, much as a soldier -slowly bleeds on a battlefield because there is no one to staunch his -wound, the schoolroom door opened. He had expected some one to be sent -to his great need, but had pictured to himself a man. He glanced round -into the dim room and started when he saw, instead, only a little -white-robed figure. - -“Of course,” he thought to himself in his disappointment, “I ought to -have known. It is only Evereld come back.” - -“Oh, it’s you,” he said, with profound dejection in his voice. - -“Are you all in the dark?” said Evereld. - -“I’ve been looking at the carriage lamps,” he replied, evasively. - -Evereld made no comment, she knew quite well that he had been crying, -and a great shyness stole over her--a terror of not being able to reach -him, and yet a consuming desire somehow to comfort him. She remembered -that in her own grief grown-up people had always tried to soothe her -with the adjuration, “Don’t cry, darling.” She had never found any -comfort in the words, and of course they would vex a boy. Dick would -have hated them. - -“Do you know,” she said suddenly, “in some ways you do so remind me of -Dick.” - -“Who is he?” asked Ralph, still in the dejected voice. - -“Dick is my brother,” said Evereld. “He died last winter. There was -an outbreak of cholera. On the Thursday father and mother died, on the -Friday Dick and I were taken ill, and when I got better they told me -he was gone. I was the only one left.” Her voice quivered a little. She -ended abruptly. - -“Oh!” cried Ralph, like one in pain, and instinctively he caught her -hand in his and held it fast. There was a silence. It seemed as if they -did not need words just then. - -Ralph had not found the strong man of his dreams; he had found instead -a little girl with griefs greater than his own, and he felt a longing to -comfort her and care for her, and as far as possible to be to her what -Dick would have been. - -“Was he older than I am?” was his first question. - -“He was thirteen,” said Evereld. “His birthday was in last September--on -the 15th.” - -“And I was thirteen in September, too,--on the 9th,” said Ralph. - -“Only a week between you--how strange!” said Evereld. “And about -soldiers he was just like you. When you rushed to the window this -afternoon and saw all the little details about the Horse Guards’ -uniforms, that I never much noticed before, you made me think of Dick -directly. He was crazy about uniforms, and Bridget used to make them for -him. We’ll get her to make you one.” - -“Do you think she would?” said Ralph, forgetting his troubles. “We could -act all sorts of things then, you know. Do you like acting?” - -“I love the dressing-up part,” said Evereld, “I don’t much care about -the talking, Dick used to do most of that.” - -“I’ll do that part,” said Ralph blithely, for although shy and reserved -with his elders, he was never at a loss for words in a charade, and the -two instantly fell to discussing future plans, forgetting every grief -and care in the bliss of perfect companionship. - -“Let us come down now,” said Evereld, presently. “Geraghty promised to -bring us whatever we liked. We’ll sit on the lowest flight of stairs, -you know, and he’ll help us as the dishes come out of the dining-room. -It’s such fun. I always do it when there’s a dinner-party.” - -Ralph consented willingly enough, and found something cheering in the -general air of excitement that pervaded the house. They sat cosily on -the rich stair carpet with its soft Eastern colouring, a funny little -pair, he in his deep black, she in her white Indian muslin, watching the -servants as they hurried to and fro, and enjoying what Evereld termed -“that nice sort of late-dinner smell.” - -“But it makes one awfully hungry,” said Ralph, and the good-natured -Geraghty, catching the words, murmured a comforting assurance as he -passed by, “I’m coming to you directly, sir,” and in a minute or two -with a beaming face he reappeared with two delicious oyster patties. - -“How clever you are, Geraghty,” said the little girl. “You always know -just what will be nicest.” Whether Geraghty had much regard for their -powers of digestion may be doubted, but he took a rare delight in -tempting them with every delicacy, from prawns in aspic, to that curious -dish called “Angels on horseback.” Ralph was half way through a huge -helping of ice pudding when a momentary pang of doubt and reproach -seized him. Ought he to be feasting on the very day of his father’s -funeral? Evereld saw the change in his face, and helped by what she had -lately lived through, was able to read his thoughts. “Dick will be so -glad that I’ve got you,” she said, smiling, though Ralph fancied there -were tears in her eyes. “I somehow think that your father and mine will -be talking together to-night.” - -And those few comfortable words were more to the boy than any number of -sermons on the resurrection; all his vague beliefs were freshened into -living parts of his everyday existence, and for the first time he knew -for himself what had been to him hitherto merely things that others told -him. - -A sudden lull in the roar of voices from the dining-room now took place, -after which the Babel of many tongues rose once more. “They are just -beginning dessert,” said Evereld. “That was grace, and in a few minutes -the ladies will be coming upstairs. I think we had better go to bed -now.” - -So they parted, after having arranged that in the walking hour on the -next morning, they would go together and sail Ralph’s little schooner in -St. James’ Park. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - - - “Of my grief (guess the length of the sword by the sheath’s); - - By the silence of life, more pathetic than death’s! - - Go--be clear of that day.” - - E. Barrett Browning. - -|The Park seemed dull and well-nigh deserted when, at about ten o’clock -on the following day, Fraulein Ellerbeck and the two children made their -way to the water’s edge. Fraulein said she would establish herself on a -seat in a sheltered nook not far off, and the children carried her book -and her knitting-bag for her, chatting as they walked. Pacing slowly -towards them was a figure which somehow arrested their attention. - -“Why,” said Evereld, lowering her voice, “it is surely the man we saw as -_Benedick_, last March, Fraulein. It’s Hugh Macneillie, the actor.” - -Ralph looked curiously and with great interest at a member of the -profession which had such charms for him. - -Macneillie was a man of about seven and thirty, with chestnut-brown -hair, strongly marked features, and a muscular, well-knit figure. -About his clean-shaven face there was an air of profound gravity which -surprised Ralph, who could not conceive how a man capable of acting -_Benedick_, and noted for his subtle sense of humour, could wear such -an anxious and melancholy expression. He glanced at them with dreamy, -absent eyes and paced slowly by. - -Yet the little group had not been altogether lost on Hugh Macneillie in -spite of the unseeing look in his eyes. He had carried away a curiously -vivid impression of the two children, their black garments and their -fresh young faces. He gave an impatient sigh, and paced on with quicker -steps, yet turned again to walk by the side of the water, every now and -then glancing at his watch with an air of vexation. He had been waiting -there for a good hour, and he was in a mood which made waiting specially -irksome. - -“I will give her till half past ten,” he thought to himself, and walked -doggedly on, his face growing more and more haggard as the time -passed by. At last the Westminster chimes rang out the half hour; he -mechanically took out his watch again to verify the time, and setting -his teeth hard turned to go. - -At that moment there suddenly appeared, walking towards him, a very -beautiful woman. It was difficult to say precisely in what her great -charm lay. Her every movement was full of grace, and although she was -dressed with scrupulous quietness--indeed with a simplicity that was -almost severe,--no one could have passed her by without a lingering -glance. Her complexion was pale but very fair, her hair was like spun -gold, contrasting curiously with the brown, deep-set eyes; and -though the mouth was a little too wide and betrayed a not ever strong -character, both face and manner were full of that indescribable -fascination which carries all before it. - -Macneillie, though he met her in the company of other people every day -of his life, though he had known her for at least ten years, went to -meet her now with his heart throbbing painfully. She gave him a charming -little greeting, and apologised prettily for being so unpunctual. - -“It is Elizabeth’s fault,” she said, glancing at the maid who -accompanied her. “She allowed me to oversleep myself. You can wait for -me on that bench Elizabeth, I shall not be long.” - -The maid walked back to the seat where Fraulein Ellerbeck sat with her -knitting, and Macneillie, who had scarcely spoken a word as yet, broke -the silence as they paced on together. “I had almost given you up,” he -said, a world of repressed impatience in his tone. - -“That’s the wisest thing I ever heard you say, Hugh,” she replied -lightly, though with a secret effort. “But you must go further. It must -be not only almost, but altogether.” - -“Don’t let us talk in parables,” said Macneillie, passionately. “You -can’t compare an hour’s waiting in a park with ten years waiting through -the best part of a man’s life.” - -A look of pain flashed across her face: there was remorse and tenderness -in her voice as she replied. But there was not the love he had once -heard there, and he knew it well enough. - -“Poor Hugh!” she said, “I have treated you very badly. But how am I to -help myself. We have waited for each other, as you say, these ten years, -but you know well enough that my father and mother will never consent. -They have made up their minds that I shall make a very different -marriage.” - -“In other words,” said Macneillie between his teeth, “they have made up -their minds to sell you to the highest bidder.” - -“No, no, you are so exaggerated, Hugh. Every one can’t look at the -matter as you with your religious education in the Highlands look at -it. Marriage is, after all, an arrangement affecting many people and -interests. We are not living in a romance but in the prosaic nineteenth -century. And I must not just please myself. I must think of what will -best help on my career; my first duty is undoubtedly to help and to -please my parents who have done so much for me.” - -“You didn’t think so ten years ago,” said Macneillie. - -“Ten years ago I was a foolish girl of seventeen. You had been very good -to me when the year before I had been taken straight from school and set -down alone and friendless in a travelling company. It was natural enough -that I should love you then, Hugh--you who shielded me and helped me.” - -“But later on,” said Macneillie, clenching his hands, “when you no -longer were lonely and friendless, when fame had come to you and all the -world was at your feet, you very naturally needed me no longer, and your -love died. Mine was never that sort of love--it will always live.” - -Christine Greville looked down with troubled face. Ambition and the -importunities of her parents had for the time stifled her love. She felt -cold and hard. His passionate constancy annoyed her. “I wish,” she said -plaintively, “you would not speak like that, Hugh. I hate to think that -I have pained you, or spoiled your life; but what am I to do? What am I -to do?” - -He turned to her eagerly. - -“Be true to your best self, Christine. Trust the man who loved you long -before this Sir Roderick Fenchurch had ever seen you. I’m not blind! I -can see the advantages you might gain by marrying him! You would be very -rich. You could have your own theatre, you would leap at once to a much -higher position. But do you dream that such a marriage would be happy? -Why, you have hardly a taste in common, and he is old enough to be your -father.” - -“Oh, as to happiness,” she said, impatiently, “I have long ceased to -expect that. Don’t think me brutal if I speak plainly. I have had your -love all these years, and it has not made me really happy. And if I -married you, Hugh, I should not be happy at all. You are much too good -for me, your standard of life is far too high. You would not be able to -draw me up, and I should be always longing to drag you down to my level. -It would be a life of perpetual strain and tension.” - -“No, no,” he cried passionately, and as he spoke he caught her hand -in his as though he felt that she was slipping from him. “Together, -darling, we should be happy, we should be strong to work for art’s sake -and for truth’s sake--strong to fight all that is evil.” - -They had paused, and were standing now beside the railing that fenced -off the grass and bushes, and within a stone’s throw of Ralph and -Evereld; half unconsciously Macneillie watched the progress of the -toy boat as the soft summer wind filled its white sails. At a little -distance the ducks swam about the wooded island, and in the golden haze -Queen Anne’s Mansions loomed up impressively like some great fortress. - -“But I don’t want to toil and to struggle like that,” said his -companion, petulantly. “Every word you say only proves to me how far we -have drifted apart, Hugh. You have a sort of ideal of me in your mind -not in the least like the true Christine. I tell you I am tired of all -your ideals and aims and dreams of raising the drama. That is not what I -care for. I care for success and applause--yes I do, don’t interrupt me. -I care for them, and I must have them. And I want a better position, and -I want much, much more money. I want other things, too, which you can -never give me. You’ll never be a rich man, Hugh, it’s somehow not in -you; you’ll never push your way to the very front of the profession. But -I must do that, nothing but the very first place will satisfy me. I have -ten times your ambition.” - -“By that sin fell the angels,” said Macneillie. - -“Don’t quote Shakspere, we have enough of him every evening,” she said, -forcing a laugh. “And for me, I am not an angel as you very well know. -Come, let us make an end of this useless talk. My father is at this -moment discussing settlements with Sir Roderick, and in a day or two all -the world will know that the marriage is arranged.” - -Macneillie’s lips moved but no words would come--he breathed hard. - -“Don’t look like that, Hugh,” she exclaimed. “We shall often see each -other; we shall be the best of friends; and when I have my own theatre, -why you shall be the first to find a place in the company.” - -A look of hot anger flashed across Macneillie’s haggard face. - -“Do you think I would accept such a post?” he said, indignantly. “For -what do you take me?” Then, his tone softening to tender reproach, “You -don’t understand a man’s love--you don’t understand!” - -“Perhaps I don’t understand it,” she said, looking rather nettled; “but -I have met plenty of men who were dying for love of me one month and -raving about some one else the next. There, I must go home. Talking -only makes matters worse. Go and take a good walk, Hugh, or you will act -abominably to-night. _Au revoir!_” - -She beckoned to her maid and turned away abruptly, anxious to put an -end to an interview which had been trying to both of them. Her face -was grave and down-cast as she walked, and more than once she sighed -heavily. She had never been formally betrothed to Macneillie, but there -had been a private engagement between them, and she had spoken quite -truly when she said that his care during her girlhood had shielded her -from many perils. Her love for him had been very real; she had struggled -long against the opposition of her parents, but at last her strength had -failed, and little by little she had yielded to the influence which by -degrees had paralysed her powers of loving. - -“Poor Hugh,” she thought to herself, remorsefully. “He is terribly cut -up. But I was never good enough for him. Sir Roderick and the low level -will suit me much better.” - -After he was left alone, Macneillie did not move for some minutes. He -just leant on the iron fence with clenched hands and set face, despair -in his heart. The voices of the two children to the right fell on his -ear, mingling strangely with his miserable thoughts. - -“I shall lose her! I shall lose her!” cried the boy in a tragic voice. - -“How came you to let go of the string?” asked his small companion. - -“I had forgotten all about it; I was thinking of those people. Hurrah! -the wind is shifting; she is coming nearer. I do believe I could reach -her with my stick.” - -Macneillie watched the boy’s strenuous efforts to recapture the tiny -craft, which seemed almost within his reach, yet somehow always eluded -him. Suddenly, at the very moment when his stick had touched the boat, -he lost his balance and fell headlong over the low foot-rail into the -water. - -Macneillie had hurried to the rescue before Evereld’s cry of terror had -reached Fraulein Ellerbeck. He lifted out the dripping boy and laid him -on the path, and Ralph, recovering from the shock and rubbing his wet -eyelashes, looked up to find a grave face bending over him and to meet -the inquiry of the kindest blue-grey eyes he had ever seen. - -“None the worse for your bath, I hope?” said Macneillie, smiling a -little. - -“No, thank you,” said Ralph, struggling to his feet and looking very -much like Johnnie Head-in-air when “with hooks the two strong men hooked -poor Johnnie out again.” - -“It was awfully good of you to help me,” he added, gratefully. - -“And now let us rescue the boat,” said Macneillie, winning golden -opinions from the children by the real pains he took to capture the _Rob -Roy_, and the same from Fraulein Ellerbeck by his courteous farewell. - -“So few Englishmen,” she remarked, “know how to bow. You must take a -lesson from him, Ralph.” - -“And, oh, Fraulein,” said Evereld, as they walked briskly home, that -Ralph might change his clothes, “did you see what a long time Miss -Christine Greville stayed talking to him? And part of the time they were -quite close to us, and we heard her say that soon every one would know -she was to be married--I think, to some very rich man--and she would -have a theatre of her own, and Mr. Macneillie should act there.” - -“You should not have listened, my dears,” said Fraulein Ellerbeck, -uneasily. - -“But, indeed, Fraulein, we couldn’t help it; her voice was so very, -very clear, it reached us every word just like raindrops pattering on -leaves.” - -“And so did his voice too,” said Ralph. “He seemed quite angry when -she said that. He said he would never accept such a post, and that she -didn’t a bit understand how he loved her.” - -“Well, well,” said Fraulein, “let us say no more about it now; and -be sure you never repeat what you accidentally overheard. It may be a -secret from people in general, and it would be more honourable if you -treated it as a secret.” - -The children promised that they would do so, but, like the celebrated -parrot, though they said nothing, they thought the more, and Macneillie -became their great hero. Through him they had both received their first -glimpse into the unknown region where men and women loved and suffered; -and, since they both were missing the familiar home life and the close -companionship of parents, they seized eagerly on this new outlet -for certain feelings of reverence and hero-worship which they both -possessed. - -Could the actor have known what sympathy and devotion these two felt for -him, or how real was their childish love and admiration, he would have -felt, even at that bitter time in his life, a touch of amused gratitude -and wonder. Wholly unknown to himself he was filling the minds of two -somewhat desolate little mortals, brightening their tedious days, and -drawing them out of themselves and their own troubles. - -Often, in after years, they would laugh to think what pleasure they had -found in running downstairs before the breakfast gong had sounded, that -they might get possession of the _Times_ and see the announcement of -“Hamlet,” in which Macneillie was appearing. And one morning it chanced -that their two smiling faces were still bent over the paper when Sir -Matthew came into the room. - -“Well,” he said, kindly, “what good news have you found?” - -For once Ralph forgot the shy stiffness of manner which usually crept -over him at his guardian’s approach. - -“Oh,” he said, in an eager boyish way, “We were just looking at the cast -for ‘Hamlet.’” - -“To be sure. I had quite forgotten that you were stage-struck, and -that I had promised you to go to see Washington. You must get Fraulein -Ellerbeck to take you some day.” - -“We would much rather see Macneillie,” said Evereld, “for it was -Macneillie, you know, who helped Ralph out when he tumbled into the -water.” - -“Very well,” said Sir Matthew, “then do that instead. Fraulein -Ellerbeck, will you take tickets for them?--and the sooner the better, -for I hear there has been a great run on the seats there since the -announcement of Miss Greville’s marriage. She’s to marry Sir Roderick -Fenchurch at the end of the season.” - -Ralph and Evereld having poured forth delighted thanks, discreetly kept -silence when the conversation turned on Miss Greville’s betrothal. - -“They say, you know,” said Janet, “that it is a great surprise to every -one, and that it was always supposed she would marry Macneillie.” - -And in response to this every one had something to say about the -probability or the improbability of such a story, save the two children -who, with a proud pleasure in feeling that Macneillie’s secret was safe -in their keeping, went on eating bacon with the most absolute control of -countenance. - -When the eagerly awaited day at length arrived and the two -hero-worshippers were sitting in bliss at the theatre, they found some -difficulty at first in recognising Macneillie. He was just the Danish -prince and no one else. It was only when both hero and heroine were -called before the curtain, that they could at all think of him as the -same man they had seen a few weeks before in St. James’ Park. - -As he led forward Miss Greville the contrast between them was curiously -marked. She, with her smiling face, her air of perfect ease and content, -seemed thoroughly to enjoy the warm reception. He, on the other hand, -merely bowed mechanically, and looked as if this interlude were -highly distasteful to him; the children could have fancied that he was -positively nervous, though they doubted whether an experienced actor -could really know what nervousness meant. - -After that call before the curtain they lost the sense that _Hamlet_ -himself was actually present; always through the passionate scenes -and the tragic death which followed, it was not entirely _Hamlet_, but -Macneillie with his own personal troubles that they saw; they wondered -much how he could get through his part, and more and more after that day -his name continually recurred in their talk, in their games, and even in -their prayers. - -Just at the close of the season they saw him once again. Fraulein -Ellerbeck had promised that on the first fine Saturday they should go -to Richmond Park, taking their lunch with them. They had learnt from the -conversation of their elders at the breakfast table that it was the -very day on which Miss Christine Greville was to marry Sir Roderick -Fenchurch. The marriage was to take place at a small country church, and -was to be of a strictly private character. They had talked of it more -than once as they sat at lunch under the trees in the park, and early -in the afternoon as they wandered along the quiet paths and watched the -deer grazing peacefully, their minds were full of their hero and his -trouble. Suddenly Evereld gripped hold of her companion’s arm. - -“Look!” she exclaimed in a low voice. “Is it not Mr. Macneillie?” - -Ralph’s heart beat fast as he glanced at the approaching figure. Had -their incessant thought of him conjured up a sort of vision of the -actor? Or was it indeed himself? Nearer approach answered the question -plainly enough. It was undoubtedly Macneillie, but there was something -in his ghastly face which struck terror into the boy’s heart, it -reminded him of that awful shadow of death which he had seen stealing -over his father on that last never-to-be-forgotten day. Apparently quite -unconscious of their presence, Macneillie passed by, but in a minute -Ralph, to the amazement of Fraulein Ellerbeck and Evereld, had rushed -back and overtaken him. - -“I beg your pardon,” he said, panting a little; “but I am the boy you -saved the other day in St. James’ Park. And--and please will you take -this knife as a remembrance.” - -He thrust into Macneillie’s hand a little old-fashioned silver fruit -knife which had belonged to his father. - -The actor evidently dragged himself back with an effort to the world -of realities. He looked in a puzzled way at the boy and at the embossed -handle of the knife. - -“You are very good,” he said in a perplexed tone. “Yes, yes, I remember -you now--you and your boat. But I don’t like to take your knife away -from you.” - -“But, indeed, I never use it; I always eat peel and all,” said Ralph -with an earnestness which brought a smile to Macneillie’s face. “We went -to see you as _Hamlet_, and you were splendid! Please take it. You don’t -know how awfully I like you.” - -Macneillie’s eyes gave him a kindly glance and his cold fingers closed -over the boy’s small hot hand in a hearty grip. - -“Then I will certainly use it,” he said. “It shall travel in my pocket -for the rest of my life. But only on condition that you take this. Don’t -get into mischief with it.” - -And with a smile he put into his hand a clasp-knife, and while Ralph was -still lost in admiration of the longest and sharpest blade he had ever -seen, Macneillie passed rapidly on and disappeared among the trees. - -“Oh, Ralph, how delightful!” cried Evereld, as the boy rejoined them. - -“How could you be so brave as to go up and speak to him?” - -“I’m awfully glad he took the fruit knife,” said Ralph. “But I wish -he hadn’t given me this. It’s such a beauty and I had done nothing for -him.” - -“Perhaps you had,” said Fraulein Ellerbeck, thoughtfully. “The unseen -and unrealised help is often the most real help of all.” - - - - -CHAPTER V - - -“_The recognition of his rights therefore, the justice he requires of -our hands or our thoughts, is the recognition of that which the person, -in his inmost nature, really is; and as sympathy alone can discover that -which really is in matters of feeling and thought, true justice is in -its essence a finer knowledge through love._” - -“_Appreciations,_” Walter Pater. - -|Six years after that memorable August day, Ralph and Evereld might -have been seen on the tennis ground attached to the pretty house near -Redvale, which Sir Matthew was pleased to call his “little country -cottage.” - -It was decidedly one of those cottages of gentility which once caused -the devil to grin. But in spite of that it was a very charming place. -Its windows commanded an exquisite view over the hills and woods of one -of the southern counties, and its gardens were the admiration of the -whole neighbourhood. The tennis-lawn lay to the left of the house in -a cosy nook of its own, and there was no one to see the vigorous game -which the two were playing. This was a pity, for the play was skilful -and dainty to watch, and the players themselves were worth looking at. - -Ralph, who had been a remarkably small boy, was never likely, as -Geraghty expressed it, to be “six foot long and broad,” but he had -developed into a well-proportioned, healthy-looking fellow, and still -retained his open, boyish face, expressive brown eyes, and thick, wavy -brown hair. Evereld was even less changed, she was still very small and -young for her age; and although she was fast approaching her eighteenth -birthday she wore the sort of nondescript dress which girls often wear -during their last year in the schoolroom, her skirt revealing a pair of -pretty ankles, and her hair still hanging down her back. - -The contest was an exciting one, but it ended in a victory for Ralph, -whose greater strength usually conquered. - -“I am heavily handicapped,” said Evereld, throwing up her racket with a -laugh. “We’ll borrow the vicar’s cassock and the Lord Chancellor’s wig -and you shall play a set in them and see if I don’t beat you then!” - -“Come and rest,” said Ralph, strolling towards the little shady arbour -at the side of the lawn. “The sun is grilling.” - -“You would find it worse if you had all this weight to endure,” said -Evereld, shaking back the cloud of nut-brown hair which hung over her -shoulders. “I shall take to plaiting it up, then at least one would be -cool.” - -“No, don’t!” protested Ralph. “You’ll never look half as nice -afterwards. And besides, when girls do up their hair they always leave -off being natural and get grown-up and horrid, and can’t talk sense to a -fellow.” - -“My hair has nothing to do with being natural,” said Evereld, fanning -herself with a big fern. “How could I help being natural with you, when -we have been together all this long time? How I do wish I were a boy and -might have gone in for the Indian Civil, too. By-the-by, Ralph, is that -to-day’s paper? Is there any news about your exam?” - -“They sent the wrong paper,” said Ralph taking it up. “See, it’s last -night’s _Evening Standard_ instead of this morning’s; they have been -taking a nap down at the bookstall. I wonder if there really is anything -in at last. It seems hard lines to keep us on tenterhooks from the 1st -June till August.” - -“I don’t believe you have worried about it. Your head was full of those -private theatricals the moment the exam. was over. How well they went -off! I never saw Sir Matthew so nice to you. He really did for once -appreciate you.” - -“That was because other people praised me” said Ralph. “He would never -have said one word of his own accord. You’ll never find him committing -himself before he knows whether he will be swimming with the stream.” - -“Ralph, do you know I think you are growing rather hard. I hate to hear -you say things like that about Sir Matthew. If Fraulein were here she -would have a hundred instances of his kindness to tell us.” - -“Yes she would,” owned Ralph. “She has been our good angel all these -years. Worse luck to that old professor who married her and left us to -ourselves. Why, Evereld, just look at it in that way. What should -you and I have been like if all this time we had only had the sort of -indifferent cold charity which the Mactavishes have given us? Oh, I know -there has been money spent on me: do you think I have ever been allowed -to forget that for a moment? But Sir Matthew spoils with one hand the -good he does with the other. Thank heaven, I shall soon be on my own -hook. I wonder what life out in India will be like--and what the chances -of getting any cricket are?” - -Evereld fell to talking of happy reminiscences of Simla, and they were -planning all manner of impossible arrangements for the future, in which -they fondly imagined their present brotherly and sisterly relations -would be maintained, when Bridget suddenly appeared upon the scene. - -“Miss Evereld,” she exclaimed, “you’d best be coming in to change your -frock, my dear. Sir Matthew has come down without any warning from -London. He’s in the library, Mr. Ralph and they did tell me he was -askin’ for you. Geraghty he just passed me the word that he thought Sir -Matthew was troubled in his mind about some little matter.” - -Ralph flushed. - -“You see now,” he exclaimed, turning to Evereld, “if I haven’t gone and -failed in that wretched exam! What on earth shall I do if I have?” - -“Why, you will go in for it again next year,” said Evereld -philosophically. “But who says you have failed? It may be nothing to -do with the exam. Besides, you know that your coach and Professor -Rosenwald and Fraulein--I mean Frau Rosenwald--all thought you were -safe to pass.” - -“I know I had worked hard,” said Ralph. “Well, let me go and hear the -worst at once.” - -“Don’t despair so soon. As for me, I believe you have passed, and that -it is only some business matter that’s worrying Sir Matthew. Good -luck to you. Don’t stay long in the library. I shall be dressed in ten -minutes.” - -She waved her hand gaily and ran upstairs, while Ralph, with a great -dread hanging over him, went to the library. - -With other people he was invariably cheerful and talkative, but with Sir -Matthew he was never his best self. To begin with, he was always ill -at ease, and by a sort of fate he seemed destined to say and do exactly -what would annoy his patron. If he was silent, Sir Matthew was in the -habit of rating him for his dulness. If he laughed and talked, he was -ordered not to make so much noise. If he hazarded an opinion he was sure -to meet with a snub, and at all times and seasons he was hedged in by -significant reminders that he was eating the bread of charity. It was -well for him that he had seen comparatively little of the Mactavishes, -thanks to his life at Winchester and to his friendship with Evereld and -her governess; but he had seen enough to do him considerable harm and -to plant seeds of pride, and hardness, and distrust of humanity in his -heart. - -Sir Matthew was sitting at his bureau. He glanced up as the door opened, -bestowed a curt nod upon Ralph and went on writing in silence. - -“They told me you were inquiring for me,” said Ralph nervously, noting -at once the storm signals in Sir Matthew’s face. - -“I did send for you,” said the master of the house grimly, as he signed -his name with two flourishing M’s, and methodically folded, directed and -stamped his dispatch. - -Ralph, horribly chafed by the manner of his reception and by the -suspense, turned to the window and took up a newspaper which was lying -near it. - -“Put that down,” thundered Sir Matthew, as though he had been ordering a -child of four years old. - -“Sir?” said Ralph, in angry astonishment. - -“Do you think I don’t understand your game,” said Sir Matthew. “You -are pretending to look for news of your examination when all the time -you perfectly well know that you have failed.” - -“Failed!” cried Ralph turning pale, and realising how little he had -believed in failure when he had talked of the possibility with Evereld. -“Who says I have failed? Where are the lists?” - -He snatched at the paper again, neither heeding Sir Matthew’s orders nor -his scoffing laugh. Here was the list of the successful candidates, and -with eager eyes he looked down it. The name of Denmead was not there. - -Sir Matthew silently watched his expression of bewildered despair, but -though it would have appealed to some men it did not appeal to him. - -“Now that the newspaper corroborates what I told you, perhaps you -believe my word,” he said sarcastically. - - “I beg your pardon,” said -Ralph, “I did not mean to doubt you--but the shock------” - -“Now my good fellow, you may as well be silent, the less said about a -shock the better; you know perfectly well that you never deserved to -pass that examination. You had idled away your time over cricket and -theatricals, and now you have to face the consequences.” - -“You are the first person to say that,” said Ralph, resentfully. “They -all told me I had an excellent chance and was well prepared.” - -“The examiners, however, thought differently,” said Sir Matthew; “your -work was miserable. I have this very day been making special inquiries -into the matter, that I may not judge you unfairly. You have not only -failed, but failed ignominiously. Don’t fidget about while I am talking -to you; sit down and listen to me for I have much to say.” - -Ralph forced himself to obey in silence. - -“I am perfectly well aware,” resumed Sir Matthew, “that nowadays young -men think nothing of failing, that they go in for an examination time -after time with light hearts while their unfortunate fathers have to pay -the piper. You were not in a position to behave in that fashion. And -you would have shown, I think, a finer sense of honour if you had worked -well.” - -“I did work,” said Ralph emphatically. “If you------” - -Sir Matthew raised his long hand and waved it downwards in a silencing -manner that was peculiarly his own. - -“I say nothing,” he continued, in his cool, measured tone, “as to what -I might have expected after the large sum I have thrown away on your -schooling at Winchester; I say nothing as to the three months in Germany -and the special coach I provided for you; I say nothing of the manner -in which I took you at once into my own house when there was no one to -stand by you; I say nothing as to the fatherly care I have bestowed on -you all these----” - -He broke off abruptly, for Ralph, with the look of one goaded past -bearing, had sprung to his feet. - -“No,” he cried passionately, “at least that word you shall not use: -there was never anything fatherly about you. All those other things that -you cast in my teeth though you say you won’t mention them--they are -true enough, and I have tried to be grateful--I--” he half choked in -the desperate struggle between his pride and a certain sense of courtesy -which still clung to him--“I will try always to be grateful.” He strode -across the room to the window, panting for air. A chuckle escaped Sir -Matthew. - -“You were always a good hand at acting,” he remarked, “but I shall be -obliged if you will come down from your high horse and remember that I -am talking about a business arrangement. Don’t waste my time, but listen -to what I have to say to you.” - -Ralph paced back again to the hearthrug and stood there, looking -steadily down at his patron. It somehow seemed as if in those few -moments he had passed from boyhood altogether, even Sir Matthew noted -the change in his look and bearing. “The only thing,” he resumed, “in -which I ever saw you really exert yourself was in that play at the -end of the season. I quite admit that you learnt the part of _Charles -Surface_ at very short notice and that you acted it far better than -any amateur I ever had the pain of watching. But to play a part in ‘The -School for Scandal’ is one thing, and to be fit to play your part in -life is another. You will never, I am convinced, be sharp enough for the -Indian Civil Service, I shall not permit you to go in again for it next -year. I have already wasted too much upon you and shall not throw good -money after bad. That’s always a mistake.” - -Ralph could not calmly stand by and hear his whole future overturned -without a word; he broke in eagerly, perhaps rashly. “Yet many have -failed the first time and afterwards turned out well,” he pleaded. “The -standard of age, too, is likely to be raised they say. I would work my -hardest. If you will let me try again----” But once more Sir Matthew -gave that expressive downward wave of the hand. - -“No,” he said peremptorily, “You have had your chance and lost it. -Still, I am loth to turn my back altogether on an old friend’s son, and -for my own satisfaction I offer you one more opportunity. I will make a -parson of you. Do you remember that snug little vicarage up in the north -of England where last year we went to call on a Mr. Crosbie? Years -ago the Mactavishes owned the living; it had been in the family for -generations. My father at a time when he was pressed for money sold it -to old Crosbie. I have long wished to have the property again, and only -to-day Crosbie happened to be in town and I got him to promise me that -if I bought the living he would undertake to retire in four years. You had -better not tell it in Gath, for of course the promise to retire is a -strictly private matter, but for the rest it’s all legal enough. Next -month you will be twenty. In four years you could be ordained priest, -and I will undertake to see you through your training and to put you -into this living. It’s three hundred and a house; you could be happy -enough up there, and for your father’s sake I am willing to do as much -as that for you.” - -There was something so artificial in those last words that Ralph, whose -anger had been rising every moment, now broke forth indignantly. - -“Is it for his sake that you put before me a temptation of this sort? -You surely know--you must know--that my father would never have accepted -a living obtained in that way. Had you offered it him, and had it been -worth ten times the money, he would not have touched it with a pair of -tongs. Why, the thing is rank simony!” - -“You receive offers of help in a somewhat curious fashion, young man,” - said Sir Matthew with a sneer. “But in spite of that I still think you -are very well cut out for a parson. Your dramatic instincts and your -good voice would fit you well enough for the Church, and you are already -able, I perceive, to preach to your elders and betters.” - -Ralph winced at the sarcasm, but he caught hold of the weak point in his -opponent’s argument. - -“No,” he said, emphatically, “I am not fit for the work of a clergyman. -The only thing that can fit a man for that is a distinct call from God. -You are tempting me to go in for the loaves and fishes, and you dare -to say that you do this for my father’s sake--my father, who would have -starved first!” - -“Perhaps he would,” said Sir Matthew coldly. “He was, as all his friends -knew, an unpractical fool. You needn’t look as if you could kill me. He -had excellent abilities but no power of pushing his way, and he left you -a beggar in consequence, proving, according to scripture, that as he had -neglected to secure future provision for his family he had denied the -faith and was worse than an infidel. Now, to return to business; are you -going to accept this offer of mine, or do you intend to be a pig-headed -idiot, and affect to be calling a mere matter of business simony?” - -Ralph’s eyes lighted up. - -“I mean,” he said quietly, “to be true to my father’s ideals.” - -Sir Matthew broke into a discordant laugh. - -“Did his precious ideals feed you and clothe you and send you to -Winchester? Don’t you know by his own confession that he had mismanaged -his affairs?” - -“I know,” said Ralph indignantly, “that, whatever his faults, he was at -least an honest man.” - -He had meant no insinuation whatever, but the words galled his companion -terribly. Sir Matthew rose to his feet in a towering passion. - -“You impertinent, ungrateful fellow, do you dare to insult me in my own -house? Go, sir, get out of my sight! I have had enough of you. Let us -see now how your ideals will support you! Leave my house and never set -foot in it again!” - -Ralph, too angry and sore to realise all that the words meant, turned -without a word and left the library. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - - - “The grace of friendship--mind and heart, - - Linked with their fellow heart and mind; - - The gains of science, gifts of art; - - The sense of oneness with our kind; - - The thirst to know and understand-- - - A large and liberal discontent: - - These are the goods in life’s rich hand, - - The things that are more excellent.” - - William Watson. - -|The moment the door had closed behind the boy Sir Matthew’s anger -cooled. For the time it had been genuine, for quite unintentionally -Ralph had used words which stung him as no others could have done. There -were two things in the world that the company promoter sincerely cared -about--successful speculation, and his reputation as a philanthropist. -His adoption of Ralph had been almost entirely a speculation, one of the -specious bits of kindness which he had intended to redound to his own -honour and glory. Having once undertaken the lad’s education he could -not for his own credit’s sake turn back, but from the very first he had -shrewdly guessed that it would prove a bad investment, and Ralph had -been a thorn in his side. To begin with, the boy was in face curiously -like his father, and Sir Matthew had some lingering remains of affection -for his old friend, even though in his heart he despised him for not -being more of a man of the world. He had not lived the life of a company -promoter without having grown perfectly callous to the sufferings of his -victims, but yet the conscience that was not dead but dormant within him -had been faintly stirred at Whinhaven when he realised that the Rector’s -ruin had been his work. Partly to salve his conscience, but chiefly -because the world would applaud the action, he had adopted Ralph. The -boy, however, had not taken kindly to the part assigned him. He never -showed off well before visitors, never learnt to pose as a grateful -recipient of unmerited kindness. On the contrary, Sir Matthew always had -an uncomfortable feeling that Ralph saw through him, and knew him to be -a humbug. As a matter of fact, the taunting allusions he had just made -to Mr. Denmead’s mistakes and errors of judgment had driven his hearer -far from all recollection of Sir Matthew’s actions or character; Ralph -had thought only of that inward picture stamped indelibly upon his -brain of the high-minded and scrupulously honourable father, who somehow -seemed to him more of a living reality as he spoke than the angry, -self-important patron confronting him. - -“He was at least an honest man!” The words had intended no reflection -on Sir Matthew, but they had gone straight to the company promoter’s one -vulnerable spot, and for the moment had sharply pained him. Incensed -at the perception that this fellow might hurt his jealously guarded -reputation,--that reputation for benevolence which was part of his -stock-in-trade, he had burst forth into angry denunciation, and in one -indignant sentence had severed all connection between them. - -He took out a memorandum book now, and made an entry in it with much -deliberation, then sat for some time wrapped in thought, gnawing -absently at his pencil case, a trick which he had acquired, and of which -the dinted surface of the silver bore tokens. - -“One may trust a Denmead to be honourable,” he reflected with a curious -sense of satisfaction. “The boy will never mention that little private -arrangement as to Crosbie’s retiring in four years. I have bought the -living and now the question is how can I use it best to further my own -ends? After all, it’s just as well that this fool has refused it. I can -use it as a bait for some one else, and I’m quit of Ralph for ever. -Though the boy is so like his father in face there’s much more go in him -than there ever was in poor Denmead. He has a bit of the sturdy pluck -and energy of his little Welsh mother. Pshaw! I needn’t trouble about -him. He’s the sort that will swim and not sink, and a little course of -starvation will bring him down from his impossible heights and teach him -that he must do as other men do.” - -With that he rose and left the library in search of his wife, and having -chatted pleasantly enough with her at afternoon tea, he casually alluded -to Ralph’s departure. - -“What!” said Lady Mactavish, “Is he going out to India, do you mean.” - -“Not that I know of,” said Sir Matthew with a laugh. -“He has failed ignominiously in his examination, and has been most -insufferably impertinent to me. I have given him his _congé_, and he -will trouble us no more.” - -“The ungrateful boy!” said Lady Mactavish indignantly, “after all that -you have done for him too.” - -“He has behaved very badly,” said Sir Matthew; “and I think, my dear, we -are well quit of him. I shall not see him again, but you had better just -say good-bye to him, and by-the-by, I think you might give him a couple -of five-pound notes; I should be sorry to launch him into the world -without a penny in his pockets. It might make people think that I had -been harsh with him.” Ralph had gone straight up to the schoolroom in -search of Evereld, but something had delayed her and he found the place -deserted. Throwing himself down on the window-seat, he let the soft west -wind cool his flushed face and tried to think calmly over the interview -with Sir Matthew. The attack on his father had angered him as nothing -else could have done, and it was over this rather than over his own -future that he mused. The sound of Evereld’s voice singing in the -passage roused him, but before she had reached the schoolroom, the -red baize door leading from the other part of the house creaked on its -hinges, and Lady Mactavish appeared upon the scene. - -“I was looking for you, Ralph,” she said, entering the room in front of -Evereld. “I learn, to my great annoyance, that you have failed in your -examination, failed ignominiously. It is quite clear to us all that you -have not been working properly.” - -“But every one says that the Indian Civil is such a dreadfully stiff -exam,” said Evereld, “and he did work very hard in Germany; they all -said so.” - -“Don’t interrupt me, my dear,” said Lady Mactavish. “It is not a matter -you can understand. After all that Sir Matthew has done for you. Ralph, -I think at least you might have behaved properly to him. He tells me -that you were so impertinent that he has been forced to order you out of -the house.” - -“I had no intention of being rude,” said Ralph, standing before her with -much the same expression of impatience, curbed by a sense of obligation -with which he had always taken her fault-finding. - -“I am quite aware that your intentions are always, according to your -own account, immaculate,” she said scathingly, “but, unfortunately, -your words and actions don’t correspond with them. You have behaved -abominably to the man who has fed, and clothed, and housed you all these -years, a man who has wasted hundreds of pounds on your schooling.” - -“Believe me, I do not forget what he has done for me,” said Ralph -eagerly. “I am grateful for it. But he used words of my father which -were cruel, words which no son could patiently have listened to.” - -“Nothing can excuse the way you have behaved,” said Lady Mactavish, “so -say no more about it. What are your plans?” - -“I have made none,” said Ralph, “except to go by the six o’clock train.” - -“Where are you going?” - -“To London,” he replied. - -Lady Mactavish glanced at him a little uneasily. She could not without -prickings of conscience think of turning this boy adrift. - -“Sir Matthew, with his usual kindness and generosity, asked me to give -you these,” she said, holding out the bank notes. “Though you have -so much disappointed and pained him, he will not let you be sent away -without money.” - -But Ralph drew back; there was a look in his eyes which half frightened -Evereld. - -“Thank you,” he said, “but I cannot take them; after what passed just -now in the library it is out of the question.” - -Lady Mactavish looked uncomfortable. “You have been so shielded and -cared for that you don’t realise what the world is. You will certainly -be getting into trouble. I desire you to take these.” - -“I am sorry to refuse you anything,” he said with studied politeness. -“But you ask what is impossible.” - -“Your pride is perfectly ridiculous,” she said, turning away with a look -of annoyance. “However, I shall retain these notes for you, and when you -have realised your foolishness, you can write and ask me for them.” - -Something in her tone, touched Ralph. It seemed to him that perhaps -after all she had taken some little thought for his well-being, and that -behind her grumbling, ungracious manner, there was more real heart than -he had dreamed. - -“Will you not let me say good-bye to you?” he said. “You must not think -I am ungrateful for the home you have given me all these years.” - -She took leave of him more kindly than he had expected, after which -he turned thoughtfully back into the schoolroom, where he found poor -Evereld sobbing her heart out. - -“Oh, don’t cry,” he said as if the sight of her tears had added the last -straw to his burden. “It can’t be helped, Evereld, and after all, had -I got through my exam. I should have been going abroad before so very -long. And you are going to school for a year. There will be no end of -friends for you there.” - -“They won’t be like you,” sobbed Evereld, “You are just like my brother -now. Oh, how I wish we were really brother and sister, then they -couldn’t turn you out like this.” - -“I wish we were,” said Ralph with a sigh, as he realised how utterly -he had now cut himself off from intercourse with her. - -“All we can do, I suppose, is to hear of each other through the -Professor and Frau Rosenwald. They will never let me write to you at -school. It’s not as if I were your brother really or even your cousin. -They’re awfully strict at schools about that.” - -“Well,” said Evereld, resolutely drying her eyes, “We can write in the -holidays, and in a little more than three years’ time I can do just -exactly what I like. Promise, Ralph, that you will come to me when I am -one and twenty. Promise me faithfully.” - -“I promise,” he said. But as he spoke it seemed to him that by that -time a thousand things might have happened to divide them. He had -a perception somehow that, once broken, that brotherly and sisterly -intimacy could never again be the same thing. Later on, Evereld knew -that it was indeed at an end, but for the moment his promise cheered -her, and she set herself to work to make the most of the present. -“Come,” she said, “tea is getting cold, and you must eat all you can, -for who knows where you will dine. Oh, Ralph! what do you mean to do? -Where shall you go in London?” - -“I think I shall go first to my father’s solicitor, old Mr. Marriott. He -was kind to me when I left Whinhaven, and he will know the whole truth -about things, and will perhaps advise me.” - -“Shall you go in for the Indian Civil again?” - -“I don’t think so, for most likely all that part is true enough. I must -have failed badly; I never was any good at exams. No, I have a great -idea of trying my luck on the stage. That was always my wish since the -day when my father took me to see Washington. We often laughed over the -plan and discussed it, and he had none of that horror of the stage which -so many parsons profess to have.” - -“That would be delightful,--a thousand times better than going to India! -And perhaps we shall go to see you act. And oh! perhaps you’ll get to -know Macneillie!” - -“I have no idea where Macneillie has gone to,” said Ralph. “He has not -played in London for the last six years; somebody told me he had started -a Company of his own in the provinces. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to find -out, and write to him. Unless our hero-worship threw a very deceptive -halo round him, he must be an awfully kind-hearted man. Come! drink -to my good fortune, and then like an angel just help me to sort out my -things. Tea, and this notion of yours about Macneillie make me feel like -a giant refreshed. After all, it will be jolly enough to be on one’s own -hook after eating the bitter bread of charity all this time.” - -“Yet I rather wish you had taken those hank notes,” said Evereld. “How -much money have you, Ralph, to start with?” - -He felt in one pocket and produced a florin. “That will take me to -London,” he said. He felt in another and produced half a sovereign, “on -that I can live for a week,” he remarked. - -“And after that?” said Evereld. - -He shrugged his shoulders. - -“There are night refuges I believe, where for a penny one can lie in a -box and warm oneself with a leather coverlet. And failing these, there -is always the Park, where you can enjoy part of a bench without any -charge at all.” - -“Ralph, I’m not going to allow it,” said Evereld, her firm little mouth -assuming its most resolute expression. “Do you think I should have -let Dick go away to starve upon twelve shillings while I was lapped in -luxury? I took you for my brother, the very first night you came, and -I’m not going to give you up, whatever you say.” She unlocked her desk -and took out four sovereigns. “This is all I have left of my allowance; -I wish it were bank notes like the ones you refused. But you can’t -refuse mine, Ralph.” - -He hesitated. “I don’t think I ought to take them,” he said. - -“Why not?” - -“The world would be shocked. What right have I to your money?” - -“Every right, since we belong to each other. And as to the world it has -nothing whatever to do with the matter. Don’t waste time, Ralph. Please -take it for my sake.” - -He could not resist the blue eyes brimming with tears, but let her place -the money in his hand and gave her a brotherly hug. Then they hastily -began to collect his possessions, talking bravely of the future, and -many times alluding to their old hero Macneillie. - -In the meantime in Geraghty’s pantry two other friends were colloguing; -Bridget having learnt the fate that was to befall her young gentleman -was opening her heart to her elderly _fiancé_. - -“It’s turnin’ of him out that they’re after,” she said indignantly, -“And him a fine handsome boy and knowin’ just nothin’ of the world. -Sure thin, Geraghty, it’s a sin, it’s just a mortal sin, and him without -connictions, let alone relations.” - -“Where will he be goin’?” asked Geraghty thoughtfully. - -“I heard them say he was goin’ to London, and you know what that will -be meanin’ when a boy’s got neither money nor friends to keep him in the -right way. It breaks me heart to think of it.” - -“Well, maybe I’d better be tellin’ him of Dan Doolan’s house at -Vauxhall. He’d be with good dacent folk there and they’d not be askin’ a -high rint. Here, give me that tray. I’ll fetch down the schoolroom cups -for ye, and that’ll give me a chance to speak with him.” - -Geraghty had always been a favourite in the schoolroom, and Ralph -turned to the old fellow now with a hearty appreciation of his kindly -thoughtfulness. - -“We shall all miss you, Mr. Ralph,” he said. “And if I might make so -bold as to be giving you the ricommindation of some rooms in London, -where they tell me you’re going, I think you’d find them respectable, -which is more than can be said for many places. The house belongs to -Dan Doolan, that’s my sister’s husband’s uncle, he and his wife are very -dacent folk and they would do their utmost for you and give you a warm -welcome.” - -“Trust the Irish for that,” said Ralph, “I’m very much obliged to -you, Geraghty, for I hadn’t an idea where to look for lodgings. Come, -Evereld, now you will feel much happier about me.” - -He took down the address, and then, with the help of -Geraghty and Bridget and Evereld, the packing was finished and the -moment of leave-taking arrived. The butler had carried down the last -portmanteau, Bridget had invoked blessings on his head and gone away -wiping her eyes with her apron, and the two friends were left in the -quiet schoolroom. - -“Remember your promise,” said Evereld earnestly. - -“I will remember,” said Ralph. “And after all it is likely enough that -we shall meet before that. Courage, dear! Don’t fret. The time will soon -pass.” - -“Here is a book for you to read in the train,” she added, afraid to say -much, lest she should break down. “You must have a Dickens to comfort -you, and this will be the best, for the wind is very much in the east -to-day, as dear old Mr. Jarndyce would have said.” - -She gave him her own copy of “Bleak House” and Ralph, with a choking -sensation in his throat, bent down and kissed the sweet rosy face that -was still so childlike. After that, without another word, he left the -house, and Evereld, running to her bedroom, watched him until he had -disappeared in the distance, then, throwing herself on the bed, cried as -though her heart would break. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - - -“_Is our age an age of genuine pity? I have my doubts. It is -pre-eminently an age of bustle, and fuss, and fidget; but I think we are -lacking in tenderness._”--Dr. Jessop. - -|After the pain of his farewells had begun to wear off a little, Ralph, -being naturally of a hopeful temperament, turned not without some -pleasurable feelings to the thought of the future that lay before him. -More and more his old dreams of becoming an actor filled his mind, and -in the sudden change which had befallen his fortunes he saw something -not unlike a distinct call to return to his first ideal. He clung all -the more to the thought because of the uprooting he had just undergone, -and as he travelled through the Surrey hills on that summer evening, -found comfort in the anchorage of a firm resolve to do all that was in -his power to fit himself for his new vocation. That one did not climb -the ladder at a bound he of course knew well enough, and he had sense to -guess that it would be a difficult matter to get room even on the lowest -step of the ladder. A hard struggle lay before him, but he was full of -vigorous young life and did not shrink from the prospect. Then, too, -he was keenly conscious of the relief of no longer depending upon the -Mactavishes. He could exactly sympathise with Esther in “Bleak -House,” who was always sensible of filling a place in her godmother’s -establishment which ought to have been empty. It was something after all -to be free, even though not precisely knowing how he was to keep body -and soul together. - -With the exception of old Mr. Marriott there seemed few to whom he could -apply for advice. His late master at Winchester was away in Switzerland; -the Professor and Frau Rosenwald were in Dresden and were little likely -to be able to help him, while of friends of his own age he had scarcely -any, owing to Lady Mactavish’s dislike to his accepting invitations for -the holidays which would have made return invitations necessary. - -On reaching Charing Cross he went straight to Sir Matthew’s house in -Queen Anne’s Gate, left his luggage there, arranged to come the next -day and pack the few things he had in his room, and then walked to Ebury -Street to inquire whether Mr. Marriott were at home. London had such a -deserted air that he began to fear that the solicitor would have joined -in the general exodus. But fortune favoured him, Mr. Marriott was in -town still and had just returned from the City. He was ushered into a -comfortable library, where, in a few moments, the old lawyer joined him, -receiving him in such a kindly and courteous way that the friendless -feeling which had taken possession of him on his arrival in London quite -left him. - -“I hope you will excuse my coming at such an hour and to your private -house, but I half feared you might be away and I was very anxious for -your advice,” he said, when the old man’s greetings were ended. - -“I’m heartily glad you did come to-night,” said Mr. Marriott. “For -to-morrow I go to Switzerland with my sister and my daughter. Is Sir -Matthew still in town? Are you staying with him?” - -“He has this very day turned me out of his house,” said Ralph, and he -briefly told the lawyer what had passed. - -“This seems a serious matter,” said Mr. Marriott. “We must talk it over -together, but in the meantime, I will send round for your things, and -you will, I hope, spend the night here. After dinner, we will put our -heads together, and see what can be done.” - -Ralph could only gratefully accept the hospitality, and it proved to be -just the genuine old-fashioned hospitality that does the heart good, and -is as unlike its forced counterfeit as real fruit is unlike its waxen -imitation. - -Old Mr. Marriott’s sister proved to be one of those eternally young -people who at seventy have more capacity for enjoying life than many -girls of eighteen. Her vivacious face, with its ever varying expression, -her kindly human interest in all things and all people, did more to -drive bitter recollections from Ralph’s mind than anything else could -have done. Moreover, he lost his heart to pretty Katharine Marriott, -though she was many years his senior. Her large, serious, brown eyes, -and her air of gentle dignity seemed to him perfection; he could have -imagined her to be some stately Spanish lady in her black, lace -dress, and though she said little to him, her whole manner was full -of sympathetic charm. When the ladies had left the table, Mr. Marriott -began to make further inquiries as to what had passed that afternoon. - -“Is it not possible,” he suggested, “that you too readily took Sir -Matthew at his word? He has been kind to you all these years, has he -not?” - -“He has carried out what he undertook,” said Ralph, “and twice, -no--three times--I remember that he really spoke kindly to me. For the -rest of the six years he has never noticed me at all except to find -fault.” - -“Do you mean that you got into trouble? That your school reports were -bad or anything of that sort?” - -“No, they were decent enough, and I was never exactly in any scrape, -but somehow, in little ways I always managed to displease him; spoke -too much, or too little, or too loud, or not distinctly. If one made the -least noise in coming into a room or closing a door he couldn’t endure -it, or if one stole in with elaborate care and quietness, he would start -and say a stealthy step was intolerable to him. As to breakfast, the -only meal we ever had with him as children, it used to be a time of -torture, for if you held your knife or fork in a way which did not -exactly meet his ideal way of holding a knife and fork, he made you feel -that you had committed a crime.” - -“So there was never much love lost between you,” said Mr. Marriott, with -a smile. “Well it is what I feared would happen when I last saw you. Did -he often mention your father’s name?” - -“Hardly ever, except when some guest was there who was likely to be -impressed with his kindness in having adopted a poor clergyman’s son,” - said Ralph, flushing hotly at certain galling recollections. “It was -never until this afternoon, though, that he dared to speak of my father -as an unpractical fool who had left me a beggar, and to taunt me with -the high ideals which would never have kept me from starving.” - -“And did this lead to your quarrel?” said the lawyer, his brows -contracting a little. - -“Yes,” said Ralph, “I replied that my father was at least an honest man, -and he seemed to take that as a sort of personal affront--I’m sure I -don’t know why. He went into a towering rage and ordered me out of his -sight.” - -“He is morbidly sensitive as to his reputation,” said Mr. Marriott, “and -no doubt he thought you knew something to his disadvantage. Did it ever -occur to you as strange that he should have adopted you?” - -“At first I thought it was because he had really cared for my father -and because he was my godfather, but before long I began to think it was -chiefly as a sort of telling advertisement,” said Ralph, with a touch of -bitterness in his tone. - -“All three notions were probably right,” said the lawyer, “but there -was yet another reason of which I can tell you something. On the day we -reached Whinhaven and began to look through your father’s papers, one -of the very first things I came across in his blotting-book was the -rough draft of a letter with a blank for the name in the first line. -Seeing that it bore reference to the unlucky investment he had made, I -glanced through it. It bitterly reproached the man he was writing to, -for having recommended him to place his money in the company which had -just gone into liquidation, and alluded to assurances that had been -given him of this friend’s close knowledge of all the details, and -complete confidence in the safety of the company. I recollect that one -sentence referred to you, and your father said, ‘Should this illness of -mine prove fatal, I look to you, as Ralph’s godfather, to do what you -can for him, for it was in consequence of your advice that I made this -unfortunate speculation.’” - -Ralph started to his feet. “It was Sir Matthew then who ruined him!” - -“Well,” said the lawyer, “on reading that I looked up and casually asked -him if he knew who your godfathers were, he replied that he was one, -and that to the best of his recollection, the other had been a distant -kinsman of your father’s, a certain Sir Richard Denmead, who had died -a few years before. Then, without further comment, I handed him the -letter, remarking that of course, I had no idea on reading it that it -bore reference to himself. He was naturally annoyed and upset, but was -obliged to own that it was the draft of the letter he had received. He -was doing what he could to justify himself when you came into the room, -and what passed after that you no doubt remember.” - -“I remember,” said Ralph, “that he patronised me--he--my father’s -murderer. The word is not a bit too strong for him. He murdered my -father just as truly as if he had stabbed him to the heart. It was not -the cold that killed him, it was the misery and the depression and the -anxiety for the future. And this false friend of his is the man that -goes about opening bazaars, and posing as a profoundly religious man! -Faugh! It’s revolting!” - -“I have never liked Sir Matthew Mactavish,” said Mr. Marriott, quietly. -“It is wonderful to me how he impresses people; there must be some germ -of greatness in him or he couldn’t do it. I am quite aware that the -discovery of the truth must make you feel very bitterly towards him, -but if you will take an old man’s advice you will dwell upon the past as -little as possible. You can do no good by thinking of the injury he has -done you, and you will have to be very careful how you speak of him, -or in an angry moment you may make yourself liable to an action -for slander; legally you know a thing may be perfectly true, but if -maliciously uttered and in a way that injures another in his calling it -may be nevertheless slander. So you must not proclaim your wrongs -from the housetops. Now the question is what are you to do to support -yourself?” - -“I want to try my luck on the stage,” said Ralph. “It was my wish long -ago, and I believe that I might make something of it. I shall never be -much good at examinations.” - -“It seems rather the fashion for young fellows to try it nowadays,” said -the lawyer, “but I should think the life was a very hard one, and like -all other callings in this country it is much overcrowded. Still you -might do worse. I will give you a letter to Barry Sterne; he is a client -of mine and might possibly be able to help you. At any rate he would -give you his advice.” - -Ralph caught at the suggestion, and when the next morning the Marriotts -started for Switzerland they left him in excellent spirits. - -“Are you quite sure you have enough to live on until you get work,” - asked the old lawyer, drawing him aside at the last moment. “I will -gladly lend you something.” - -“Thank you,” replied Ralph. “But I have enough to live on till the end -of September.” - -“And by that time we shall be in London again,” said Mr. Marriott. “Be -sure you come to see us and let us know how you prosper.” - -It was not without some trepidation that later in the morning Ralph -presented himself at the house of Barry Sterne, the great actor. He sent -in Mr. Marriott’s letter of introduction and waited nervously in a -small back sitting-room, the window of which opened into one of those -miniature ferneries which one associates with the operating room of a -dentist. Three dejected gold-fish swam aimlessly up and down the narrow -tank, and the ferns looked as if they pined for country air. It was a -relief when at length he was summoned into the adjoining room. Here -the sun was shining, and there was a general sense of ease and comfort, -Barry Sterne himself harmonising very well with his setting, for he was -a good-natured looking giant with a most genial manner, and his broad, -expansive face beamed in a very kindly fashion on his visitor. - -“I’m afraid I can’t do anything for you,” he said, but the words carried -no sting because the tone was so delightful. “I have hundreds of these -applications, and it’s about the most disagreeable part of my life to be -for ever saying ‘no’ to people.” - -He put a few questions to him, all the while observing him attentively -with his keen eyes. - -“Well, you see,” he remarked, leaning back easily in his chair and -telling off the various items on his fingers as he proceeded. “Things -seem to me to stand like this. You have a good presence, a good voice, -a good manner; but you have no experience, you have had no special -preparation, you have no money, and you have no friends or relatives -in the profession. There are three points for you and four against you. -That means that you will have a very hard struggle, and will have to -be content to take any mortal thing you can get. Are you prepared for -that?” - -“I am prepared to begin at the very bottom of the profession if only it -will give me a real chance of getting on,” said Ralph. - -“To make a fool of yourself in a pantomime, for instance,” said the -actor, eyeing him keenly. “Or to walk on and say nothing in a piece that -runs for a couple of hundred nights?” - -“Yes, I would do it,” said Ralph, thoughtfully. “If, in the meantime, I -was really learning and making some way.” - -“Right,” said Barry Sterne. “That’s the way to set to work. But as -a rule a gentleman thinks he must step into the first ranks of the -profession straight away, which is a confounded mistake. I’ll write you -a note of introduction to Costa, the agent. You may thoroughly trust -him, and he may perhaps be able sooner or later to put you in the way of -something. I wish I knew of any opening for you. But I’m off to America -next month with Miss Greville’s Company.” - -The name instantly recalled Macneillie to Ralph’s mind. - -“When I was a small boy,” he said, “Mr. Macneillie was once very good -to me. If he were in London still, I might have gone to him. Do you know -what has become of him.” - -“Hugh Macneillie? Why he would be precisely the man for you. He went to -America about six years ago, had a tremendous success over there, and -when he came back to England started a travelling company of his own. -Oh, Macneillie is a sterling fellow, you couldn’t do better than try to -get in with him. Costa will be able to tell you his whereabouts.” - -After that, with a few kindly words and good wishes, Ralph found himself -dismissed. - -The day was intensely hot; however, he set off at once for the agent’s, -handed in Barry Sterne’s letter, was sharply scrutinised by Costa’s keen -Jewish eyes, and had his name entered upon the books, after paying five -shillings. - -“You must not be too sanguine,” said the agent, his dark melancholy face -contrasting oddly with Ralph’s fresh colouring, and hopeful eyes. “I -have one thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine names down of members of -the profession who are out of employment, or of people who seek to enter -the profession. You bring up the total to two thousand.” - -Ralph turned a little pale. “Is it so bad as that,” he said. “Then I -have no chance at all it seems to me.” - -He asked for Macneillie’s present address and went off in very low -spirits to write his letter, pack up his worldly goods, and take up his -quarters in the rooms which Geraghty had recommended. - -People seldom do things well when they are in low spirits, and Ralph, -who detested giving trouble or asking favours, wrote a stiff, short -letter to Macneillie, asking his advice and inquiring whether he could -possibly give him a place in his company. It was precisely the sort of -letter which Macneillie received by the dozen from stage-struck youths -in all parts of the country. Had he spoken of his boyish hero-worship -of the actor, or of their encounter at Richmond, there would have been -a human touch about the letter which would at once have appealed to -the Scotsman; he would certainly have made a special effort for one so -closely connected with the most tragic day of his life. But Ralph after -floundering hopelessly in a sentence which alluded to the past, tore up -his sheet of paper and wrote the bald, curt note, which so ill conveyed -the real state of his case. - -Macneillie, wearily returning from a rehearsal of four hours’ length, -in which his temper had been severely tried, found the missive in his -dreary lodgings at a south-coast watering place, hastily glanced through -the contents and thrust the letter into his letter-clip among other -similar requests, about which there was no immediate hurry. A fortnight -later he wrote the following short reply: - -“Dear Sir, - -“I have no opening at present in my company, and if you really intend to -go into the profession, and have realised that it demands incessant -and most arduous work, I should strongly advise you to begin at the -beginning of all things. Try to get taken on as a super at one of the -leading theatres, where you will have opportunities for studying really -great actors. Costa is a trustworthy agent. - -“Yours truly, - -“Hugh Macneillie.” - -The letter chanced to arrive in Paradise Street on a foggy September -evening when Ralph was in particularly low spirits. He had expected much -from Macneillie and was proportionately disappointed. It seemed almost -as if an old friend had shut the door in his face, nor did he quite -realise that few men as busy, and as much tormented by importunate -scribblers as Macneillie, would have troubled to answer his appeal at -all. What was he to do? Where was he to turn for work? And how much -longer would Evereld’s money hold out? The question was more easily than -satisfactorily answered. It was clearly impossible that he could exist -much longer in Paradise Street, and though its dingy room and bare, -scanty furniture was far from inviting, yet he had grown fond of his -good-natured landlord and took a kindly interest in the whole family of -Doolans, with their easy, happy-go-lucky ways, and strong sense of -humour. Life was lonely enough now. What would it be if he were -altogether without a home in this great wilderness of London? - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - - -“_A man who habitually pleases himself will become continually more -selfish and sordid, even among the most noble and beautiful conditions -which nature, history, or art can furnish; and, on the other hand, any -one who will try each day to live for the sake of others, will grow more -and more gracious in thought and bearing, however dull and even squalid -may be the outward circumstances of his soul’s probation._”--Dean -Paget. - -|Ralph’s chief comfort at this time was in a certain free library at no -great distance from his lodgings. He made his way there now, and for a -time lost the sense of his troubles in the world of books. This evening -he had the good fortune to light upon Stanley Weyman’s “House of the -Wolf,” a story which gave him keener and more healthy enjoyment than he -had known for many a day. When he came back to the everyday world again -and set out for his return walk to Paradise Street, he found that the -fog had very much increased and it was with great difficulty that he -could make out his way. As he was groping cautiously along an almost -deserted street, he was startled by the sound of a shrill, childish -voice. - -“Let me go! Let me go!” it cried passionately. “How dare you stop me? -How dare you?” - -Ralph ran in the direction of the sound, until in the fog and darkness, -he cannoned against the form of a man who turned angrily upon him, -revealing as he did so, in the dim lamplight which struggled through the -murky air, the evil face of an old _roué_. Fighting to free herself from -him, like a little wild-cat, was the figure of a mere child; her vigour -and agility were wonderful to behold and it was a task of no great -difficulty for Ralph to help in freeing her from the clutches of the -two-legged brute. Spite of the imperfect light, the child had been -quickwitted enough to recognise the new comer as a protector, and she -clung firmly to his hand as they went down the foggy street, never -pausing until all fear of further molestation was over. Then, panting -for breath, she stopped for a minute beneath a lamp-post, and in the -little oasis of light, looked searchingly up into his face as though to -make quite sure what manner of man he was. He saw now that she must -be older than he had thought; from her height he had fancied her about -eleven but he realised both by her face and her expression, that she -must be at least fifteen. Her colouring was curiously like Evereld’s but -the face was sharper, and had a funny look of assurance and knowledge -of the world, which was, nevertheless, belied by the childish curves of -cheek and chin, and by the nervous pressure with which she still clasped -his hand. - -“I don’t know a bit what this street is,” she said, with tears in her -voice, “And if I don’t soon get home grandfather will be dreadfully -anxious about me.” - -“Where is your home?” asked Ralph, feeling curiously drawn to the -forlorn little mortal who had crossed his path so strangely. - -“It’s in Paradise Street, Vauxhall,” said the child. - -“Ah, that’s lucky!” said Ralph. “My rooms are there too. What takes you -out at this time of night? It’s not safe for you to be wandering about -London alone.” - -“I always do go alone,” said the child, a little indignantly. “And no -one ever dared to bother me before. One of the dressers always walks -with me as far as our roads lie together, but this bit I always do alone -ever since I went to the theatre.” - -“Oh you are on the stage,” said Ralph, his interest increasing; “Well, -you are lucky to have work; it’s more than I can get.” - -“I used only to dance,” said the child, eagerly. “But now I have a -little part of my own, but of course you won’t know my name yet, it’s -not much known. I am Miss Ivy Grant.” - -There was a comical touch of pride and dignity in the words. Ralph’s -lip twitched, but he bowed gravely and said he was delighted to make -her acquaintance. Then, having walked a little further, they suddenly -realised what road they were in and without much more difficulty groped -their way home to Paradise Street. - -“I want you to come in and see my grandfather,” said Ivy, pausing at her -door. “He will be very grateful to you for having helped me.” - -Ralph hesitated. “It is late for me to come in now,” he said. - -“It won’t be late for grandfather, he never settles in till after -midnight. He is half paralysed. Please come.” - -He couldn’t find it in his heart to resist the pleading little -voice, and Ivy took him through the narrow passage and into the front -sitting-room, where they found a fine looking old man whose flowing, -white beard and many coloured dressing-gown gave him a sort of Eastern -look. The small, grey, critical eyes, however, were not Eastern at all -and when he spoke Ralph fancied that he could detect a slight Scotch -accent, which together with the tone of voice made him think somehow of -Sir Matthew Mactavish. - -He looked searchingly at the new comer, but on Ivy’s hurried explanation -held out his hand cordially, thanking him for coming to the child’s aid -with a warmth which was evidently genuine. - -“She has to be breadwinner-in-chief to the establishment,” he said, -with a smile, “And being a wise-like little body seldom gets into -difficulties. Being a useless old log myself I should long ago have -been hewn down and cast into the Union had it not been for the Ivy that -supported me.” - -“You say those pretty things because you know it will make me come and -kiss you,” said Ivy, saucily, as she threw off her cloak and hat and -wreathed her arms about the old man’s neck. “And now while I get your -coffee ready you must talk to Mr. Denmead, for he wants work at the -theatre and can’t get it.” - -“Half a dozen years ago when I was dramatic critic for the _Pennon_ I -might have done something for you,” said the old man, wistfully. “But -now I am little but a burden as I told you. A few pupils come to me -still for lessons in elocution, and I have the training of Ivy who is -going to be a credit to me.” - -As he spoke he glanced towards the little housewife who with an air of -importance was preparing the supper. Ralph thought he had never before -seen any one move with such grace, and though her face was lacking -in the simplicity and peace which characterised Evereld, it was a -particularly winsome little face. - -“How did you get on to-night little one?” said the old man. - -“Very well,” said Ivy as she poured the coffee out of an ancient -percolator into three earthenware cups which had seen hard service. -Ralph observed that she kept the cup without a handle for herself, and -carefully selected him one which was without a chip on the drinking -side of the rim. “But I might easily have broken my leg,” she continued, -cheerfully; “for that stupid Jem had forgotten to shut one of the traps -properly, and Mr. Merrithorne stumbled and hurt his ankle badly.” - -“What part does he play?” said her grandfather. - -“Oh he hasn’t very much to do, he is a rather stupid footman and he was -bringing in the luncheon tray with the property pie and that old fowl -which wants painting again so badly, and when he tripped up, the pie -went bowling down the stage, and the fowl landed in Miss West’s lap and -every one roared with laughter. She was dreadfully angry, but afterwards -when it seemed that Mr. Merrithorne was really hurt she was rather sorry -for him.” - -“Who is his understudy?” - -“I don’t know. It is such a little part, perhaps he hasn’t one. But he -was limping dreadfully as he went away. I shouldn’t think he could act -to-morrow.” - -“It’s possible that might give you a chance,” said the professor of -elocution. “A stupid, countrified man-servant you say, Ivy? Are you -pretty good at dialect?” - -Ralph laughed, for he knew that he was an adept at a certain south -country dialect, and without more ado stood up and gave the Professor -a short and highly humourous dialogue between a ploughman and his boy, -with which he had often made Evereld and her governess laugh. - -“Good,” said the Professor, his grey eyes twinkling, “I think you’ll -do young man; but come to me to-morrow morning at nine o’clock and I’ll -give you a few hints about voice production.” - -Ralph coloured. “You are very good,” he said, “but to tell the truth -I am at my wit’s end for money and much as I would like lessons can’t -possibly afford them.” - -“Pshaw! nonsense,” said the Professor, knitting his brows. “I’m already -in your debt, for it might have fared ill with the child had you not -taken care of her tonight. If I can give you a helping hand, nothing -would please me better. And after the lesson you might go round with -Ivy, and I’ll give you an introduction to the manager. He’s a man I knew -well at one time.” - -Ralph’s face lighted up. “I should be very grateful,” he said, eagerly, -“for this waiting about for work is tedious enough, and I shall be -starved out before long.” - -He went home much cheered and with great expectations. The Professor -interested him; there was something half mysterious about the -white-haired old man which puzzled him and piqued his curiosity. He was -particularly benevolent and kindly and yet he seemed as unpractical as -a mere visionary, and was surely to blame in letting a child like Ivy go -to and from the theatre each night alone. - -Clearly the granddaughter was manager-in-chief as well as breadwinner, -and as he thought of her winsome little face with its shrewd, light-blue -eyes, slightly _retroussé_ nose, and small, firm mouth he felt a keen -desire to see more of her. She was so quaint in her brisk, housewifely -arrangements, so deft and clever in all her ways; a little conscious at -times, and quite capable of posing for effect, but lovable in spite of -that. - -“I could soon laugh her out of those little affectations,” he thought to -himself. “And there is such a look of Evereld about her that she must at -heart be good. She is very clever, possibly she is even cunning, and she -has extraordinary tact--almost too much for such a child.” - -He went to sleep and was haunted all night by that funny, pathetic, -little face of the child actress. Together they fled from a thousand -perils, and when next morning he saw her again face to face, it seemed -to him that they were quite old companions. - -“Good day,” said the Professor in his bland, pleasant voice as Ralph was -ushered into the dreary little room. “Sit down for a minute, I have not -yet finished with my other pupil. Now sir! don’t mumble like a bee in a -bottle. You know well enough how to get the clear shock of the glottis -and that’s the secret of voice production. You have the voice and the -lungs and the knowledge of the method, but you are lazy, incorrigibly -lazy!” - -The young man crimsoned and with an effort burst out with one of -Prospero’s speeches: - - “I pray thee, mark me. - - I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated - - To closeness and the bettering of my mind - - With that which, but by being so retired, - - O’er prized all popular rate, in my false brother - - Awaked an evil nature.” - -There he was arrested; for the Professor thundered on the floor with his -walking stick, looking as if he would much have enjoyed laying it about -the victim’s shoulders. - -His scathing sarcasms, his merciless interruptions, his sharp criticism, -would have tried the patience of Job himself, but his unfortunate -pupil struggled on and really improved marvellously, while Ralph sat an -observant spectator, learning not a little from all that went on. At the -close of the instruction the old man’s serenity of manner returned--he -even praised the youth he had so violently abused but a minute before. -The reason of this soon transpired; he needed his help with the next -pupil. “You are not pressed for time?” he asked, with a smile. “Then I -shall be much obliged if you will kindly help my new pupil, Mr. Denmead, -with the first exercise.” - -The victim glanced somewhat anxiously at the clock, but the Professor -was evidently an autocrat, and it would have been easier to refuse a -request made by the Czar himself. - -“You will lie at full length on the floor,” said the Professor, with a -lordly wave of the hand towards Ralph. “My pupil, Mr. Bourne, will then -kneel on your chest, and you will in this position practise the art of -breathing.” - -Ralph obeyed, not without a strong sense of the absurdity of the whole -scene. Could Sir Matthew Mactavish have seen him at that moment, lying -on the bare boards of a dingy lodging-house in Vauxhall, with a young -reciter of no mean weight kneeling on his chest, with a paralytic -and mysterious old sage roaring and shouting instructions and beating -impatient tattoos with his stick at intervals, while a pretty young girl -sat by the window covering stage shoes with cheap pink satin, how amazed -he would have been. - -This was certainly beginning at the beginning of all things. By eleven -o’clock that morning he was for the first time in his life entering the -stage door of a theatre,--it was one of the outlying suburban houses at -which there was a stock company and a frequent change of plays,--while -Ivy, with her funny little air of importance, showed him all that she -thought would interest him. - -The manager, a somewhat harassed looking man, took the Professor’s note, -read it hurriedly, and glanced keenly at Ralph. - -“Does Mr. Merrithorne act to-night?” asked Ivy, anxiously. - -“No, my dear; he won’t be fit to go on again for a month at least. I -understand, Mr. Denmead, that you are a pupil of Professor Grant.” - -“Yes,” said Ralph, “but I am quite a novice.” - -“H’m,” said the manager, taking a long look at him. “You’re positively -the first man that ever made that confession to me. I’ve a mind to try -you. Come with me, and I will give you the part. You can read it at -rehearsal if you haven’t time to learn it.” - -Ivy beamed with delight when he returned to her. - -“The manager was just in his very best temper,” she said, happily. “Come -to this quiet corner, and I’ll see that no one interrupts you.” - -The part was short and simple, and Ralph, who had an excellent memory, -learnt it easily enough. But when it came to rehearsing his scenes -in the dreary vastness of the empty theatre amid distant sounds of -hammering and scrubbing, and the perfectly audible comments of his -fellow actors, he felt in despair; there was no getting inside the -character, he could only feel himself Ralph Denmead, in uncomfortable -circumstances, and breathing a curious atmosphere of hostility. He went -home feeling nervous and miserable, but Ivy’s talk helped to amuse him, -and distract his attention. - -“They will like you when they get used to you,” she said, -philosophically. “But some of them think you are just a wealthy amateur, -and that you have paid for the chance of appearing in public. We all -hate that kind of man. Some others say you are an Oxonian wanting a -little amusement during the long vacation, and that you will be going -back to the University next month. And Miss West thinks you are a -disguised nobleman.” - -“Well, then, they’re all of them wrong,” said Ralph, obliged to laugh -in spite of himself. “I’m not a disguised duke, nor even a marquis, but -just plain Ralph Denmead, with very few coins in his pocket, and not a -single relation or rich friend to help him.” - -When the evening came, Ralph found that the flatness and coldness of the -morning had entirely passed; every one seemed in better spirits, and the -two men who shared his dressing-room were friendly enough directly they -found he was a genuine worker, not a mere _dilettante_. - -A youngster who was neither conceited nor grasping, but was content to -begin with a very small part, and a still smaller salary, was quite -a phenomenon, and, as usual, Ralph’s good humour and common-sense, -together with his readiness to see fun in everything, stood him in good -stead. - -When the last awful moment arrived, and he stood at the wings in -his gorgeous livery of drab and scarlet, with powdered hair and -knee-breeches, he found that the atmosphere of hostility which he had -felt so oppressive at rehearsal was entirely gone. - -“Good luck to you!” said the heavy man, laying a fatherly hand on his -shoulder. “Never fear; you’ll do well enough.” - -And with these words to hearten him, he took that first desperate plunge -into the icy-cold waters of publicity. - -Ivy’s face beamed upon him as he returned. - -“That applause was for you,” she said, rapturously, “and they don’t -generally laugh nearly as much after that blunder with the luncheon -table.” - -“But I see where I might improve it,” said Ralph, thoughtfully. And -truly enough he did improve each night he played the servant and other -small parts. - -Then, at the end of a month, Merrithorne’s ankle recovered, he returned -to the theatre, and Ralph once more found himself out of work. - -What was his next step to be? - - - - -CHAPTER IX - - - “If I were loved, as I desire to be, - - What is there in the great sphere of the earth, - - And range of evil between death and birth, - - That I shall fear, if I were loved by thee?” - - Tennyson. - -|If yer plase, yer honour, Mr. Geraghty is below, and would like to see -yer honour if its convaniant,” said little Nora Doolan, thrusting her -untidy head into the cheerless back room in Paradise Street. - -Ralph, who was pacing to and from learning a part in a Shakesperian play -which he was little likely to act as yet, glanced round with brightening -face. - -“What? Dear old Geraghty!” he exclaimed. “I’m glad he has looked me up. -Show him upstairs Nora, for I should like to have a talk with him.” - -The old man-servant responded with alacrity to the warm welcome he -received. - -“It’s delighted I am to see you again, Mr. Ralph,” he exclaimed, looking -him over with an air of satisfaction as though he had some share in his -well-being. “And it’s in good health that you are looking, sir, and no -mistake.” - -“Nothing like hard work, Geraghty, for keeping a man well,” said Ralph. -“And I hope I’m settled now for some time to come. You can tell Miss -Evereld that I’m at the very theatre we so often used to go to, and that -I have the pleasure of seeing Washington act every night.” - -“I’m glad to hear it, sir,” said Geraghty. “We all knew long ago, sir, -that you’d make a first-class actor; it took but a little small bit of -discrimination to see that much.” - -Ralph laughed. “Well, Geraghty, you mustn’t run away with the notion -that I’m a star, for, as a matter of fact, I am nothing but a super at -a pound a week. But it’s better to begin at the beginning in a good -theatre than to be cock-of-the-walk in a fifth-rate one.” - -“To be sure, sir, it’s just what I was saying but now to my sister about -placing her eldest girl. ‘Never mind how little she earns the first -year or two,’ said I, ‘but for heaven’s sake place her in a gentleman’s -family, and don’t let her demean herself by takin’ service with them -that hasn’t an ounce of breeding to bless themselves with. Let her be -kitchen or scullery-maid or what you will, but have her with gentry.’” - -“Geraghty,” said Ralph, with a mischievous smile, “You have such a -respect for birth that it’s my firm conviction you’ll be the last and -most staunch supporter left to the House of Lords.” - -Geraghty laughed all over his face, and his broad shoulders shook. - -“I’ve seen just a little too much of the aristocracy to pin my faith to -them, sir. Handsome is as handsome does, and gentle is as gentle does. -But from the House of Lords and their marrin’ and muddlin’--Good Lord -deliver us!” - -Ralph who had purposely provoked this tirade from the Irishman, laughed -and changed the subject by an inquiry after Evereld. - -“Well, thank God, she’s getting on finely, sir. Seems as if there was a -special Providence over orphans, and Bridget she says why that’s natural -enough, that their parents can see better how to guide them bein’ higher -up so to speak. But, however that may be, at first we all thought she’d -fret her heart out with missin’ you, sir. But in September, Bridget -took her down to the school at Southbourne, and though she was a bit -faint-hearted at the notion, she’d no sooner set eyes on the place than -she was sure she’d be happy there. Bridget says it’s the most beautiful -house and garden you ever saw, and all so comfortable and homelike in -spite of the size. And Miss Evereld writes that she’s as happy as the -day is long, and that they’re teaching her how to nurse sick folks, and -that she’s learnt to darn her own stockin’s--a thing she never got a -chance o’ doin’ at home--and to dance the minuet, and to do algebra, and -I don’t know what beside. But, from what Bridget told me, I foregathered -that it wasn’t a school where they cram them like turkeys for Christmas -or geese for a Michaelmas fair, but just a home on a large scale for -turnin’ out well-mannered young gentlewomen who’ll have a very good -notion how to manage a home on a smaller scale.” - -When the old Butler had gone, Ralph fell into a reverie. The effect of -hearing all about Evereld had been to make him long very impatiently for -the end of their separation. It was true that when she returned to the -Mactavishes at Christmas he could write to her without any breach of -regulations, but there seemed no chance of their meeting, and he greatly -missed his old companion. He began to weave all manner of visions of -future success, and to imagine that in an incredibly short space of time -he had gained quite a high position at Washington’s theatre, that he met -Evereld in society, and that Sir Matthew, who always paid homage to the -successful, became quite friendly and cordial to him. How strange it -would be to be invited as a distinguished guest to the very house in -Queen Anne’s Gate where he had been snubbed and scolded as a boy. - -It was with something of a shock that he came back to the prosaic -present and found himself merely a super about to go through, for the -fiftieth time, the wearisome business which was his allotted share in a -play which was likely to run for many months more. - -It was just at Christmas that he was confronted by one of those -decisions that form the chief difficulty of an actor’s career. To seize -the right opportunity of promotion, yet to avoid “Raw haste, half-sister -to delay”; to have precisely that right judgment which often determines -the success or failure of a life, is hard to all mortals, but hardest -to those of the artistic temperament. The temptation to escape from -the monotony of his present work came to him through the Professor’s -granddaughter. - -To little Ivy Grant he had from the very first seemed a full fledged -hero. He was the first man she had ever looked up to, for although -devoted to her old grandfather it was not easy to respect the Professor. -He seemed, to shrewd little Ivy, a very weak old man, and she despised -the weak, not understanding at all that habit of making large allowance -for human infirmity which grows with the growing years. The old man was -a confirmed opium eater. The habit, begun in a time of physical pain and -great mental worry, had now bound him fast in its cruel chains, and the -kindly benevolence which had struck Ralph at first sight as so strange -a contrast with his blameworthy neglect of Ivy’s safety, was all due to -the influence of the drug. His will was now not in the least his own, -and though he had his moments of exquisite exaltation he had always -to pay for them by times of black depression and misery. Under these -circumstances the child’s life could hardly be a happy one; she was, -moreover, scarcely strong enough for the late hours and the exposure to -all sorts of weather which her work entailed, and in spite of her -brisk, managing ways she began to crave for something more strong and -trustworthy to support her than her grandfather whose simile of the -lifeless trunk of the tree kept up by the ivy supporting it, had been -singularly near the truth. - -When Ralph no longer played at the same theatre, and their meetings -became less frequent, the little girl flagged and lost heart. She had -good impulses but she was easily led, and her friendship with Ralph had -filled her with a sense of dissatisfaction with her own life, and the -lives that most nearly touched her own. Her busy little brain began -to form eager plans for the future, and at last fate put in her way a -chance which revived her drooping spirits, and lighted up her blue -eyes with hope. Her good news arrived on Christmas day, otherwise the -festival would have been cheerless enough, for the old Professor had -slept in his invalid chair the whole of the morning, and Ivy, sitting -in solitary state beside the fire, had eaten a sober little Christmas -dinner consisting of a slice of cold meat and a mince-pie kindly given -to her by the landlady. Then having tidied the bare little room, and -stuck a solitary piece of holly in the window that people might see -she was “keeping Christmas” properly, she returned to her place on the -hearthrug, and tried to become interested in a penny novelette which -should have been exciting, but somehow failed to touch her. - -“Stupid thing!” she exclaimed presently, throwing the book to the -further end of the room with a little petulant gesture. “I can’t even -cry when the heroine dies. What is the good of a book if you can’t cry -over it?” - -Just then there came a tap at the door, and in walked Ralph with his -cheerful face, and in his hands was a great bunch of ivy and mistletoe. - -“A happy Christmas to you,” he said, taking her cold little hand in his. -“How’s the Professor? Not worse I hope?” - -“He is no worse,” said Ivy, “but he has been asleep all day, and it’s -dreadfully dull. Where did you get such lovely evergreens?” - -“Walked out into the country this morning, right away beyond Hampstead. -As for the mistletoe, that’s a particular present from Dan Doolan, and -I’ve just had to kiss seven small Doolans beneath it before they would -let me out of the house. Now your turn has come.” - -Ivy laughed and protested, but was thrilled through and through by the -kiss, though it was just as matter-of-fact as that which he had bestowed -on Tim Doolan, aged three. Her little, pale face lighted up radiantly, -but unobservant Ralph saw nothing of that, he was bestowing all his -energies on the decoration of the dreary, little room, and crowning with -ivy the portraits of sundry great actors and actresses. - -“Do you think Mrs. Siddons ever looked as stiff and forbidding as this?” - he said, glancing round with a smile, as Ivy held him a laurel branch to -put above the frame. - -“Yes,” she replied, saucily. “She must have looked like that when she -said in awful tones, ‘Will it wash?’ to the poor frightened shopman who -was serving her.” - -“Ah, perhaps. Well, Ivy, there is no fear that you will ever strike -terror into any one’s heart.” - -“Who cares for striking terror into people?” she replied, merrily, -and as she spoke she began to float dreamily away into an exquisitely -graceful skirt-dance; her little, childish face growing more and more -sweet and tranquil as she proceeded. - -Clearly dancing was her vocation. Ralph stood with his back to the fire -watching her perfect grace: it seemed to him the very poetry of motion. -And Ivy was at her very best when she was dancing; at other times her -ways occasionally jarred on him, her acting left much to be desired, and -a certain vein of silliness in her now and then awoke his contempt, -but when dancing she seemed like one inspired; he could only wonder and -admire. - -“Some day you will be our greatest English dancer,” he said, as once -more she settled down into her nook beside the fire. - -“I don’t want to be that,” said Ivy, “English dancers are never made so -much of as foreigners, and besides, a dancer’s position is not so good. -I mean to be an actress.” - -“It’s a thousand pities,” said Ralph. “Why do people always want to do -things they can’t do well.” - -Ivy pouted. - -“Grandfather doesn’t wish me only to dance,” she said. “And besides I -have just heard of quite a fresh opening. What would you say to earning -two pounds a week?” - -“I should say I’m not likely to do that yet awhile,” said Ralph, -philosophically. - -“But you can! you can!” said Ivy, clapping her hands joyfully. “There’s -an opening for you as well as for me, for I specially asked. It’s a ‘fit -up’ company and we should be wanted in February when the pantomime is -over.” - -“Where?” asked Ralph, looking incredulous. - -“For a tour in Scotland. A ‘fit up’ company too, and nothing to provide -but just wigs and shoes and tights.” - -“Who is the manager?” - -“The husband of the leading lady. His name is Skoot.” - -“Don’t like the name,” said Ralph, laughing. - -“Why what’s in a name?” said Ivy. “The poor man didn’t choose it. For -my part I think it is better than assuming some grand name that doesn’t -belong to him. And then his Christian name is Theophilus.” - -But Ralph still laughed. - -“Worse and worse,” he said. “Theophilus Skoot is a detestable -combination. Dick, Tom, or Harry, would have been better. No, no, Ivy; I -think we had better stay where we are.” - -Ivy looked much disheartened, and to change the subject Ralph suggested -that they should go together to the Abbey. This pleased her, she forgot -the Scotch tour and only revelled in the bliss of the present. To -walk to church on Christmas day with her ideal man, to feel the subtle -influence of the beautiful Abbey, the lights, the music, the religious -atmosphere, seemed to her a sort of foretaste of heaven, a slightly -sensuous heaven perhaps, but the highest she was as yet capable of -imagining. Ralph was not sorry to have the child with him, for his -Christmas had been lonely enough. But his thoughts wandered far away -from her during the service. He was back again at Whinhaven listening to -his father’s voice, or he was with Evereld and her governess listening -to solemn old chorales at Dresden. - -Presently a very slight thing recalled him to his actual surroundings. -The sermon was about to begin and some one sitting in front of him rose -to go just as the text was given out: - -“And in the fulness of time God sent------” - -He heard no more for the vacant place had revealed to him, at a little -distance in front, a profile which arrested his whole attention. -Something in its earnest, absorbed expression, in its exquisite purity, -in the listening look of one who is eager to learn, appealed to him -strongly. Then suddenly his heart gave a bound, for it was borne in upon -him that he was looking at Evereld. Not the Evereld he had left on -that summer day as a playmate and comrade, but a new Evereld who had -developed into a woman--the one woman in all the world for him. He did -not wish the sermon ended, he could have been almost content to sit on -there for ever just watching her; that curious description of heaven as -a place - - “Where congregations ne’er break up, - - And Sabbaths never end,”-- - -a notion which has cast a gloom over so many children’s hearts, seemed -to him in his present mood after all not so impossible. - -When the service was really over, and the people began to disperse, he -was in a fever lest he should be unable to reach her, and it was not -until he had discovered that Bridget was her companion that he could -feel at all secure of any real talk with her. - -Ivy, quite unconscious of all this, wondered a little when he paused -in the nave; but she did not at all object to standing there with him, -looking into the dim beauty of the stately building, and with a proud -little consciousness that many people glanced at them as they passed by. -It was so nice, she reflected, to go to church with a man like Ralph, -a man wholly unlike any other she had yet come across in her short and -rather dreary life. - -Meanwhile, Evereld was drawing nearer. Ivy was just admiring her -dark-green jacket and toque with their beaver trimmings, and longing to -have just such a costume herself, when she saw a vivid colour suffuse -the wearer’s face, her blue eyes shone radiantly, her lips smiled such a -welcoming smile at Ralph that no words, no hand-clasp, seemed necessary. -Side by side they passed together out of the Abbey, while Ivy, in blank -surprise, followed in their wake. - -“To think that you were there all the time and that I never knew it,” - said Evereld, when the greetings were over. “Where is Bridget? How -surprised she will be. Look, Bridget, here is Mr. Ralph come back.” - -“An’ it’s glad I am to see you, sir. There’ll be no need, I’m thinkin’, -to wish you a happy Christmas, for I can see by your face that you’ve -got it.” - -Ralph did, indeed, seem to be in the seventh heaven of happiness, but -as he gave a cordial greeting to the old servant he happened to notice -Ivy’s wistful, little face, and, with a pang of reproach for having -altogether forgotten her, he took her hand in his and introduced her to -Evereld. - -“This is a little friend of mine,” he said. “The granddaughter of -Professor Grant, my elocution master.” Evereld liked the look of the -little fairylike figure, but she seemed to her the merest child, and -after a few kindly words she thought no more of her, being naturally -absorbed in Ralph and having so much to say to him after their long -separation. - -Ivy, with a sigh, dropped behind with Bridget, who, in her motherly -fashion, took her under her special protection as they crossed the wide -road near the Aquarium, little guessing that this small person was well -used to going about London quite alone at all hours. - -“And how are things going at Queen Anne’s Gate?” asked Ralph, when -Evereld had told him all about her life at Southbourne. - -“It’s so dull I hardly know how to bear it,” said Evereld. “You see, I’m -too big now for children’s parties, and, of course, I’m not out yet. I -miss you all day long, and no one so much as speaks of you, except now -and then Mr. Bruce Wylie, and he always did like you.” - -“Not he,” said Ralph. “He made believe, though, for the sake of pleasing -you.” - -“I see that you have not lost your way of thinking evil of people,” said -Evereld, reproachfully. “Mr. Wylie is the kindest man I know.” - -“But you don’t know him,” said Ralph. “You merely see him now and then -and like his pleasant way of talking, and find him a relief from the -Mactavish clan.” - -“And how much do you know him?” said Evereld, teasingly. - -“Not much, certainly,” he was constrained to own with a smile, “and -it may be jealousy that makes me decry him. Yet, if instinct goes for -anything, he is a man I should never trust.” - -“What! such a frank, straightforward sort of man as that?” she -exclaimed, in dismay. - -“I know he’s very plausible, I know he has many good points even, but -I fancy he could persuade himself that anything was right if only it -promoted his own ends.” - -“At any rate, he is the one person who ever troubles to inquire after -you, and I believe that is the chief reason I have for liking him.” - -Ralph was so well content with this speech that he let the subject drop, -and, as Evereld was eager to hear all that he had been doing since -they had been separated, he began to give her an amusing account of the -straits he had been in and the work he had obtained. Far too soon they -reached Sir Matthew’s house, and were obliged to part. - -“You will write when you can?” said Evereld, wistfully, as she lingered -for a moment on the steps with her hand in his. “I don’t think Sir -Matthew has any right to object, and I shall want to know what you -decide about Scotland.” - -“Yes, you shall hear directly it is decided,” said Ralph, trying to feel -hopeful. “I wish I knew what would be the wisest thing to do.” - -Then, with a lingering glance into the sweet eyes lifted to his, he bade -her good-bye and turned away. - -“How I wish I were the Professor’s little granddaughter,” she thought -to herself as she glanced down the dark road after them, with a sick -longing to be going too. And, had she but known it, Ivy was at that -very time thinking enviously of Ralph’s old friend and of her many -advantages. - -Meanwhile Geraghty threw open the front door, and in the cheerful light -that streamed through the hall Evereld caught a vision of Sir Matthew -coming down the stairs, and, taking her courage in both hands, she -entered the house and went straight up to him. - - - - -CHAPTER X - - - “Savage at heart, and false of tongue, - - Subtle with age, and smooth to the young, - - Like a snake in his coiling and curling.” - - T. Hood. - -|So you have been to the Abbey?” he said, smiling benevolently upon her. - -“Yes,” she replied, her blue eyes looking straight into his. “And we -have seen Ralph. He was there, too, just behind us. He walked back with -us.” - -Sir Matthew frowned slightly. Then, recollecting the presence of the -servants, he beckoned Evereld to his study. - -“Come in here, my dear,” he said, in his soft voice. “You are quite -right to tell me all so frankly, and it is natural enough that you -should be pleased to meet your old playfellow. But you must remember -that things are not now as they once were.” - -“Ralph and I shall always be friends,” said Evereld, gently, but with a -firmness which startled her guardian. “Things are not altered between us -because we don’t live under the same roof now. How could that alter us?” - -“My dear, it is for Lady Mactavish and myself to decide who shall or who -shall not be your friends,” he said, with quiet decision. - -“That may be,” said Evereld, “as far as new friends are concerned, but -I cannot unmake a friend to order--no, not even if the Queen commanded -it.” - -They both smiled a little. Sir Matthew paced the room in silence. - -“I must not forbid her to hold any communication with him,” he -reflected, “or let her feel that I am a tyrant and they a couple of -martyrs. After all, she is so young and simple and innocent; no mischief -will come of it.” - -“Has Ralph found work?” he inquired, not unkindly. - -“Yes,” she said, “at Washington’s theatre; and perhaps he is going on a -Scotch tour.” - -“Good!” said Sir Matthew, approvingly. “After all, he has talent, and -will make himself a name in time. His best chance would be to marry some -experienced actress older than himself. That has answered very well in -one or two cases. His birth and education would go for something, and if -he plays his cards well the stage may make his fortune. By-the-by, Bruce -Wylie is to dine with us to-night. You like him, do you not?” - -“Oh, yes,” said Evereld, “I like him very much.” - -And Sir Matthew, satisfied with the warmth of her tone, dismissed her -with a paternal kiss, and an injunction to put on her prettiest gown in -honour of the festival. - -Bruce Wylie was certainly the most attractive and amusing of the men -who visited the Mactavishes. He had the easy, comfortable air of an -old friend, and he came and went at all hours, yet never seemed to be -present when he was not wanted. His fair hair and short, fair beard -contrasted rather curiously with his dark, keen eyes. He had a brisk, -kindly, pleasant manner, and a particularly winning voice. There -was about him, too, a saving sense of humour, and the rather heavy -atmosphere of Sir Matthew’s household always seemed less oppressive when -he was present. He was a first-rate _raconteur_, and Evereld was never -tired of listening to his stories. - -It was all in vain that she tried to see him with Ralph’s eyes. She -decided in her own mind that his hard experience of the world had made -Ralph somewhat cynical and distrustful. He had convinced her with regard -to Sir Matthew, but to belief in Bruce Wylie she still clung with all -the loyalty of her fresh, innocent youth. - -And yet the ladies had only left the dining-room a few moments when -Bruce Wylie revealed a very different side of himself. - -“Ewart’s little girl is looking prettier than usual tonight,” he -remarked, as he picked out the preserved apricots from a small dish -in front of him, leaving only bitter oranges and citrons for those who -might come after. - -“Yes,” said Sir Matthew, “Southbourne has done wonders for her. She had -better have another six months there.” - -“Was she not eighteen in the autumn? She will want to come out next -season.” - -“I don’t think it,” said Sir Matthew. “She is happy enough there, and -we shall do well to keep her from the heiress-hunters till she is safely -betrothed to you.” - -“Poor little soul!” said Bruce Wylie, reflectively. “There would be no -danger in letting her see a little of the world first.” - -“We won’t risk that,” said his companion. “What’s to prevent her falling -in love with some young fellow and refusing to look at you. If she ever -lost her heart, she would be the veriest little shrew to manage--there -would be no taming her. We might prevent her marrying till she was of -age, but you know what revelations would come about when her affairs -were looked into. No, no; she must be safely married to her worthy -solicitor, Bruce Wylie, as soon as possible after she leaves school.” - -Bruce Wylie seemed lost in thought. Sir Matthew watched him, -half-suspiciously. They were friends and confederates, but the company -promoter trusted no one in the world implicitly. - -“You are thinking that it is a risky venture,” he said, quietly, “but -under the circumstances it’s far the best thing that can be done. If the -South African affair goes on as well as it promises, her money will be -safe enough in the long run; and if a smash comes, why her money will be -gone, but our names and reputations will be safe, and no great harm will -come of it.” - -“I was not thinking of that,” said Bruce Wylie. “There’s another side -to the business, and one can’t altogether overlook it. I am fond of the -little thing, and I honestly believe she likes me, but if anything of -this should ever leak out, if, after we were married, her suspicions -were roused, why then, as you say, I can imagine that the taming process -might be difficult. Spite of her china-blue eyes, there’s a pretty spice -of determination in Ewart’s little girl.” - -“My dear fellow, you astonish me,” said Sir Matthew, impatiently. “With -enough on your mind to burden most men heavily, you can yet find time to -worry over the matrimonial squabbles that may ruffle your future peace. -When once she’s your wife you’ll be able to do what you please with -her.” - -“I’m not so sure of that,” said Bruce Wylie. “It’s just those little, -gentle women with hardly a word to say for themselves who are always -astonishing people by hidden stores of force and courage and daring at -some critical moment.” - -“The only possible difficulty with Evereld would be her friendship for -Ralph Donmead,” said Sir Matthew, “and, as ill luck will have it, the -fellow turned up again to-day.” - -“D------ him!” exclaimed Bruce Wylie. “How was that?” - -“Saw her at the Abbey, and had the audacity to walk home with her. She -told me all about it with the utmost frankness, and without so much as a -change of colour. I don’t think there is any mischief done yet, but the -less she sees of him the better. It seems that he is doing pretty well -on the stage; at least, I gathered so.” - -“Well,” said Bruce Wylie, reflectively, “it is always easy to set a -scandal afloat about an actor, and if she seems losing her heart to him -that is the line we must take.” - -And therewith the two friends fell to talking of other business -arrangements. - -***** - -When Ralph turned away from the house in Queen Anne’s Gate, the -happy excitement of the past hour suddenly gave place to a sobering -realisation of things as they were. He, Ralph Denmead, a super at a -pound a week, had had the audacity to fall in love with a girl of -whose fortune he had, indeed, very vague ideas, but who had always been -considered an heiress. That was a situation he liked very little, but -it was characteristic of him that he did not sink into any very great -depths of depression. He was not easily depressed, having been born with -one of those equable tempers which are as delightful as they are rare. -Then, too, his very indifference to money for its own sake, the habit -he had inherited from his unworldly father of a positive dislike of all -display and a contempt for all but the simplest tastes, came now to -his aid. Extremes meet. And the marriage, which would have seemed a -perfectly simple and desirable arrangement to a selfish fortune-hunter, -seemed also perfectly possible to Ralph with his unconventional way of -looking at things. He disliked her fortune, would gladly have foregone -it altogether, but saw no reason in the world why it should stand as a -barrier between them. If she loved him all would be well. He hoped she -did love him, but was not certain. Only in that last quiet good-bye -of hers something in its very self-control had given him hope; for the -first time she seemed to shrink a little from showing how much she felt -the parting. She was wholly unlike the little girl he had left sobbing -in the schoolroom at Sir Matthew’s country cottage a few months before. - -As he thought of this, a sort of wild desire to succeed in his -profession, and to succeed quickly, took possession of him. His present -position at the foot of the ladder seemed no longer tolerable. Patient -plodding had been well enough earlier in the day, but now the fiery -impatience of youth began to get the better of him. He turned eagerly -to Ivy. They had by this time reached Westminster Bridge, and the cold, -fresh wind from the river and the wider view seemed in harmony with -his eager longing for a fuller, freer life, for an escape from the dull -routine of his present work. - -“Tell me more about this Scotch tour” he said, eagerly. “Do you think -there is really a chance of our getting into the company? Does your -grandfather think Skoot a decent sort of fellow?” - -“Oh yes,” said Ivy, her face lighting up radiantly. “Come and talk to -him about it. He has seen both the manager and his wife: he used to know -them long ago. Oh, do think it over again. Just fancy how beautiful it -would be to see Scotland! We would go to Ellen’s Isle together and see -the Trossachs!” - -Ralph laughed. “I fear there are no theatres on the shores of Loch -Katrine,” he said. - -“Well,” said Ivy, looking disappointed, “we should at any rate see -mountains, and the travelling would be such fun. I have never been -on tour in my life, hardly ever out of London even. Come in and see -grandfather and talk about it.” - -Ralph was persuaded to follow her into the dreary, little house, and -much to Ivy’s satisfaction her grandfather was awake and seemed in -excellent spirits. He was inclined to see everything in the world -through rose-coloured spectacles, and was about as fit to advise any one -as a baby of three years old. But his venerable aspect and his smiling -benevolent face were, nevertheless, impressive and Ralph listened -eagerly to all that he said. It was quite true that he had known this -manager and his wife many years ago: they were most estimable people. -Skoot himself had real talent, his wife not much more than a pretty -face, but they were thoroughly worthy people; she was a woman with whom -he could trust Ivy, he had never heard a word against her. He should -miss Ivy, but the landlady would take care of him and the experience -and even the change of air would be very good for the child. He strongly -advised Ralph to try and get into the Company, it was a chance which did -not occur every day. He would give him a letter of introduction and he -could see the manager to-morrow. - -At any other time Ralph would have perceived that the old man’s advice -while he was under the influence of the opium was worth nothing at all. -But now the bland, comfortable voice and hopeful auguries weighed with -him. He accepted the offer of the introduction, and the Professor, urged -by Ivy, who brought him ink and paper and put the pen between his limp, -lazy fingers, actually wrote the letter. After that Ralph bade them -good-bye, went home to dress for the evening, and then set out for the -Marriotts’ house where he had been kindly invited to dine; while Ivy -went to the dress rehearsal of the pantomime. In the evening he talked -over his prospects with Miss Marriott and her niece, giving a very -roseate description of the Scotch proposal. The ladies both advised him -to close with so good an offer; Mr. Marriott would not commit himself, -only counselling him to be sure to have his agreement drawn up in a -legal way, and suggesting that he might take the advice of Washington. -But this, as Ralph knew, would not be so easy; for Washington was a busy -man and though greatly beloved by all his employés had little to do with -them personally. Moreover in his heart of hearts Ralph knew that the -great actor would counsel him to plod on patiently, and every moment he -felt that this had become less possible to him. - -The end of it was that he seized the very first opportunity of seeing -Theophilus Skoot, and finding him a very decent-looking man, exceedingly -hopeful as to the business they would do in Scotland, and quite willing -to come to terms, he signed the agreement for a six months’ provincial -tour for which he was to receive a salary of two pounds a week, and -went back to Paradise Street in excellent spirits to receive Ivy’s -congratulations. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - - -“_We ought all to count the cost before we enter upon any line -of conduct, and I would most strongly warn any one against the -self-deception of fancying that he who wishes to be an ambassador of -peace can do otherwise than weep bitterly_.”--Frederick Denison Maurice. - -|During the weeks that followed, the only thing which marred Ivy’s -complete happiness was a certain jealousy of the bright-faced girl they -had met at Westminster Abbey on Christmas Day. She was constantly asking -Ralph questions about Evereld Ewart; at times he seemed pleased to talk -of her, at other times his face would grow grave and he would answer -only in monosyllables in a way which perplexed his small devotee not a -little. However, she gathered that he did not see any more of his old -friend and consoled herself by hurrying off to Whiteley’s sale to buy a -jacket and hat as much like Evereld’s as her purse would afford. - -She wore them for the first time on the foggy February morning when -Ralph called for her at her grandfather’s rooms to take her to King’s -Cross. For it had been arranged that she should travel with him to -Dumfries where he was to place her under the special care of the -manager’s wife. The old Professor seemed much depressed when the parting -actually came; he kept looking at the child with wistful eyes and slowly -counting out money for the journey with a small, a very small surplus, -in case of accidents as he said. - -“Have you kept enough for yourself?” asked Ivy, throwing her arms round -his neck. “I shall be away six months you know.” - -“I have enough to last me a couple of months,” said the old man, “with -what my pupils will bring in. And by that time you will be able to send -me a little. You are to have a good salary--a very good salary and no -travelling expenses when once you’re in Scotland.” - -“Yes, yes,” said Ivy, gaily. “I shall be as rich as a queen when I come -back.” - -The old man’s eyes filled with tears. - -“Yes, when you come back,” he said, huskily, “When you come back. You -will do what you can for her if she needs help?” he added, shaking hands -tremulously with Ralph. - -“I will, indeed,” said Ralph, heartily; and there was something in his -look and tone which satisfied the Professor and robbed the parting of -its worst pain. - -Ivy, too much excited to feel the leave-taking, sprang into the cab with -a joyous sense that at last, like the heroine of a fairy tale, she was -setting out into the world to seek her fortune. It was scarcely right -that she should be starting with the fairy prince beside her, he ought -to have turned up later in the plot and just at some critical moment. -Still real life could not always be regulated by the rules of fiction -and she reflected that it was much nicer to have him at once. - -She leant back in her corner of the third-class carriage, and thought -what care he had taken of her, how much more gentle his manner was than -the manner of any one else she knew, and how blissful it would be to act -with him for six whole months. He did not talk to her very much, being -still busy with his parts, but she was quite content with the mere -pleasure of his presence and with the delightful novelty of her first -long journey. The Company were to play “Macbeth,” “East Lynne,” “Guy -Mannering,” “Rob Roy,” “The Man of the World,” “Jeannie Deans,” and -several short plays such as “Cramond Brig,” a great favourite in -Scotland. Ivy was not well pleased with her parts in “Macbeth,” being -cast for _Donal Bain, Fleance and Macduff’s_ boy. But she reflected that -in the first part she would always come on with Ralph since he was to -play _Malcolm_, as well as the part of second witch, while later on she -should have the pleasure of being killed by him in his character of -first murderer. Ralph seeing irrepressible mirth in her face asked what -was amusing her. - -“I have to call you ‘a shag-haired villain,’” she said, laughing till -the tears ran down her face, “and you have to stab me in the fourth -act.” - -“We will have a private rehearsal then, beforehand,” said Ralph, -smiling. “And you will find my red wig very awe-inspiring, I can tell -you.” - -Ivy looked pityingly at her fellow-travellers, wondering how they -endured their humdrum lives, and full of radiant hopes for her own -future. - -The fogs of London had soon given place to bright sunshine, and it -seemed to her that she had left behind all that was cheerless and was -going forth into a glorious world of possibilities. It was certainly a -red-letter day in her life’s calendar. - -The arrival in Scotland, however, was not so cheerful. The cold which -they had not greatly noticed in the railway carriage, seemed bitter -indeed when they left the train at Dumfries. - -It was nearly six o’clock and there was little light left. What there -was, revealed snowy roads and slippery pavements. Ivy shivered and clung -fast hold of Ralph’s hand as they made their way to the manager’s -rooms, a red-headed porter, much resembling the shag-haired murderer -in “Macbeth,” going on before them with a luggage truck. He paused at -a high house in a particularly dingy street. The door was opened by a -shrewd, hard-featured woman who, upon Ralph’s inquiry, told them that -Mrs. Skoot was in, and ushered them upstairs to a room where the remains -of dinner still lingered on the table, and a large, portly lady, with -blonde hair and big cow-like eyes, sat with her feet in the fender -reading a novel. - -“So there you are, dear,” she said, greeting Ivy affectionately, but -retaining a greasy thumb in the book to keep her place. “I’m glad -you’ve come, for Mr. Skoot has just arranged to have an extra rehearsal -to-night.” - -“Is this Mr. Denmead?” she inquired, extending her hand graciously and -taking a rapid survey of him from head to foot. “Have you found rooms -yet?” - -“No, I have not,” said Ralph, his low-toned voice and quiet manner -contrasting most curiously with her loud accents. “I was going to ask -you if there is any list of lodgings.” - -“To be sure,” she said. “Here it is; you’ll find those all very good and -reasonable. I’ve known most of them myself in past years.” - -Ralph thanked her and turned to go, glancing with some compassion at -Ivy. “I shall see you again at rehearsal,” he said. “Mind you have -something to eat first.” - -“Oh, yes, I’ll see to her,” said Mrs. Skoot, vociferously. “She’s to -board with me you know, her grandfather made me promise that. Half-past -seven for the rehearsal, don’t forget. Your landlady will be able to -direct you to the theatre.” - -“What an awful woman!” thought Ralph to himself. “The Professor must be -out of his mind to let Ivy be with her for six whole months. She may be -all that’s virtuous--but as a constant companion! Poor Ivy! I wonder how -such a decent little fellow as Skoot comes to have such a wife!” - -At this point in his reflections they reached the first house on his -list, but found the rooms already secured by other members of the -company. The same result followed the next application, and yet again -the next. He began to grow tired of wandering about the snowy streets, -and catching sight of a card in a window announcing that rooms were to -be had, he paused at a neat but unpretentious house and once more made -his inquiry. - -A very prim-looking widow appeared in answer to his knock; she seemed -favourably impressed with his appearance and mentioned her terms. - -“That will do very well. I want the rooms for a week,” said Ralph, -longing to get into a house, for he was half-frozen and very hungry. - -“I don’t take lodgers that keep late hours,” said the widow, cautiously. -“I like to lock up by half-past ten, sir.” - -Ralph made an ejaculation of dismay. “I’m afraid I can’t promise that,” - he said. “I’m an actor, you see, and am not likely to be in by that -time.” - -The woman’s whole face stiffened, her very cap seemed to grow as rigid -as buckram, her upper lip lengthened. “We only take _Christians_ here,” - she said in a severe way, and then without another word she closed the -door. - -It was the first time he had ever been made to feel himself an outcast -on account of his profession, and for a minute the words, by their -injustice, stung him. Then his sense of fun conquered and he laughed to -himself as he walked on with bent head in the teeth of the bitter, east -wind. - -Referring once again to the list of professional lodgings, he consulted -the porter who told him which was the nearest house, and here he at last -got taken in, by a dishevelled but smiling landlady. - -“There’s Mr. Dudley, one of Mr. Skoot’s company, in my house now,” she -said. “Maybe you could share the sitting-room.” - -Ralph hesitated, but without more ado the woman stepped into her front -parlour and put the case to the present occupant. - -“Oh, by all means,” said a hearty voice; and the door was thrown back -and into the narrow passage stepped a tall, powerful-looking man of -about forty, his large, clean-shaven face, twinkling eyes, and broad -mouth full of good humour. Ralph knew at a glance that it was not at all -a face of high type, but it was genial and attractive and it contrasted -most singularly with the forbidding face of the widow who only housed -Christians. - -“Come in, my boy,” said the hearty voice; “you look half frozen.” - -“It was the landlady’s proposal,” said Ralph. “You are sure you don’t -mind?” - -“To be sure not! ‘Mine enemy’s dog, though he had bit me, should stand -this night against my fire.’ Skoot was telling me about you. The little -brute has called a special rehearsal; you had better look sharp and get -something to eat for there’s no knowing how long they will keep us at -it. The Skoots were always great hands at rehearsing.” - -“You have travelled with them before?” - -“Yes, many years ago, and there’s not much love lost between us. -Shouldn’t have taken this berth now, if I hadn’t been out of an -engagement for some time. I have my doubts if the tour will be a -success. Skoot is awfully hampered, you see, by having to run his wife -as leading lady.” - -Ralph prudently forbore to make any comment, but the thought of acting -with Mrs. Skoot was a sort of nightmare to him. - -“Have the rest of the company all arrived?” he asked. - -“Yes, I think so. There’s little Ivy Grant--she’s coming on very well -indeed, devilish pretty girl into the bargain. Then there’s Miss Myra -Kay, a brunette, rather prudish, used to be in Macneillie’s company, -but lost her health, and is now only just starting afresh. As for the -men--well, you’ll see for yourself by-and-by--half of them in my opinion -are sticks, and the other half roaring ranters. Hulloa, you’ll find that -a bad speculation. Never order coffee in Great Britain, for they don’t -know how to make it. Take to whisky, my boy. It’s the only thing for -strolling players.” - -“Thanks, I detest it,” said Ralph, “and if professional landladies don’t -understand coffee-making, why I’ll brew it myself as we used to do at -Winchester.” - -“I thought you had been at a public school. What made you take up with -the stage? Didn’t your people object?” - -“I am alone in the world,” said Ralph. “My guardian wanted me to be a -parson, but I couldn’t go in for that, and so, being turned out of his -house, I thought I would try to realise an old dream of mine and be an -actor.” - -Dudley had watched him keenly during this speech. He was a man who had -led a notoriously evil life, but he had a good deal of kindliness in his -nature, and there was something in Ralph’s transparent honesty, in his -evident purity of heart and life that appealed to him. Bad as his own -record had been he was wholly without the fiendish desire to drag other -men down with him. - -“Your dreams were probably very unlike the reality.” he said, with a -smile. “Are you prepared to rough it?” Ralph laughed, and gave him -the account of the straits he had been reduced to, and Dudley having -described the merits and drawbacks of a provincial tour under Skoot’s -management, suggested that they had better be setting off for the -rehearsal. - -They had scarcely opened the stage door when Mrs. Skoot’s shrill voice -made itself heard. She was vehemently complaining about some mistake -made by the baggage man, and the poor harassed culprit stood meekly to -receive her angry threats of dismissal, not daring to proffer excuse or -explanation. Ivy looking scared and cold, stood not far off; her whole -face lighted up when she caught sight of Ralph, and she stole over to -whisper in his ear, “Isn’t Mrs. Skoot dreadful?” - -“Suggests the queen in ‘Alice in Wonderland,’” he replied, smiling. “Off -with his head!” - -Ivy was obliged to laugh a little. - -“That is Miss Myra Kay,” she said, indicating a pale, slim girl, who was -pacing to and fro, book in hand. “I think she is very selfish; they -say she hardly speaks to any one, but just takes care of herself and is -quite wrapped up in her own affairs.” - -“Take care,” said Ralph, warningly; “you may be overheard.” - -Dudley now introduced him to one or two of the actors, and before long -the manager himself arrived. He seemed in good spirits, greeted Ralph -pleasantly, pacified his wife, and promptly set them all to work. - -Only too soon, however, they realised that the length of the rehearsal -depended on Mrs. Skoot and not on her husband. Although it was no -business of hers she seemed unable to refrain from constant interruption -and fault-finding, and before the evening was over she had reduced Miss -Kay to tears, had tormented poor Ivy into the worst of tempers and had -goaded most of the men into a state of sullen wrath. - -At last, after four hours of this, Mr. Skoot looked at his watch and -announced that it was half-past eleven. Time was the only thing which -had ever been known to conquer Mrs. Skoot; she wisely bowed to the -inevitable, and having reminded Miss Kay that the call was for eleven on -the following morning, she allowed herself to be helped into a handsome -fur cloak, and telling Ivy to follow her, quitted the theatre. - -Ralph went back to his rooms in low spirits and the next morning did -not much mend matters, for they were kept rehearsing from eleven in -the morning till five in the afternoon. Had it not been for Dudley’s -unfailing good humour, his flashes of fun, and his genial kindliness, -Ralph thought he could not have endured so great a contrast to the whole -atmosphere of Washington’s theatre. - -He began to feel a sort of angry contempt for the manager who seemed -but a tool in the hands of his wife and was quite indifferent to the -annoyance she gave to others. - -But in the evening when “Macbeth” was given, when, for the first time in -his life, he had one of Shakspere’s characters to portray, he forgot all -the previous misery. Into the comparatively small part of _Malcolm_ he -had put an amount of thought and study and imagination which surprised -Dudley, and the elder man, as they walked home together, spoke words of -hearty commendation and encouragement which cheered the novice’s heart -as nothing else could have done. - -On the day before they were to leave Dumfries for Ayr, it chanced that, -being released earlier than usual from rehearsal, Ralph suggested a walk -to Ivy. It was the first chance they had had for any sort of relaxation, -and Ivy listened with delight to the proposal of a visit to the grave of -Burns and to Lincluden Abbey. - -She was not at all pleased when as they drew near to the Burns’ -mausoleum they caught sight of Myra Kay. As yet Ralph had made no way at -all with this pale, dark-eyed girl, they had scarcely exchanged a dozen -words, and her manner was very reserved and distant. All that he knew -about her was the little he had gleaned from the men of the company. It -was reported that her marriage was to take place in the summer, and that -she was engaged to an actor named Brinton who was now in Macneillie’s -Company. She had the reputation of being cold, cautious, and -conventional, but in comparison with Mrs. Skoot she was so delightful -that Ralph felt drawn to her and was chafed by a perfectly clear -consciousness that for some reason she disapproved of him. He was -pleased when she volunteered a few tepid remarks about Turnerelli’s -sculpture, and to Ivy’s disgust he asked her if she would not join them -in their walk to Lincluden Abbey. - -She hesitated for a moment, then with a glance at his open, boyish face -seemed suddenly to arrive at some determination more important than that -of the mere decision to take a walk. - -“I will come part of the way with you,” she said. “But since my illness -I am not much of a walker. It is one of the few grudges I harbour -against Mr. Macneillie.” - -“You were in his Company?” - -“Yes, and at Oxford, while playing in an outdoor representation of -‘Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ got soaked to the skin and had to wear the -wet clothes. The rest of them escaped with colds but I was laid up for -six months. The manager was extremely good to me I must say, and in -August I hope to be back again in his Company.” - -“You like him then as a manager?” - -“Yes, indeed, there couldn’t be a better. I don’t know how I shall -ever endure all these months with the Skoots, and had I known that that -scoundrel Dudley was to be in the Company I should never have accepted -the engagement.” - -Ralph raised his eyebrows. “That’s a severe word,” he said. - -“It’s no more than he deserves,” said Myra Kay, frowning. “I am -astonished that you can share rooms with him and make him your friend.” - -“He is very likely no worse than many others,” said Ralph, nettled by -her tone. - -“No worse!” she said, scornfully. “Is it possible you do not know that -he is the wretch who figured in the Houston case? You must remember -it--the stir was so great and it is not eighteen months ago.” - -“I was at school eighteen months ago and never troubled my head with -_causes célèbres_.” - -Myra Kay walked on in silence for a few moments; then she briefly told -him the facts of the case and was pleased to see him wince. - -“The man has been properly punished,” she continued, with satisfaction, -“and now no decent manager wall have him--at any rate, till the details -of the case are forgotten. He is desperately hard up for money, and -every one cuts him. I hope, now that you know all this, you will have no -more to say to him.” - -“Perhaps he has turned over a new leaf,” said Ralph, looking up from -the discoloured track where they were walking to the pure white fields -beyond. - -Myra Kay gave a sarcastic little laugh. - -“You are far too innocent, Mr. Denmead,” she said; and Ralph thought -there was an unpleasant touch of patronage in her tone. “Does he look as -if he were repenting?” - -“Men can’t go about in sackcloth and ashes,” said Ralph; “and you surely -wouldn’t have him cultivate a face a yard long? It’s his nature to be -full of fun, and, for my part, I would far rather have to do with a -man who has been openly punished than with a hypocrite who sins with -impunity and goes about posing as a philanthropist.” - -He thought resentfully of Sir Matthew. - -“I can’t think how you can speak to him,” said Myra Kay bitterly, “For -your own sake, and for the sake of the profession, you ought to have -nothing to do with him. It was not just a common case of wrongdoing--it -was a specially atrocious affair throughout. They say you are the son -of a clergyman. I should have thought you would have had better judgment -than to mix yourself up with such a man.” - -“He is precisely the sort of man my father would have befriended,” said -Ralph, warmly. “There was nothing of the Pharisee about him. I remember -how when all the village cut a man who had been in prison for some -bad offence, he found out the fellow’s one vulnerable point--a love -of flowers--and had him up with us at the Rectory the whole of one -Bank-holiday, pottering about the garden and greenhouse, and as happy as -a king in exchanging plants with us, and helping to bud roses.” - -“That may be well enough for a clergyman, but for you--a mere boy, -knowing so little of the world--it is different. You ought not to have -chosen such a man as your companion.” - -“I didn’t choose him,” said Ralph, with some warmth. “An ‘unco guid’ -widow shut the door in my face, because I was an actor, and said she -only took in Christians. Then at the next place I went to they gave me -shelter and kind words, and Dudley was goodness itself to me. If I cut -him now I should be a contemptible cad.” - -“Well,” said his companion, with a shrug of her shoulders, “you must -‘gang your own gait.’ But remember that I have warned you.” - -She turned back soon after this, and Ivy, who had thought the whole -discussion very tiresome, skipped for joy when a bend in the road hid -her from view. - -But Ralph seemed unusually silent, and as they looked at the ruins of -the old abbey, Ivy could not at all understand the shadow that seemed to -have come over his face. - -Not a word ever passed Dudley’s lips about his previous life, but there -were not lacking people who promptly told him that Ralph Denmead had -just learnt all about it; and when they moved on to Ayr, he said in his -blunt way: - -“You’ll not care that we should pig together any longer, I daresay?” - -“I had much rather share diggings with you than with any of the others,” - said Ralph, heartily. “If I’m not in your way, that is? You are the only -man who has shown me the least kindness.” - -Dudley made an inarticulate exclamation. He was more touched than he -would have cared to own. - -“You are thankful for small mercies,” he said, “and gratitude is a rare -thing in the profession. But I like you, lad, and am glad to have you as -a chum. You shall not have cause to be ashamed of me.” - -And so throughout the strange vicissitudes of the Scotch tour these two -oddly-contrasting characters bore each other company, and for some time -Myra Kay kept aloof from them both. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - - -“_All these anxieties will be good for you. They all go to the making -of a man--calling out that God-dependence in him which is the only true -self-dependence, the only true strength_.”--Letters of Charles Kingsley. - -|During the first month Theophilus Skoot’s Company prospered as well as -could be expected. A week at Glasgow and a week at Edinburgh, with full -houses, cheered every one; but after that, as they went northward, the -days of dearth began. It was now past the middle of March, and the old -proverb, - - “As the light lengthens - - The cold strengthens,” - -was fulfilling itself in very bitter fashion. Perhaps people were -disinclined to turn out of their comfortable homes on such bleak -evenings; at any rate, the week at Stirling proved a dead failure, and -Perth was wrestling with the influenza demon, and had little leisure to -bestow on strolling players. - -It was here that one evening Ralph, for the first time, learnt what it -is to work without a salary. - -He was sitting on a basket, waiting for his cue, with “Pendennis” to -cheer him into forgetfulness of fatigue and cold, when Dudley returned -to the dressing-room, with an odd look lurking about the corners of his -mouth. - -“The ghost walks,” he said, in sepulchral tones. - -“What do you mean?” said Ralph, laughing. - -“It’s all very well to laugh. You won’t be able to do that long. There’s -no treasury to-morrow, my boy. ‘The manager regrets,’ etc., etc.” - -“No treasury!” echoed Ralph, blankly. - -“I’m not surprised,” said Dudley; “I was always doubtful whether Skoot -would hold out long. But we may have better luck at Dundee.” - -“And if not, how are we to live?” asked Ralph, recollecting how small a -sum he had to fall back upon. - -“Why, my dear boy, we must live like the birds of the air, who eat other -folk’s property, and then fly away.” Ralph looked gloomy. - -“Well, after all,” he said, “the debts will virtually be Skoot’s, not -ours. And, as you say, other places may not be so bad as Perth has -been.” - -This was exactly what the manager observed as they journeyed on from -town to town. He was always apologetic, always bland and pleasant; but -not another penny was ever forthcoming. In other respects, however, the -tour was less unpleasant than at first. The rehearsals were shorter, and -Mrs. Skoot did not venture to irritate them quite so much, but solaced -herself instead with whisky. Moreover, their common trouble formed a -sort of bond of union between the members of the Company; they grumbled -together, and cheered each other up; they were extraordinarily kind -in helping one another; all the little jealousies and quarrels were -forgotten in the general anxiety and distress. As to Myra Kay, she was -like another being altogether; she nursed Ivy through a long and -tedious cold, she forgave Ralph for his friendship with Dudley, and she -discussed ways and means in the most helpful fashion. Her experience -and good advice were of considerable use to Ralph, while, when their -prospects were at the darkest, Ivy managed to extract comfort from -dreams about the future, and would listen by the hour to Myra’s plans -for the summer, and to discussions about her wedding and her trousseau. - -And so the weary weeks dragged on, until at last, towards the end of -April, they found themselves at Inverness. By this time they were all -beginning to grow desperate for want of money, and Ralph, after a -hard struggle with himself, conquered his pride and wrote to old Mr. -Marriott, telling him of the plight he was in. It was not until the last -day of their engagement at Inverness that the reply, bearing the name -of the firm on the envelope, was placed in his hands. He tore it open -eagerly and turned pale as he read the contents: - -“Basinghall Street, E. C. - -“21th April. - -“Dear Sir, - -“With reference to your letter of the 25th inst., I beg to inform you -that Mr. Marriott has been very dangerously ill with influenza, and to -recruit his health he has been ordered to take a voyage to Australia. I -regret that in his absence I do not feel myself at liberty to make you -any advance. I am, dear sir, yours truly, - -“W. G. Maunder.” - -The next day they moved on to Elgin. The manager looked miserable -and depressed; Mrs. Skoot, though not quite sober, read novels more -assiduously than ever, and among the actors there were loud complaints, -and angry threatenings of a strike. At Elgin the audiences were better -than might have been expected, and the Skoots seemed to revive a little -as they moved on to the neighbouring town of Forres. But the luckless -Company still toiled unpaid. - -Ralph’s patience was now almost exhausted. Ivy had received piteous -letters telling of her grandfather’s difficulties, and every day it -seemed less and less probable that they would ever again receive their -salaries from the manager. - -Forres certainly did not look like a place where they would attract -large audiences, and an indescribable feeling of hopelessness stole over -him as he gazed at the old gabled houses and at the one long, irregular -street which formed the chief part of the town. How much longer could -he possibly endure the weary, distasteful life? The halls with their -miserable accommodation behind the scenes--for in few towns had they -found a proper theatre;--the cheap lodgings with their dirty rooms; the -daily marketing under difficulties; and the revolting spectacle of -Mrs. Skoot drowning her discomfiture in drink--all these had become -intolerable. - -“Let us go for a walk,” said Ivy, despairingly. “At any rate out of -doors we can have air and sunshine--we shall have enough of our wretched -rooms later on.” - -“Come and see the river,” said Myra Kay. “They say there are lovely -views by the Findhorn.” - -Ralph consented, and the three walked out together into the country, -and did their best to forget the troubles that hemmed them in, as -they wandered among the flowery fields, where Ivy gathered violets and -primroses to her heart’s content. Presently by the river, among the soft -early green of the bushes, they came to a fallen tree, and here they -established themselves while Ralph read to them. They had indulged in -two or three of Dickens’ novels at an old bookstall in Edinburgh in -their days of plenty, and when fortune frowned upon them these shabby -volumes had proved a perfect godsend. They had solaced many a cold -journey and brightened many a dreary lodging-house, and they helped now -to distract them from the thought of their daily increasing troubles. - -It seemed to Ivy when she looked back afterwards, that this afternoon by -the Findhorn was the last really happy day she was ever to know. She sat -cosily ensconced on the tree trunk with her lap full of flowers which -she delighted in arranging; and Ralph lay on the grass at her feet with -his head propped against the smooth surface of the fallen beech tree. -She noticed how the short waves of his crisp, brown hair contrasted with -the silver-grey of the bark, and how the careworn look which had grown -upon him during the tour was entirely banished now as flashes of mirth -passed over his face, caused by the sayings of Grip the Raven. - -Myra Kay sat just beyond him; she was knitting socks for her _fiancé_, -listening at times to the reading, but more often dreaming of her own -future. Everywhere there was that sense of hope and joyous expectation -that seems to belong to the spring-time: the birds sang as Ivy had never -heard them sing before; the lambs frisked delightfully in the soft, -green meadows near their somewhat uninteresting mothers; and into her -half-taught, eager mind there somehow floated new ideas of the meaning -of “green pastures and still waters,” and a firmer confidence in a -Shepherd who would not forget even the members of a travelling company -in grievous straits up in the north of Scotland. - -“Oh don’t let us go just yet!” she exclaimed, as Ralph closed the book. -“It can’t be time to go back to those stuffy rooms.” - -“I’m in no hurry,” said Ralph, stretching himself, and falling back into -a more comfortable attitude. - -He could not see Ivy’s face, but he could see her little, slender -fingers as they pulled the petals off a daisy. The result seemed to -displease her; she threw away the remains of the flower, and gathering -another diligently pulled off each pink-tipped petal, but again threw -the stalk from her with a little impatient gesture. Then she began upon -a third, and had become absorbed in her counting, when suddenly she felt -Ralph’s hand lay hold of hers. - -“Caught in the act,” he said, laughing. “Don’t you know that -fortune-telling is illegal?” - -“Not if you tell your own,” said Ivy. - -Something in her voice made him look at her, and for the first time -in her little childish face he detected an expression which made him -clearly understand that he was not dealing with a mere girl but with -a woman. Long ago he had realised that her hard experience of life had -robbed Ivy of the innocent ignorance which had kept Evereld so young; -but he had naturally fallen into the habit of treating her as he would -have treated any other girl of fifteen with whom he was brought into -constant companionship. Thinking it over now it suddenly occurred to him -that during the Scotch tour Ivy had lost her brisk, managing way, that -she was very different from the independent little being who ordered -the Professor’s affairs for him, that she had become unnaturally fond of -being helped and protected. An uncomfortable fear crossed his mind, but -he thought it best to laugh and try to change the subject. - -“Are you doing the old thing that Evereld and I used to be fond -of!--‘Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor?’ And have you always been fated -to wed the thief that you throw away one daisy after another?” - -“That’s a silly old rhyme,” said Ivy. “Of course I should never think of -marrying any one who wasn’t in the profession.” - -“Oh, that’s quite a mistake,” said Ralph, lightly, determined that he -must be cruel only to be kind. “Two of a trade seldom agree, you know. -You should marry a dreamy philosopher who needed waking up, and being -looked after.” - -Ivy blushed, and was silent, and Ralph was not sorry to be taken to task -by Myra Kay for his rash assertion that two of a trade never agreed. -They fell into a merry bantering discussion during which Ivy recovered -herself. - -After all, she reflected, why should she be unhappy because he had -teased her a little? His words no doubt meant nothing at all; she would -not spoil this happy afternoon by tormenting herself. - -“To-morrow’s my birthday,” she said, gaily, as they walked back to -Forres. “I’m going to be sixteen. There’s no rehearsal, and I vote that -we three have a real picnic.” - -“Carried unanimously,” said Ralph. “We might go as far as this Heronry -they speak of. The longer we are out of our dismal diggings the better.” - -The play that night was “Macbeth,” and anything more unlike the -arrangements at Washington’s theatre it would be impossible to conceive. -Mr. Skoot was apologetic, Mrs. Skoot endeavoured to be very affable, -and the Company with that readiness to perceive fun, and the real -good-nature which never failed them in an emergency, made the best of -the many discomforts. They dressed behind screens, they laughed and -joked, they had wild hunts for lost belongings, and they chattered -incessantly between the acts under cover of the noisiest piano-playing -which could be produced by one of the ladies, who, with a waterproof -cloak over her costume, did duty as the entire orchestra. - -A choice selection of Scotch airs was being hammered out at the close of -the Fourth Act, when Ralph, who was groping in a heap of miscellaneous -garments in hopes of rescuing the wig he had worn as first murderer, -and had hastily thrown off during a desperately hurried change into -_Malcolm’s_ attire, found himself close to Dudley. - -“The manager is positively enjoying himself,” said the comedian. “Skoot -is after all a wonderful man. I shouldn’t wonder if he was persuading -himself that this confounded tour will prove a success. That fellow -lives on dreams. His wife is the one for business.” - -At that moment Mrs. Skoot, in the most elegant of stage nightdresses, -and with her taper all ready to be lighted at the right moment, appeared -for the sleep-walking scene. Ralph often wondered what effect she had at -a distance; the near view of her was appalling. - -“I am afraid you have a great deal to put up with,” she said, in -unusually gracious tones, smiling in a ghastly way beneath her paint. -“But we must all learn to take the fortune of war. Our next place will -be comfortable enough.” - -They were joined just then by Myra Kay in the costume of the -_Gentlewoman-in-Waiting_. - -Mrs. Skoot, who, as a rule, was at daggers drawn with her, accosted her -now pleasantly enough. - -“I hear that you and Ivy have planned an excursion for to-morrow?” she -said. “Come and breakfast with us at nine o’clock before the start. And -you, too, Mr. Denmead.” - -They accepted the invitation in some surprise, and as the curtain was -rung up Mrs. Skoot requested Dudley to light her taper, and presently -sailed on to the stage for her great scene, leaving them in astonishment -at her unwonted good-humour. - -The next day Ralph went, as he had promised, to the manager’s rooms in -time for breakfast. He was within a few yards of the door when he came -upon the heavy man, and his son, a young and very indifferent actor who -usually played four or five small parts. - -“Have you heard the news?” they exclaimed. “The Company’s dried up.” - -“What?” said Ralph, in dismay. - -“The manager has absconded,” said the heavy man, pompously. “Went off by -the first train this morning. It seems that last night when we were all -safely out of the way the baggage man took everything to the station. -Then Skoot and his wife stole out of their lodgings early this morning -without rousing a soul, and here we are landed high and dry in the -north-east of Scotland. Pleasant prospect, isn’t it?” - -Ralph felt indeed that they were in a desperate plight. He moved on -mechanically to the open door of the manager’s rooms, and caught sight -of a little group in the entrance passage. - -The landlady, shrill-voiced and indignant, was telling the whole story -to Myra Kay; and Ivy, with an open letter in her hand, and traces of -tears on her little, piquant face stood close by. - -She was the first to catch sight of him, and hastened forward to greet -him. - -“Oh, Ralph, I’m so glad you have come!” she exclaimed, piteously. “What -am I to do? What can I do?” - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - - - “Who bides his time--he tastes the sweet - - Of honey in the saltest tear; - - And though he fares with slowest feet, - - Joy runs to meet him, drawing near; - - The birds are heralds of his cause, - - And like a never-ending rhyme - - The roadsides bloom in his applause, - - Who bides his time.” - - J. W. Riley. - -|Have you had bad news from home?” asked Ralph, taking the letter which -Ivy held towards him. - -“Yes,” she said, in a broken voice. “They have had to move my -grandfather to the hospital.” - -It was but too clear, as Ralph at once perceived from the letter, that -the old Professor was never likely to recover, and that Ivy’s home had -ceased to exist. The landlady wrote to demand rent, and since it -was impossible to pay this, there would doubtless be a sale of the -Professor’s few belongings. - -And here was this pretty girl of sixteen, stranded, without a penny in -her possession, in a remote Scotch town, where it was impossible to meet -with an engagement. - -“What am I to do?” she said, lifting her piteous eyes to his with an -appeal that moved him more than he quite liked. He wished that he had -not guessed her secret on the previous day, and that he could treat her -once more in the matter-of-fact-elder-brotherly fashion which he had -once adopted. But this was no longer possible; nay, he felt an almost -irresistible longing to say to her: “I will take care of you. We will -set the world at defiance, and bear our troubles together.” - -Fortunately he thought of Evereld, and instantly tried to picture her -in the same plight. How would he have felt towards a man who had taken -advantage of her poverty and helplessness to place her in a position -which must, more or less, have compromised her? - -He folded the letter and gave it back. - -“Don’t worry yourself more than you can help,” he said, kindly. “I will -talk things over with the others, and we will manage somehow to get you -back to London.” - -But discussion threw very little light on the main difficulty of how to -raise the necessary money. Every member of the company was desperately -poor, and although Myra Kay offered to take charge of Ivy as far as -London, she had only just enough money to pay for her own railway -ticket. Some intended to go back to Inverness, others were setting -out for Edinburgh or Glasgow, and all were grumbling loudly, and -anathematising the Skoots who could scarcely have chosen a more -inconvenient place than Forres for their flight. - -He had counted a good deal on Dudley’s good nature; but the comedian -proved the most unsatisfactory adviser of all. - -“Oh don’t worry your head about Ivy Grant,” he said. “Depend upon it -such a pretty girl will win her way somehow or other. It’s much more to -the point what you and I are to do.” - -Ralph did not stay to argue the question. Myra Kay was to leave by the -next train for the south, and he was determined that somehow or -other Ivy must go with her. He went up to his room, threw most of his -possessions into a portmanteau, and went to try his fortune at the -pawnbrokers. It was broad daylight, but he had long ago ceased to feel -any shame at being reduced to such straits. He went to-day, however, -with a heavy heart; for he was only too well aware that he could not -hope to raise much money on the few shabby clothes, and the wigs, shoes, -and such like, which had supplemented the theatrical costumes provided -by Skoot. Many weeks before, his father’s watch and chain had been -parted with, so that he had nothing of much value, and his spirits sank -lower and lower as the pawnbroker checked off the garments one by one at -terribly small prices. - -In the very atmosphere of the shop there seemed something depressing; -tales of sordid misery seemed woven in with the shabby rugs and carpets, -the stacks of heterogeneous clothing; and tragedies seemed bound up with -the workmen’s tools, the musical instruments, the relics of household -furniture. - -“Twenty-five shillin’s and saxpence,” said the master of the shop, “Will -I be makin’ oot the teeckets?” - -“What’s the price of a third single to London?” asked Ralph. “I must -raise enough for that.” - -“Ye canna do it, sir, not with these, it’s juist beyon’ ony man’s -contrivin’. Why I’m thinkin’ the teecket to London will be a matter of -twa punds.” - -He appealed to his assistant. - -“It’s preceesely forty-two shillin’ and saxpence,” said the young man, -regarding the actor with some interest. - -“There’s still the portmanteau,” said Ralph. - -It was an old one of the rector’s, solid and good of its kind. - -“I’ll gie ye a couple o’ shillin’s for it,” said the pawnbroker. “But -ye’ll no be gettin’ to London, sir, upon twenty-seven and saxpence.” - -“It must be done,” said Ralph, with a determined look which took the -Scotchman’s fancy. “Make out those tickets, and I’ll be with you again -in five minutes.” - -“The laddie’s weel-bred,” said the old man to himself. “He’ll win his -way depend on it, there’s grit in him. Yon’s none of your false French -polishin’; it’s sound, good breedin’ and grit.” - -Ralph, true to his word, appeared again in a few minutes carrying a -Gladstone bag, an overcoat, and a mackintosh. The bag with the change of -linen in it which he had hoped to keep, went for a little more than -he had expected, and with the overcoat brought in enough money for -the journey, and ninepence to spare. He decided not to part with the -mackintosh, and gathering up his sheaf of tickets, bade the old Scotsman -good-day, and went at once to the manager’s deserted rooms. - -Ivy had grown tired of talking to the landlady, and being in spite of -her troubles exceedingly hungry, had taken her place at the forlorn -breakfast table, and was trying to find comfort in a cup of cold coffee. - -“Come, that’s a good idea,” said Ralph, cheerfully. “And now I think -of it, I, too, am hungry. Why should we not eat? After Mrs. Skoot’s -pressing invitation it’s a clear duty!” - -Ivy smiled, and began to fill his cup for him. - -“What do the rest of the company think I had better do?” she asked, -anxiously. - -“They all agree that you had better go back to London with Miss Kay. She -will not be able to take you home with her, but I’ve been thinking it -over, and I’m sure your best way will be to go to my old landlady Mrs. -Dan Doolan. She is the soul of good-nature and as long as they have a -crust in the house they will share it with you.” - -“But I don’t know them, and I can’t go and beg,” said Ivy, with an air -of distaste. - -“I will write a letter to them which will explain everything,” said -Ralph. “They are good, trustworthy people who will see that no harm -happens to you; they will, I daresay, house you while you look for -another engagement.” - -“How am I to get the money for my ticket?” - -“I will see to that for you.” - -“But you have no money?” - -“Are you so sure of that?” said Ralph, smiling as he rattled the coins -in his pocket cheerfully. - -The girl’s face brightened. “You have enough for both of us?” - -“I am going to stay in Scotland. I shall keep enough to get along with, -you needn’t be anxious.” - -But this was quite too much for Ivy, she hid her face and burst into -tears. - -“I can’t go alone,” she sobbed. “I won’t take your money, and leave you -behind in this horrid place. Oh, please, please let us stay together.” - -For a minute he wavered--the sight of her tears was almost more than he -could endure; the sunshine streaming in through the uncurtained window -turned her brown hair to gold, and revealed in a way that half-dazzled -him the wonderful grace of every line of her figure. With an effort, -he turned away, and began doggedly to pace the room till he recovered -himself, and, with that instinct for straightforward dealing which -always characterised him, frankly answered her suggestion. - -“That would never do: you will see if you think for a minute. You are no -longer a child, and people would say horrible things about you.” - -“But you always say we are not to trouble about slanders. You don’t like -conventional people, and yet here you would have me made miserable, for -fear unkind tongues should talk.” - -“We can’t throw aside all conventions,” said Ralph; “many of them are -good and useful in their way. Are you and I so superhuman that we can -afford to do without all safeguards? I know you think me hard-hearted, -but some day you’ll thank me for persuading you to go with Miss Kay.” - -Ivy shook her head. “It’s because you don’t really like me; you mean to -be kind, just kind and nothing more. I hate your kindness!” - -All the grief and love and passion that was pent up in her heart seemed -to break loose into this wild, little speech. - -Ralph began to pace the room again, he understood her only too well, and -he was sorely perplexed as to what he should do. At last he came to the -somewhat original determination to treat her as he would have liked in -her place to be treated. He sat down by her, and said quietly: - -“We are all of us unhinged this morning, but I want you, Ivy, to try and -see things as they really are. I’m going to tell you what not another -soul in the world knows, for it will help you to see how we stand. -I have a friend in England who is as yet only my friend, but I’m -presumptuous enough to dream--to hope that some day she will be my -wife.” - -“Then very naturally you can’t care much what happens to other girls,” - said Ivy, perversely. - -“I care a hundred times more,” said Ralph. “It is just through her that -I have learnt to reverence all women. Were she in your plight up here in -Forres should I not think any man a brute who risked her good name, who -didn’t do his utmost to shield her and help her unselfishly?” - -Ivy did not reply; her wistful blue eyes were fixed on his now with the -questioning look of a child who is trying to grasp some quite new idea. -She had seen all through her precocious childhood and girlhood a great -deal that called itself love, but was only selfishness and animal -passion, and now through her sorrow and disappointment she was beginning -faintly to perceive another kind of love altogether, a love that was -divine and ennobling. It was just a far-away glimpse such as she had -gained of the landscape one day, when, in spite of cloudy weather, they -had climbed Moncrieffe Hill, and as the mist every now and then cleared -off for a few minutes, they had seen the sun shining on lovely scenery -far far in the distance. She had the same sense now that the glimpse -of love she had gained was real and true, and that the mist was a mere -passing discomfort. - -“I am sorry I was angry,” she exclaimed. “I don’t mean what I said, -then. I like you to be my friend and to help me--at least if it’s right -for me to let you.” - -“Of course it’s right,” said Ralph. “Didn’t your grandfather trust me to -take you down to Scotland and place you with Mrs. Skoot? I owe it to him -since she has deserted you, to see you safely back in London, and I will -write a line at once to Mrs. Dan Doolan explaining things.” - -“Thank you,” she said, in a sad, meek little voice. And as he began -to write, her little, sensible, managing ways came back to her and she -began to cut thick slices of bread and butter and wrap them up for -the journey. She then consoled the landlady with her travelling trunk, -packed her few possessions into the smallest compass possible, and by -the time Myra Kay called for her, was waiting ready dressed, looking, -indeed, very pale, but with an air of determination about her firm -little mouth which Ralph could not help admiring. - -There was a great bustle of departure, but when he had posted his -letters and had taken Ivy’s ticket and stood alone outside the railway -carriage with nothing more to do, a sense of loneliness began to steal -over him. For the first time it occurred to any one to ask what plans he -had made for himself. - -“Where are you going, Mr. Denmead?” said Myra Kay. - -“I’m going to take a walking tour,” said Ralph, lightly; “probably I -shall work my way down to Glasgow, and try for an engagement there. -By-the-bye, where is Macneillie’s Company now?” - -“Just dispersed,” said Myra, cheerfully, as she reflected that her lover -would be in London to meet her. “Macneillie generally winds up soon -after Whitsuntide and starts again at the beginning of August. He has -promised to take me on again then.” - -“If he has an opening you might say a word for me,” said Ralph, “and -Ivy, let me have a line to say how you get on. I shall have to call for -letters at the Stirling post-office, for I hope to hear of an engagement -by that time.” - -Just at that moment he was hailed by a familiar voice from a smoking -carriage, and looking round he saw Dudley leaning out of the window. - -“So you are off to the south, too!” he said. “Lucky fellow, how did you -manage it?” - -The train had already begun to move, but the comedian with a beaming -face still leant out of the window describing to the last moment the -extraordinary run of luck he had had at billiards. - -“Go and play the same game,” he counselled; “it’s the only way to raise -the wind. Good-bye, my boy! Meet again in better times.” - -He waved his hand cheerfully and was borne away, but the thing which -lingered longest in Ralph’s sight was Ivy’s wistful, little face, as to -the very last she gazed back at him. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - - - “And forth into the fields I went, - - And nature’s living motion lent - - The pulse of hope to discontent. - - “I wonder’d at the bounteous hours - - The slow results of winter showers; - - You scarce could see the grass for flowers. - - “I wonder’d while I paced along; - - The woods were fill’d so full with song, - - There seem’d no room for sense of wrong.” - - “The Two Voices,” Tennyson. - -|It was just ten minutes past eleven by the station clock when Ralph, -having parted with his companions, found himself outside in the -highroad. He felt horribly desolate, and stood for a minute or two -dismally contemplating a flaming red and yellow placard of a scene in -“Cramond Prig,” which they had invariably played after “East Lynne.” - Wretched as his experiences with the Company had been, they had at least -been less dreary than solitude. He sorely missed Ivy’s bright face, and -the comedian’s cheerful companionship. There was a certain bitterness -too in the reflection that no one had taken much thought of what was -to become of him, and that even Dudley, who had been kind and friendly -enough in the past, had never dreamt of foregoing his journey to London -and of taking two tickets to Glasgow. - -With a last look at Forres he turned his steps southward and somewhat -drearily set off on the first stage of his journey. He meant to reach -Grantown that evening, and Grantown appeared to be at least two and -twenty miles off. Fortunately the weather was all in his favour: it was -one of those mornings of early May when the sun is bright and warm and -the air deliciously fresh, and he had not gone far along the uphill road -before his spirits revived. After all he was young and in good -health, and there was something not altogether unpleasant in entire -independence. He reflected with a laugh that although a change of -clothes might be desirable, a knapsack would have been heavy to carry, -that the great coat though useful on a cold night would have been -unbearable at the present moment, and that the sixpence left to him -after stamping the letter to his landlady and letters to the managers of -an Edinburgh and a Glasgow theatre, would at any rate keep him for a few -days from actual starvation. Then for a while he forgot his difficulties -altogether in sheer enjoyment of the country. The lovely outline of the -Cluny hills, the glimpses of the river Findhorn, the beautiful parks -surrounding many stately houses, looked their very best on this perfect -spring morning. He caught the glowing sunlight through the young leaves -just unfolded and thought that the delicate tracery of dark boughs -seemed as though ablaze with emeralds. He had walked for about two hours -when he came to a little country church and burial ground, and paused -partly to rest, partly to look up at the beautiful viaduct which at a -great height spanned the river Divie. - -“Ay, ay,” said a voice, that seemed to rise from one of the graves. -“There are many tourists that stop to admire yonder seven-arched work of -man’s devising, but few--very few that pay much heed to the works of the -Almighty.” - -There was a strong northern accent about the words; and the careful, -precise English showed that the speaker was better used to reading than -to speaking the language. - -Ralph had started a little at the suddenness with which the silence had -been broken, and on turning round, he saw a venerable-looking old man -with bushy grey hair and beard, and shrewd yet kindly glance. Evidently -he was the minister of this place. Ralph raised his hat, and smiled a -little. - -“May not the skill of man be taken as one of God’s works?” he said. - -“No doubt, no doubt,” replied the minister. “When rightly applied that -is to say. But railways, sir, are the devil’s own weapon; they desolate -and mar the country they enter; they bring to the country folk all the -evil of the towns and cities. You have a prophet in your own land that -has told you this in plain words, but you will not heed him, but go on -multiplying the works of evil to your own undoing.” - -“On such a day as this I am all in favour of walking,” said Ralph, -amused at the minister’s earnestness. - -“Sir! it’s a grand exercise, you’ll not be finding a better; there are -your bicycles that bend a man’s back like an overstrung bow, and your -tricycles that are no light diversion to push up our Scottish hills, and -there are those works of the evil one which whirl you through creation -at such a pace that you are no wiser at the end of a journey than you -were at the beginning of it. But a man that walks, sir, must be blind -and deaf if he’s not a better man after his walk than he was before.” - -“Well, I shall be able to test your theory,” said Ralph. “For I am -walking as far as Glasgow.” - -“And which way will you be taking?” asked the minister. “You should -spend a few days among the Grampians, if you are anything of a -mountaineer.” - -“I must push on as fast as I can,” said Ralph; “and by the most direct -route. They told me at Forres that after Grantown I had better make for -Kingussie.” - -“If you’ll come into the Manse, I will show you on the map the very -route I have often travelled myself in past days,” said the minister. -And Ralph, nothing loth, followed him into his house, and was soon -poring over a big ordnance map, and receiving some very helpful -information from the old man. - -They were interrupted before long by a knock at the door, and the -appearance of an aged housekeeper with a large, well-fed, tabby cat in -her arms. - -“The feesh is on the table, sir, and it’s a sair temptation for puss, -puir wee thing, starving hungry as she is.” Ralph sprang up to take -leave, glancing humourously at the fat tabby, who was in such haste for -her food. The minister noted the glance; he noted, too, for the first -time, the extreme shabbiness of his guest’s clothes, and certain signs -of under-feeding about him. - -“We’ll no keep puss waiting, Tibbie,” he said. “But just lay another -place at the table, for I hope this gentleman has time to dine with -me.” Then as Ralph hesitated to accept the hospitality he overruled -all objections by adding: “You’ll be doing me a real kindness if you’ll -stay, for it is not very often that I get a visitor to talk with in this -country place.” - -He led the way as he spoke into the adjoining room, a plainly-furnished -parlour with nothing ornamental about it, but with a certain charm of -its own, nevertheless, from its pure cleanliness and simplicity. Puss -occupied a chair on her master’s right hand, and purred loudly through -the somewhat long grace, and Tibbie, having provided for the wants of -the visitor, left them to enjoy the meal in peace. For dinner at the -Manse was not an affair with many courses, but just freshly-caught fish -from the river, baps baked that morning by the housekeeper, a salad from -the garden, and the remains of a cheese which had been a present to the -minister on New Year’s day. - -“Now the majority of travellers, as I was saying,” continued the -minister, “are just hurried over the viaduct, causing us nothing but -distraction and annoyance, but a pedestrian like yourself really sees -the place, and cheers the day for us and brings us something to think -about.” - -“I spent the first thirteen years of my life in a country rectory,” said -Ralph. “And remember what a quiet time we had.” - -“And are you studying for the ministry?” asked the old man. - -“No,” said Ralph. “My guardian gave me the chance of doing that, but -I think you will agree that one can’t be a parson just for the sake of -earning a living.” - -“Certainly not, sir, certainly not. You are quite in the right. No man -should take up such work without a clear call; far better seek some -other profession.” - -“That is what I did,” said Ralph, colouring a little. “But I know very -well that you’ll not approve of my profession. I am an actor, and am on -my way now to Stirling where I hope to hear of a fresh engagement either -at Edinburgh or at Glasgow.” - -Surprise, consternation, regret, were plainly visible in the old man’s -face. He said nothing for a moment, it bewildered him to find that this -young fellow with his straightforward manner and ingenuous modesty, -should have anything to do with the stage. - -“I am thinking that you will be asking me as you did of the viaduct--may -not the skill of man be taken as one of God’s works?” he said, -thoughtfully. “And I’m fain to confess that I have ever considered -theatres as the highway to hell, and actors as so many servants of the -devil. May God forgive me if I have failed in charity and dealt out -harsh judgment to them.” - -So they fell into talk together, and Ralph told of the landlady who had -shut the door in his face, and assumed that he was no Christian. He told -of some of the arrangements at the two theatres in London with which he -was acquainted. He told more than one story which he had heard from -Myra Kay of the good that Hugh Macneillie had done. And the old minister -listened and pondered these strange sayings in his heart, looking all -the time with a sort of wistfulness at the fresh, hopeful face opposite -him--a face which somehow haunted him long after Ralph had left the -Manse. - -“He had been through a hard apprenticeship, and I doubt he had little -enough in his pockets,” reflected the old man as he paced the bare, -little parlour. - -“He’d been defrauded of his pay and had looked on the evil as well as on -the good, but still he pleaded like a born advocate for his calling--his -art; and spite of his troubles there was a blithe look in his face which -sore perplexes me.” - -He walked to and fro many times, finally he took a Bible from the shelf -and turned over the pages until he came to the words he sought. They -were these: “The joy of the Lord is your strength.” - -“It was _that_ his look kept bringing before me,” he said to himself, -and he sighed because he knew that there was too little of the element -of joy in his life, and that he plodded on from day to day, considering -religion a privilege and a duty, but somehow missing the gladness which -might have been his. Ralph meanwhile, much refreshed by the rest and -food and by his host’s kindly words, tramped on contentedly enough -through the wild, desolate country which led to Grantown. The sun was -just setting as he reached the village; workmen were making their way -homeward, some children with little, dusty, bare feet were playing -battledore and shuttlecock in the road, the ruddy light on their hair -looked like burnished copper. - -“Come awa bairns, it’s time ye were a’ in bed,” called a comely mother -standing in the open doorway of one of the houses. - -“Just a wee whilie,” pleaded the children. - -“Ah!” she replied, yielding under protest, “You’re an awfu’ care to me!” - -But there was love and pride in her eyes nevertheless, as she watched -their play. - -Ralph sighed a little as he tramped on. He was now both hungry and -tired, and began to consider his plans; it was quite clear that he could -not afford the price of a bed, and it was still too light to venture -upon such shelter as might be found in barns or under hedges. He turned -into a baker’s shop, secured a good-sized stale loaf, and then for want -of anything better to do, found his way to the railway station where he -amused himself by looking out trains which he had no money to travel by, -after which, having had the good fortune to find a _Glasgow Herald_ in -the waiting-room, left behind by some traveller, he read until it was -quite dusk. The quiet little place roused into a sort of activity about -a quarter past eight when two trains arrived, one from Perth, the other -from Elgin, and Ralph sauntered on to the platform with a faint hope -that he might see some face that he knew--he could almost in his -loneliness have welcomed the Skoots! But very few passengers alighted, -and directly they had been seen off the premises the porters began to -lock up for the night--no more trains were expected. - -“After all,” reflected Ralph, as he left the village behind him, and -tramped along the highroad in the gathering gloom, “if I had gone out to -the colonies I should think nothing of camping out for a night. There’s -no more disgrace in it here than there. And luckily there’s no law, as -there is in England, against sleeping under a hedge, I can’t be had up -as a vagrant in Scotland. How, if only I had not been forced to sell -Macneillie’s knife it would have been handy enough for cutting this loaf -which must certainly have come out of the Ark.” - -He wrenched off the top with difficulty and laughed to himself as he -thought how horrified Lady Mactavish would be, could she see him now in -the shabbiest of clothes, tramping a dusty road and munching stale bread -as he went. - -“Most certainly I should have Sir Matthew’s charitable dole of ten -pounds thrust into my hand,” he said, with an exulting sense that come -what would, he would never apply for that relief. “Rather than go to him -for help, I would willingly turn into that Refuge for destitute men at -Edinburgh, which we saw as we walked down the Canongate.” He shuddered -a little as the recollection came to him of the sort of man he had seen -seeking shelter there. At any rate out of doors he would have fresh air -and no companions in misery. - -He must have walked nearly five miles from the village, before he saw in -the faint starlight a large farmhouse with many outbuildings. “This is -the place for me,” he thought, making his way into the yard: but he had -yet to learn the difficulties before him. The doors of a hopeful-looking -barn were securely fastened, and, as he crossed the yard to some other -outbuildings, up sprang a huge dog from his kennel, with angry growls -and fierce barks. He walked up to the mastiff, with swift, light steps, -patted its head, fondled its ears, and explained to it the situation. -The dog was mollified, understood that the intruder’s intentions were -honourable, and even licked his hand, which Ralph took very kindly. - -Looking round searchingly, he made out, at last, a sort of open shed, -near the stables, and moving across to this, had the good fortune to -discover a cart with trusses of hay in it. - -“This will exactly suit me my friend,” he said, with a farewell pat to -the dog. “May you sleep as comfortably in that lordly kennel of yours!” - And, so saying, he climbed up into the cart, stowed the remains of his -loaf in a safe place, and with deft hands had soon made himself as warm -a bed as could be desired, out of the hay. - -He slept soundly, being healthily tired with his long walk--so soundly, -indeed, that though cocks and hens and ducks and turkeys, all began, -at an early hour, to blend their voices in a countrified, but scarcely -musical chorus, he heard nothing. In his dream, Miss Brompton, in a -waterproof, was thumping out “Scots wha hae,” between the acts; and -presently, when certain strange rumblings slightly disturbed him, he -dreamed that it was the thunder in the first scene of “Macbeth,” finally -waking himself up by laughing at the comical sight presented by Mrs. -Skoot as she vainly tried to drag him out of his witch’s cloak that he -might appear as Malcolm. Her angry, impatient face convulsed him with -mirth, and it was with no small bewilderment that he awoke to find -himself straggling out of a heap of hay, while from above, the amazed -face of a red-whiskered man gazed down upon him. The rustic’s round, -light-grey eyes had a scared look, and Ralph suddenly remembered where -he was, and began to apologise and explain. The cart no longer stood -in the shed, but had rumbled out into the highroad, and the driver had -evidently no intention of proceeding, while his uncanny visitant still -remained among the hay. - -“Gude preserve us!” he exclaimed, “I was thinkin’ the cart was bewitched -when I harkened to yon fearsome laughter.” - -Ralph shook off the hay and leapt lightly into the road; his agility -and grace seemed to strike still deeper awe into the heart of the -countryman, who stared like one fascinated. - -“A doot you hef brought luck with you to the farm, sir,” he said, -looking down into the comely face and laughing eyes of his astonishing -guest. “And there would hef ben a bowl o’ milk set for you had you -bin expeckit. But it will be a fery long time since the Brownies hef -veesited us, and there’s bin nae luck aboot the farm for mony a year.” - -“Great Scott! the man thinks I’m a ‘Robin Goodfellow’ or a warlock!” - thought Ralph, highly amused. “And he’s far too much afraid of me to -offer me a ride in his cart.” - -“I’m just a wayfaring man,” he tried to explain. “Very grateful for the -shelter of your hay-cart on a cold night.” - -“Oh, ay,” said the carter, still evidently holding to his own opinion. -“And it is fery glad we are to be seein’ you, sir. And a ken weel that -it’s na for human bein’s to come into our place at night. Lassie wad -bark till ilka soul in the hoose was wakened, and she will be flying at -the thrapple o’ ony mortal man. But dogs hef aye descreemination to tell -the Brownies when they see them. I will be wishin’ you gude day, sir.” - -And so saying, he drove off hastily, leaving Ralph to trudge along in -solitude, until catching sight of a stream at a little distance from the -road, he reflected that the best things in life were to be had free of -charge, and that a morning bath would freshen him for the day. - -As for the driver he chanced to look back from a distance, and catching -sight of his uncanny visitor just as he took a header into the water, -was for ever confirmed in his opinion that he had seen and spoken with a -Brownie. - -The second day’s walk proved even more enjoyable than the first had -done, except that there was no kindly old minister to provide a midday -meal. But the sense of freedom, the bracing air, and the loveliness of -the road beside the river Spey, with glimpses every now and then of the -Cairn Gorm range, were things to be remembered through a lifetime. With -Aviemore specially, he was delighted. He began to weave plans for the -future, and to dream of wandering with Evereld among those exquisite -hills with their craggy rocks cropping out here and there from between -dark pines and delicately fresh birches, while beyond there stretched -great pine woods, and mountains whose summits were still white with -snow. Kingussie furnished him with bread and with a somewhat draughty -sleeping apartment in the ruined castle which goes by the name of the -Ruthven Barracks; but the night air was keen, and many a time he longed -for the warmth and comfort of the hay-cart. There was something dreary, -too, in the desolate shell of the old residence of the Comyns, and he -awoke with a feeling of depression which was curiously foreign to him. -The morning was cloudy, and the waters of the Spey felt icy cold as he -plunged into them; however, the walk through Glen Tromie which the old -minister had specially recommended to him soon made him warm enough, and -the wild beauty of Loch Seilich, and its surrounding precipices fully -justified the praises which his guide had bestowed on them. He rested -for some little while by the loch, ate his last crust, and counted over, -as a miser counts his gold, the three pence which must somehow carry him -to Glasgow. - -“I must certainly eat less,” he reflected, ruefully, having only dared -the previous night to buy a pennyworth of bread. “The worst of it is -this mountain air makes one so confoundedly hungry. I shall soon -be reduced to eating birds’ eggs, or to singing in front of village -alehouses in the hope of earning money.” - -His reverie was interrupted by the falling of some heavy drops of -rain; he set out once more on his walk seeing plainly enough from the -threatening sky that a storm was at hand. It came indeed with a speed -which surprised him. Clouds, which blotted out the landscape, hemmed him -in; the rising wind roared through the wilds of Gaick, and the rain -came down in sheets, blinding and drenching him, for no mackintosh yet -invented could have stood the pitiless deluge which showed no sign of -abating, but rather increased in violence. Worst of all, he missed his -path so that there was not even the comfort of knowing that every step -was bringing him nearer his destination. On the contrary, he began to -fear that he had altogether lost himself. - -The further he went the more hopeless he grew; he was wet to the skin, -every bone in his body ached, and no sign of a track was to be found. -It seemed to him that he was the only living creature in this vast -solitude, and his delight was unbounded when at length, through the -driving rain and mist, he caught sight of a figure approaching him. A -collie sprang forward and barked, and was called back by its master, a -tall, manly figure with a crook in his hand, and under his arm an ugly -little black lamb, He seemed not unlike a picture of the Good Shepherd, -and Ralph instantly felt confidence in the clear, kindly eyes which -looked out at him in a friendly fashion from beneath the Scotch bonnet; -there was something noble and winning in this dark-bearded Highlander. - -“Can you put me into the track for Dalnacardoch?” asked Ralph, as he -returned the shepherd’s greeting. “I have lost my way in the mist.” - - - - -CHAPTER XV - - - “Through ways unlooked for, and through many lands, - - Far from the rich folds built with human hands, - - The gracious footprints of His love I trace.” - - Lowell. - -|Angus Linklater was in no danger of mistaking the traveller for a -Brownie; one of his long, keen glances told him much of the truth about -Ralph, for he had the rare gift of insight and his kindly heart warmed -to the tired wayfarer. - -He at once protested that it was out of the question to go on in such -weather to Dalnacardoch, and invited Ralph to take shelter in his -cottage, which was but a few minutes’ walk. - -Ralph hesitated for a moment. The rain streamed down his face and neck, -his boots felt like a couple of reservoirs, and the thought of shelter -was very tempting. - -“I will tell you just how it is with me,” he said; “I have but a few -pence left and must reach Stirling before I have a chance of getting my -letters and further supplies. I think I must press on, for there is no -time to be lost.” - -“Put ony thought o’ troublin’ us oot o’ your head, sir,” said Angus, -instantly reading his companion’s thoughts, and beginning to walk on -beside him. “The hame is just a but and a ben, and you’re kindly welcome -to a’ that we can gie you in the way o’ food and shelter for the night.” - -“You are very good,” said Ralph. “If you can conveniently take me in I -shall be thankful. But don’t be putting yourselves out for me. When -I tell you that I slept last night in the ruins of the old castle at -Kingussie, and in a hay-cart near Grantown the night before, you will -see that to be under a roof at all will be a luxury to me.” - -He laughed. The shepherd gave him another of those sympathetic, -discerning looks. - -“You have had trouble I see,” he said. “But I’m thinkin’ that you’re -meetin’ it in the right way.” - -“Oh,” said Ralph lightly, “I’m just an actor out of work. For several -weeks we have had plenty to do and no money; now we have neither money -nor work, and I am hoping to get into another company.” - -“It’s no right that ony man should work without wages,” said Angus; -“it’s clean against Scripture. But just for a wee while I’m thinkin’ -that it’s maybe no sic an ill thing for us to learn that a man’s life -consisteth not in the abundance o’ the things which he possesseth.” - -“Well, it’s not hard to agree to that now that I’m close to your house,” - said Ralph, “but I’ll confess to you that I was beginning to despair -before I met you.” - -“Ay,” said Angus, a smile crossing his face, “Ilka ane o’ us is apt to -be like this stray lamb that was tryin’ to mak’ its way hame and was -scairt almost to death with encounterin’ deefficulties. It might have -hed the sense to know that as the sayin’ goes, ‘Where twa are seekin’ -they’re sure to find.’” - -“Is that one of your Scottish proverbs?” said Ralph, struck by the -beauty of the thought. - -“Ay, it is, sir, and it often comes to my mind when I’m after the sheep. -Ye mauna despair though you’re oot o’ work. We are maist o’ us ready -to say ‘The Lord’s my shepherd,’ but at the first glint o’ trouble -we change the psalm and say ‘but I’m terrible feart that I’ll come to -want.’” - -There was a sort of dry humour in his manner of saying these last words, -and Ralph smiled. - -“I see you are a thought-reader,” he said, “as well as a thinker.” - -“Oh, as for that,” said the shepherd, “those that spend their lives -amang the mountains have aye mickle time for thinkin’. It’s a gran’ -preevilege to be set to mind the sheep.” - -They were now within sight of the cottage and Angus Linklater led the -way through a little garden; at the sound of their footsteps his wife -opened the door, it seemed almost as though she were expecting her -husband to bring some one back with him, but after one glance at the -visitor her eagerness died away; she was a grave woman with dark hair -parted plainly beneath her white mutch, and with a certain sadness in -her eyes and in her voice. Her welcome was, however, as hearty as the -shepherd’s and before long she had furnished Ralph with her husband’s -Sunday garments and was busily preparing tea. When the tired traveller -emerged again from the back room in dry clothes, he thought nothing had -ever looked more comfortable than that homely little kitchen with -its fire of logs, its old grandfather clock, and its quaint, corner -cupboard, black with age. Some lines of Stevenson’s came to his mind as -Mrs. Linklater made room for him by the hearth. - - “Noo is the soopit ingle sweet, - - An’ liltin’ kettle.” - -Delicious too was the tea and the oatcake after his monotonous bread -and water diet. Angus was still out attending to the lamb he had brought -home, and Ralph wondered whether the shepherd and his wife lived alone -in this quiet place. Among the few books on the shelf, he noticed, -however, sundry modern adventuring books which had been the delight -of his childhood. “I see you have some children,” he said, finding his -hostess not nearly so talkative as the shepherd had been. - -“We hae a son,” she replied, her eyes filling with tears, and crossing -the room she took down “The Dog Crusoe” and showed him the inscription -on the flyleaf. - -It was a prize for good conduct awarded to Dugald Linklater. Ralph -instantly felt that he had touched on a sore subject but whether the son -were dead or a source of trouble to the mother he could not guess. The -book was still in his hand when Angus returned. - -“Ah,” he said, with a sigh, “you’re lookin’ at puir Dugald’s prizes. -We’ve lost him, sir. But he’ll come hame yet. I’m no dootin’ that. He’ll -come hame.” - -Little by little Ralph gathered the facts of the case. It seemed that -Dugald had been a clever and promising lad, that Lord Ederline having -a fancy for him had taken him as his valet, and for a time all had gone -well. But London life had proved too full of temptation for the young -Scotsman, the betting mania had seized him, and had swiftly dragged him -down, until ruined and disgraced he had disappeared into those hidden -depths which are sought by the failures of all classes. It was now three -years since anything had been heard of him, but the father and mother -still lived in the belief that he would return, and Ralph understood now -the expectant look which he had noticed in the sad face of his hostess -as he walked up the garden path with her husband. - -The absent son seemed to dominate their thoughts and it was with -something almost like envy that Ralph, in his singularly desolate life, -thought of this apparent waste of love. Was it pride, or shame or sheer -wickedness that kept Dugald away from such a home, he wondered? - -The Linklaters kept very early hours, and after “taking the Book” and -“composing their minds to worship,” they bade their guest good-night. -A bed had been extemporised for him on a comfortable old settle where, -with the shepherd’s plaid to keep him warm, he thought himself in -luxurious quarters. But sleep would not come to him at that hour in -the evening and he lay for a long time watching the ruddy glow from the -dying fire on the hearth and musing over many things. He was glad -that the storm had overtaken him and that he had found shelter in this -Highland cottage, for in its atmosphere there was something curiously -peaceful and homelike. It was many, many years since he had felt so much -at one with any household--almost it seemed to him like a return to -his old home. For, perhaps, nothing has more effect on a sensitive, -receptive mind than moral atmosphere; while those sweet, subtle -associations, which are the aftermath of a happy childhood, are more -readily awakened by this native air of the soul than by things which can -be actually seen. - -He took leave the next morning with a sense that these people had become -his friends, and that somehow they would meet again. The shepherd would -fain have helped him on his way, but he knew better than to offer what -his guest would little like to receive; nor did he, of course, realise -how very few were the pence still remaining to him. They gave him the -best breakfast the house would furnish, and Mrs. Linklater insisted on -wrapping up a shepherd’s pasty, which she said would make a luncheon for -him; then, with kindly cordiality, they bade him farewell, begging him -to let them know how he prospered. - -Cheered by their friendliness, Ralph walked in very good spirits through -the Gaick Forest to Dalnacardoch, and thence, after a brief rest, made -his way southward to Tummel Bridge. The air felt fresh after the storm -and walking was delightful, but he found no friendly shepherd’s cottage -to shelter him, and passed a very cold and comfortless night under the -shelter of a rick, which proved distinctly uncomfortable as sleeping -quarters. Twice he was roused by mice running over his face, and in the -dead of night a groan and the falling of some heavy object at his very -feet made him start up. It proved to be a drunken and very dirty tramp, -whose neighbourhood was highly undesirable, and Ralph shifted his -quarters to the other side of the rick where the keen, north-east wind -was far from pleasant. He woke again in the grey dawn, feeling stiff -and miserable. The tramp still retained the leeward side of the rick, -so there was nothing for it but to resume his journey, and gradually -the morning mist cleared and the sun rose, revealing the fine outline of -Schiehallion and chasing away the chill discomfort of the night. Indeed, -by the time Ralph had reached the village of Fortingall, he was both hot -and sleepy, and finding the kirkyard deserted, he lay down on a sunny -patch of grass, with his head resting on one of the stone ledges that -flanked the railings round the famous yew tree of three thousand years -old. How long he slept he could not tell, but he awoke at length to the -consciousness of hunger. Having eaten all the bread he had saved from -the previous night, he wandered towards the kirk, and hearing the sound -of a voice through the open windows, realised for the first time that it -was Sunday. The preacher was giving out the One hundred and twenty-first -psalm, and pausing to listen, he heard, to the familiar tune of -“French,” the following quaint metrical version. - - “I to the hills will lift mine eyes. - - From whence doth come my aid? - - My safety cometh from the Lord, - - Who heav’n and earth hath made. - - Thy foot he’ll not let slide nor will - - He slumber that thee keeps. - - Behold he that keeps Israel - - He slumbers not nor sleeps. - - “The Lord thee keeps, the Lord thy shade - - On thy right hand doth stay; - - The moon by night thee shall not smite, - - Nor yet the sun by day. - - The Lord shall keep thy soul; he shall - - Preserve thee from all ill. - - Henceforth thy going out and in - - God keep for ever will.” - -As the last words were sung, Ralph made his way to the door and entered -the little building, just as the congregation stood up to pray. He felt, -as he had done in the shepherd’s cottage, that sense of fellowship -which was what he needed in his loneliness; nor could the length of -the sermon, with its bewildering array of heads, spoil for him that May -morning, and the strengthening influence of the calm worship hour, -which seemed to him more spiritual, more grand in its simplicity, than -elaborately ornate and showy ceremonials. - -He went on his way refreshed, and, taking the road to Fearnan, soon -reached the shores of Loch Tay. Away in the distance Ben Lawers rose -rugged and stern against the pale blue of the sky, and the walk left -nothing to be wished in the way of beauty. The only drawback was the -growing sense of fatigue that come over him. He wondered that a walk -of eighteen miles could so exhaust him. It was true he had been out of -training when he started from Forres, and had walked many miles each -day upon short rations, but he was dismayed to find that his powers of -endurance were not greater. - -It was evening by the time he reached the Bridge of Lochay, and learnt -that he was within a mile of Killin. Feeling now tired out, he resolved -to go no further; moreover, he had learnt from experience that it was -better to sleep at a little distance from towns or villages. He paused -to talk to an old labouring man who was leaning over the bridge. To the -left there was a lovely little wood closely shutting in the river; to -the right, the stream wound its way through green hayfields, and on -through the wild beauty of Glen Lochay to the distant hills which were -bathed now in a mellow, sunset light. Learning from his companion that -he could get food close at hand, Ralph made his way to the little white -old-fashioned inn just beyond the bridge. Its walls were covered -with creepers, its garden gay with flowers, and in the porch were -two comfortable chairs. The landlady seemed a little surprised at his -request for two penny worth of bread: she would have been yet more -surprised had she known that he gave her his very last coins in payment; -for the rest, she answered his questions about Killin, and the distance -from thence to Callander, and let him rest as long as he liked in the -porch, bidding him a friendly good-night when at dusk he once more -resumed his journey. Evidently the inn closed early on the Sabbath, for -Ralph heard the door shut and bolted behind him. - -He paused, and looked round in search of shelter. Not far off, the -ground sloped steeply up, and fir-trees were planted about it. Climbing -over the low stone wall, he made his way towards a fallen tree, the -wide-spreading roots of which pointed darkly up against the twilight -sky. It lay just as it had fallen in a wintry gale, its rough bark was -veiled here and there by clumps of brake fern, and the turf still grew -between the roots as it had grown when the tree was torn out of the -earth by the storm. It proved a good shelter from the cold night wind, -and Ralph crept closely down beneath it, and soon slept. His sleep, -however, was disturbed by horrible dreams, and when in the early morning -he awoke unrefreshed and with aching head, he felt no inclination to -stay longer in his lair. Stretching his stiff limbs, he stood for a -minute looking at the wonderful view before him. Beyond the river there -lay a grand panorama of mountains; here and there were large plantations -of fir, then came wild, bare tracks of heather, black and cheerless -now without its bloom, but relieved at intervals by grey boulders and -patches of grass, while little, white cottages were dotted, like rare -pearls, about the landscape. - -A good swim in the river revived him, after which he went on to Killin, -and, seeing little chance of selling his mackintosh there, hoped for -better luck that night at Callander; and learning that there was a short -cut to Glen Ogle, left the road and struck across the mountainside, -gaining, as he walked, fine views of Ben Vorlich. Toiling up in the sun -proved warm work, however, and by the time he reached the gloomy, narrow -glen he was thankful to wait and rest. He wondered whether it was the -effect of the place or merely his own fault that such deadly depression -began to creep over him. The stern, purple mountains seemed to frown -on him, the tiny stream down below in the middle of the glen looked -miserably insufficient for its wide, rocky bed, and the lingering mists -of early morning still hung about in weird wreaths. This was the sixth -day on which he had been a vagabond, and he began to wonder whether he -should ever reach Glasgow. With an effort he shook off for a time the -sense of impending evil, and forced himself to eat the remains of the -loaf he had bought on the previous night. - -“Now,” he thought to himself, as once more he tramped on, “I am bound, -whatever happens, to reach Callander this evening. I must walk or -starve; that will be a good sort of goad.” - -The road was mostly down hill, and he made a brave start, passed Loch -Earn, which lay far below in the valley, looking exquisitely lovely in -the May sunshine, and then toiled up again towards Strathyre, pausing -only to ask for some water at a grey, slate-roofed farm on the outskirts -of the village. Here he learned the comforting fact that it was but -“eight miles and a bittock” to Callander, and went on in better -spirits. Away to the right he caught beautiful glimpses of the Braes -of Balquhidder, and at last, to his relief, came down to the shores of -Loch Lubnaig. - -But the loch was nearly five miles long, and before he had gone half its -length such intolerable pain and weariness overpowered him that he could -hardly drag one foot after another. He was forced to rest for a while; -then once more blindly staggered on, wondering what was going to happen -to him and counting the milestones with the eagerness of despair. At -length the loch was passed, and the two railway bridges. He knew that he -must be in the Pass of Leny, and as he toiled up the hill could hear the -rushing sound of the river among the trees to the right. Then came the -moment when he could do no more, but sank down half-fainting by the -roadside, his head resting on a rough seat which had been placed against -the wall. How long he lay there he could not tell, but he was roused by -the sound of footsteps close at hand. Half opening his eyes he caught -sight of two hard-featured men, who glanced at him critically and -shrugged their shoulders. - -“Drunk,” he heard one of them say, “and as early in the afternoon as -this!” - -The words rankled in poor Ralph’s mind. - -“If I had not tried to be honest it would never have come to this,” he -reflected. “Because my clothes are shabby and my boots in holes they -judge me. Well, it’s what the poor always have to put up with!” - -He dragged himself to his feet, and, noticing for the first time some -steps in the wall and a path leading down to the river, thought he would -hide his misery and escape from further comments. He was parched with -thirst, too, but to reach the water proved hopeless. Though the river -was swollen with the recent storm, it went surging and foaming below -him among the rocks in a way which made him feel sick and giddy. He just -staggered on by the narrow, rocky track and the wooden gallery till he -reached the smoother path beyond, which led into a little wood, and here -once more his powers deserted him, and he again lost consciousness. - -When he came to himself he was lying uneasily across the path, his head -on the mossy bank and his feet hanging perilously over the water. It -just crossed his mind that he might easily enough have lost his life had -he fallen in the opposite direction, and he wondered dreamily whether -it would not have simplified matters, yet, wretched as he was, he felt -somehow glad to be alive. Away in the distance he could see Ben Ledi -rising in its tranquil beauty beyond the foaming river. There was a -rocky islet, too, in the centre of the flood, with a tall, stately -fir-tree growing upon it, the dark foliage strongly contrasting with the -white foam and the vivid green of the trees on the further bank. To his -fancy, the rushing river seemed to ring out the tune of - - “I to the hills will lift mine eyes,” - -as he had heard it sung on the previous day at Fortingall Kirk. - -All sorts of half-misty memories thronged his fevered brain. He thought -he was walking again with Angus Linklater as he carried the ugly -little black lamb; or he was out boating with his father; or he was at -rehearsal, and Mrs. Skoot was wrathfully haranguing him. Through all -these feverish fancies, there remained the ever-present consciousness of -physical misery, and the rankling recollection of the words he had heard -from the two men who had passed him on the road. Presently, yet another -fancy took possession of him. He was sitting with Evereld in a theatre, -and could distinctly hear the actual words of Shylock’s part: - - “What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?” - - “I thank God, I thank God. Is’t true, is’t true?” - - “I thank thee good Tubal; good news! good news! ha, - - ha, where? In Genoa?” - -The voice was certainly not Washington’s. He was puzzled. - -“Thou stickest a dagger in me,” it resumed, then suddenly broke off, and -in the pause that followed he heard steps approaching. He opened his -eyes, but saw only the familiar view of Ben Ledi and the foaming river. -He had no notion that just behind him stood a tall, striking figure, and -that some one was keenly studying him, not with the critical harshness -of the passers-by in the road, but with the reverent sympathetic manner -of the artist. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - - -“_Every man’s task is his life-preserver. The conviction that his work -is dear to God and cannot be spared, defends him._”--Emerson. - -|Can I do anything for you?” asked a mellow, penetrating voice. - -Ralph shifted his position a little, and looking round, saw a man -bending over him with a curiously attractive face, chestnut-brown hair -fast turning white, large, well-shaped, blue-grey eyes, and that mobile -type of mouth which specially belongs to the actor. He had a strange -impression of having lived through this scene before, and in a moment -there flashed back into his mind a recollection of his first day at Sir -Matthew’s house, of his adventure in the park, and of how Macneillie had -pulled him out of the water. “Oh, is it you?” he cried, with a relief -that could hardly have been greater had he met an old friend. - -Macneillie in vain racked his memory: he could not in the least recall -the face. However, he was not going to betray this. “Glad I came across -you,” he said. “I often come down here by the river to study a part, -this path is little frequented till the tourist season begins. Let me -see, where did we last meet?” - -“You will hardly remember it,” said Ralph; “it was at Richmond. I was -quite a small boy and ran up to thank you for having pulled me out -of the water a few weeks before in St. James’ Park. You gave me your -knife.” - -A look of keen and sudden interest flashed over Macneillie’s face. - -“Of course!” he exclaimed; “I remember it all perfectly. I’m very glad -to have come across you again. What is the matter now? You look very -ill. Are you taking a walking tour?” - -Ralph smiled. “I set out from Forres last Wednesday morning with -sixpence in my pocket,” he said. “It has been a roughish time.” - -“I should think so, indeed,” said Macneillie, glancing from the -slightly-built figure to the thin, finely-shaped hands, and realising -in a moment how little fitted this lad was to endure hardships. “From -Forres you say? What was it I was hearing a day or two ago about Forres? -Oh, to be sure, Skoot’s Company came to grief there.” - -“Yes, I was in the company,” said Ralph. “Skoot left us in the lurch, -and it was a sort of _sauve qui peut_.” - -“So you belong to the profession,” said Macneillie. “That gives you -another claim upon me. Perhaps you are the very Mr. Denmead that Miss -Kay mentioned in her letter.” - -“Yes, I am Ralph Denmead. Miss Kay promised she would inquire if you had -any opening for me.” - -“We’ll see about that, but in the meantime, if I’m not much mistaken, -the influenza fiend means to work his will on you. By the look of you I -should say that you were in a high fever.” - -“I don’t know what is the matter with me,” said Ralph, miserably. “I -suppose I fainted just now in the road. I know that a priest and a -levite looked at me, said I was drunk, and passed by on the other side.” - -“Trust them to leap to the worst conclusions,” said Macneillie. “It’s -the way of the world. But come, I must somehow contrive to get you to my -house.” - -Ill and exhausted, Ralph for the life of him could not keep the tears -out of his eyes. - -“You are very kind,” he said, brokenly; “but I didn’t mean to thrust -the part of Good Samaritan on to you. I’m not fit to come to a decent -house.” - -He looked down at his travel-stained clothes, and at the holes in his -boots. - -“Did you mean to lie here all night?” said Macneillie. - - “No, I meant to -get on as far as Callander and to pawn this mackintosh. I am better. -I’ll push on now. Perhaps there may be a hospital.” - -“Well, there isn’t, as it happens,” said Macneillie, watching him -attentively as he struggled to his feet; “and it’s two miles to -Callander, and if you think I’m going to allow you to walk as far as -that you’re much mistaken. I’m a very indifferent Good Samaritan, having -no beast to set you on, but if you’ll try to come with me to the little -village of Kilmahog which is not far off we can rest at a cottage I know -of, have a cup of tea, and take the coach from the Trossachs which will -pass there in about an hour. As for your scruples in coming home with -me, you must just make away with them. My mother has often received me -in quite as bad a plight years ago when I was struggling to get my foot -on the ladder. We most of us have to go through it unless we happen to -belong to an old professional family.” - -As he talked he had slipped his arm within Ralph’s, and was guiding him -up the narrow path, which, after a steep climb landed them once more in -the road. Without waiting for much response he went on, telling story -after story of his own early days as an actor, and at length the tiny -village of Kilmahog came into sight, and they paused before a little, -low white cottage with a picturesque porch and tiny garden. The mistress -of the house seemed delighted to see her visitor, and responded most -hospitably to his request for a cup of tea while they waited for the -coach. She took them into a parlour hung round with sacred pictures, -and possessing a most curious bed made on a sort of shelf in a curtained -recess. Ralph looked longingly at it as he sank into a chair, but -Macneillie shook his head. - -“Yes, I see you want to be Mrs. Murdoch’s patient, but those ‘congealed -beds,’ as I always call them, are not well-suited to a fever.” - -“And when did ye come hame, sir,” inquired the landlady, returning with -the tea tray; “and hoo are ye likin’ your braw new hoose?” - -“I came home at the end of last week,” he replied; “and as for the house -it’s to my mother’s liking and that’s all I care for. We hear the trains -a trifle too plainly for my taste, but she likes that, says, you know, -that they are a sort of link with me when I’m away.” - -“Ah, but Mrs. Macneillie she’s main prood o’ her beautiful rooms, but -I’m thinkin’ it’s mair because it’s her son that’s made them a’ for her. -She was in Kilmahog last month settlin’ the account for the milk, and -she said to me that if a’ mithers were blessed with such a son as hers -there’d be a hantle less sorrow in the warld. Those were her verra -words, sir.” - -Macneillie laughed. “My mother was always prejudiced in my favour,” he -said. “It’s the one subject you can’t trust her upon.” - -The good woman bustled off to make the tea, and the actor turned again -to Ralph. - -“My mother is the best nurse in the world: she will soon have you well -again.” - -“Why not let me stay here?” said Ralph. “It would give you less trouble. -I shall only spoil your holiday, and perhaps bring the infection into -your house.” - -“Oh, we have most of us been down with this plague already,” said -Macneillie, cheerfully. “I know you covet that antique bed, but we -must have you in a more airy room than this. Perhaps it will make you -hesitate less if I tell you in strict confidence that the new house -would never have been built at all if it had not been for you.” Then, -seeing the bewilderment of his companion’s expression, “I’ll tell you -just how it was some day, it’s too long a story now, for I hear the -tea-things coming.” - -Ralph, utterly at a loss to see how Macneillie could be under any sort -of obligation to him, was obliged to leave the riddle unsolved for the -present. The tea revived him, and when the coach came into sight he -almost thought he could have walked that last mile. A dreamy sense of -relief began to steal over him as they drove on beside the river between -the wooded hills and through the pretty environs of Callander, until -at last they reached the main street itself, and turning sharply to the -left began to climb a steep road. Here, nestling cosily under Callander -crag, with fresh green woods behind it, stood the comfortable, squarely -built stone house that the actor had planned for his mother. The coach -paused at the iron gate, for it was out of the question that they -should drive up the steep approach to the front door; indeed, it was not -without difficulty that Ralph dragged himself up the pebbly incline; he -was panting for breath by the time they reached the house, and it was -with some anxiety that he looked up at the white-capped old lady who -stood to greet them in the porch. - -“Mother,” said Macneillie, “this is my friend, Mr. Denmead. He has -walked all the way from Forres, and is quite fagged out.” The keen, -shrewd eyes of the Scotchwoman had perceived from a distance the sorry -plight of the visitor, and she looked now not at his deplorable boots -and shabby coat, but at the honest, dark eyes lifted to hers; she saw -directly that they were full of dumb suffering. - -“I am glad to see any friend of my son’s,” she said, and there was -something curiously comforting in the homely sound of the Scottish -accent, but when she had shaken hands with her guest an almost motherly -tenderness stole into her voice. She begged him to come in and rest, -made minute inquiries as to the hour when the fever attacked him, and -having left him installed on a sofa in the dining-room, drew her son -into the hall. “Hugh,” she said, “the poor laddie is very ill. I will -go and make a room ready for him, and you had better be fetching the -doctor.” - -“I will by-and-bye, but first let us get him settled. Put him into my -room, it’s the most airy. I’ll tell you who he is, mother.” The two had -gone upstairs as they were speaking, and Macneillie closed the door of -his room behind them, and began helping in a deft, sailorlike way to -strip the sheets off his bed. “He is the boy I told you about years ago, -who saved me from making an end of myself on Christine’s wedding -day.” At the name, a sort of shudder of distaste passed through Mrs. -Macneillie; it was a name very rarely mentioned by either of them, and -the mother fondly hoped that at last her son had banished from his mind -all memory of that romance of his youth. But, dearly as they loved each -other, there was a good deal of reserve between them, and she could not -tell how it was with him. After his absence in America, he had come back -looking much older, but apparently in good health and spirits, and more -than ever engrossed by his work. Little as she liked his profession, -for she was full of old-fashioned prejudice and clung to all her old -traditions, she nevertheless often blessed it in her heart for she saw -that he lived for it, and, spite of herself, could not help taking some -interest in his efforts to raise the drama, to give only such plays as -were worth acting, and to manage his company in the best possible way. -Still it was undoubtedly the grief of her life that her son had chosen -the stage instead of the ministry, and he was quite aware of it, and -was obliged to get on without her entire sympathy. She was unable to see -that he was really doing quite as good work as any minister in the land, -nor did she understand that an actor in refusing to follow his clear -vocation, would be as blameworthy as a divine who put his hand to the -plough, and then looked back. She did not speak a word now until they -had the clean sheets spread and all things ready for the invalid. Then -she drew her son’s face down and kissed it. - -“I shall love to wait on him, Hugh, now that you have told me that.” - -“You’ll like it for his own sake too,” said Macneillie. “It takes -a fellow of good mettle to tramp more than a hundred miles on -six-pennyworth of bread, and wear the look he wore when I found him. -Oddly enough, too, I learnt something about him from Miss Kay’s letter -on Saturday; he belonged to that company that failed, and she told me -that she much feared he had spent almost all the money he had left, -on sending back to London a forlorn little child-actress who had been -deserted by the manager’s wife.” - -“A child? Poor wee thing! There are many perils and dangers in your -profession, Hugh, you can’t deny that.” - -“Yes there are,” he said, “but I am not sure that life in society, or in -other professions, or in shops and factories, isn’t even more risky. As -for this little Ivy Grant, you may be quite happy about her; he had the -good sense to send her to trustworthy friends.” - -No more was said, for it was time to fetch the invalid and to send for -the doctor. But later on, Mrs. Macneillie opened her heart to her son. - -“It’s all very well, Hugh,” she said, “to think that everything is made -right by the little girl being in good hands for the time; but you mark -my words, it will be the same story over again as your own. This poor -lad will be shielding and helping Ivy Grant, and when she has other -admirers, why she’ll throw him off like an old glove. It will be your -own story over again, Hugh.” - -“I hope not,” said Macneillie. “Let us believe he would have done as -much for any distressed damsel. He is a generous fellow, and every inch -a gentleman; why must we assume that he has fallen in love with the -lassie?” - - -“Didn’t I find him sobbing his heart out the moment he was left to -himself?” said Mrs. Macneillie. - -But at this her son would do nothing but laugh, “My dear mother,” he -said, “That is just the sure and certain sign that he has the influenza, -but as to that far worse malady no sign whatever.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - - - “So, from the pinched soil of a churlish fate, - - True hearts compel the sap of sturdier growth, - - And between earth and heaven stand simply great, - - That these shall seem but their attendants both.” - - Lowell. - -|For some days Ralph gave his new friends a good deal of anxiety; no -doubt the worry and the underfeeding of the past nine months had told -upon him, and culminating in this week of hardship and exposure had left -him very ill-fitted to resist the modern plague which was scourging the -country. By the time he had turned the corner and was able to spend part -of each day in the adjoining room, he had wound himself very closely -about the hearts both of the mother and the son. For there was something -in his blithe cheerfulness which was very winning and which not even the -depression that always accompanies influenza could affect for very long, -any more than Sir Matthew Mactavish’s treatment could really embitter -his nature, though it occasionally made him speak a few cynical words. - -Macneillie had by this time heard the story of his life, and had set his -mind at rest by offering to have him in his company at the beginning of -August. He wrote, moreover, to a friend of his, the manager of one of -the Edinburgh theatres, and tried to obtain a temporary engagement for -him, to fill up the summer months. To this there was for some days no -response, and Ralph, who was beginning to chafe at the thought of his -penniless condition, grew depressed, and with the sensitiveness of a -convalescent feared that he was a burden to his kindly host. Macneillie -was quick to discern what was passing in his mind. - -“Pining for that hospital you were so anxious to find at Callander?” he -said one afternoon when he had found Ralph unusually depressed. - -The invalid smiled. - -“Not exactly. But I’m wishing I needn’t spoil your holiday.”. - -“Have you forgotten what I told you as we waited for the coach that day -at Kilmahog?” said Macneillie, bracing himself up as though for some -effort. “This house would never have been built if it had not been for -you. I saw you hardly took in what I was saying, but it’s as true as -that you and I sit here together smoking. I will try to tell you the -whole story.” - -“Years ago, when I was a young fellow playing juvenile lead in Castor’s -travelling company, there joined us a little, forlorn girl of sixteen, -fresh from school, and utterly innocent. She was very unhappy, and I, -naturally enough, fell into the sort of position that you fell into with -Ivy Grant. She badly wanted a protector, and I did what I could for her. -Well, little by little, this sort of friendship drifted into love, and -though our engagement was not made public and was never recognised by -her parents, they did not exactly forbid it or in any way hinder our -intercourse, being shrewd enough, I suppose, to see that had they done -so, their daughter would only have become more resolute and determined. -Things drifted on like this for ten years. For five of these years we -were acting in the same theatre in London, and I was fairly satisfied -to wait, and never once doubted her. But there came a time when she -felt hampered in her profession for want of money, and just then came -an offer of marriage from a man who, though old enough to be her father, -was immensely rich. He had a title moreover, and as far as I know, he -was not a bad fellow--had he not been of decent repute, I am sure she -would not have married him. Still I had seen enough of him to know that -they had not a taste in common, and the misery of it all unhinged me. -She was to be married at the close of the season, and every night--twice -on Saturdays--we had to act together. It all went on like some ghastly -dream”--he pushed back his chair and began to pace the room as though -the recollection were intolerable. “The play was invariably ‘Hamlet;’ I -have never been able to face the thought of acting the part again. The -only thing that carried me through was a sort of desperate resolve to -keep up appearances for her sake. There had been, naturally enough, -a certain amount of gossip about us, but few knew that we had been -actually engaged, and in the very worst of the time there was a sort -of odd sense of triumph, for I knew that I was acting behind the scenes -with a perfection which I was never likely to touch before the curtain. -It told on me, though. When the end of the season came I had been -for eight nights without sleep, and after saying good-bye to her, and -realising that there was no need to keep up any longer, all power of -rational thought seemed suddenly to go from me. I had acted my part so -well that she believed that I had become reconciled to the thought of -her marriage, and I suppose she thought that I should take that position -of friend, which she wished me to take. At any rate her last words were -a request that I would be present at the little country church where the -wedding was to take place. - -“I left it uncertain whether I would go or not, and went home debating -which would really be best for her, which would set her most at ease. -Could I for the time efface myself so completely as to play the part -of an old friend? If she had really cared for the man she was to marry, -that would have been possible; I could have rejoiced in her happiness. -But this, as things were, I thought out of the question. And then in the -darkness of the night, as I lay wondering stupidly which would be -the best for her, a wild notion that it would be best if I were dead -suddenly took possession of me. I was too worn out to think anything -at all about the right and wrong of the matter; it was just an -overmastering idea that crowded out every other consideration. I even -forgot my own mother,--that has always seemed to me the most incredible -part of the whole business. When morning came, I made my preparations -and walked out, with no notion at all as to place, but only a vague -wish to be away from bricks and mortar. After a time I found myself in -Richmond Park, and was making for a quiet glade I knew of, when there -came a sound of footsteps hurrying after me, a small boy was speaking to -me, telling me I had saved him once, and begging me to accept a silver -knife. Here it is you see--I have carried it ever since.” - -Ralph in amazement looked at his father’s old fruit knife; could such a -trifling thing have played so great a part in the life of his friend? - -“I only parted with yours the other day at Forres,” he said, “when -everything that could be spared had to go to the pawnbroker.” - -“Well, I’m glad it is gone,” said Macneillie. “This is the only souvenir -needed. I have had presentations both before that time and since, but -never one that touched me as yours did. Your emphatic assurance that -fruit-knives were of no use to you, since you always ate peel and all, -tickled my fancy and made me smile; that was the first step back to -life. And then your boyish praise was so real that it pleased me, and -your hero-worshipping face haunted me. It reminded me that I should be -missed at any rate by some, and when I reached the glade I was glad that -by a sudden impulse I had given you my knife in exchange. Being thus -disarmed there was nothing to do but to lie down and rest, and what with -the heat of the day and the long walk, I somehow fell asleep at last. -When I woke my brain was perfectly clear again, but there was this -little embossed knife to remind me of the narrow escape I had had. I -remember that in the distance the deer were feeding peacefully, and -within a few hundred yards of me rabbits were scampering to and fro. A -great longing for home seized me as I lay there watching them, the sort -of hunger that always comes over a Scotsman when he has been long away -from the mountains. So I hurried back to town, packed my portmanteau, -and took the night train to the north. There! that is all I have to tell -you; and perhaps now you’ll understand that you are no ordinary stranger -to me and to my mother, but that you belong to us.” - -“It is good of you to have told me,” said Ralph, “to have trusted me -with so much. But I, too, have a confession to make. That day, when we -were in St. James’ Park, Evereld and I knew who was talking with you as -you walked up and down, and once when you stopped close to the water we -could not help hearing what you both said. I think it was partly that -which made us look on you as our special hero.” - -Macneillie paced the room silently, seeing with all the vividness of a -powerful imagination that scene in the far past: the broad sunny path, -the calm expanse of water, with its little wooded island, the white -sails of the toy boat, the two children watching its progress, and -beyond the trees on the further side of the park the great gloomy pile -of Queen Anne’s Mansions looming up against the sky. Again he seemed -to stand in his misery beside the iron railing looking down into a face -which was deliberately hardening itself against him, yet was still the -face that haunted his dreams with its strange inexplicable fascination. - -Since her marriage he had never seen Christine; at first he had -purposely avoided her, and after his return from America had still -deemed it prudent to refuse a London engagement, and to enter on that -career as manager of a travelling company which had now for some years -absorbed his thoughts and his energies. He wondered often whether -their paths would ever again cross, and with a certain sturdy Scottish -resolution he held on his way, neither seeking nor avoiding a meeting. - -He was still talking to Ralph on this summer afternoon, when his mother -came into the room with the letters of the second post. - -“Ha, here is one from Edinburgh,” exclaimed Macneillie. “Now we shall -hear your fate. Well, it’s not much of an offer but better than nothing. -Middle of June to the end of July, that will fit in well enough. To -be walking gentleman after the parts you have been playing will be -uninteresting, but you will at any rate be secure of your salary, and -will be acting with better people. Here is the list of plays; let us see -who the stars are.” - -Glancing down the paper he gave a perceptible start. - -“That’s an odd coincidence after what we were just talking about,” he -said, handing the list to his companion; and Ralph saw that in the first -week of July, Christine Greville was to appear as _Ellen Douglas_. He -hardly knew whether he were glad or sorry. Naturally his affection for -Macneillie tended to make him a somewhat severe judge of the woman who, -after a ten years’ betrothal, had forsaken her lover and married for -money; but nevertheless he wanted to meet her, and Macneillie was not -ill pleased at the chance of thus learning indirectly how Christine -prospered in the life she had chosen. - -Somehow the news seemed to cheer them both. Macneillie stood gazing out -of the window, lost in thought. - -The rain had ceased, and though the sky was still in part overclouded -there were little rifts of blue, and in the west a bright gleam which -swept across the hills facing the window in a long level line of golden -brightness. Above, were the dark mountain tops, below, in deep shade, -the woods; and the points of the trees stood out sharply defined -along the broad intervening strip of sunlit grass. He could not have -explained his own feelings, but it seemed to him that some unexpected -gleam of brightness had come, too, into his overclouded life. - -During the days that followed something of the old hero-worship began to -reassert itself in Ralph’s heart as he learnt to understand more of his -friend’s character. To the genius and fervour and romance of the Kelt, -Macneillie united a singularly strong and virile nature, and although -he had shaken off some of the trammels of the school of theology to -which his mother still belonged, he was emphatically one whose life was -ruled by faith. This was indeed generally recognised, although he was -not given to many words; but the world agreed in describing him by that -unsatisfactory phrase, “a religious man,” and many in the profession -could testify that his religion was of that pure and undefiled kind -which is known not so much by words or outward observances, as by the -living of a good, manly life. - -There was, to Ralph’s mind, something very touching in the relations -between the actor and his mother. His care in avoiding all topics that -could pain her, his solicitude for her comfort, and the pleasure he took -in the restful home-life, which could only be his at long intervals, -formed but one side of the picture. There was the ineffable pride of the -old lady in her only son, her delight in his success being only modified -by the unconquerable scruples which she still felt as to the stage, -scruples which were, however, difficult to maintain in all their fulness -when she was every day confronted by so admirable a representative of -the actor’s profession. - -As soon as it was practicable, Macneillie made the convalescent spend -a great part of each day out of doors, at first in the garden or in -the wood at the back of the house, and later on, when walking became -possible, on the hill-side near the wishing-well, where far away from -houses and with a glorious panorama of lake and mountain they rested for -hours on the heather. - -It was at these times that Ralph received some of those lessons in his -art which were later on of the greatest service to him. - -By the middle of June he had shaken off the last effects of the -influenza, but although he was thankful to have secured an engagement, -he left Callander very reluctantly, only comforting himself with the -reflection that at the beginning of August he should once more be -with Macneillie, and able perhaps to do a little in return for all the -kindness that had been shown to him. - -His Good Samaritan started him on his way with sound advice, and all -things needful for a fresh beginning, and the weeks in Edinburgh passed -pleasantly enough. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - - - “On the oppressor’s side was power; - - And yet I knew that every wrong, - - However old, however strong, - - But waited God’s avenging hour.” - - Whittier. - -|At length the day arrived when Christine Greville was to appear. A -rehearsal had been called for eleven, and it so happened that Ralph -reached the stage door just as the “star” with her maid in attendance -drove up. He had naturally been very anxious to see her, and was pleased -that their meeting should be in bright sunlight, not in the dreary gloom -of the empty theatre. He caught a vision of fair hair beneath a broad -black straw hat, and of blush roses that harmonised well with the -beautiful but rather grave face. Then it chanced that in alighting, Miss -Greville dropped her parasol, and Ralph of course promptly stooped to -pick it up for her. - -“Thank you,” she said, and her low voice thrilled him. “It was careless -of me.” As she spoke her lips smiled, but he thought the brown eyes that -for a moment met his fully were the saddest as well as the sweetest he -had ever seen. - -The doorkeeper having now perceived her hastened forward, and she passed -into the building. - -It was with some surprise that in glancing round she saw that Ralph also -had entered. Something in his manner had pleased her, and she presently -turned to the manager with a question. - -“Who is that young fellow behind us?” she inquired, lowering her voice. - -“He is a pupil of Macneillie’s,” said the manager, “and at present is -only ‘walking gentleman,’ but he has the makings of a good actor in -him.” - -“Introduce him to me,” said Miss Greville. - -So Ralph, to his no small delight, was presented to the great lady, who -gave him a cordial hand-shake. - -“They tell me you are Hugh Macneillie’s pupil,” she said. - -Ralph flushed a little. - -“He has taught me more than any one else,” he replied, “and it was -through him that I got this engagement. In August I am to join his -company.” - -“Ah!” she said, and Ralph fancied there was a sort of envy in her tone. -“You are very fortunate to have such a chance. He is one of a thousand. -Where did you come across him?” - -“At Callander, soon after Whitsuntide. He has built a house there for -his mother.” - -“She is still living? I am glad of that. She never liked me, having a -rooted aversion to the stage and all connected with it, still she was -kind to me in her way, though disapproving all the time.” - -“She still disapproves of the stage,” said Ralph. “But she is kindness -itself; if you could but have seen the plight I was in when Macneillie -found me, and took me home with him!” - -At that moment they were interrupted, but when the rehearsal was over, -Miss Greville again spoke to him. - -“We must finish our talk,” she said. “I like to hear all about my -old friends. To-morrow I am driving with my little invalid nephew to -Roslin--come and join us, we shall have plenty of room for you.” - -Ralph was delighted with the invitation; it was quite impossible to -remain a stern judge of Miss Greville now that he had seen her and -spoken with her. He had wondered how it could be that Macneillie, after -her faithlessness, still for her sake remained single. But he wondered -no longer, for it seemed to him, that quite apart from any beauty of -feature or form, she was the most inexplicably fascinating woman he had -ever met. Her every movement seemed to possess a subtle charm; there -was a refinement and delicacy about her manner, a delicious originality -about her way of talking, that made all others in comparison with her -seem tame and commonplace. There was, moreover, something that specially -appealed to Ralph, in the sadness of her face when in repose, and its -brilliant beauty when animated. - -There was no rehearsal the next day, and Ralph, punctual to the minute, -presented himself at the Windsor Hotel, at the time appointed for the -drive. He was shown into a private sitting-room where a little lame boy -of about nine years old sat by the open window. - -“Aunt Christine will be here directly,” he said, greeting the visitor -with great friendliness. “She was reading to me and forgot the time. Did -you ever hear her read?” - -“No,” said Ralph, “what book was it?” - -“Oh, only about Roslin, but it doesn’t matter what she reads, she makes -everything beautiful--it’s the way she says the words. Mother used to -read to me in Ceylon, but I never cared for it--it sounded so droney.” - -“Do you come from Ceylon?” - -“Yes, I came last year,” said the small invalid. “I live now with Aunt -Christine, she’s mother’s sister, and I like her next best to mother in -all the world. But Sir Roderick’s a beast. You mustn’t say I said so, -but I hate him because he always says horrid, cutting things to Auntie. -He’s to meet us here, when Auntie’s engagement is over, and we are to -go to the Highlands to stay at a big country house belonging to his -cousin.” - -It was impossible to check the confidences of this small child, who, -with his light brown hair, eager blue eyes and sunburnt face, was by no -means the typical invalid of romance, but just a restless, high-spirited -boy, brimming over with life and merriment. Perhaps it was as well that -at that moment his aunt came into the room. - -“So sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Denmead,” she said, greeting him in -her charming way. “I was always a sadly unpunctual mortal, but Charlie -has no doubt been entertaining you. Is the carriage at the door? Then we -will ring for one of the waiters, Charlie, to take you down.” - -“He carries so badly,” said the small invalid, querulously. “I wish -Dugald were here.” - -“Well, he will come with Sir Roderick on Saturday,” said the aunt. “What -does the waiter do?” - -“I don’t know, but he hurts,” said Charlie, wriggling in his big chair. - -“Will you let me carry you?” said Ralph. - -“Yes,” said the child, with the air of a monarch bestowing a favour. -“Your hands are so nice and long, not podgy little things like the -waiter’s.” - -The journey to the Stanhope having been safely accomplished, and the -child comfortably installed in the back seat, Christine gathered up the -reins, and with Ralph in the front seat beside her, drove off in the -direction of Roslin. - -“There is nothing I enjoy so much as driving,” she said. “It is the one -real pleasure of my life.” - -“Greater than such a triumph as you had last night,” said Ralph. - -She glanced at him with a sort of surprise. - -“Did you really think I cared for that?” she said. -“How young you are--how worn and _blasée_ you make me feel. I cared -nothing at all for that ovation--was thankful when the din ceased and I -could go home and be quiet. When one is miserable, there is at any rate -some comfort in being miserable alone--you can throw aside your smiling -mask, and so get something approaching to ease. It is off now, you see, -and I am treating you as if you were a trustworthy, old friend, but then -you are trustworthy, I could tell that the moment I saw you. Now tell me -candidly, did not Mrs. Macneillie tell you she detested me?” - -“No, but I heard something of your first acquaintance with them long -ago,” said Ralph; and then he coloured and hesitated, feeling that he -had perhaps said too much. - -And oddly enough Christine felt that he understood all, and knew that -he would soon find out how, having sacrificed everything to ambition, it -now profited her nothing. - -“Auntie,” cried a small voice from the back seat. - -She glanced round with love and tenderness in the face that a moment -before had been so sad. - -“What is it, darling?” - -“Why those two girls were so awfully delighted to see you. I saw one -catch hold of the other’s arm and say, ‘There she is!’ just as if you’d -been the Queen herself.” - -She laughed, but the child’s pride in her, and perhaps the remembrance -that the public really loved her, touched her heart for a moment, and -brought back a look of youth and gladness to her wistful eyes. She -turned again to Ralph. - -“Now take up our talk where it was interrupted yesterday. You were -telling me what a plight you were in when Hugh Macneillie found you. How -had you got into such difficulties? Couldn’t you get an engagement? Tell -me your story, for we two must be friends.” - -She was so _simpatica_ that it was impossible to resist her, and -Ralph told her his story; all about the old days at Whinhaven, and his -father’s death; all about his adoption by Sir Matthew Mactavish and his -final dismissal; all about his search for work, his first engagement, -and his experiences at Washington’s Theatre. Christine would have blamed -him more for his folly. In relinquishing his position there had she not, -with her womanly insight, guessed all that he left untold of his feeling -for Evereld, and understood why just at Christmas time he was in such -desperate haste to get on in his profession. - -With the keen interest of one who had lived the same wandering life, she -heard of the adventures of Skoots’ Company, and listened pityingly -to the account of what Ralph called his “sixpenny tramp” through the -Highlands. But when he told of the friendly shepherd who had met him in -the wilds of Gaiek, she made a sudden exclamation. - -“Did you say the name was Linklater? Why then I think I can help you to -find the lost son--my husband’s man is named Dugald Linklater. He has -been with us for a year, and would scarcely have endured it so long, I -think, had he not been very fond of Charlie, and anxious too to get a -good character. He had been valet to Lord Ederline, but had left him -under a cloud, and had been out of a situation for a long while. -My husband had had a succession of men, and really took this one in -despair.” - -“Then there can be no doubt about it,” said Ralph, his face lighting up. -“For I know the son was Lord Ederline’s servant. This will be good news -for the shepherd and his wife. How odd that one should come across him -in this way. The world is but a small place after all. What is he like?” - -“A dark-haired Kelt, very well-mannered, and a decidedly clever fellow. -I know something of his past life, for he is going to marry my maid as -soon as they have each of them saved a little money. Dugald is steady -enough now, but he was nearly ruined by betting. We have very little -notion, I fancy, of the sort of temptation our servants are often -exposed to.” - -“Will he be coming to Edinburgh? Can I see him?” - -“Certainly. I expect my husband on Saturday evening. Come and call on -Sunday afternoon, and I will make some excuse to send Dugald round to -your rooms afterwards. Then you can tell him all about his home people. -But now tell me about the rest of your journey.” - -Ralph told the whole tale, and there were tears in his companion’s eyes -as he described the dire struggle of the last day of his wanderings, and -his final collapse in the Pass of Leny. - -“And it was there Hugh Macneillie found you?” she said tremulously. - -“Yes, he is fond of going up and down that path by the river, he says -it is good practice to rehearse a part in that roar of many waters. -I dreamt I was back again in the theatre with Evereld, then I heard -footsteps, and looked up to see his face. You can’t think what a -contrast it was to the faces I had seen just before in the road, with -their cruel contemptuous stare; it was like looking up into the face of -the Christ.” - -By the time they had returned from Roslin, Christine had heard all that -there was to be heard, with the exception of course of the Richmond Park -incident, and she was able fully to realise the sort of life which her -old lover was living. She did not presume to pity Hugh Macneillie. She -knew indeed that, compared with her lot, his was one to be envied; but -she felt intuitively that he would never recover from the wound she had -dealt him, and knew that she had deliberately robbed him of all that a -man most values. Her heart was very sore that night, and Ralph, now that -he knew more of her, understood with how weary an effort she laughed and -talked in the green room. He longed to be able to serve her, but there -was of course little he could do, beyond showing Charlie the sort of -kindness which a small boy best appreciates. - -It was with some trepidation that, on the Sunday afternoon at the close -of her engagement, he called to take leave of her. Other visitors -were in the room. She just introduced him to Sir Roderick--a tall, -grey-haired, and decidedly good-looking man, and then left him to make -his way as usual to Charlie’s couch. - -The child greeted him with delight and eagerly showed him a Kodak which -Christine had just given him, and with which he was longing to take -snap-shots at the people in Prince’s Street. “But I mustn’t do it, Sir -Roderick says, because of the fourth commandment and the Scotch being -so particular. Now do you really think that the fourth commandment was -meant to forbid Kodaks on Sunday?” - -“Well no,” said Ralph smiling. “I don’t think it has much to do with -photography or with our Sunday.” - -“And you see,” continued the child eagerly, “even if we are not to -do any manner of work--and of course, every one really does a good -deal--you can’t possibly call it work to take a snap-shot. Why it says, -you know, in the advertisement, that it’s no labour at all. ‘_You_ press -the button, _we_ do all the rest,’ and one wouldn’t ask them to do the -developing to-day. It’s really not so bad as Sir Roderick’s ringing the -bell as he’s doing now, for when he rings twice like that, Dugald has to -come hurrying upstairs like lightning, and I know he has had hardly any -time for his dinner.” - -At that moment the servant entered in response to his master’s -peremptory summons. Ralph watched him keenly, and had no manner of -doubt that this man was the shepherd’s son, for the likeness to Angus -Linklater was marked. An expressive little bit of pantomime followed; -he could not hear the actual words spoken by Sir Roderick, but the -insufferable tone and manner of the master and the expression of -long-enduring but sorely tried patience on the face of the man, were -quite sufficient to reveal much of their characters. Soon after this the -visitors rose to go, and Sir Roderick having taken leave of them in a -pleasant and courteous fashion, turned round on his wife the moment the -door was closed, and apparently forgetting that they were not alone, -hurled at her a torrent of abuse and scathing sarcasm, which made Ralph -long to kick him down-stairs. It seemed to be about some salmon flies -which had been left behind in London, Dugald having failed to find -them in their right place, and imagining that they had been sent by his -master with the first instalment of luggage brought to Edinburgh by the -rest of the family some weeks ago. - -In Lady Fenchurch’s manner of receiving her husband’s anger there was -the calmness of long use, but her colour rose a little because of the -injustice of the attack, and from a sort of shame that Ralph Denmead -should witness the scene. - -“I am sorry the mistake was made, but you forget we are not alone,” she -said, seizing on a moment when for want of breath he ceased to swear. - -He glanced towards the window with annoyance, and with a malice which -his hearers perfectly understood, suddenly changed his line. - -“Well, if it is not your fault then it must be Dugald’s fault. The -d------d scoundrel shall leave the very day. I can get another man. I’m -sick of the sight of him. He shall see that I’m not to be imposed upon -by an idle fellow who doesn’t know his duties. He shall go, and with the -worst character I ever gave to a servant. He came to me with a bad one, -and I’ll add a telling bit to it.” - -“I only wonder he has endured the situation so long.” said Christine, -stung by the unfairness of this retaliation. “But you punish yourself -more than you punish him; think what trouble you had before he came. The -best servants must now and then make mistakes.” - -“The best mistresses are supposed to look to the ways of their -household,” he said maliciously, “and to have some regard for their -husbands’ comfort. D------ you, say no more. I tell you the man shall -go, and if he chooses to bring an action against me for giving him a -worse character than he brought with him, I’ll show up his whole past -life.” - -With that he sauntered out of the room and Ralph, with some presence of -mind, picked up the Kodak and began to talk to Charlie about the best -position for taking a photograph of the Scott memorial just opposite. -In a few minutes Christine slowly crossed the room and sat down in a low -chair beside Charlie’s couch. Her white taper fingers played with the -child’s light hair, but she was quite silent, sitting there listlessly, -with the exhausted look which people wear when they have been battling -with a strong wind. - -“And she might have been Macneillie’s wife!” thought Ralph. “How can she -endure this wretched existence!” - -He was made so miserable by the sight of that worst tragedy of life--a -mistaken marriage--and by the thought of the grievous pain and sorrow -it had entailed, that he was quite unable to perceive how immensely both -Christine and Macneillie had been developed by the consequences of that -very mistake. - -The woman who at seven-and-twenty had sacrificed the entire happiness -of another to her own ambition and the worldly arguments of her -parents, who had allowed the love in her heart to grow weak for lack -of nourishment, who had been capable of utterly deceiving herself and -stifling her conscience, had at four-and-thirty grown clear-eyed and -humble through much sorrow. And as for Macneillie, his years had been -spent to such good purpose that no one with deep insight could have -wished that he had married Christine Greville as she had been seven -years ago. There had, perhaps, been truth in her assertion in St. -James’s Park--she might have dragged him down to a lower level. -Undoubtedly, apart, they had each of them climbed a step higher, and she -was more worthy of him now than in the old days. - -“Auntie,” said the child, breaking the silence at last, “you won’t -really let Dugald go, will you?” - -She sighed. - -“Not if I can help it, dear, but of course he is Sir Roderick’s servant. -Say no more about it, though. I know you are fond of him and would be -sorry to lose him, but we can’t always have what we like.” - -“I should have thought you might,” said the child. “You who earn such -lots of money. _Can’t_ you have all you like?” - -She laughed, but there were tears in her eyes. - -“I can have you, dear, and you are my chief pleasure now,” she said -caressingly. Then, shaking off her cares for awhile, she began to talk -to Ralph, who at the end of the call felt more ready than ever to be her -devoted servant for the rest of his life. - -“How Evereld will like to hear all about her,” he reflected as he went -down the stairs, “there will be no end to tell her next time we meet.” - -He was unpleasantly roused from these reflections by encountering on the -staircase Sir Roderick Fenchurch, who paused to shake hands with him in -the most courteous and pleasant way imaginable, as though he had utterly -forgotten that Ralph had been a witness of the stormy scene in the -private sitting-room. As a matter of fact, it was so entirely his custom -to abuse and swear at his wife before the child, before the servants, -and before any one staying in the house, that he never for a moment -imagined that this young actor would have liked to horse-whip him for -daring so to treat a woman. - -All the world seemed out of joint to Ralph as he walked away from -the hotel through the beautiful city whose noble buildings and grand -situation made such an incongruously fair setting to the sad picture he -had just looked on. He chafed bitterly against the thought of such a man -as Sir Roderick ruining the happiness of his hero Macneillie, and went -back to his rooms with a heart full of indignation to write the letter -he felt bound to send to Callander after meeting Christine Greville. -Having written sundry details as to the play they had been giving -during the week, he turned to the subject which he knew would interest -Macneillie. - -“Miss Greville has been staying at the Windsor Hotel with her small -nephew, a boy of nine, to whom she is devoted. I have been there several -times, as the child took a fancy to me. He is lame, but likely they say -to recover, and it is wonderful to see her care of him. Two or three -times we went out driving together. She spoke much of you and of the old -days. She looks as young as ever on the stage, but off it her face is -careworn and awfully sad. To-day, when I went to take leave of her, -Sir Roderick Fenchurch was there. He was decent enough till the other -visitors were gone, but then fell into a rage with her about some salmon -flies that had been forgotten; he has a tongue that cuts like a sharp -razor; there’s not a pin to choose between him and the ordinary, -wife-beating ‘pleb,’--in fact, I prefer the latter, for at any rate -he can be properly punished, while this polished scoundrel with his -sarcasms and his cruelties of the tongue can’t be touched. She was very -quiet and dignified all through this scene, but when at last he went out -she looked dead tired; this sort of thing at home, and the hard work -of professional life, must be more than any one could stand for long, -I should think. An odd thing has happened. I have found the son of -Linklater, the shepherd who housed me so kindly in the Gaick Forest. -He is now Sir Roderick Fenchurch’s man, but will not be with him much -longer as the brute has given him warning--chiefly to annoy his wife I -believe. Dugald Linklater has just been in to see me, and I told him I -had been to his home, and that they were always looking for him to -come back. He promises to write to his father at once. So there is -one pleasant thing in this day, which Sir Roderick Fenchurch has -overclouded. What can be the purpose in creation of such brutes? They -are enough to have staggered even your prophet Erskine of Linlathen.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - - -“_Nothing mars or misleads the influence that issues from a pure and -humble and unselfish character. A man’s gifts may lack opportunity, his -efforts may be misunderstood and resisted; but the spiritual power of a -consecrated will needs no opportunity and can enter where the doors are -shut._”--Dean Paget. - -|Macneillie read and re-read this letter with the awful craving of a man -whose love has for years been starved of all knowledge of the beloved, -except the mere knowledge that she was still in the world. He had, of -course, seen her name daily in the papers, and had known what plays she -was acting in, but of her real life he had known nothing. He had tried -to think that her marriage though necessarily falling below his ideal -of married life might at any rate be as happy as the average, might at -least be tranquil and not without a certain comfortable respectability. -But the brief account given in Ralph’s letter, and the many details -which he could so easily read between the lines--filled him with misery. -The post had brought him as usual a mass of correspondence; with a sigh -of impatience he ran through it, then pushing it aside caught up his hat -and hurriedly left the house. He was in no humour to climb the hill-side -to the wishing-well; instead, he passed through the village, over -Callander Bridge, and taking a little footpath across the meadows, -sought out a favourite nook of his beside the river Teith, which wound -its peaceful course through the hayfields. A tiny wood had sprung up -near this walk at one part, and Macneillie had a special affection for -a certain beech-tree which stood just at a bend in the river, and under -its shade many of his pleasantest holiday hours were spent. He -threw himself down now on the sloping bank beneath it. Everything -was curiously still and peaceful; Ben Ledi rose majestically in the -distance, framed by soft foliage in the foreground, and the river was -emphatically one of those which “glideth at his own sweet will,” a great -contrast to the Leny, which dashed and foamed through its rocky pass. -It was just this calm peacefulness he longed for in his inward struggle. -With all the vividness of one blessed or cursed with a powerful -imagination, he realised Christine as she now was. He knew instinctively -that her heart had awakened from its sleep, that, with the dead failure -of the _mariage de convenance_, her love which had only lain dormant -had returned--but had returned of course to torture her. Hitherto he -had been able to think of Sir Roderick Fenchurch with a sort of -impartiality. He knew so very little about him; and it was Macneillie’s -nature to think well of people until they disillusioned him; he had even -felt a sort of compassion for the man, because he knew that he could -never really possess Christine’s heart as he, for a time at any rate, -had possessed it. But Ralph’s picture of what the husband really was -behind his society mask had driven out all gentler thoughts, had filled -the Scotsman’s heart with loathing, had over-clouded his whole world. - -Macneillie was, however, before all things, an honest man. He had not -accepted conventionally the first religious truths put before him, he -had thought much, he had waited patiently, had learnt by degrees, and -the hard training of his life had borne its fruit--it was impossible -now, that he should remain for long in darkness. It flashed upon him -that his trouble came from having stepped out of the right order; for a -time he had lost that absolute trust in God’s education of every human -being, which had for many years been his stronghold. The words of -Ralph’s letter came back to him--“brutes like Sir Roderick are enough to -have staggered even your prophet Erskine of Linlathen.” - -The name of Thomas Erskine in itself awakened within him a whole train -of memories, for he was one of the many thousands who have been rescued -by the writings of that barrister, laird and saint from falling a prey -to the spirit of unbelief which is the reaction alike from Calvinism and -ceremonialism. - -Lying under the shade of the beech-tree, the fresh air from the hills -playing softly about his uncovered head, he tried to picture to himself -what Erskine would have thought of this mistaken marriage, with its -unhappy results, and there came back to his mind a passage in “The -Spiritual Order,” in which the writer spoke of the strange difficulty of -retaining faith in God’s loving purpose when confronted with the evils -of the lanes and closes of great towns which seem to be mere hot-beds of -vice and profligacy. How look on those and still believe that education -was God’s whole purpose in creation? “It would be impossible,” said -Erskine, “did we not also realise that _there is no haste with God_.” - -Clearly then it was the imperfection of his own nature, the -weakness--not the strength--of his love for Christine, which made him so -desperately impatient at the thought of her suffering; for her sake -he must learn to be “strong and patient,” learn to love with a diviner -love, to wait with a more perfect trust. The letter had come to him -like a call to arms, he was perfectly conscious that it marked a fresh -turning-point in his life; he had learnt more of Christine and her -difficulties than he had known for years, and the only way in which he -could interpret the meaning of it all was that he should pray for her in -her grievous need more unceasingly than he had yet done. - -And so the time passed by, and at the close of the six weeks’ engagement -Ralph returned to Callander for the few days that remained before -Macneillie’s company was to open at Southbourne with “The Winter’s Tale.” - -It felt more like a home-coming than he could have imagined possible. -His friend was delighted to have him back again; old Mrs. Macneillie -was scarcely less so, and the servants gave him a cordial welcome, for -though his illness had given a good deal of trouble in the house, he had -the gift of winning hearts, and the forlorn plight in which he had first -arrived had awakened all the best sympathies of the hospitable Scottish -household. He fancied that Macneillie’s deep-set grey eyes were somewhat -graver in expression than before, but his manner, with its touch of -quaint, dry humour, was exactly the same as usual, and it was not until -the Tuesday morning when they set off early to walk together to the -Trossachs, that any allusion was made to the contents of the letter. -Then, at last, as they walked along the shores of Loch Vennachar, -Macneillie put a direct question about Christine. - -“I am glad you got to know Lady Fenchurch,” he said. “Where did she go -after leaving Edinburgh?” - -“She went up to the Highlands a fortnight ago to a place called Mearn -Castle, which belongs to a Mrs. Strathavon-Haigh, a widowed cousin of -Sir Roderick’s--a very fast widow, if what I heard in Edinburgh is -true. Lady Fenchurch did not want to go there, but said her husband -particularly wished her to accept the invitation. So she had given up -her original plan of taking Charlie to the sea, and hoped the Highland -air would do him as much good.” - -“I suppose she was right to try to please her husband,” said Macneillie, -“but Mearn Castle is one of the most abominable country houses going.” - -“She seemed to know very little about it,” replied Ralph, “only disliked -this gay widow, and wanted to go to some quiet place where rest would -have been more possible. But she evidently tries to do what can be done -for her brute of a husband. Oh! if you could have seen her patience, her -dignity, while that scoundrel was abusing her! I wish I could horse-whip -him!” - -“No need,” said Macneillie, in a low voice, “for every brutal word he -will one day have to give account.” Something in his manner, with its -deep conviction that every wrong should in the future be righteously -avenged, silenced Ralph. He felt ashamed of his vehement impatience, and -was not sorry that, as they approached Loch Achray, Macneillie led away -from the subject by asking after the shepherd’s son. - -They had passed the Hotel, and were walking through the Trossachs, when -they overtook a gentleman’s servant laden with a soda-water syphon and -a great basket of fruit which he was evidently carrying down to Loch -Katrine. - -Glancing at the man, Ralph gave an exclamation of astonishment. - -“Why, Linklater! is it you? I was speaking to Mr. Macneillie about you -only just now.” - -The man’s face lighted up as he returned Ralph’s cordial greeting, and -he looked searchingly at Macneillie, having very often heard that the -actor was one of Lady Fenchurch’s oldest friends. - -“I little thought to see you here, sir,” he said, turning to Ralph. “We -came this morning from Stronachlachar, for there was a good wind for -sailing, and Master Charlie was wanting to set foot on Ellen’s Isle. -He’s there now, with her ladyship, and I came on to the Hotel to get -these things for lunch.” - -“They have left Mearn Castle then?” said Ralph in surprise. - -“Well, sir,” said Linklater, with a little hesitation in his manner, “if -you’ve not already heard, maybe I had better tell you the whole truth, -for all the world must know it as soon as her ladyship sues for a -divorce.” - -Macneillie made an inarticulate exclamation. Like one in a dream he -listened to the man’s brief account. It appeared that Sir Roderick -had seduced the young wife of one of the game-keepers on the Castle -estate--that the enraged husband discovering him had given him such a -castigation that it had been impossible to hush up the affair, and that -Lady Fenchurch, on learning the truth, had left Mearn Castle. - -There was a pause when the man had ended. Ralph waited for his companion -to ask some question, to make some comment, but Macneillie walked on in -absolute silence, evidently too deeply engrossed in his own reflections -to be even conscious that he was not alone. - -This, then, was the meaning of his inward perception of Christine’s -grievous need! In this fortnight, during which his whole soul had been -absorbed in prayer for her, she had lived through the most awful crisis -of her life, and now she was near to him in her forlorn, unprotected, -worse than widowed condition. He must at any rate, inquire if she would -see him, ask if he could in any way help her, and here in this quiet -spot there was fortunately no danger that idle talkers would comment on -their meeting. He pencilled a few words in German on one of his cards -and turned to Linklater. - -“Give this to your mistress,” he said, the title somehow sticking in his -throat. “I will take a boat and row out to the island in a few minutes, -and you can bring back the answer.” - -By this time they had walked through the glen and had reached the -picturesque landing-place. Linklater hailed the Stronachlachar boatman, -and set off for the island, and the others followed more leisurely, -Ralph taking both oars and Macneillie sitting in the stern, though -the far-away look in his eyes scarcely qualified him for the duties of -steersman. - -The story which Linklater had told them had been so entirely unexpected, -and was in itself so revolting, that neither of them felt inclined to -talk. To Macneillie, moreover, it was as though he had suddenly heard -of the death of the man who had saddened his life; to all intents and -purposes he considered Sir Roderick as dead to Christine, for he came -of a race which for more than three hundred years has always regarded -adultery as the dissolution of a marriage. To him there had never been -the least question as to the distinct teaching of Christ on this point, -he believed that His words clearly sanctioned divorce for infidelity to -the marriage bond and gave freedom to the innocent one. No _man_ could -rightly put asunder those who were married; sin only or death could part -them. But proved infidelity was as truly the divider as love was the -bond of union; the legal ceremonies, whether of marriage or of divorce, -were but the appointed and expedient symbols of spiritual facts--the -outward signs of the birth and death of married life. - -The seven years of his solitude had taught Macneillie a stern -self-control, and whatever he felt as they rowed across the lake was not -allowed to appear at all in his face. Ralph glanced at him from time to -time and marvelled, perhaps only now realising of what splendid stuff -his hero was made, and how nobly he held in check that difficult -temperament with which actors, artists and musicians are usually -endowed. - -“Which side is the best landing-place?” he asked as they drew near to -the lovely wooded island. - -“To the right in that bit of a creek,” said Macneillie, beginning to pay -heed to the steering. “There is the boat, I see, but the men are both -out of it.” - -As he spoke they glided into the little, rocky cleft with its -overhanging trees, its moss-grown boulders, its patches of crimson -heather and purple ling. Then came a few minutes of utter silence, as -they waited for Linklater’s return; Ralph felt anxious and restless, -each minute seemed to him an hour, and he feared that perhaps after all -Christine Greville would refuse to see any one. As for Macneillie he -just waited like one who is intently listening, but Ralph was not -sure that the listening was for Christine’s voice or for the servant’s -approaching footsteps, he had a suspicion that it was for something much -more inward. - -At length, to his great relief, there came a rustling among the boughs -and a trampling of feet, and in a minute Linklater was striding down -over the rocks towards the boat, bearing a note in his hand. Macneillie -thanked him as he took the missive, and unfolding it less deftly than -might have been expected of a seasoned actor, read the following words: - -“You are the only man I could bear to speak to yet; please come.” - -He promptly stepped on shore, but Ralph lingered. - -“I will stay in the boat,” he suggested, “and have a pipe.” - -“Master Charlie is very anxious you should come and help him with his -Kodak, sir,” said Linklater, respectfully. “He’s just up here at the -top, and her ladyship is at the further side of the island, sketching.” - -“Very well, then, I’ll come,” said Ralph, and he followed his friend up -the steep ascent. - -In a little clearing at the top they found the small boy, who gave a -war-whoop of delight as Ralph emerged from the brushwood. - -“If I hadn’t had such an awful longing for gooseberries, Dugald would -never have met you!” he said gleefully. “Auntie is over there making a -sketch, she’s hidden right away by the trees, but don’t go to her just -yet, do stay and help us lay the things out for lunch, Dugald is going -to make a fire and boil some water, he thinks Auntie will like some tea, -she’s been having such dreadful headaches the last few days.” Macneillie -heard no more, he left Ralph and the child, and Dugald Linklater, and -made his way straight through the tangle of shrubs, trees, and bushes, -in the direction that Charlie had indicated. There was a gleam of white -between the green leaves--it was the sun lighting up the sketching-block -on her easel; in another moment he had parted the thickly-growing -branches and had seen her once more. - -She was sitting on a fallen tree--not attempting to sketch, but with her -elbows propped on her knees and her face hidden by one of those shapely -white hands he had so often kissed; the sun made a dazzling glory of -her fair hair; her light grey dress and grey straw hat seemed exactly -to harmonise with the green trees and the patches of heather. She had -always had that instinct of fitness which makes some women know -exactly what to wear, and when to wear it. - -Macneillie stood for a minute watching intently the down-bent head, his -heart throbbing so fast that he felt half-choked. At last, putting -force upon himself, he moved forward. His step recalled her from her sad -reverie, and starting to her feet with the nervous alarm of one who has -lately undergone some great shock, she looked round as though in terror -of pursuit. That startled movement, and the momentary expression he had -seen in her pale face, strengthened Macneillie as nothing else could -have done; he forgot all about himself, realised only that she wanted -his protection. - -“You need not be afraid,” he said, taking her hand in his, “of what use -are old friends if not to help you in time of need?” - -She struggled hard to reply, but her eyes swam with tears, her lips -refused to frame a word. - -“Let us sit down here and talk things over quietly,” said Macneillie; -“as I wrote to you just now, Dugald Linklater told us what had passed at -Mearn Castle.” - -“He told you what he knew,” said Christine in a broken voice. “He -could not tell you of my interview with Sir Roderick.” She paused for a -minute, then the pent-up torrent of words broke forth. “I have heard -of women, yes, and of men, too, refusing to be separated from a guilty -partner; but there must at least be a genuine repentance to make such a -plan even moral. There was none with Sir Roderick. He was vexed at -the discovery, but he made light of the sin itself. In my presence he -laughed over the affair. The house seemed like hell. I could not have -stayed in it another hour!” - -The look of shrinking horror in her face tortured Macneillie, who could -so well understand how her whole being recoiled from the foul atmosphere -that had surrounded her. It was because he understood how she felt -herself degraded by all she had lived through that he intuitively -stretched out his hand for hers, and held it in a strong, firm clasp. - -“Do not dwell on all this,” he said, “but tell me how I can help you.” - -His quiet, tender voice, the reverence of his manner quickly soothed -her. She looked up into his face, and by that mere look seemed to draw -in endless stores of strength and comfort. - -“Do you know,” she exclaimed with seeming irrelevance, “what Ralph -Denmead said about the day you found him in the Pass of Leny, when he -was lying there ill and half-starved, and looked up to see you bending -over him? He said it was like looking up into the face of the Christ!” - -“Poor boy!” said Macneillie. “He was in an awful plight, no one with a -grain of kindliness in his nature could have passed him by. He has made -me his debtor for life now, though; it is through him that I have met -you to-day.” - -“We little thought,” said Christine, “that those two children in St. -James’s Park, playing with their boat, would have anything to do with -our future. How is it, though, that you are grateful to him for bringing -about this meeting? It is I who am grateful to him. But you who have so -much to forgive--you who have avoided me all these years----?” - -“I dared not seek you out,” said Macneillie, “our paths parted -naturally, and it was safer so. What could I have done for you then? But -now all is different. Are none of your people coming to be with you?” - -“There is no one to come. As you heard, I daresay, my father died four -years ago.” - -“Yes, I saw the notice in the papers,” said Macneillie. - -“He lived just long enough,” she resumed, “to see how miserably his -scheme had failed. I had married to please him and to help the family. -Well, my sister’s husband, with no help at all from me or my position, -got an excellent appointment in Ceylon, so there again the scheme proved -useless. Three years ago my mother went out to live with her there, she -could do nothing to make me less miserable, and it only pained her to -see my unhappiness. She realises things less at a distance, and now she -is too much of an invalid to bear the return voyage. A year ago they -sent me back Charlie, Clara’s little boy, and he has been a great -comfort. Except for him I am quite alone.” - -“I want you to understand,” said Macneillie, “that it is still my -highest happiness to serve you. It is quite possible that in the -difficult position you are in you may need the help of a friend.” - -“Do I deserve your friendship?” she said questioningly; “you stood -aloof all these years--you would not be my friend then, though I asked -you.” - -“If I had been a worse man I should have accepted the place you offered -in your company,” said Macneillie; “or perhaps if I had been a better -man, I could entirely have effaced myself and dared to take such a -perilous post. But as things were, it seemed best to go right away. Did -you not understand?” - -“Yes, yes,” she said in a choked voice. “I understood--and honoured you. -Is it only seven years since you and I acted together? It seems to me -a life-time. All that has gone between has been a sort of dreadful -nightmare. And the worst of it was the feeling that I had deserved the -misery, had deliberately chosen the low level and fought against you -when you tried to drag me up. Oh, it is so long since I had a real -friend to talk to--may I tell you all?” - -“Of course,” he said, gently. “Why not?” - -“After a year of it I had grown almost desperate,” she said, clenching -her hands tightly, like one in pain, “and the season’s work had tired -me out; it seemed no use to try any longer even to live an honest life. -There was only one thing that still held me back. I knew if I sank lower -still it would grieve you more than all, and the thought of the pain I -had already given you was always with me. Then one Sunday afternoon I -happened to be alone. Sir Roderick had gone to stay with some friends -for the Ascot week, and there came to me a little girl bringing a note -from Lucy Seymour--you remember how soon after you and I were engaged we -had been able to help her when she was in great trouble. Well, she wrote -that her husband had died abroad and that she had just returned with her -child, was herself dying and wanted to see me. I went to her at once -and found her in great poverty, and in terror of being turned out of her -lodgings before the end. Her life, she said, had been a very happy one, -thanks to you and me. Oh, if you could have heard her gratitude for -the past. Every word she said seemed to draw me back from the horrible -indifference that had paralysed me--she somehow stirred up all my best -memories. She had heard that you were in America, or she would have -appealed first to you, for the help had been chiefly your doing.” - -“Did she die?” asked Macneillie. - -“Yes, about ten days after that Sunday. I had promised to send her -little girl to school, and to befriend her, if, later on, she went into -the profession, and after that Lucy seemed actually to long for death, -young as she was. I saw her every day, and the last night they sent word -to the theatre that there was a sudden change for the worse. Directly my -part was over, I went to her; she died very happily and peacefully, just -as day was breaking. I had never seen any one die before, and on the -stage death is always made somehow to seem like an end, a grand sort of -finale. But Lucy’s death was not like an end at all, it was as quiet -and serene as if she had been merely turning a page in a book. I can’t -describe to you how it altered all my ideas. Afterwards there was her -little girl to care for, and that helped me too, and though I knew -everything must still be hard, I tried after that--tried my very best -to please Sir Roderick, and as far as I could to make our home life more -endurable. We had each of us been much to blame in marrying without any -real love, and I knew that I must ‘dree my weird,’ as you used to say. -Well, it is over now--over, and I can hardly yet realise things. Last -night I wrote to my solicitor.” - -“I hope he is a good one,” said Macneillie. - -“_Yes_, Mr. Marriott, of Basinghall Street; but I am half afraid whether -he himself is back yet from his voyage.” - -“Ralph Denmead may know, he is an old friend of his. I will inquire. But -in any case many months are sure to pass before all the legal forms are -gone through, and in the meantime you will have to live as quietly and -guardedly as possible. Have you realised that?” - -“Yes,” she said, with a little shiver. “A fortnight of country-house -life, in such a place as Mearn Castle, makes one realise evil more -keenly than years on the stage.” - -She remembered miserably the people she had met there--men and women so -utterly unprincipled that she loathed and despised them. She remembered -the callous indifference with which her husband had observed all the -annoyances to which she was subjected. She remembered the age-long -hours, unoccupied by professional work--barren of all that could be -called employment. - -And then, turning from the past as from some hideous dream, she thought -how restful it was to be here in this little island, with the man -whose heart had never faltered from its allegiance, the lover whose -self-sacrificing constancy was as untiring as the love of God. Never -from his lips would she have heard such words as had filled her with a -sense of degradation at Meam Castle. It was the depth of his love, -the fineness of his reverence, which kept him now from expressing the -passion which she knew filled his heart. He would wait till the law had -declared her freedom--would wait and think only of how she could best be -shielded from the strife of tongues. - -“If you are really at a loss for some quiet place, and for friends -who can rightly protect you, why should you not go for a time to the -Herefords’ house near Firdale?” said Macneillie. - -“I know them very slightly,” she objected. “Besides, is not that meant -for people who have no money?” - -“Monkton Verney is for all, I think, who are in need--it’s a Cave of -Adullam--and though you don’t know Mr. and Mrs. Hereford well, you know -Miss Claremont and she is the practical head of things.” - -“I will at any rate write to her, she is a wonderful woman for -understanding,” said Christine. “I am glad you reminded me of her.” - -Macneillie stood up, for he knew that it would be unwise to stay longer, -and that he must somehow tear himself away. - -“Write and let me know whether you go there,” he said; “and don’t forget -that if I can do anything for you in any way, I have at least the right -of an old friend. I see the steamer over yonder, and before long a host -of people will be at the landing-stage and some of them may be rowing -out to visit Ellen’s Isle. Even here, in this paradise, Satan walks you -see in the shape of the gossiping British tourist; and your face and -mine are public property. I might do harm by staying here.” - -“Not even here,” she sighed, “in this lonely place? And it’s so long -since I saw you!” - -He took her hand in his, and held it for a minute tenderly; looking into -his face, the beauty of its expression of strong patience startled her. - -“No, not even here,” he said with a quiet smile. “Your reputation is too -precious to me. But remember that in any difficulty or danger I have the -first right to help you.” - -His courage nerved her to face the parting and even to assume an air of -cheerfulness. - -“I must come back to Charlie,” she said. “He is sure to be hungry, and -there will be plenty of time for you to have lunch, too, before any -tourists molest us.” - -So together they walked to the little encampment, where they found the -photographers fraternising over the Kodak, while Dugald had the tea -just ready. And since laughter and tears are not far apart, and the very -people who have lived through a tragedy are happily the ones most -easily moved to see all that is humorous in daily life, there followed -a cheerful meal which might have surprised and even shocked a mere -superficial observer of life, but contained elements of comfort in it -for all who understood the griefs and trials of human-kind. - -Crowning it all was the unalloyed happiness of the child, whose beaming -face and ringing laughter soothed Christine’s sore heart as nothing else -could have done. - -“_Auf wiederschen!_” said Macneillie, when the last moment had come, -and Christine said nothing, but all her soul seemed in her eyes as she -lifted them to his. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - - - “Paint those eyes, so blue, so kind, - - Eager tell-tales of her mind; - - Paint with their impetuous stress - - Of inquiring tenderness; - - Those frank eyes, where deep doth lie - - An angelic gravity.” - - Matthew Arnold. - -|The last day of Evereld’s school life was drawing to a close, “packing -day” as they called it, and when it had been a mere question of the -beginning of the holidays it had always been a rather festive occasion. -But on this last evening, standing at the threshold of a new untried -life, there was a good deal of sadness about it, and her usually bright -face was a little clouded as she paced up and down a shady garden walk -with her special friend Bride O’Ryan. The merry voices of the younger -children, as they played hide and seek, and now and then a distant sound -of applause from those who were watching the tennis players, made her -feel melancholy, for to-morrow she would no longer have her nook in this -happy, busy hive of industry, would no longer have a share in the genial -life, but would be in a very different home, a home which was not her -own, which had never seemed in the least homelike, and to which she did -not at all want to return. A happy remembrance caused her cheerfulness -to return. - -“Oh, Bride!” she exclaimed, “perhaps, after all, Sir Matthew will let -me spend the next fortnight with you as we begged. He won’t let me go -to Ireland, he was quite set against that, but he may say yes to your -sister’s second letter.” - -“To be sure,” said Bride, with her most good-humoured smile. “Why should -he be saying no to such a sensible plan? He can’t wish to have you in -town for the first part of August. Doreen has plenty of room for you in -this house she has taken on the Parade, and we will bathe every day, and -have no end of fun.” - -“Here comes Aimee with a letter. Bride, I believe it will be from Sir -Matthew; things come just when one is talking about them.” - -A pretty dark-haired girl now approached them. - -“Fraulein asked me to give you this note,” she said, “I believe it is -from Cousin Doreen.” - -“Yes, that’s Doreen’s writing,” said Bride. “Read it quickly, do.” - -And Evereld read as follows: - -“My Dear Evereld, - -“We shall be delighted if you will spend the next fortnight with us here -at Southbourne. Sir Matthew is quite willing that you should do so, -though he cannot spare you to us after the 14th August, as he wishes you -to go with him to Switzerland. I would have liked you to see our Irish -mountains first; however, they can hold their own very well against any -Alp ever created, and you must come and stay with us next year instead. -Tell Bride to bring you as early to-morrow morning as you like. - -“Yours affectionately, - -“Doreen Hereford.” - -This note gave general satisfaction, and the three friends yielded to -the entreaties of some of the younger children and entered with spirit -into the game of hide and seek, Evereld feeling all the delight of a -reprieve as she realised that for a whole fortnight she should be able -to stay at Southbourne and to postpone the parting with Bride. - -The next morning when, somewhat saddened by all the partings they -had been through, the two girls were driving down to the Parade, they -suddenly caught sight of a huge poster announcing the advent on the -following Monday of Mr. Hugh Macneillie’s Company, and the performance -of “The Winter’s Tale” “The Rivals” and “The Lady of Lyons.” Evereld -knew nothing of Ralph’s movements; nothing had been heard from him since -the Easter holidays, when he had still been travelling in Scotland. She -looked, however, with no small interest at this poster, having always -remembered their childish worship of Macneillie. - -“I have never seen ‘The Winter’s Tale,’” said Bride. “We must certainly -go. Doreen is always delighted if we want to see one of Shakspere’s -plays.” - -By this time they had arrived at their destination and Evereld who -already knew her friend’s family very intimately found herself in -the midst of a lively babel of voices, warmly greeted by pretty Mrs. -Hereford, hugged by her three children, and speedily made to feel quite -at home. - -“How is Dermot?” asked Bride. - -“Much better,” replied her sister, “you will find him with Mollie in the -drawing-room. Let me see, Evereld has not yet met him. We must present -the family patriot to you. Poor boy he has always been unlucky, and -since his release a year ago from Clonmel gaol he has been desperately -ill.” - -Evereld felt a little in awe of the released victim of the Coercion Act, -but he proved to be the gentlest-mannered of mortals, and her womanly -heart went out at once to the hollow-cheeked, large-eyed invalid whose -humourous smile only seemed to add to the pathos of his face. - -She was sitting the next day beside his Bath-chair on the Parade while -Mrs. Hereford read to her children when, as she was watching the sedate -couples who passed by in their Sunday best, she suddenly perceived at a -little distance a figure that seemed strangely familiar. Surely no one -but Ralph had precisely that quick, light step? His face was turned -away from her, he was intent on the sea, watching the waves like one -who loved them and had no attention to bestow on anything else. He was -almost passing them with only the breadth of the Parade between when -a puff of wind suddenly whirled away a paper which Dermot had been -reading, and hastily glancing round he picked it up and crossed over -to restore it to its owner. “Ralph!” exclaimed Evereld springing to her -feet. - -“You are here still!” he cried, his whole face lighting up, “I thought -your holidays would certainly have begun. What good fortune to find you -so unexpectedly.” - -“I have left school and am staying with Mrs. Hereford for a fortnight. I -must introduce you to her.” - -Mrs. Hereford knew all about Ralph Denmead, and had always felt that he -had been harshly treated by Sir Matthew Mactavish. She looked at him now -searchingly and she liked him. He had one of those sensitive mouths that -droop a little at the corners in depression or fatigue, but smile as -other mouths cannot smile. The classical nose and well-moulded chin -added character to what was otherwise just a pleasant, boyish face, -bearing upon it the stamp--“good cricketer.” And the thick brown hair -not quite so closely cropped as the hideous prevailing fashion demanded, -and the absence of beard or moustache bespoke him an actor. What she -liked best about him, however, were his clear honest brown eyes, which -had the power of lighting up with a most refreshing mirthfulness. There -was something touching in the unfeigned delight of the friends in this -wholly unexpected meeting, and Mrs. Hereford was determined that they -should have the chance of an uninterrupted talk. - -“There is still an hour before tea-time,” she said, glancing at her -watch. “Take Mr. Denmead to see the view at the end of the Parade, -Evereld, and then let us all come home together.” - -The two fell in with this plan very readily. The only difference between -them and the couples Evereld had lately been watching was that they -walked much faster and talked a great deal more. For there was much -to tell and to hear, and Evereld wanted to learn every detail of the -unlucky Scotch tour, and was delighted above measure to think that their -hero Macneillie should have come to the rescue so opportunely. - -“We saw that his Company was here to-morrow for a week,” she said, -blithely. “How little I dreamed that you were with him, Ralph. Mrs. -Hereford is going to take us to see ‘The Winter’s Tale.’ I do hope you -have a nice part.” - -“Yes, I am Florizel. It’s a very nice part indeed,” said Ralph. “And -there is such a jolly country dance. You’ll like that. You can’t think -what a difference it is to be in a Company like this after travelling -with those awful Skoots.” - -“Which was the worst of the two, the husband or the wife?” - -“Oh the husband was a swindler, but Mrs. Skoot passes description. How -she did hate me, too! If I had had the money to do it I might easily -have brought an action against her for abusive language. Towards the end -of the time she was never quite sober and once at a railway station -she was so hopelessly drunk that she tumbled headlong down a flight of -steps, alighting exactly on the top of my bath, which she nearly knocked -into a cocked hat! We know now that all the weeks they were not paying -us a penny, so that many of us were half starved, she had money of -her own hoarded away, and no doubt they are living on it comfortably -enough.” - -“What became of that poor little Ivy Grant?” - -“She stayed for a week with my old landlady and then managed to get into -another travelling company, where she seems to be getting on well. The -Professor died just after her return. He was no protection to her, poor -old man, in fact it was quite the other way. She had to support him, -he was invalided and a confirmed opium-eater. Still it seems lonely for -Ivy. She is a very plucky little girl though, and will, I fancy, get on -well in the profession. Now tell me about yourself. How did you get to -know Mrs. Hereford? and who is she?” - -“She is the married sister of my great friend at school, Bride O’Ryan; -you will see Bride when we go back to tea, and I know you’ll like her. -Every one likes her, she is such fun and she is always so good-tempered. -Mrs. Hereford lives partly in Ireland, but most of the year in Grosvenor -Square because her husband is in Parliament. And Bride will live with -her now that she has left school. They were all left orphans, and Mrs. -Hereford, who was a good deal older than the others, brought them up. I -never knew anyone so good and delightful as she is.” - -“I can’t think where I heard the name of Hereford just lately,” said -Ralph musingly. - -“Perhaps it was from Mr. Macneillie, I think Mrs. Hereford has met him -once or twice.” - -“That was it,” said Ralph, “Macneillie was telling me how Mr. Hereford -gave up his property, Monkton Verney, and turned it into a sort of Cave -of Adullam.” - -He did not mention to Evereld that Christine Greville was now staying at -this very place. Sooner or later she was sure to hear the whole story, -but he shrank from telling her what had passed at Mearn Castle, and in -no other way could he explain the step Lady Fenchurch had taken. “What -is Mr. Hereford like?” he inquired. - -“I like him very much,” said Evereld; “he is down here until to-morrow, -so you will see him for yourself. Bride says that till he was married -he never seemed to settle down to anything, that he was the sort of -man everyone expected to do great things, and he never did them. But -afterwards it was quite different; he began to work very hard, and now -she says out in county Wicklow the peasants love him, and he makes such -a good landlord. Bride says he’s almost as Irish as they are.” - -“And you are here with them for a fortnight? Where after that?” - -“With the Mactavishs in Switzerland. We shall be a party of six -altogether. I am to go to keep Lady Mactavish company, for Minnie will -be a good deal taken up you see with Major Gillot; they are engaged, -the wedding is to be this autumn. Then there will be Sir Matthew and Mr. -Bruce Wylie.” - -“The inevitable Wylie!” said Ralph impatiently. “I hate that man.” - -“And I like him very much,” said Evereld perversely. “You always had a -most unfair prejudice against him. He will certainly be the life of the -party. I was delighted to hear that he was going.” - -Ralph’s face grew grave, there was an expression in it which startled -Evereld as he turned towards her. - -“Tell me in earnest,” he said anxiously. “Do you really like this man?” - -Her truthful eyes met his fully. - -“Only as I like an elderly man who used to give us chocolates and treats -when we were children,” she said quietly. - -Ralph in his relief laughed aloud. - -“He wouldn’t be flattered if he knew that you called him elderly. He -thinks himself just in his prime. How long shall you be abroad?” - -“Six weeks I think,” said Evereld. - -There was a silence. They had walked to the extreme end of the Parade -and had wandered down to the sea itself. “Let us sit here by this boat,” - she suggested. “It is so hot walking.” - -Ralph silently assented; she glanced at him in some perplexity. Why had -he so suddenly become quiet and troubled. - -“Something has vexed you,” she said gently, yet with a smile. “A penny -for your thoughts.” - -“I am thinking,” said Ralph, “how hard it is that every holiday-maker, -every idle lounger in Switzerland will have the chance of being with -you while I am altogether cut off from your set, and can only think how -other men will be making love to you.” - -“They won’t,” she said in low tones. “A girl can always stop that if she -chooses. I have heard Mrs. Hereford say so.” - -“If you were going to be with her it would be more bearable. But you -will be with Sir Matthew, whose one idea is how to make other people and -other people’s money serve his purposes. Don’t stop me Evereld--I can’t -help it--I distrust him and with very good cause. He and his hateful -speculations were the death of my father. I have proof of that, actual -proof.” - -“Then I am surprised at nothing,” said Evereld, understanding now all -the ill-concealed dislike and antagonism between Sir Matthew and Ralph -which had often puzzled her in past times. - -“He ruined my childhood,” said Ralph hotly, “and must I now stand calmly -by while he ruins the rest of my life? Evereld!”--there was a passionate -appeal in his voice which stirred the very depths of her heart, “I have -no right yet to ask you to be my wife--my career is only beginning--but -my darling, I love you--I love you!” - -He saw her flush and tremble, but she was quite silent. Her words about -a girl always being able to stop that sort of thing if she chose came -back to his mind. - -“Are you angry with me?” he said pleadingly. “I meant to have waited for -years before speaking, but I was carried away.” - -She lifted her blue eyes to his, they were bright and dewy, and in her -face there seemed to be the glow of sunrise. - -“I am glad you didn’t wait, Ralph,” she said softly. - -Whereupon Ralph had the audacity to kiss her in the full light of day -as they sat under the shelter of the boat; and no one was any the wiser -save an old fisherman who was blest with exceptionally long eyesight; -he, with a smile, fell to thinking of his own young days, and softly -sang as he filled his Sunday pipe the refrain of a sailor’s song: - - “Polly, my Polly, - - She is so jolly, - - The bonniest lass in the world!” - -The two were silently but rapturously happy, and it was some little time -before any thought of other people came to trouble Ralph. As for Evereld -her heart seemed to beat to the rhythm of his words, “I love you!” and -she was not at all disposed to consider the question which soon formed -itself in his mind. - -“I wonder whether I was wrong to speak,” he said. “You must remember -darling that you are free, altogether free. After all, you have seen -nothing of the world. You are not to let the thought of my love bind -you.” - -“Perhaps I ought not to make a promise while I am Sir Matthew’s ward,” - said Evereld. “That is the only thing which would make me wish to wait; -and now that we understand each other the waiting ought not to be too -hard.” - -“Suppose you tell Mrs. Hereford just the whole truth,” said Ralph, “and -see what she advises. I shall feel happier about it if you have someone -to turn to, and if she is what she seems to be one could trust her with -anything. I wish I could talk to her some day.” - -“Well that can easily be managed,” said Evereld. “I will tell her -to-night. I am sure you are right about that. Though Sir Matthew is -untrustworthy we can trust her, and as I am under her care here it seems -right somehow that she should know.” - -“She will certainly think me the most presumptuous fellow she ever met,” - said Ralph. “Looking at it from an outsider’s point of view it is as bad -as it can be. A fellow who is not quite one and twenty, and only earning -three pounds a week! Mrs. Hereford will call me ‘The first of the -Fortune Hunters,’ and will warn you against me.” - -“We shall see,” said Evereld laughing. “I shall be very much -disappointed in her if she doesn’t understand you better.” - -“Are you sure that you understand me?” he said wistfully. - -“Yes,” she said, her sweet eyes smiling into his. “I have summered and -wintered you a great many times, as Bridget would say, and I very well -know Ralph that you would much prefer it if my father had left me three -hundred instead of three thousand a year. I think it is a little foolish -of you, for as long as we share it what does it matter which side it -comes from?” - -A church clock striking four warned them that they must hasten back, and -when they rejoined the others they were chatting together so naturally -that no one dreamt what an important scene in their drama had been -played at the other end of the beach. - -Ralph found himself speedily made to feel at home in the delightful -atmosphere of the Irish household, with its mirth and good humour, its -cheerful babel of voices. It delighted him to think that Evereld who had -known nothing of real family life should have found such friends, and he -went back to his rooms later on in the highest spirits. - -The Herefords had guessed nothing of his story and the O’Ryans had been -too much taken up with their own merry discussions to be very observant, -but Macneillie saw at a glance the change that had come over his pupil. - -“Well?” he said in his genial voice. “What good fortune has befallen -you?” - -“I have found Evereld,” said Ralph blithely. “She is staying on the -Parade with the Max Herefords. Here’s a note for you, by the bye. They -want us to breakfast with them to-morrow at half past nine, it was the -only free time, for they lunch at one, as he has to go up to town, and I -knew rehearsal wouldn’t be over by then.” - -“No,” said Macneillie lighting a cigarette, “in your present mood you’re -about as likely to give your mind to Shakspere as that lover and his -lass,” glancing at a very demonstrative couple on the other side of the -road. - -“We shall have a long and wearing rehearsal to-morrow.” - -“I don’t understand you, Governor,” said Ralph, using the old stage -word for the Manager as he generally did now to Macneillie, and somehow -conveying by it just the reverence and affection which he felt for the -Scotsman. - -“I have an unfair advantage over you,” said Macneillie smiling. “I have -heard a great deal about Miss Evereld Ewart and know that she is likely -to distract you from your labours.” - -“You have heard of her? From whom?” - -“From you yourself, to be sure, in the feverish nights you had at -Callander. I have long been wishing for the opportunity of quoting Mrs. -Siddons to you, ‘Study, study, study, and don’t marry until you are -thirty.’ - -“Well we can’t even be engaged yet,” said Ralph; “but we understand each -other and that is something. Tomorrow you must see her.” - -“I will devote myself to her entirely,” said Macneillie with a mirthful -twinkle in his grey eyes. “And you in the meantime can be profitably -improving your Irish accent with Mrs. Hereford with a view to Sir Lucius -O’Trigger. Your brogue doesn’t quite satisfy me yet.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - - - “So, from her sky-like spirit, gentleness - - Dropt ever like a sunlit fall of rain, - - And his beneath drank in the bright caress - - As thirstily as would a parched plain, - - That long hath watched the showers of sloping grey - - For ever, ever, falling far away.”--Lowell. - -|After Ralph had left, a more sombre hue stole over Evereld’s glowing -sky. She began to think a little of the future, of the countless -partings in store for them, and the more she thought the more silent and -grave she became. - -“You look tired, my dear,” said Mrs. Hereford as they walked back from -church. “Come in with me and rest. The others have set their hearts on a -stroll by the sea, but you had a long walk this afternoon.” - -“Yes,” said Evereld, sitting down beside her hostess near the open -window and looking out into the calm summer evening. “I wanted to tell -you about our walk. And if ever you have time Ralph would so much like -to talk to you too.” - -The words were said with an effort and Mrs. Hereford glanced at the -sweet girlish face with its downcast eyes and understood in a moment -what was coming. - -“You two are very old friends,” she said. “Bride told me that you had -been brought up together and that a very nice German lady had done a -great deal for you.” - -“Yes,” said Evereld, falling naturally into all the old memories. “I -don’t know what we should have done without her. You see the Mactavishs -never really cared for us. But she cared, and dear old Bridget and -Geraghty the butler; and Ralph was just like my brother until the day -Sir Matthew turned him out of the house. He failed you know in the exam, -for the Indian Civil, and they had a quarrel and Ralph had to go. It -was only in that dreadful time after he had gone that I understood how I -cared for him.” - -“And had you not met him at all since then?” asked Mrs. Hereford. - -“Yes, we met once by accident in the Christmas holidays and then I -thought, I fancied, that he cared a little. But he said nothing till -to-day, and now we understand each other, only Ralph will not let me -bind myself in any way; he had not meant to speak yet at all, he said, -but oh, I am so glad he didn’t wait.” - -Mrs. Hereford took the girl’s hand in hers and stroked it silently. -Her thoughts had flown back to a day in her own life when just such an -understanding had been arrived at, she had been about the same age as -Evereld, and looking back now she felt sad as she realised how -much inevitable pain and suspense lay before this girl, what dire -possibilities of misunderstanding, what weary hours of separation. - -“That is just what I should have said,” she answered after that brief -pause. “But now, understanding all it involves, I confess I don’t want -Mollie and Bride to be in a hurry to follow your example. I want them to -have five or six years of free happy girlhood before all the deeper joys -and cares begin. Of course we can’t choose, and for you and Mr. Denmead, -who have no real home, no near relations, very likely it is the best and -happiest way. I am glad you told me about it, and you must promise -if ever you need anyone to help you, to come to me. I suppose you can -hardly make a confidant of Lady Mactavish?” - -“No,” said Evereld, half laughing, half crying. “They are all so horrid -about Ralph. When I am one and twenty and we can really be engaged of -course they must all know, but to tell them this could do no good and -might do great harm.” - -“Sir Matthew did not insist then on your altogether breaking with your -friend when he was sent away?” - -“No,” said Evereld, “I don’t think anyone troubled to think about it -until last Christmas. Then when I met him and told Sir Matthew about it, -he did say something of the sort, but I told him I couldn’t leave off -being Ralph’s friend, and he was very kind and did not forbid my writing -to him in the holidays. If Ralph succeeds on the stage I believe Sir -Matthew will be rather proud of him after all. He does so like people -who succeed. I suppose we may still write to each other now and then.” - -“Oh, I think as long as there is nothing underhand about it you may -continue to write,” said Mrs. Hereford. “You will write as friends, not -as lovers; you must deny yourselves that luxury until you come of age. -I am not preaching what I haven’t practised, dear, for we had four years -of that sort of thing before I was actually engaged. There are great -drawbacks but I think some advantages.” - -“Surely many advantages,” said Evereld. “And I am much more alone in the -world than you were. You had brothers and sisters.” - -“Yes, and a profession which was very absorbing,” said Mrs. Hereford, -suppressing a sigh. “Oh, I do think it is a very great gain for you, -only I want you to realise that it is the sort of life that needs no end -of patience and courage and strength. There will be days when all will -not be so bright as you fancy. But I won’t croak any more. You are -likely to be much better at waiting than I was, for impulsiveness is the -bane of all Irish folk.” - -“And you will talk to Ralph?” pleaded Evereld, knowing how much he would -value the sympathy and counsel of such a woman, and secretly longing -that Mrs. Hereford should know him and appreciate him better. - -“Yes, to be sure,” said her hostess, with the smile that had won so many -hearts. “We will collogue together after breakfast.” - -She was true to her promise and while Macneillie was amusing everyone -with stories of various _contretemps_ of stage life, she contrived to -carry off Ralph to see the invalided patriot; after which they had -a cosy little talk in the drawing-room with no one but Baby Donal, a -sturdy little man of three, to keep them company. - -“Evereld has told me about yesterday afternoon,” said Mrs. Hereford, who -was quite well aware that she must plunge boldly into the very heart of -the matter and not wait for him to beat about the bush. - -“I should never have spoken so soon if it had not been for the thought -of her Swiss tour with that knave and his solicitor,” said Ralph hotly. -“Forgive me for the expression, but it is not too strong for him.” - -Mrs. Hereford laughed a little. - -“You needn’t measure your words so carefully; a Kelt is accustomed to -much more fiery language than that. And you really think Sir Matthew -Mactavish a knave? I confess he is a man I intuitively dislike, but I -thought he was a great philanthropist and very much respected.” - -“So he is,” said Ralph, his face hardening, “but some day the world -will find him out. Some day when he has ruined and murdered others as he -ruined and murdered my father. What a mistake it is only to hang people -who are taken red-handed! They should rather hang the speculators whose -victims may be reckoned by hundreds. There are far more cruel ways of -murdering people than by poison, or knives, or guns.” - -She had watched him closely as he spoke and saw that his wrath and -indignation were genuine and deep. A great pity filled her heart, and -she understood how intolerable it must seem to Ralph that the girl -he loved should still be in the power of this despicable sham -philanthropist. - -“I think you were quite right to speak to Evereld,” she said warmly. -“And now that you have spoken, the worst of your anxiety ought to be -over. The knowledge that you belong to each other will be strength to -both of you.” - -All the bitterness died out of his face at her words, leaving it once -more frank and boyish, and ingenuous as it was meant to be. The rasping -sense of injustice had done some damage to his character, but the -goodness of Macneillie and the gift of Evereld’s love had already done -much to obliterate the traces of the evil influence. His heart went out -now to the brave noble-minded woman who so readily gave him her thought -and sympathy. - -“Evereld told me you would understand,” he said gratefully, “I don’t -think I could have kept silent, but of course evil-minded people are -sure to say that it is only her fortune I want.” - -“Evil be to him that evil thinks,” said Mrs. Hereford. “No one who -had talked with you for half an hour even could believe you a fortune -hunter. And when you have lived as many years as I have done in public -life, you will learn to trouble yourself very little indeed as to what -people say. We shall never be true to ourselves, or of much use to any -good cause, till the fear of public opinion has died in us.” - -“Does living in public life teach one that? I should have thought it -would have taught one to howl with the wolves, to be always on the -look-out for ways of pleasing the public and stroking people the right -way, to dread nothing so much as alienating or offending your audience.” - -“Many people would agree with that view, but I believe it is false for -all that. Why meddle with what does not concern you? Your work is to -live your own life, to be just and independent, to be true to your own -conscience, and to be a hard-working actor. You have nothing to do with -the result on other people, you can never tell what it may be; and even -if you pare down your actions till you fancy they will please everyone -you will end by forfeiting the esteem of all. It’s like the old fable of -the man who first rode his ass to market and finally carried it.” - -“Certainly Macneillie’s life is ruled in the way you approve,” said -Ralph thoughtfully. “There never was a manager who so sturdily refused -to bow down to the public. He will not humour the depraved taste for -morbid and dubious plays which has taken possession of the country -of late, but insists on giving only what is really good. The result, -however, is that while a manager who runs one of these risky modern -plays makes a fortune, Macneillie merely earns a competence.” - -“That may be,” said Mrs. Hereford, “but the result also is that the one -Manager is a curse to his country and the other a Godsend. Your habit of -mind isn’t so commercial that you measure success by the solid gold it -brings in.” - -“I hope not,” said Ralph laughing. “But to one who knows how hard and -wearing and anxious the life of such a man is bound to be, want of great -visible success seems rather rough. However, to return to the point we -started from, it is a great comfort to know that you don’t think I was -wrong to speak to Evereld yesterday. And a greater comfort still to know -that she has you for a friend; one never feels safe somehow with a man -like Sir Matthew Mactavish, but if she may turn to you in any difficulty -I shall not worry half so much.” - -“I will promise you to be to her just what I would try to be to one -of my own sisters,” said Mrs. Hereford. “And you, too, must promise to -treat us all as friends. Come in whenever you like, this week; you must -make the most of your chance of seeing Evereld.” - -Macneillie in the meantime had been learning to know Ralph’s future -wife. He had been a little surprised at first to find that she was a -decidedly reserved girl, not strikingly pretty, rather short, and wholly -unlike the being he would have expected Ralph to fall in love with. This -was, however, merely his first impression, he had not been two minutes -in the room with her before he observed how well her head was set on -her shoulders; how in spite of her want of height there was that -indescribable touch of dignity in her carriage which he had vainly tried -to impart to many a novice on the stage. Then she spoke to him during a -pause in the general talk, most of her talking he discovered was done -to fill up gaps, and when she spoke a sort of transformation scene took -place. Her face suddenly became lovely, the china-blue eyes seemed to -radiate light and sweetness, the colour deepened in the softly-rounded -cheeks and the most charming dimple made itself seen. - -“We are all so much looking forward to ‘The Winter’s Tale’ to night,” - she said. - -“You have not seen Ralph act before?” asked Macneillie, knowing quite -well what the answer would be but wishing for another variety of the -transformation scene. - -The blue eyes seemed to deepen in colour and an exquisite tenderness -softened the whole face. - -“Never on the stage,” she said. “Of course I have seen him just as an -amateur. Do you think he is getting on well?” - -Now this last question was one to enthrall the heart of any Manager. -Actually this girl did not leap to the conclusion that her lover was by -nature a full-fledged actor, but asked if he was getting on. - -“She is the most sensible little woman I ever came across,” thought -Macneillie to himself. “In such a case even Mrs. Siddons might have -qualified her advice as to marriage.” - -By and bye Evereld found herself keeping guard over Baby Donal in the -drawing-room and talking to Ralph, while Macneillie and Max Hereford -adjourned to the smoking-room. The two lovers were serenely happy and -saw the future opening before them in all the gorgeous hues of dawn. -But Macneillie received a stab from his unconscious companion which -was destined to rankle in his heart. They had been speaking of Monkton -Verney and not unnaturally Max Hereford, knowing that Christine Greville -was a friend but knowing nothing of the true state of affairs, referred -to her case. - -“I only hope she will be able to get her divorce,” he said casually, -“but of course there is a doubt.” - -“A doubt?” said Macneillie frowning. “Why Sir Roderick never attempted -to deny his guilt.” - -“Oh, yes, there is no doubt as to his guilt, and had she been married in -Scotland all would have been well, for Scotland has one and the same law -for men and women. Unluckily she was married in England.” - -“I don’t understand you. I know little of the law,” said Macneillie, -“but certainly in my country there would be no difficulty when it was a -clear case of the breach of the seventh commandment.” - -“There would be no difficulty in England for a man,” said Max Hereford, -“but a woman cannot get a divorce here unless she can prove cruelty -as well as adultery on the part of her husband. It is only one of the -instances of our scandalous habit of setting up different standards of -morality for men and women.” - -“How much longer are the English going to put up with such a grave -injustice?” said Macneillie. - -“Not long, I fancy, when once they realise it. But at present half of -them are ignorant of the true state of things, while the evil-minded -are of course unwilling to rob themselves of what they regard as a -prerogative. The law as it stands is not only unjust to women but to all -moral men. How easily one can picture a case where, because divorce was -not granted, it was impossible for the innocent woman to marry a man who -loved her.” - -Macneillie assented quietly. No one could have guessed how terribly this -suggestion moved him, how clearly he saw in his own mind the picture -of an innocent woman and an upright law-abiding man with their lives -wrecked by this double-standard of morality. - -“I think,” he said presently, “that at any rate in Miss Greville’s case -there will be little difficulty in proving Sir Roderick’s cruelty.” - -“I hope it may be so,” said Max Hereford, “but I understand from -her solicitor that different views prevail as to what does exactly -constitute legal cruelty. The case is not likely to come on yet for many -months and the suspense must be terribly trying for her, far worse of -course than for anyone in private life.” - -“Her decision to stay at Monkton Verney till the case is over seems to -me wise,” said Macneillie. “Your Cave of Adullam is a great Godsend. I -wonder what made you think of such a plan.” - -“Oh, the ‘cave’ was my wife’s doing,” said Max Hereford. “Miss Claremont -is delighted to have her old friend Miss Greville there, and since Barry -Sterne has undertaken the entire management of her theatre there is no -need for her to be troubled in any way about outside things. Why Flo, -Kittie,” he exclaimed breaking off as two pretty little girls darted -into the room, their sunburnt faces aglow with eagerness. - -“Daddy, there’s a man with the beautifullest voice you ever heard and we -want sixpence for him,” they cried in a breath, “do come and hear him.” - -And by sheer force of determination the two small elves dragged their -father from the depths of his easy chair. - -“The tyranny of daughters is a thing you have yet to learn, Mr. -Macneillie,” he said with a smile, as with one elf on his shoulder and -the other impetuously pulling at his hand he sauntered out to the front -door. - -Macneillie flung the end of his cigarette into the grate and began to -pace the room restlessly. The words so unconsciously spoken seemed -to put the finishing touch to his pain, the fatherly pride of his -companion’s face haunted him and filled him with envy, and over and -over in his mind he revolved the torturing doubt which had first been -suggested to him that morning. Would the law free Christine? - -Meanwhile through the open door there was wafted to him only too -distinctly the familiar song of the street tenor: - - “Love once again: Meet me once again: - - Old love is waking, shall it wake in vain?” - -Such a life as Macneillie’s may have two very different effects on the -man called upon to endure it. Either it will harden and embitter him, -and he will gradually become a mere cynical observer of others; or it -will deepen and widen his whole character, and he will become more and -more tender towards the lives of other people. Lynx-eyed to detect and -prompt to check as far as possible all that he deemed undesirable or in -the least risky among the members of his company, he was nevertheless -always kind-hearted with regard to any genuine attachment. He knew -Ralph now very intimately and was quite well aware that his feeling -for Evereld was no mere passing fancy. In his own grievous anxiety and -suspense there was comfort in throwing himself into the affairs of his -protégé, and a growing desire to see this love story happily worked -out took possession of him. He had, moreover, taken a great fancy to -Evereld, and began now to consider things from her point of view, trying -to picture to himself just how she would probably feel with regard to -Ralph’s profession. She had never seen him on the stage, had never -in fact seen him act at all since the time she had been of an age to -understand what love meant. He wondered how the play that night would -strike her. Would Florizel’s lovemaking possibly jar a little upon her -as she sat there watching it from her place in the stalls? Or would that -gracious womanly wisdom which he had noticed in her save her from all -petty jealousies, all thoughts unworthy of a great art? He thought it -would. Still a girl of nineteen in love with a man like Ralph Denmead -might perchance be excused if she were not entirely able to forget -herself and her own story in the contemplation of Shakspere’s play. - -“I know what I will do,” he thought to himself. “No one who understands -the training, the learning, the drilling, the matter of fact element of -sheer hard work that makes up the life of an actor is likely to think -stage lovemaking a dangerous pastime. I will persuade Mrs. Hereford to -bring her this morning to rehearsal.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -_“If art be devoted to the increase of men’s happiness, to the -redemption of the oppressed, or enlargement of our sympathies with each -other, or to such presentment of new and old truth about ourselves and -our relation to the world as may ennoble and fortify us in our sojourn -here, or immediately, as with Dante, to the glory of God, it will be -also great art.”--“Appreciations.”_ Walter Pater. - -|Mrs. Hereford who had readily divined Macneillie’s kindly intention -in suggesting that they should see at any rate part of the rehearsal, -wondered to herself whether his plan had been wise when about noon -she found herself with Evereld and Bride in the dim dreariness of the -theatre, which was quite empty save for a couple of charwomen who were -scrubbing the floor of the pit. A civil attendant took them to the -second row of the stalls where they had of course an excellent view -of that inexpressibly dingy and forlorn looking place--a stage without -scenery. - -Macneillie wearing a Glengarry cap was sitting on a chair with his back -to them directing the dialogue and criticising in his quiet voice the -shortcomings of Paulina and Emilia in the prison scene. At the back of -the stage, some pacing to and fro, some sitting on the floor, were the -rest of the company chatting comfortably together in low tones. - -“Do you think they are all Quakers?” observed Bride naughtily, “how -queer it does look to see men indoors with their hats on, every variety -too, bowlers, deerstalkers, sailors, and caps.” - -“Perhaps it’s draughty on the stage,” said Evereld. “I believe that tall -dark girl must be Miss Myra Kay. She was only married last month. See -Ralph is talking to her, that pretty girl in the blue and white blouse. -She is Hermione I think.” - -“Don’t distract me,” said Bride. “Paulina is handling the stage baby -very well, but it’s too small a doll, why Flo who was the tiniest of -babies was more respectable than that. Ah, Antigonous lifts it from the -floor. My good man you’ll break the child’s neck if you don’t support -its head better. Talk about kites and ravens being instructed to nurse -it, why he wants instruction himself. It’s as bad as seeing a young -curate at a christening.” - -Evereld was obliged to laugh a little, and her eyes were still bright -and mirthful when suddenly she perceived Ralph emerging through a side -door and approaching them. - -“I thought you might like a book to follow with,” he said. “Are you -getting thoroughly disillusioned? And shall you never be able to enjoy -seeing a play again, now that you know how it’s done?” - -“Indeed I shall enjoy it much more,” she said. “Oh there is still a good -deal I see, before you come in. Who is your Perdita?” - -“The fair-haired girl in blue serge, Miss Eva Carton. She is the -daughter of that Major Carton who was killed in the Soudan.” - -“I remember you had him in your gallery of heroes. Is she a nice girl?” - -“Very, I think, but I have not seen much of her yet. They were left -badly off and she has taken to the stage to help her mother. She has -only just joined this company, so we are in the same box.” - -After this Evereld watched with keen interest the progress of the play. -It seemed to her that Macneillie was almost an ideal instructor. His -patience was marvellous and his criticism though sometimes keen was -always kindly. When the sheep-shearing scene began and Florizel and -Perdita with no helpful accessories had to go through their love-making, -while the working of a sewing-machine and the hammering of carpenters -and the scrubbing of the charwomen could be plainly heard, Evereld -realised more than she had ever done before the prosaic nature of some -aspects of an actor’s life. Macneillie was as fidgetty as any dancing -master about the precise way in which his arm should encircle her waist. -Degville himself could not have laid more stress on the importance of -every attitude, and when it came to the part where Florizel claimed -Perdita as his bride in the presence of the disguised Polixenes he was -promptly pulled up in the utterance of the words: “I take thy hand, this -hand, as soft as dove’s down and as white as it.” - -“Don’t take her hand as if you were taking a jam tart at a -confectioner’s,” exclaimed Macneillie. - -And over and over again that particular bit had to be rehearsed until it -was precisely to the Manager’s mind. Finally a diversion was made by the -arrival, long after the time when they should have put in an appearance, -of a few members of the orchestra. In a leisurely way, as though they -were conferring a great favour on the actors, they began to tune up, the -pretty dance of shepherds and shepherdesses was rehearsed, and Bride and -Evereld found themselves longing to join in it. - -“I really wonder,” said Bride as they walked home, “that you dare to -take me to such a beguiling place, Doreen. Don’t you expect me to be -stage-struck?” - -“There might be some danger if you only saw the performances,” said Mrs. -Hereford laughing, “but I doubt if you would stand many rehearsals. You -would certainly be fined every day for unpunctuality.” - -“It must be a weary grind,” said Bride yawning. “One would have to love -one’s art very absorbingly to be able to endure such endless repetition. -I suppose that is the difference between an artist and an ordinary -mortal. An artist never grudges trouble, the dullest little touches here -and there all have an interest for him.” - -“Certainly, if he is worth his salt,” said Mrs. Hereford. -“That’s what Flo will have to learn if she is to develop as I hope into -a singer.” - -“Well,” said Bride good-humouredly, “I have only just enough energy for -ordinary life, so I will stick to being an ordinary mortal. And you keep -me company, Evereld. We will make the appreciative audiences for the -others. What is the fun of acting or singing if there is no one to -applaud.” - -In fact she applauded much more heartily than Evereld that evening. -Evereld’s appreciation was pretty plainly visible in her glowing face -and bright eyes, but she left the hand-clapping to her companion, and -sat in a sort of happy dream watching the play contentedly with the -blissful consciousness that every minute the time drew nearer when Ralph -would make his appearance. - -After the heavier portions of “The Winter’s Tale,” the pastoral scenes -always come as a relief, and Ralph could hardly have had a more taking -part. Evereld who at rehearsal had never been able to watch him except -as her friend and lover was now entirely absorbed by the play. He was -Florizel to her and Florizel only, he looked the part to perfection, and -there was a sincerity about his acting which carried all before it, and -gave great promise for his future. Macneillie standing at the wings felt -more than content with his pupil. - -“If the boy can do as well as this at one and twenty, he ought to have -a great career before him,” he thought to himself. “And perhaps like -Phelps he will be one of those who will owe everything to an early and a -happy marriage. That little girl is one of a thousand. It is to be hoped -that Sir Matthew Mactavish will not step in to spoil the game.” - -The rest of the week passed by only too swiftly. Almost every evening -they went to the theatre, and in the afternoon Ralph would often join -them at tennis. One day there was a cricket match between the members -of the company and a local eleven, on another day a picnic to a ruined -castle in the neighbourhood, and at length the doleful day arrived when -the parting must come. - -After all it proved to be the elders who were grave and anxious at the -thought of the unknown future which Ralph and Evereld went forth to meet -so confidently. Healthy youth is seldom troubled with forebodings, and -the lovers though saddened for the time by the coming separation could -not but reflect how much more propitious things were than at their last -leave-taking. - -“How I envied little Ivy Grant as she walked along Queen Anne’s Gate -with you that Christmas day,” said Evereld with a smile. “Where shall -you be this Christmas, Ralph?” - -“We shall be in Yorkshire,” he replied, “still giving the set of plays -you have seen here. What a good thing it is for me that you can take -such an interest in the work. It must be hard on an actor to do without -the sympathy of those nearest to him. Sometimes one does wish that old -Mrs. Macneillie had not such a feeling against the stage. His life is -hard and lonely enough without having that added to it. Still I think -they understand each other, and it is good to see her pride in him.” - -“Does she never see him act?” asked Evereld. - -“Never. She won’t set foot in a theatre; she is not even one of those -people who only object to the name of the thing, and will see a play at -the Crystal Palace or in a Hall. She’s too sensible to take that view.” - -“Why what is the special merit of a ‘Hall?’” asked Evereld laughing. - -“Goodness only knows. I often wish those worthy but illogical folk -could feel the discomforts and the woeful plight the company often find -themselves in behind the scenes, with perhaps a couple of dressing-rooms -for the whole lot of them, and no possible place in which to put their -clothes. They would soon realise the advantages of proper theatres.” - -“Have you seen your good notice in the Southbourne Weekly News?” said -Evereld, glancing at the paper with loving pride. - -“Yes. It’s rather decent, isn’t it? I always cut out and keep press -notices for Mr. Macneillie. Sharing his lodgings there are a good many -small things of that sort one can do for him.” - -“Who does the catering?” - -“Oh, he does all that. He is a first-rate hand at marketing, having had -so much practice.” - -“I shall have to come to him for lessons, some day,” said Evereld, -blushing vividly as she realised what the words involved. - -Whereupon Ralph forgot all about fortunes and guardians and time and -patience, and taking her in his arms kissed her passionately. - -That was their real parting, or rather the silent pledge that nothing -could really part them. Ralph lingered for some little time afterwards -in the next room talking with the others, and as usual there was -the cheerful Irish babel of many voices, for no one thought in that -household of talking one at a time. Then having received a kindly -invitation from Mrs. Hereford to come and see them either in London or -at Hollybrack, he took his departure, and with the memory of Evereld’s -love to cheer him on his way, rejoined Macneillie’s company at the -station. - -“That is a case I suppose,” said Max Hereford finding himself just then -alone with his wife. - -“I thought you would guess it,” she said smiling. - -“You were always a matchmaker at heart, Doreen,” he said teasingly. -“But how about this guardian in the background? He will be playing the -Assyrian and coming down on you like the wolf on the fold.” - -“I can’t help it if he does,” said Mrs. Hereford, laughter lurking -in her eyes. “Really and truly I have not been match-making. It’s -ridiculous for Sir Matthew Mactavish to allow his ward to be brought up -for six years with such a boy as that, and then to take me to task for -allowing the two old friends to meet in a rational way, and after all -if he is annoyed I believe I should rather like it, for you know Max I -always did detest that man.” - -“Yes, dear, we all know that you are the best hater in the world, and I -know that you are the best lover,” he said stooping to kiss her. - -“I don’t see how I could have done otherwise,” she said musingly. -“Evidently Mr. Macneillie sees exactly how things are. And what can you -do for a couple of homeless waifs like that but give them your help and -sympathy? A girl with no mother is in such a wretched plight as soon as -her love troubles begin. Don’t I know exactly how my own mistakes and -miseries came from that very cause? Tell me what you really think of -Ralph Denmead?” - -“I like him,” said Max Hereford. “He seems an honest, straight-forward, -clean-minded fellow, he has plenty of humour, too, in which perhaps -Evereld is a trifle lacking, and just because he has a touch of the -Welsh fire in him and is at times unreasonable and unpractical, as all -Kelts are----” - -“Now, now,” exclaimed Mrs. Hereford with her irresistible laugh. “No -dark hints about Kelts, we all know what that leads to.” - -“I was going to remark, if you won’t quite throttle me,” he continued -suavely, “that marriages between Kelts and Saxons, though barbarously -prohibited by the oppressive laws of the English conquerors when they -annexed Ireland, always turn out eminently successful. That in fact the -union of hearts is the thing to be aimed at.” - -“They are not actually betrothed yet, and won’t be until she is of age, -and until he has made his way a little. Then of course there will be a -battle royal with the Mactavish, but he will have no authority over -her, and you and I, Max, will stand by her. She shall be married from -Hollybrack quietly, and they will be able to live very comfortably for, -according to Bride, she will be rich.” - -“I only hope her guardian is really trustworthy,” said Max Hereford. -“I don’t altogether like what I heard of him the other day from -old Marriott. But, of course, Marriott is one of those steady going -old-fashioned solicitors who are excessively cautious, and it would -be almost impossible for him to approve of a Company Promoter like Sir -Matthew. He may be all right enough.” - -“We shall see,” said Mrs. Hereford with an expressive little gesture of -the hands, “For my part I wouldn’t trust him for a moment, but you -will say that is my Irish imagination, and of course I have no great -knowledge of the man.” - -Bride O’Ryan, who had been more or less taken up with her own people -during the past week, had guessed nothing at all as to what was going -on. The two friends had both hitherto been somewhat young for their age, -and they had never been the sort of girls given to premature talk as -to lovers and love-making. Their heroes were either the patriots of the -past or the great leaders of the present, and their school life had been -too full of work and well-organised amusement to leave much time -for desultory dreaming. Bride had of course heard of the life at the -Mactavishs, but it had never entered her head that Ralph Denmead could -ever be anything but Evereld’s adopted brother. - -It was not until he had actually gone that the truth began to dawn upon -her. She saw that Evereld was making an effort at cheerfulness, that her -face when in repose had a quite new expression of wistfulness, and that -all at once she had grown dreamy and absent. - -That night, when the mystic hour of “hair brushing” came round, she -could hold her tongue no longer. - -“I wish,” she said impetuously, “you wouldn’t shut me out of it all. I -know quite well you are unhappy, though you will play the ostrich and -bury your head in the sand in that English way, supposing that no one -will notice you.” - -Evereld laughed at the old mixture of the similes. - -“I never heard of an English ostrich,” she said merrily. “If there ever -was one it must long ago have become extinct like the Dodo.” - -“Ah, you laugh now,” said Bride, “but you have looked wretched all the -afternoon, and I saw you crying in church.” - -Evereld blushed guiltily. - -“It was very stupid of me, but I couldn’t help remembering how different -all had been last Sunday evening.” - -“When Mr. Denmead was here,” said Bride boldly. - -Evereld nodded. - -Bride looked straight into her soft blue eyes. - -“Well I’m sure I don’t wonder he lost his heart to you, but all the same -I wish he hadn’t.” - -“We are not engaged, you know,” said Evereld. - -“Oh, it’s just as bad as if you were,” said Bride despondently. - -“As bad? What an odd way you have of congratulating me.” - -“I don’t congratulate you. I’m very sorry,” said Bride vigorously -brushing her dark hair. “Why should he come disturbing us just when our -life is beginning and we were going to have such a good time. You’ll -never be at all the same to me again. It will be as the poem says: - - ‘One and one, with a shadowy third.’” - -“Nonsense,” said Evereld. “It has made me care for you fifty times more -than I did, Bride, and I need you now more than ever. Besides, can’t -you see how different things are for me. You have your home with your -sisters, and the children; and you have brothers often staying with you, -and you are all sure of each other and everything is so happy that I’m -sure I don’t know how you could leave it all just yet. But I have no -real home, and the only one of the Mactavishs I do really like is to be -married in November. Can’t you understand how beautiful it is to really -belong to someone at last?” - -“Yes,” said Bride. “It was selfish of me to think first of my own part -of it. And after all perhaps you are right, you may need me still. -Specially when the Mactavishs are horrid. They won’t like your -engagement a bit.” - -“No,” replied Evereld quietly. “That is very certain. There are storms -ahead. But I shall know where to turn to. You will always be my friend, -and Mrs. Hereford says I am to come to her in any trouble.” - -“Of course, Doreen mothers everybody, she always did, Michael says, even -when she was quite a little girl herself.” - -“And no one will ever be such a friend to me as you, Bride. You and -Aimée Magnay and I will always keep up with each other, whatever -happens.” - -“Talking of Aimée reminds me that I heard from her this morning,” said -Bride. “She says that in September they are all going to Auvergne; her -father has some commission for a picture. They will stay at Mabillon all -the autumn and perhaps even for Christmas. Cousin Espérance thinks I had -better come too for the sake of perfecting my French, but I’m not sure -that I could leave Dermot.” - -“Take him with you,” suggested Evereld. “The sunshine and the warmth -down there would exactly suit him.” - -“Why, I never thought of that. It would be a splendid idea, and the -Magnays are so kind-hearted. I know they have lots of room, too, in that -rambling old chateau. Don’t you remember the little picture of it that -Aimée had in our bedroom at school? Come, after all things are not so -dark. You will always be my friend in spite of Mr. Denmead, and perhaps -later on when you are engaged there will be a regular row and you will -have to come to us.” - -“You look as if you quite longed for the row,” said Evereld smiling -wistfully. “I wish I had a little of the love of fighting which you -Irish people seem to have such stores of. How would you face an angry -guardian under the circumstances, I wonder.” - -“I should listen patiently to all his objections. Then I should say, -‘Now hear my side of the case,’ and if he wasn’t convinced by my burning -eloquence why I should inevitably lose my temper and we should part on -the worst of terms. Oh, I should love to have a quarrel with Sir Matthew -Mactavish. It’s a pity we can’t change places just for that time.” - -“Well, don’t let us talk about it till it comes,” said Evereld with a -little shiver. “When I am quite my own mistress perhaps the mere fact -of being independent will make me dislike the thought of the discussion -less. After all, nothing will really matter when we are engaged; one -will be too busy thinking of the life that will so soon begin.” - -They were interrupted by a knock at the door. - -“I want that naughty little sister of mine,” said Mrs. Hereford, looking -in with a smiling face. “Mollie declares there is no getting her invalid -to sleep while you two chatterboxes are overhead.” - -“Evil take the Coercion Act that made him an invalid,” said Bride, -gathering up her belongings and bidding her friend good-night. - -Evereld, glancing at Mrs. Hereford, saw for the first time in her -face an expression which startled her. A look of long endured pain, of -heart-breaking disappointment and the wearily deferred hope which makes -the heart sick, such a look as a martyr might have borne, dying in the -darkest hour which heralded the sunrise of his cause. - -And then even as she gazed the look passed and there was once more in -the face nothing but cheerful, tender motherliness. - -“Good night, dear little woman,” said Mrs. Hereford. “Don’t lie awake -thinking too long. It is a shocking bad habit.” - -“Oh,” cried Evereld, clinging with girlish devotion to her hostess. “I -do so hope my love for Ralph will not make me grow narrow. I want to -care for other people and for outside things just as you do.” - -“You must manage much better than I did, dear,” said Mrs. Hereford, -“perhaps after my own mistakes I may be able to help you.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - - - “He spoke of beauty: that the dull - - Saw no divinity in grass, - - Life in dead stones, or spirit in air; - - Then looking as ’twere in a glass - - He smooth’d his chin and sleek’d his hair - - And said the earth was beautiful.” - - Tennyson. - -|The last week at Southbourne proved a very happy one and Evereld went -back to London feeling as though a veil had been lifted from before her -eyes. It was not only that love had revealed his face to her; but for -the first time since her childish days in India she had known what life -could mean in a thoroughly happy family. - -The Mactavishs had never encouraged her in making friends. For reasons -of his own Sir Matthew had never allowed her to become really intimate -with any one in town, though she had had the usual round of children’s -parties and had occasionally been allowed to give a children’s dance in -the house in Queen Anne’s Gate. At school, however, close friendships -had naturally been made, and the permission to stay with Bride O’Ryan at -Southbourne had been extorted from Sir Matthew rather reluctantly, -and chiefly because it happened to be a little inconvenient to Lady -Mactavish to have the charge of Evereld until they left for Switzerland. - -It so happened that the whole course of the girl’s life was affected by -the mere fact that Lady Mactavish and her elder daughter had accepted an -invitation to stay with friends in the country, and that Minnie had -been busy with her trousseau, and, having a particular friend of her own -staying with her, quite declined to be troubled with the society of a -little girl fresh from school. - -Sir Matthew not caring to vex his daughter when he was so soon to lose -her, answered Mrs. Hereford’s second request graciously, little guessing -that in so doing he was signing the death-warrant of his selfish hopes -and schemes. - -He beamed approvingly on Evereld when she appeared in the drawing-room -on the evening of her return. - -“Come, that is a refreshing sight for a jaded city man,” he said, -stroking her rosy cheek caressingly. “Never mind, Evereld, we are all -going holiday-making now, and will forget all cares and troubles. Have -you seen our route, my dear?” - -“No,” said Evereld, “I’m longing to see it.” - -She could not help reflecting that the months since the Easter holidays -had wrought a very decided change in Sir Matthew, he looked worn and -harassed, and as though he were longing for rest. He seemed, too, -more fussy and dictatorial than ever, and Evereld’s heart sank at the -prospect of travelling with him, for she knew that travelling is -the great test of character. After the merry talk and the bantering -discussions and the hot but always good-tempered arguments to which she -had grown accustomed during the last fortnight, the talk which prevailed -on various vexed questions, seemed highly distasteful. - -“I really think,” pleaded Lady Mactavish, in her grumbling voice, “that -considering how very soon Minnie’s marriage will be following our return -it would be most advisable to take at least one maid with us. There are -so many little things Greenway could be getting forward with if she were -at hand.” - -“Yes, Papa,” urged the bride-elect. “It will be a most awful nuisance if -we have no maid with us.” - -“If you think you will always have a maid, my dear, to dance attendance -on you when you are married, you will find you are mistaken. The wife -of an officer in a marching regiment has to learn to be independent, I -assure you. And as to taking a maid to Switzerland I shall not hear of -such a thing. You would find her a trouble in the hotels, useless on the -steamers, and upset by the long journeys. Why Evereld will be wanting to -take her old nurse next!” - -Evereld laughed, but in her heart she would fain have had Bridget with -her, for she loved her a great deal better than any other member of the -household. - -The question was thoroughly threshed out, and many disagreeable things -were said on both sides; then Sir Matthew laid down the law as to the -size and amount of the luggage. - -“No great trunks, mind you,” he said in the voice that meant obedience -at all costs: “a small portmanteau is all that can possibly be allowed. -You don’t go to Switzerland to air your fine clothes but to enjoy -yourself, and there is no enjoyment possible if you are burdened with -luggage.” - -A long wrangle followed upon this, and at the close of it, dinner being -over, Lady Mactavish rose with an air of relief and went away to discuss -the matter anew with her daughters, and to murmur over Sir Matthew’s -extraordinary fussiness. - -“The heat must be affecting his brain,” she said. “I never knew him so -vexatious. What does he know about the clothes we shall require? And -depend upon it he will be the first to complain if you look shabby. -Evereld my dear, Sir Matthew is calling you I think. Run down and see.” - -Evereld returned to the dining-room where Sir Matthew was sitting over -his wine. - -“In case I don’t see you to-morrow, my dear,” he said, “I will give -you this cheque now. Get it cashed in five pound notes, they will pass -anywhere.” - -“Is this for my journey?” asked Evereld, who had never received a cheque -for a hundred pounds in her life. - -“No, no, I will manage all your money for you until you come of age. -This is only for your dress and pocket money. I shall give you another -cheque to the same amount in six months’ time. It will be well for -you to learn the value of things and to get into the way of keeping -accounts. By the bye, though I say so much about its not mattering what -you wear in Switzerland you must be sure to take good strong boots. You -know Mr. Bruce Wylie is coming with us?” - -“Yes,” said Evereld, “I’m very glad.” - -“Well, good-night, my dear. God bless you,” said Sir Matthew. “Tell them -I shall not be in till late.” - -Evereld having delivered her message, went slowly upstairs to the -school-room, the most homelike place in the whole house. Here she found -Bridget sitting by the open window with her knitting. - -“My new life has begun, Bridget,” she said, taking her usual place on -her old nurse’s lap. “Look, here is money, a heap of it. I am to go -out and buy thick-soled boots to-morrow with it, and an account -book. Bridget, did you ever keep accounts? And do you ever think it’s -allowable to cook them?” - -“I can’t say, dearie, I never kept any at all, excepting it was the -savings bank book which the post office clerks keep for one.” - -“Sir Matthew says I must learn how to manage money and to understand the -value of things,” said Evereld. “So we will go out to-morrow morning, -Bridget, together, and I shall choose you a black silk dress by way of -learning.” - -“Why then, dearie, it’s for your own dress and not for mine that you -must be spending this upon,” protested Bridget. - -“It’s to do what I like with, Nursie, and I like to get you the very -nicest gown we can find,” said Evereld. - -“Well, well, dearie, you were always one to think of other folk first, -and if you will be getting me a dress, let it be a black poplin for the -sake of the old country.” - -So Bridget and her young mistress set forth the next morning and chose -the best Irish poplin, warranted to wear for a life-time, and Evereld -changed her cheque into twenty crisp five pound notes, eighteen of which -Bridget securely sewed up for her that evening in an inner pocket. - -“There’s many things you may be wanting to buy if you come back through -Paris,” she said, “let alone its being a bad plan to leave the money -behind you here.” - -Evereld sighed a little; it somehow hurt her to remember that she had -all this money for her personal wants and fancies, while Ralph thought -himself extremely lucky to be earning three pounds a week. She had, -however, a shrewd suspicion that he perhaps found more satisfaction out -of the money he had honestly worked for, and she eagerly looked forward -to the time when they could share her fortune and make it of real use. - -The next morning the whole house was in a bustle, and the atmosphere -seemed less oppressive than on the previous night. Sir Matthew, though -looking ill and harassed, brightened up when Evereld appeared ready -dressed for the journey in a trim little navy blue coat and skirt, a -light blue shirt and a dainty white sailor hat. She looked so fresh and -innocent and happy that for the time he quite forgot his schemes in the -pleasure of just looking at her. - -It was not until they were on the platform at Victoria, and he saw Bruce -Wylie approaching, that he remembered how necessary it was that by the -time Evereld returned to London she should be safely betrothed to her -solicitor. The thought made him glance critically at his friend. As it -happened Bruce Wylie never showed to more advantage than at such a time -as the present. His well cut grey travelling suit and knickerbockers -made him appear much younger than he really was, his fair hair and trim -beard, his merry grey eyes, his easy, pleasant manner were all in his -favour. - -“It will be right enough,” reflected Sir Matthew, -“The girl will be properly in love with him long before the end of the -tour.” - -He had no notion how differently people regard the same person when -one looks from the standpoint of five-and-fifty and the other from the -standpoint of nineteen. - -Evereld saw merely the lawyer who had brought her chocolates when she -was a little girl, she knew that he was at least nine-and-forty, and -that from her point of view was elderly; the thirty years between them -made a huge chasm which it would never have occurred to her to bridge -over in any way but that of friendship. Even the friendship could not -be the same sort of thing as that close friendship, that perfect -understanding which comes between two people of the same generation. -It would have had in it something of the position of master and pupil, -which might have been delightful enough with some men, but she had never -felt any desire to learn from Bruce Wylie. She liked him merely because -he passed the time, because he had a fund of good stories and an easy -natural way of telling them. - -So when Sir Matthew complacently noticed the way in which her face -lighted up as she greeted Bruce Wylie, he was wholly unable to guess -that the reception meant about as much as a child’s joyful greeting -of the appearance of the clown in a pantomime. “Now we shall have some -fun,” reflected Evereld, gladly finding the new comer beside her in the -railway carriage. - -“I need have no scruples,” reflected Sir Matthew. “She evidently likes -him and encourages him.” - -Bruce Wylie was not so sure in his own heart how matters stood, for -Evereld was almost too frank and open with him, it was perfectly -impossible to flirt with her, she liked him in the most unabashed -manner, just as she had done when she was a child of eleven. Her -enjoyment of his talk was what it had been then, and he was quite -without the power of kindling in her heart any deeper feeling. - -Being a shrewd man he laid his plans warily, and worked patiently, -never venturing to make actual love to her. At all costs he must avoid -startling her, or making her draw back from that frank friendliness -which was likely to prove so useful. But every day he was her special -companion, and she could not help feeling grateful to him for the care -he took of her, the pains he took to please her, and the real enjoyment -which he managed to impart to what would otherwise have been rather a -trying tour. - -“Why do you hesitate longer,” urged Sir Matthew, during their stay at -Zermatt, “September is nearly half gone, we have but another fortnight -abroad. Why not propose to the girl here?” - -“Not yet, not yet,” said Bruce Wylie, “I tell you, Mactavish, she has -not a thought of anything of the kind. She treats me as if I were her -grandfather.” - -“It seems to me that she is devoted to you,” said Sir Matthew. “She has -not a word to say to any of the young men in the hotel though they are -ready enough to admire her. She deliberately avoids them, I have noticed -her, and is hand and glove with you. What more would you have?” - -“Oh, I will arrange it all before the end of the tour,” said Bruce -Wylie, “by hook or crook it must be done. Let me see; to-morrow we go to -Glion for a fortnight. It is there that we must contrive the finale.” - -“If it were not such a serious matter,” said Sir Matthew with a grim -smile, “One could have a hearty laugh over the irony of fate. Here we -are with an unconscious little slip of a girl and she holds everything -in her hands. For if the difficulty as to her fortune becomes known, -then a dozen other things will collapse shortly after. God bless my -soul--it’s awful to think of!” - -“So much the more reason to play this part of the game warily,” said -Bruce Wylie. “It is like the story of the child’s hand thrust into the -leaking dam and saving the country from the deluge that would otherwise -have come about. I must capture Evereld’s hand and hold it fast to save -the general ruin; whether she likes it or not it will have to be done.” - -“And the girl cares for you, there will be no harm in it,” said Sir -Matthew suavely. “I tell you what, Wylie, at Glion we must gradually -let people see that you are in love with her. That will be easy enough -without alarming her. We will set some of the women folk clacking. -And if Evereld’s pride is once touched, if she feels that she has been -gossiped about, that people see that she has encouraged you, and that -she is a little compromised, why then we shall win easily enough. She -will very readily be persuaded into an engagement, and we will take good -care to have her married before the year is out.” - -“Very well,” said Bruce Wylie. “At Glion we will advance to the next -stage. It will be a more amusing one than the present, and will need -skilful management. I must think things over. By the bye, she never -mentions Ralph Denmead, her old playfellow. Have you lost sight of him?” - -“She told me last Christmas that he was going most likely on some tour -in Scotland. Here she comes, we will just ask her, but you need fear -nothing in that quarter. It was just a natural childish friendship -between the two. They know each other’s faults too well to fall in -love.” - -“I see that young Oxonian is persecuting her,” observed Bruce Wylie, -watching a sunburnt undergraduate who had taken to following Evereld -about on all occasions. She did not seem to be at all responsive, and -her face lighted up most satisfactorily when she perceived Sir Matthew, -while her companion was visibly chagrined. - -“Watching the afterglow?” said Sir Matthew, as they approached. - -“It’s hardly worth watching to-night,” said the Oxonian sulkily, as he -noticed the alacrity with which Evereld moved towards Bruce Wylie. What -the girl could see in this conceited fellow he could not imagine. - -“We were just speaking of Ralph Denmead, Evereld,” said Sir Matthew. -“Have you heard of him lately?” - -“Yes, I hear from him now and then, and I saw him not so very long ago,” - said Evereld. “He was with Macneillie’s Company when they were at -Southbourne.” By a strong effort of self-control she kept both voice and -manner perfectly calm and natural. - -“You saw him act?” - -“Yes, he seems getting on very well. The Herefords knew something of Mr. -Macneillie and they breakfasted with us sometimes. He has been very kind -to Ralph.” - -“Well I’m glad the boy has fallen on his feet,” said Sir Matthew. “I -suppose there was a touch of genius about him, but he was not the -least fit for the Indian Civil Service. Are you staying at Zermatt much -longer?” he added, turning to young Dick Lewisham who was still one of -the group. - -“I am leaving to-morrow,” he replied, “and shall get on as far as -Villeneuve, I think.” - -“Ah yes, a charming hotel there,” said Sir Matthew, “and the lake in -September is delightful.” - -Having comfortably disposed of Mr. Lewisham in this fashion he was -far from pleased when on the morning after their arrival at Glion he -encountered him in the garden of the Rigi Vaudois. - -“It was so abominably hot down below,” said Dick Lewisham cheerfully, “I -was obliged to come on here.” - -“I should advise you to go on still higher to Mont Caux,” said Sir -Matthew. “It is a magnificent hotel up there.” - -“Thanks, but this is more handy, and I like the look of the place.” - -“You’ll find it over-crowded,” said Sir Matthew, “we should not have got -rooms unless we had ordered them beforehand.” - -“You are a large party,” said the Oxonian, making his way round to the -main entrance. - -“How that old buffer does detest me,” he reflected. “I begin to think he -is bent on marrying his pretty ward to that beast Wylie, and is afraid -I shall spoil sport. A likely thing when she will give me nothing but -snubs the moment I show a spark of sentiment. Is it possible though that -such a girl can care for a regular man of the world thirty years older -than herself? I’ll never believe it. There’s a mystery somewhere. I -shall stay here and watch how things go.” - -Evereld greeted him pleasantly, but not at all warmly when she -encountered him after table d’ hôte. She could have liked him extremely -if his attentions had been a little less overwhelming, or if she could -have told him of Ralph. As it was, he frightened her, and she was -too much of a novice to know the best way to steer her course. She -invariably fled for refuge to her old friend, Bruce Wylie, little -dreaming that by so doing she might confirm the gentle hints which -Sir Matthew and Lady Mactavish began to drop cautiously among their -acquaintance in the hotel. - -People enjoy few things more during their idle holiday hours in a health -resort than watching any little drama that may happen to be taking place -before them. - -Evereld with her sweet innocent face turning to the old friend of -her childhood and apparently encouraging him in every way while she -sedulously snubbed the young Oxonian, was a spectacle that greatly -pleased and edified the English visitors at the Rigi Vaudois. It began -to be rumoured that Mr. Lewisham was only running after her money, that -Bruce Wylie saw it all plainly enough, but that he was practically sure -that little Miss Ewart was attached to him. That in fact an engagement -might be declared at any moment. - -Something of this sort reached the ears of Dick Lewisham, and so angered -him that he determined to find out the truth for himself. - -It happened that there was a dance in the hotel that evening, He knew -that Evereld would not refuse to dance with him, and having secured her -as his partner for the first _pas de quatre_, he afterwards persuaded -her to come out on to the terrace. - -The garden was deserted, and Dick Lewisham plunged straight into the -subject which was filling his mind. He was a very honest, outspoken -sort of fellow, and he began to fancy that Evereld would not so openly -encourage Bruce Wylie had she known that people were beginning to -comment on it. - -“Miss Ewart,” he said abruptly. “These little English colonies are -always hot-beds of gossip. And in this case the gossip I have just heard -tends to explain your marked coldness to me. I think there is no need -for me to tell you of my love--of----” - -“Oh, stop, stop,” said Evereld, “I can’t let you say that. I tried so -hard to show you that I couldn’t care.” - -Her distress struck him speechless for a moment; instinctively they -walked on to a more sheltered corner of the garden. - -“It is true then--you already care for--this other.” - -“Yes,” she faltered. “But no one knows, here, oh, how can you have -guessed?” - -“Why it is the talk of the hotel,” said Dick Lewisham. “Every one sees -that he cares for you and that you encourage him.” - -Her eyes dilated. For a moment she stared at him blankly, “What can you -mean?” she cried. “He is in England, and no one here knows--no one must -know.” - -“Everyone is saying that you and Mr. Wylie care for each other; if that -is true I will trouble you no more.” - -“They are saying that!” she exclaimed. “How perfectly ridiculous of -them!” and in the sudden revulsion of feeling she burst out laughing, -“Why I have known him since I was a little girl, and even then he seemed -to me quite elderly. My chief reason for liking him as a friend is that -he was always kind to Ralph as well as to me when we were children.” - -Then in a flash it all came back to Dick Lewisham; once more he stood -in the grounds of the hotel at Zermatt watching the afterglow, and -listening to what was more or less meaningless talk to him about a young -actor named Ralph Denmead. It was somehow less hard to him to retire -before an unknown rival; it was Bruce Wylie he so cordially detested. -Moreover in having thus surprised Evereld Ewart’s secret, his position -had been changed whether he would or no, from that of lover to friend -and protector. He knew what no one else in the place knew, and this -gave him, in spite of his rejection, a sort of soothing sensation. His -admiration for Evereld had been very genuine, but it had been the sort -of love which strikes no very deep roots in the heart. He was now only -chivalrously anxious to help her in any way he could. - -“I will go away from the place at once if you would rather,” he said, -after a somewhat prolonged pause. “But you may trust me always to -respect what you have told me.” - -“Then don’t go,” she said, giving him her hand. “I always knew I could -like you as a friend if only you had understood how things were. I think -I won’t dance again to-night. We are to have a long excursion to-morrow. -I will say good-night to you and run in.” - -“And if at any time I can serve you, be sure you remember me,” said Dick -Lewisham looking into the truthful blue eyes lifted to his. - -“I will indeed,” she said. “We only wait to be actually engaged till I -am twenty-one. I wish the time would go faster.” - -Dick Lewisham escorted her back to the hotel, and then lighting a -cigarette returned once more to pace up and down the garden path they -had just quitted. The night was sultry, every now and then he could see -summer lightning playing about the peaks of the Savoy mountains on the -other side of the lake. Still musing over his talk with Evereld he threw -himself down on a sheltered garden seat which stood on a little lawn -screened on all sides by bushes. From time to time he heard steps on the -path just beyond, and caught curious scraps of conversation over which -he smiled in a cynical fashion. - -Now it was a woman’s voice. - -“Well, what you can see to admire in her I can’t imagine, and her dress! -why those sleeves might have come out of the ark. Oh you didn’t notice -them. How curious men are.” - -Next came a pair of lovers. - -“Dearest!” said one voice. - -“My own!” replied the other. - -And Dick Lewisham cruelly coughed. After which dead silence reigned. - -By and bye a mellow, manly voice startled him into keen attention; it -was Bruce Wylie. - -“I’ll propose to her to-morrow whatever happens. You can give the others -just a hint and they will keep out of the way. We must have matters -settled before leaving Switzerland. If she refuses me----” - -“Why then,” said Sir Matthew Mactavish, “I shall step in with the -authority of a guardian. We will have no nonsense about the matter. But -she will not refuse you. She has too much good sense.” - -The voices died away in the distance. Dick Lewisham laughed long and -silently. - -“So that is your game, my fine friend! It is you who are after little -Miss Ewart’s money though you have had the slander set afloat that I was -a fortune-hunter. Ho! ho!” he rubbed his hands with satisfaction, “how I -should like to see your face when that little blue-eyed girl rejects -you. I’ll at any rate stay on here to see you when you return.” - -He was loitering about at the cable railway station the next morning -when Evereld and Janet Mactavish walked from the hotel to take their -places in the down-going carriage. - -“And where are you off to this morning?” he inquired. - -“We are going to see the Gorge de Trient,” said Evereld, “at least some -of us are. You are going to sketch near that waterfall, are you not, -Janet.” - -“Yes,” said Janet, “but Major Gillot and Minnie and Mr. Wylie will be -with you. Four makes a much better number and I want a quiet day.” - -Dick Lewisham laughed in his sleeve, he felt sure that Janet had been -taken into the plot. Then with some compunction he glanced at Evereld’s -unsuspicious face; her manner to him was perfect, he felt glad to think -that she trusted him, and wondered much in what fashion she would get -through the excursion. It was hardly likely he feared to be a day of -pleasure to her. - -They were now joined by Minnie and her _fiancé_, and at the last moment -Bruce Wylie walked coolly across the little platform and down the steps, -taking his place just before the carriage slid down its steep incline. - -“Oh be quick! take care!” said Evereld with a look of alarm; and Dick -Lewisham turned away, musing over the words and the expression of the -girl’s face. - -“Evidently she likes him very much as an old friend,” he reflected. “I -wonder how she will get on.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - - - “To hug the wealth ye cannot use, - - And lack the riches all may gain, - - O blind and wanting wit to choose, - - Who house the chaff and burn the grain! - - And still doth life with starry towers - - Lure to the bright divine ascent! - - Be yours the things ye would: be ours - - The things that are more excellent.” - - William Watson. - -|Come over to this side of the carriage,” said Bruce Wylie as they took -their places in the train at Territet, “you will get the best of the -views this side.” - -Evereld had become quite used to his kindly little arrangements for her -comfort, she felt sure in her own mind that any good-natured man would -have done as much for a girl on her first Swiss tour, and she smiled to -herself at that ridiculous report which Mr. Lewisham had quoted to her. -After all, though, was it not very likely that she herself had misjudged -other people in exactly the same way? She was always making little -romances in her mind about the people they met in the hotels, and they -generally proved to be wrong when closer acquaintance revealed the -truth. - -She felt perfectly happy that September morning as they journeyed along -the lovely lake, past the red roofed Castle of Chillon, past the white -peaks of the Dent du Midi to St. Maurice, and then on once more through -the somewhat trying heat of the Rhone Valley to Vernayaz. - -“I shall be quite independent of you,” said Janet, “and shall spend my -day sketching. We will all meet here again in time for the train.” - -“Oh we must come and see you settled,” said Bruce Wylie, “besides -Evereld ought to see the waterfall nearer than from the train. We have -our whole day before us, there is no hurry.” - -In the end these three walked off together in the direction of the -Pissevache, while the two lovers went in the opposite direction, -promising to order luncheon at the hotel. - -Evereld seemed more talkative than usual, but when, having duly -inspected the waterfall, he tried hard to draw her into the region of -sentiment, she seemed more provokingly matter of fact than ever. - -“It’s very sad to think we have only one more excursion before we -go home,” he remarked, “how detestable England will seem after this -holiday.” - -“Do you think so,” said Evereld, “why I am longing to get back to -England. Lovely as this place is, it seems so dreadfully far away.” - -“Far away from what?” said Bruce Wylie. - -“Well, from one’s friends and belongings,” said Evereld. - -Bruce Wylie could only pretend to be deeply offended. - -“You say that to me,” he said tragically, “one of your oldest friends!” - -She laughed merrily. - -“It was certainly a case of what _Punch_ would call ‘Things one would -rather have expressed differently.’ But though the tour has been a great -treat I believe I should always begin to be homesick for England at the -end of six weeks.” - -“Oh if it is only an abstraction like England I will not be jealous, it -isn’t worth while,” said her companion with a laugh. - -And Evereld blushed a little, knowing that it was not England in the -abstract, but nearness to Ralph that she longed for. - -Bruce Wylie saw the blush and was pleased. He entirely misunderstood it, -and might have proposed to her at that very minute, had not some very -dirty little children besieged them just then with the usual request for -money. - -The straggling street of Vernayaz was not the place for a private -conversation, he would wait till later in the day. - -After a merry lunch at the hotel with Minnie and Major Gillot they all -went together to see the Gorge de Trient, and here he contrived to fall -behind on the pretext of pointing out some particularly striking effect -to Evereld as they threaded their way through the awful ravine with its -foaming white torrent and its towering heights above. - -But his effort was useless, for something in the majesty of this great -rock, cleft so strangely, had filled Evereld with awe; she was thinking -her own thoughts and was quite unresponsive to all his attempts to draw -her into conversation. - -“It feels like a church,” she said once as they paused for a few -minutes, and Bruce Wylie anxious not to jar upon her in any way, -relapsed into silence. - -Emerging at length from the cool shade of the Gorge de Trient, they -returned to the hotel, Major Gillot ordered coffee, and Bruce Wylie took -the opportunity to draw him aside and suggest a change of programme. - -“Sir Matthew gave me leave to take Evereld on to Finshauts if she liked -the idea,” he said. “Let us all meet at the station. But don’t wait -for us if we chance to be late. Lady Mactavish might be anxious. I will -bring her on by the next train in any case.” - -“All right,” said the Major, paying no very great heed to the words, and -well pleased to be left with Minnie for the rest of the time. - -“Evereld,” said Bruce Wylie, rejoining the ladies, “I don’t know what -you will say to the notion, but it seems to me very hot down in this -place, and we have still some hours before us. I find there is a most -beautiful drive to a place called Finshauts up in the mountains, with a -very fine view of Mont Blanc. Shall you and I make a pilgrimage up -there and leave Miss Mactavish and Major Gillot to enjoy this garden in -peace?” - -“I think it would be lovely,” said Evereld, her eyes lighting up. “I -have been longing to get to the top ever since we came here.” - -Bruce Wylie was pleased that she should fall in with the idea, and went -off at once to order a carriage, but perhaps her delighted acquiescence -troubled him a little, for he made several attempts to justify his -scheme to his own conscience. - -“If she accepts me I shall take care to be in good time for the train, -and all will be well,” he argued. “And she will accept me in all -probability after a little persuasion. If not, there is nothing for it -but Sir Matthew’s plan of scaring her with the fear of what people will -say. No real harm will be done, none whatever. We shall merely play a -little upon her credulity and ignorance and her proper pride, and all -the rest of it. The game is worth the candle, for without her, sooner or -later we shall be ruined.” - -He was more considerate and gentle in manner than ever when at -length they set off together on their drive to Finshauts; her perfect -confidence in him gave him an uncomfortable sensation, he kept on -deferring the speech which must be made, and allowed her to enjoy to the -full the beauty of the winding road with its shady groves of walnut and -chestnut trees, and its wonderful glimpses of the Rhone Valley. They -paused after a time to see the Falls of Emaney, and when they once more -got into the carriage, Bruce Wylie made up his mind that before the next -stage was reached his work must somehow be done. He looked down into her -glowing happy face. - -“You are enjoying it?” he said kindly. - -“Oh more than I can tell you,” she said. “It is quite the best drive we -have had. What a pity Janet isn’t here.” - -“For once you must let me be selfish,” said Bruce Wylie laughing. “I am -heartily glad she is not here. ‘Two is company, three is trumpery,’ as -the proverb says.” - -“I never agree with that proverb,” said Evereld. “We had a -three-cornered friendship at school and it was delightful.” - -“For school friends it may be well enough. But I am something more than -your friend, Evereld, I am your lover.” - -The assertion struck her dumb for a minute. - -“Surely you had realised that?” said Bruce Wylie. “You must, I think, -have known it all these weeks that we have been together.” - -“Oh, no, no,” she cried in distress. “I never dreamt of such a thing. -Please never say that again.” - -“But I must say it again. I want to make you understand me. For years I -have hoped that you would some day be my wife. And when you understand -me better I think you will say ‘yes,’ Evereld.” - -“No,” she said desperately, “I can never say it. I could never care for -you in that way. Please let us just be friends as we used to be.” - -“But things are altered now, you are no longer a child, but a woman. -Believe me, dear, I would make you very happy. You perhaps think that -the difference in our age is a drawback. But some of the happiest -marriages I have known have been marriages of that sort. One can’t make -a hard and fast rule as to age.” - -“It is not that,” said Evereld. “That might not matter a bit. But I -could never love you.” - -“I will take my chance of that. The love would grow.” - -“No, it never could.... Please believe me and say no more. I can’t think -what makes you wish it when you must have met so many much more fit.” - -“But I have been waiting and hoping for you. And you must at any rate -promise me to think it over for a few days before quite deciding. I have -taken you by surprise. Think it over quietly, and we will talk about it -some other day.” - -“If I thought for years it would make no difference,” said Evereld. - -“You fancy so, because like all young girls you have made a sort of -ideal in your own mind, and no living man can come up to that ideal.” - -She shook her head. - -“No, not an ideal,” she said softly, and into her eyes there stole the -soft love light which revealed all too clearly her thoughts. - -“She cares for some one else,” reflected Bruce Wylie, “I suppose it’s -that confounded young Denmead. Well, silence is golden. She must be left -till to-morrow to reflect.” - -“Dear child,” he said in his mellow voice. “Don’t look so grave. I will -say no more just at present. I only ask you to give what I have said -your careful thought. Here we are at Triquent.” - -Evereld drew out her watch, but in the worry of the previous evening, -after her talk with Mr. Lewisham, she had forgotten to wind it up--the -hands pointed to four o’clock. - -“My watch has stopped,” she said, “but surely it is time we turned back! -Finshauts seems much further than I expected.” - -“Oh, we shall soon be there now,” said Bruce Wylie, glancing at the -time. “It takes us some while to climb up, but we shall rattle down -again at a great pace.” - -It seemed a pity to have come so far and not after all to see the view -of Mont Blanc, and though Evereld longed to be back with the others, and -dreaded the _tête-à-tête_ with her companion after what had passed, she -scarcely liked to say any more about returning. - -She was grateful to him, moreover, because on the last stage of the -journey he got out and walked beside the driver, leaving her to her -great relief unmolested. - -“He is a wonderfully kind man,” she reflected. “I hope I wasn’t too -emphatic, but one had to make him quite understand. Even now we shall -have to talk it over again. Oh dear! Oh dear! how I wish Ralph and I -were really engaged, then one wouldn’t be so tongue-tied. I shall only -be twenty in the spring, and there will still be a year to wait.” - -The road passed now through a wood, and something in its green depths -of shade made her think of a wood near Southbourne where they had once -spent a happy midterm holiday with the Herefords, during her school -days. - -“How I wish I were at school again now,” she thought sadly. “It was -all so happy and easy there, with none of these worries and -misunderstandings. And yet I don’t either, for if I were still at school -Ralph would not have spoken to me that Sunday, that wonderful Sunday.” - -She fell into a happy dream, and was startled when Bruce Wylie suddenly -appeared at the carriage door and resumed his place beside her. - -“She was thinking of that boy,” he reflected with annoyance. “This -business will make our task even more disagreeable.” - -“You look tired,” he said, “when we reach the Hotel Bel Oiseau I will -order some tea to be got ready while we go on to the best point of -view.” - -“But are you sure we shall have time. We must not miss that train,” said -Evereld. - -“Oh, plenty of time. It’s all down hill going back, and besides the -horse must rest, and the driver will certainly expect to drink our -health in the _vin du pays_.” - -His manner set her mind at rest, and indeed for a time she forgot all -else in the wonderful panorama that opened out before them as Mont Blanc -and the Chamounix Valley came into view. It was a scene to remember for -a lifetime, and Evereld, with her young heart and her clear conscience, -was able to revel in its beauty, and to cast off altogether all petty -cares and vexations. - -These, however, returned when they went back to the Hotel Bel Oiseau; a -mistake had been made--or so Bruce Wylie told her--as to the tea, and it -took a long time in coming. Then there was yet another delay because the -coachman had mysteriously disappeared, and when at last the horse was -put in and they turned back to Vernayaz, Evereld was certain that they -had allowed very scanty time for the descent. - -“It’s as much as we shall do to catch this train,” remarked her -companion, as they at length gained the valley. - -“There is a train now just passing,” exclaimed Evereld. - -“Not ours, I daresay,” said Bruce Wylie, “no,” looking at his watch -reassuringly, “it’s not due for another ten minutes. We shall do it all -right, don’t be anxious.” - -“There, we are punctual to the minute,” he remarked, as they drew up at -the station, “and no train is here. Ha! what’s that you say?” he added, -as an old porter came leisurely up to them. “The train gone? Why, it’s -only now due.” - -The porter explained, with many gesticulations, that the Monsieur’s -watch was ten minutes slow. - -“How annoying,” said Bruce Wylie, “when is the next train for St. -Maurice and Territet?” - -“There are no more this evening, monsieur,” said the porter. “Monsieur -will find many good hotels in Vernayaz.” - -Bruce Wylie made a well feigned ejaculation of annoyance. - -“The others will have seen that we were not there,” said Evereld, -springing out of the carriage, “I will run and look for Janet;” but she -returned forlornly in a minute, for Janet was not there. - -“I think she might have waited,” said the girl, indignantly. - -“Oh, they would naturally conclude we should come on by a later train as -we didn’t turn up till this one started,” said Bruce Wylie, “in fact I -told the Major we should do that if by any ill fortune we were too late. -Who could have guessed that there were no trains later than this?” - -“You looked out the trains yourself yesterday,” said Evereld, “I should -have thought you would have noticed.” - -She felt intensely irritated, it was one of those times when a -traveller’s temper is put to the test. - -Bruce Wylie did not mend matters by his rather stumbling apology. She -could not have explained her feeling, but somehow at that moment she -felt that she could no longer put confidence in him. - -“Well, I wouldn’t have had such a thing happen for the world,” he said. -“It is all my fault, and I’m extremely sorry. The only thing to be done -is to go back to the Hotel Gorge du Trient. We shall be in time for -dinner, I daresay. To the Hotel, driver!” - -“Wait,” said Evereld quietly. “I must first send a telegram to Lady -Mactavish explaining things.” - -“Quite right, of course. I ought to have thought of it. What a sensible -little woman you are, Evereld.” - -She neither smiled nor responded in any way. A few hours before the -episode would have troubled her very little, but to be stranded in this -place with the man she had just refused was a situation she disliked -very much. Behind it all, too, there lurked a vague feeling that she had -been entrapped into the drive, that perhaps even Janet had guessed what -Mr. Wylie meant to say during the course of this ill-fated expedition. - -To do him justice, Bruce Wylie took good care to set her perfectly at -her ease directly they arrived at the hotel, himself saw the manageress -and explained things to her, handing over Evereld to her kindly care, -and promising to meet her in the salon. - -The Swiss manageress gave her a pleasant room, and lent her all that -she needed, and when she went down to the salon a delightful surprise -awaited her. - -“Why, Evereld!” said a familiar voice, and a tall pretty looking girl -stepped forward with a warm greeting. - -It was May Coniston, an old schoolfellow who had left Southbourne at -Easter, and had come out to Switzerland for rest after the toils of -her first London season. She introduced Evereld to her mother, and they -listened to her description of the contretemps that had befallen her, -and Evereld introduced Mr. Wylie to them. - -“It is most fortunate you just happened to come across us,” said May -Coniston cheerfully. “I can lend you everything, and mother will be only -too delighted to take care of you. There is nothing she enjoys so much -as looking after girls.” - -So in the end Evereld had an extremely pleasant evening, lost her heart -to kindly Mrs. Coniston, sat up hair-brushing with her friend till after -midnight, and was delighted to have May for a companion in her large, -lonely bedroom where, as Mrs. Coniston remarked, they could fancy -themselves back at school once more. - -Early the next morning, having parted with the Conistons, who were -going to Champéry, Bruce Wylie and Evereld returned to Glion, arriving -just in time for lunch. They encountered Janet and Minnie in the -entrance hall, and Evereld went straight to the _salle à manger_ with -them, laughing over the events of the previous day, and remonstrating -with them for having deserted her. - -“We all got into the train when it came up,” explained Janet calmly, -“hoping to the last that you would come before it started; it must have -been some minutes in the station. Mamma was vexed with us for coming on, -but of course we all knew you were safe; your telegram got here before -we did.” - -“Where is Lady Mactavish?” asked Evereld. - -“She has gone down to Montreux to lunch with Lady Mount Pleasant, who by -the bye has invited us all to go to-morrow to her picnic at a place near -the Rochers de Nave.” - -Just at that moment Sir Matthew and Mr. Bruce Wylie joined them. There -was something unusual in her guardian’s manner, and Evereld wondered -what had brought the cloud to his brow. It did not disappear at all when -he greeted her, and had it not been for a talkative German doctor, -who conversed learnedly with Janet, their party would have been an -uncomfortably silent one throughout the meal. - -“I want a few words with you, my dear,” said Sir Matthew, when at last -lunch was over. “Come with me to our own sitting-room. We shall not be -interrupted there.” - -Evereld’s heart sank. - -“Mr. Wylie has told of his proposal to me,” she reflected. “And Sir -Matthew is vexed with me for refusing his friend.” - -“Sit down,” said Sir Matthew, motioning her to a sofa beside the window, -and wheeling up a ponderous armchair for himself. “I have, of course, -heard from Mr. Wylie of your very surprising behaviour yesterday. Are you -aware that you have refused one of the best and cleverest of men, a man -too who has been encouraged by you for the last month.” - -“Oh, no,” cried Evereld. “Indeed I never dreamt of encouraging him. How -could I be supposed to think of a man thirty years older than I am as a -lover?” - -“I don’t know what you thought about it, my dear, but you did distinctly -encourage him. And everyone here, and at Zermatt, too, I believe, -considered it a case.” - -“I am very sorry if they thought so, but it was a ridiculous mistake. -I should never dream of marrying Mr. Wylie. He is just a friend and -nothing more.” - -“I have no patience with this foolish talk about friends,” said Sir -Matthew. “You ought to know enough of the world to realise that it never -puts faith in friendships between men and women.” - -“Can I not be friends with an elderly man like that? a man of -nearly fifty, who has known me since I was a child?” said Evereld -questioningly. - -“No, you cannot,” said Sir Matthew decidedly. “You have encouraged him -all these weeks, and you must marry him.” - -The tone of decision would, he thought, at once silence this gentle -little girl with her innocent blue eyes. He received an uncomfortable -shock when she quietly replied: “Of course, if it is really so I can -avoid Mr. Wylie in future. But marry him I will not.” - -“What possible objection can you have to him?” said her guardian -irritably. “I can tell you, he is a man that most girls would be proud -to accept.” - -“But I do not love him,” said Evereld. - -“Oh, you have been reading novels and have set up some absurd ideal hero -unlike any man who ever existed. Bruce Wylie is one of a thousand, -he will make you perfectly happy, and will save you from the infinite -misery of being run after for the sake of your fortune by unworthy men -embarrassed by debts.” - -Evereld laughed a little. “I will promise never to marry an unworthy man -embarrassed by debts. But nothing will make me marry Mr. Wylie.” - -“Then it only remains for me,” said Sir Matthew, “to tell you how things -really are. You must marry him, my dear. The whole place is talking -about you. Your reputation is at stake. Everyone knows that you were -stranded alone with him last night at Vernayaz, and there is only one -way to prevent a scandal arising. You must be engaged to him at once, -and you shall be married when we go back to London. If you like it might -be on the same day that Minnie is married.” - -Evereld’s eyes dilated. - -“I don’t understand you,” she said. “Can you really mean that because -Mr. Wylie very carelessly allowed us to miss the train, and didn’t -know--or--or pretended not to know that it was the last train--that I -should marry him because of that?” - -“Dear child, you are very young and innocent, and the world is a -hard censorious place. The busy tongues of these holiday idlers will -certainly make free with your name. And I can’t permit that. The best -way to avoid scandal, the only way, is to hasten on your marriage.” - -“Very well,” said Evereld. “But it is not Mr. Wylie that I shall marry.” - -“Do you dare to tell me that you are engaged to any one else?” said Sir -Matthew. - -“No, I am certainly not engaged,” said Evereld. “But as soon a I come of -age I shall be engaged.” - -“To whom,” said Sir Matthew. - -“To Ralph,” she said, a vivid blush dyeing her cheeks. - -With an inarticulate exclamation of wrath, Sir Matthew began to pace to -and fro. - -“This comes of adopting beggars,” he said between his teeth. At that, -Evereld started to her feet, and would have left the room had he not -intercepted her. - -“How long has this been going on?” he said, angrily. - -“I never knew I cared for him like that until he had gone away more than -a year ago, when you brought down the news about his examination.” - -“Just like the ungrateful fellow,” said Sir Matthew. “As soon as he saw -that there was nothing more to be got out of me, he thought to feather -his nest with your fortune.” - -Evereld struggled hard not to lose control over her temper, but every -pulse in her throbbed indignantly at the words. - -“I think,” she said in a low voice, “that money is the last thing any -Denmead ever troubled himself to think of.” - -The words were so true that for a moment they checked Sir Matthew; he -reflected wrathfully that his own action in turning Ralph out of his -house somewhat harshly had brought about this result he so little -desired. Up to that time the friendship between the two had been of a -most brotherly and sisterly character. He was startled from this train -of thought by a sudden and wholly unexpected question from Evereld. - -“My father used to say every penny he had was invested in railways--is -my money still as he left it?” she inquired. - -“W--w--w--we have made a few changes; you will learn all details when -you come of age,” said Sir Matthew. - -Evereld had quick perceptions. She had never heard her guardian stammer -before. She looked him through and through with her clear eyes, and -knew that something was amiss. He coloured under her scrutiny, and -complaining of the heat of the room, pushed the window wider open. - -“Ralph has good points,” he said, returning to the former topic. “But -depend upon it, my dear, this is an idle fancy of yours; he will fall in -love with some actress and forget all about you. It is only natural that -it should be so.” - -Evereld shook her head. - -“No,” she said. “He will wait for me, and when he has got on a little in -his profession, we shall be engaged. We might have been engaged now only -he was too honourable.” - -“You talk just as one might expect an innocent girl fresh from school to -talk, my dear,” said Sir Matthew. “But it will not do. Such a marriage -would be preposterous, your father would never have allowed it, and I -once more repeat that acting in your interests I shall insist on your -accepting Mr. Wylie’s offer. You think me unkind; believe me,” he took -her hand and patted it caressingly, “I am not unkind, I am only making -you do what is the best possible thing under the circumstances. You must -trust me. There are elements in the case you cannot understand. There -is no safe path for a woman but the part of obedience to authority. You -must be guided by me, my dear, you must recollect that in all the years -you have lived under my roof I have always shown you kindness and love, -and you must try to believe that I show that kindness now, though I -thwart your wishes and wed you to a man who does not exactly fit in with -your girlish and romantic ideal. We will say no more now, you are tired -and agitated. But within the next two days I shall expect to receive -from Mr. Wylie the news that his offer has been accepted. Think it -quietly over. I am convinced that some day you will thank me for what I -have done; ay! and other people will have good cause to thank me, too.” - -He stooped and kissed her on the forehead and politely opened the door -for her in token that the interview was at an end. - -Without a word Evereld left the room and went slowly upstairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - - - “The tissue of the Life to be - - We weave with colours all our own, - - And in the field of destiny - - We reap as we have sown.” - - Whittier. - -|The broad staircase was covered with cocoa-nut matting, she toiled -up the slippery steps feeling dazed and giddy, groping her way more by -instinct than by sight to her own door. Her room was at the side of the -hotel, and its French window, opening on to a little balcony, looked out -over the woods of Veytaux and the distant turrets of Chillon to the -Dent du Midi. She threw herself down now into the depths of an armchair, -letting the soft air play on her hot cheeks, and staring out in a -bewildered way at the lovely view which contrasted so strangely with her -misery. - -Her whole world seemed to be shaken to its foundation. Her instinct -warned her that the guardian, whose plausible talk and apparent -kindliness had long deceived her, was in no sense a man to be trusted. -And seizing the clue, which his own accusations of others had furnished -her with, she began to wonder if in some unaccountable way Bruce Wylie -himself was one of those fortune-hunters, who finding themselves in -difficulties sought to repair their losses with some heiress’ money. Her -clear insight had at once detected the false ring in his apologies -about the lost train on the previous day. He had somehow forfeited -her confidence, and the more she thought over her interview with Sir -Matthew, and the extraordinary determination he had evidently made to -marry her to his friend, the more she distrusted and dreaded them both. -It might possibly be that they had mismanaged her affairs, and were -perhaps speculating with her money. She had heard of many cases where -luckless women had been ruined by a fraudulent trustee. - -Fortunately, though young and innocent, Evereld had been wisely -educated, and even in all the agitation of the moment she was able -clearly to see how foolish was the notion that in order to quiet unkind -tongues, or to satisfy the outraged feelings of Mrs. Grundy, she should -consent publicly to perjure herself, by vowing to love as a wife a man -she did not desire to marry. - -Sir Matthew and Bruce Wylie had fancied that a pure-minded, proud girl -would easily be frightened into a marriage which in many respects was -outwardly desirable. Women were seldom logical, and a little novice like -Evereld could, they felt sure, be cajoled or scared or flattered into -obedience to their wishes. Sir Matthew had reserved his direct command -and the allusion to his authority as a guardian as his trump card. -He thought because she had made no reply to this speech that he had -convinced her. But Evereld knew that obedience to the truth must always -stand before obedience to any authority, and she was emphatically not -one of those plastic, weak-minded girls who furnish victims for the -modern marriage market, and allow themselves to be sacrificed to the -ambition of their parents. - -There was, however, a sort of blind terror in her mind. She had read -that pathetic novel “Jasmine Leigh,” the plot of which turned on the -forcible abduction of an heiress; and now, perhaps, not unnaturally -the story returned to haunt her. Words which Ralph had spoken as to Sir -Matthew’s unscrupulous character, his utter disregard for the victims -whose ruin followed the triumphal procession of his own fame and -fortune, haunted her, too. She had thought him hard and uncharitable -when he had spoken of his godfather, but his words had impressed her -nevertheless, and she felt that they were probably not far from the -truth. Like some trapped animal, she tried desperately to think what -possible course she could take. If only that motherly Mrs. Coniston had -been in the hotel she would have told her all and asked her advice, but -she could hardly put the case in a letter, or travel to Champéry to see -her. And there was no one else to whom she could turn, unless it was Mr. -Lewisham, and she doubted if that would be a wise thing to do. Only a -woman could thoroughly understand and help her. - -And then the old grief of eight years ago, to which she had grown more -or less accustomed, came back to her with an intensity of bitterness, -a new realisation of irreparable loss. “Oh Mother!” she sobbed. “Oh -Mother! Mother!” - -A step on the balcony made her hastily try to check her tears. Minnie’s -room was next to hers, and the window also opened on to the little side -balcony. - -“Why Evereld,” said a cheerful voice. “You dear little goose! Don’t cry. -I know all about it. Papa has told me. Don’t you be frightened. It won’t -be half so bad as you expect. You’ll soon grow very fond of Mr. Wylie. -And you shall have such a pretty wedding dress and as many of your -school friends as you like for bridesmaids. You have no idea what fun -you will have choosing your _trousseau_. We will stop in Paris on our -way home, and I can put you up to all sorts of things.” - -“Don’t talk like that,” said Evereld, her tears raining down, as the -utter mockery of it all forced itself upon her. - -“Do you think,” continued Minnie, “that you are the first girl who has -been obliged to give up an early love? Why it’s my firm conviction that -no one ever does marry a first love. If Papa had allowed it I should -have married a lanky curate, and we should still be waiting for the -inevitable country living which might or might not turn up. He put a -stop to it all. And I cried my eyes out just as you are doing. But I -am very much obliged to him now and mean to be very happy with Major -Gillot. Now stop crying, and I will make some tea in my etna, and later -on you shall come out with us and do ‘gooseberry.’” - -“I’m afraid of meeting Mr. Wylie,” objected Evereld. - - “Indeed I think you -had better not meet him with your eyes as red as that,” said Minnie with -a laugh. “There’s no need for you to see him till dinner-time, for he -has gone down to Montreux to talk over the arrangements for tomorrow -with Mamma and Lady Mount Pleasant.” - -There was something comforting in Minnie’s kindly manner, though Evereld -vehemently dissented in her own mind from all her arguments. She obeyed -her, however, and stopped crying, and even found temporary comfort in -the afternoon tea which has a way of tasting so supremely good when -made by oneself abroad. Later on they walked down the Gorge de Chaudron, -where already the trees were arraying themselves in the lovely tints -of early autumn. The two lovers walked a little ahead. Evereld followed -slowly and thoughtfully, regaining her habitual strength and quietness -of mind as she walked, by slow degrees. There was something in her face -which puzzled Bruce Wylie when he met her again that evening at dinner. -She looked older, even he could have fancied thinner, since the morning. -He left her unmolested till the meal was over, but joined her directly -afterwards in the entrance hall, where in the evening people were wont -to lounge and chat unceremoniously. He was discussing thought-reading -with a young American girl and skilfully inveigled Evereld into -the conversation. In old times she had always felt an interest in -experiments of this sort; to-night she felt that not for the world would -she permit Bruce Wylie to touch her. - -“Let us show Miss Upton the experiment we tried at Zermatt,” said Bruce -Wylie. “It was a brilliant success there.” - -“I would rather not to-night,” said Evereld colouring. “I am tired.” - -“Oh, try just once,” he said persuasively. - -But she shook her head. - -“I must appeal to your guardian,” he said, laughing. “Sir Matthew, we -want you to persuade your ward to do the pin-finding trick.” - -Rightly or wrongly, Evereld was convinced that if she now yielded -her mind up to him he might abuse his power over her and weaken her -resistance to his other wishes. She stood at bay conscious that many -eyes were turned upon her, determined not to yield, yet puzzled as to -how she was to proceed. - -“Why Evereld, dear,” said Sir Matthew in his hearty penetrating voice, -“of course you will oblige us all. You are a capital hand at this sort -of thing.” - -She turned to the pretty American girl, feeling that her only chance was -to appeal to her. She seemed a clever, observant girl, surely she could -be made to understand without words. - -“I am so sorry,” she said, “to be obliged to say ‘no’ to-night. But I -am tired and am going up to bed. Won’t you try the thought-reading?” - Her clear blue eyes looked straight into the bright eyes of little Miss -Upton, saying as plainly as eyes could express the thought, “Help me out -of this dilemma.” And the American responded instantly to the appeal. - -“I guess I’ll try whether I can’t do it myself, Mr. Wylie,” she said, -looking up at him archly and holding out a dainty handkerchief. -“Blindfold me instead of Miss Ewart, and see if I’m not just as sharp at -finding the pin.” - -She made such fun of the whole process that even Bruce Wylie himself -failed to notice that Evereld calmly walked up the broad staircase in -sight of them all, and she was safely locked into her room before any -one had bestowed a thought upon her absence. - -“I shall always love American girls!” she said to herself. “How quick -she was to understand, I only wish I could thank her, but that’s -impossible. Somehow I must get away from this place. I daren’t stay -longer. If only I knew how best to escape and where to go to! There is -Mrs. Hereford. She would take care of me. But Ireland is so far away, -and I fear they would overtake me before I could get to her. Shall I -go to London and make Bridget take me away to some quiet little country -place where no one could hear of us? Or there is Southbourne, but term -will not begin till next week, and the whole house would be deserted, it -would be no use going there.” None of these plans seemed very promising. -To whom could she turn? - -Restlessly pacing up and down her room, she prayed for guidance, and -almost immediately a well-known name floated into her mind. “Why!” she -exclaimed, “I wonder I never thought of that before.” - -She stepped out on to the balcony, entered Minnie’s room, took from -the table a continental Bradshaw, and returning once more, sat down -resolutely to puzzle out a route as well as she could. It was no easy -matter for one unversed in the mysteries of railway guides; she found -herself terribly baffled by two places with almost exactly similar -names, and she floundered long in that wilderness of day trains and -night trains, and dark and light figures, which prove traps for the -inexperienced. If so much had not depended upon it she could have -laughed over her perplexities, but as it was she came perilously near to -crying over the Bradshaw, and nothing but dread of Bruce Wylie and the -thought of Ralph enabled her to plod on until at last she had puzzled -out her way of escape. The trains were not so favourable to her plans -as she had hoped. It was impossible to leave till the middle of the next -morning, and the journey would involve four or five changes of trains, -and a night at a hotel. It seemed impossible to go straight through to -her destination. - -“If I go to a hotel,” she reflected, “I must have some sort of luggage -or they will suspect me. I will take my little handbag from here and -some cloak straps in my pocket; then at Geneva I will buy some wraps and -make up a respectable-looking bundle.” - -By this time her hopes had revived and her courage had returned. She -put back the Bradshaw in Minnie’s room, closed her shutters, bolted her -window and began to make her preparations in a thoughtful, womanly way. - -Fortunately she had had no expenses in Switzerland, and still carried -about her the eighteen five pound notes which Bridget had counselled her -not to leave behind. In her purse she had also an English sovereign and -a little Swiss silver money. “I need not change a note till I get -to Geneva, that is a comfort,” she reflected, and having carefully -destroyed all her letters and packed a few necessaries into her bag, she -crept to bed and did her best to sleep, but not very successfully. - -The next morning she could most truthfully plead a headache as an excuse -for not attending Lady Mount Pleasant’s picnic, indeed she remained in -bed; and looked so white and tired when Janet and Minnie came to see her -that they reported her as quite unfit for the expedition, and only in a -state to be left quiet and alone. - -“Well,” said Sir Matthew, with a look of annoyance, “it can’t be -helped. She will be right enough to-morrow when her decision is made and -everything has settled down quietly.” - -Bruce Wylie, who had fully intended to settle matters during the course -of that day, was forced to acquiesce, and since Lady Mount Pleasant and -her contingent had arrived from Montreux, and the carriages were at the -door, there was no time for further discussion. - -Evereld stole to her window as soon as she heard the sound of wheels and -just caught a sideway glimpse of the picnic party driving off. Then in -breathless haste she dressed, put a letter which she had written to -Sir Matthew on the previous night in a place where it would quickly be -found, bolted her door on the inner side, stepped out of the window and -closed both it and the jalousies behind her and went through Minnie’s -room to the corridor beyond. A chambermaid was sweeping the matting, she -smiled in a friendly fashion and asked if mademoiselle was better. - -“I still have a headache,” said Evereld, “and am going out of doors. If -you see Miss Mactavish to-night when she returns, please say I do not -wish to be disturbed.” - -She ran quickly down the stairs, encountering nobody; in the bureau she -caught sight of the manager’s head, but he had his back turned to the -door and did not see her, he was giving out a library book to an old -lady who was accounted the greatest gossip in Glion. Mercifully she, -too, was absorbed and did not look up. - -Evereld walked quietly through the garden; over her dark blue serge -dress she wore a little blue capuchin cape with red-lined hood, her -sailor hat, and long gauze travelling veil were of the quietest. She was -beginning to hope that she should encounter none of the people staying -in the hotel when, within a stone’s throw of the cable railway station, -she came across Dick Lewisham and little Miss Upton. - -“Are you better?” said the American kindly. “Your friends told us you -were quite knocked up and could not go to the picnic.” - -“My head aches still,” said Evereld, “but--but please don’t tell them -that you saw me going out.” - -It is almost impossible for a naturally open and truthful person to -carry out a secret scheme without some confidante. Evereld liked and -trusted both these acquaintances, and she yielded to that craving for -sympathy, that longing for straightforward speech which was perhaps more -natural than strictly prudent. - -“I could not go to the picnic because I must avoid Mr. Wylie,” she said -in a low voice. “My guardian is trying to force me to marry him, and I -mean to escape to other friends who will take care of me.” - -“Did I not tell you how it would be?” said Dick Lewisham. - -“Yes,” she faltered, “you were quite right; and now there is nothing for -me to do but to get away at once.” - -“Remember,” he said, “that you promised to ask my help if you were in -any difficulty.” - -“Yes,” said Evereld. “Perhaps now you would just take my ticket to -Territet.” - -“Let us all come down to Territet together,” said Miss Upton, “it will -be less noticeable than your going quite alone.” - -Before many minutes were passed the three were gliding down the steep -incline, and Evereld grew light hearted to think that the difficult -first step had proved so successful. - -“Are you sure,” said Dick Lewisham, “that you can get to your friends -without difficulty?” - -“Quite sure, thank you,” she said bravely. - -“We will not ask you a single question beyond that,” he continued, “for -the less we know the better. If they put us through any very severe -catechism, the utmost we will admit is that you were in the hotel garden -before lunch this morning.” - -“It’s quite a romance,” said little Miss Upton, rubbing her hands with -satisfaction, “and as I shall want to have the third volume, please send -it over to me at Boston as soon as it’s complete. There’s my card.” - -“I will be sure to write,” said Evereld, “and thank you so very much for -helping me, both last night and this morning, too. I shall never forget -you.” - -They walked a little way beyond the station in the direction of Montreux -until they reached a confectioner’s. - -“I am going in here to get some food for my journey,” said Evereld, “I -will wish you good bye;” she gave her hand to each of them, shyly -thanked Dick Lewisham for his help, and entered the shop. - -“End of the second volume,” said Miss Upton with a comical expression on -her bright face. “Nothing remains for us, Mr. Lewisham, but to kill time -by a row on the lake. Take me to see Chillon; nothing but an old and -venerable castle will fill up this awful blank, or rouse my interest.” - -“Oh, we shall have some good fun to-night or to-morrow morning,” said -Dick Lewisham, “Messrs. Wylie and Mactavish wall furnish us with some -capital sport. I only hope no harm will happen to that brave little -girl.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - - - “But, by all thy nature’s weakness, - - Hidden faults and follies known, - - Be thou, in rebuking evil, - - Conscious of thine own. - - “So, when thoughts of evil-doers - - Waken scorn, or hatred move, - - Shall a mournful fellow-feeling - - Temper all with love.” - - Whittier. - -|Lady Mount Pleasant’s picnic proved a successful affair, and Sir -Matthew prevailed on her to dine with them at the Rigi Vaudois on her -way home. Minnie, running upstairs to change her dress after the gong -had sounded, had scant time to think of Evereld, she rang for hot water -and flew about her room making the hastiest of toilettes, it was only as -the chambermaid was just closing the door that she called after her. - -“Marie! Wait a moment. Have you seen Miss Ewart? Is she better?” - -“I have seen her, Mademoiselle, and she still has _migraine_,” said the -chambermaid. - -“Well see that she has all she needs,” said Minnie hurriedly pinning a -cluster of roses in her dress. - -“Yes, Mademoiselle. But she left word expressly that she did not want to -be disturbed.” - -“Ah, then I will not go in,” said Minnie, flying along the corridor, and -running downstairs. - -“But I will just ask if the _pauvre petite_ would like a _tisane?_” - reflected the chambermaid knocking at Evereld’s door. “No response! -’Tis strange, I will knock again. Mademoiselle! It is I, Marie. Well, -’tis useless to wait. Without doubt she sleeps. These English are -always heavy sleepers, and after all, sleep is the best cure for _la -migraine_.” - -But next morning when to repeated knocks there was still no answer, -Marie began to feel anxious. She consulted Miss Mactavish. - -“Miss Ewart often goes out early in the morning. I expect she has locked -her door and taken her key to the _bureau_,” was Minnie’s matter-of-fact -solution of the problem. - -“No, Mademoiselle, the key is not in the bureau. It is on the inside of -the door. I fear Mademoiselle must be very ill.” - -“Well, we can soon find out,” said Minnie, opening her window and -stepping on to the balcony. - -To unbolt the _jalousies_ and open Evereld’s French window was the work -of a minute, but Minnie gave a gasp of surprise when she found the room -quite empty. Remembering however the curious eyes of the chambermaid she -controlled herself. - -“Perhaps she is with Lady Mactavish, I will see,” she exclaimed, and -hastily ran down to the next floor in search of her father. She found -him in their private sitting-room, writing letters, and quickly told her -discovery. - -“Can the child have been so foolish as to run away,” he exclaimed in -dismay. “Well she can’t have gone far, that is one comfort; we shall -soon track her. I will come up with you and see if we can find any clue. -Run on first and tell the maid it is all right and get her out of the -way.” - -He followed more leisurely, and passing through his daughter’s room went -by the balcony to Evereld’s deserted chamber. - -“The bed has been slept in,” he remarked in a tone of satisfaction, “she -has not gone far.” - -It did not occur to him that it had never been made on the previous day, -that was just one of those small points of detail which would escape an -ordinary man. Minnie instantly thought of it, but she held her tongue, -and began hurriedly to see what clothes Evereld had taken with her. - -“Her little travelling bag has gone,” she said, “and her hat and cloak. -See, too, here is a letter just inside her portmanteau directed to you, -Papa.” - -Sir Matthew who began to look seriously disturbed tore open the letter -and hastily read the following lines:-- - -“My Dear Sir Matthew: - -“Nothing will induce me to marry Mr. Wylie, and as you insist on my -accepting his proposal within the next two days, and refuse to pay any -heed to what I say as to my future marriage with Ralph, you force me -to act for myself. Please do not be anxious about my safety--I am going -straight to friends who will take every care of me, and it will be -useless to try to make me live again under your roof. - -“If you make any attempt to force me back I shall put myself under the -protection of the Lord Chancellor, and ask for a thorough investigation -of my affairs. My love to Lady Mactavish and Minnie. I am sorry to vex -you all, but you have left me no alternative. - -“Yours affly, - -“Evereld Ewart.” - -He handed the letter to his daughter, and paced the room, dumb for the -time with anger and surprise. - -“Where can she have gone?” said Minnie. “And how on earth can we hush it -up here?” - -“Easily enough,” said her father with contempt in his tone, “say that -she has joined some friends in Montreux, and we can all leave to-morrow. -Indeed I shall go straight home to-day and track her out. Little -minx! Who would have thought her capable of such resistance! A little -blue-eyed slip of a girl, who had hardly a word to say for herself!” - -He turned away in search of Bruce Wylie, and was glad to see that his -friend was shocked and perplexed by the news. To do the lawyer justice -he was really anxious about Evereld’s safety. - -“Upon my soul, Mactavish, it’s an ugly business,” he said uneasily, -“a young girl fresh from school, innocent and ignorant and quite -unprotected, crossing Europe alone! I hope to goodness she has gone to -those friends of hers at Champéry. I will set off this morning and see. -She would naturally think of them.” - -“It’s possible,” said Sir Matthew, with a look of relief. “You go there, -and I will go straight to London making close inquiry all along the -route. Perhaps we may be able to learn something from the people in the -hotel without rousing their curiosity too much. We must avoid getting -the girl talked about. That would be fatal.” - -“It’s a hateful business,” said Bruce Wylie frowning, “I wish I had -never meddled with it.” - -“There was more in the child than we dreamt of,” said Sir Matthew, “She -was quiet and gentle and affectionate and I never thought it possible -she would show so stubborn a front. Look at the letter. Why old Ewart -himself might have penned it. As ill luck would have it, she heard the -day before yesterday that changes have been made as to the investment of -her money, and I fear she suspects that all is not right. How on earth -she came to know anything about the Lord Chancellor and her power of -appeal to him I can’t conceive.” - -“Probably through ‘Iolanthe’ and the ‘such a susceptible Chancellor,’” - said Bruce Wylie with a mirthless laugh, “or through some of her beloved -Charles Dickens’ novels. The fact is, Mactavish, we educate our girls -now-a-days, but expect them to remain fools. Unless we can track -Evereld, and force her to obey you, she has the game in her own hands. -Great Heaven! just think of it! That little girl can absolutely ruin our -career, can give the pinprick which will burst the whole bubble.” - -It was exasperating to the last degree, and to men who had always taken -the lowest view of womanhood, it was wholly perplexing. They went down -to the _salle à manger_ trying to look unconcerned, but Miss Upton’s -keen eyes read their perturbation. - -She enjoyed it hugely. - -“I guess you had a good time yesterday up at the Rochers de Naye?” she -said blithely. - -“Very, thank you,” said Sir Matthew, “though we were all disappointed -that my ward was not with us. Have you seen anything of her?” - -The American girl met his keen gaze without flinching in the least. - -“She was in the garden for a little while yesterday.” - -“Ah, indeed,” Sir Matthew was all on the alert. “Did you have any talk -with her?” - -“Well--I inquired after her headache,” said Miss Upton casually. “How is -she this morning?” and with perfect _sang froid _she began to eat an -egg American fashion, a proceeding which she well knew would make Sir -Matthew shudder. - -“Thank you, she is better,” he said, taking refuge in his cup of coffee. - -“I’m so glad,” said Miss Upton sweetly. “We must have some more -thought-reading this evening, Mr. Wylie. Perhaps Miss Ewart will be able -to show me the experiment you were speaking of the other night. You are -always successful with her, are you not?” - -Dick Lewisham at an adjoining table bent low over his newspaper to hide -his amusement. - -“Unfortunately,” said the solicitor, “we are obliged to leave to-day, or -it would have given me the greatest pleasure.” - -“What a mistake to leave just when we are all such a nice, congenial -party,” said the American. “Is Miss Ewart really fit to go? She looked -so white and ill when I saw her yesterday.” - -“She has been travelling about in Switzerland some time,” said Sir -Matthew, “and will, I think, be glad to settle down at home.” - -“I can understand that,” said Miss Upton. “I don’t think the hotel life -was quite congenial to her. Now, we Americans are brought up to live -in public from our childhood, it’s second nature to us, and we are -accustomed to so much more liberty than you allow your girls. I suppose -though your English girls are much more tractable and obedient than we -are.” - -Sir Matthew winced. - -“Comparisons are odious,” said Bruce Wylie, with ready politeness, and -after a very scanty breakfast the two men retired discomforted, while -Dick Lewisham and the bright-eyed American enjoyed a quiet laugh at -their expense. - -To get any clue as to Evereld’s movements seemed impossible, and Sir -Matthew did not care to put the matter into the hands of the police, or -to employ a private detective. In his own mind he felt convinced that -Evereld had gone to England, and he travelled home with the utmost -speed, having first telegraphed to his confidential clerk to meet him at -Victoria by the boat train on the following afternoon. - -“All well I hope, sir,” said Smither, the clerk, as Sir Matthew gave him -a pleasant greeting. - -“Quite, thank you; did you get that address?” - -“Yes, sir,” and the clerk handed him a paper. “Da Costa the agent gave -it me.” - -On the paper were inscribed the words, “Macneillie’s Company, September -20-27, Theatre Royal. Rilchester.” Sir Matthew promptly detached a key -from his ring and handed it to Smither. - -“Just see my portmanteau through the Custom House,” he said, “I must -catch the next train at King’s Cross, and will only take my bag with -me.” - -He drove off, but took the precaution of calling at the house in Queen -Anne’s Gate that he might see whether any clue as to Evereld’s movements -was to be had from Geraghty or Bridget. Their entire ignorance was -however so transparent, and Bridget’s inquiries after her young mistress -were so natural that he went off to King’s Cross more certain than ever -that Evereld had avoided London and had gone straight to her lover. He -dined in the train, arrived at Rilchester soon after ten o’clock that -evening, took up his quarters at the Station Hotel, and sent a messenger -to the stage door of the theatre to inquire as to Ralph Denmead’s -address, being careful to avoid giving his name. When however he had -obtained what he wanted and after some trouble had discovered the quiet -street to which he had been directed, it was only to find that Ralph was -still at the theatre. - -“He’ll not be back for at least another half hour,” said the landlady. -“Can I give him any message?” - -“I had better come in and wait,” said Sir Matthew. - -The landlady hesitated a moment, but being impressed as most people were -by Sir Matthew’s manner and bearing, she admitted him and showed him -into a fairly comfortable room where the supper-table was laid for two -people. - -“I have caught them,” said Sir Matthew to himself with an inward chuckle -of satisfaction. “The little fool with her grand talk of the Lord -Chancellor’s protection! She has ruined her case now. We shall have a -scene, that can’t be helped. All’s well that ends well.” - -Picking up a newspaper he installed himself comfortably in an armchair, -and awaited Ralph’s return. Presently steps were heard outside, the -street door was opened, and two people entered the passage, he put down -his paper and listened. The voice speaking was certainly Ralph’s. - -“It’s the worst house we have had this week, there weren’t a dozen -people in the Stalls. Ah! I see there’s a note for you here.” - -There followed sounds as of the opening of an envelope and then the door -handle turned, and Sir Matthew looked up expectantly. Instead however -of his runaway ward, there entered a middle-aged man intently reading an -open letter; for a moment Sir Matthew failed to recognise the tired and -rather despondent face, then it flashed upon him that this must be Hugh -Macneillie. He moved somewhat uneasily, and the actor recalled to the -present, lifted his eyes from the letter and looked at him in mute -astonishment. - -“I called to see Mr. Denmead,” said Sir Matthew, and at that moment -Ralph blithe and cheerful as ever came into the room giving an -astonished exclamation as he caught sight of his godfather. He greeted -him however with all proper formality and introduced Macneillie. -There was a momentary pause after that; the situation was somewhat -embarrassing. - -“I hope Evereld is well?” he said, chiefly for the sake of breaking the -silence. - -“I have come here to make inquiries about Evereld,” said Sir Matthew -grimly. “Have the goodness to tell me at once where she is.” - -“Is she not in Switzerland with Lady Mactavish?” said Ralph, -astonishment and anxiety plainly to be seen in his face. - -“My good fellow, I know you are an actor, but spare me this private -exhibition,” said Sir Matthew waving his hand in the old manner. “You -know that she has sought refuge with you, and the sooner you give her up -to her lawful guardian the better it will be for you both.” - -“I think you must have gone out of your mind,” said Ralph, fuming. “How -should I know anything of Evereld’s movements? She is unfortunately -under your protection till she is of age. Do you mean that you have lost -her?” - -“Yes, that is exactly what I do mean,” said Sir Matthew wrathfully. “She -merely left a letter behind her saying that she had gone to friends who -would take care of her, and she had had the audacity on the previous -day to tell me with her own lips that she would never marry any one but -you.” - -“She is gone?” said Ralph in horror. “But where?” - -“That is precisely what I want to learn from you?” said Sir Matthew with -a cold sarcastic smile. - -“You brute!” said Ralph beside himself with passion. “How can you -torture me like this? Tell me when she left you, and why? You must have -treated her shamefully, or she would never have taken such a step.” - -“You don’t impose upon me in the least by all this tragedy acting,” - said Sir Matthew. “I am satisfied that you know quite well where she is. -Probably she is in this house.” - -Ralph seemed on the point of springing at his torturer’s throat, when -Macneillie laid a strong hand on his shoulder and drew him back. - -“My dear boy, leave this to me” he said. “Surely Sir Matthew, you cannot -seriously believe that we know anything of Miss Ewart’s movements? From -the little I know of her I should imagine she was far too right-minded -and sensible to dream of attempting to seek refuge with her lover. I saw -her once or twice in August when she was staying with Mrs. Hereford at -Southbourne, and was struck by her quiet common-sense.” - -Sir Matthew was obliged to alter his tone, for he saw at once that there -was force in what Macneillie said. - -“She told me she had met you at Southbourne. I suppose it was there, -Ralph, that you had the presumption to ask her to marry you?” - -Ralph had by this time recovered his self-control, he replied with a -sort of quiet dignity which Sir Matthew resented much more than the -outburst of anger. - -“It was there that I told her I hoped some day to work my way up in the -profession. It was there I learnt that our love was mutual. Surely she -will have gone to Mrs. Hereford for protection. That would be her most -natural impulse.” - -“Well, I had not thought of that. Are the Herefords in London?” - said Sir Matthew, feeling that there was a good deal of sense in the -suggestion. - -“No, they will not be back till Parliament meets, but I know their -address in County Wicklow, and will telegraph to them to-morrow.” - -Sir Matthew frowned: it galled him terribly to feel that he was -helpless. - -“After all,” he exclaimed. “She may have had the sense to go to her old -Governess in Germany. She would be far more likely to confide in her -than in Mrs. Hereford. I will telegraph to Dresden and inquire.” - -“And when you have learnt where she is what do you propose to do?” said -Ralph. - -“Fetch her home, of course, and make her realise what people think of -such escapades.” - -Ralph seemed about to reply but he checked himself. - -“Did you imagine I was going to let her set me at defiance?” said Sir -Matthew. “Do you think a girl of nineteen will get the better of me?” - -“Yes,” said Ralph, quietly. “I think she will.” - -Sir Matthew laughed maliciously and rose to go. - -“You’re a true Denmead,” he said. “Always sanguine, always foolish -and unpractical. Well, good-night, Mr. Macneillie. I am sorry to have -inflicted this visit on you. Good-night Ralph. Let me know at the -Station Hotel as soon as you get a reply from the Herefords.” Ralph -showed him to the door in silence, and returning to the sitting-room, -flung himself down in a chair by the supper-table, and buried his face -in his hands. - -“What can I do!” he groaned. “Surely there must be something I could do -for her.” - -“Eat boy, eat,” said Macneillie in his genial voice. “You can’t think to -any purpose when you are dog-tired and as hungry as a hunter. All very -well for Sir Mathew to come in here and rant at half past eleven when he -had dined luxuriously at eight, but for strolling players, who feed at -four and work like galley slaves all the evening, it’s not so easy.” - -While he talked, he had been carving cold beef, and Ralph who at the -best of times was a small supper eater, and had never felt less inclined -for a meal, found himself forced to begin whether he would or not. - -“Here’s a salad that I mixed this afternoon after Sydney Smith’s own -receipt,” said Macneillie. “It would be sudden death to most men of -this generation close upon midnight but it’s the reward of hard work -to acquire the digestion of the ostrich and to sleep the sleep of the -righteous.” - -He talked on much in the way he had talked long ago in the Pass of Leny -when he had helped Ralph along the road to Kilmahog; it was the sort -of conversation which did not demand much response, but never failed to -hold the hearer’s attention, because it was racy and humourous. But by -and bye when they had lighted their pipes, he reverted to Sir Matthew’s -visit. - -“Curious man, that ex-guardian of yours,” he said musingly. “I am not -surprised that you two never hit it off. I wonder what it was that drove -little Miss Ewart to take such a decided step.” - -“I am certain it was some question of marriage,” said Ralph. “Probably -he wanted that brute Wylie to have the control of her fortune. I have -always detested that man. Governor! What am I to do? Will you spare me -for a week and let me see if I can help her?” - -“No, my dear boy, I will not do anything of the sort,” said Macneillie -resolutely, yet with a most kindly look in his eyes. “I know it’s a hard -thing for you to stay here and go on with your work as if nothing had -happened, and while all the time you are sick with anxiety, but it’s -what we all of us have to put up with now and again. Besides, you could -do no good and you might do great harm. Those who know Miss Ewart best -are the ones who ought to have most confidence in her womanly wisdom. -Depend upon it she is perfectly safe. Such a quiet, well-bred girl as -that might go alone unharmed from one end of Europe to the other.” - -Ralph pushed back his chair and paced the room restlessly. “The suspense -is the intolerable part of it,” he said, with a break in his voice. - -“I have good reason to know how hard suspense is to bear,” said -Macneillie. “And yet it’s not the worst, for there’s always a large -mixture of hope in it. Come let us write out your telegram to the -Herefords, it will need careful wording.” - -The next day was Sunday, but the telegraph office was open for two hours -in the morning, and upon the stroke of eight Ralph stood at the door -with his message to Ireland. He returned again between half past nine -and ten and waited drearily in the office for the reply. But the deep -bell of the cathedral boomed out the hour and still no answer came. - -“Open again between five and six, sir,” said the official, showing -him to the door. And Ralph, miserably depressed, made his way to the -cathedral. Here for a time he found comfort; but during the psalms the -verger ushered a late-comer into the stall exactly facing him. He saw at -a glance that it was Sir Matthew, and after that there was no more peace -for him, but a dire struggle with his angry heart. - -After service was over, Sir Matthew joined him in the Close, greeting -him just as if nothing had happened. - -“Did you telegraph to the Herefords?” he asked. - -“Yes, but as yet there is no reply,” said Ralph. - -“And I have not heard back from Dresden. We shall both hear this -afternoon. Come and dine with me at eight o’clock and you shall hear the -result.” - -“Thank you,” said Ralph. “But we leave for Nottingham by the eight ten.” - -“Come to lunch now then.” - -But to sit down and eat with the man who had wrought such havoc in his -life and had driven Evereld to take such a desperate step was more than -Ralph could endure. He excused himself, promising, however, to come -round at six o’clock to the hotel and report any news he might receive -from Ireland. His face when he arrived was not reassuring; he looked -pale and miserable. - -“What news?” said Sir Matthew eagerly. - -“None,” said Ralph, handing the telegram to his godfather. The words -struck a chill to Sir Matthew’s heart. - -_“Know nothing about her at all. Imagined she was in Switzerland still -with her guardian.”_ - -“I have had a similar one from Dresden,” he replied. “She is not there -and wrote last nearly a month ago.” - -“Is there any clue whatever in the letter she left behind for you?” - suggested Ralph, with a strong desire to see it. Sir Matthew took from -his breast-pocket a methodically arranged packet, and drew out Evereld’s -note. - -“I can find no clue in it,” he said, “perhaps you may be able to do so.” - -Ralph eagerly read the letter. There was not the slightest hint as to -the direction Evereld had taken, but something in the quiet assurance, -the guarded, dignified tone of the short note brought him comfort. It -revealed a side of his old play-fellow’s character which had hitherto -lain dormant. - -“Well,” said Sir Matthew sharply. “You look relieved. What do you make -of it? Where do you think she has gone?” - -“I have no idea,” said Ralph. “The letter tells nothing. Still she -wouldn’t have written so calmly and confidently if her plans had not -been well thought out. Evereld is not impulsive. Perhaps she had met -friends while you were travelling and has gone to them.” - -“No, I had a telegram in London from Bruce Wylie who went over to -Champéry on purpose to interview a school friend she had met. She -had heard nothing whatever about her. I shall have to set a private -detective to work.” - -Ralph flushed. - -“You would surely not do that?” he said quickly. - -“Why not? I must find her. And I intend to bring her back to my house.” - -“Well,” said Ralph, “the one thing that remains absolutely certain is -that when Evereld says a thing she means it with her whole heart. She -will certainly appeal to the Lord Chancellor, and I don’t think he will -compel her to return to your house when he has heard the whole truth.” - -“Do you dare to assert that I have not been in every respect a faithful -and kind guardian to her? I who was her father’s oldest friend?” - -“I assert nothing,” said Ralph bitterly, as he moved to the door. “But I -can’t forget what your friendship for my father led to.” - -Sir Matthew made no reply, but turned abruptly to the window, the -colour mounting to his temples. The closing of the door and the sound of -Ralph’s retreating footsteps came as a relief. - -“If I had but guessed what a serpent’s tooth that boy would prove to -me I would have shipped him straight off to the Colonies instead of -educating him,” he thought to himself. “I was weak--pitiably weak! It -was the look of Denmead’s face as he lay there dead that unmanned me. -There was the ghastly quiet of the country, too, and the child with his -old-world politeness, and that old lawyer with his suspicions. If I had -only been sensible enough to stamp out all sentiment and do the -practical thing at once my plans would not be thwarted now by a chit of -a girl who has lost her heart to a penniless actor.” - -His face grew dark with anxiety and trouble as he reflected on the -desperate position of his own affairs should Evereld succeed in baffling -him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - - - “When a friend asks, there is no to-morrow.” - - George Herbert. - -|When Evereld parted with the kindly American girl and Dick Lewisham a -sense of great loneliness for a time overwhelmed her. She looked in a -dazed way at the various delicacies displayed in the prettily arranged -shop, wondering whether she would ever feel hungry again. Having at last -selected some dainty little meat patties, and two crescent-shaped rolls, -she walked on to the next halting-place of the electric tram, and, after -a very brief waiting, found herself, to her great relief, comfortably -installed in a corner seat _en route_ for Vevey. She had judged it more -prudent to take the tram, knowing that she would more easily be traced -had she gone direct from Territet station to Geneva by the railroad or -by steamer. When once they were safely out of Montreux, and the risk of -meeting any of the visitors in the Rigi Vaudois was practically over, -she breathed more freely, even finding time to enjoy the lovely glimpses -of the lake and the mountains as they sped through Clarens and the -pretty surroundings of Vevey. - -Arrived at length in that quaint old town, she was set down at the -railway station, where she prudently took her ticket only as far as -Lausanne, travelling second class because she knew that she was less -liable to find herself alone, and had heard the continental saying that -only fools and Englishmen travel first class. It was during the twenty -minutes’ waiting time at Lausanne that her perplexities began. - -A kindly looking English lady, seeing that she seemed to be alone, sat -down beside her and began to talk about the weather and the scenery. -Finally she hazarded a direct question. - -“Have you a long journey before you?” - -“Not very long,” said Evereld, colouring, as she glanced inquiringly -into her companion’s face, as though to make sure what sort of person -she was. In one sense the look reassured her, for the most suspicious -mortal could not have credited this mild-faced lady with evil design, -but, on the other hand, she was evidently one of those inquisitive -mortals who delight in asking questions, in season and out of season. - -“I am going myself to Geneva, if that is your direction we might perhaps -travel together,” said the lady pleasantly. - -“Thank you,” said Evereld, reflecting that after all she could baffle -the questions by reading when once they had started. - -“It is not so easy for a girl to travel alone abroad as it is in -England,” said her companion, looking curiously at Evereld’s girlish -face. “I almost wonder your parents allow it.” - -“I have no parents,” said Evereld. - -“Indeed, and have you been staying with friends?” - -“Yes,” said Evereld. “And I am on my way now to some other friends.” - Murmuring an excuse she sprang up and went to the window to see whether -the train was nearly ready. - -“This is dreadful,” she reflected. “If we talk much longer she will drag -the whole story out of me. I will buy some papers and try to make her -read.” - -“You are sure your luggage is all right?” exclaimed the good lady the -moment she returned. - -“Quite sure, thank you,” said Evereld, clasping her hand bag closer and -trembling lest she should be asked some quite unanswerable question. - -At length an official began vigorously to ring the great bell in the -doorway and to shout the intelligence that passengers for Geneva and -various other places must take their seats. - -“Can I help you?” said Evereld, politely offering to take a basket from -the large heap of possessions with which her neighbour was surrounded. -She was startled to feel something jump inside it in an uncanny way. - -“Thank you if you would. To tell the truth it is my little dog in there, -but he is such a good traveller, I don’t think you will mind him.” - -“Shall I say that I detest dogs and so escape to another carriage?” - reflected Evereld smiling to herself. But on the whole in spite of the -tiresome questions she rather liked this good English lady and found -a certain comfort in her presence when once they were installed in the -train. Her spirits rose as they travelled further and further from the -Mactavishs, she even grew hungry, made short work of the provisions -she had bought, parried her friend’s questions skilfully by counter -questions about the pet dog and finally took refuge in “Pride and -Prejudice” and in the delicious humour of Jane Austen’s characters -forgot all her dangers and difficulties till the train steamed into -Geneva station. - -“I suppose your friends will meet you?” asked the talkative lady as she -fastened the dog up in his basket. - -“No,” said Evereld, “but I shall manage very well now, thank you,” and -with rather hurried farewells she sprang from the carriage not offering -to carry the basket any further but promising to send a porter. -Fortunately her companion was in such a bustle with the effort of -collecting her various belongings that she did not notice the English -girl’s somewhat abrupt departure, and Evereld with a joyful sense of -escape made her way to the outside of the station and getting into one -of the little public carriages drove off to make her purchases in the -town. - -Having bought an ulster and a warm shawl which made a very respectable -show when put into her cloak straps she went back to the station, dined -in a leisurely way and passed the rest of her two hours’ waiting time as -patiently as she could. By six o’clock she was safely in the train once -more, with the happy knowledge that she had no more changes that night, -and would arrive at Lyons in rather more than four hours. Her heart -danced for joy as she reflected that by the next afternoon she might -have safely reached Bride O’Ryan and Aimée Magnay, her greatest friends, -in Mrs. Magnay’s old home in Auvergne. That was the safe refuge towards -which she was steering her course, that was the thought which had darted -into her mind on the previous evening when she had decided that flight -was the only thing under the circumstances. - -Later on however when darkness had stolen like a pall over the -landscape, when weary with want of sleep and worn out with excitement -and anxiety, the glad sense of escape died away, she grew unutterably -sad-hearted and forlorn. - -At the other end of the carriage two men wrangled together over the -vexed question of having the window open or shut. A fat French lady went -to sleep and snored monotonously, just opposite her a young couple -on their honeymoon laughed and chatted in low tones with much outward -demonstration, while beyond a young mother sat with her baby in her -arms, an air of placid content on her face. - -Never before had Evereld felt such a unit, never before had she realised -how really alone she was in the world. She shuddered to think what would -have become of her if Ralph had never crossed her path. And then as the -engine throbbed on through the darkness all those terrors of imagining -from which her healthy uneventful life had so far been exempt, laid -strong hold upon her, and made the night hideous. - -She saw Ralph lying ill and forlorn in a fever hospital. She saw him -lying with pale lips and hands folded in the awful calm of death. She -saw herself alone and brokenhearted, struggling to make something of her -maimed life and failing in the attempt. She saw Sir Matthew tracking her -out and carrying her back to the house in Queen Anne’s Gate. Worst of -all she saw herself standing in church and passively allowing herself to -be married to Bruce Wylie. - -She had just reached this climax in her miserable thoughts when as the -train stopped at the wayside station the door of the carriage was opened -and in came a very aged priest whose rusty black raiment had an old and -somewhat countrified look. His thin, worn face might have been stern in -youth, but the passing years had mellowed it, and like Southey’s holly -tree what had once been sharp and aggressive had grown tender as it more -nearly approached heaven. His keen eyes seemed to take in the occupants -of the carriage in one glance and he at once divined that the sad -little English girl in the corner was for some reason feeling altogether -desolate. He took the vacant place beside her and began to unwrap a -package which he carried. It proved to be a cage containing a bullfinch, -and Evereld watched with interest the scared fluttering of the bird and -the gentle reassuring face of the old man as he tried to pacify it. - -“It is its first journey,” he said glancing at her. “The unaccustomed -has terrors for us all. It will soon understand that it is quite safe. -Eh, Fifi? Should I let any harm happen to thee, thou foolish one?” - -“Can it sing any tune?” said Evereld. “We had one in London that sang a -bit of the National Anthem.” - -“And Fifi is just as patriotic,” said the old priest laughing, “he will -pipe two lines of _Partant pour la Syrie_, I am taking him to cheer up -one of my parishioners who is lying ill at Lyons. He will think Fifi -from the Presbytère almost as good as one of his own friends from the -village. And when the lad is better why he will bring back this winged -missionary to me. My old housekeeper would not hear of parting with Fifi -altogether, he is the life of the house she says.” - -The bird growing now more accustomed to its strange surroundings piped -cheerfully the familiar air of the refrain - - “Amour a la plus belle - - Honneur au plus vaillant.” - -“Ah! he sings better than ours ever did,” said Evereld thinking of the -bird Ralph had brought from Whinhaven. - -“And he is more tractable than a choir boy,” said the old priest -laughing. “Does he sing too loud and tire one’s head--it is but to cover -his cage and he is as quiet as any mouse.” - -After that they drifted into talk about life in rural France, and by the -time they reached Lyons Evereld felt that the old man had become quite a -friend. - -The other passengers scrambled out of the carriage each intent on his -own affairs, but the priest helped her courteously with her roll of -cloaks. - -“Would you mind telling me what is the best and most quiet hotel to go -to?” she asked. “I cannot get on any further till nine o’clock to-morrow -morning. I am on my way to stay with friends near Clermont-Ferrand.” - -“You are over young my child,” he said, “to travel unprotected. But -I know it is not in England as with us, the young _demoiselles_ have -greater liberty. The best plan will be for you to go to an Hotel close -by. As it happens I know the manager and his wife and if you will permit -me I will walk with you to the door, and ask them to take good care of -you. I think you are like Fifi, not over well-accustomed to travelling.” - -“Thank you very much,” said Evereld gratefully. “Now I shall feel safe -indeed.” - -The old priest piloted her across the crowded platform and having given -her luggage to the hotel porter himself took her to the Manager’s little -office where Madame, a comely and pleasant looking woman, sat at her -desk busily casting up accounts. Her face lighted up at sight of the old -man. - -“A thousand welcomes Father Nicolas, it is long since you paid us a -visit.” - -“You are well,” said the old priest, “I need not ask that, for it is -easily to be seen, and busy as usual. Is your husband in?” - -“He will be desolated, but he has gone to his Club.” - -“Ah, well, I will call and see him to-morrow. In the meantime will you -kindly do your utmost to make this young English lady feel at home and -comfortable. She is unable to travel further till the 8.59 to-morrow -morning. I leave you in good hands,” he said, taking kindly leave of -Evereld, “Madame has a great reputation for taking good care of her -guests.” - -“It will be my greatest pleasure,” said the manager’s wife. -“Mademoiselle looks tired and will doubtless like to go to her room.” - -Evereld assented and toiled upstairs after the brisk capable looking -manageress who chatted pleasantly as they went. - -“He has the best of hearts, old Father Nicolas,” she said. “I have known -him since I was a child. There is not a living thing I verily believe -that he does not love. It was a sight to see him standing on a winter’s -morning in the garden of the Presbytère and feeding the birds before he -went to Mass.” - -“Where does he live?” asked Evereld. - -“At Arvron, a little village where there are many poor. His people adore -him. This will be your room, mademoiselle, and shall I send you up a -little hot soup to take the last thing, or will you rather come down to -the _salle à manger?_” - -“I should like it here please,” said Evereld. “And you won’t let me -over-sleep myself and miss the train to-morrow. I am so tired, I think I -should sleep the clock round if no one called me.” - -“I will call you myself,” said the manageress. “It is a busy life here -and I am always an early riser. _Bon soir, mademoiselle_. I hope you -will be quite rested by the morning.” - -“How much easier it has all been than I expected,” thought Evereld, -as she made her preparations for the night. “To think that this time -yesterday I was at Glion and in such a panic lest anything should -prevent my getting away! I wonder whether I had better telegraph to Mrs. -Magnay, and tell her I am on my way to ask her protection? I don’t think -I will. It might lead to my being traced later on, and besides I have no -idea whether there is a telegraph office within reasonable reach of the -Chateau. How I wonder what it will be like.” - -Her reflections were interrupted by the arrival of a pretty young -chambermaid who brought her a basin of the most delicious soup; and long -before midnight she was sound asleep and dreaming of Bride and Aimée. - -She woke up in excellent spirits, chatted with Madame as she breakfasted -on the coffee and rolls, which the pretty chambermaid brought to her -bedroom, and set off on the next stage of her journey full of hope for -the future and relief that all had passed off so well. At that very -minute Sir Matthew Mactavish was ruefully regarding her empty room at -Glion and wondering how he could possibly trace her out. But Evereld was -too busy to trouble herself much over the thought of his well-deserved -discomfiture. Every one seemed intent on being kind to her here. The -Manageress was almost motherly in her solicitude, the chambermaid waited -on her as though service were a pleasure, and the hotel porter neglected -the other passengers in the omnibus until he had seen her safely -established in the _salle d’attente_ with her possessions. Here to her -surprise she found old Father Nicolas reading his breviary. - -“It was too early yet to see the sick lad I told you of,” he explained, -“so I thought I would start you on your way, if you will permit me the -pleasure.” - -“I shall never forget all your kindness,” she said gratefully. “I was -feeling so dreadfully alone till you got into the train last night.” - -“Well it is no bad thing to learn what loneliness means,” said the old -man thoughtfully. “Nothing so well teaches you to go through life on -the look out for the lonely, that you may serve them. Ha! They come to -announce your train. I will inquire if you have a change of carriages at -Montbrison.” He hurried away, returning in a minute or two to help her -with her packages. - -“Yes, I am sorry to say they will turn you out at Montbrison, but you -will have only ten minutes waiting and no difficulty at all in that -quiet place. I see M. Dubochet and his two daughters--very pleasant -people--will you go in the same carriage?” - -And so with a few pleasant words of introduction to Mademoiselle -Dubochet, Father Nicolas bade Evereld God-speed, and as the train moved -off she looked out wistfully after her kindly old friend, wondering -whether she should ever again come across him. - -The clock was striking five when after an uneventful journey Evereld -found herself outside the station at Clermont-Ferrand, giving orders -to a somewhat rough-looking Auvergnat to drive her to the Château de -Mabillon. The man seemed inclined to hold out for a certain sum for -the journey and as Evereld had no notion of the distance, she -was determined to make no rash promises. It would never do to be -extravagant now, for there was no saying how long her last allowance -would have to supply her wants. - -“M. Magnay will settle with you when we reach the château,” she -said with a little touch of dignity in her manner. The man instantly -subsided, feeling that he had no stranger to deal with, but a friend of -the family. And Claude Magnay’s name was quite sufficient to assure him -that he would receive his rightful fare, but not the extortionate sum he -had demanded of the new comer. - -The little incident had however depressed Evereld. She had spoken -confidently to the man but now a qualm of doubt came over her. She was -about to cast herself on the mercy of Aimée’s parents, and after all she -knew little about them: on their occasional visits to Southbourne, she -had gone with Aimée and Bride to spend Saturday afternoon with them, and -she had been three or four times to their London house, but she realised -now that she was going to ask a very great favour of them, and that -possibly they might not care to shelter her from her lawful guardian. - -These thoughts lasted all the time they were driving through the narrow -and dingy streets of Clermont-Ferrand, and she fancied that the lava -built houses seemed to frown upon her and to assure her that she was -an unwelcome visitor. Before long however they had left the town behind -them and were driving through the most beautiful country, and in -that sunny smiling landscape it was impossible to give way to anxious -thoughts. The glowing colours of the autumn leaves, the picturesque -vineyards, the river with its gleaming water reflecting the blue sky, -and the strange irregular mountains which rose on every hand filled her -with delight. - -The sun had set when at length they reached a narrower and more secluded -valley; Evereld fancied they must be getting near to Mabillon and -inquired of her driver. - -“It is two kilometres to the chateau,” said the Auvergnat. Then after a -few minutes he again turned round from the box seat. “Madame Magnay and -her daughter are down at the mill yonder,” he said. - -“Oh, stop then, and let me speak to them,” said Evereld eagerly; and -springing from the carriage she hastened towards Aimée who quickly -perceived her and ran forward with a cry of joyful astonishment. - -“This is a delightful surprise. Are you travelling back through France? -Mother, you remember Evereld?” - -Mrs. Magnay gave her a charming greeting, containing all the warmth and -animation which English greetings so often lack. - -“I remember Evereld very well, and am more delighted than I can say to -welcome her to my dear old home.” - -“You are very good,” said Evereld shyly, “I have come to you because -I was in great trouble, and I thought--I felt sure--you would help -and advise me. It is impossible for me to stay longer with Sir Matthew -Mactavish.” - -Her eyes were full of tears, and Mrs. Magnay taking her hand began to -lead her towards the carriage. - -“You are quite tired out, poor child,” she said caressingly. “We are -very sorry for your trouble, but very glad that it brought you to -Mabillon. This evening you shall tell us all about it. Do you see that -pretty girl waving her hand to us from the cottage door? That is my dear -old Javotte’s granddaughter. Aimée has told you how she starved herself -in the siege of Paris that we might have food enough. Dear old woman!” - -“And here is one of the best views of Mont D’Or,” said Aimée, “only the -light is fading so fast you can’t properly see it.” - -Chatting thus, they soon reached the old château, a great part of which -had now been carefully restored, and Mrs. Magnay seeing how pale and -worn her guest looked, determined to take her straight upstairs. - -“Run Aimée,” she said, “and tell your father to settle with the driver, -and then bring a cup of tea for Evereld. I shall take her to Bride’s -room, she will be more snug in there I think.” - -So Evereld was taken straight to her friend, and then while Mrs. Magnay -herself kindled the wood fire, and daintily piled up fir-cones to catch -the blaze, Bride made her rest in the snuggest of easy chairs, and she -had very soon told them the whole story. - -“I know nothing of English law,” said Mrs. Magnay. “Are you sure you can -put yourself under the protection of the Lord Chancellor?” - -“I think so,” said Evereld. “Don’t you remember, Bride, how we used -to tease you about your answer in that examination we had, when you -wrote--‘The Lord Chancellor must be a very busy man for Blackstone says -he is the natural guardian of all orphans, idiots and lunatics.’” - -“To be sure I do,” said Bride laughing. “Well if Blackstone says so, you -must surely be right.” - -“I will go and talk over matters with my husband, and see what he -advises, and in the meantime, Bride, I strongly advise you to put -Evereld to bed. She looks to me quite tired out. Rest and forget your -troubles, dear. No one can molest you at Mabillon, and you say that Sir -Matthew can have no clue to your whereabouts.” - -“No, he will naturally think I have gone to Mrs. Hereford, or to my old -governess at Dresden,” said Evereld. “To-morrow I must write to Mrs. -Hereford and ask her to let Ralph know that I am safe. I am so afraid he -may hear that I have disappeared and be anxious about me.” - -“Write to him,” said Bride, “and let Doreen forward your letter.” - -In the meantime Mrs. Magnay told the whole story to her husband, and -it was decided that he should put the case straight into the hands of -a London solicitor. Evereld, being consulted as to the one she would -prefer, unhesitatingly named Ralph’s old friend Mr. Marriott of -Basinghall Street, and as Claude Magnay knew that she could not have -mentioned a more trustworthy and efficient man he wrote to him and made -her on the following morning also write with a full description of all -that had passed, of her suspicions with regard to her fortune and of her -wish for a thorough investigation of her affairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII - - - “No action whether foul or fair, - - Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere - - A record, written by fingers ghostly, - - As a blessing or a curse, and mostly - - In the greater weakness or greater strength - - Of the acts that follow it, till at length - - The wrongs of ages are redressed, - - And the justice of God made manifest.” - - The Golden Legend. - -|Ralph’s anxieties came to an end while the Company were fulfilling -their engagement at Nottingham. For one never to be forgotten day there -arrived a letter from Mrs. Hereford, enclosing a long letter on foreign -paper from Evereld. The sheet bore no address and she did not mention -the name of the friends who were taking care of her, but she told him -all about their kindness, and that Bride O’Ryan was with her, that she -was quite safe from molestation and in the depths of the country far -away among mountains and woods, where neither Sir Matthew nor Bruce -Wylie could trouble her peace. - -Later on came news from Mrs. Hereford that Evereld’s affairs had -been put into the hands of Mr. Marriott, and that Mr. Hereford was in -consultation with the old lawyer and would do everything he possibly -could: offering, if it were thought well, to become Evereld’s guardian -and trustee should the Lord Chancellor decide to deprive Sir Matthew of -the Trusteeship. After that for some time came no news at all. - -At last, growing anxious, Ralph made a hurried expedition to town -late one Saturday night, and sought out his old friend Mr. Marriott on -Sunday. - -He could not however get anything very definite out of him. Mr. Marriott -was always reserved and cautious, but he set him quite at rest as far as -Evereld was concerned. - -“She is perfectly safe and Sir Matthew can’t touch her, for she is now a -ward of Court,” he said reassuringly. “I am not yet at liberty to speak -to you as to details. I think however your old prejudice against Sir -Matthew Mactavish was not without foundation. Unless I am much mistaken, -he will soon be unmasked. Now to turn to quite another matter;--I -understand from my client Lady Fenchurch, that you were present at -Edinburgh last summer and met Sir Roderick. Tell me as carefully as you -can all that passed while you were present.” - -Ralph related all that he could remember. - -“We have exactly the same sort of evidence from many other witnesses of -similar scenes,” said the lawyer. “It will not be worth while calling -you to appear at the trial. If you had witnessed any sort of violence, -physical violence, we should subpoena you at once.” - -“When does the case come on?” said Ralph. - - “Possibly next week, but there -is always great uncertainty as to the exact date.” - -Ralph’s thoughts naturally turned to Macneillie and he remembered his -words about suspense being tolerable because it was always so largely -mixed with hope. - -The lawyer, however, who knew nothing of his reasons for taking interest -in the Fenchurch case, fancied the shadow on his face was caused by -anxiety for Evereld Ewart, and began to talk in a kindly way of her -future. - -“Of course,” he said, “I can understand that under the circumstances it -is hard for you not to be allowed even to know where Miss Ewart is. But -it is safer that you should only communicate with her through Mr. and -Mrs. Hereford. Who can tell that Sir Matthew may not pounce down on you -again as he did at Rilchester. You know that she is safe and well and -for the present that must suffice you. I have good reason to believe -that the world will soon see Sir Matthew Mactavish in his true colours, -and what will happen then no one can foretell. There are storms ahead, -but I think they are storms which will at any rate clear your way.” - -After this enigmatical speech Ralph went back to his work, somewhat -perplexed, yet on the whole relieved and hopeful. There followed ten -uneventful days and then one morning at Brighton, when he came down to -breakfast and opened the paper, the first thing that caught his eye was -a brief paragraph just before the leading article. - -“In the Divorce Division yesterday the President and a Common Jury had -before them the case of Fenchurch v. Fenchurch and Mackay. The adultery -was not denied but the evidence failed to show legal cruelty on the part -of the defendant. His Lordship was therefore unable to grant a decree -nisi, but ordered a judicial separation with costs, and directed the -amount to be paid into Court in a fortnight. Lady Fenchurch is well -known to the public under her stage name of Miss Christine Greville.” - -“She is not yet free from that brute then,” thought Ralph, a sick -feeling of disappointment stealing over him as he realised how this news -would darken his friend’s sky, how it would for ever cheat him of his -heart’s desire. Hastily turning the paper to read the longer report, he -found a whole column with the sensational heading, “Theatrical Divorce -Suit,” and feeling how it would all grate upon Macneillie, longed to -keep the newspaper from him. “He shall at any rate have his breakfast -in peace,” he reflected, and crushing the paper in his hands he flung it -into the fire. - -The blaze had only just died down when Macneillie entered. He seemed -in unusually good spirits; they had had good houses for three nights, -moreover the weather was bright and clear, and the autumn sunshine of -the south coast seemed doubly delightful after a gloomy tour in the -midlands. Ralph thought he had never seen him look so young and buoyant -and hopeful as just at that moment. - -“Nothing like Brighton air for making a man hungry,” said Macneillie -devouring a plateful of porridge and helping himself to eggs and bacon. -“Have they brought round the letters from the theatre?” - -Ralph handed him a budget, hoping that it would occupy him and make him -forget the paper! But there were no letters of importance and Macneillie -suddenly remembering that there might by chance be news of the Fenchurch -case, which he was aware would probably come on during November, looked -eagerly round the table. - -“No newspaper?” he said. “How’s that? The Smith boy must have played us -false.” - -“I will run out and get one,” said Ralph. “Will you have any of the -local ones, too?” - -“Yes, let us see what they have to say about ‘The Winter’s Tale,’” said -Macneillie. - -Ralph disappeared and Macneillie having finished his breakfast rang for -the maid to clear. - -“Have you taken our newspaper to any of the other lodgers by mistake?” - he asked, beginning to feel impatient for it. - -“No, sir,” said the maid. “It’s in here, at least--” looking round in -surprise, “I know it was in here. Mr. Denmead must have taken it away. I -saw him open it when I brought in the coffee.” - -Then in a flash it dawned upon Macneillie that Ralph had made away with -the paper because it contained bad news. - -“The boy couldn’t stand seeing me come upon it suddenly,” he thought to -himself. “He wanted me to breakfast first. No one but Ralph would have -thought of that! It is the worst news. I must be ready to bear it.” - -He stood by the window looking out at the great expanse of sea with its -blue surface crisply ruffled by the fresh wind. Away to the left the -graceful outline of the chain pier seemed to speak of old fashioned -Brighton, and it took him back to a time at least seventeen years ago -in the very earliest days of his betrothal to Christine. How vividly the -very tiniest details of the past came back to him. It had been in the -days of aestheticism and high art colouring, a style which had suited -Christine to perfection. He could remember, too, how at one of the -little old-fashioned stalls he had bought her a dirk-shaped Scotch shawl -brooch with a cairngorm stone in it; they had been far too poor in those -days to dream of diamonds. - -“She was only a child of seventeen,” he thought to himself, “younger -than Evereld Ewart; and I was not perhaps so very much older than that -young fellow over the way. Yes, I was though--it is Ralph! How slowly he -is walking. I believe the boy cares for me, he hates to be the bearer of -ill news.” - -Ralph’s usually cheerful face was curiously over-cast; he put down the -papers, muttered something about “going to Brill’s for a swim,” and made -for the door. - -“Rehearsal at eleven, don’t forget,” said Macneillie, taking up the -London paper with a steady hand. - -He was glad to be alone, and in the midst of his grievous pain he felt -grateful to Ralph for that little touch of considerateness which had -spared him to some extent,--that strategem which had deferred his evil -day. For as he had said his suspense had been largely mixed with hope, -he had tried to face the other alternative but his very sense of justice -had inclined him to be hopeful. It surely could not be that after these -long years of suffering there should be no release? Max Hereford’s -words had chilled him for the time, but spite of them the hope had -predominated. Now hope lay dead,--remorselessly slain by this unequal -English law, which as a Scotsman seemed to him so extraordinary so -intolerably unfair. - -When a law is manifestly unjust,--when it flatly contradicts the -foundation truth of Christianity that in Christ all are equal, that -there is neither bond nor free, male nor female--there comes to every -one of strong passions the temptation to break the law. It is such a -hard thing to wait patiently for the slow tedious process of reform, -that the headstrong and the impetuous and the self-indulgent, and all -who have not learnt a stern self-control, will often take the law into -their own hands and defy the world. Macneillie reaped now the benefit of -long years of self-repression and suffering. He saw very clearly that it -is only justifiable to break the law of the land when it interferes with -a higher duty; that to break even a bad law because it interfered with -one’s cherished desire could never be right; that to admit such a course -to be right must sap the very foundations of society. - -He saw it all plainly enough, yet, being human, could not at once shake -himself free from the haunting consciousness that it lay in his power -to choose present happiness, that in such a case the world would quickly -condone the offence, and--greatest temptation of all--that he might -shield Christine from the difficulties and dangers that were but too -likely to assail one in her position. - -Fortunately he had but little spare time on his hands, it was already a -quarter to eleven and the mere habit of rigorous punctuality came to his -help. - -He walked down the parade, and the fresh air and the salt sea breeze -invigorated him, his mind went back, sadly enough, yet with greater -safety, from the future to the past, he seemed to be young once more -and crossing this very Steyne with a tall golden-haired girl, who still -retained something of the simplicity and innocence which she had brought -with her from her quiet school in the country. She was beside him as he -passed through Castle Square, beside him as he walked up North Street, -beside him as he went along the Colonnade and entered the stage door of -the very same theatre where they had acted together all those years ago. - -There was a rehearsal of “Romeo and Juliet” chiefly for the sake of -Ralph, who was the understudy for Romeo and was obliged to play the part -that evening owing to the illness of the Juvenile Lead--John Carrington. - -Though of course perfect in his words, he needed a good deal of -instruction, and Macneillie who always found him a pupil after his own -heart, receptive, quick, eager to learn, and with that touch of genius -which is as rare as it is delightful, forgot for a time all his troubles -in the pleasure of teaching. And if, after the night’s performance was -over and his satisfaction with his pupil’s success had had time to pass -into the background, the old temptation came back once more, it came -back with lessened power and found a stronger man to grapple with it. - -No word passed between master and pupil as to the bad news the morning -had brought, except that as Ralph, somewhat sooner than usual, bade the -Manager goodnight, Macneillie with his most kindly look said to him:-- - -“Your Romeo is the best thing you have done yet. The saying goes, you -know, that no man has the power to act Romeo till he looks too old for -the part; you have done something towards falsifying that axiom, and -have cheered a dark day for me.” - -“I owe everything to you, Governor,” said Ralph gripping his hand; -and as he turned away he felt that he would have given up all and been -content to play walking gentleman for the rest of his days if only -Macneillie could be spared this grievous trial that had come upon him. -He prayed for a reform of the law as he had never prayed in his life. - -Left alone, Macneillie paced silently up and down the room, deep in -thought. At length in the small hours of the night, he took pen and -paper and wrote the following letter:-- - -“My dear Christine: - -“It is impossible after our talk last summer in Scotland, to let such a -time as this pass by in silence. You well know that I love you, nor -will I pretend ignorance of your love for me. Let us be honest and face -facts;--truth makes even what we are called on to bear more endurable. -It is because I love and honour you that I write to bid you farewell. -Let us at least be law-abiding citizens, even though the law be a -one-sided, unjust law. - -“I believe from my heart, that Christ, though disallowing divorce, with -its natural sequence another marriage, for all the trivial reasons which -the Jews were in the habit of putting forward, distinctly permitted -them where a marriage had been broken by the faithlessness of a guilty -partner. And assuredly He never set up one standard of morality for men -and another for women; His words must apply equally to both. - -“Doubtless some day the gross injustice of the existing English law will -be removed, and as in Scotland there will be one and the same law for -men and women in this matter. For that day I wait and hope. For many -reasons I do not ask now to see you. Is it not better that we should not -meet? I am convinced that it is safer and wiser that we should--both for -our own sakes and for the sake of the profession--keep apart. Many may -think this mere old-fashioned prejudice, but I believe I should serve -you better at a distance than by dangling about you and so giving a -handle to those scandal-mongers who love nothing so dearly as to make -free with the name of some well-known actress. - -“I dare not write more, save just to beg and pray that if there -should ever be a time when you are in any danger or difficulty, and -others--better fitted to serve because more indifferent--are not at -hand, you will then turn to me for help. - -“God bless you. Good bye. - -“Yours ever, - -“Hugh Macneillie.” - -The letter reached Christine at Monkton Verney and the sight of it made -the colour rush to her pale face. What she hoped, what she feared she -scarcely knew herself, her heart was all in tumult. She read it in -feverish haste, then again slowly and carefully, and yet a third time -through fast gathering tears. How strangely it contrasted with the -so-called love letters she had received from some men! And yet how -infinitely more it moved her by its calmness and self-restraint! - -“I was unworthy of you in the past,” she thought. “But God helping me I -will try to be more worthy now.” - -And without further delay,--dreading perhaps to put off the difficult -task--she wrote him a letter which had in it the fervour of a new and -strong resolve, and the beauty of a perfectly sincere response of soul -to soul. - -After that she plunged straight into business, and about noon sought -out Miss Claremont and, walking with her in the quiet grounds near the -ruined priory, told her of the plans she had made for the future. - -“I have as you know made over the management of the theatre to Barry -Sterne. He and his wife have been very good to me for many years, and it -is better now that I should not again be burdened with all the cares of -a Manageress. He proposes that I should take the part of the heroine in -the new play that he is bringing out in January and I have just written -to him accepting the proposal.” - -“Are you fit yet for work?” asked Miss Claremont looking a little -doubtfully into her companion’s face; it was curiously beautiful this -morning, but not with the beauty of physical strength. Indeed Christine -had never looked capable of bearing any very great strain and the last -few days had taxed her powers to the utmost. - -“I must get to work,” she said quietly. “There is no safety in idleness. -How odd it seems that a physical break-down comes generally through -overwork, and a moral break-down through too little work.” - -“When must you leave us?” asked Miss Claremont. - -“I think I had better go next week, and if you will keep Charlie a few -days longer I can settle into that flat in Victoria Street which I have -the refusal of. I shall manage very well there with my maid, and with -Dugald to wait on Charlie; it will be necessary to live a quiet life for -many reasons.” - -Miss Claremont assented, nor was it possible to raise any objection -to her companion’s plans. But she could not help secretly wondering -whether, with all her good intentions, Christine was strong enough -either in health or in character to live a life so beset with -difficulties. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX - - -“_It seems indeed one of the deepest of moral laws, that under the -stress of trial men will strongly tend at least to be whatever in -quieter hours they have made themselves._”--“The Spirit of Discipline.” - -Dean Paget. - -|December was now half over and Macneillie’s company had got as far as -Southampton in their progress along the south coast. It was no slight -pleasure to Ralph to find himself back in his old neighbourhood, and to -act in the very theatre where long ago his father had taken him to see -Washington in “The Bells.” He had heard nothing more from Mr. Marriott, -and Evereld’s letters contained no reference to business matters, but -were taken up with descriptions of life in the French country house, and -of the happy time she was having with Bride O’Ryan. - -It happened one day that as there was no rehearsal Ralph was able to -walk over to Whinhaven. There were however very few of his old friends -left in the neighbourhood. - -Sir John and Lady Tresidder were in India, pretty Mabel Tresidder had -married an officer and he had no idea of her present whereabouts, while -even in the village there were many changes. Langston his coast-guard -friend had got promotion and others had left the place or had died. He -felt like a returned ghost as he wandered about the well-known lanes, -and glanced at the familiar garden and at the unchanged outlines of the -Rectory. A little child was playing with a pet rabbit on the lawn -just as he had played in old times. He stood for a minute at the gate -watching it with a strange feeling at his heart which was not all pain, -but rather a sort of tender regret and a glad sense of gratitude for -a happy childhood of which no one could ever rob him. For the rest his -return was like all such returns. He found the church unaltered, the -houses bereft of some of their old inhabitants and the church-yard more -full. - -Ralph however was not a man who liked to linger among graves, he stood -only for a minute by the tomb of his father and mother, and passed on -to that little nook in the park which they had always called the “goodly -heritage.” It was as beautiful as ever, even in leafless December. The -robins were singing blithely, the little brook rippled at the foot of -the steep descent, and an adventurous squirrel had stolen out of his -sleeping place to investigate his secret stores and to take a brief -scamper among the branches. Some day, Ralph thought to himself, he would -bring Evereld to see it all, and with that his thoughts travelled -away into a happy future, and as he walked back to the nearest station -regrets for the past were merged in the realisation that the best part -of his life was still before him, and that many of his dark days had -been lived through. - -He was only just in time to catch the train and was hurriedly searching -for a place when he was startled to hear himself called by his Christian -name, and glancing round he saw someone beckoning to him from a carriage -at a little distance. The door was opened for him, he stepped in, and to -his amazement recognised in the dim light the well-known features of -his Godfather. There was no other occupant of the carriage and Ralph -remembering how they had parted at Rilchester would fain have beat a -retreat. - -“You are going to Southampton?” asked Sir Matthew. “I heard Macneillie’s -company was there and I came partly for the sake of seeing you.” - -“Do you bring news of Evereld?” asked Ralph eagerly. - -“No,” said Sir Matthew, “she has succeeded in baffling me, you were right -there. It is to her wilfulness that all my misfortunes are due.” - -Ralph bit his lip to keep back the retort that occurred to him. For -a minute the two looked at each other searchingly. Sir Matthew felt a -sinking of the heart as he noticed the angry light in his companion’s -eyes. Ralph on the other hand was perplexed by the pallor and dejection -of hiss Godfather’s face. The Company promoter seemed quite another man, -he looked old and broken, all his suavity of manner, his business-like, -capable air had vanished. - -“I am ruined,” he said; “worse than ruined--I am disgraced. At any -moment I may be arrested unless I can succeed in leaving the country -unnoticed.” - -Ralph listened to this startling announcement with an impassive face. He -hardened his heart against the man who had dealt harshly with him. - -“I suppose it means,” he said, “that another of your Companies has -failed and that this time you have suffered yourself, besides ruining -hundreds as you ruined my father.” - -“God knows how I regretted his losses,” said Sir Matthew and for the -time there was a ring of genuine feeling in his voice. “It was for that -reason I adopted you, that I educated you, that I took you straight to -my own home. Have you forgotten that?” - -“Sir, you never gave me a chance of forgetting it,” said Ralph bitterly, -all his worst self called out by contact with this man whom he detested. -“Had I listened to your temptation I should now have been pledged to -become a money-grubbing priest, a trader in holy things, a disgrace to -the church.” - -He pulled himself up, recollecting that he was not much to boast of -as it was--but a faulty, irritable mortal, full now of resentment, and -hatred and contemptuous anger. - -“Perhaps you were right,” said Sir Matthew with a sigh. “I admit that I -was harsh with you that day, and you have a right to hit me now that I -am down.” - -Ralph instantly responded to this appeal as the astute Sir Matthew had -calculated. - -“Don’t let us speak of the past,” he said in an altered tone, “I owe you -my education and I try to be grateful for that. Why did you wish to see -me? What do you want with me?” - -“We are almost at Southampton,” said Sir Matthew glancing at the lights -of the town. “Let me come to your rooms with you and I will there -explain matters. Is this St. Denys? They stop for tickets here I -suppose; have the goodness to give mine to the collector.” - -He moved to the further end of the carriage and began to unstrap some -rugs from which he took a highland maud. He was still stooping over the -straps when the tickets wore collected. Then as soon as they moved on -once more he began to swathe himself elaborately in his tartan. - -“Can I see you alone?” he inquired. - -“Yes,” said Ralph, “I am usually with Mr. Macneillie, but he has friends -in Southampton and is staying with them, so I happen to be quite alone.” - -“All the better” said Sir Matthew a touch of his old manner returning to -him. “We will take a cab. I have only this gladstone with me.” - -And accepting Ralph’s offer to carry his bag, he drew the tartan -carefully over the lower part of his face and crossed the platform -swiftly to the cabstand. - -Ralph felt like one in a dream as they drove through the town to his -lodgings, and several times he recalled the day when as a child he had -last left Whinhaven, and Sir Matthew and he had sat thus side by side -driving through the crowded London streets to Queen Anne’s Gate. - -The tables were turned indeed! It occurred to him even more strikingly -as he took Sir Matthew into his snug little sitting-room in Portland -Street and saw him warming his hands at the fire. Recollecting that -his Godfather was a great tea-drinker, he rang at once and ordered the -landlady to make some ready. - -“That will be coals of fire on his head,” he thought to himself with -a smile as he recalled the afternoon when he had sat hungrily in Lady -Mactavish’s great drawing-room privileged only to hand cups to other -people. - -Sir Matthew was curiously silent, and as he sat by the fire seemed -to care for nothing but the warmth and the food. By and bye, however, -glancing at his watch he seemed to remember that his time was limited. - -“You are acting this evening?” he inquired. - -“Yes,” said Ralph, “in the ‘Rivals.’ I must be at the theatre in three -quarters of an hour. Can you tell me now what you want with me?” - -“I want your help,” said Sir Matthew. “At any moment I may be traced. -Though I hope I have eluded pursuit and set them on a wrong track one -can never tell in these days of telegrams and espionage. I don’t ask -much of you. All I want is this; go down to the agents’ and take a place -on board the Havre boat for to-night; let me shelter here until the -passengers are allowed to go on to the steamer and, since you are a -practised hand in making up, help me to disguise myself. I ask nothing -but this.” - -The audacity of the request roused all Ralph’s angry resentment again. -He clenched his hands fiercely and began to pace up and down the room. - -“You ask me to help you to escape,” he said indignantly, “when I am -certain that you richly deserve to be brought to justice!” - -“I ask you,” replied Sir Matthew, “to help your Godfather in his great -need. To show a kindness to your father’s old friend.” - -“You had no kindness for him,” said Ralph. “How can you--how _dare_ you -come to me. You who have desolated homes and broken hearts! Why there -are few things I should like better than to see you arrested and -properly punished.” - -Sir Matthew’s face grew whiter. - -“Would you betray me?” he said, “after I have trusted you?” - -“No,” said Ralph indignantly, “certainly not. But I will not stir a -finger to help you. How can you expect me to forget the way in which you -have wronged Evereld?” - -Sir Matthew’s keen eyes scrutinised him closely for a minute; he was -puzzled to know how much Ralph had learnt of the truth. - -“Wronged her?” he said questioningly, “what do you mean?” - -“I mean that you traded on her innocence and ignorance of the world; -that you tried by the most foul means to force her and frighten her into -marrying Bruce Wylie. That you drove her to escape from you, and that -but for the care and kindness of others she might have got into great -difficulties.” - -A look of relief crossed Sir Matthew’s face. Ralph certainly did not -know that he had speculated with Evereld’s fortune and lost almost the -whole of it. - -“You misjudge me,” he said assuming a tone of some dignity. “I cannot -explain matters to you, but I had the best intentions in desiring to -see Evereld safely married to Bruce Wylie. For the rest, it is highly -probable that you will have your wish. You may even see me arrested -to-night in Southampton. However I shall take good care not to remain -long in custody. It will be merely the change of foregoing the journey -to Havre and instead taking a much less costly ticket for a journey to -the undiscovered country from whose bourne no traveller returns.” - -He stood up and began slowly to button his overcoat. The easy tone in -which he had made the quotation, and the look of quiet determination -on his set face made a very painful impression on Ralph. His anger died -away. Horror and perplexity suddenly overwhelmed him. - -“What am I to do?” he thought desperately. “What would my father have -done? If it were possible to imagine a man like Macneillie coming with -such a request why I would shelter him and help him. Must I do as much -for a man I loathe. It would be more just to let him be arrested? Why -should I aid a guilty man to escape? It’s conniving at his wickedness. -But then again it’s true that I ate his bread for years. If he should -indeed take his own life I shall certainly wish I had helped him. Good -Heavens! how is a fellow to see the right and wrong of such a case?” He -looked round; Sir Matthew had folded his plaid about him and now moved -towards the door. - -“Good-bye Ralph,” he said, “many thanks for your hospitality.” But Ralph -though he mechanically took the proffered hand spoke no farewell, -merely held the hand in his grasp while over his curiously mobile face a -hundred lights and shades succeeded one another. - -“Wait,” he said at length, “I cannot let you go like that, Sir Matthew.” - His perplexity and distress were so genuine that for the first time in -all their intercourse the Company Promoter felt a sort of liking for -this boy whom he had wronged and patronised, snubbed and educated, -scolded and secretly hated. He saw that Ralph had all his father’s -gentleness and generosity, but a good deal more strength and warmth of -temperament than the Rector had ever possessed. - -In dire suspense he waited to know his fate. There was a silence of -some minutes; then Ralph, who had moved across to the fireplace and had -wrestled out his problem with arms propped on the mantelpiece and face -hidden, lifted up his head and once more met the gaze of his father’s -old friend. Sir Matthew was astonished to see that he looked pale and -haggard with the struggle he had passed through. - -“I will try to help you,” he said simply. - -“Then,” said Sir Matthew with warmth, “I am justified in having come to -you. You are--as I thought--your father’s son. You are a true Denmead.” - -Ralph for the life of him could not help laughing at the words. “You -told me that in a different tone at Rilchester,” he remarked. “The -Denmeads, I think you were good enough to say, were always unpractical -fools, aiming at impossible ideals. I was angry then, but after all -perhaps you are right. I believe I am a fool to help you, but just -because you have so wronged us in the past I am afraid to refuse lest -there should be anything of private spite or revenge in the refusal. -What class do you wish to travel? I will go at once for your ticket.” - -“Take a second return to Havre, it may be a precaution,” said Sir -Matthew. “The steamer does not leave I think till 11.45. I did not come -down by the boat train for that might very probably have been watched. -How about disguise?” - -“I will go to the theatre on my way back to you,” said Ralph, “and bring -a grey beard which I think is all that will be needed.” - -He hurried off, for there was not very much time to spare. Now that his -decision was made he was comparatively at rest, and as he sped along -the dark streets his thoughts went back to Whinhaven and all the quiet -familiar scenes he had just visited. It was strange that Sir Matthew -should have encountered him just as he returned from his old home, and -perhaps, if the truth were known, the Company Promoter might never have -gained his help had it not been for the softening influence of that -visit to the old Rectory and the “goodly heritage.” - -Having secured the ticket, he made his way to the theatre, where, early -though it was, Macneillie had already arrived and was discussing -some knotty question with the assistant stage manager and the master -carpenter. Ralph slipped by them and ran up to his dressing-room, -unearthed the beard he wanted from his dress-basket, tucked his make-up -box under his arm and hastened away. - -“Where are you off to?” said Macneillie. - -“Back again in ten minutes, Governor,” he replied. - -It was no use now to reflect how little he liked doing the work he had -undertaken, and indeed when he was again in his own room a sort of pity -for his godfather stirred once more in his heart. Sir Matthew was so -broken down, so aged by all that he had gone through! The nervous haste -with which he took the ticket, the hurried questions he put, were so -unlike the hard business man of old times, that it was impossible not to -feel some compassion for one who was the mere wreck of his former self. - -Utterly exhausted by the high pressure at which he had lately been -living, the sham philanthropist sat by the fire and allowed himself to -be done for like a child, watching with a strange sort of admiration -Ralph’s intent face as with deft touches to the eyebrows and -accentuating of certain wrinkles, he entirely transformed him. When the -process of fixing on the beard with spirit-gum was over and he looked at -himself in the glass Sir Matthew hardly recognised his own features, and -saw before him a man at least twenty years his senior. - -“Stoop a little more,” said Ralph. “That is better. Now I don’t think -even Lady Mactavish would know you.” - -Sir Matthew sighed heavily. - -“It’s mostly for her sake that I care to escape to-night,” he said with -a touch of real feeling in his manner. “She will always be grateful to -you, Ralph, for helping me.” - -“I will order them to bring you some dinner at eight,” said Ralph, “and -if you like I can drive down to the docks with you at eleven or a little -after.” - -Sir Matthew caught at this suggestion, and Ralph having finished his -work at the theatre, refused two or three invitations to supper and -hurried back to wind up the most curious service he had yet been called -upon to render to any man. - -“Don’t think too harshly of me,” said Sir Matthew as they drove down -to the starting-place of the Havre steamer. “Remember that I always -expected the speculation to succeed, that I still think I could have -recovered myself if only things had not all conspired against me at the -same time. You Denmeads can’t understand the temptations that assail an -average man in the city. You were born without the love of money in you, -and whatever happens you are always strictly honourable. Some men are -made so. Had I not felt implicit trust in you how should I dare have put -myself now in your power? You own that you would like to see me arrested -and punished, but I know that you won’t betray me for all that.” - -“I don’t wish to see you punished now,” said Ralph, “and of course I -can’t betray you. But perhaps the best way after all would be for you to -give yourself up to justice.” - -Sir Matthew broke into a laugh. - -“You might be your father sitting there and talking! It’s exactly what -he would have said. My dear fellow your ideals are above me, and they -are about as little likely to be adopted by ordinary men of the world as -the ideals in Plato’s republic. I shall certainly not give myself up. -I shall instead try my very best, for the sake of others, to recoup my -losses and to start afresh.” - -A curiously sanguine look crept over his worn face, and Ralph felt -certain that like a gambler he would return as soon as possible to his -great game of speculation, very likely persuading himself, with the ease -of one who has posed hypocritically for many years, that he did it all -from the purest philanthropic motives. - -“You had better not come on board with me,” he said as they drew near to -the docks. “And on the whole perhaps I had better not take this tartan -with me, it is too marked. I will bequeath it to you. Good-bye Ralph. -Many thanks to you for what you have done for me.” - -With the first hearty grip of the hand he had ever given his godson -he bade him farewell and passing up the gangway on board the steamer -disappeared from view. The cold wintry wind came sweeping over the -water; Ralph shivered and was glad enough to wrap the highland maud -about him as he paced up and down watching to see the actual start of -the Havre boat. - -There was a bustle of arrival as the passengers were transferred from -the boat train; he stood in the shadow watching them, and apparently -another man, unobtrusively dressed, was engaged in the same occupation. -Ralph felt sure that the fellow was a detective; he folded the plaid -more closely about his mouth and pulled his hat over his eyes; the man -furtively glanced at him and drew a few steps nearer, whereupon the -spirit of mischief and love of acting overcame all other recollections, -and Ralph as though most desirous of eluding pursuit, slipped quietly -away into the darkness and vanished in the crowd. The detective, with -all his suspicions aroused, gave chase, but presently coming to a place -where two streets branched off, was baffled for a moment. - -In a deep porch of one of the houses close by, a young man stood -bareheaded, sheltering a flickering fusee with his hat while he tried to -light his pipe. - -“Seen a man wrapped in a plaid go by this way?” asked the detective -panting. - -“He has not gone past here,” said Ralph coolly. - -The man took the other street and just at that moment the sounding of -a steam whistle and the chiming of a clock in a neighbouring house told -Ralph that it was a quarter to twelve and that the boat for Havre was -safely underweigh. - -He quietly picked up the highland maud from the well shaded corner -of the porch where it had been snugly tucked behind a pillar, and -then walked back to Portland Street musing over Sir Matthew’s fate and -wondering what news the morning would bring. - - - - -CHAPTER XXX - - - “O, gear will buy me rigs o’ land, - - And gear will buy me sheep and kye; - - But the tender heart o’ leesome luve, - - The gowd and siller canna buy. - - We may be poor--Robie and I; - - Light is the burden luve lays on, - - Content and luve bring peace and joy, - - What mair hae queens upon a throne?”--Burns. - -|Ralph slept late the next day and only escaped a fine at Rehearsal by -the merciful rule which permitted ten minutes’ grace. - -“You have done it by the skin of your teeth,” said Macneillie with a -laugh, “but of course you found the newspaper absorbing.” - -“I have not even seen it. What is the news?” - -“There’s a warrant out for the arrest of Sir Matthew Mactavish on a -charge of swindling, and Mr. Bruce Wylie they say is already in Holloway -gaol having been arrested last night.” - -“Good heavens!” said Ralph, “Bruce Wylie in prison!” - -“What matters more,” said Macneillie, “is that some South African -company of which they were the leading directors has failed. And this -following closely on the failure of that other Company with which they -were connected will probably cause more failures to follow. Thousands -will be ruined. Mr. Marriott was right enough when he darkly hinted to -you that startling revelations were in store. Well we must get to work. -What a mercy it is that Miss Ewart is safely out of her guardian’s -power.” - -A sudden panic seized Ralph. What if Sir Matthew were to come across -Evereld in France? He had no idea whereabouts she was but for the first -time he wondered whether any possible scheme for getting her again into -his power could have occurred to the Company Promoter. - -On the previous night such a thought had never entered his head, he -had adopted the more reasonable conclusion that Sir Matthew chose Havre -merely as a possible starting place for America or some distant -port where he could safely shelter. It needed all his patience and -self-control to wait through the tedious rehearsal, and the instant he -was free he ran to the telegraph office and begged Mr. Marriott to send -him tidings as soon as possible with regard to Evereld. - -The answer set him at rest before the evening’s performance. Evereld was -safe and well and Mr. Marriott begged that Ralph would if possible -spend the following Sunday at his house since there were many things to -discuss. - -It was now only Wednesday so he had still some time to wait, but the -worst of his suspense was over and it was with a very buoyant heart that -early on Sunday morning he presented himself at the old lawyer’s house. -After a pleasant breakfast with the kindly ladies who had always taken -an interest in his career, he was carried off to the study by Mr. -Marriott for a business talk. - -“I asked you to come up to town,” said the lawyer, “because you have a -right to know the whole truth of things. Sir Matthew Mactavish was not -only a scheming speculator, he was a fraudulent trustee. Miss Ewart’s -affairs were entirely in his hands, and Bruce Wylie her solicitor aided -and abetted the speculations which have dissipated her fortune.” - -“The brutes!” said Ralph. “Still I can forgive them that. It’s their -abominable scheme for trapping her into a marriage that I can’t -forgive.” - -“Perhaps you hardly realise things yet,” said the lawyer, “I mean -exactly what I say. Instead of being an heiress she has now nothing -whatever left but a couple of hundred a year which, being her mother’s -property, and in the funds, could not be tampered with.” - -“If she is much troubled about it I am sorry,” said Ralph. “But -personally I don’t care a straw. No one will be able to say now that -I was running after her fortune. How soon do you think we might be -married? There is nothing to wait for now.” - -“Well, you will have to get the leave of the Lord Chancellor, but I -don’t suppose he will disapprove,” said the lawyer with a smile, “if you -are in a position to support a wife that is. I can’t see any objection -to your marrying before long if Miss Ewart desires it. Go and talk it -over with Mr. Hereford, she is under his guardianship and he is in town -till to-morrow evening.” - -“What good luck,” said Ralph. “I will go round at once and try to catch -him before he goes out.” - -“Very well. We shall meet again later on then,” said the old lawyer -kindly. “We can put you up for the night and then you can let me know -what arrangement you and Mr. Hereford have arrived at. I will walk -round with you to Grosvenor Square; these bright frosty mornings are -tempting.” - -Ralph received a friendly greeting from Max Hereford who was amused by -his extreme haste and anxiety to win the Lord Chancellor’s consent to -his marriage with Evereld. - -“You see, we have been practically engaged for several months,” he -argued, “and I shall never have a moment’s peace about her while she is -drifting about the world. Who can tell whether we have heard the last -of Sir Matthew Mactavish even now! It’s unbearable to think that I don’t -even know where she is.” - -“Well I can set you at rest on that point,” said Max Hereford laughing. -“She is on her way to Ireland, and my wife will take the greatest care -of her.” - -“She has left France?” - -“Yes, I went myself to bring her home and my sister-in-law came with -her. Dermot will spend the winter in the south and I am taking the two -girls across to Dublin to-morrow night. They are here now.” - -Ralph’s face was a sight to see. - -“You must talk to her and find out what her wishes are,” said his host -pleasantly. “I am the last man to advise a prolonged engagement. And -since Marriott has told you that Miss Ewart is no longer an heiress but -has been robbed by those precious scoundrels of almost the whole of her -fortune, I think it only remains for you two to decide upon your -own course of action, subject of course to the approval of the Lord -Chancellor. She shall always find a home with us, as she very well -knows, if you think it advisable to wait.” - -“I don’t think it advisable,” said Ralph eagerly. “But of course I must -ask whether she is really willing to put up with the discomforts of a -wandering life.” - -“I will go and find her,” said Max Hereford, “and you can have an -interview in peace.” - -Evereld and Bride were in the great drawing-room, both looking rather -pale and tired after their long journey. - -“Time to go to church?” asked Bride with a portentous yawn. - -“No my dear, you would only go to sleep,” he said teasingly, “as your -brother-in-law and Evereld’s guardian I strictly prohibit church-going -this morning. Rest and be thankful, and don’t forget that you will be -travelling all to-morrow night. Evereld, if you have energy enough for -the interview, Mr. Marriott has sent someone round on business. Should -you mind just going down to the library? He wants to put a few questions -to you.” Evereld started up, looking rather nervous. - -“How odd of him to come about business on a Sunday morning,” she said. -“I hope he is not an alarming sort of person. Will you not come down -with me?” - -“Well I think on the whole you had better be alone,” said Max Hereford -with profound gravity. “I always think it is a mistake to have a third -person at an interview. I should only make you more nervous.” - -She said no more, but set off bravely for what to her was no slight -ordeal, her first business interview. - -The touch of dignity, which even as a child she had possessed, was more -noticeable now in the poise of her head and in her whole manner; but -the face was not in the least altered: it was the same sweet gentle face -which had for so long reigned in Ralph’s heart. - -He sprang up to greet her, and Evereld with a joyous laugh ran towards -him. - -“Oh, Ralph! is it you?” she eried, radiant with happiness. “What a -tease Mr. Hereford is! He told me it was someone from Mr. Marriott on -business!” - -Ralph laughed as he released her from his embrace. “We have not begun -in a very business like way!” he said, “but it is quite true that I -have come from Mr. Marriott’s house. He has been telling me of this -fraudulent trustee who has treated you so shamefully. Are you very angry -with those two rogues? How does it feel to be robbed of a fortune?” - -“It feels anything but pleasant,” said Evereld warmly. “But what I find -it hardest to forgive is the hypocrisy. Of course it is sad to think -that the money which my father and grandfather earned by such hard work -has all been wasted, specially as I thought it would have been useful to -you some day. Do you realise, dear, that I shall be quite poor?” - -“I don’t care a fig about that,” said Ralph. “But when I remember that -those vile knaves nearly succeeded in trapping you into a marriage which -must have been lifelong misery to you, then--well, I feel like killing.” - -“But they never did nearly succeed, Ralph,” she said slipping her hand -into his. “I would have died sooner than marry Bruce Wylie. Oh, how -good it is to be here with you, and quite safe! That time at Glion was -dreadful.” - -“Do you know that you at nineteen have baffled two of the cleverest -rogues of the present time?” said Ralph. “It is delicious to think of -that. How did you think of such a plan and carry it out so pluckily?” - -“I don’t know how,” said Evereld. “But I knew that somehow I must get -away out of their power. Then, when, I was so very unhappy this thought -suddenly came to me of Bride O’Ryan and Aimée Magnay in Auvergne, and -after that it was all quite simple--except, indeed, the Continental -Bradshaw which nearly drove me distracted!” - -“You told me in your letter about that jolly old priest who took care of -you. We must go and see him some day. I should like to thank him.” - -“Yes, I should so like you to see him, and you must go to Mabillon. It -is such a dear old place. I have grown to love it almost as if it were -my own home.” - -“Don’t you think we ought now to come to the business part of the -interview?” said Ralph with a mirthful glance. “Do you think, darling, -that you are really willing to become the wife of an actor who has still -to fight his way up the ladder? Remember that as yet you are quite free, -that there is no engagement even between us.” - -“The engagement really began for me that Sunday at Southbourne,” said -Evereld shyly. - -“And for me, too,” said Ralph. “But think once more, darling, and try -to realise what it will mean. Ours will have to be, at any rate for some -time, a wandering life. For Macneillie has been so very good to me that -I must stay with him and try to repay him a little for all his training. -Even if a London engagement were to be offered me, and that is not -likely, I should feel bound to stay with him as long as he cares to have -me.” - -“Oh, yes of course,” said Evereld. “Why, we owe everything to him! I -wonder if he would like------” she broke off rather abruptly. - -“What were you going to propose?” said Ralph trying to read her face. -There was a wistful look in it now which he did not understand. - -“Only I have felt so dreadfully sorry for him since the Fenchurch Case. -Of course I heard people talking about it, and I can’t help fancying -that he must still care for Miss Greville.” - -“Yes,” said Ralph. “It is very rough on him.” - -“I shouldn’t like to take you away from him, Ralph,” she continued, -“specially just now, for I could see quite well at Southbourne that you -are almost like a son to him; you don’t know what things he said about -you when you were talking to Mrs. Hereford that morning. He would miss -you dreadfully. Do you think we could still be in the same house with -him when we are married? Or should I bother him?” - -“I don’t think you would be likely to do that,” said Ralph smiling. -“When I tell him about our marriage I will see how the land lies. -I wonder, darling, whether you will be able to put up with all the -discomforts of life in a travelling company?” - -“Why it will be the greatest fun!” cried Evereld. - -“Well, I have found it a very jolly life, but, you know, wayfaring -men naturally have to put up with some discomforts. You will find the -endless packing and unpacking, and the settling into fresh lodgings once -a week an awful bore.” - -“But I shall have you, dear,” she said happily. “And nothing else will -matter much.” - -“Then it only remains for us to win the Lord Chancellor’s consent and to -tell Macneillie, and find out when he can spare me for a few days. You -won’t make me wait long will you?” - -“I think Parliament meets on the 5th,” said Evereld, “and we are to come -back from Ireland in the first week of February. I know the Hereford’s -will let me be married from this house, and we will have a quiet -wedding. You see we are both of us alone in the world; except the -Marriotts and Mr. Macneillie there is really no one to ask, for of -course the Mactavishs will keep away from town for some time to come.” - -“I wonder what will become of poor Lady Mactavish,” said Ralph. “I fancy -she has something of her own, so as far as money goes she will be all -right. But how she will feel the disgrace!” - -“I’m not at all sure,” said Evereld, “that now real trouble has -overtaken her she won’t give up grumbling. If not I am sorry for Janet -for she will have to bear the brunt of it. Oh, Ralph! what a strange -world it is! Only last spring the Mactavishs seemed at the very height -of their prosperity, and were so enchanted about Minnie’s engagement, -and now here is Sir Matthew ruined and disgraced, and Bruce Wylie in -prison.” - -“Well,” said Ralph, “it’s a much better fate than the one they tried to -force upon you. It’s not of them I think, but of the thousands they have -cruelly injured: if you had seen your father die of a broken heart as I -saw mine, you would think prison and exile a very light punishment for -those cursed speculators.” - -“Yes,” assented Evereld, “it was more of the suddenness of the change I -was thinking. Last spring, too, you were tramping through Scotland, ill -and half starved, and now----” - -“Now I am the happiest man in the world,” said Ralph his face aglow with -ardent love. - -And after that they forgot all the troubles of the past and sat weaving -delicious plans for the future, and enjoying to the full the happy -present. - -The next day Ralph rejoined the company in the Isle of Wight and in the -evening, when supper was over, he with some trepidation told his story -to the Manager. - -Macneillie had of late been very silent and depressed and Ralph hated -having to speak of his own happiness to one who was in the depths of -dejection. However with an effort he broke the ice. - -“I saw Miss Ewart’s new guardian Mr. Hereford in town,” he began, “and -it seems that almost the whole of her fortune has been lost by that -swindling trustee of hers. She has nothing left but a couple of hundred -a year which luckily was tied up and out of Sir Matthew’s reach.” - -“The scoundrel!” exclaimed Macneillie, “so he had the audacity to put -her fortune into his rotten companies I suppose?” - -“Yes. However it’s an ill wind that blows nobody good. The fortune is -gone but so is Sir Matthew, and the new guardian permits our engagement -and sees no reason why it should be a long one, he is distantly related -to the Lord Chancellor and thinks he will consent to our being married -shortly.” - -“And what does Miss Ewart say? have you heard from her?” - -“I have seen her, she was passing through London on her way to Ireland. -Well, she talked very sensibly about the money, had hoped it might be -useful to us, but chiefly looked on it in my fashion as a hindrance to -our immediate marriage now safely removed.” - -Macneillie’s grave face was suddenly convulsed with merriment. He -laughed aloud at this view of the case. - -“Was there ever such a couple of babies!” he said. “Pray how do you mean -to live?” - -“On my salary to be sure,” said Ralph, “and on the two hundred which -Evereld has left.” - -“You are over young yet to get much of a salary in London, and, even if -we succeeded in getting you an engagement there, who can tell how long -you would be secure of keeping it? Then living and rent is much higher -in London, and Miss Ewart has never been used to anything except the -very best.” - -“But why do you speak of London?” said Ralph. “Do you mean to give me -the sack, Governor, if I marry?” - -Macneillie turned and looked at him in some surprise. - -“I naturally concluded that having gained some experience with me you -meant to go off at the earliest opportunity. That is the way of the -world. You don’t mean that you intend to bring your wife to travel with -us?” - -“Why not? It is often done. Harden’s wife used to go about with him, -they say.” - -“Oh, of course it is often done, but after the sort of life Miss Ewart -has been accustomed to----” - -Ralph broke in eagerly. - -“We talked it over very carefully, I told her exactly what it would be -like, and she is only longing for the fun of it all. Indeed she made a -very audacious proposal.” - -“What was that?” said Macneillie pleased and interested in spite of -himself. - -“Her old hero worship of you is as keen as ever, she thinks nothing -would be more delightful than to house-keep for you, and pour out the -tea--women always think they do those things best--It’s quite a mistake! -Then, too, she has a notion that you might miss me if we went off into -rooms by ourselves. I told her that was nonsense.” - -“No,” said Macneillie, “it’s true enough, my boy. I should miss you very -much. But all the same I hardly know whether it is fair to you both to -spoil the early days of your married life. I am growing a very ‘dour’ -sort of man and that’s a fact.” - -“You have been a second father to me,” said Ralph, “and Evereld knows -that: so if, as she says, we shall not bother you----” - -Macneillie laughed. “If she can put up with a ‘dour’ man as third -fiddle, and promise to speak the truth when his playing jars too much -with your harmony I should like nothing better than to have you both -with me. To tell the truth Ralph I dread being alone just now. By the -bye, have you heard Jack Carrington say anything about his part in the -new play? Brinton had a notion he didn’t take to it.” - -“Yes, I heard him say it didn’t suit him,” said Ralph. “I don’t see why. -It seems to me rather a decent part.” - -“I’m not at all sure that he will renew his engagement,” said -Macneillie. “And if he leaves, why there is no reason at all why you -should not become Juvenile Lead, and I could raise your salary to five -pounds a week. However that is between ourselves. As for Carrington he -has been with me three years and is likely enough to get a good berth -somewhere before long. When do you two hope to be married?” - -“Early in the spring if possible,” said Ralph. - -“Well, I would never counsel a long engagement,” said Macneillie with -a sigh. “You are not obeying the advice of Mrs. Siddons but, after all, -there are exceptions to every rule, and Miss Ewart is one of a thousand. -By the bye, I never told you--little Miss Ivy Grant wrote to ask if -I could give her an engagement and I have offered her the part of the -French girl. She seems to me to have exactly the face for it.” - -“Oh, it will suit her down to the ground!” said Ralph looking pleased. -“I am glad poor Ivy has left the Delaines, she was too good for them. -Evereld will be glad that she is to be one of the Company.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI - - - “So let my singing say to you, - - ‘Our hearts are pilgrims going home; - - Love’s kingdom shall most surely come - - To all who seek Love’s will to do.’” - - “Daydreams.”--A. Gurney. - -|In the course of the next four months Ralph’s powers of letter-writing -improved amazingly, and thanks to those love letters and to the bright -merry life in the Hereford household Evereld’s engagement proved a happy -one although she and her lover could only spend two Sundays together -during the whole time. They knew each other so well already however -that there was no risk of any misunderstanding between them, and the -waiting-time was too short to be very irksome. - -As for Bride O’Ryan she proved herself a friend worth having, threw -herself into all Evereld’s interests with delightful eagerness, and -teased her just enough to add a little salt to the entertainment. - -The Lord Chancellor kept them for some time in suspense, and furnished -Bride with endless food for merriment. “He is a very formidable -guardian,” she protested, “and when once you get into his clutches it’s -very hard indeed to get out again. I wonder you dared to appeal to him.” - -“It was the only thing to be done,” said Evereld, “but I do wish he -would be quick and give his consent.” - -“I have always heard,” said Bride provokingly, “that when once things -get into chancery they stay there for years and years. Remember how it -was in _Bleak House_.” - -“Well at any rate Mrs. Hereford says the Lord Chancellor is most -kindhearted,” said Evereld. “And I know he is fond of reading novels, -so he ought to take an interest in the romances of real life. And -particularly he ought to like Ralph, for they say he himself had -dreadful struggles at the beginning of his career when he was a young -barrister on circuit.” - -However at length the consent was given and it was arranged that, as -Macneillie’s company were not giving any performances in Holy Week, -Ralph and Evereld should be married on Palm Sunday. - -Evereld like a wise little woman was determined not to waste her -substance in the purchase of a trousseau which would be an endless -trouble in their wandering life. - -“I have plenty of clothes already,” she protested. “All I shall need is -a nice warm cloak in which I can walk to the theatre in the evening--a -respectable dark sort of garment--and of course my wedding dress; I -won’t be a frumpy bride in a travelling costume.” - -“No, have a gown like the bride in Blair Leighton’s picture ‘Called to -arms,’” said Ralph who had come up from Bristol to spend a Sunday at the -Hereford’s directly they had returned to London. “It’s a thousand times -prettier than any of the ugly modern fashions.” - -Evereld did not know the picture but she promised to do her best to copy -it, and with the help of a clever American maid of Mrs. Hereford’s, and -Bridget’s ready assistance, and the advice of all the female members of -the household, her skilful fingers succeeded in turning out a very good -reproduction of the artist’s design at about a fifth of the cost of an -ordinary wedding dress. - -“Even had I not lost my money,” she said to Bride, “I don’t think I -could have borne to spend much just on clothes when so many people are -ruined and half starving from the failure of all these companies.” - -That was the greatest shadow that was cast over the happiness of the two -lovers. The appalling accounts of the trouble caused by Sir Matthew’s -wrong doing, the knowledge that many of the victims had literally died -from the shock, that many more had lost their reason, that thousands -were reduced to dire poverty and distress could not but affect them. - -Evereld was touched too by a very kindly but sad letter from Lady -Mactavish. It contained one sentence which puzzled her not a little. - -“What does Lady Mactavish mean by speaking of the help you gave Sir -Matthew?” she enquired, a week before their wedding day, as she and -Ralph sat together in the library where in December they had had that -first “business interview.” - -“What does she say about it?” asked Ralph. - -“Here is her letter, it is a message to you;--‘Tell Ralph that I shall -never cease to be grateful to him for the help he gave my husband. It -saved his life.” - -“Well,” said Ralph, “I suppose I am free to speak of it since she -mentioned it to you. He came to me at Southampton, indeed I met him on -my way back from Whinhaven,” and going through the whole story he made -her understand exactly what had taken place. “To this day I don’t know -whether I did right. But if the same thing were to happen again I should -still probably help him. It was the dread of letting one’s private -hatred and resentment bias one against helping a desperate man. As a -matter of fact he has by no means escaped punishment by escaping from -England. I don’t believe there is a corner of the earth where he will -long remain unmolested. He will lead a miserable, hunted life far worse -than the life Bruce Wylie leads in gaol, and with nothing really to look -forward to. But I think he was in earnest when he said that night he -would put an end to himself if they arrested him. And I have never -regretted the little I did to shield him from discovery.” - -“You wouldn’t have been yourself if you had acted differently,” said -Evereld. “But it must have been hard work to decide.” - -“I hope I may never again have such a decision to make,” said Ralph. -“And all the time there was the maddening remembrance of what he had -made you suffer. What a strange, complex character he had: there was -a sort of greatness about him all the time. I suppose that was how he -deceived people in such an extraordinary way,--he managed to deceive -himself. Even now a sort of panic seizes me lest he should somehow -interfere between us. I shall never feel at rest about you till we are -safely married.” - -“Next Sunday,” she whispered. “Where shall you be all this week?” - -“At Manchester,” he replied “and as ill luck will have it there is a -matinée of the new play and an evening performance of ‘Much Ado’ next -Saturday. However there will be plenty of time to sleep in the train, -and I will meet you somewhere for the early service.” - -“Let it be at the Abbey then, that seems specially to belong to us. -Bride and I often go there and we can meet you just by the Baptistry at -the west end.” - -“What time is the wedding to be? I have not even learnt that yet,” he -said laughing. - -“Mrs. Hereford arranged that it should be at two, that will leave us -plenty of time to catch our train, and I have not told anyone where we -mean to go. That is our secret.” - -“Yes, we will keep that dark,” said Ralph. “Otherwise it may be creeping -into the papers. Did you see there was a paragraph about Sir Matthew -Mactavish’s late ward in yesterday’s ‘Veracity’?” - -“Yes. We couldn’t help laughing over it, but I hope Janet and Minnie -won’t see it. Oh, Ralph! what a nightmare the past is to look back on! -and how happy and safe I am with you!”. - -Now that all was arranged, she seemed perfectly at rest, able even -to enjoy all the manifold little plans and the cheerful bustle -that heralded the wedding-day. But Ralph down at Manchester spent a -feverishly anxious week, and found it difficult indeed to concentrate -his mind on his work. Most managers would have lost all patience -with him, but Macneillie with the genial breadth of mind and the rare -patience that characterised him took it all very quietly, and perhaps in -his secret soul rather enjoyed the sight of such unusual and unsullied -enthusiasm. - -By the time Saturday arrived, Ralph had become very “ill to live with.” - He wandered about the house imagining that he was busy packing but -contriving to forget half his possessions. He could hardly stir -without singing or whistling, and he would have neglected to put in an -appearance at “Treasury” if Macneillie himself had not reminded him. - -“You are like your namesake Sir Ralph the Rover,” said the manager, who -had been answering his correspondence as well as he could to a running -accompaniment of Ralph’s voice. - - “He felt the cheering power of spring, - - It made him whistle, it made him sing--“ - -“We won’t finish the quotation. But my dear fellow you will be quite -played out to-morrow if you go on at this rate.” - -“How about the train?” said Ralph. “That’s the thing that bothers me. -Shall we ever get through to-night in time to catch the mail?” - -“For pity’s sake don’t begin to fuss about that already!” said -Macneillie with a comical expression about the corners of his mouth. -“It’s a mercy that marrying and giving in marriage are not every-day -occurrences or a manager’s life would not be worth living.” - -“I’ll promise never to do it again, Governor,” said Ralph with mock -penitence. - -“Well well,” said Macneillie with a patient shrug of the shoulders, -“it all comes in the day’s work. You will understand now how to render -Claudio’s words ‘Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.’” - -Ralph thought it extremely obnoxious of the Manchester folk to have -petitioned for a performance of “Much ado about Nothing” on this -particular day, and though he acted Claudio very well it was always -to him an uncongenial character. Macneillie’s Benedick was however -considered one of his best parts and though perhaps he enjoyed playing -it as little just then as Ralph enjoyed going through the wedding scene -on the eve of his own marriage, he was the last man to let his private -feelings interfere with his work either as actor or as manager. - -The play was carefully rendered, and after a most uncomfortable rush and -scramble, Ralph, thanks chiefly to the help of his many friends in the -company, found himself at the station just as the Scotch mail steamed -up to the platform. Whether Macneillie would arrive in time seemed -doubtful, however as the guard’s whistle sounded he emerged from the -booking office, and with his usual imperturbably grave face sprang in -while the train moved off. - -Ivy Grant and Myra Brinton had packed up a most tempting little supper -for the two and had taken care to see that it was not forgotten in the -hurry of the last moment; and Macneillie, who always retained the power -of enjoying a holiday under any circumstances, proved a very genial -companion until the advent of another passenger at Crewe, when they -relapsed into silence and settled down to sleep. - -The night was stormy; torrents of rain washed the windows, and the wind -howled and moaned as the train sped on through the darkness. Ralph tried -in vain to follow the example of his two companions who, quite oblivious -of their surroundings slept composedly through all the din. He was far -too much excited to lose consciousness even for a minute. The carriage -lamp was shaded and, in the dim light, visions of Evereld kept rising -before him. - -She was a little girl once more, in a black frock, and with soft, bright -hair falling about her shoulders. - -“Are you not hungry?” she said to him confidentially as they stood -together, strangers and yet somehow already friends, in a drearily grand -London drawing-room. - -Again she was sitting beside him on the stairs, a fairylike little -figure in white, eating ice pudding supplied to them by the goodnatured -Geraghty. “I somehow think your father and mine will be talking together -to-night?” she said, her sweet blue eyes looking as though they could -see right into that spirit world of which she spoke. - -On thundered the train, and yet another vision rose before Ralph. He was -in Westminster Abbey and there before him he suddenly saw a face which -took his heart by storm--the face of his old playfellow grown into -gentle gracious womanhood. Then the same face, but with wistful love-lit -eyes was lifted up to his outside the house in Queen Anne’s Gate -kindling hope in his heart and filling him with a glow of happiness -which had carried him through the pain of the parting. These same -love-lit eyes and a yet more wonderful response of soul to soul rose in -vision before him as he recalled a certain summer afternoon by the sea -shore. What did it matter to him that the cold spring wind raged round -the carriage piercing every crevice, or that the hail-stones rattled -angrily against the glass! He was far away from it all, seeing blue -waves and the mellow brown side of a boat and Evereld’s blushing face. -The memory of that August day lasted him all the rest of the way to -London; then in the chilly dawn they made their way to the nearest -hotel, where the order of things was reversed for Ralph at last fell -sound asleep on a sofa in the reading room and it was Macneillie who was -wakeful and saw visions of the past--visions that he dared not dwell -upon because with them there came the maddening recollection that he was -close to Christine, that it would be the easiest thing in the world, yet -the most fatal, to go that afternoon and call upon her. What was she -doing? How did she struggle on in the difficult life on which she had -embarked? All the craving to know, all the longing to serve her must be -crushed down in his heart. Alone she must dree her weird. Alone he must -bear the anguish of her pain and his own bitter loss. - -Almost involuntarily, those hard views of God from which years ago -he had been rescued by Thomas Erskine’s book “The Spiritual Order,” - returned now to him, flooding his mind with rebellious thoughts. - -Why did all this misery come to him? Why were the mistakes and sins of -others visited upon him? Why were the ways of God so unequal? Other men -prospered. Other men had the desire of their hearts granted. Why was he -for ever to be thwarted? For years he knew that he had made strenuous -efforts to live uprightly, yet there seemed nothing before him but -sorrow; while over yonder there was a mere boy of one and twenty about -to gain after the briefest of struggles the woman he loved. - -The Tempter had however defeated his own object by introducing the -thought of Ralph Denmead. Macneillie’s heart was too large for jealousy -to harbour in it. Jealousy can only rest long and comfortably in narrow, -and cramped hearts where self love and petty absorption in trifles has -contracted the space. - -As he glanced across the room he saw that the sunlight was streaming -full upon the sleeper, he got up and lowered the blind pausing for a -minute by the sofa to look at his companion. Ralph was sound asleep, and -his untroubled, boyish face was worth looking at if only for its peace. -To Macneillie it suggested many thoughts. -He remembered his first impression of Ralph, lying in the last stage of -misery on the banks of the Leny, and he delighted to think that partly -by his aid the lad had battled through his difficulties and had got his -foot firmly planted on the ladder of success. - -There is nothing so strange in life as the manner in which a kindly deed -re-acts in a thousand subtle ways on the doer. And now, as had been the -case before, Macneillie was lured back to life by the one he had helped -long ago. The hard thoughts passed, he stood there in the bright spring -morning strong once more in the belief that the eternal patience of the -All-Father schools each son in the best possible way. - -Sitting down to the writing-table he filled up a couple of hours with -answering the letters of the previous day, then when the time came, -set off with Ralph to the Abbey and finding the way to the Baptistry -unbarred waited there beside the busts of Maurice and Kingsley, lifted -a degree nearer to that Light and Love of which their epitaphs spoke by -the struggle he had just passed through. - -They were joined here by Mrs. Hereford, Bride, and Evereld, and -Macneillie thought he had never seen anything more winning than -Evereld’s eager welcome of her lover. He felt very much in harmony with -their happiness as they all went together into the choir, and indeed -throughout the day the depression which had overwhelmed him since he had -received the bad news at Brighton was banished by the unalloyed bliss of -the two who were just stepping into their goodly heritage of mutual love -and companionship. - -It was a thoroughly unconventional wedding with merely the merry Irish -family in the house, with Bride and the two little Hereford girls for -bridesmaids, and Macneillie and an old school fellow who had returned -from Canada just in time to be Ralph’s best man, as the only outsiders. - -Of course, when at two o’clock they drove to the church, it was crowded -with spectators, for the marriage of the heiress who had been defrauded -of her fortune by Sir Matthew Mactavish had found its inevitable -way into the hands of the paragraph-mongers. But then, as Macneillie -remarked, a marriage ought to take place before a congregation, and it -would have been a thousand pities if this particular marriage had been -smuggled through in secret at some chilly hour of the morning in an -empty church. - -“As it was,” he added, “some idle London folk had the chance of singing -‘All people that on earth do dwell’ to the old hundredth, and that’s a -chance that doesn’t often come to us in these degenerate days of flabby -modern hymns. All the women, moreover, will go away persuaded in their -own minds that the conventional wedding dress of modern days is ugly and -that the old-world dress of Mrs. Ralph Denmead is far more artistic.” - -There was one thing, however, which baffled the Press. It described -the service with gusto, and gave the most elaborate details as to the -dresses, but it could not discover where the Bride and Bride-groom -intended to spend the honeymoon. It was reduced at length to the -desperate expedient of a good round lie, and said that they left _en -route_ for the continent. - -Ralph and Evereld, who had kept this detail entirely to themselves, -laughed contentedly as they read this fable in their snug little -sitting-room at Stratford-on-Avon. - -“We knew a trick worth two of that,” said Ralph. “Fancy rushing off -to the Continent for a week! It never seemed to occur to anyone that -Stratford was the ideal place for an actor’s honeymoon. We are not going -to leave our Mecca entirely to the Yankees.” - -Evereld hoped she thought enough of Shakspere as they wandered about -the quaint old place and enjoyed the bright spring weather in the lovely -country around. - -“It was a delightful thought of yours to come here,” she said, “one -likes to have a beautiful background for the happiest time of one’s -life. But after all, darling, it’s very much in the background, we -should really be as happy in the black country.” - -“Of course,” said Ralph laughing. “And there’ll be plenty of the black -country to come by and bye. You have no idea what dreary towns we have -sometimes to go to. Are you not afraid when you look forward to that -sort of thing?” - -“Not a bit,” she said with a radiant face. “Don’t I know now what the -song means when it speaks of ‘The desert being a paradise’? That used to -seem such nonsense in the old days! But with you Ralph------” - -She was interrupted. They had been walking beside the pollarded willows -by the river, Evereld’s hands were full of the early spring flowers, -cowslips and primroses and delicate white anemones which they had -gathered in the country. She looked up, for a daintily dressed little -lady suddenly stood before her, having deserted a camp-stool and easel -though she still retained palette and brushes in one hand. - -“Miss Ewart!” she exclaimed with a faint touch of American intonation -which instantly recalled Evereld to Glion. “I am so delighted to meet -you again, and in this spot of all others, this sacred shrine which you -lucky English people possess, though we would give millions of dollars -if we could but transplant it right over the ocean!” - -“How glad I am to see you!” said Evereld warmly. “I shall never forget -your kindness last September. May I introduce my husband to you? Mr. -Denmead, Miss Upton.” - -“Ah,” said Miss Upton shaking hands with him, “I congratulate Mr. -Denmead very warmly. And to think that the third volume which you were -to have sent me in America should greet me here by the banks of the -Avon! It is delightful!” - -“You have not gone back as soon as you expected,” said Evereld. - -“Well, no. You see the storm at Glion somehow cleared the atmosphere -and many things were altered by it sooner or later,” said Miss Upton her -bright eyes twinkling with fun. “In fact, thanks to you, another romance -began there, and next year when Mr. Lewisham has taken his degree at -Oxford, why he’ll be coming over the ocean to New York, and we have an -idea of following the good example which you and Mr. Denmead have set -us. - -“How glad I am!” said Evereld. “That is charming. Some day we all -four ought to meet at Glion, for it is hard that I should have any -disagreeable associations left with that lovely little place. You ought -to see it Ralph.” - -“Why not plan a meeting here on one of Shakspere’s birthday’s? We may -possibly be here for some of the performances in the Memorial theatre.” - -“Yes, that’s a better idea still,” agreed both Evereld and the American -girl. - -And after walking back to the town together they parted on the best of -terms. - -That evening a note and a little packet were brought to Evereld. They -were from Miss Upton. - -“Just one line in great haste,” the letter ran, “we are off to Woodstock -to-night, being as they call us true Yankee rushers. You told me you -were not going to set up house yet awhile, but wherever you are I know -you will drink afternoon tea as you did in Switzerland. Stir your tea -with these Stratford Memorial spoons and drink to our next merry meeting -in the birthplace of the Swan of Avon. With all good wishes - -“Yours cordially, - -“Minnie K. Upton. - -“I hope my romance will have as satisfactory an end to its third Volume -as yours.” - -“What a jolly sort of girl she seems,” said Ralph as Evereld read him -the note, “but that postscript is all wrong, darling. We are not at the -end of things, we are only just at the beginning.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII - - - “Heart, are you great enough - - For a love that never tires? - - O heart, are you great enough for love? - - I have heard of thorns and briers.” - - Tennyson. - -|On Easter Monday, Ralph and Evereld joined the company at Liverpool. It -was not without misgivings that the little bride found herself suddenly -launched into a life of which she knew so little, and as they drove -through the busy streets from the station she had time to conjure up -many fears. They were all however fears lest she should fall short in -some way, prove an indifferent housekeeper, be unable to make friends -with Ralph’s friends, or find herself in other people’s way. But all -anxiety was lost sight of when they reached the little house in Seymour -Street and found Macneillie with his genial voice and fatherly -manner waiting to receive them. He was a man who, from his kindly -considerateness and from a certain easy friendliness of tone, quickly -made new comers feel at home with him. - -Perhaps he intuitively guessed that Evereld’s position would not be -without its difficulties, and he did his very utmost to smooth the way -for her. He at once allowed her to feel that she could be of use. - -“I am glad you caught the early train from Stratford,” he said as they -sat down to a two o’clock dinner. “No, you must take the head of the -table for the future. I shall claim the privilege of an old man and sit -at the side. As for Ralph he is a very decent carver and we will leave -the work to him. The Brintons were in here just before you came, talking -over the reception which we give this afternoon.” - -“A reception?” said Evereld shyly. - -“Yes, in the Foyer. You have just come in the nick of time. I was -wanting help. Let me see, you were introduced to the Brintons I think at -Southbourne.” - -“Yes, and to Mr. Carrington, and Miss Eva Carton.” - -“They have both left us. Well, you will soon get to know us all.” - -Evereld hoped she might do so, but she was utterly bewildered by the end -of the reception, where she had been introduced to most of the company -and to a number of residents and people of the neighbourhood. As to -recognising Ralph’s fellow artists when she saw them again in the -evening in stage attire, it was impossible. However they good-naturedly -told her they were quite used to being cut, and she found Ivy Grant a -very pleasant companion and had a good deal of talk with her between -whiles. - -Ivy had greatly improved since the days of the Scotch tour; trouble had -developed her in an extraordinary way; she had grown more gentle and -refined, and she still retained her old winsomeness and was a general -favourite. Thanks to Ralph’s straightforwardness that morning at Forres, -she had quickly awakened from her first dream of love, and was none -the worse for it. In fact, it had perhaps done her good, she would not -lightly lose her heart again, and her standard was certain to remain -high. Moreover she knew that Ralph would always be her friend, and she -felt curiously drawn to Evereld, who was quite ready to respond to her -advances. - -There was something very fascinating to Evereld in the novelty and -variety of this new life; before many days had passed she began to feel -quite as if she belonged to the company. She sympathised keenly with -the desire to have good houses, listened with interest to all the -discussions and arrangements, and soon found herself on friendly terms -with almost every one. - -“There is one man, though, that I can’t make out at all,” she remarked -one evening. “He always seems to disappear in such an odd way. I mean -Mr. Rawnleigh.” Macneillie and Ralph both laughed. - -“You would be very clever indeed if you contrived to know anything -about him,” said the Manager. “He chooses to keep himself wrapped in a -mystery. There’s not a creature among us who can tell you anything about -him. He’s the cleverest low comedian I have ever had; but his habits are -peculiar. To my certain knowledge his whole personal wardrobe goes about -the world tied up in a spotted handkerchief. He has no make-up box but -just carries a stick of red rouge and powdered chalk screwed up in paper -like tobacco in his pocket. He puts it on with his finger and rubs it in -with a bit of brown paper. Nobody knows in any town where he lodges, but -he is always punctual at rehearsal, and if in an emergency he happens to -be needed, you can generally find him smoking peacefully in the nearest -public-house. He has never been heard to speak an unnecessary word, and -in ordinary life looks so like a death’s head that he goes by the name -of ‘Old Mortality.’” - -Evereld laughed at this curious description. - -“He is the sort of man Charles Lamb might have written an essay about,” - she said. “Now let me see if I have grasped the rest of them. The -retired Naval Captain, Mr. Tempest, is the heavy man, isn’t he? Then -there are those two young Oxonians--they are Juveniles. And Ralph’s -friend, Mr. Mowbray, the briefless barrister, what is he?” - -“He’s the Responsible man,” said Macneillie. - -“Mr. Brinton, I know, is the old man. And Mr. Thornton, what do you call -him?” - -“Oh, he is the Utility man. Come you would stand a pretty good -examination.” - -Those spring days were very happy both to Ralph and -Evereld, while Macneillie who had been anxious as to the little bride’s -comfort and well-being, began to feel entirely at rest on that score. - -It cheered him not a little to have her bright face and thoughtful -housewifely ways making a home out of each temporary resting place. -Her great charm was her ready sympathy and a certain restfulness -and quietness of temperament very soothing to highly-strung artistic -natures. When the two men returned from the theatre, it was delightful -to find her comfortably ensconced with her needlework, ready to take -keen interest in hearing about everything, and always giving a pleasant -welcome to any visitor they might bring back with them. There was -nothing fussy about Evereld: she was the ideal wife for a man of Ralph’s -eager Keltic temperament. - -During July the company dispersed and Ralph and Evereld went to stay -with the Magnays in London. It was not until the re-assembling in August -that the discomforts of the new life began to become a little more -apparent. Perhaps it was the intense heat of the weather, perhaps the -contrast between the lodgings in a particularly dirty manufacturing town -and the Magnays’ ideal home with all its art treasures, and its dainty -half foreign arrangement. Certainly Evereld’s heart sank a little when -she began to unpack. - -Their bedroom faced the west and the burning sunshine seemed to steep -the little room in drowsy almost tropical heat. She felt sick and -miserable. Opening the dressing-table drawer she found that her -predecessor had left behind some most uninviting hair-curlers, and some -greasepaint. Of course to throw these away and re-line the drawer was -easy enough; but by the time she had done it and had arranged all their -worldly goods and chattels she felt tired out and was glad to lie down, -though she did not dare to scrutinise the blankets and could only try to -find consolation in the remembrance that the sheets at least were -quite immaculate, and the pillow her own. She was roused from a doze by -Ralph’s entrance. - -“Come and get a little air, darling,” he suggested. “This room is like -an oven. Oh! we have got such a fellow in Thornton’s place! the most -conceited puppy I ever set eyes on. What induced Macneillie to give him -a trial I can’t think, he is quite a novice and though rolling in gold, -he has never thought of offering a premium. I never saw a fellow with so -much side on. He ought to be kicked!” - -“Who is he?” said Evereld laughing, as she put on her hat and prepared -to go out. - -“He’s the younger son of an earl, I believe, and rejoices in the name of -Bertie Vane-Ffoulkes. He patronises the manager as if he were doing him -a great favour by joining his company, and he is already plaguing poor -Ivy with attentions that she would far rather be without.” - -They went to the public garden hoping to find a seat in the shade where -they could watch the tennis, and here they came across Ivy and Miss -Helen Orme, who usually shared lodgings. In attendance on them walked a -rather handsome young man with a pink and white complexion and an air of -complacent self-esteem. Ivy catching sight of them hastened forward with -joyful alacrity though her _cavalière servente_ was in the middle of one -of his most telling anecdotes. - -“How delightful to meet you again!” she exclaimed taking both Evereld’s -hands in hers. “I have been longing to see you. Now, if that obnoxious -Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes will but take himself off there are so many things I -want to say to you.” - -The Honorable Bertie, however, never thought himself in the way, he -begged Ralph to introduce him to Mrs. Denmead and kindly patronised them -all for the next hour, chatting in what he flattered himself was a -very pleasant and genial manner about himself, the new costumes he had -specially ordered from Abiram’s for his first appearance on the stage, -the great success of the private theatricals at his father’s place in -Southshire when he had acted with dear Lady Dunlop Tyars, and various -anecdotes of high life which he felt sure would interest “these -theatrical people.” - -At last to their relief he sauntered hack to his hotel. - -“I wonder whether he really acts well?” said Evereld musingly. “He seems -to have a very high opinion of his own powers. I thought all the men’s -costumes were provided by the management.” - -“So they are,” said Ralph with a smile, “But nothing worn by just a -common actor would do for him, I suppose. He must have the very best of -everything specially made for him by Abiram, and strike envy into the -hearts of all the rest of us.” - -“We were so comfortable and friendly before he came,” said Ivy. “And -now I am sure everything will be different. He’s an odious, conceited, -empty-headed amateur, not in the least fit to be an actor. I wish -he would go back to his private theatricals in the country with his -Duchesses, and leave us in peace.” - -“Poor fellow! perhaps he really means to work hard and improve,” said -Evereld. - -“You are always charitable,” said Ivy. “As for me I believe we shall -never have a moment’s peace till Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes has gone.” - -Her prophesy was curiously fulfilled, for it was wonderful how much -trouble and annoyance the wealthy amateur contrived to cause. - -Macneillie bore with him with considerable patience, being determined -that in spite of his many peccadillos he should have a fair chance. He -taught him as much as it is possible to teach a very conceited mortal, -gave him many hints by which it is to be feared he profited little, and -quietly ignored his rudeness, sometimes enjoying a good laugh over it -afterwards when he described to Evereld what had taken place. - -Evereld was one of those people who are always receiving confidences. -It was partly her very quietness which made people open their hearts -to her. They knew she would never talk and betray them, and there was -something in her face which inspired those who knew her to come and pour -out all their troubles, certain of meeting sympathy and that sort of -womanly wisdom which is better than any amount of mere cleverness. - -Even Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes himself was driven at last by the growing -consciousness of his unpopularity to tell her of his difficulties. - -“I don’t know how it is, Mrs. Denmead,” he said one day, when they -chanced to be alone for a few minutes, “I am not gaining ground here. -These stage people are very hard to get on with.” - -“But they are your fellow artists,” said Evereld lifting her clear eyes -to his, “why do you call them ‘these stage people’ as though they were a -different sort of race?” - -“Well you know,” said the Honorable Bertie, “of course you know it’s not -quite--not exactly--the same thing. Your husband is of a good family, I -am quite aware of that, but many of the others, why, you know, they are -just nobodies.” - -Evereld’s mouth twitched as she thought how Macneillie would have taken -off this characteristic little speech. - -“But art knows nothing of rank,” she said gently. “Who cares about the -parentage of Raphael, or Dante, or David Garrick, or Paganini?” - -The earl’s son looked somewhat blank. - -“That’s all very well theoretically,” he said. “But in practice it’s -abominable. I believe there’s a conspiracy against me. They are jealous -of me and don’t mean to let me have a fair chance.” - -“Oh, Mr. Macneillie is so just and fair to all, that could never be,” - said Evereld warmly. - -“The manager is the worst of them,” said the Honorable Bertie, deep -gloom settling on his brow. “I hate his way at rehearsal of making a -fool of one before all the rest of the company.” - -“But you can’t have a rehearsal all to yourself,” said Evereld laughing. -“You should hear what they say of other managers at rehearsal, who swear -and rave and storm at the actors.” - -“I shouldn’t mind that half as much,” said Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes. “It’s just -that cool persistent patience, and that insufferable air of dignity he -puts on that I can’t stand. What right has Macneillie to authority and -dignity and all that sort of thing? Why I believe he’s only the son of a -highland crofter.” - -“I don’t think you’ll find your ancestors any good in art life,” said -Evereld. “It is what you can do as an actor that matters, and as long as -you feel yourself a different sort of flesh and blood how can you expect -them to like you?” - -The Honorable Bertie was not used to such straight talking but, to do -him justice, he took it in very good part, and always spoke of Mrs. -Ralph Denmead with respect, though he still cordially hated her husband. -Ralph unfortunately occupied the exact position which he desired, he -always coveted the Juvenile Lead, and Macneillie cruelly refused to -give him anything but the smallest and most insignificant parts until he -improved. - -“How can I make anything out of such a character as this?” he grumbled, -“Why I have only a dozen sentences in the whole play.” - -“You can make it precisely what the author intended it to be,” said the -Manager. “It is the greatest mistake in the world to judge a part by its -length. You might make much of that character if only you would take the -trouble. But it’s always the way, no heart is put into the work unless -the part is a showy one; you go through it each night like a stick.” - -There was yet another reason why Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes disliked Ralph. In -the dulness and disappointment of his theatrical tour he solaced himself -by falling in love with Ivy Grant: and Ivy would have nothing to say -to him, refused his presents, and took refuge as much as possible with -Ralph and Evereld, who quite understanding the state of the case did all -they could for her. - -The more she avoided him, however, the more irrepressible he became, -until at last she quite dreaded meeting him, and had it not been for the -friendship of the Denmeads and Helen Orme she would have fared ill. - -It was naturally impossible for the Honorable Bertie to confide to -Evereld how cordially he detested her husband; he turned instead to Myra -Brinton, who being at that time in a somewhat uncomfortable frame of -mind was far from proving a wise counsellor. Though in the main a really -good woman, Myra had a somewhat curious code of honour, and she was not -without a considerable share of that worst of failings, jealousy. If any -one had told her in Scotland that she should ever live to become jealous -of little Ivy Grant, she would not have believed it possible. But -latterly Ivy had several times crossed her path. She was making rapid -strides in the profession, and was invariably popular with her audience. -This however was less trying to Myra than the perception that a real -friendship was springing up between Ivy and young Mrs. Denmead, who, -it might have been expected would have more naturally turned to her. -She did not realise that to the young bride there seemed a vast chasm of -years between them, that a woman of seven and twenty seemed far removed -from her ways of looking at everything, and that Evereld dreaded her -criticism and turned to Ivy as the more companionable of the two. - -Deep down in her heart, moreover, poor Myra could not help contrasting -her own lot with that of Ralph Denmead’s wife. The little bride was -so unfeignedly happy and had such good cause for perfect trust and -confidence in her husband that Myra sometimes felt bitterly towards her. -Not that Tom Brinton was a bad fellow, there was much about him that -was likeable; but the lover of her dreams had ceased to exist, she had -settled down into married life that was perhaps as happy as the average -but that nevertheless left much to be desired. Her husband would never -have dreamt of ill-treating her, indeed in his way he was fond of her -still. But it has been well said that unless we are deliberately kind to -everyone, we shall often be unconsciously cruel, and it was for lack -of this kindly tenderness that Myra’s life was becoming more and more -difficult. She used to watch Ralph’s unfailing care and thoughtful -considerateness for Evereld with an envy that ate into her very -heart. She was jealous moreover with a jealousy that only a woman can -understand of the hope of motherhood which began to dawn for Evereld. -It seemed to her that everything a woman covets was given to this -young wife, who had known so little of the hardness of life, the fierce -struggle for success, which had made her own lot so different. And as -time went on a sort of morbid sentimentality crept into her admiration -for Ralph, and she found herself beginning to hate the sight of Evereld -in a way which would have horrified her had she made time to think out -the whole state of things. It was at this time that Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes -turned to her for advice. He could not by any possibility have chosen a -worse confidante. - -“Why is little Miss Grant always running after the Denmeads?” he -complained. “I can never get two words with her. If it’s not the wife -she is with, then it’s the husband. I can’t think what she sees in that -boy, but whenever he’s in the theatre she’s always talking to him.” - -“Yes, she is very unguarded,” said Myra with a sigh. “Of course he has -known her since she was a child, and he was very good in helping her -on when we were in Theophilus Skoot’s company. But she ought to be more -careful, for there is no doubt that she was very much in love with him -in the old days. You would be doing a good deed if you separated them a -little.” She had not in the least intended to say anything of this sort, -the words seemed put into her mouth, and somehow when once they were -said she vehemently assured herself that she fully believed them. Not -only so but she determined to act up to her belief. - -“I never saw any one so fascinating,” said the Honorable Bertie, who was -very badly hit indeed. “She’s a regular little witch. I assure you, Mrs. -Brinton, I would marry her to-morrow if I were only lucky enough to have -the chance. But she hasn’t a word to throw at me, and if she is not with -the Denmeads, why she will stick like a leech to Miss Orme, and how is a -man to make love to a girl when that’s the way she treats him? I wonder -whether she still cares for that fellow Denmead? If so, couldn’t you -give his wife a hint, then perhaps she would not have so much to do with -her and I might possibly stand a chance of getting a hearing.” - -“Well,” said Myra, rather startled by this suggestion. “I could do that -if you like, but of course, it would lead to a quarrel between them.” - -“Oh, never mind what it leads to,” said Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes. “It will at -least give me a fair chance with her. Isn’t it hard, Mrs. Brinton, that -when a fellow doesn’t care a straw the girls are all dying for love of -him, and when at last he does care why the fates ordain that he shall -fall in love with a girl who--well--who doesn’t care a straw for him.” - -Myra could have found it in her heart to laugh at this lame ending, and -at the sudden reversal of fortune which had so greatly depressed the -earl’s son, but after all there was something genuine about the poor -fellow that touched her: for the time Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes really was very -much in love with Ivy. It was the sort of passion that might possibly -exist for about six months, it might even prove to be a “hardy annual,” - but it was certainly not a passion of the perennial sort. - -She promised that she would do her best for him. - -“If he is an empty-headed fellow,” she reflected, “he is at least rich -and well-connected. It would be a remarkably good marriage for Ivy -Grant, and I will do what I can to further it.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII - - - “When ye sit by the fire yourselves to warm, - - Take care that your tongues do your neighbours no - - harm.” - - Old Chimney-piece Motto. - -|Christmas had passed and they were engaged for a fortnight at -Mardentown, one of the large manufacturing places. It was on a frosty -clear morning early in the new year that Myra set out from her rather -comfortless lodgings to call on Evereld. There was no rehearsal that -day and she happened to know that both Macneillie and Ralph were out, so -that the coast would be clear for her operations. - -“I shall be doing a kindness to her as well as to Ivy and Mr. -Vane-Ffoulkes,” she reflected. “She is so very innocent, it is high time -she understood a little more of the ways of the world.” - -Evereld was sitting by the fire in a cheerful-looking room into which -the wintry sun shone brightly; flowers were on the table, Christmas -cards daintily arranged were on the mantelpiece; there was a homelike -air about the place which Myra at once noted, and she looked with a -pang at the little garment at which the young wife was working when she -entered. - -“My husband told me Mr. Macneillie was at the theatre so I came in to -have a chat with you,” she said kissing her affectionately. “You are -looking pale this morning, dear, this wandering life is getting too hard -for you.” - -“Oh, I am very well,” said Evereld brightly, “and as to the travelling I -shall not have much more of that for at the beginning of February I have -promised to go and stay with Mrs. Hereford in London. They all say it is -right, so I mustn’t grumble, but I do so hate leaving Ralph.” - -“He can come to you for the Sundays,” said Myra. “Where has he gone to -this morning?” - -“He and Mr. Mowbray have hired bicycles and have gone over to Brookfield -Castle. They will have a beautiful ride for it is so still and the roads -will be nice and dry. Ivy wanted to go too, but she couldn’t manage to -get a bicycle, they were all engaged.” - -“Well it sounds unkind,” said Myra. “But I am not sorry that she was -forced to stay behind. Ivy is getting too careless of appearances.” - -“Do you really disapprove of bicycling for women?” asked Evereld. -“One has hardly had time to get used to it, but it seems such capital -exercise, and no one could look more graceful in cycling than Ivy does.” - -“Oh, I don’t mean that, dear,” said Myra colouring a little. “I really -hardly know how to explain things to you, for you seem so young and -confiding, and so ready to trust everyone. But you see Ivy rather runs -after your husband. Of course she always was a born flirt, I don’t think -she can help it. But people are beginning to notice it and to talk, they -are indeed.” - -“I wonder any one can be so foolish as to think such things,” said -Evereld with a little air of matronly dignity which became her very -well. “Every one belonging to the company must surely understand that -Ivy is so much with us because she is being actually persecuted by that -provoking Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes.” - -“Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes is not so bad as people make out, he may be vain and -conceited I quite admit, but he really is in love with Ivy and she is -very foolish to run away from him on every possible occasion. It would -be a capital marriage for her. Why, if the present heir were to die, Mr. -Vane-Ffoulkes comes into the title, Ivy forgets that.” - -“She positively dislikes him,” said Evereld. “You surely wouldn’t wish -her to marry such a man as that just for his position?” - -“No, but I think she might be a little more civil to him and at least -give him a hearing. And quite apart from that I really think, dear, you -are ill-advised in having her so much here.” - -Evereld’s clear blue eyes looked questioningly and in a puzzled fashion -at her visitor. - -“But we like her and she likes us. Why shouldn’t she come?” - -“Because it would be much wiser for her not to come,” said Myra. “I know -her past, and you do not. If you are wise you will not have Ivy for your -intimate friend.” - -A troubled look began to steal over Evereld’s face, she was not well, -and was very ill-fitted just then to take a calm dispassionate view of -anything. Myra’s words and hints agitated her all the more because she -only half understood them. Vaguely she felt that a shadow was creeping -over her cloudless sky. She shivered a little and drew closer to the -fire. - -“Please tell me just what you mean,” she said rather piteously. “I know -of nothing against Ivy, and she has been Ralph’s friend for a long time, -so naturally I like her.” - -“Naturally!” exclaimed Myra, whose jealous nature found it hard to -credit such a statement. “That only shows how innocent you are, how -little you understand the world. Why to my certain knowledge that girl -is in love with your husband.” - -Evereld’s eyes dilated, she stared at the speaker for a moment in mute -consternation. Then suddenly she began to laugh but not quite naturally, -her tears were at no great distance. - -“How ridiculous!” she said. “I wonder you can say such a thing to -me. Ivy! who has been quite foolishly fond of me! Oh, indeed you are -mistaken!” - -“The mistake is yours!” said Myra, “Ivy is a very coaxing little thing -and would of course find it most convenient to have your friendship. -She is clever and managing, and always contrives to get her own way, and -then of course she is a born actress. I have no doubt she was delighted -to vow an eternal friendship with you. It’s just what would suit her -best.” - -Evereld’s heart sank, she seemed to be suddenly plunged into an entirely -new region, where doubt and suspicion and jealousy and evil intention -made the whole atmosphere dark and oppressive. Not since her -difficulties at Glion had she felt so miserable and so utterly -perplexed. - -“You see, dear,” said Myra, “I knew them both in the days of the Scotch -tour, and from the first understood how things were. I daresay your -husband hasn’t told you about it, men forget these things, but there is -no doubt whatever that Ivy was in love with him. I saw it then clearly -enough, and I see it now. Be persuaded by me, and for your own sake and -for her good don’t have her much with you. I am older than you, and -I know the harm that a fascinating little witch like Ivy can work. Of -course I say all this to you in confidence, but I thought it was only -kind to give you a hint. You have not been to the theatre just lately.” - -“No, I am rather tired of this play,” said Evereld. “I am glad we are to -have a Shaksperian week at Bath.” - -“Yes, ‘legitimate’ is rather refreshing, isn’t it?” said Myra. “But the -dresses are a bother. I have to devise something new for Portia in the -casket scene, for the old one was ruined the last time I wore it. There -were six of us dressing in one room, and there was hardly space to turn -round; the train is all over grease-paint. The men are lucky in having -their costumes provided by the management. Well, good bye, dear, take -care of yourself. And be sure to let me know if there is anything I can -do for you.” - -Evereld thanked her rather faintly and was not sorry to find herself -alone once more. She felt giddy as she tried to recall exactly what Myra -had said and hinted. Could it possibly be true? And if so what was -she to do? That there was a vein of silliness in Ivy she had long ago -discovered; now and then she said things which jarred a little on her, -but the more she had seen of her the more she had learnt to like her, -and her perfectly open and rational friendship for Ralph had always -seemed to her most natural. Was it true that all the time Ivy had been -acting? Myra’s arguments returned to her with a force which she vainly -tried to struggle against. Had she been able to go out in the sunshine -for a brisk walk probably she would have taken a more quiet view of the -state of affairs, but she was not well enough for that, and the more she -brooded over it all the more miserable she became. - -Just when her visions were at the darkest the bell rang and the little -servant ushered in Ivy herself. - -“What luck to find you alone,” said the girl brightly, “I was afraid Mr. -Macneillie would perhaps be in. I’m in the worst of tempers, for on this -perfect day there wasn’t a lady’s bicycle to be had, and there are those -two lucky men enjoying themselves while I am left in this smoky town.” - -“I was sorry to hear you had been disappointed,” said Evereld, going on -with her work. But somehow as she said the words she knew that she was -not so sorry as she had at first been. Things had changed since Myra’s -visit. She even fancied a difference in Ivy. Was there something more -than cleverness in that winsome face? Was there a certain craftiness in -those ever-changing eyes? She began to think there was, and being a bad -hand at concealing her thoughts, her manner became constrained and she -was extremely unresponsive to the flood of bright talk which Ivy poured -out. - -“Something is worrying you,” said the girl at last growing conscious -of the curious difference in her friend’s manner. “‘Don’t worry! Try -Sunlight!’ as the soap advertisement tells you. Come out with me for -a turn before dinner. Walking is the sovereign remedy for all ills. We -used to try it in Scotland when we were half starving.” - -Evereld hated herself for it, but she was so overwrought and miserable -that even the use of that word “we” grated upon her. She declined the -invitation, and her manner grew more and more cold and repellent. - -Ivy was puzzled and hurt. - -“Have you been alone all the morning?” she said, wondering if perhaps -that accounted for her friend’s manner. - -“No, I have had a call from Mrs. Brinton,” said Evereld colouring a -little. - -“Of all perplexing people she is the most perplexing,” said Ivy. “One -day I like her, the next she is perfectly detestable. What did she talk -about?” - -Evereld faltered a little. - -“Oh, of various things,” she said blushing. “She is getting ready a new -dress for the Casket scene.” - -“By the bye,” said Ivy springing up, “that reminds me that I must ask -her for the pattern of a sleeve I want for Jessica. I know she has it.” - -And with friendly farewells which Evereld could not find it in her heart -to respond to at all cordially she took her departure. - -No sooner was she out of the house than Evereld’s conscience began to -prick her. She had felt very unkindly towards Ivy, and the wistful look -of surprise and bewilderment which she had seen on the girl’s face as -she uttered her cold farewells kept returning to her. What if Ivy went -now to see Myra and learnt that they had been talking her over? What if -after all this story of Myra’s was quite mistaken, or possibly one of -those half truths that are almost worse and more damaging than utter -falsehoods? - -Shame and regret and self-reproach began to struggle with the wretched -suspicions that had been sown in her heart by Myra’s words, and her long -repressed tears broke forth at last,--she sobbed as if her heart would -break. - -“How miserably I have failed,” she thought to herself. “How ready I was -to think evil, and to jump to the very worst conclusions. It would be -likely enough that she should have cared for Ralph who was so kind to -her when she was a child--I should only love her all the more if she -had loved him. Why must I fancy at the first hint that there is sin in -her friendship for him now? I won’t believe it--I won’t--I won’t.” - -She took up her work again and tried to sew, but her tears blinded her, -for she remembered how much harm might already have been done by her -angry resentment and her ready suspicions. Ever since the hope of -motherhood had come to her she had tried her very utmost to rule her -thoughts, to dwell only on what was beautiful and of good report, to -read only what was healthy and ennobling, to see beautiful scenery -whenever there was an opportunity, and in every way to try harder than -usual to live up to her ideal; she knew that in this way the character -of the next generation might be sensibly affected. - -Well, she had failed just when failure was most bitter to her, and -being now thoroughly upset she had to struggle with all sorts of nervous -terrors and anxieties and forebodings, in which her only resource was to -repeat to herself the words of the Ewart motto “Avaunt Fear!” which had -stood her in good stead during her flight from Sir Matthew. - -It was the sound of the servant’s step on the stairs and the ominous -rattle of the dinner things which finally checked her tears; she was not -going to be caught crying, and hastily beat a retreat into her bedroom. - -“If they see me like this they will imagine Ralph is unkind to me!” she -thought, shocked at her own reflection in the looking-glass. “Oh dear, -how I wish he were at home! And yet I don’t, for if he were here just -now I know I couldn’t resist telling him everything, and that would -worry him; and he shall not be worried just now when he is so specially -busy studying ‘Hamlet.’” - -Macneillie returning from the theatre soon after, could not but observe -at their _tête à tête_ dinner that his companion had been crying, but -like the sensible man he was he affected utter blindness and did the -lion’s share of the talking. - -“Can you spare me a little time this afternoon,” he said as he rose from -the table. “I want to drive over to a village about three miles from -here, the day is so bright I don’t think you would take cold.” - -Evereld gladly assented, and Macneillie, who as an old traveller was an -adept at making people comfortable with rugs and cushions, tucked her -comfortably into the best open carriage he had been able to secure and -was glad to see that the fresh air soon brought back the colour to her -face and the light to her eyes. - -“You and I have both had a dull morning. I have been bored to death with -people incessantly wanting to speak to me, and you I suppose have been -bored by being too much alone.” - -“No,” she said, “I have not been much alone; Mrs. Brinton came to me -first, and after she had gone Ivy came. They both of them vexed me -somehow, but I think it was my own fault.” - -Macneillie meditated for a few minutes. He had not studied character -all these years for nothing, and Evereld’s transparent honesty and -straightforwardness made her easy reading. Myra he had known for a long -time both before her engagement and since her marriage; she was a much -more complex character, but he understood her thoroughly and had noted, -though she little guessed it, that she was jealous both of Evereld’s -happiness and of Ivy’s success in her profession: moreover he was not -without a shrewd suspicion that she was just a little bit in love with -Ralph herself. - -“Life is never altogether easy when a great number of people are going -about the world together,” he said. “There are sure to be little rubs. -If you have ever seen anything of military life you will understand -that. The officers’ wives and families are pretty sure to have their -quarrels and little differences now and then, but in the main there is a -certain loyalty that binds them together. It is just the same with us. -I have known people not on speaking terms for weeks, but they generally -have a good-natured reconciliation before the end of the tour.” - -“Yes,” said Evereld, “I can quite fancy that. And I know if I hadn’t -been horrid and suspicious things would have been different this -morning. Please don’t say anything about it to Ralph, I don’t want him -to know that I had been crying.” - -Macneillie could not resist teasing her a little. - -“What! I thought you were a model husband and wife, and had no secrets -from each other! And here you are pledging me to silence!” - -She laughed at his comical expression, and felt much better for -laughing. - -“We do tell each other everything as a rule, but this could only vex him -and make things uncomfortable all round, and just now he is studying so -very hard for his first attempt at Hamlet. I really believe he is more -Hamlet than himself; he seems to think of him all day long and even in -his sleep he has taken to muttering bits of his part. It’s quite uncanny -to hear him in the dead of night!” - -She was quite her cheerful self again and nothing more was said as to -what had passed that morning. Macneillie however turned things over -in his mind and that evening at the theatre he reaped the harvest of a -quiet eye, and began to understand the precise state of affairs. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV - - - “O for a heart from self set free - - And doubt and fret and care, - - Light as a bird, instinct with glee, - - That fans the breezy air. - - “O for a mind whose virtue moulds - - All sensuous fair display, - - And, like a strong commander, holds - - A world of thoughts in sway!” - - Professor Blackie - -|What has happened to Evereld?” said Ivy that morning, as Myra -graciously cut out for her a second pattern of the sleeve which she -wanted. “I have been to see her and it was like hurling words at a stone -wall. I couldn’t have imagined that she would ever be like that.” - -“Oh, you have just been in there,” said Myra reflectively. “I am sorry -you went to-day.” - -“What has come over her?” said Ivy. “She seemed almost to dislike me.” - -“I think she was a little upset by something she had heard,” said Myra, -handing the pattern to her visitor. - -“What can she have heard that should make her different to me?” said Ivy -hotly. - -“Well, my dear,” said Myra with a swift glance at her, “you know people -are beginning to say that you run after Mr. Denmead, and I daresay -she knows that you cared for him when we were in Scotland. Though very -innocent she can hardly help putting two and two together, and it is but -natural that she should resent your making friends with her for the -sake of being able to go about constantly with her husband. You made a -mistake in professing such a very violent friendship for her.” - -“It is all a horrible lie,” cried Ivy, crimson with anger and distress. -“No wonder she hates me if she believes me to be such a hypocrite as -that! I was her friend--but I never will be again, no, nor Ralph’s -either. Oh! they will discuss it all and talk me over! and I believe -it’s your doing. You told her this lie. How I hate you! how I hate you!” - -Like a little fury she flung into the fire the pattern which Myra had -just cut out for her, and was gone before her companion could get in a -single word. - -Down the street she sped, looking prettier than ever because her -eyes were still bright with indignation and her cheeks aglow at the -recollection of what had passed. As ill luck would have it, just as she -reached the quiet road in which she was lodging with Helen Orme, she -came suddenly face to face with Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes. - -“I had been to inquire if you were in, and to try and persuade you to -come and skate this afternoon,” he said eagerly. “The ice in the park -will bear they say. Do come.” - -“But I never skated in my life,” said Ivy. - -“I’ll teach you, I am sure you would learn in a very little while, and -it is just the sort of thing you would do to perfection.” - -As he spoke a sudden thought darted into Ivy’s mind. Here was a man who -for some time had seriously annoyed her by persistent attentions which -she did not want. She would now change her tactics, would carry on a -desperate flirtation with him, and show these detestable gossips that -they were quite in the wrong. As for the Denmeads she would avoid them -as much as possible, and to Myra she would not vouchsafe a single word, -no--not though they shared dressing-rooms! - -All this passed through her mind while Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes was assuring -her that she would skate like one to the manner born. - -“I don’t think I can go,” she said hesitatingly. “For one thing I have -no skates, and then----” - -“I will manage the skates if only you will just come and try,” he said -persuasively, and after a little more discussion Ivy consented, and the -Honorable Bertie in the seventh heaven of happiness hurried away into -the High Street, there to procure the most dainty little pair of skates -that the place could supply, while Ivy, forgetting her anger in the -satisfaction of her new scheme, ran in to make a hasty meal, and to put -on the prettiest walking-dress and hat she possessed. - -Late in the afternoon, Ralph and George Mowbray bicycling back from -Brookfield Castle dismounted for a few minutes to watch the skaters in -the park, and to speculate as to the chances of the ice for the next -day. - -“Hullo!” exclaimed Ralph, suddenly perceiving a graceful little figure -skimming past under the guidance of a tall fair-haired man, “Why there’s -Ivy Grant pioneered by the Honorable Bertie! Wonders will never cease.” - -“So she has caved in at last,” said George Mowbray with a laugh, “having -snubbed him all these months I thought she would have contrived to send -him about his business. How cock-a-hoop he does look!” - -It was quite patent to every one after this that Ivy’s objections to -Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes were a thing of the past. She accepted every votive -offering he brought her, skated with him at every available opportunity, -and listened in the most flattering way to his extremely vapid talk. -For each inch she granted him he was ready enough to seize an ell, and -Macneillie who had no confidence at all in the character of his wealthy -amateur, soon saw that things must be promptly checked. - -“My dear,” he said one day to Evereld when their stay at Marden-town was -drawing to a close. “I wish you would somehow contrive to give Ivy Grant -a hint; she is going on very foolishly with Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes, and it is -quite impossible that she can really have any regard for him.” - -“I can’t manage to get hold of her,” said Evereld sighing. “She won’t -come here and see me, but always makes some excuse.” - -“Well, I shall get rid of Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes then,” said Macneillie. “He -has been an insufferable nuisance ever since he came. Would you believe -it--he actually had the presumption to grumble because Ralph was to -play Hamlet! I believe he seriously thinks he would do it much better -himself! The conceit of that fellow beats everything I ever knew. -You should have seen his face when he found that he was cast for -Rosencrantz! It was a picture!” - -“I never can understand why you yourself don’t play Hamlet,” said -Evereld. “You would do it splendidly.” - -“Ralph understands,” said Macneillie a shade crossing his face. “He will -tell you why it is.” - -There was silence for some minutes. Then, as though shaking himself free -from thoughts he did not wish to dwell upon, Macneillie began to pace -the room and to consider how best to rid the company of the undesirable -presence of the Honorable Bertie. - -“I have it!” he exclaimed,--suddenly bursting into a fit of laughter. -“Great Scott! That will be the very thing!” he rubbed his hands with -keen satisfaction, chuckling to himself in high glee over the thought -of the fun he anticipated. “Come to the theatre to-night, my dear, and I -will treat you to a new transformation scene which, if I’m not mistaken, -will bring down the house. But mind, not a word of it to any one -beforehand.” - -It was not only his fellow actors who objected to the Honorable Bertie, -he was detested by the stage carpenters and scene shifters, not so much -because of his conceit as because he had an objectionable habit of being -always in the way. For the past week they had been giving a play in -which he took the part of a dragoon guard and though the insignificance -of the character chafed him sorely, he found some consolation in the -knowledge that in uniform he presented a really splendid appearance. - -Now it chanced that there was a property chair used in this play of -remarkably comfortable proportions, and the Honorable Bertie being long -and lazy invariably lounged at his ease in this chair between the acts, -for he had no change of dress and no opportunity of amusing himself with -Ivy just in the intervals because she happened to have rather elaborate -changes. - -Macneillie, who was his own Stage Manager, had for some time observed -the cool disregard shown by the amateur of the peremptory call of -“Clear!” on the part of his Assistant stage manager. Deaf to the order -Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes invariably took his ease in the big chair, lazily -watching the busy workers with an air of irritating superiority. - -“I think I shall cure him of this little habit,” reflected Macneillie -with a smile, and seizing a moment when his victim was the only person -visible on the stage he suddenly rang up the curtain. - -A roar of laughter rose from the audience, for there in full view sat -the Honorable Bertie with his legs dangling in unconventional comfort -over the arm of the chair. - -He sprang to his feet in horror, dashed to the practicable door at the -back of the stage deeming it his nearest escape, forgot that he still -wore his guard’s helmet, crashed it violently against the lintel, and -by the time he had staggered back, and with lowered crest disappeared -behind the scenes, left the house in convulsions of merriment. - -The curtain descended again, and the Honorable Bertie choking with rage -contemplated his battered helmet with a fiery face, and vowed vengeance -on Macneillie, but had not the sense to join in the laughter which even -Ivy could not suppress, do what she would. The sight of her mirth put -the last touch to his wrath, and at the close of the performance he had -an angry interview with the manager who, as he furiously declared, had -made him ridiculous before the whole house. - -“The curtain was rung up too early,” admitted Macneillie. “But the -order had been given to clear the stage; you persistently disregard that -order every night and must take the consequences.” - -“I will not stay another day in your d----d company,” said the Honorable -Bertie, fuming. - -Macneillie bowed in acquiescence; gravely assured the Earl’s son that a -cheque for the amount of his weekly salary should be sent the next day -to his hotel, and bade him good evening. Perhaps Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes did -not quite like to be so promptly taken at his own word, perhaps the -quiet dignity of Macneillie’s manner was too much for him; the threats -and denunciations he longed to pour forth somehow stuck in his throat, -and with a muttered oath he took his departure, leaving Macneillie well -satisfied with the result of his stratagem. - -Three days after, the company moved on to Gloucester, Ivy however had -made the Business Manager put her in a different railway carriage from -the Denmeads with whom she usually travelled, and Evereld could only -contrive to exchange a few words with her at the station. - -The following week when they went to Bath matters seemed rather more -favourable. Ralph who had a great liking for the old theatre there with -its many memories, declared that it was the most interesting theatre in -England, and Evereld, partly for the sake of seeing it, partly with the -hope of patching up the quarrel, went with him on the Monday morning to -rehearsal. - -The play was “The Merchant of Venice” and fortune favoured her, for Ivy -had not a great deal to do, and quickly yielded to the gentle kindly -manner of Ralph’s wife. Together they laughed over Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes’ -discomfiture, and agreed that it was a great relief to be well quit of -him; then, as the rehearsal bid fair to be a lengthy one, Ivy ran out -to buy Bath buns at Fort’s and handed them impartially to all present -including Myra, and Evereld began to think that things would soon come -straight once more. - -“Do come in to tea with me to-day,” she begged. “I shall be alone for -hours for they mean to go through some of Hamlet this afternoon for -Ralph’s sake, and I shall be going to London next week you know for some -time.” - -It was difficult to resist the friendly look in her eyes, and Ivy -consented to come, arriving soon after four at the rooms in Kingsmead -Terrace in a somewhat silent mood. However tea and a good laugh over the -vagaries of Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes soon thawed her. - -“I only wish I had never flirted with him,” she said regretfully. “All -the time I hated and despised him.” - -“What made you do it then?” said Evereld. - -Ivy crimsoned. - -“It was Myra’s fault. I believe she was in league with him. When I -found that she had told you such a lie about me, I thought I would show -everyone how false it was.” - -“But I knew it to be false almost directly,” said Evereld. “It was only -for an hour or so, before there had been time to think things over that -I believed it, dear. Indeed if I had been well and strong I don’t think -I should have believed it for a moment.” - -To her surprise Ivy suddenly broke down and began to sob. - -“Oh,” she said, “I am so dreadfully alone in the world! I don’t think I -can do without you two.” - -“Why should you do without us?” said Evereld. “I hope you are not going -to punish me any more for having been cold and repellent the other day? -Ralph and I shall always want you to be our friend.” - -“But how can I be your friend when all these days you have been -discussing me?” - -“We haven’t discussed you. Ralph has never heard one word of what Myra -said. The only thing he did say was that he thought you did not realise -the sort of man Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes really was, or you would be more -careful. Of course he can’t help knowing, too, that you have quarrelled -with Myra, because you don’t speak to her.” - -“I am going to tell you just the whole truth,” said Ivy, drying her eyes -and looking straight up at Evereld with an air of resolute courage that -made her winsome little face actually beautiful. “I did love Ralph once. -At first he was just a sort of hero to me, but in Scotland when we were -all so miserable and he was always trying to help me, then I began to -love him; and when the Skoots disappeared and left us stranded at Forres -I couldn’t bear to be parted from him and let him see that I cared. I -knew he understood; for he showed me that it would not do for us to stay -together when the company dispersed, and he told me how he cared for -you, not of course saying your name, but I knew he meant you. At first -it made me angry and miserable, but I liked him so for being true, and -for speaking straightforwardly as very few men do to women; and always -he made me feel that he respected me and liked and trusted me. When -later on the Brintons told me he was engaged to you I was able to be -glad of it--I was indeed; and when Myra told me the other day that -you believed such a lie about me, and I guessed at once it was all her -doing--why it seemed as if she had trodden under foot the very best part -of me, and afterwards I didn’t much care what I did. I think I could -almost have married Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes.” - -“That would have been an awful fate,” said Evereld with a shudder, as -she realised how much harm her ready suspicions had done. “Ivy dear, you -must promise me never to let anyone come between us again. Ralph and I -are always your friends--do believe that once for all, or I shall never -feel at rest about you.” - -They kissed each other warmly and the misunderstanding was quite at an -end, leaving them much closer friends than they had been before. To set -things straight with Myra Brinton would probably not prove so easy, but -Evereld was very anxious to effect a reconciliation before she went to -London. - -Partly with a view to this, and partly because she had not yet seen the -“Merchant of Venice” she got Ralph to take her that night behind the -scenes. - -Unlike so many of the modern theatres the old theatre at Bath in which -Mrs. Siddons had often acted in former days could boast a comfortable -green room, and here, she and Ralph and Helen Orme did their best to -draw Ivy and Myra Brinton into more pleasant relations. - -Ivy might have been persuaded to relent, but Myra withdrew into a shell -of cold reserve which made Ralph think of the days when he had first -known her at Dumfries. She looked on with chilling surprise and -disapproval while Evereld chatted in a friendly fashion with Ivy, and -quite refused to join in the general conversation. While all the rest -were pinning each other’s draperies she stood by the fireplace busily -occupied with her powder-puff, apparently quite self-engrossed, but in -reality noting with jealous pangs the easy good fellowship of her fellow -artists and the expression of Ralph’s face as he talked with Evereld -and Ivy. She made up her mind to hold entirely aloof and show how she -despised them all, and it proved quite impossible to make any way with -her. - -Evereld made one last effort in the interval after the third act when -Myra, looking extremely handsome in her lawyer’s cap and gown came into -the green room ready for the Trial scene, and Ivy, in good spirits after -receiving much applause for her sprightly rendering of Jessica’s part, -was quite disposed to break the silence which had now lasted so long -between them. But as it takes two to make a quarrel it also takes two to -make an atonement, and Mrs. Brinton calmly turned her back upon the girl -and sailed across the room to the inevitable powder-box. - -“I don’t care,” said Ivy under her breath as she shrugged her shoulders -and left the room. “If it pleases her to go about with a black dog on -her back, let her! Now you are going to stand at the wings, Evereld, -and enjoy the Trial scene; you will have a capital view of it just from -here. As for me, I shall run up and change for my moonlight scene. _Au -revoir!_” - -She felt in a mischievous mood, resenting Myra’s absurd behaviour, and -yet too much pleased by her good reception and by the satisfaction of -being on comfortable terms with Ralph and Evereld again to be exactly -angry. - -“I will dress quickly and run down before Myra comes up for her next -change,” she reflected. “It is just hateful sharing a dressing-room with -anyone when you are not on speaking terms. I wish Mr. Macneillie would -have let her have the ‘Star’ room, but he always will keep the one -nearest the stage for himself whether it is good or bad. Bother! there’s -not room to swing a cat in this place! I wish they would give us more -decent rooms.” Jessica’s dress required a great deal of pinning and -draping. It was by no means easy to dispose of the long trailing fold -of light Liberty silk, and Ivy was in an impatient mood. Suddenly as -she tossed the end of a bit of light gauze drapery over her shoulder -it caught by some mischance in the gas jet from which she had, against -rules, removed the guard while curling her fringe. In an instant it was -flaring all about her, and wild with fright she found it impossible to -free herself from its serpent like coils. - -Presence of mind had never been one of her characteristics and now -the awful sense of her danger and her horrible loneliness drove her to -distraction. She cried for help, but it seemed to her that she might burn -to death before anyone heard her in that remote place. - -Meanwhile Evereld standing at the wings was watching with keen interest -Macneillie’s masterly representation of Shylock, and thinking how -handsome Ralph looked as Bassanio, when she was startled by a distant -cry. - -“You take my house when you do take the prop that doth sustain my -house,” pleaded Shylock, and at that instant another much more distinct -sound--unquestionably a scream--from behind, made Evereld’s heart stand -still. Surely it was Ivy’s voice! - -Without a moment’s hesitation she opened the door leading to the ladies’ -dressing rooms, hurried up the stairs and had just gained the passage -above, when to her horror she saw Ivy rushing forward her pale green -dress all ablaze. - -Snatching off the warm cloak she had been wearing as she stood at the -wings Evereld flung it about the terrified girl, and exerting all her -strength almost hurled Ivy to the ground, dismayed to see how the flames -were rising towards her face. - -“Don’t try to get up,” she cried, as Ivy mad with fear and pain would -have leapt to her feet again. “Roll over and we shall crush out the -fire.” - -It could have been only two minutes yet it seemed to them hours before -others hearing the screams came to the rescue, and by that time Evereld -had succeeded in stifling the flames. Macneillie learning directly he -came off the stage that something was amiss hurried up to them and was -dismayed to find what had happened. - -“Go at once and get hold of Dr. Grey,” he said turning to the business -manager who had been the first to come up. “He is in the front row of -the dress circle. Brinton,” he added turning to the Duke of Venice, -who was the next to appear, “you will help me to lift her into her -dressing-room.” - -“It is so small and crowded,” said Evereld. “Would not the green room be -better? she must be carried down the stairs sooner or later.” - -“Yes, quite true. Give me your cloak, Brinton, we will throw it over -her, and do you go first, Evereld, and see that no one is in the way. We -shall get her safely to the green room before the end of the act.” - -Ivy’s moans as they carried her were drowned in the applause which -followed the end of the Trial Scene. And Evereld, not pausing to realise -that she was trembling from head to foot, went on before to make ready -a place where they could lay her down, and thanks to the promptitude of -the business manager the doctor was on the spot almost as soon as they -were. - -Ralph, strolling up the stage a few minutes later, having heard nothing -that had passed, was rudely recalled to the present as he approached the -little group of people round the green room door. “The doctor has just -gone in,” he heard some one say, and the words threw him into a sudden -panic of terror. - -“Let me get by,” he said. “What’s the matter?” - -“You can’t go in,” said several voices! “Ivy Grant has been awfully -burnt, they say Mrs. Denmead managed to get the fire out.” - -“Where is my wife?” said Ralph distractedly. - -“She is in the green room helping. It’s no good my dear boy. I tell you -no one can go in.” - -Ralph, sick with anxiety for Evereld, and only longing to get her out -of the room, seemed on the point of taking the speaker by the collar and -thrusting him aside, when to his relief the door opened and Macneillie -came out. They all made way for him and heard him giving orders for a -messenger to be sent at once for the ambulance, then before a single -question could be put to him by Ralph, the Assistant stage manager came -up to discuss the arrangements that were to be made for the last act. -Fortunately Ivy’s understudy happened to be present so that no very -great delay was to be feared, and when this matter had been disposed of, -Helen Orme who had good naturedly hurried away to dress in order that -she might be free to offer her help, came hastening back and begged -leave to go in and do what she could for Ivy. - -“Send Evereld to me,” was Ralph’s parting injunction, and Helen Orme, -feeling very sorry for him, went in and finding that the preliminary -dressing of Ivy’s burns was over, admitted him on her own authority. - -It was a kindly meant act but under the circumstances a little risky, -for at the first sight of him Evereld’s composure began to give way. The -doctor noticed it at once. - -“Now, Mrs. Denmead,” he said cheerfully. “Let this lady take your place -for a minute, and you go and sit down. I shall be ready to dress that -hand of yours directly.” - -“Oh!” moaned Ivy who had spoken very little since they had carried her -down. “Is Evereld hurt?” - -“Just a little,” said the doctor. “But she won’t grudge that, for she -has saved your life.” - -“Do you think you could just manage to get me home,” whispered Evereld, -suddenly realising that her strength would hold out no longer and that -she could only agitate and harm Ivy by staying. - -“Yes, darling,” said Ralph, “of course I can.” - -But the cheery doctor had overheard and was beside them in a minute. - -“Where are you staying?” he said crossing the room to them. “In -Kingsmead Terrace? I will drive you there at once in my carriage. Wait -for a minute and I will bring it round to the stage door. My little -patient here will do well enough now, and before long they will carry -her to the hospital in the ambulance. Just one word with you, Mr. -Denmead.” - -Ralph followed him out of the room. - -“Now kindly pilot me through these passages,” said the doctor, having -put a brief question or two as to Evereld. “Your part is not quite -finished is it? Another scene yet if I remember right. You must leave me -to see your wife safely home, and don’t be over anxious. Of course, it’s -an unfortunate thing that she has had this fearful shock, but there is -no reason why she should not get on well enough. Have you a decent sort -of landlady with a head on her shoulders?” - -“She is a capable sort of woman,” said Ralph, “but----” - -“All right. That will do very well for the present. Here’s my -carriage----” - -He gave directions to the coachman, and in a few minutes time Ralph had -put his wife into the brougham and with a heavy heart had turned back -into the theatre to get through the rest of his work as best he could. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXV - - - “God! do not let my loved one die, - - But rather wait until the time - - That I am grown in purity - - Enough to enter thy pure clime.” - - Lowell. - -|When Ivy from time to time opened her eyes in that dreadful interval of -waiting for the ambulance which seemed to her almost age-long, she saw -a curious succession of faces. First there had been the cheerful doctor, -and Evereld with her brave blue eyes and firm little mouth. Then those -two faces had mysteriously disappeared, and the wrinkled and careworn -features of the wardrobe woman had greeted her instead, and Helen Orme -dressed as Nerissa bent over her and asked her if she suffered much. - -After that Myra Brinton had stooped and kissed her, to her great -astonishment, and all the foolish little quarrels of the past died out -under the influence of that great uniter of human beings--pain. Ralph -came too with kindly inquiries, and she roused herself to ask again -after Evereld. - -“You are sure the doctor told the truth?” she asked doubtfully. “Was she -really not badly burnt?” - -“No, not badly,” said Ralph. “Only one hand blistered and her wrist -scorched.” - -The summons came just at that minute for Myra and Helen Orme, and he -seized the opportunity to escape, fearful lest she should ask further -questions. He stood at the wings with his friend George Mowbray who was -playing Antonio, watching in a dreamy way the ill-arranged dress which -had been hastily contrived for Ivy’s understudy. - -He would have missed the cue for his entrance had not George Mowbray -pushed him forward, and it seemed to him that it was not his own voice -but the voice of somebody else that uttered Bassanio’s speeches, -while all the time he himself was away with Evereld, though his body -mechanically went through the business of his part. Macneillie watched -him with some anxiety, but before the play ended, the arrival of the -ambulance and the necessity of seeing Ivy safely transferred to it drove -all else from the manager’s mind. He refused to allow anyone but himself -to take her to the hospital, feeling that she was under his charge, and -troubled to remember that the poor child had not a relation in the world -who could now befriend her. - -“Do your best to get well quickly, my dear,” he said in his kindly -voice when he took leave of her. “And don’t fret as to the future. You -shall come back to the company whenever you like.” - -Returning to the theatre he found the scene struck and all the house in -darkness save for the light by the stage door. - -“Is Mr. Denmead still in his dressing-room?” he inquired. - -“No sir,” said the door-keeper. “He has been gone some time and Mr. and -Mrs. Brinton with him.” - -Macneillie ran upstairs to speak a word to Ivy’s understudy as to -the dresses needed later in the week, then he walked slowly back to -Kingsmead Terrace, but although he rang repeatedly no one came to answer -the door. - -He was just meditating a burglarious entrance by the kitchen window when -at last he heard footsteps approaching and the latch was raised. - -Myra Brinton softly opened to him; her face was pale and anxious. - -“Oh, is it you!” she exclaimed. “I hoped it was the nurse. Tom has gone -to try and get hold of one. Evereld’s child is born and the doctor seems -terribly anxious about her.” - -Macneillie was a true Scotsman and seldom said much when he was moved. -He stalked on into the sitting room and began to pace to and fro in -silence. - -Evereld had grown almost like a daughter to him and the thought of her -peril and of Ralph’s frightful anxiety brought a choking sensation to -his throat. - -“What of the child?” he asked presently. - -“It is a boy,” said Myra. “Of course extremely small; they gave him -to me in the next room and I have done what I could for him, the -maidservant is seeing to him now, and the others are in with Evereld. -Hark! there is someone coming downstairs.” - -Macneillie went out into the passage and encountered Ralph who looked as -if years had passed over his head since they last met. - -“They want another doctor,” he said snatching his hat from the stand. - -“Give me the name and address and I will go,” said Macneillie. - -“You have not had your supper,” objected Ralph. “And, as it is, we are -turning the whole house upside down for you.” - -“What matter!” said Macneillie. “Go back to Evereld, my boy, I will see -to this for you.” - -Ralph protested no further, indeed his one desire was to return to his -wife, but catching sight of Myra, he paused to inquire after the child. - -“Evereld keeps asking if it is all right,” he said. “And the doctor, who -would say anything to quiet her, assures her it is all it ought to be. -Do you think there is really a hope that it will live?” - -“I know so little about such things,” said Myra, with a sick remembrance -of the jealous feelings that had stirred within her on first learning of -Evereld’s hopes. “He is the tiniest little fellow I ever saw, but there -seems nothing amiss with him. Hark! there is a ring at the door bell. -It must be the nurse at last. We will see what she says to him.” - -Ralph, who had vaguely expected a sort of Mrs. Gamp, was relieved to see -a comely middle-aged woman with a refined and sensible face, and that -wonderful air of composure and capable quietness which makes a trained -nurse so unlike an amateur. - -She praised all that Myra had done and declared that with care the -child would do well enough, and Ralph, looking for the first time at the -little doll-like face of his son felt a sudden sense of hope and joy and -relief which carried him through the dark hours of that night of anxiety -and suspense. - -For all night long Evereld lay between life and death. The younger -doctor who had been called in despaired of saving her, and Ralph knew -it, though no one actually put the thought into words. He knew it by the -man’s face, and by the sound of effort in the voice of his first friend, -cheery Doctor Grey. Evereld was dying from exhaustion, and from the -terrible shock she had undergone. - -Still like a true Denmead he clung to hope, and held his fear at arm’s -length; every word of encouragement that fell from Dr. Grey’s lips -helping him to keep up. - -Her age was in her favour, her patience, her great firmness and courage -all would stand her in good stead; so said the old doctor; and Ralph -hoped against hope until at last about sunrise a change set in. Even -the younger doctor grew sanguine. Evereld’s hold upon life was evidently -growing firmer. She looked up at Ralph and smiled. - -“What day is it?” she asked, for pain knows no time limits and she had -no notion whether hours or days had gone by. - -“It is Tuesday morning,” he said stooping down to kiss her, a rapturous -sense of relief filling his heart. - -She seemed to meditate for a few minutes, and obediently took the gruel -the nurse brought her. - -“Why!” she exclaimed presently. “It is your first night in Hamlet, and -you will be tired out. Go and rest, darling.” - -“The best rest is to see you growing better,” he said tenderly. - -After another interval she asked about the child. - -“Do you want to see him?” asked the young doctor, hailing as a good sign -her return of interest. - -“Not now, later on” she said quietly. “I will try to sleep first. I’m -sure I could sleep if you would go and rest, Ralph.” - -“Quite right, you are a wise little woman, Mrs. Denmead,” said Dr. -Grey. - -Ralph allowed himself to be taken off by the younger doctor, seeing that -they thought it best he should go. They paused on the way down to visit -the next room, where the good-natured landlady sat in a rocking-chair by -the fire nursing the latest descendant of Sir Ralph Denmead the Crusader -who, instead of being born in a stately castle, had first seen the light -in Kingsmead Terrace at a lodging house specially reserved for what the -landlady termed “Theat’icals.” - -Ralph could only thank her for all her help, but he was blessed with the -power of expression and the good soul felt fully rewarded for what she -had gone through. - -“Don’t you mention it, sir, it’s nothing but a pleasure,” she said. -“Mrs. Brinton she was here till one o’clock, and a very pleasant spoken -lady she is and handy with the child. And, says I to her, the finest -grown man I ever see in my life, six foot two in his stocking feet, was -not a morsel bigger than this baby to start with. A fine set up man -he was as you could wish till he lost his leg along of frost bites and -under-feeding in the Crimea.” - -Ralph looked at the funny little bundle swathed in flannel and almost -laughed at the thought of his possible development into a military hero -of six foot two, losing a leg for his country’s glory! But the mention -of military life made him think of Bridget, and he determined to -telegraph to her at once. - -Down in the sitting-room they found Macneillie solacing himself with -Shakspere and a pipe, and delighted to hear the more favourable report. - -“You have been up all night, Governor,” said Ralph regretfully, when the -doctor had gone. - -“Well, yes, I was afraid you might need me,” said Macneillie. “I had -hardly dared to hope for this good news. Come, sit down and eat, boy, -you are nearly played out. I brewed some coffee for you, but I don’t -know whether it is fit to drink now.” - -Ralph obeyed, eating like a hungry school boy, and his face gradually -assumed a less ghastly hue. - -“What time is rehearsal?” he asked glancing at his watch. “Hullo! I -forgot to wind it, and it has run down.” - -“It’s now eight,” said Macneillie. “Rehearsal is at eleven, but you -won’t be needed. I am going to play Hamlet.” - -“No, Governor,” said Ralph emphatically. “I shall be all right after -a little sleep, and it was almost the first thing Evereld thought of. -Isn’t she a model actor’s wife?” - -He knew well that to play Hamlet was almost more than Macneillie could -endure, for long ago the Manager had told him that he had acted it every -night before Christine Greville’s wedding, and that it had become so -bound up with all the mental misery he had gone through at that time -that he had never dared to attempt it again. - -“Ah, she remembered it,” said Macneillie with a smile. “That was very -like Evereld. I would put off the performance if possible, but it -is promised for three nights and it will be very difficult to manage -anything else, specially as Ivy Grant is _hors de combat_, too, and her -understudy such a novice. No, we will give the play; I have spent most -of the night in company with the Danish prince and this evening he and I -will patch up our ancient quarrel.” - -But Ralph was not to be borne down by these arguments, and at last -Macneillie agreed to a compromise. The play had already been rehearsed -for some time. Ralph should be excused from attendance that morning, and -if all were well should play the part as arranged. - -“Now no more of this argle-bargle as we say in Scotland. To bed with -you, or we shall have you breaking down this evening,” said Macneillie. -“What? a letter you must write?” - -“Only to Mrs. Hereford, who you know had promised to house Evereld -during her illness.” - -“I will see to it,” said Macneillie. “And you want this telegram to go -to that nice old Irish body, the soldier’s widow? Well, leave them to -me, and get along with you, do. Follow the excellent example of that son -of yours, and spend your time in sleeping.” - -Ralph took the advice very literally and for the next eight hours slept -profoundly. He was roused at last to a consciousness that someone was -standing beside his bed, and looking up sleepily was vaguely astonished -to see Bridget’s well-known face. Was he a boy again in Sir Matthew’s -house? And was Bridget as usual coming in to rouse him that he might -not incur his guardian’s wrath by being late for breakfast? His heavy -eyelids drooped again, when he was suddenly startled back to full -recollection by the sound of a wailing baby in the room below. - -“Why, that must be the boy,” he reflected. “And I am a family man,--and -Sir Matthew has gone to Jericho! What news, Bridget?” he exclaimed -anxiously. “How is my wife?” - -“She is doing nicely, sir, God bless her sweet soul! Your dinner is -ready, Mr. Ralph, and after that, why you can be coming in to see -mistress. She has had two good sleeps, thank God.” - -Bridget was in her element with the sole care of the little doll-like -baby. - -“It’s exactly like you, sir, bless it,” she remarked when Ralph paused -on his way to the theatre to take another look at his small son. - -“Well, really, Bridget! You can’t expect me to take that for a -compliment,” he said laughing. “He has no eyes to speak of--just a -couple of slits--and as for his face, it seems to be all nose, with just -a little margin of pink puckers.” - -“Ah, it’s always the outsiders that can see the likeness,” said Bridget. - -“Look here upon this picture, and on this,” quoted Ralph merrily. “You -will send me off to play Hamlet in a very humble and chastened mood, -Bridget. I never thought I was quite so ugly.” - -As a matter of fact the great strain he had passed through, and the -present relief, quite blunted the feeling of intense nervousness which -usually overwhelmed him when for the first time he played an important -character. All his fellow actors too were in sympathy with him, and it -did his heart good to hear what they said as to Evereld’s prompt courage -and her plucky rescue of Ivy Grant. The news from the hospital was also -cheering. Ivy was going on as well as could be expected, and although -her burns were severe, she was likely to be able to resume her work in -two or three months’ time, and thanks to Evereld she was not at all -disfigured. - -Ralph’s long and patient study of his part bore excellent fruit. He -gave a really striking representation of Hamlet’s lovable and strangely -complex character; and Macneillie watched his pupil with satisfaction, -feeling to-night more than he had ever done before that Ralph had in him -the makings of a really great actor. - -“If only that brave little wife of his is spared,” he thought to -himself, “his future is assured. But he is the sort of man who might be -altogether paralysed by a great sorrow. I should fancy it was the early -loss of his wife which turned the Vicar of Whinhaven into a recluse, and -according to Ralph it was certainly a great trouble and disappointment -which finally killed the poor man. What develops one kind of nature -ruins another.” - -In the course of the next few days there was a great deal of anxiety -both on account of Evereld and of the child. In the midst of it there -suddenly appeared upon the scenes the one person who was most capable of -cheering and helping them all. - -Mrs. Hereford, with her sweet bright face, the youthfulness and vivacity -of which contrasted so curiously with her prematurely grey hair, took -them all by surprise and was quietly announced one afternoon at the -house in Kingsmead Terrace. - -“How good of you to come!” cried Ralph, feeling as if the mere sight of -her had lifted a load from his mind. - -“And how is Evereld?” she asked. “They told me at the door she was -better, but I wasn’t sure how much the little servant knew.” - -“She is better to-day,” said Ralph with a sigh. “But all last night we -were terribly anxious again, I think it was worrying over the child’s -illness.” - -“He is very delicate I am afraid,” said Mrs. Hereford. - -“Yes, but they are hopeful about him now. Yesterday they thought him -dying, and I had to rush out for a clergyman to get him christened.” - -“And to go off to your work in the evening I suppose not knowing how -things would be when you came back.” - -“Yes,” said Ralph. “That was the worst part of all. It was my third -appearance as Hamlet, and I all but broke down.” - -“I well remember what an agony it used to be to sing in public when -Dermot or Molly were dangerously ill,” said Mrs. Hereford. “And talking -of Dermot reminds me of what I came to propose this afternoon. He is -much stronger but the doctor doesn’t care for him to be in London just -yet. I think of taking a house here till the Easter recess, and when -Evereld can be moved we think it would be a capital plan if she came to -us here instead of in town. I am not going to be defrauded of my visitor -by this provoking catastrophe. I have been looking this afternoon at a -furnished house which is to let in Lansdowne Crescent, and if all goes -well I don’t see why in a fortnight or three weeks’ time Evereld and -her baby should not come to us there. I suppose you will have to move on -elsewhere with the company?” - -“Yes,” said Ralph, “I must leave next Monday, but luckily we shall only -be at Bristol so I can run over pretty often.” - -“And we shall always be delighted to have you for your Sundays later -on,” said Mrs. Hereford, “don’t you think it would be better for Evereld -to come to us? She will be rather lonely here.” - -“Oh, it would be the best thing in the world for her to be with -you,” said Ralph. “But it will be disarranging all your plans I am -afraid,--and putting you to so much trouble.” - -“Not at all,” said Mrs. Hereford. “Evereld and I shall both be widowed -during the week, that is the only drawback; but husbands must work. And -in any case I should have had to take Dermot somewhere, for he is the -last boy to take care of himself and will do the most mad things if he -hasn’t a sister to look after him. I tell him it is becoming such a tax -that I shall really have to take to matchmaking and select him a nice -capable wife who would see that he wore his great-coat in an east wind, -and didn’t always sit in a direct draught. Ah, here is Mr. Macneillie, -we must tell him of our plans.” - -Macneillie rang for tea, and then they discussed the future arrangements -of which he cordially approved. - -“And how about the poor little thing who was burnt? Is she getting on -well?” asked Mrs. Hereford. - -“I have just been to see her,” said Macneillie. “Miss Orme and I took -her some flowers. She is suffering a great deal still poor child, but -they say she is wonderfully patient.” - -“I don’t seem to remember her. Was she with you at Southbourne?” - -“No, she has only been with us a year,” said Macneillie. “And was -getting on remarkably well. I hope she will be fit to act by Easter. She -had a very narrow escape, and owed her life to Mrs. Denmead’s presence -of mind and courage! They will be greater friends than ever after this.” - -“I should like to go and see her,” said Mrs. Hereford. “Or is she hardly -up to visitors yet?” - -“Oh, she would like to see you,” said Ralph, “for she has heard so much -about you.” - -“I am not going to ask to see Evereld to-day, for I am quite sure she -ought to be kept absolutely quiet,” said Mrs. Hereford. “You must tell -her how much I look forward to having her later on. Suppose we walk -round to the hospital now. There will just be time before my return -train.” - -Her cheery sensible talk did more for Ralph than anything else could -have done; he poured out all his anxieties to her, and found in her -motherly wisdom and her hopeful words exactly what he needed to tide him -over the difficulties which overwhelmed him. - -“What is it about her?” he thought to himself, as he paced up and down -outside the hospital while she paid her visit to Ivy. “She seems to me -just like a gleam of sunshine on a dark day, or a fresh breeze in the -summer. I have met plenty of Irish women who were friendly and pleasant -and delightful to talk to, but it isn’t a mere matter of charm with -her,--she seems to have a heart wide enough to take in every one that is -in trouble.” - -Doreen Hereford did not find it difficult to make room in her heart for -one so helpless and forlorn as Ivy. The merest glance at the wistful -face in the hospital ward was sufficient. And Ivy responded to her -at once and felt all the comfort of her presence. For Doreen never -patronised people, she mothered them; and between these two forms of -helpfulness there lies a world of difference. - -“Tell me a little more about that poor child,” she said to Ralph as they -walked to the station. “You have known her for a long time, have you -not.” - -“Yes, her grandfather used to give me elocution lessons, she has been -on the stage since she was ten and has had rather a hard apprenticeship. -Evereld has taken a great fancy to her and she needs friends, poor girl, -for she is quite alone in the world. The old Professor died just after -our Scotch company broke up.” - -“I have been wondering what she will do when she leaves the hospital,” - said Mrs. Hereford. “Would Evereld like it if I asked her to stay with -us too? Or wouldn’t that work well?” - -“I am sure she would like it,” said Ralph. “But will you have room for -them all?” - -“Oh yes,” she said laughing. “It’s a big house, and besides we Irish -people know how to stow away large numbers. I want somehow to see more -of little Miss Grant, there is something very winning about her. Talk it -over by and bye with Evereld and see what she thinks.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVI - - -“_The comfort which poor human beings want in such a world as this is -not the comfort of ease, but the comfort of strength_.” - -C. Kingsley. - -|Evereld thought the whole plan a most delightful one, and if anything -could have consoled her for the parting with Ralph on Monday it would -have been the prospect of spending the time of her convalescence with -Bride O’Ryan and Mrs. Hereford, and of knowing that Ivy was not to be -left out in the cold but was to enjoy just the same hospitality and -care. - -On the Sunday she was allowed to see Myra Brinton for the first time. -Perhaps the events of the week had done more for Myra than for -anyone else; she had been so horrified to discover what mischief her -sentimental fancy for Ralph, her jealousy of Evereld and her quarrel -with Ivy had wrought, that she had taken herself thoroughly in hand, and -had learnt a lesson she would never forget. As for the baby, it played -no small part in her education, and Bridget was always delighted that -she should come in and make much of it. - -“I don’t know how to thank you enough,” said Evereld looking up at her -gratefully. “They have all told me how good and helpful you were last -Monday, when no one had time to think much of Baby Dick.” - -“Is he to be called Dick?” said Myra willing to turn the conversation -from herself. - -“Yes, after my brother who died. Have you seen Ivy yet?” - -“Oh, several times,” said Myra. “I wanted just to tell you that -everything is quite right between us again. I was very wrong, Evereld, -to tell you what I did at Mardentown. It was all a mistake and I little -thought what it would lead to. If poor Ivy had not been in a hurry to be -out of my way before I came back to the dressing-room, I do believe the -accident would never have happened. My horrible gossip might have been -the death of both of you. I can never forget that.” - -“Don’t let us ever talk of it again,” said Evereld. “We shall all -three be closer friends for the rest of our lives just because this has -happened. That’s the only thing that matters now. And Myra, I wanted to -ask you to be Dick’s Godmother. You had all the trouble of him at first, -and so he seems rightly to belong to you. Mr. Macneillie has promised to -be one of the Godfathers.” - -This was the finishing touch to the reconciliation and a very happy -thought on the part of the little mother. Nothing could have pleased -Myra more, and she left Bath a much happier and a much better woman. - -Evereld made herself as happy as she could with her baby and with old -Bridget as companions, but her convalescence was tedious, and she was -unspeakably glad when at length the day arrived for her removal to the -Hereford’s house in Lansdowne Crescent. - -The beautiful view of the Somersetshire hills and of the grey city in -the valley below, which she gained from her window, the cheerful sense -of family life going on all about her, the companionship of Bride -O’Ryan, and the comfort of having Mrs. Hereford always at hand to advise -her about Dick and to share all her anxieties, seemed exactly what she -needed. - -Her voice recovered its tone, her cheeks regained their fresh bright -colour, and she became once more just a girl again, ready to enjoy life -in her own quiet fashion. - -“I could almost fancy we were back at school,” said Bride cheerfully. - -“When, as at present I’m in the shade with the light behind me,” quoted -Evereld merrily. “My hands are about the worst part of me now, they are -so horribly white, otherwise you must own that I am quite presentable. -How strange it seems though to think of the life at Southbourne. It -was so happy while it lasted, but the thought of going back to it is -dreadful.” - -“Instead you spend half the day in playing with Dick,” said Bride -teasingly. “The amount of time you waste on that child is appalling.” - -“I’m not going to be one of those horrid modern mothers who never have -time to see their own babies,” said Evereld. “It would have been wrong -to have had him at all if I didn’t mean to be his best friend from the -very beginning right through his life.” - -“Do you mean him to be an actor?” asked Bride, looking at the funny -little face nestled close to Evereld and wondering what it would develop -into. - -“I should like it if he has all that is needed to make one,” said -Evereld, “but who can prophesy whether he has any special gift, or -whether he has patience for all the drudgery it involves?” - -“Tell me what you really think of the life, now that you have had some -experience of it,” said Bride. “Quite candidly, don’t you find it very -monotonous?” - -“No, I have found it very interesting,” said Evereld. “I can fancy -though that it must be trying to do nothing but one play for many -hundreds of nights. In a company like ours you see we get plenty of -variety.” - -“And you don’t mind the moving about week by week?” - -“Oh, sometimes it is tiresome, but there are many advantages. Mr. -Macneillie knows a host of interesting people, all over the country, and -they are generally very hospitable to us; besides I like getting to know -fresh places, and as a rule the journeys are not very long or tiring. -Sometimes I used to get a little bored by the incessant talk about -things connected with the stage. But that would be just the same in any -other profession. Don’t you remember how at the chateau we used to get -so weary of the talk between Mr. Magnay and his two artist friends? They -say it is exactly the same among authors, when two or three of them are -together they can’t help talking shop. And as to clergymen, why they are -proverbial! I suppose Kingsley was the only one who ever did entirely -banish ‘clerical shop’ from his home talk.” - -“Well, I think you are very wonderful people to be able to travel about -for so long without losing your tempers or quarrelling like the Kilkenny -cats,” said Bride. “There’s nothing on earth so trying to the temper -as going about with people. I suppose that’s why they always make an -unfortunate married couple travel on the continent. They learn in that -way what sort of life is in store for them.” - -Evereld laughed. “You know we do now and then quarrel a little, but as -a rule we are all very friendly. There is only one thing I cannot stand, -and I hope we shall never have such an infliction again.” - -“What is that?” said Bride smiling at her friend’s vehemence. - -“A wealthy amateur who thinks he can act but can’t,” said Evereld. “Oh, -if you knew what we have endured all the autumn from an empty-headed -fellow, who thought himself a genius!” - -“What did he do?” said Bride. - -“What did he not do! He was insufferably rude to Mr. Macneillie, he -hated Ralph because he wanted the Juvenile Lead himself, he treated all -the other men as though they were beneath contempt, he persecuted all -the ladies of the company with tiresome attentions, and he was always -dragging into the conversation the names of titled people of his -acquaintance, or dropping coroneted envelopes in a casual way. Somehow -he contrived to set us all at sixes and sevens, and there was joy -throughout the company when at last something offended him and he -suddenly brought his engagement to an end.” - -Bride laughed heartily as she heard of the stratagem by which the -Manager had contrived to bring about this much desired event. - -“Who would ever think that Mr. Macneillie had so much fun in him as you -describe,” she said. “His face is grave almost to sternness.” - -“Yes, but when it does light up he hardly looks like the same man,” said -Evereld. “I don’t think he would ever have stood the wear and tear of -his life if it hadn’t been for his strong vein of humour.” - -And with that she fell to musing on the strange fact which most people -discover sooner or later, that it is not the prosperous and happy -people who as a rule are blessed with this divine gift of a sense of the -humourous, but the people whose lives are clouded with care and anxiety, -or those who have to go about the world with an aching heart, or to bear -the consequences of another’s sin. To such as these often enough, by -some mysterious law of compensation, there comes a power, not only -of feeling the pathos of life more acutely, but of perceiving in -everything--even in matters connected with their own sorrows--the subtle -touches of humour which keep life healthy and pure. - -She noticed it very much in Dermot O’Ryan, who young as he was had -passed through a hard apprenticeship of ill health, misfortune, -political imprisonment, and misunderstanding that to one of his -temperament was excessively hard to bear. - -He was the only one of the O’Ryans who had any literary tastes, and now -being cut off by his recent illness from active political life he was -busy with a Memoir of his father, a well-known man in the Fenian rising -of ‘65, who had died from the effects of his subsequent imprisonment. - -Dermot was a thorough Kelt, and Evereld thought his sweet-tempered, -philosophic patience, made him a most delightful companion. They had -liked each other at Southbourne, and had become firm friends during -Evereld’s stay at Auvergne, so that they quickly fell into very -easy terms of intimacy. They were sitting together in the large sunny -drawing-room and Bride was reading a page of the Memoir upon which -Dermot wanted a special criticism, when Mrs. Hereford returned from the -hospital bringing Ivy with her. Dermot looked up rather curiously to see -the girl of whom he had heard so much, but instead of a beautiful and -striking face which he could either have admired or criticised, he saw -a little childish creature, with startled blue-grey eyes and a wistful -face which was not exactly pretty but was somehow more fascinating than -if it had possessed more regular features. - -At sight of Evereld, Ivy forgot everything and ran across the room to -greet her; she was so small and graceful and light that it seemed almost -as if, like the birds, she had special air cells in her bones, for her -movements had in them something altogether unusual so that merely to -watch her limbs was keen delight. - -She had, too, an eager quick way of talking, and by the time she had -been introduced to Dermot he felt that the scrap of a hand put into his -had carried away his heart. - -“I have heard of you from Mrs. Denmead,” she said. “You were one of the -imprisoned patriots.” - -“Oh, most of us have a turn at that sort of thing,” he said smiling. -“It’s part of an Irishman’s training.” Bride made some remark about the -manuscript, and the talk became general, Ivy entering this new world -with a sense of keen interest, and quite in the humour to study Irish -history with Dermot as schoolmaster. - -During her illness she had had more leisure to think than had ever -before been the case. For five weeks there had been nothing to do, but -to keep quiet and to recover as steadily as might be. At first she had -suffered too much to make any use of the time, but later on, when she -was convalescent, there were long hours when she learnt more of the real -truth of things than she had hitherto grasped. The mere physical pain -seemed afterwards to fit her to understand what had hitherto been -a riddle to her, and the strong feeling for Evereld which grew and -deepened in her heart did wonders for her. All her nature seemed to have -become more tender and sweet; and whereas in time past she would have -flirted violently with Dermot and played with him as a cat plays with -a mouse, she seemed now to have laid aside all her silly little -affectations and coquetries, and to be capable of realising that love is -not a game, or a pastime, or a selfish having, but rather the entrance -to all that is most sacred, the mutual sacrifice of self, the nearest -approach of humanity to the life divine. - -Dermot made no secret of his admiration for the little actress, it was -quite patent to all observers, but his devotion was so unlike anything -she had hitherto come across in life that Ivy herself was never startled -by it. She quietly drifted into love with him, waking into an altogether -new world as she did so, a world far removed from the reach of men like -Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes with their compliments, and their presents, and -their so-called love, which she knew all the time to be nothing but -thinly-veiled selfishness. - -At last one day, when Ivy was out driving with Mrs. Hereford, Dermot -seized the opportunity of a confidential talk with Evereld as she sat at -work by the fire. - -“I want you to give me your advice,” he began, throwing down his pen and -drawing a little nearer to her. “Do you think there is any hope at all -for me with Miss Grant? I am sure you know without any telling that I -fell in love with her the moment she came here. Do you think there is -any hope for me?” - -“That depends,” said Evereld thoughtfully. - -“Depends on what?” he asked eagerly. - -“Well, you see Ivy really cares for her profession and is just beginning -to succeed in it. I don’t think she would consent to retire.” - -“I could never allow my wife to remain on the stage,” said Dermot his -face clouding. - -“Then I don’t think you have any business to go to the theatre,” - said Evereld. “Every woman you see on the stage is somebody’s wife or -somebody’s daughter.” - -“If one realised that, the disgusting things which amuse some audiences -would fail for want of support,” said Dermot musingly. “Not that I -imagine for a moment that Miss Grant would ever accept an engagement of -which she really disapproved. Doreen would agree with her as to sticking -to her profession, and perhaps she is right.” - -“Having got on so well while she is young,” said Evereld, “for she won’t -be eighteen till May, there seems every prospect of her soon getting -to a really good position. And there is a sort of fascination about -her--she is always popular.” - -“You mean that I shall have a host of rivals.” - -“Possibly, but you are early in the field and indeed I think you stand a -very good chance.” - -“Do you think it would be wrong if I spoke to her now? Would it spoil -the rest of this time for her?” - -“Well that would depend on the answer she gave you,” said Evereld -laughing. “But indeed I think Ivy is just the sort of girl who would be -happier if engaged while she is quite young. You see she is much in the -position I was in--quite alone in the world with no relations and but -few friends.” - -So Dermot, who detested waiting and was never at a loss for words, -seized an early opportunity of urging his suit, and Max Hereford, coming -down from town on the following Saturday, was greeted by his wife with -the news that the two were just engaged. - -“I told you what the result would be when you hospitably invited that -little actress,” he said laughing. “There never was such a matchmaker as -you are, mavourneen. I knew something had happened the moment I caught -sight of your face.” - -“They are so happy,” she said smiling, “and Ivy is so gentle and sweet; -Dermot will be exactly the right sort of husband for her I do believe. -And she will make him just the capable, brisk, bright little wife that -such a dreamy philosopher needs.” - -“But I do hope they are not going to marry upon Dermot’s penwork,” said -Max Hereford. “He is making a good income now, but of course one can’t -tell when he may be laid up, for I fear he will never be strong.” - -“Oh, they are quite content to wait for five or six years,” said Mrs. -Hereford. “And I am thankful to say Dermot’s Eastern ideas as to wives -are being overcome by Ivy’s practical good sense. She won’t hear of -giving up her work, and in a talk I had with her the other day she spoke -so sensibly of professional life, which she knows pretty thoroughly, -that I am sure she is right about it. She has the makings of a very -fine character in her, and I shall not be surprised if Dermot’s marriage -proves as great a success as Michael’s has done.” - -“We shall now not be happy until Mollie and Bride are arranged for,” - said Max Hereford teasingly, “and then there are our own children coming -on, so you have your work cut out for you, dear. By and bye there will -be match-making for the nieces and nephews, and after that no doubt a -few grandchildren coming on. So you will be able to keep your hand in.” - -“And isn’t it the least I can be doing then, since my own married life -has been so happy?” she said laughing. Ivy, who had not yet seen Mr. -Hereford, stood rather in awe of him and looked up apprehensively when -her future brother-in-law came into the drawing-room where she was -helping Dermot with some proofs. However his greeting was so kindly and -his congratulations to Dermot sounded so genuine that her fears were -soon set at rest; she felt that the family had fully adopted her and -that she was no longer one of the waifs of the world. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVII - - -“_The grace of God, the light and life that flow from His indwelling, -can lift the very weariest and hardest-driven soul into a dignity of -endurance, a radiance of faith, a simplicity of love, far above all that -this world can give or take away_.” Dean Paget. - -|But perhaps no one so thoroughly rejoiced in the news of the engagement -as Myra Brinton. It was Ivy herself who first told her, when she and -Evereld with Bridget and Dick in attendance rejoined the company at -Worcester. Ralph had of course heard all about it the first Sunday -he had visited them at Bath, but he had kept his own counsel, for Ivy -preferred telling her own news herself both to Macneillie and to her -friends in the company. - -Nothing could so completely have restored peace and harmony between Myra -and Ivy, all the past mistakes and disagreements faded into oblivion, -and the two became once more excellent friends. - -As for little Dick he soon became the darling of the whole company. -Thanks to Bridget’s good management he throve wonderfully, spent most -of his time in sleeping, seldom cried, and behaved with discretion -on journeys, to the immense satisfaction of his mother, who proudly -reflected that not even the most crabbed old bachelor in the company -could ever complain that Dick was in the way. - -Like a true Denmead he was thoroughly well-bred and had a way of -accommodating himself to all surroundings; but Evereld saw he would run -an excellent chance of being spoilt as soon as he grew a little older, -for everyone made much of him and he received votive offerings in such -profusion that it became difficult to pack them. Even the low comedy man -broke his rule of silence so far as to inquire occasionally after his -health, and at Christmas presented him with a magnificent red and blue -clown who shook his head to solemn music. - -As to Macneillie, though he had always professed total indifference -to children, he was completely subjugated by the wiles of his Godson. -Either from insight into character, or from some consideration of the -strong hands and arms which held him so delightfully, Dick preferred the -manager to anyone else in the world; his father’s long slender hands and -taper fingers were not to be compared for a moment with the comfort of -the highlander’s firm and comfortable grasp. And Macneillie found it -impossible to resist the subtle flattery of this small worshipper who -was always ready to laugh and shout with glee at the mere sight of -him. In his darkest hours the little elf would often cajole him into -a temporary forgetfulness, seeming indeed to take a special delight in -beguiling him into a romp, whenever his clouded brow betokened that -his own great trouble and the bitter thought of Christine’s lonely and -difficult life were weighing him down. - -On the whole the years which followed the birth of Ralph’s child were -as happy as any Macneillie had known since Christine’s marriage, and as -tranquil as his life was ever likely to be. Ralph and Evereld were like -a son and daughter to him, and both were able to do much to help him in -the busy and harassing days which fall to the lot of most managers. - -Still there was no denying that his private troubles had more or less -shattered his health; he worked on bravely, as had always been his -custom, but now and then an intolerable sense of weariness crept over -him and he would wonder how much longer he could keep going. - -At last, soon after Dick had celebrated his second birthday, the manager -suddenly broke down. - -There was nothing which could definitely account for his failure; he had -indeed been very busy with preparations for the Shaksperian Performances -at Stratford-on-Avon, which were that year to be given by his company -during the birthday week. But hard work seldom does people any harm. It -was rather that he had for years been bearing a load which overtaxed his -strength and at last, from sheer exhaustion, nature gave way. - -His old enemy, utter sleeplessness, returned to torment him, and there -was nothing for it but to obey the doctor’s orders and go to Scotland -for rest and change. - -“You are looking sorely fagged, Hugh,” was his mother’s comment when -on the evening of his arrival at Callander they sat together by the -fireside. It was some months since she had seen him and she was quick to -note that he was hollow-cheeked and that his face, as she expressed it, -“looked all eyes.” - -“Scottish air will soon cure me,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “I -shall sleep to-night.” - -“Ah lad,” she said with a sigh, “and what reason is there that you -should not be always breathing your native air? If you had but chosen -the calling I would have had you choose, how different all might have -been.” - -“Yes, we might now have been sitting in the most comfortable Manse,” - said Macneillie, a gleam of humour lighting up his grave face. “Instead -of a lean and hard-worked actor, roaming from place to place, I might -have been a portly minister revered by half the neighbourhood.” - -“I believe you are tired of your wandering life after all,” she said, -scrutinizing his careworn face with her keen eyes. - -“Deadly tired,” he admitted with a sigh. “But what has that to do with -it? Are not half the manses in the land filled with weary men who would -give anything for a change in the dull routine of the work they are -called to do? It is the same with all of us, Mother. However much we -love our profession there must be hard times now and again, and somehow -we have got to live through them like men.” - -She did not reply, but silently knitted away at one of his socks, -thinking to herself how different his life would have been had she had -the ordering of it. He should have come to great honour, should have -been a noted preacher filling a high position in Edinburgh, he should -have married well, and about her in her old age troops of grandchildren -should have played. As it was, his life had she felt been wrecked by the -luckless taste for dramatic art which had puzzled her so much from his -childhood upwards. She laid all his misfortunes to that strange -and unaccountable passion for acting which she was wholly unable -to comprehend. It was this which had brought him into contact with -Christine Greville, this which had debarred him from marriage, this -which had for years prevented him from settling down, and forced him to -lead the life of a wanderer. - -“Hugh,” she said, “is it even now too late? Could you not give up acting -and do something more worthy of your powers?” - -He started as though someone had struck him a blow. - -“Give up my profession?” he said in amazement. “Why no, mother, I could -never do that. I am tired out and in a grumbling mood but you must not -take me too literally. My vocation has saved me again and again from -making utter shipwreck. Depend upon it no other work is as you would say -‘more worthy’ of me.” - -She urged it no more; but the old sore feeling that his mother could not -understand his point of view, that she still in her heart desired him -to take up work for which he was wholly unfitted, came back to mar the -entire peace of Macneillie’s holiday. - -On the Saturday before Holy Week he could no longer resist the restless -craving for change which took possession of him as his strength -gradually returned. And taking leave of his mother he left Callander and -travelled down to Stratford, intending there to await the arrival of his -company later on. - -It was a mild bright afternoon in mid April when he reached the quiet -little town. It seemed to sleep tranquilly in the golden sunshine, -scarcely a breath of air stirred the trees, the beautiful spire of the -stately old church rose into the bluest of skies, and the green fields -flecked with daisies seemed to be just the right setting for a picture -so fair and peaceful. The pastoral character of the scenery somehow -suited Macneillie’s mood better even than the rugged mountains of his -own land. Surely in this quiet loveliness, rich in associations with -the great Master he could gain the rest and the ease he so grievously -needed! - -He would spend his days on the river, would not allow any business -anxieties or arrangements for the following week to invade his repose; -Shakspere and Shakspere’s country should hearten him for the future--the -quiet of Holy Week should lift him up out of the depression which sought -to drag him back into its dreary torture chambers. - -So he thought to himself on the evening of his arrival; forgetting that -“through the shadow of an agony cometh redemption”;--never dreaming -that in this most tranquil place he was to be confronted with the worst -ordeal of his whole life. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXVIII - - - “World’s use is cold--world’s love is vain,-- - - World’s cruelty is bitter bane; - - But pain is not the fruit of pain.” - - E. B. Browning. - -|If life during the past three years had been difficult for Macneillie -it had been tenfold more difficult for Christine Greville. As everyone -had foreseen, her position called for a strength of character which she -did not possess, for a power of endurance which she was only learning -by slow degrees, and for that sound judgment and prompt womanly wisdom -which had never been her strong point. - -She had indeed resigned the cares and anxieties of Management, but this -also meant that she was obliged to put up with whatever arrangements -commended themselves to Barry Sterne at the theatre; and though he and -his wife had always been good friends to her she was often unable to -approve of his way of looking at things. - -They had nearly come to a serious disagreement when he engaged Dudley -the comedian assuring her that the man had quite lived down his past. -And though time had more or less reconciled her to this belief, she was -never quite without the instinct which had made Myra Kay shrink from the -man in Scotland. She grew to feel a little more confidence in him when -one day he happened to mention Ralph Denmead in her presence. It was not -so much what he said, but rather his tone and expression when referring -to Ralph. - -“So young Denmead is to play Orlando at Stratford next month, I see,” he -observed one morning before rehearsal. “That boy will do well if I’m not -mistaken. There was a touch of genius about him even when I knew him as -a half-starved novice in Scotland.” - -“Did you know him then?” said Christine for the first time volunteering -an unnecessary remark to Dudley. “He used to tell me when I was acting -with him in Edinburgh what straits he had been reduced to during the -spring.” - -“Yes, we had a rough time, but he was always a plucky, goodnatured -fellow ready to take the fortune of war. I’m glad he has fallen on his -feet. Macneillie has been the making of him.” - -“They say Macneillie’s health has broken down,” said another actor -strolling up. “He has gone to Scotland to recruit.” - -“He has been roaming about the world too long,” remarked a third. “I -wonder he doesn’t give up his travelling company and settle in town. It -would be better for him in every way.” - -“Well he’s doing very good work,” said Dudley. “As a matter of fact -his company and Lorimer’s are the only training schools we have for the -stage. How can the rising generation learn otherwise in these days of -long runs?” - -The arrival of Barry Sterne checked the conversation at this moment and -Christine turned away sick at heart, to get through her work as well as -she could to the tune of those haunting words--“His health has broken -down!” - -Was it true? Or had some lying paragraph in a newspaper set afloat a -false report? - -Her whole nature seemed to rise up in rebellion against the miserable -ignorance of his movements to which she was doomed. It tortured her to -think that dozens of people who were wholly indifferent to him knew all, -while she was racked with anxiety and fear on his behalf. - -She went home feeling wretched beyond expression; even Charlie’s eager -greeting could not bring a smile to her face or ease her pain. - -“Auntie,” he exclaimed, “there’s a lady in the drawing-room waiting -to see you. She has been here a long time, and she would wait for you. -Susan says she looks as if she were in great trouble.” - -“What name did she give?” asked Christine, her mind still full of Hugh -Macneillie’s illness, and a terror seizing her that some bearer of ill -news had come. - -Dugald Linklater handed her a card which bore a name quite unknown to -her,--Mrs. Bouvery. She rose with a sigh of weariness. - -“Don’t wait for me, Charlie,” she said, “I am not hungry and will -interview this lady first.” - -Everything in Christine’s drawing-room was in the perfection of taste, -there were no bright colours; no incongruous mixtures, the prevailing -tint was a quiet low-toned blue: birds sang in the window, and -everywhere her love of growing plants manifested itself. Nothing could -have been more restful and harmonious than the effect of the whole, and -probably no one could have seemed more tranquil and self-possessed than -the graceful fair-haired woman who came forward to greet her visitor, -though all the time beneath the surface her restless heart was full of -passionate pain. - -“I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long,” she said, her clear -musical voice making each syllable a separate delight to the ear. As -she spoke she looked wonderingly into the hard grief-worn face of the -elderly lady who had risen as she entered and had coldly acknowledged -her greeting. - -There was an uncomfortable pause. - -“Can I do anything for you?” said Christine, wondering whether her -visitor had called for a subscription, or whether she was perhaps the -mother of some stage-struck girl come for advice? - -“Yes,” said Mrs. Bouvery, “you can listen to what I have to tell you. -You have broken my daughter’s heart madam, you have ruined her life.” - -Nervous terror began to fill Christine’s mind. Surely this lady must be -mad. She instinctively measured the distance from the place where she -was sitting to the door. - -“I do not understand you,” she faltered. “There must be some mistake. I -do not even know your name.” - -“Your name unfortunately is only too familiar to us, however,” said her -visitor remorselessly. “My daughter was engaged to be married to Captain -Karey and until he had the misfortune to see you on the stage she was -perfectly happy. From that day however, all her misery dated. He was -infatuated about you and you lured him on to his death. - -“Madam,” said Christine pale with indignation, “you do me a very great -wrong. I never encouraged Captain Karey. On the contrary his persistent -attentions annoyed me very much.” - -“Oh, so you say! so they all say!” said Mrs. Bouvery choking back a sob. -“But I don’t believe a word of it. You actresses are all alike; as long -as your vanity is satisfied you don’t care what wretchedness you cause -to others.” - -“Is it possible you really believe that I encouraged a mere boy who -must have been at least fifteen years my junior?” said Christine -incredulously. “The moment I saw there was the least risk of anything -serious, I would have nothing more to do with him. Every one of the -presents he tried to give me were returned immediately. What more could -I do?” - -“You could retire from a profession which is unfit for any woman, you -could refuse any longer to make your beauty a snare and a peril to men.” - -“I think,” said Christine quietly, but with a ring of indignation in her -voice, “you forget that some of the very best of women have been on the -stage. Is art to be crippled, and are we all to retire to nunneries, -because some men are weak fools and some men vicious knaves?” - -“I do not care to argue with you,” said her visitor coldly, “The fact -remains that you have spoilt my daughter’s whole life.” - -“Indeed I am very sorry for her,” said Christine with a sigh. “I can’t -blame myself for what has happened, but I can feel very much grieved -about it.” - -“Whether you blame yourself or not,” said Mrs. Bouvery, “Captain -Karey’s death will be laid to your account at the last day.” - -“His death?” cried Christine with dilated eyes. “What do you mean? I had -heard nothing.” - -“Oh you had not seen it in the papers? Yes, he died three days ago from -an over-dose of chloral--it was brought in as ‘death by misadventure.’ -I do not envy you your feelings at this moment. It was a sad day for him -when he first saw you, for him and for my poor daughter.” - -Christine did not speak a word. She was horror-struck by the news so -abruptly told her; it was no time to assert her own blamelessness, nay -she could pardon the poor grief-stricken woman for reproaching her so -bitterly, for insulting her by such cruel, false imputations. The admirer -whose love letters had so greatly annoyed her, whose infatuation had -for some time past been difficult to baffle, had been driven out of his -senses by his unhappy and overmastering passion, and had died leaving -the girl who had loved him to her desolate sorrow. - -Had Mrs. Bouvery been less hard and bitter, Christine could have opened -her heart to her, and made her understand how distorted a view of the -case she had taken; as it was they parted almost in silence and she -could only resolve to find out a little more about the daughter and if -possible to write to her later on. - -But for many days after that the story haunted her and made her -miserable. Afterwards too, in her depression, the thought of Mrs. -Bouvery’s cruel words returned to her. - -“Had I not been a solitary woman she would never have dared to attack -me like that,” she reflected with tears in her eyes. “A woman without a -protector is at the mercy of anyone who chooses to torment her. Were -I not worse than widowed, Lord Rosscourt and men of his type would be -unable to persecute me with attentions that are insults. They would not -dare to send me letters which one can hardly glance at without feeling -defiled.” - -It happened that among her best and most trusted friends was a certain -literary man named Conway Sartoris. She had known him and the sensible -middle-aged sister who kept house for him for the last ten years, and -they had been the first to discern how very miserable was her married -life. During the difficult years that followed her separation their -entirely unaltered friendship had been a great comfort to her. Conway -Sartoris was not only a brilliant writer and an advanced thinker, but a -most delightful companion, full of dry humour, and shrewd common sense; -while his sister had a genuine affection for Christine and always gave -her a warm welcome at their pretty old-fashioned house in Westminster. -She was dining with them on the following Sunday and found it a great -relief to tell them of the tragedy with which so unwittingly she had -become connected, and of Mrs. Bouvery’s interview. - -Alas! in seeking comfort she only met with fresh trouble. For the next -evening on her return from the theatre she found a long letter from -Conway Sartoris in which he frankly admitted that his friendship had -some time ago deepened into love, that he was sure her life would always -be difficult and perilous without a protector, and that he would do his -utmost to make her happy. In blank dismay Christine read his proposal -that they should enter into a union which would virtually be a marriage; -he quoted instances in which such unions had been after a time condoned -by society and had proved eminently happy, and he argued very plausibly -that the best way to bring about a speedy reform of the present unjust -law under which she suffered was to add another instance to the cases in -which it had been deliberately and conscientiously broken. - -His pleading, as far as he himself was concerned, proved of course quite -useless. Christine could only write in reply that her friendship and -respect for him must always remain unaltered, but that her heart was -still with the lover of her youth--the man who through her own weakness -and ambition had been so cruelly sacrificed years ago. - -To this she received a very straightforward and kindly answer, and -Conway Sartoris entreated her not to allow what had passed in any way -to affect their friendship. But this was more easily said than done. His -avowal had put an end to the perfect ease and rest of their intercourse -and she felt more than ever alone in the world. - -Another result of this episode was that his arguments were constantly -recurring to her mind. Surely there was great force in the suggestion -he had brought forward in his masterly clear-headed way? Were there not -bound to be exceptions to every rule? Was not Hugh Macneillie’s notion -of obedience even to an unjust law, because it was the law of the land, -an overstrained nicety? It might be a counsel of perfection, but surely -it could not be the actual duty of each citizen? Hugh had such an -element of austerity about his life; kind and genial and tolerant as -he was with regard to others his own notions of right and wrong were -so rigid. He was certainly old-fashioned, not up to date, not able to -accommodate himself to _fin de siècle_ conditions. - -“I will not let him wreck his life!” she thought, pacing with agitated -steps up and down her room. “My heart is breaking for want of him, and -he is ill and alone. What do I care for the tongues of narrow-minded, -conventional people who know nothing of our real story? ‘Let them rave!’ -He is mine and I am his. All the unfair unequal laws in the world can’t -alter that.” - -Just then she happened to notice a letter upon the mantel-piece which by -some oversight she had left unopened. - -“What is this?” she exclaimed glancing through it. “An invitation from -Mrs. Hereford to lunch on Sunday, to meet Ralph Denmead and his wife? -Yes, I will go, from them I may at any rate learn how Hugh is.” - -Her stay at Monkton Verney had led to her becoming a friend of the -Herefords; she had an unbounded respect for them both, and at their -house in Grosvenor Square she invariably enjoyed herself. Charlie too, -liked nothing better than to go there with her, and there was something -in the atmosphere of the household which was curiously refreshing and -invigorating. They were busy people but they never bored others with -their work, and always seemed to have time for merriment, and for keen -appreciation of the interests of their friends. - -On this Sunday however she was more taken up with the Denmeads than with -her host and hostess. There was something in the mere happiness of the -young husband and wife that appealed to her, and she had a long talk -with them and heard all that she craved to know. Macneillie, they judged -by his letters, was still far from well, and even the visit to his own -country had failed to do him much good. He was to go on the following -day to Stratford and for the sake of quiet would stay just outside the -town at a curious old-fashioned house called The Swan’s Nest. He would -remain there probably until the Birthday week when they were to rejoin -him for the performances at the Memorial Theatre. - -Then Evereld had much to say about the Manager’s kindness to them, -of Dick’s devotion to him, and all the many little details which her -womanly instinct taught her would be to Christine what bread is to -the starving. It was all told naturally and simply and as a matter of -course, there was never any uncomfortable consciousness that they knew -all about her past and could guess how bitter was her present. It was -only when thinking it over afterwards that Christine felt sure that the -Denmeads knew the whole truth, and she loved them for their tact and -consideration. - -But all through the night that followed she was haunted by the thought -of Hugh Macneillie ill and alone, unable even to find comfort in his -mother’s society,--beyond the cure even of his native land. - -It is during wakeful nights that burdens usually grow unbearable. And -Christine had now reached the point when every consideration but the one -prevailing idea is crowded out of the mind. - -“I cannot let him suffer any more,” she thought. “At all costs this -intolerable state of things must and shall be ended. I am free all this -week, free till Easter Monday. To-morrow I will go down to Leamington -with Charlie and the servants, and the next day I will see him.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIX - - - “Greatly to do is great, but greater still - - Greatly to suffer.” - - J. Noel Paton. - -|The following Tuesday proved to be as fine a day as Christine could -have wished. Charlie was delighted to fall in with her suggestion of -driving from Leamington to Warwick, and she left him with Linklater and -his beloved camera to spend a long afternoon in seeing the castle, the -church and the many picturesque places to be found in the old town. - -“I have to pay a call in the neighbourhood,” she explained, “and will -meet you here at six o’clock. See that he has plenty to eat, Linklater, -for we made a very early lunch.” - -When they were safely within the castle gates she ordered a Victoria at -the hotel and drove in to Stratford. Up to that very moment she had felt -eager and alert, ready to dare anything in her desperation. But now when -there was no longer anything to do, she lay back in the carriage feeling -utterly spent, unable to find the least comfort in the soft spring -air, or in the beautiful expanse of country, or in the hedge-rows just -bursting into leaf, or in the joyous song of the birds. It was not until -they were close to Shakspere’s town that her spirit returned to her once -more, and as they passed the Roman Catholic Church she sat up and called -to her driver. - -“I will get out here,” she said adjusting her white gossamer travelling -veil. “You can drive on and put up at the Shakspere Hotel until I come -there.” - -The man obeyed and she walked on until upon the left she saw Clopton’s -Bridge, at the further side of which she knew the Swan’s Nest was -situated. As usual she was dressed with scrupulous quietness, there was -nothing in her black serge coat and skirt and sailor hat to distinguish -her from hundreds of other women, and no passer-by would have recognised -her through her veil. - -Nevertheless her heart failed her somewhat when the little old-fashioned -inn with its red brick walls and tiled roof came into sight. She fully -realised that she was taking a desperate step. - -But then did not desperate diseases require desperate remedies? And had -not Hugh Macneillie in the letter he wrote her three and a half years -ago entreated her to let him serve her if ever she found herself in a -difficulty? - -No one else could help her now. He only could shield her and make her -life worth living. And was not he ill and in need of her? Was she not -fully justified in seeking him? She had paused involuntarily on the -bridge lost in thought and now just for a moment the exceeding beauty of -the view drew her attention away from her perplexities. - -The silvery Avon, crossed a little further down by an old bridge of -red brick, the irregular buildings of the little town, the finely -proportioned Memorial theatre standing in its gardens upon the river’s -brink; facing it a lovely pastoral bit of green meadows, and budding -trees, and in the distance the old church spire with rooks circling -about it. - -In the opposite direction lay peaceful fields, and all along the bank -pollard willows overhung the stream which curved round in a way that -delighted her eye. Just at the bend of the river, moored to a willow -tree, a small golden-brown boat was to be seen. It was empty but on the -bank above it lay the figure of a man with his head propped on his arm -and a book in his hand. She could not distinguish his features at that -distance but from something in his attitude she at once knew that it was -Hugh Macneillie. - -Moreover she could see a corner of the plaid which he had invariably -taken about with him, the dark blue and green of the Macneil tartan with -its thin alternate cross lines of white and yellow. It was the very same -one that in old days had often been spread over her knees on some cold -wintry railway journey. - -Somehow the sight of this restored her failing heart; she swiftly made -her way down to the river-side and youth and hope seemed to come back -to her as her feet touched the springy turf and passed lightly over the -white and gold of the daisies. - -Macneillie, just glancing up from his book, saw a lady approaching clad -in the costume which is almost a uniform; he devoutly hoped, after the -fashion of celebrities on a holiday, that she would not recognise him. - -Christine could so well read his thoughts and understand his slightest -gesture that she could hardly help laughing. She put up her veil and -walked straight towards him, her brown eyes full of that soft love-light -which for years he had not seen in them. As she paused close to him he -involuntarily looked up once more, and with a cry sprang to his feet. - -“Christine!” he exclaimed taking both her hands in his. “Is it indeed -you!” - -Just for one exquisite moment he forgot everything, was only conscious -that she was beside him, and that they loved each other, with a -love which surpassed even the first bliss of the early days of their -betrothal. The next moment, with a horrible revulsion, he remembered the -barrier that lay between them. Neither of them spoke; in the stillness -they were each conscious of the clear birdlike whistle of an errand -boy crossing the bridge. He had caught up one of the prettiest airs in -“Haddon Hall”--“To thine own heart be true”! - -“Hugh,” she said softly, “you told me if ever a time came when there was -no one else who could help me more fitly that I was to come to you. I am -driven almost desperate and I have come to claim your promise. Where can -we talk quietly?” - -“If you will not find it too cold I could row you up the river towards -Charlcote,” he said. “Later in the week Stratford will be full of -excursionists, but there is no one on the river this afternoon, we shall -be quite unmolested.” - -She thought this an excellent plan and let him help her into the boat -and spread the plaid over her knees. - -“It was by this dear old tartan that I recognised you, at least chiefly -by that,” she said. - -“Like its owner it has seen its best days,” said Macneillie with a -smile. “But I have the same feeling for it that the fellow in Gounod’s -song had for his old coat, - - ‘Mon viel ami - - Ne nous séparons pas.’” - -And he sighed a little as he remembered how in the days of their -betrothal he had often taken her under his “plaidie.” - -A strange, dreamy, unreal feeling crept over Christine as she leant back -in the stern, while Macneillie with his strong arms rowed her up the -winding river. She almost wished his strokes had not been so long and -steady, for it seemed to her as if this heaven of peace and repose would -end too swiftly. At last he paused. - -“We couldn’t well find a more lovely place than this,” he said glancing -over his shoulder and dexterously guiding the boat in between the grassy -bank and the branches of an overhanging willow tree. - -“I never saw such a wonderful colour as these new spring shoots of the -willow,” said Christine, as he drew in his oars and sat down beside her -in the stern. - -Not a breath of wind stirred the leaves, the flies came out and made -a cheerful droning sound as though summer had already come, a lark was -singing far up in the blue vault above, and everywhere the quiet of -perfect peace seemed to brood. - -Macneillie felt that longer silence was perilous, he had learned to -allow himself scant leisure when temptation was rife. - -“Tell me now what your trouble is,” he said quietly. - -“Oh!” she cried vehemently, “it seems like sacrilege even to speak of it -in such a place as this where all is so peaceful.” - -Macneillie, who was very far from being at peace, smiled a little -involuntarily. - -“The place is well enough,” he said glancing round. “But now that we are -actually among the ‘pendent boughs’ it reminds me rather too much of - - ‘There is a willow grows aslant a brook.’ - -It might be the identical spot where Ophelia was drowned.” - -“I wonder if it is,” she said diverted for a minute from her own -anxieties. “Poor Ophelia! Somehow I have never cared for acting that -part of late years. You spoiled me for all other Hamlets. I have often -wondered since, Hugh, how you contrived to get through that last season -in London.” - -“Well it was a rough time,” said Macneillie, “for, like the Danish -Prince, - - ‘In my heart there was a kind of fighting - - That would not let me sleep.’ - -By the end of the season I was as nearly mad as Hamlet feigned to be. -But no more of that. It is of the present we must talk not of the past. -How can I help you? Has anyone been molesting you?” - -“Yes,” she faltered. “I will tell you all, and then you will -understand.” - -So in her musical voice, and with that extraordinary charm of manner -which made her irresistible, she told him simply and truthfully all the -difficulties she had had to contend with. Lastly she told him of Conway -Sartoris and of the arguments he had used in his letter. - -“They seem to me quite unanswerable,” she said, “and he is a man -everyone respects, he is far more intellectual than we are, and he -doesn’t merely theorise, he knows the difficulties of real life. The -more I think of it, the more it seems to me that you and I are wrecking -our lives and suffering so cruelly all for a mistaken idea,--a sort of -fetish-worship for the law of the land.” - -Macneillie had grown very pale, his hands trembled, but from long force -of habit his voice was well under control. - -“Sin is lawlessness,” he quoted in a low tone. - -“Yes, yes,” she said quickly. “But this law that parts us, that makes -our lives a hell--you say it is an unjust law and ought to be reformed. -You said that in your letter.” - -“I long for its reform with all my heart,” he replied. “And the greatest -of living statesmen and the most devoted of English Churchmen did his -utmost in 1857 to prevent this wicked double standard of morality from -ever finding a place in the Divorce Law. He said he would deliberately -prefer an increase in the number of cases of divorce to the acceptance -of this shameful inequality between men and women.” - -“And are we patiently and tamely to go on enduring it?” she cried. “Why, -surely, all reforms have been won by those who were not afraid to break -the bad laws that had no business to exist. Think of your Covenanters -who gloriously broke the law and saved their country from tyranny! -Almost all heroes and martyrs have broken the law when it deserved to be -broken.” - -“Yes, that is true,” he said. “But they only broke it out of obedience -to a higher law, they did not break it for their own gain. My dearest,” - he took her hand and held it closely in his, “though this law cries -aloud for reform, let us be law-abiding citizens, and wait.” - -Her eyes filled with tears, her voice quivered pitifully when after -awhile she spoke. - -“You talk of waiting, but when one sees how truth and justice are set at -naught in parliament,--how with people agonising and dying, and with -so much that is wrong to be righted our representatives will haggle -miserably for months and years over useless questions, how from sheer -spite they will waste the time of the nation, how from party jealousy -they will thwart measures,--the thought of waiting grows intolerable.” - -“But reform is bound to come,” said Macneillie, “most of the fair minded -people who have studied the matter and who know anything of practical -life desire it, we have against us only the narrow minded and the men of -vicious life.” - -“You say _only!_” exclaimed Christine with a laugh that was a sob. “But -it is just the narrow good and the vicious bad who work all the misery -of the world. Oh, Hugh! I am not strong and brave like you, I am weak -and tired and worn out. I cannot live longer without you. I have tried -to bear it but I have come to the end of my strength.” - -She covered her face with her hands, he could see great tears slowly -falling between her slender white fingers, and the sight wrung his -heart. Yet he did not respond to her appeal. It was not because he -failed to understand that bitter cry of exhaustion, it was because -he understood it so well, had been indeed for the last few weeks so -drearily conscious of just that same feeling that he could endure no -longer, that his strength was gone. It was well that Christine could not -see his face, for the agonising struggle which was going on within him -was only too clearly visible. In the intense stillness of the calm sunny -afternoon it seemed to him that all nature was at rest save themselves, -and as in moments of great physical pain some very slight detail will -attract the sufferer’s attention, so now, while he passed through -the most cruel ordeal of his life, Macneillie was watching half -unconsciously the pretty movements of a little water-rat which had run -up the stem of a bush growing close to the river, and was evidently -enjoying itself to the best of its ability. The birds, too, were singing -as though in a perfect ecstasy of joy. - -Their song contrasted mockingly with the torturing thoughts which filled -his mind, and yet nevertheless it was through the joyousness of these -lesser creatures that his help was to come. For it carried him back to -the thought of a great Teacher who, when speaking to “an innumerable -multitude of people,” average men and women, tempest-tossed as he was -now, had told them that not one single bird was forgotten by God, and -had said, “Fear not, ye are of more value than many sparrows.” - -With that highest courage which in times of dire dismay can rise from -what seems like certain defeat, and kindle hope and strength in the -hearts of others, and win in a desperate fight, Macneillie gripped the -words to his heart and was strong once more, with that trust in God -which is man’s righteousness. - -“I know exactly what you mean,” he said, as Christine at length looked -up and dried her tears. “Many a time I have felt at the end of my -strength. It’s just a device of the devil’s own making. Depend upon it, -God won’t take away His gift just when it is most needed. Is it likely -He would do that?” - -“It seems to me that the devil rules,” said Christine. “I can believe in -little but evil in the wretched life I have had to live. Here, with you, -it is different, I seem another being altogether. You can make me good.” - -There was truth in what she said. He had always had over her the best -possible influence. Without each other they were incomplete. - -“And yet,” he said, “it is just because I so love and honour you that -the arguments of Conway Sartoris which you mentioned just now, clever -and plausible though they are, seem contemptible. Shall I let the one I -love best in all the world bear shame and reproach? Shall you and I who -have tried all these years to be a credit to the profession give such -a handle to its enemies? Shall we dare to bring down upon innocent -children the curse of illegitimacy? And all because we were too weakly -impatient to wait--or too cowardly to suffer? Forgive me, my dear one, -I put these things in a blunt way, but are they not things we must think -out clearly if we would come safely through this ordeal?” - -She looked up in his face, it was singularly beautiful just at the -minute, in spite of the havoc which time and suffering had wrought in -it. She fancied that he would wear that look of manly courage, of noble -strength in his resurrection body. The thought seemed to give her new -life. Quietly, indeed with a calmness which surprised herself, she -slipped her hand into his; it was done spontaneously as a child slips -its hand into that of a trusted companion. - -“You are right, Hugh, quite right,” she said. “We will wait. You must -forgive me for having come here to-day.” - -“You were only keeping your promise,” he said, “and perhaps to talk -things out was best for both of us.” - -He was silent for a few minutes, wondering what could be done to render -her life a little more bearable. What was it that had been his own -greatest relief during the last few years? Well, undoubtedly, it had -been the companionship of Ralph and his wife and little Dick. They were -a very fascinating trio and carried about with them an atmosphere of -youth and brightness which was pleasant enough to middle-aged folk -sorely burdened with care and trouble. A sudden idea flashed into his -mind. Many people are ready to assert that they would lay down their -lives for those they love. Macneillie seldom protested in words but had -a way of quietly giving up his most treasured possessions, so quietly, -indeed, that most people hardly noticed that he did it at all. - -“And now,” he said, “I am going to ask you to do something for me. Do -you recollect a young fellow who was acting with you at Edinburgh four -summers ago--Ralph Denmead by name?” - -“Why yes, to be sure. I met him only last Sunday at the Herefords. What -a nice fellow he seems, and I lost my heart to his dear little wife.” - -“I am glad you saw them both, they are a delightful couple. Well now, -could you possibly get him a London engagement? Would Barry Sterne have -any opening for him? It seems to me that there is a very good chance -just now for a young romantic actor. We have no really satisfactory -Romeo or Orlando.” - -“But surely you are in no hurry to part with him? I hear he is very -popular everywhere.” - -“For myself I am in no hurry,” said Macneillie. “But I should be glad -for him to get a London engagement, he deserves it, and then this -wandering life is a little hard on his wife and child. They had better -settle down, and if they were somewhere in your neighbourhood you would -perhaps befriend them. Evereld is a dear little woman, you would like -her, and she has the greatest admiration for you.” - -Christine’s face brightened up, it pleased her greatly that he should -have asked her to do something for him; she resolved to leave no stone -unturned and to do her utmost for his friends. - -“I should like to have them near me; you can’t think how lonely it -is often,” she said. “If it were not for my work and for Charlie’s -companionship I don’t think I could have endured it all this time. The -best plan would be for Barry Sterne to see him act. I wonder whether -there would be a chance of getting him to ran down for one of the -performances in the Memorial Week?” - -“That is a good idea,” said Macneillie. “By the bye, Sterne will -scarcely remember it, but the boy did go to him some years ago when he -first made up his mind to be an actor. I have often heard him describe -the interview. He got cold comfort from Sterne and a most discouraging -letter from me. But nothing daunts your real genius. He plodded on, and -starved and struggled till things took a turn. And some day if I am not -much mistaken he will be one of our leading actors.” - -“His own opinion is that he owes everything to you,” said Christine with -a smile. “I heard a great deal about you on Sunday from both of them. -I shall be so glad if I can really do anything for people you care for, -Hugh. The Denmeads will be quite a new object in life for me.” - -Those words and the look which went with them were Macneillie’s comfort -when, shortly after, he parted with Christine. But to stay longer at -Stratford with nothing to do had become impossible for him. The river -was a haunted place, he dared not go on it again, everything which on -his arrival had seemed so peaceful bore upon it now the ineffaceable -stamp of the bitter struggle he had passed through. - -To go back to his work was directly against the doctor’s orders, but go -somewhere he must. He packed his portmanteau, and tried to think of any -place in the world he wished to see, but could not care even to -return to his own country. All things were “weary, stale, flat and -unprofitable.” - -“Fate shall decide,” he said to himself with the ghost of a smile -playing about his lips. And dragging out an ancient atlas from the pile -of books on the sitting-room table, he opened at the map of Europe and -solemnly spun a threepenny bit. After threatening to come to an end in -the middle of the German Ocean it finally settled down in Holland. - -“Via Harwich and the Hook,” said Macneillie pocketing the arbiter of his -fate. “So be it. I will run across and see if the bulbs are coming into -bloom.” - - - - -CHAPTER XL - - - “Be noble! and the nobleness that lies - - In other men, sleeping, but never dead - - Will rise in majesty to meet thine own; - - Then wilt thou see it gleam in many eyes, - - Then will pure light around thy path be shed, - - And thou wilt never more be sad and lone.”--Lowell. - -|The entire change of scene, the vigour of his own mind, and the sturdy -resolution with which he laid aside care and anxiety soon restored -Macneillie to a great extent. He recovered his power of sleeping, and -returned to Stratford to find Ralph and Evereld already settled there -and awaiting him with a warmth of welcome which did his heart good. To -hear him telling comical stories of his adventures among the Dutch as -they lingered over the supper table that first evening, no one would -have believed that he had passed through any ordeal whatever, and he -seemed quite ready for all the hard work that lay before him. - -Indeed Ivy Grant thought him unnecessarily vigorous. - -“It’s all very well for Mr. Macneillie who has been enjoying a holiday -all these weeks, but it’s rather hard on us,” she protested, “to be kept -rehearsing every day till four o’clock, just when we wanted a little -free time, too.” - -For Ivy was rejoicing in the presence of Dermot and Bride O’Ryan, who -had come down for the Shaksperian performances, Bride for pleasure, -and Dermot chiefly to see Ivy and to write a series of articles for his -paper. - -Evereld was delighted to have her friend with her and thoroughly enjoyed -her first experience of the Memorial week. Stratford had naturally very -happy associations for her, and though the weather was not quite so -perfect as it had been during their brief honeymoon, it did not affect -the audiences which were always large and enthusiastic. - -One evening towards the end of the week Bride and Evereld were as usual -setting off together for the theatre. There had been rain during the -day but the evening was bright and clear so that there was nothing to -prevent them from going by the river. - -“There is something so delicious in just stepping into the ‘Miranda’ -and being rowed to the very door,” said Evereld as she took her place -in that same boat in which only a little while before Macneillie -and Christine had had their last interview. “It must be like this at -Venice.” - -“Minus the Shaksperian associations and plus the smells,” said Bride -with a smile. “Here come these vicious swans that look so picturesque -and are really so bad tempered. One of them nearly made an end of Dick -the other day, according to Bridget.” - -They glided on peacefully, watching the mellow sunset sky and the church -spire and the stately trees surrounding it until the landlord rowed them -up to the steps in the garden surrounding the theatre, and here as they -climbed the grassy bank they were surprised to come across Macneillie -walking to and fro with someone they did not recognise. Evereld wondered -much how it came that he was deep in conversation, for it was nearly -time for the performance to begin. He seemed somewhat relieved when he -caught sight of her and introduced Mr. Barry Sterne, then telling her to -see that the attendants gave him a good place, and arranging to meet -him later on, he hurried to the Stage door, leaving Evereld and Bride to -enjoy the talk of the new comer. - -“This looks something like Shakspere worship,” he remarked glancing -round the perfectly built theatre which was already well filled. “I wish -I had here with me the curious old fossil I met to-day in the train. -There were a couple of Americans plying him with questions about -Stratford; they set upon him the moment we left Euston, and ‘Wanted to -know’ everything. The old gentleman couldn’t get in a word edgeways for -some time, what with the tunnels and the sharp fire of questions. At -last he remarked stiffly, ‘I have never read any of Shakspere’s plays -myself, but I have always understood that he was a most immoral writer.’ -You should have seen the faces of the two Yankees! It was as good as -a play. And the old fellow was quite unaware that he had said anything -extraordinary and blandly went on reading a religious newspaper!” - -The play was “As You Like It,” and for the first time Ivy was to play -the part of Celia and Ralph was to make his first appearance as Orlando. -Evereld wondered much what Barry Sterne thought of the performance. He -was rather silent at the close of the second act and she was half -afraid that he had not approved of it until she found that he had been -listening to the criticisms of the people immediately behind them. - -“It is to me about the most amusing thing in the world to hear the -comments of the public,” he said to Evereld. “Your amateur is always -such a merciless critic. The less he knows the more scathing will be -his fault finding. Now Macneillie’s melancholy Jaques is about as fine a -piece of acting as one could wish to see, I don’t know anyone who makes -so much of the character. But those wise-acres behind are carping away -because they think it shows what cultured mortals they are.” - -“It is much the same at the Academy,” said Evereld. “The less people -know about painting the more severe are their comments.” - -“If Lear wrote a modern version of his nonsense alphabet it ought to -be ‘C was the carping cantankerous critic who cavilled and canted -of Culture,’” said Barry Sterne with a laugh. “Your husband makes an -excellent Orlando. I hear, too, that his Romeo is very good. I suppose -you have often seen him in that part?” - -“Oh, yes, very often. The last time,” she smiled at the remembrance, -“was in the autumn up in the north of England; I shall never forget it. -Exactly opposite the theatre on a bit of waste ground, a wild beast show -was being held, and it had the most noisy band imaginable. All through -the Balcony scene it was thundering out ‘The man that broke the bank -at Monte Carlo.’ And the next night Hamlet had to soliloquise to the -strains of ‘Daisy Bell.’ It was the funniest thing I ever heard!” - -Barry Sterne capped this story with a reminiscence of the days when he -had been in a travelling company, and by the end of the evening Evereld -was ready to consider him the best raconteur she had ever met. - -He went round afterwards to Macneillie’s dressing-room and Evereld was -escorted home by Dermot and Bride, who would not however accept her -invitation to supper as they were already engaged to meet Ivy at the -Brintons’. The night had turned chilly. Evereld was glad to find a fire -awaiting them, and she curled herself up comfortably in an armchair -waiting for the return of the men-folk and finishing Black’s charming -story “Judith Shakspere.” - -“How long they are to-night!” she exclaimed, when the last page was -turned and Judith whose grave she had seen in the chancel of Stratford -church only that morning, had been left happily with her lover Tom -Quiney. “I shall starve if they don’t come soon. What a fire this is for -toast! I will make some to pass the time.” - -After a while steps were heard on the stairs and in came Macneillie and -Ralph with apologies for having kept her so long. Macneillie, who was a -man with a strong shrinking from any sort of change in his surroundings, -felt a pang as he reflected that soon there would be no bright-faced -little housekeeper waiting to welcome him, and making a home out of each -place they stayed at in their wandering life. He stood warming himself -by the fire noticing dreamily the mute caress which passed between -husband and wife, the funny way in which Evereld divided her attention -between the perfect toasting of a particular slice of bread, and the -discussion of the way in which Orlando had carried Adam in the forest -banquet scene, and then her half anxious glance in his direction which -seemed to say, “I know you are tired and out of spirits but you shall -not be bothered with questions, you shall be fed.” - -She made them laugh at supper over Barry Sterne’s travelling companion -who had been sure that Shakspere was a most immoral writer, but she -could see that something was troubling Ralph, for instead of being the -life of the party he was silent and abstracted. - -Macneillie soon solved the mystery, and turning to her with one of his -humourous smiles, said, “I am sure you would think to look at him that -he had dismally failed or had been half slaughtered by the critics. I -assure you, my dear, it’s nothing of the sort. He has just had the offer -of a very good London engagement.” - -“What, from Mr. Sterne?” asked Evereld in amazement. - -“Yes, they brought out a new piece you know on Easter Monday and it -seems that Jack Carrington is again going to prove Ralph’s good genius -by failing altogether to get hold of the part he has to play. The fact -is, Carrington is excellent as far as he goes, but his range is limited, -he feels that he will never succeed in this play and Sterne sees it too. -They are parting quite amicably, and he wants Ralph to take his place.” - -“I can’t leave you, Governor,” said Ralph with a vibration in his voice -which made the tears start to Evereld’s eyes. - -“Oh no,” she said eagerly. “Don’t let us go--why we belong to you now.” - -“My dear child,” said Macneillie, “don’t you go and encourage him in -refusing an offer which he ought to jump at. We have been arguing the -matter ever since we parted with Barry Sterne at the station and nothing -can I get out of Ralph but protests which quite take me back to Mrs. -Micawber. The fact is you two read Dickens to such an extent that you -are quite saturated with him. This is an excellent offer and ought to be -accepted.” - -“But I never will, no I never will desert Mr. Macneillie!” quoted -Evereld merrily. “Why are you so anxious to get rid of us? You always -pretend that you miss us when we are away.” - -“So I do, my dear, there’s no pretence about it,” said Macneillie, “but -joking apart, it really would be madness to refuse such a chance as this -just because we are the best of friends and are very happy together. -Moreover there are two special reasons why I want you to accept it. The -first I will tell you now, and the second shall be for Ralph presently. -I don’t deny that I shall miss you horribly, but I shall be happier in -the long run to think that you have a home of your own, and I should -always reproach myself if Ralph neglected a chance which will probably -lead on to fortune. You and I must consider what is best for his career. -If he were my own son I should insist on his going, as it is I can only -strongly advise it.” - -They talked for some little time over the proposed change, and then -Evereld went to her room leaving the men to argue the matter out at -still greater length over their pipes. In her own mind she began to have -some vague suspicion of the reason why he was so anxious for them to -accept the offer, and later on Ralph confirmed her in this idea. She was -still brushing out her sunny brown hair when he came in. - -“Well darling, I believe we shall have to go,” he said. “Hateful as it -will be to leave Macneillie, it is of course a step upward, and he seems -really anxious that we should not lose such a chance. Moreover it is not -alone of us that he is thinking. It is of Miss Greville.” - -“I felt somehow that it was, and yet what difference can it make to -her?” said Evereld wonderingly. “I admire her more than I can tell you, -but of what possible use can we be to her?” - -“Well it’s hard to say, but she seems to have told Macneillie that -she had taken a great fancy to you the other day when we met her at the -Herefords, and then I think he said something about the possibility of -some opening in London for me, and naturally she would like to help his -friends. Then too from what he told me she must be awfully lonely, and -though she tries to lead as retired a life as possible yet difficulties -are always cropping up.” - -“Where does she live?”. - -“She has had a flat in Victoria Street, but is leaving, Barry Sterne -told us. I think he said she had got another flat at Chelsea.” - -“Could we afford to live in such a neighbourhood as Chelsea?” - -“Yes, I think we might if we can find anything suitable, my salary will -be better than it is now, and we could furnish by degrees.” - -“Oh, Ralph! what fun!” cried Evereld her eyes lighting up at the -prospect of furnishing, for she was a true woman. - -“We would do it very, very economically. We would begin like Traddles -and Sophy ‘on a Britannia metal footing;’ there would always be the -Memorial spoons for visitors, you know.” - -And thus Macneillie’s plot prospered exceedingly, and though the wrench -of parting was hard, Ralph and Evereld soon settled down very happily -in their new quarters, a snug little flat at the very top of the same -building at Chelsea in which Christine Greville occupied the first -floor, and she could see as much or as little of them as she liked. She -liked to see a great deal of them as it happened, and Evereld and Dick -were always ready to come in and companionise Charlie, while Ralph -proved himself a most trusty knight-errant, and the happiness of the -young husband and wife cheered Christine as it had cheered Macneillie. -Those whose lives have been clouded by some grievous trouble are -supposed theoretically to hate the sight of happiness; but that is -merely a popular fallacy. With the great majority it is an intense -relief to come across happiness, the mere sight of it does good, and the -happy confer on the sorrowful a real boon by their mere existence. - - - - -CHAPTER XLI - - - “As Thou hast found me ready to Thy call, - - Which stationed me to watch the outer wall, - - And, quitting joys and hopes that once were mine, - - To pace with patient steps this narrow line - - Oh! may it be that, coming soon or late, - - Thou still shalt find Thy soldier at the gate, - - Who then may follow Thee till sight needs not to prove, - - And faith will be dissolved in knowledge of Thy love.” - - G. J. Romanes. - -|It was in July, while Macneillie was spending his summer holiday at -Callander, that his mother’s sudden death made him more than ever alone -in the world. They had passed together a particularly happy fortnight, -and though he could see that she was gradually getting more infirm she -had never known a day’s illness, and her loss came as a terrible shock -to him. - -Ralph and Evereld were able to come down to the funeral, for the London -season was just over and he was glad to have them with him for ten days -before he started once more on tour. He was thinking of selling the -house and furniture, but Ralph who knew what pains he had spent in -building it, and how sad the dispersal of all his old home belongings -must be, persuaded him to leave things much as they were and content -himself with letting it as a furnished house for the summer months. - -For a time the presence of the Denmeads cheered him a good deal. He -enjoyed hearing every detail of their life in London, and he insisted -on taking them to the Pass of Leny that he might show Evereld the exact -spot where he had first come across her husband. Each morning, too, they -used to tramp up the road leading to the well and Ralph would read -aloud from “Marius the Epicurean,” while Evereld made a sketch which -Macneillie had long desired:--the rough moorland road in the foreground -leading to the crest of the hill; on either side a stretch of purple -heather; the hint of a valley down below where Callander lay hidden and, -in the distance, a range of blue Scottish mountains which he said would -make him breathe “caller” air only to look at. - -“I shall take it with me wherever I go,” he said. “There is no reason -why wayfaring men shouldn’t have a few possessions of their own. Besides -I have foresworn the travelling clock. It is no good to me since you -have gone, for I can never remember to wind it, so there is one thing -less to pack.” - -“It was here in this identical place that you coached me that summer -after I was ill,” said Ralph. “I connect it with Florizel, and Claudio, -and Fabian, and with that Scotch play Miss Greville was acting in at -Edinburgh.” - -“Yes, and taking him altogether he was a very amenable pupil,” said -Macneillie smiling at Evereld. “I wish I could say as much for his -successor.” - -But unfortunately a second Ralph Denmead proved hard to find. And -Macneillie had a very discouraging time of it all through August and -September. The weather was unusually hot and even in the watering-places -that they visited the audiences were seldom good. Then came a spell of -very wet weather, but the houses were still poor, and it seemed that no -one cared for Shakspere, that old English Comedy ceased to attract and -that the restless spirits of modern people required something much more -highly seasoned. - -Nourished on skimmed newspaper, hashed review articles, minced magazines -in the form of summaries, and short stories of dubious morality, was -it likely that their brains could be in a condition to receive good -wholesome literary food? - -Macneillie had long been aware that a wave of evil tendency was passing -over literature and the drama, he had struggled on, never allowing it -to influence his choice of plays, sure that in time the “evil on itself -would back recoil,” and faithful to his own conviction of what was a -manager’s duty. But he began now to think that, before the force of this -wave of uncleanness had spent itself, it would altogether submerge his -fortune and leave him a ruined man. - -One of the things that tried him most severely was the timidity of -those who should have been his best supporters. The clergy with a few -noteworthy exceptions fulminated against the evil plays but failed -to support the good. He knew that hundreds of them would troop to -Washington’s theatre when they went to London, but they were generally -conspicuous by their absence from the theatres in their own towns -where their presence might really have done much good. Personally they -respected him and spoke of him in warm terms, but very few of them -at all understood how hard a fight this man was making in a time of -exceptional difficulty, or how bitter it was to him when those, from -whom he reasonably expected much, held aloof. - -It was quite the end of September when the Macneillie Company found -themselves once more at Liverpool. They were giving the plays they -had performed at Stratford during the Memorial week, and this made -Macneillie feel the loss of Ralph more acutely than ever. To turn -straight from a pupil who had been extraordinarily receptive, always -good-humoured, always ready to study, and grudging no pains in the -effort to please his instructor and conquer his own faults, to a man of -exactly the opposite type, was hard indeed. It was all the more annoying -to Macneillie because Ralph’s successor had excellent abilities but -was cursed with the conviction that he already knew everything a little -better than the Manager; he had moreover been born with one of those -touchy and wayward natures that are so hard to deal with. He lived in -a perpetual state of taking offence, and though Macneillie apparently -ignored this and went quietly on his way, it nevertheless chafed him a -good deal. - -Then, too, all the many vicissitudes of a travelling company--the -illness of one, the quarrels of another--seemed to worry him more now -that he was alone and had no one to discuss things with. The very rooms -he occupied in Seymour Street were full of memories to him; he had -stayed there more than once with Ralph and Evereld, it had been there -that they had first come to him after their marriage, and the place -looked horribly blank without them. - -By the Thursday morning of their stay he was in the lowest spirits. For -three nights they had played to wretchedly bad houses owing to counter -attractions elsewhere; his old trouble of sleeplessness was returning -and he felt ill and horribly depressed as he walked down through the wet -dingy streets to the Shakspere Theatre. There was a rehearsal of Romeo -and Juliet, and the insolent manner and insufferable conceit of the -Juvenile Lead proved just the last straw. After going through some great -agony in life, and going through it well and bravely we are sadly apt to -break down under some quite trifling strain. A petty thing will irritate -us absurdly in the reaction after great distress, and Macneillie lost -his temper now and scolded the offending actor right royally. When an -habitually quiet, self-restrained man does lose his temper he usually -does it with great thoroughness. Romeo was impressed as he might have -been by a sudden thunder storm on a winter’s day, but those who really -knew the Manager were troubled at such an unwonted scene, and Ivy -glanced at him with the conviction that his health was again breaking -down. - -It was an uncomfortable rehearsal and Macneillie went back to Seymour -Street doubly depressed. His thoughts turned to that April afternoon at -Stratford on the river. He had been strong then, but - - “It is very good for strength - - To know that someone needs you to be strong.” - -Christine’s presence, though in one sense it had been his most severe -trial, had been in another an incentive to endure. To-day, in his -lonely room with food before him which he could not touch, with a -brain exhausted by want of rest, and harassed by a hundred cares and -annoyances, he came perilously near to yielding. For that was the worst -of it. The struggle was not one to be gone through once and for all, -it was constantly recurring. And always he had the consciousness that -Christine’s reverence for law was weaker than his own, that she would -quickly yield to his lightest word. It was moreover so fatally easy to -go to her, so hard to be loyal to that shamefully unfair law of the land -which should be reformed. - -To check his thoughts he took up one of the London papers. The first -thing that met his eye was the announcement that Sir Matthew Mactavish -had died in the distant place of refuge which he had succeeded in -gaining. And almost immediately afterwards he noticed a paragraph in -which was a brief account of the marriage of the Honourable Herbert -Vane-Ffoulkes to Lady Dunlop-Tyars, widow of the late Sir John -Dunlop-Tyars, Bart. - -He smiled a little over the memories evoked by those names, but the dark -cloud soon stole over him once more. - -“Villains can die,” he thought to himself, “and empty-headed fools can -marry, but I must still drag on this death in life!” - -Then fiends’ voices began to urge him to give up: mocking fiends who -jeered at his obsolete notions of right and wrong: practical fiends -who would have had him cease a vain endeavor to keep up an impossible -standard of morality, and from thenceforth pander to the depraved taste -of the public; shrewd fiends who argued plausibly enough that his health -was breaking down and that it was high time to yield. - -Macneillie with an effort roused himself and for a while baffled them by -taking a brisk walk; it was cold and wet and dreary but the exercise -was a relief and by the time he had reached the Seaforth Sands he -had regained his composure. The struggle was for the time over, but -existence looked to him as wretched, as cheerless, as that wild desolate -country at the entrance to the Mersey. The rain too began to come -down remorselessly, and he made his way to the station of the electric -railway and returned by the docks to the city. As he was walking along -Church Street he chanced to come across Ralph’s friend George Mowbray. - -“I am just going to the Art Gallery,” he observed. “Bicycling is -hopeless to-day, the tires do nothing but slip.” - -“I’ll come with you,” said Macneillie, not because he cared in the least -to see the pictures, but from sheer dread of having spare time on his -hands. - -He had never before contrived to see the Walker Art Gallery and as -he wandered drearily round the place, seeing yet hardly heeding the -treasures it contains, his attention was at length arrested by Poynter’s -well-known picture “Faithful unto Death.” He was of course familiar -with the story of the sentinel of Pompeii whose skeleton was discovered, -hundreds of years later, standing on guard at his gate. But he never -realised till he saw that picture how awful must have been the man’s -temptation to escape and save himself as all the rest were doing. Behind -him were only two or three flying figures, most of the citizens must -already have fled; but before him, and drawing very near, was the awful -lurid glow which meant certain death. The sentinel stood facing it, he -was perfectly upright, perfectly calm, only in the strong tension of the -muscles of the hand one could see how instinctively he gripped the sword -which could now avail him nothing. In his dilated eyes there was no -abject terror but a great awe, an intensely human look of dread of -the swiftly approaching fiery foe. It would have been an easy thing to -desert his post and disobey orders. Had it ever come into his mind as -he gazed across the campagna to Vesuvius that self preservation was -permissible under such circumstances? That a soldier need not always -obey his captain’s orders? Perhaps it had, but nevertheless he had stood -firm and had died in what no doubt seemed a useless fashion, out of -reverence to mere law, never dreaming that his example would give -courage and strength to millions of people in the ages to come. - -Macneillie turned away thoughtfully, his mind at work on that old, old -problem of evil and suffering, of the possible gain to others through -the inexplicable pain of the world. - -The thought of it haunted him as he wrote business letters in his lonely -room, as he went about his work that night at the theatre, as he looked -with a sense of dull disappointment and depression at the rows of empty -stalls, and reflected how much hard toil and careful preparation had -been thrown away on an enterprise by which he was daily losing money. -Someone brought an evening paper into the green room, he glanced -hurriedly at an account of the new play shortly to be produced by Barry -Sterne; he read a few lines as to the part Christine was to take, and -was pleased by a brief allusion to the success Ralph had had in the -summer. But as he went back to his rooms a weary distaste for his work -in the provinces came over him, he longed as he had never longed before -to be back in London, to be working once more with his old comrades. - -The dismal rain still fell in a drizzle, the flaring lights in the -public house at the corner of Wild Street were reflected garishly in the -wet pavement. A little further on as he crossed London Road he came upon -a small crowd grouped about a tram car, and paused listlessly to see -what was wrong. The horses were vainly struggling to make good their -footing on the slippery road; they stumbled and plunged and strained, -but the uphill way was too much for them, the car slipped back and for a -minute the passengers seemed in some peril. - -Macneillie drew nearer and spoke to the conductor who was at the horses’ -heads doing his utmost to urge them on. - -“Is the load too heavy for them?” said Macneillie. - -“Bless you, no sir,” said the man, “they’ve done it scores of times, but -it’s a strain on ’em when the road’s slippery, and this ’ere roan ’e’es -afraid of coming down. It’s just panic sir, nothing more, ’e can do it -fast enough.” - -Macneillie stroked the neck of the frightened horse, he had a fellow -feeling for it. - -“We can’t have the line blocked or the passengers upset,” said the -driver, with an oath which appeared to refresh him greatly. “Come on -mate, he must do it. Take the whip and keep alongside of him thrashing -him as we go.” - -At last with much ado the car was in motion once more, and the poor -roan, kicking and plunging, was dragged and flogged up the hill. - -“Oh, how could you let them be so cruel, Mr. Macneillie!” said Ivy who, -on her way back to her rooms with Helen Orme, had witnessed the same -scene. - -“Well my dear, I liked it as little as you did,” said the Manager. “But -what was to be done? The load was not too great, it was merely that the -horse was frightened, and there was no persuading it that it would not -come to grief. Like the rest of us it would insist on thinking of the -hill in front of it, instead of concentrating its mind on the next -step. You see while you anathematised the driver I, like the melancholy -Jaques, did ‘moralize this spectacle.’” - -They laughed and bade him good night, but Ivy looked rather anxiously -after him as, having seen them to their door, he recrossed Seymour -Street to his lodgings a little further up. - -“Nell,” she said to her companion, “how very ill Mr. Macneillie looks -to-night. I think he will break down altogether.” - -“Oh, I hope not,” said Helen Orme. “I think he is only depressed. He has -lost his mother lately you see, and besides I’m sure there is plenty to -account for depression with such houses as we have had lately.” - -Meanwhile Macneillie had reached his desolate rooms. He had been -thinking of the Stratford performances, of Ralph’s brilliant success, of -the crowded theatre;--it seemed to him that he ought now to have found a -sweet-faced little housekeeper sitting by the fire and making toast, that -there ought to have been a welcoming glance from Evereld’s truthful -blue eyes. Instead there was an empty room and a fireless grate and -a solitary meal awaiting him. He sat down and ate dutifully but quite -without appetite. He forced himself to remember how much better it was -that Ralph and Evereld should be near Christine; but the more he thought -the more that horrible craving to be there too assailed him. - -And presently, for the first time in his life, a feeling of deadly -faintness came over him; he staggered into his bedroom. The gas was -turned low, the window which was at the back of the house had been left -wide open, he breathed more freely and leant for some minutes against -the shutter, vaguely conscious of the night sky and of the dark outline -of the neighbouring buildings. In his eyes there was the same look -of awe--of a great human dread--which makes the eyes of the Pompeian -sentinel so pathetic. He had endured long and patiently, had thought -little of the effect on himself, but now the dread of an utter failure -of health seized him, and he knew that it was no idle fancy but a very -real peril which must be bravely faced. - -And yet better, a thousand times better, the wreck of body and mind than -the failure to be a law-abiding citizen. Better this cruel absence from -the woman he loved than faithlessness to what he knew to be right. - -“There is not a pin to choose between me and that tram-car horse!” - he reflected, pulling down the blind and turning up the gas with a -humourous smile flickering even then about his pale lips. “The way is -slippery and there’s a hill to be climbed,--it is collar work, but a -step at a time may do it safely after all. Anyhow I will put ‘a stiff -back to a stubborn brae.’” - -He paused for a minute to look at Evereld’s water colour sketch of the -moorland road, and to breathe “caller” air as he glanced at the heather -and at the blue mountains beyond the hidden valley. - -He would go on patiently as a wayfaring man should do; and perchance in -time--oh, how he longed and prayed for that time!--the unjust law would -be reformed, and he and Christine might find rest and a home in that -hidden valley of the future. In any case no one could rob them of their -inheritance beyond. - -Not, however, until he turned the picture over and read the quotation -from “Marius the Epicurean” which he had written at Callander on the -back of it, did his usual look of quiet strength return to him. - -The words were these:--“Must not the whole world around have faded away -from him altogether, had he been left for one moment really alone in it? -In his deepest apparent solitude there had been rich entertainment. It -was as if there were not one only, but two wayfarers, side by side.” - -THE END - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wayfaring Men, by Edna Lyall - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAYFARING MEN *** - -***** This file should be named 54100-0.txt or 54100-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/1/0/54100/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - diff --git a/old/54100-0.zip b/old/54100-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 5dbe5a4..0000000 --- a/old/54100-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/54100-h.zip b/old/54100-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 3a3f1c7..0000000 --- a/old/54100-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/54100-h/54100-h.htm b/old/54100-h/54100-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index f4ea6d3..0000000 --- a/old/54100-h/54100-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,19552 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> - -<!DOCTYPE html - PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > - -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> - <title>Wayfaring Men, by Edna Lyall</title> - <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" /> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> - - body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} - P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .50em; margin-bottom: .50em; } - H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } - hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} - .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} - blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} - .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} - .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} - .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} - .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} - .x-small {font-size: 75%;} - .small {font-size: 85%;} - .large {font-size: 115%;} - .x-large {font-size: 130%;} - .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} - .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} - .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} - .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} - .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} - .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} - div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } - div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } - .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} - .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} - .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; - font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; - text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; - border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} - .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; - border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; - font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} - p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} - span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } - pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} - -</style> - </head> - <body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Wayfaring Men, by Edna Lyall - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Wayfaring Men - A Novel - -Author: Edna Lyall - -Release Date: February 3, 2017 [EBook #54100] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAYFARING MEN *** - - - - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - - - - - -</pre> - - <div style="height: 8em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h1> - WAYFARING MEN - </h1> - <h3> - A Novel - </h3> - <h2> - By Edna Lyall - </h2> - <h4> - Author of “Doreen,” “Donovan,” “We Two,” “To Right the Wrong,” etc., etc. - </h4> - <blockquote> - <p> - <i>“Every man’s task is his life-preserver. The conviction that his work - is dear to God and cannot be spared, defends him.”</i> - </p> - <p> - —Emerson - </p> - </blockquote> - <h4> - New York - </h4> - <h4> - Longmans, Green, and Co. - </h4> - <h4> - London - </h4> - <h3> - 1896 - </h3> - <p> - <br /> <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Thou goest thine, and I go mine, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Many ways we wend; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Many days, and many ways, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Ending in one end. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Many a wrong, and its curing song; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Many a road, and many an inn; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Room to roam, but only one home - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - For all the world to win.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - —George MacDonald - </p> - <p> - <br /> <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a> - </p> - <div class="fig" style="width:50%;"> - <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br /> - </div> - <h5> - <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a> - </h5> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - <b>CONTENTS</b> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>WAYFARING MEN</b> </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL </a> - </p> - <p class="toc"> - <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI </a> - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - WAYFARING MEN - </h2> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER I - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “So is detached, so left all by itself, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The little life, the fact which means so much. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Shall not God stoop the kindlier to His work, - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Now that the hand He trusted to receive, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And hold it, lets the treasure fall perforce? - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The better; He shall have in orphanage - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - His own way all the clearlier.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - R. Browning. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span> - wonder what will become of Ralph Denmead,” said Lady Tresidder, “it is - one of the saddest cases I ever heard of; the poor boy seems to be left - without a single relation.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Sir John, musingly. “Just the way with these old decayed - families, they dwindle slowly away and then become extinct. There was no - spirit or energy in poor Denmead, the man was a mere hermit and knew - nothing of the world or he wouldn’t have made such a mull of his affairs.” - </p> - <p> - “Yet Ralph seems to have the energy of ten people,” said Lady Tresidder, - glancing as she walked at the river which wound its peaceful way through - the park and reflected in the afternoon light the early spring tints of - the wooded bank on its further side. At no great distance a boat glided - swiftly over the calm water: in the stern sat a dark-haired, handsome girl - of nineteen, while the vigorous little rower seemed to be not more than - eleven. - </p> - <p> - “Poor little chap,” said Sir John, “he is terribly cut up about his - father’s death. I wish we could have kept him here a few days longer, but - it’s better that he should be put at once into his guardian’s hands. - There’s no fear that Sir Matthew Mactavish will not do all that’s right - for him, if only for the sake of his own reputation.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose he is a very charitable man,” said Lady Tresidder. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, extremely charitable, and very well thought of. For myself, I - frankly own I don’t like the way in which he mixes up speculation and - philanthropy, and I’m not at all sure that he was always a good adviser to - poor Denmead. But he’ll be kind enough to Ralph I’ve no doubt. The boy is - his godson, and Denmead was one of his oldest friends. By the bye he was - to be at the Rectory by five o’clock, and the boy ought to be there to - receive him. They had better be landing, and Mabel can drive him to - Whinhaven in the pony chaise.” - </p> - <p> - He began to make vigorous signals to the occupants of the boat, who - somewhat reluctantly came ashore and slowly mounted the rising ground to - the house. - </p> - <p> - “Come in and have some tea while they are putting in Ranger,” said Lady - Tresidder, kindly. “Sir John thinks you ought to be at the Rectory when - your guardian arrives, and Mab will like a drive with you.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph grew grave at the thought of a return to the desolate Rectory with - its darkened windows and awful stillness; he sighed as he followed - comfortable motherly Lady Tresidder into the drawing-room where flowers - and well-used books and a cosy tea-table, and some needle work, just put - aside, gave a curiously homelike air to the whole place. - </p> - <p> - “Come and sit by me,” said his hostess in that friendly voice which more - than anything helped him to forget his troubles. And perhaps it was the - thought of the hard future confronting him which made Lady Tresidder - glance so often at the little fellow who had outgrown the stage for - petting, and who in spite of his smallness was really thirteen, innocent - and ignorant of the world, and with a touch of the chivalrous gentleness - of manner that had characterised his father, but in other respects just a - high spirited, enthusiastic, hungry boy. - </p> - <p> - His honest brown eyes grew less wistful as he waded blissfully through the - huge slice of Buzzard cake with which Mabel had provided him, but he found - the goodbyes hard to say, all the harder because of the kindness he - received. It was only afterwards, as they drove up the steep hill in the - park, and turned for a last look at the river, that he could remember - without a choking in his throat, Lady Tresidder’s motherly kiss, and Sir - John’s kindly farewell and cheery words about future visits, and the half - sovereign with which he had “tipped” him. - </p> - <p> - There had been no particular reason why the Tresidders should have been so - good to him. Sir John was not the Squire of Whinhaven, indeed Westbrook - Hall was not even in his father’s parish: but they had been practically - Ralph’s only friends ever since he could remember and some of his happiest - hours had been spent with Mab, who being many years his senior and a - country girl of the best sort, had been able to teach him to ride and - drive, to fish, to row, and to care for animals as devotedly as she - herself did. - </p> - <p> - Mab had a frank, hail fellow well met manner which contrasted rather - curiously with her beautiful womanly face and delicately chiselled - features; the world in general considered her somewhat off-hand and - brusque, but she had in her the makings of a very noble woman, and the boy - owed much to her companionship. They were very silent as they drove - through the park, but it was the comfortable silence of friends who have - perfect confidence in each other. Ralph seemed to be looking with wistful - eyes at every familiar turn of the road; his eyes rested lingeringly on - the grey walls of the house down below, and the gleaming silvery river, - and the old hawthorn bushes, and the fine old chestnut trees. - </p> - <p> - “Mab,” he said at length, “may we stop for a minute, and just see the - bullfinches? Look, there is one of them out of the nest and trying to fly; - the cat will get hold of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, to be sure,” said Mab. “Will you care to take it with you to London? - It is fledged and I think you could rear it. Would you like it?” - </p> - <p> - “Rather!” said Ralph emphatically. “And I have a cage at home that would - do for it.” - </p> - <p> - So the young bullfinch was carefully placed in a covered basket, and half - an hour later Mabel Tresidder put down the two forlorn young things at the - door of Whinhaven Rectory wondering how they would prosper in life. - </p> - <p> - A severe-looking old housekeeper came out at the sound of the wheels. - </p> - <p> - “So you’ve come back, Master Ralph,” she said looking him over critically - to see that he was clean and presentable. “That’s a good job, for Sir - Matthew has been here ten minutes or more, and the lawyer from London with - him. Are you coming in, Miss?” she added glancing with no great favour at - Miss Tresidder, and calling to mind how often in past days she had led - Ralph through bush and through brier to the great detriment of his - clothes. - </p> - <p> - “No, I will not come in,” said Mab, “and this is not my real good-bye to - you, Ralph, for I shall stay and speak to you to-morrow morning after the - service.” - </p> - <p> - She waved her hand to him, and drove swiftly off, while old Mrs. Grice - muttered something uncomplimentary about “new-fangled” ways, and not - liking females at a funeral. - </p> - <p> - Ralph, meanwhile, had carefully hidden away the basket containing the - bullfinch, and now stood in the little hall with a heavy heart. The quiet - of the house was terrible, and the low murmur of strange voices in the - study accentuated the misery and desolateness, which seemed to grow more - and more oppressive every moment. - </p> - <p> - “For goodness sake!” exclaimed old Mrs. Grice, “don’t stand there staring - at nothing, like a tragedy actor, but go in and make yourself agreeable to - the gentlemen; wait a bit, wait a bit, your hair’s all rumpled up, not - seen a brush since the morning, I’ll be bound.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph, made meek by his misery, obediently turned into the room to the - right of the door, his own special sanctum where he had worked and played - ever since he could remember, and having brushed his wavy brown hair into - a state of immaculate order went slowly back once more to the silent - little hall which was not even enlivened now by the presence of old Mrs. - Grice. Nothing was to be heard save the ticking of the clock and the low - murmur of voices from the adjoining room, not a creature was there to take - compassion on the shy desolate boy. He looked up at the black - representation of Lord John Harsick and Katharine his wife, which hung - upon the wall above the old oak chest, and the tears started to his eyes - as he remembered how he had helped his father to mount this rubbing from a - brass, some two or three years before. The stately old couple stood there - holding each others’ hands, he fancied that they looked down on him with a - sort of pity because he was left so utterly alone. He stood hesitatingly - on the threshold of the study, dreading to enter, but at length impelled - to move by a worse fear. - </p> - <p> - “If they come out and catch me here they’ll think I’m eavesdropping!” he - thought to himself, and therewith manfully turned the handle, and walked - in. - </p> - <p> - The study was in reality the drawing-room of the Rectory, a pretty room - with a verandah and French windows opening on to it, and upon one side of - the fireplace there was a cosy little recess where the Rector had been - wont to keep his choicest flowers, and where the light from a little - western window fell upon the marble bust of a sweet-faced woman—the - mother whom Ralph could remember just in a vague dreamy fashion. Seated - now at his father’s writing-table was an old gentleman with a kindly, - astute face, and remarkably thick white hair. Standing with his back to - the fireplace was a middle-aged man whom Ralph at once recognised from the - photographs he had seen as his godfather, Sir Matthew Mactavish. - </p> - <p> - He looked up anxiously into the shrewd Scottish face, with its reddish - hair just touched with grey, its keen steel-coloured eyes, its somewhat - wrinkled forehead and ready smile. It was a powerful and an attractive - face, but with something about it curiously different to the faces to - which Ralph had been accustomed; the genial country squires, and the - country parsons had nothing in common with this brisk, managing man of the - world. - </p> - <p> - “Well, my boy,” he said with a kindly greeting, “I’m glad to see you. - You’ll not remember me for you were but a little fellow when I was last - here. Let me see, they call you Raphe, don’t they?” - </p> - <p> - “Not Raphe, but Ralph,” said the boy, and into his mind there darted the - recollection of a scene that had once been funny but now seemed pathetic, - of a discussion upon his name between his father and two old antiquaries, - and of how one of them had patted him on the head with the gruff-voiced - injunction, “If any one calls you ‘Raphe’ tell him he’s a fool.” - </p> - <p> - It was impossible to call such a man as Sir Matthew a fool, and the boy - turned to greet the lawyer, and was surprised to find that unlike the - typical solicitor of fiction he was a very noble looking man of the old - school, gentle and courtly in manner, and evidently understanding how - embarrassing the interview must be to a lad of thirteen. - </p> - <p> - “Sit down, Ralph,” said Sir Matthew, motioning him to a chair, “there are - several things I must talk to you about.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph obeyed, not without a curious sensation at being ordered about in - his own home by a perfect stranger. “Mr. Marriott and I,” resumed his - godfather, “have been looking into your father’s affairs on our way from - London, and as a matter of fact they were pretty well known to me before. - I grieve to say, my boy, that he has left you quite unprovided for.” - </p> - <p> - “I—I knew,” said Ralph, “that father had lost a great deal of money - lately—it was through some company that failed: he told me he never - would have speculated, but he wanted very much to make money and send me - to Winchester and then to Oxford; he couldn’t do that, you know, only out - of the living. But he blamed himself for having done it; he said it was no - better than gambling.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew had paced up and down the room restlessly during this speech, - he seemed to be moved by it, and it was the lawyer who first broke the - silence. “You are happy,” he said to Ralph, “in having the memory of a - father who was just enough to recognise his own mistakes, and noble enough - to confess them. Be warned, my boy, and never in the future dabble in - speculation.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew returned to his former position on the hearthrug. “In the - meantime,” he said with displeasure in his tone, “his more useful study - will be how to live in the present.” - </p> - <p> - “That,” said Mr. Marriott gravely, “is a matter which you, Sir Matthew, - will no doubt help him to consider.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph, with a child’s quick consciousness that something lay beneath these - words which he did not altogether understand, glanced from one to the - other in some perplexity. He saw that Sir Matthew was angry with the - lawyer, and that the lawyer disapproved somehow of Sir Matthew. - </p> - <p> - “I wish Mr. Marriott had been my godfather,” he thought to himself. “I - like him twice as well. Sir Matthew orders one about as though he bossed - the whole world.” - </p> - <p> - And then, as often happens, he was forced to modify his rather severe - criticism of his godfather, for Sir Matthew with a genuinely kind glance - drew him nearer, and laying a hand on his shoulder, said in the most - genial of voices: - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you be afraid, my boy, I’ll see you through your trouble. Leave - everything to me. We’ll have you a Wykehamist as I know your father - wished, and then make a parson of you, eh?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh no, thank you,” said Ralph, “I couldn’t be a clergyman, I don’t want - to be that at all.” - </p> - <p> - “Eh! What! you have already some other idea? Come tell me, for it’s a real - help to know what a boy’s tastes are.” - </p> - <p> - “I want to be an actor,” said Ralph quietly. - </p> - <p> - “What!” cried Sir Matthew. “Go on the stage? Oh, that’s just a passing - fancy. No gentleman can take up play-acting as a profession. No, no, I - don’t send you to Winchester to fit you for such a trumpery calling as - that. If you’ll not be a parson what do you say to trying for the Indian - Civil Service? I’m much mistaken if you have not very good abilities, and - for a man who has to make his own way in the world, why India is the right - place.” - </p> - <p> - “I should like to go to India,” said Ralph, thinking of certain tales of - jungle life and thrilling adventures with man-eating tigers that he had - lately read. - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” said Sir Matthew briskly, “that’s decided then. To Winchester - for six years, then a choice of the Church or the Indian Civil Service. - There’s your future my boy, and I will see you fairly started in life - whichever line you choose. To-morrow you shall come back with me to - London, so run off now and let them get your things together, and Mr. - Marriott and I will make all the necessary arrangements with regard to - your father’s effects.” - </p> - <p> - Not sorry to be dismissed, Ralph made his way upstairs, where he found the - housekeeper already busy with his packing. She made him collect what few - possessions he had, two or three pictures, some tools, some books and a - toy boat; but what she termed “the rubbish,” such as bird’s eggs, mosses, - fossils, imperfect models of engines, and such like, she entirely declined - to handle. “The rubbish” must be left, and Ralph with an odd sinking of - the heart, as he remembered how short was the time remaining to him, began - his sad round of farewells. He stole quietly up to the attic from which - the harbour could best be seen, and watched the stately ships going into - port. Then he walked through the garden with lingering steps; he had - worked in it with his father so long and so happily that every plant was - dear to him; to leave it just now in this May weather, when the Gloire de - Dijon on the south wall was covered with exquisite roses, when the - snapdragons, which as a little fellow he had delighted in feeding with - spoonfuls of sugar and water, were just coming into flower, when the - bedding-out plants, which but three weeks ago they had planted were - actually in bloom—this was hard indeed! Could it be only three weeks - since that half-holiday when, with no thought of coming trouble, they had - worked so merrily together? - </p> - <p> - Passing through the green lauristinus arch he paced slowly on between the - strawberry-beds now white with blossom. That Saturday had been their last - really happy day, for the next morning’s post had brought the news of his - father’s great losses, and though the Sunday’s work had been struggled - through, the Rector had never been the same again, the burdened look had - never left his face. - </p> - <p> - Ralph thought it all over as he rested his arms on the little iron gate - leading into the glebe, his eyes wandering sadly over that distant view - which he had always loved, with its stretch of gorse and heather, and to - the right the beautiful woods of Whinhaven park, just now in the full - perfection of their spring tints. Well, it was all over now, and the place - was to pass into the hands of strangers, and somehow he must get through - his goodbyes. Making his way to the stable, he flung his arms about the - neck of old Forester the pony, choked back a sob in his throat as he - unfastened Skipper the Irish terrier, and picking up in his arms a - scared-looking white cat, ran at full speed down the drive, across the - common, with its golden gorse and dark fir trees, until he reached the - coastguard station. Beneath the flag-staff, with a telescope tucked under - his arm, there stood a cheery-looking official in trim reefer and - gold-laced cap. It was Langston—the head of the coastguard station, - and one of Ralph’s best friends. - </p> - <p> - “I have come to say good-bye, for to-morrow I’m going to London,” said the - boy hurriedly. “And I want to give you Skipper, if you care to have him. - He’s of a very good breed, father said, and he’s an awfully friendly dog. - And if you had room for Toots as well I should be awfully obliged. I know - he’s not worth anything, and ever since Benjamin was lost Toots has been - sort of queer, always mewing and roaming about looking for him. But I - think if you buttered his feet he would stay, and he’s a real good - mouser.” - </p> - <p> - Langston promised to adopt both dog and cat, but he would not allow all - the giving to be on one side. He went into his house and returned in a few - minutes with a little pocket compass. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll ask you to accept that, Master Ralph,” he said, as he gripped the - boy’s hand in a friendly grasp. “You’ll maybe have rough times in life, - but steer well, my lad, steer well, and be the man your father would have - had you.” - </p> - <p> - “How does one steer if one doesn’t know which is the right way to go?” - said Ralph with a sigh. - </p> - <p> - “Why it’s then that you’ll hear your captain’s orders,” said the - coastguardsman. “Cheer up, Master Ralph, it don’t all depend on the man at - the wheel.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER II - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “Ill is that angel which erst fell from heaven, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - But not more ill than he, nor in worse case, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Who hides a traitorous mind with smiling face, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And with a dove’s white feather masks a raven, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Each sin some colour hath it to adorn. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Hypocrisy, Almighty God doth scorn.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Wm. Drummond, 1616. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>inner proved a - trying meal that evening, although Sir Matthew and Mr. Marriott exerted - themselves to talk, and were both of them very kind to their small - companion. Afterwards they adjourned once more to the study where for the - sake of the old lawyer a fire had been lighted. - </p> - <p> - “The nights are still cold,” he said drawing a chair towards the hearth, - and warming his thin white hands; “May is but a treacherous month in spite - of the good things the poets say of it. I understand that your father’s - illness was caused by a chill,” he added, glancing kindly at Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “He caught cold one night when they sent for him down in the village,” - said Ralph, tears starting to his eyes. “He was called up at two o’clock - to see a man who was dying: there was an east wind, he said it seemed to - go right through him. But then you know he had been very much troubled - because of his losses; for the last ten days he had scarcely eaten - anything, and had slept badly.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew paced the room restlessly, but when he spoke his voice was - bland and calm. - </p> - <p> - “A noble end!” he said, “dying in harness like that; carrying comfort to - the dying and then lying down upon his own death-bed; a very noble end.” - </p> - <p> - Something in the tone of this speech grated on Ralph, he shrank a little - closer to the lawyer. - </p> - <p> - “Why do I hate him?” thought the boy. “He’s going to send me to Winchester - with his own money, I ought to like him, but I can’t—I can’t!” - </p> - <p> - At that moment old Mrs. Grice appeared at the door asking to speak with - Mr. Marriott. He followed her into the hall returning in a minute or two - and approaching Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “My boy,” he said, laying a kindly hand on his shoulder, “if you want to - see your father’s face again it must be now.” - </p> - <p> - Together they went up the dimly lighted staircase to the room overhead, - Sir Matthew following slowly and with reluctance, a strange expression - lurking about the corners of his mouth. Many thoughts passed through his - mind as he stood looking down upon the still features of his dead friend; - if the pale lips could have spoken he well knew they might have reproached - him; and yet it was less painful to him to look at the stern face of the - dead, than to watch the grief of the little lad as, through fast falling - tears he gazed for the last time on his father’s face. It was a relief to - him when the old lawyer drew the boy gently away, and persuaded him to - return to the study fire. - </p> - <p> - “I will be good to his son,” thought Sir Matthew as he looked once more at - the silent form. “I will make it up to Ralph. He shall have the education - his father would have given him. And then he must shift for himself, I - shall have done my duty, and he must sink or swim. The very sight of him - annoys me, but it will be only for a few years, and, meantime, I must put - up with it.” - </p> - <p> - So Ralph for the last time slept in the only home he had ever known, and - woke the next day to endure as best he might all the last painful - ceremonies through which it was necessary that he should bear his part. - When the funeral was over he left Sir John Tresidder to talk with the - lawyer and Sir Matthew, and drew Mab away into a sheltered nook of the - walled kitchen garden where stood a rabbit-hutch. - </p> - <p> - “These are the only things left,” he said, mournfully. “Should you care to - have them, Mab? I should like them to be at Westbrook for I know you would - be good to them. Rabbi Ben Ezra is the best rabbit that ever lived, and - he’ll soon get to care for you. Sarah Jane is rather dull, but I suppose - he likes her, and she doesn’t eat her little ones or do anything horrid of - that sort like some rabbits.” - </p> - <p> - “I will take no end of care of them,” said Mab; “but it seems a pity that - you should leave them. Could you not take them with you?” - </p> - <p> - “If I were going to live with Mr. Marriott I wouldn’t mind asking leave,” - said Ralph, “but there’s something about Sir Matthew—I don’t know - what it is—but one can’t ask a favour of him. I’d far rather give up - the rabbits.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you are right,” said Mab. “And by the bye Ralph, let me have your - new address, you are to live with your guardian are you not?” - </p> - <p> - “They say Sir Matthew is not exactly my guardian. But father’s will was - made many years ago and he was named as sole executor, and father wrote to - him the day before he died asking him to see to me. Here comes the man to - say your carriage is ready.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” said Mab. “And tell Mrs. Grice I will send over for the - rabbits. Good-bye, dear old boy. Don’t forget us all.” - </p> - <p> - She stooped down, and for the first time in her life kissed him, and Ralph - having watched at the gate till the carriage was out of sight, suddenly - felt a horrible wave of desolation sweep over him, and knew that he could - not keep up one minute longer. Running down the road he fled through the - churchyard never stopping till he found himself in a lovely sheltered fir - grove—his favourite nook in the whole park; and here, while the - nightingales, and the cuckoos, and the thrushes sang joyously overhead, he - threw himself down at full length on the slippery pine needles that - covered the warm dry ground, and sobbed as though his heart would break. - They had always called this particular nook the “Goodly Heritage,” because - whenever friends had been brought to see it they had always said to the - Rector: “Ah, Denmead, your lines are fallen in pleasant places.” Poor - Ralph felt that this saying was no longer true, he thought that the - pleasantness had forever vanished from his life, and the prospect of going - forth into the world dependent for every penny upon a man whom he vaguely - disliked was almost more than he could endure. The boy had a keenly - sensitive artistic temperament, but luckily his father’s strenuous - endeavours had taught him self-control; he did not long abandon himself to - that passion of grief but pulled himself together and began to pace slowly - through the grove crushing into his hand as he walked a rough hard - fir-cone. And then gradually as he breathed the soft pine scented air, and - watched the sunbeams streaking with light the dark fir trunks, and - glorifying the silvery birch trees in a distant glade which sloped steeply - down to a little murmuring brook, he realised that the past was his goodly - heritage, his possession of which no man could rob him, and in - thankfulness for the home which had been so happy for thirteen years he - set his face bravely towards the dark future. - </p> - <p> - “Waterloo, first single, a child’s ticket,” said Sir Matthew Mactavish - entering the booking-office an hour or two later. - </p> - <p> - “But I am thirteen,” said Ralph quickly. - </p> - <p> - “Then he must have a whole ticket,” said the official, and Sir Matthew - frowned but was obliged to comply. - </p> - <p> - “You are so absurdly small,” he said glancing with annoyance at his charge - as they passed out on to the platform, “you might very well have passed - for under twelve.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph felt hot all over, partly because no boy likes to be told that he is - small, partly because he was angry at being reproved for not standing - calmly by to see the railway company cheated. How could it be that a man - as wealthy as Sir Matthew could stoop to do a thing which his father in - spite of narrow means would never have thought of doing? He could as soon - have imagined him stealing goods from a shop as attempting to defraud in - this meaner, because less risky, fashion. However, Mr. Marriott happily - diverted his thoughts just then. - </p> - <p> - “Are you fond of Dickens?” he said kindly. “Have you read his ‘Tale of Two - Cities,’ or his ‘Christmas Tales?’” - </p> - <p> - Ralph had read neither, and was soon leaning back in his corner of the - railway carriage, forgetful of all his wretchedness, cheered and - fascinated, amused and filled with kind thoughts by the story of Scrooge, - and Marley’s ghost, and Tiny Tim, and the Christmas turkey. - </p> - <p> - It was with a pang of regret that he bade old Mr. Marriott farewell when - they reached London, and illogically yet naturally enough he felt far more - grateful for the parting sovereign and the kindly glance which the lawyer - bestowed on him, than for his adoption by Sir Matthew. A sense of utter - desolation stole over him as Mr. Marriott disappeared, and he followed his - guardian into a hansom and found himself for the first time in the heart - of London. To his country eyes the crowded thoroughfares, the grim houses, - the bustle and confusion, and the sordid misery seemed absolutely hateful; - it was not until they happened to pass a theatre, and he caught sight of - the name of a well known actor that his face brightened and his tongue was - unloosed. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” he exclaimed, “does Washington act there? Is that his own theatre?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, to be sure,” said Sir Matthew; “you shall go some night and see - him.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, thank you!” said Ralph rapturously; “how awfully good of you. Father - took me once to hear him at Southampton, he was playing in ‘The Bells’ one - Saturday afternoon. It was splendid; there was the dream you know, you saw - it all before you. He dreamt of the court of justice, and all the time it - was his own conscience that was killing him, and his remorse for having - murdered the traveller in the sleigh. I thought I should have choked at - the end when he believed they were hanging him; he just says, you know, in - a sort of gasp, ‘Take the rope off my neck!’ and then he falls back dead, - and the play ends. It felt so jolly to get out of the dark theatre into - the street, and to find the sun shining, and everything as jolly as usual, - and to know that all that dreadful misery wasn’t really true.” - </p> - <p> - “Not true?” said Sir Matthew reflectively. “H’m!” He looked with a sort of - envy at the boy’s clear innocent eyes, then he turned away; whether he - were absorbed in his own thoughts or in the observation of the dingy - crowd, it would have been hard to say. - </p> - <p> - They paused at a house in Bow Street where he had to make some inquiry, - and Ralph fell into a happy dream about his latest hero the great actor, - returning with a pang to the uncomfortable present when the hansom at - length drew up at a house in Queen Anne’s Gate. - </p> - <p> - Feeling very small and desolate he followed his guardian up the broad - steps and into the imposing entrance hall. - </p> - <p> - “Wipe your shoes,” said Sir Matthew, in his brisk authoritative tone. - </p> - <p> - Ralph obediently complied, and saw somewhat to his amusement that the same - command was printed in large black letters on the mat. - </p> - <p> - “When I have a house of my own,” he reflected, “there shall be a doormat - with SALVE on it. Then the chaps will know I’m awfully glad to see them, - and that I’m not thinking first of my carpets.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew, meantime, had been talking to a greyheaded butler; Ralph only - caught the closing remark: “And let someone show Master Denmead up to the - school-room.” - </p> - <p> - The butler looked at the small lonely boy in his black suit. “Fraulein and - Miss Evereld are out, sir,” he replied unwilling to send this sad-faced - little lad into the utter solitude of the upper regions. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, very well, then you had better come with me, Ralph,” said Sir - Matthew, and he led the way upstairs. The boy glanced nervously round as - they entered. This was not one of the homelike, comfortable, used - drawing-rooms such as he had grown to love at Westbrook Hall, but a great - saloon upholstered in the best style of a well-known firm, and as lacking - in soul and individuality as a Parisian doll. - </p> - <p> - There were several people present. Lady Mactavish a peevish-looking woman - with small suspicious blue eyes and a nervous manner, shook hands with him - and looked him over in a dissatisfied way as though mentally reflecting - what in the world she was to do with him. - </p> - <p> - “Janet,” she called turning to her elder daughter, “this is poor Mr. - Denmead’s son.” - </p> - <p> - Janet, a somewhat sharp-featured clever-looking girl of four-and-twenty, - came up and shook hands with him, but her cold light eyes beneath the - fringe of red hair, looked to him unfriendly. She just passed him on to - her younger sister who was enjoying a comfortable little flirtation at the - other side of the room with a middle-aged officer. - </p> - <p> - “This is Ralph Denmead, Minnie,” she said, returning to her former place, - and resuming the interrupted conversation with a lady caller. - </p> - <p> - Minnie, who was also redhaired, had a more friendly expression, she smiled - at him as she shook hands. - </p> - <p> - “Fraulein has taken Evereld to her French class, but they will soon be - home, and then they will look after you,” she said, motioning him to a - chair at some little distance from herself and the Major. It was a modern - imitation of an antique chair, very hard in the seat, very high from the - ground, and with rich carving all over the back which made any sort of - comfort impossible. As he sat on it with his legs uncomfortably dangling, - he saw the lady who was talking to Janet put up her long-handled - eye-glass, and inspect him critically as if he had been some strange - animal at the Zoological Gardens. However small schoolboys were not - interesting, she soon put down the eye-glass and turned to Miss Mactavish - with a question which arrested Ralph’s attention. - </p> - <p> - “By the bye, have you read ‘The Marriage of Melissa’? It is the book of - the season, you must get it my dear at once, everyone is talking of it, - and it is an open secret that Sir Algernon Wyte and Mrs. Hereward Lyne - wrote it, though of course it appeared anonymously.” - </p> - <p> - “What is it? A society novel?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and such a plot! There’s a tremendous run upon it they say, and - wherever you go you hear people discussing it.” - </p> - <p> - Then followed a graphic account of the chief characters, and the most - difficult situations; it was a plot which made the boy’s ears tingle. He - wriggled round in his chair and tried to become interested in the vapid - talk of Major Gillot and Minnie, it was doubtless very interesting to - them, but to him it seemed the most insane interchange of bantering - compliments and teasing replies that he had ever heard. Was this love - making? he wondered. If so, they did it much better in books. It was not - in this fashion that Frank Osbaldistone wooed Di Vernon, or that John Kidd - made love to Lorna Doone. - </p> - <p> - He looked wearily across to the hearthrug where Sir Matthew was shouting - unintelligible jargon about the money market into the ear of a deaf old - Scotsman; then in desperation tried to listen to Lady Mactavish’s - grumbling voice as she related her difficulties to a soothing and - sympathetic friend. - </p> - <p> - “You are always burdening yourself with other people’s affairs,” said the - purring voice of the adept in flattery. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Lady Mactavish, “you see my husband is one of those men who - inspire confidence. They all turn to him naturally. And I do assure you he - has a perfect passion for adopting children. There’s this boy to-day. - To-morrow it will be some other sad case. A little while ago it was - Evereld Ewart, poor Sir Richard Ewart’s little girl. You must see her by - and bye. Yes, we have taken her in and her nurse and her German governess. - It’s been a very great anxiety to me, a great responsibility, though I - make no complaint of the child. Still one likes to have one’s house to - oneself.” - </p> - <p> - “And dear Sir Matthew,” remarked the friend, “is fast turning it into an - orphan asylum. But there it’s just like him! so noble-minded! So ready to - give and glad to distribute!” - </p> - <p> - There came a little interlude with the tea. Ralph handed about cups and - hot scones which looked very tempting he thought. But there was no cup for - him; evidently boys of his age were not supposed to feed in the - drawing-room. He returned to the mock antique chair with its bony back and - thought wistfully of the drawing-room at Westbrook Hall, and wondered - whether Mab was at this very moment finishing that particularly good - Buzzard cake to which she had so lavishly helped him yesterday. At lunch - he had been too miserable to eat, but now he was ravenous, and to be at - once hungry and lonely and unhappy was a sensation he had never before - experienced. How was he to bear this detestable new life? How was he to - take root in this uncongenial soil? - </p> - <p> - His dismal reverie was interrupted by Lady Mactavish’s voice: “Just ring - the bell, Ralph. By this time she must surely be in.” Then as the butler - appeared, the welcome news came that Miss Evereld was at that moment on - the stairs. Orders were given that she should come in at once. - </p> - <p> - Ralph looked eagerly towards the open door, and watched the entrance of a - little girl who was apparently about a year or two younger than himself. - She was dressed in a short black frock trimmed with crape, but nothing - else about her was mournful, her nut-brown hair seemed full of golden - sunbeams, her rosy face was dimpled and smiling; she seemed neither shy - nor forward, but stood patiently listening to the remarks of Lady - Mactavish, and old Lady Mountpleasant, as long as was necessary, then - having received a warm greeting from Sir Matthew, who appeared to be - genuinely fond of her, she caught sight of Ralph and crossing the room - shook hands with him in an eager friendly way. The tide of general - conversation rolled on, but the two children stood silently looking at - each other for a minute or two. At last Evereld had a happy intuition. - </p> - <p> - “Are you not hungry?” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, starving,” said Ralph, with a pathetic glance at the scones. - </p> - <p> - “It’s no good,” said Evereld, noting the look. “We never have anything - down here, but we’ll try and slip away quietly. No one really wants us you - see. And I’ll beg Bridget to make us some hot buttered toast. She is the - dearest old thing in the world.” - </p> - <p> - “Does she live here?” said Ralph, as though he doubted whether anything - superlatively good would be found beneath Sir Matthew’s roof. - </p> - <p> - “She is my nurse,” said Evereld. “We came from India you know last - February. Her husband was a soldier but he died, and then she came to be - our servant. Look, some more callers are coming in, now is our time to - slip out.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph gladly followed the little girl as she glided dexterously from the - room, and it was with a sense of mingled triumph and relief that they - found themselves outside on the staircase. - </p> - <p> - “Fraulein Ellerbeck and I have been talking all day about your coming,” - said Evereld, as they toiled up to the top of the house. “The telegram - only came at breakfast.” - </p> - <p> - “They must all have thought it an awful bore to have me,” said Ralph, - remembering Lady Mactavish’s preference for having her house to herself. - </p> - <p> - “We schoolroom people didn’t think it a bore,” said Evereld, gaily. “You - can’t think how dull it is to have no one to play with. I could hardly do - my French this afternoon for wondering about you, and once when the master - asked me something about the difference between <i>connaître</i> and <i>savoir</i>, - I said, by mistake, ‘Ralph Denmead.’ It was dreadful! Everyone laughed.” - She laughed herself at the remembrance. “But, you see, I had been thinking - how well we should get to know each other.” - </p> - <p> - A comforting sense of comradeship crept into Ralph’s sore heart; he forgot - his troubles for a while as he looked at the merry face beside him. It was - what he would have called an “awfully jolly” little face, with soft curves - and a dainty little mouth and chin, a rounded forehead from which the hair - was unfashionably thrown back, and a pair of clear blue eyes that made him - think of speedwell blossoms. - </p> - <p> - Evereld led him in triumph to the schoolroom to introduce him to her - governess, and Miss Ellerbeck’s warm German greeting, so unlike the chilly - reception he had met with in the drawing-room, at once set him at his - ease. Bridget, too, accorded him a hearty welcome, and brought in enough - toast even to satisfy a hungry schoolboy. She was a motherly person, with - one of those rather melancholy dark faces of almost Spanish outline which - one meets with among the Mayo peasants. But not all her wanderings or her - troubles as a soldier’s wife and widow had robbed her of that delicious - quaint humour which brightens many a desolate Irish cabin, and which - brightened some parts of this great desolate London house. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER III - </h2> - <p class="indent20"> - “I do not love thee, Dr. Fell, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - The reason why I cannot tell; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - But this alone I know full well, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - I do not love thee, Dr. Fell.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>recisely why the - house seemed to him so dreary Ralph would have found it hard to say. It - did not usually strike people as anything but a model English home. - Something had, however, given the boy a clue, and already he vaguely - guessed, what no one else suspected, that there was a skeleton in the - cupboard. Little enough had fallen from his father’s lips during those - last days, yet Ralph had gathered an impression that in some way Sir - Matthew was connected with that disastrous speculation which had ruined - his father. He was far too young and ignorant to understand the matter, - and even had he been sure that Mr. Marriott knew all the facts he could - not have asked the old lawyer to explain things to him, for was not Sir - Matthew his godfather? a godfather, moreover, who had generously - undertaken to provide for him till he was grown up? He was ashamed of - himself for not being able to feel more grateful, but that vague dislike - and distrust which he had felt during their first talk at Whinhaven - Rectory, only grew stronger each hour. - </p> - <p> - When the last guest had departed, Sir Matthew was beset by eager - questions. - </p> - <p> - “Why did you adopt that horrid little schoolboy, papa?” said Janet, - reproachfully. “You are far too generous.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear, you forget; he is my godson, and I couldn’t leave him without a - helping hand. His father entrusted him to me.” - </p> - <p> - “They are all ready to sponge upon you, papa,” said Minnie. “A reputation - for generosity is a terrible thing.” - </p> - <p> - “For a man’s daughters, eh?” he said, laughingly. “Well, my dear, I don’t - want you to be troubled in the least. The boy will be going to Winchester - in September, and we shall only have him in the holidays. As for little - Evereld, we shall not be keeping her after her first season unless I’m - much mistaken.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s true she is an heiress,” said Lady Mactavish, critically, “but I - doubt if she will make a very stylish girl. And she’s far too - conscientious to get on well in society.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, well, we shall see,” said Sir Matthew, easily. “Already she has one - fervent admirer. Bruce Wylie makes himself a perfect fool about the - child.” - </p> - <p> - “He’s old enough to be her father,” said Janet. - </p> - <p> - “But she couldn’t have a better husband,” said Sir Matthew, in the voice - that meant that no more was to be said. “Nothing would give me greater - satisfaction than to see poor Ewart’s daughter safely under the protection - of a man like Wylie, before the heiress-hunters have had time to torment - her.” - </p> - <p> - “You remember that he dines with us this evening?” said Lady Mactavish. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, to be sure; let me have a list of the guests. And, my dear, remind - me that I promised Lady Mountpleasant to open the bazaar for the Decayed - Gentlefolk’s Aid Society at the Albert Hall next month.” - </p> - <p> - “We are no sooner off with one bazaar than we are on with another,” - protested Minnie. “Bazaars seem to me the curse of the age.” - </p> - <p> - “Blessings in disguise, my dear,” replied her father, with a smile. “The - days of simple humdrum giving are over, and nowadays, with great wisdom, - we kill two or more birds with one stone. To my mind, the bazaar is a most - useful institution, and I should be sorry to see it abandoned.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, you would ruin yourself with giving, if I allowed you to do it,” said - Lady Mactavish, glancing up at him with an air of pride and admiration - which for the moment made her hard face beautiful. - </p> - <p> - The words touched him, and as he left the room he stooped and kissed her - forehead. Yet, on the way down to his library, an odd sarcastic smile - played about his lips, and he thought to himself, “They have yet to learn - that, had St. Paul been a man of the world, he would have added a - postscript to his famous chapter, and said, ‘For charity is the best - policy.’” - </p> - <p> - In the meanwhile the schoolroom party were snugly ensconced in the - window-seat overlooking St. James’s Park. Ralph had been cheered by the - sight of a regiment of Horse Guards, and Miss Ellerbeck had been beguiled - into telling them stories of the Franco-Prussian War and of her brother’s - adventures during the campaign. By and bye, as the evening advanced, they - were interrupted by the appearance of old Geraghty the butler. - </p> - <p> - “Sir Matthew would like you to be in the drawing-room before dinner, Miss - Evereld,” he said, “and I was to say there was no need for the young - gentleman to come down. Maybe he’s tired after the journey,” concluded the - Irishman, adding these polite words of his own accord, for Sir Matthew had - curtly remarked, “Not Master Denmead, you understand.” - </p> - <p> - “That means that Mr. Bruce Wylie is coming!” cried Evereld, joyously. - “He’s such a nice man, and he always brings me chocolate—real French - chocolate. I never go down unless Mr. Wylie is there. You’ll like him, - Ralph; he has such nice kind eyes, and such a soft voice.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you must run and dress, my child,” said Miss Ellerbeck; “and I, - too, must be wishing you both goodnight, for I go, as you remember, with a - friend to the Richter concert. We will light the gas for you, Ralph, and - then you must, for a short time, make yourself happy with your Charles - Dickens. Evereld will soon come back to you.” - </p> - <p> - She bade him a kind good-night, and Ralph took up “The Cricket on the - Hearth” and tried to read. But it would not do; the book had ceased to - appeal to him. He threw it down, lowered the gas, and returned to the open - window, leaning his arms on the sill and looking down through the bars at - the dim road beneath, with its endless succession of cabs and carriages. - For a little while it amused him to count the red and yellow lamps as they - flitted by, but soon his sorrow overwhelmed him once more. It was the - first time he had been alone since that morning hour in the fir-grove at - Whinhaven, and now once more all the misery of his loss forced itself upon - him. He was well fed, well housed, and his immediate future was provided - for, yet, perhaps, in all London, there was not at that moment a more - desolate little fellow. To be violently plucked up by the roots and for - ever banished from that goodly heritage that had so far been his, was in - itself hard enough; but to belong to no one in particular, to be planted - down and expected to grow and thrive among loveless strangers seemed - intolerable, and no ambitious dreams of a future in India came now to his - help! He saw nothing before him but an endless vista of this same pain and - aching loss. Tomorrow would be as to-day, and all real happiness had, he - fancied, gone from him for ever. There is nothing quite so poignant as a - child’s first great grief, though mercifully, like all acute pain, it - cannot last long. - </p> - <p> - The passing lights down below had long ceased to interest him, but - presently through his tears he happened to notice the pointers and the - Pole Star, and found a sort of comfort in what had for so long been - familiar. At any rate the same sky was over Whinhaven and London, and the - motto which he could remember puzzling over in his childhood, illuminated - in one of the Rectory rooms, returned now to his mind—“Astra castra, - Numen lumen.” It was true that the stars were his canopy, but was God his - light? Had He not plunged his whole life in darkness, and set him far away - from love and help and all that could keep a boy straight? - </p> - <p> - The Westminster chimes rang out just then into the night air, startling - him back from his perplexed wondering. Ralph was not of the temperament - that is liable to doubt. He took life very simply, and it would have been - almost impossible seriously to disturb the faith into which he had grown - up; the wave of wretched questioning passed, and he knew in his heart that - just as over the great city with its debates and crimes, its sorrows and - struggles, the bells ring out their message, so heavenly voices are - ringing through the consciences of men, guiding, controlling, influencing - all. Had not his father always said it was mere miserable cowardice to - believe that darkness would triumph over light, that selfish competition - would in the end conquer? Love was to be the victor. Love was to rule. And - the great deep bell as it boomed out the hour seemed to his fancy to ring—“Love! - Love! Love!” over the restless crowd of hearers. - </p> - <p> - In the meantime, however, his heart was still aching with the loss of the - man who had been friend and companion, teacher and father in one. Surely - since God loved him He would send some one to comfort him? Some one whose - voice he could hear, whose hand he could grasp. For after all it was the - outward tokens of love and comfort that he craved, as all beings of a - threefold nature must crave them. A spiritual love could not as yet - suffice him. - </p> - <p> - Now as Ralph leant on the window-sill crying quietly, much as a soldier - slowly bleeds on a battlefield because there is no one to staunch his - wound, the schoolroom door opened. He had expected some one to be sent to - his great need, but had pictured to himself a man. He glanced round into - the dim room and started when he saw, instead, only a little white-robed - figure. - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” he thought to himself in his disappointment, “I ought to have - known. It is only Evereld come back.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it’s you,” he said, with profound dejection in his voice. - </p> - <p> - “Are you all in the dark?” said Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve been looking at the carriage lamps,” he replied, evasively. - </p> - <p> - Evereld made no comment, she knew quite well that he had been crying, and - a great shyness stole over her—a terror of not being able to reach - him, and yet a consuming desire somehow to comfort him. She remembered - that in her own grief grown-up people had always tried to soothe her with - the adjuration, “Don’t cry, darling.” She had never found any comfort in - the words, and of course they would vex a boy. Dick would have hated them. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know,” she said suddenly, “in some ways you do so remind me of - Dick.” - </p> - <p> - “Who is he?” asked Ralph, still in the dejected voice. - </p> - <p> - “Dick is my brother,” said Evereld. “He died last winter. There was an - outbreak of cholera. On the Thursday father and mother died, on the Friday - Dick and I were taken ill, and when I got better they told me he was gone. - I was the only one left.” Her voice quivered a little. She ended abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” cried Ralph, like one in pain, and instinctively he caught her hand - in his and held it fast. There was a silence. It seemed as if they did not - need words just then. - </p> - <p> - Ralph had not found the strong man of his dreams; he had found instead a - little girl with griefs greater than his own, and he felt a longing to - comfort her and care for her, and as far as possible to be to her what - Dick would have been. - </p> - <p> - “Was he older than I am?” was his first question. - </p> - <p> - “He was thirteen,” said Evereld. “His birthday was in last September—on - the 15th.” - </p> - <p> - “And I was thirteen in September, too,—on the 9th,” said Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “Only a week between you—how strange!” said Evereld. “And about - soldiers he was just like you. When you rushed to the window this - afternoon and saw all the little details about the Horse Guards’ uniforms, - that I never much noticed before, you made me think of Dick directly. He - was crazy about uniforms, and Bridget used to make them for him. We’ll get - her to make you one.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you think she would?” said Ralph, forgetting his troubles. “We could - act all sorts of things then, you know. Do you like acting?” - </p> - <p> - “I love the dressing-up part,” said Evereld, “I don’t much care about the - talking, Dick used to do most of that.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll do that part,” said Ralph blithely, for although shy and reserved - with his elders, he was never at a loss for words in a charade, and the - two instantly fell to discussing future plans, forgetting every grief and - care in the bliss of perfect companionship. - </p> - <p> - “Let us come down now,” said Evereld, presently. “Geraghty promised to - bring us whatever we liked. We’ll sit on the lowest flight of stairs, you - know, and he’ll help us as the dishes come out of the dining-room. It’s - such fun. I always do it when there’s a dinner-party.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph consented willingly enough, and found something cheering in the - general air of excitement that pervaded the house. They sat cosily on the - rich stair carpet with its soft Eastern colouring, a funny little pair, he - in his deep black, she in her white Indian muslin, watching the servants - as they hurried to and fro, and enjoying what Evereld termed “that nice - sort of late-dinner smell.” - </p> - <p> - “But it makes one awfully hungry,” said Ralph, and the good-natured - Geraghty, catching the words, murmured a comforting assurance as he passed - by, “I’m coming to you directly, sir,” and in a minute or two with a - beaming face he reappeared with two delicious oyster patties. - </p> - <p> - “How clever you are, Geraghty,” said the little girl. “You always know - just what will be nicest.” Whether Geraghty had much regard for their - powers of digestion may be doubted, but he took a rare delight in tempting - them with every delicacy, from prawns in aspic, to that curious dish - called “Angels on horseback.” Ralph was half way through a huge helping of - ice pudding when a momentary pang of doubt and reproach seized him. Ought - he to be feasting on the very day of his father’s funeral? Evereld saw the - change in his face, and helped by what she had lately lived through, was - able to read his thoughts. “Dick will be so glad that I’ve got you,” she - said, smiling, though Ralph fancied there were tears in her eyes. “I - somehow think that your father and mine will be talking together - to-night.” - </p> - <p> - And those few comfortable words were more to the boy than any number of - sermons on the resurrection; all his vague beliefs were freshened into - living parts of his everyday existence, and for the first time he knew for - himself what had been to him hitherto merely things that others told him. - </p> - <p> - A sudden lull in the roar of voices from the dining-room now took place, - after which the Babel of many tongues rose once more. “They are just - beginning dessert,” said Evereld. “That was grace, and in a few minutes - the ladies will be coming upstairs. I think we had better go to bed now.” - </p> - <p> - So they parted, after having arranged that in the walking hour on the next - morning, they would go together and sail Ralph’s little schooner in St. - James’ Park. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IV - </h2> - <p class="indent5"> - “Of my grief (guess the length of the sword by the sheath’s); - </p> - <p class="indent5"> - By the silence of life, more pathetic than death’s! - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Go—be clear of that day.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - E. Barrett Browning. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he Park seemed - dull and well-nigh deserted when, at about ten o’clock on the following - day, Fraulein Ellerbeck and the two children made their way to the water’s - edge. Fraulein said she would establish herself on a seat in a sheltered - nook not far off, and the children carried her book and her knitting-bag - for her, chatting as they walked. Pacing slowly towards them was a figure - which somehow arrested their attention. - </p> - <p> - “Why,” said Evereld, lowering her voice, “it is surely the man we saw as - <i>Benedick</i>, last March, Fraulein. It’s Hugh Macneillie, the actor.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph looked curiously and with great interest at a member of the - profession which had such charms for him. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie was a man of about seven and thirty, with chestnut-brown hair, - strongly marked features, and a muscular, well-knit figure. About his - clean-shaven face there was an air of profound gravity which surprised - Ralph, who could not conceive how a man capable of acting <i>Benedick</i>, - and noted for his subtle sense of humour, could wear such an anxious and - melancholy expression. He glanced at them with dreamy, absent eyes and - paced slowly by. - </p> - <p> - Yet the little group had not been altogether lost on Hugh Macneillie in - spite of the unseeing look in his eyes. He had carried away a curiously - vivid impression of the two children, their black garments and their fresh - young faces. He gave an impatient sigh, and paced on with quicker steps, - yet turned again to walk by the side of the water, every now and then - glancing at his watch with an air of vexation. He had been waiting there - for a good hour, and he was in a mood which made waiting specially - irksome. - </p> - <p> - “I will give her till half past ten,” he thought to himself, and walked - doggedly on, his face growing more and more haggard as the time passed by. - At last the Westminster chimes rang out the half hour; he mechanically - took out his watch again to verify the time, and setting his teeth hard - turned to go. - </p> - <p> - At that moment there suddenly appeared, walking towards him, a very - beautiful woman. It was difficult to say precisely in what her great charm - lay. Her every movement was full of grace, and although she was dressed - with scrupulous quietness—indeed with a simplicity that was almost - severe,—no one could have passed her by without a lingering glance. - Her complexion was pale but very fair, her hair was like spun gold, - contrasting curiously with the brown, deep-set eyes; and though the mouth - was a little too wide and betrayed a not ever strong character, both face - and manner were full of that indescribable fascination which carries all - before it. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie, though he met her in the company of other people every day of - his life, though he had known her for at least ten years, went to meet her - now with his heart throbbing painfully. She gave him a charming little - greeting, and apologised prettily for being so unpunctual. - </p> - <p> - “It is Elizabeth’s fault,” she said, glancing at the maid who accompanied - her. “She allowed me to oversleep myself. You can wait for me on that - bench Elizabeth, I shall not be long.” - </p> - <p> - The maid walked back to the seat where Fraulein Ellerbeck sat with her - knitting, and Macneillie, who had scarcely spoken a word as yet, broke the - silence as they paced on together. “I had almost given you up,” he said, a - world of repressed impatience in his tone. - </p> - <p> - “That’s the wisest thing I ever heard you say, Hugh,” she replied lightly, - though with a secret effort. “But you must go further. It must be not only - almost, but altogether.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t let us talk in parables,” said Macneillie, passionately. “You can’t - compare an hour’s waiting in a park with ten years waiting through the - best part of a man’s life.” - </p> - <p> - A look of pain flashed across her face: there was remorse and tenderness - in her voice as she replied. But there was not the love he had once heard - there, and he knew it well enough. - </p> - <p> - “Poor Hugh!” she said, “I have treated you very badly. But how am I to - help myself. We have waited for each other, as you say, these ten years, - but you know well enough that my father and mother will never consent. - They have made up their minds that I shall make a very different - marriage.” - </p> - <p> - “In other words,” said Macneillie between his teeth, “they have made up - their minds to sell you to the highest bidder.” - </p> - <p> - “No, no, you are so exaggerated, Hugh. Every one can’t look at the matter - as you with your religious education in the Highlands look at it. Marriage - is, after all, an arrangement affecting many people and interests. We are - not living in a romance but in the prosaic nineteenth century. And I must - not just please myself. I must think of what will best help on my career; - my first duty is undoubtedly to help and to please my parents who have - done so much for me.” - </p> - <p> - “You didn’t think so ten years ago,” said Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - “Ten years ago I was a foolish girl of seventeen. You had been very good - to me when the year before I had been taken straight from school and set - down alone and friendless in a travelling company. It was natural enough - that I should love you then, Hugh—you who shielded me and helped - me.” - </p> - <p> - “But later on,” said Macneillie, clenching his hands, “when you no longer - were lonely and friendless, when fame had come to you and all the world - was at your feet, you very naturally needed me no longer, and your love - died. Mine was never that sort of love—it will always live.” - </p> - <p> - Christine Greville looked down with troubled face. Ambition and the - importunities of her parents had for the time stifled her love. She felt - cold and hard. His passionate constancy annoyed her. “I wish,” she said - plaintively, “you would not speak like that, Hugh. I hate to think that I - have pained you, or spoiled your life; but what am I to do? What am I to - do?” - </p> - <p> - He turned to her eagerly. - </p> - <p> - “Be true to your best self, Christine. Trust the man who loved you long - before this Sir Roderick Fenchurch had ever seen you. I’m not blind! I can - see the advantages you might gain by marrying him! You would be very rich. - You could have your own theatre, you would leap at once to a much higher - position. But do you dream that such a marriage would be happy? Why, you - have hardly a taste in common, and he is old enough to be your father.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, as to happiness,” she said, impatiently, “I have long ceased to - expect that. Don’t think me brutal if I speak plainly. I have had your - love all these years, and it has not made me really happy. And if I - married you, Hugh, I should not be happy at all. You are much too good for - me, your standard of life is far too high. You would not be able to draw - me up, and I should be always longing to drag you down to my level. It - would be a life of perpetual strain and tension.” - </p> - <p> - “No, no,” he cried passionately, and as he spoke he caught her hand in his - as though he felt that she was slipping from him. “Together, darling, we - should be happy, we should be strong to work for art’s sake and for - truth’s sake—strong to fight all that is evil.” - </p> - <p> - They had paused, and were standing now beside the railing that fenced off - the grass and bushes, and within a stone’s throw of Ralph and Evereld; - half unconsciously Macneillie watched the progress of the toy boat as the - soft summer wind filled its white sails. At a little distance the ducks - swam about the wooded island, and in the golden haze Queen Anne’s Mansions - loomed up impressively like some great fortress. - </p> - <p> - “But I don’t want to toil and to struggle like that,” said his companion, - petulantly. “Every word you say only proves to me how far we have drifted - apart, Hugh. You have a sort of ideal of me in your mind not in the least - like the true Christine. I tell you I am tired of all your ideals and aims - and dreams of raising the drama. That is not what I care for. I care for - success and applause—yes I do, don’t interrupt me. I care for them, - and I must have them. And I want a better position, and I want much, much - more money. I want other things, too, which you can never give me. You’ll - never be a rich man, Hugh, it’s somehow not in you; you’ll never push your - way to the very front of the profession. But I must do that, nothing but - the very first place will satisfy me. I have ten times your ambition.” - </p> - <p> - “By that sin fell the angels,” said Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t quote Shakspere, we have enough of him every evening,” she said, - forcing a laugh. “And for me, I am not an angel as you very well know. - Come, let us make an end of this useless talk. My father is at this moment - discussing settlements with Sir Roderick, and in a day or two all the - world will know that the marriage is arranged.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie’s lips moved but no words would come—he breathed hard. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t look like that, Hugh,” she exclaimed. “We shall often see each - other; we shall be the best of friends; and when I have my own theatre, - why you shall be the first to find a place in the company.” - </p> - <p> - A look of hot anger flashed across Macneillie’s haggard face. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think I would accept such a post?” he said, indignantly. “For what - do you take me?” Then, his tone softening to tender reproach, “You don’t - understand a man’s love—you don’t understand!” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps I don’t understand it,” she said, looking rather nettled; “but I - have met plenty of men who were dying for love of me one month and raving - about some one else the next. There, I must go home. Talking only makes - matters worse. Go and take a good walk, Hugh, or you will act abominably - to-night. <i>Au revoir!</i>” - </p> - <p> - She beckoned to her maid and turned away abruptly, anxious to put an end - to an interview which had been trying to both of them. Her face was grave - and down-cast as she walked, and more than once she sighed heavily. She - had never been formally betrothed to Macneillie, but there had been a - private engagement between them, and she had spoken quite truly when she - said that his care during her girlhood had shielded her from many perils. - Her love for him had been very real; she had struggled long against the - opposition of her parents, but at last her strength had failed, and little - by little she had yielded to the influence which by degrees had paralysed - her powers of loving. - </p> - <p> - “Poor Hugh,” she thought to herself, remorsefully. “He is terribly cut up. - But I was never good enough for him. Sir Roderick and the low level will - suit me much better.” - </p> - <p> - After he was left alone, Macneillie did not move for some minutes. He just - leant on the iron fence with clenched hands and set face, despair in his - heart. The voices of the two children to the right fell on his ear, - mingling strangely with his miserable thoughts. - </p> - <p> - “I shall lose her! I shall lose her!” cried the boy in a tragic voice. - </p> - <p> - “How came you to let go of the string?” asked his small companion. - </p> - <p> - “I had forgotten all about it; I was thinking of those people. Hurrah! the - wind is shifting; she is coming nearer. I do believe I could reach her - with my stick.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie watched the boy’s strenuous efforts to recapture the tiny - craft, which seemed almost within his reach, yet somehow always eluded - him. Suddenly, at the very moment when his stick had touched the boat, he - lost his balance and fell headlong over the low foot-rail into the water. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie had hurried to the rescue before Evereld’s cry of terror had - reached Fraulein Ellerbeck. He lifted out the dripping boy and laid him on - the path, and Ralph, recovering from the shock and rubbing his wet - eyelashes, looked up to find a grave face bending over him and to meet the - inquiry of the kindest blue-grey eyes he had ever seen. - </p> - <p> - “None the worse for your bath, I hope?” said Macneillie, smiling a little. - </p> - <p> - “No, thank you,” said Ralph, struggling to his feet and looking very much - like Johnnie Head-in-air when “with hooks the two strong men hooked poor - Johnnie out again.” - </p> - <p> - “It was awfully good of you to help me,” he added, gratefully. - </p> - <p> - “And now let us rescue the boat,” said Macneillie, winning golden opinions - from the children by the real pains he took to capture the <i>Rob Roy</i>, - and the same from Fraulein Ellerbeck by his courteous farewell. - </p> - <p> - “So few Englishmen,” she remarked, “know how to bow. You must take a - lesson from him, Ralph.” - </p> - <p> - “And, oh, Fraulein,” said Evereld, as they walked briskly home, that Ralph - might change his clothes, “did you see what a long time Miss Christine - Greville stayed talking to him? And part of the time they were quite close - to us, and we heard her say that soon every one would know she was to be - married—I think, to some very rich man—and she would have a - theatre of her own, and Mr. Macneillie should act there.” - </p> - <p> - “You should not have listened, my dears,” said Fraulein Ellerbeck, - uneasily. - </p> - <p> - “But, indeed, Fraulein, we couldn’t help it; her voice was so very, very - clear, it reached us every word just like raindrops pattering on leaves.” - </p> - <p> - “And so did his voice too,” said Ralph. “He seemed quite angry when she - said that. He said he would never accept such a post, and that she didn’t - a bit understand how he loved her.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, well,” said Fraulein, “let us say no more about it now; and be sure - you never repeat what you accidentally overheard. It may be a secret from - people in general, and it would be more honourable if you treated it as a - secret.” - </p> - <p> - The children promised that they would do so, but, like the celebrated - parrot, though they said nothing, they thought the more, and Macneillie - became their great hero. Through him they had both received their first - glimpse into the unknown region where men and women loved and suffered; - and, since they both were missing the familiar home life and the close - companionship of parents, they seized eagerly on this new outlet for - certain feelings of reverence and hero-worship which they both possessed. - </p> - <p> - Could the actor have known what sympathy and devotion these two felt for - him, or how real was their childish love and admiration, he would have - felt, even at that bitter time in his life, a touch of amused gratitude - and wonder. Wholly unknown to himself he was filling the minds of two - somewhat desolate little mortals, brightening their tedious days, and - drawing them out of themselves and their own troubles. - </p> - <p> - Often, in after years, they would laugh to think what pleasure they had - found in running downstairs before the breakfast gong had sounded, that - they might get possession of the <i>Times</i> and see the announcement of - “Hamlet,” in which Macneillie was appearing. And one morning it chanced - that their two smiling faces were still bent over the paper when Sir - Matthew came into the room. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” he said, kindly, “what good news have you found?” - </p> - <p> - For once Ralph forgot the shy stiffness of manner which usually crept over - him at his guardian’s approach. - </p> - <p> - “Oh,” he said, in an eager boyish way, “We were just looking at the cast - for ‘Hamlet.’” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure. I had quite forgotten that you were stage-struck, and that I - had promised you to go to see Washington. You must get Fraulein Ellerbeck - to take you some day.” - </p> - <p> - “We would much rather see Macneillie,” said Evereld, “for it was - Macneillie, you know, who helped Ralph out when he tumbled into the - water.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” said Sir Matthew, “then do that instead. Fraulein Ellerbeck, - will you take tickets for them?—and the sooner the better, for I - hear there has been a great run on the seats there since the announcement - of Miss Greville’s marriage. She’s to marry Sir Roderick Fenchurch at the - end of the season.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph and Evereld having poured forth delighted thanks, discreetly kept - silence when the conversation turned on Miss Greville’s betrothal. - </p> - <p> - “They say, you know,” said Janet, “that it is a great surprise to every - one, and that it was always supposed she would marry Macneillie.” - </p> - <p> - And in response to this every one had something to say about the - probability or the improbability of such a story, save the two children - who, with a proud pleasure in feeling that Macneillie’s secret was safe in - their keeping, went on eating bacon with the most absolute control of - countenance. - </p> - <p> - When the eagerly awaited day at length arrived and the two - hero-worshippers were sitting in bliss at the theatre, they found some - difficulty at first in recognising Macneillie. He was just the Danish - prince and no one else. It was only when both hero and heroine were called - before the curtain, that they could at all think of him as the same man - they had seen a few weeks before in St. James’ Park. - </p> - <p> - As he led forward Miss Greville the contrast between them was curiously - marked. She, with her smiling face, her air of perfect ease and content, - seemed thoroughly to enjoy the warm reception. He, on the other hand, - merely bowed mechanically, and looked as if this interlude were highly - distasteful to him; the children could have fancied that he was positively - nervous, though they doubted whether an experienced actor could really - know what nervousness meant. - </p> - <p> - After that call before the curtain they lost the sense that <i>Hamlet</i> - himself was actually present; always through the passionate scenes and the - tragic death which followed, it was not entirely <i>Hamlet</i>, but - Macneillie with his own personal troubles that they saw; they wondered - much how he could get through his part, and more and more after that day - his name continually recurred in their talk, in their games, and even in - their prayers. - </p> - <p> - Just at the close of the season they saw him once again. Fraulein - Ellerbeck had promised that on the first fine Saturday they should go to - Richmond Park, taking their lunch with them. They had learnt from the - conversation of their elders at the breakfast table that it was the very - day on which Miss Christine Greville was to marry Sir Roderick Fenchurch. - The marriage was to take place at a small country church, and was to be of - a strictly private character. They had talked of it more than once as they - sat at lunch under the trees in the park, and early in the afternoon as - they wandered along the quiet paths and watched the deer grazing - peacefully, their minds were full of their hero and his trouble. Suddenly - Evereld gripped hold of her companion’s arm. - </p> - <p> - “Look!” she exclaimed in a low voice. “Is it not Mr. Macneillie?” - </p> - <p> - Ralph’s heart beat fast as he glanced at the approaching figure. Had their - incessant thought of him conjured up a sort of vision of the actor? Or was - it indeed himself? Nearer approach answered the question plainly enough. - It was undoubtedly Macneillie, but there was something in his ghastly face - which struck terror into the boy’s heart, it reminded him of that awful - shadow of death which he had seen stealing over his father on that last - never-to-be-forgotten day. Apparently quite unconscious of their presence, - Macneillie passed by, but in a minute Ralph, to the amazement of Fraulein - Ellerbeck and Evereld, had rushed back and overtaken him. - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon,” he said, panting a little; “but I am the boy you - saved the other day in St. James’ Park. And—and please will you take - this knife as a remembrance.” - </p> - <p> - He thrust into Macneillie’s hand a little old-fashioned silver fruit knife - which had belonged to his father. - </p> - <p> - The actor evidently dragged himself back with an effort to the world of - realities. He looked in a puzzled way at the boy and at the embossed - handle of the knife. - </p> - <p> - “You are very good,” he said in a perplexed tone. “Yes, yes, I remember - you now—you and your boat. But I don’t like to take your knife away - from you.” - </p> - <p> - “But, indeed, I never use it; I always eat peel and all,” said Ralph with - an earnestness which brought a smile to Macneillie’s face. “We went to see - you as <i>Hamlet</i>, and you were splendid! Please take it. You don’t - know how awfully I like you.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie’s eyes gave him a kindly glance and his cold fingers closed - over the boy’s small hot hand in a hearty grip. - </p> - <p> - “Then I will certainly use it,” he said. “It shall travel in my pocket for - the rest of my life. But only on condition that you take this. Don’t get - into mischief with it.” - </p> - <p> - And with a smile he put into his hand a clasp-knife, and while Ralph was - still lost in admiration of the longest and sharpest blade he had ever - seen, Macneillie passed rapidly on and disappeared among the trees. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Ralph, how delightful!” cried Evereld, as the boy rejoined them. - </p> - <p> - “How could you be so brave as to go up and speak to him?” - </p> - <p> - “I’m awfully glad he took the fruit knife,” said Ralph. “But I wish he - hadn’t given me this. It’s such a beauty and I had done nothing for him.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you had,” said Fraulein Ellerbeck, thoughtfully. “The unseen and - unrealised help is often the most real help of all.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER V - </h2> - <p> - “<i>The recognition of his rights therefore, the justice he requires of - our hands or our thoughts, is the recognition of that which the person, in - his inmost nature, really is; and as sympathy alone can discover that - which really is in matters of feeling and thought, true justice is in its - essence a finer knowledge through love.</i>” - </p> - <p> - “<i>Appreciations,</i>” Walter Pater. - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ix years after - that memorable August day, Ralph and Evereld might have been seen on the - tennis ground attached to the pretty house near Redvale, which Sir Matthew - was pleased to call his “little country cottage.” - </p> - <p> - It was decidedly one of those cottages of gentility which once caused the - devil to grin. But in spite of that it was a very charming place. Its - windows commanded an exquisite view over the hills and woods of one of the - southern counties, and its gardens were the admiration of the whole - neighbourhood. The tennis-lawn lay to the left of the house in a cosy nook - of its own, and there was no one to see the vigorous game which the two - were playing. This was a pity, for the play was skilful and dainty to - watch, and the players themselves were worth looking at. - </p> - <p> - Ralph, who had been a remarkably small boy, was never likely, as Geraghty - expressed it, to be “six foot long and broad,” but he had developed into a - well-proportioned, healthy-looking fellow, and still retained his open, - boyish face, expressive brown eyes, and thick, wavy brown hair. Evereld - was even less changed, she was still very small and young for her age; and - although she was fast approaching her eighteenth birthday she wore the - sort of nondescript dress which girls often wear during their last year in - the schoolroom, her skirt revealing a pair of pretty ankles, and her hair - still hanging down her back. - </p> - <p> - The contest was an exciting one, but it ended in a victory for Ralph, - whose greater strength usually conquered. - </p> - <p> - “I am heavily handicapped,” said Evereld, throwing up her racket with a - laugh. “We’ll borrow the vicar’s cassock and the Lord Chancellor’s wig and - you shall play a set in them and see if I don’t beat you then!” - </p> - <p> - “Come and rest,” said Ralph, strolling towards the little shady arbour at - the side of the lawn. “The sun is grilling.” - </p> - <p> - “You would find it worse if you had all this weight to endure,” said - Evereld, shaking back the cloud of nut-brown hair which hung over her - shoulders. “I shall take to plaiting it up, then at least one would be - cool.” - </p> - <p> - “No, don’t!” protested Ralph. “You’ll never look half as nice afterwards. - And besides, when girls do up their hair they always leave off being - natural and get grown-up and horrid, and can’t talk sense to a fellow.” - </p> - <p> - “My hair has nothing to do with being natural,” said Evereld, fanning - herself with a big fern. “How could I help being natural with you, when we - have been together all this long time? How I do wish I were a boy and - might have gone in for the Indian Civil, too. By-the-by, Ralph, is that - to-day’s paper? Is there any news about your exam?” - </p> - <p> - “They sent the wrong paper,” said Ralph taking it up. “See, it’s last - night’s <i>Evening Standard</i> instead of this morning’s; they have been - taking a nap down at the bookstall. I wonder if there really is anything - in at last. It seems hard lines to keep us on tenterhooks from the 1st - June till August.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t believe you have worried about it. Your head was full of those - private theatricals the moment the exam. was over. How well they went off! - I never saw Sir Matthew so nice to you. He really did for once appreciate - you.” - </p> - <p> - “That was because other people praised me” said Ralph. “He would never - have said one word of his own accord. You’ll never find him committing - himself before he knows whether he will be swimming with the stream.” - </p> - <p> - “Ralph, do you know I think you are growing rather hard. I hate to hear - you say things like that about Sir Matthew. If Fraulein were here she - would have a hundred instances of his kindness to tell us.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes she would,” owned Ralph. “She has been our good angel all these - years. Worse luck to that old professor who married her and left us to - ourselves. Why, Evereld, just look at it in that way. What should you and - I have been like if all this time we had only had the sort of indifferent - cold charity which the Mactavishes have given us? Oh, I know there has - been money spent on me: do you think I have ever been allowed to forget - that for a moment? But Sir Matthew spoils with one hand the good he does - with the other. Thank heaven, I shall soon be on my own hook. I wonder - what life out in India will be like—and what the chances of getting - any cricket are?” - </p> - <p> - Evereld fell to talking of happy reminiscences of Simla, and they were - planning all manner of impossible arrangements for the future, in which - they fondly imagined their present brotherly and sisterly relations would - be maintained, when Bridget suddenly appeared upon the scene. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Evereld,” she exclaimed, “you’d best be coming in to change your - frock, my dear. Sir Matthew has come down without any warning from London. - He’s in the library, Mr. Ralph and they did tell me he was askin’ for you. - Geraghty he just passed me the word that he thought Sir Matthew was - troubled in his mind about some little matter.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph flushed. - </p> - <p> - “You see now,” he exclaimed, turning to Evereld, “if I haven’t gone and - failed in that wretched exam! What on earth shall I do if I have?” - </p> - <p> - “Why, you will go in for it again next year,” said Evereld - philosophically. “But who says you have failed? It may be nothing to do - with the exam. Besides, you know that your coach and Professor Rosenwald - and Fraulein—I mean Frau Rosenwald—all thought you were safe - to pass.” - </p> - <p> - “I know I had worked hard,” said Ralph. “Well, let me go and hear the - worst at once.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t despair so soon. As for me, I believe you have passed, and that it - is only some business matter that’s worrying Sir Matthew. Good luck to - you. Don’t stay long in the library. I shall be dressed in ten minutes.” - </p> - <p> - She waved her hand gaily and ran upstairs, while Ralph, with a great dread - hanging over him, went to the library. - </p> - <p> - With other people he was invariably cheerful and talkative, but with Sir - Matthew he was never his best self. To begin with, he was always ill at - ease, and by a sort of fate he seemed destined to say and do exactly what - would annoy his patron. If he was silent, Sir Matthew was in the habit of - rating him for his dulness. If he laughed and talked, he was ordered not - to make so much noise. If he hazarded an opinion he was sure to meet with - a snub, and at all times and seasons he was hedged in by significant - reminders that he was eating the bread of charity. It was well for him - that he had seen comparatively little of the Mactavishes, thanks to his - life at Winchester and to his friendship with Evereld and her governess; - but he had seen enough to do him considerable harm and to plant seeds of - pride, and hardness, and distrust of humanity in his heart. - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew was sitting at his bureau. He glanced up as the door opened, - bestowed a curt nod upon Ralph and went on writing in silence. - </p> - <p> - “They told me you were inquiring for me,” said Ralph nervously, noting at - once the storm signals in Sir Matthew’s face. - </p> - <p> - “I did send for you,” said the master of the house grimly, as he signed - his name with two flourishing M’s, and methodically folded, directed and - stamped his dispatch. - </p> - <p> - Ralph, horribly chafed by the manner of his reception and by the suspense, - turned to the window and took up a newspaper which was lying near it. - </p> - <p> - “Put that down,” thundered Sir Matthew, as though he had been ordering a - child of four years old. - </p> - <p> - “Sir?” said Ralph, in angry astonishment. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think I don’t understand your game,” said Sir Matthew. “You are - pretending to look for news of your examination when all the time you - perfectly well know that you have failed.” - </p> - <p> - “Failed!” cried Ralph turning pale, and realising how little he had - believed in failure when he had talked of the possibility with Evereld. - “Who says I have failed? Where are the lists?” - </p> - <p> - He snatched at the paper again, neither heeding Sir Matthew’s orders nor - his scoffing laugh. Here was the list of the successful candidates, and - with eager eyes he looked down it. The name of Denmead was not there. - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew silently watched his expression of bewildered despair, but - though it would have appealed to some men it did not appeal to him. - </p> - <p> - “Now that the newspaper corroborates what I told you, perhaps you believe - my word,” he said sarcastically. - </p> - <p> - “I beg your pardon,” said Ralph, “I did - not mean to doubt you—but the shock———” - </p> - <p> - “Now my good fellow, you may as well be silent, the less said about a - shock the better; you know perfectly well that you never deserved to pass - that examination. You had idled away your time over cricket and - theatricals, and now you have to face the consequences.” - </p> - <p> - “You are the first person to say that,” said Ralph, resentfully. “They all - told me I had an excellent chance and was well prepared.” - </p> - <p> - “The examiners, however, thought differently,” said Sir Matthew; “your - work was miserable. I have this very day been making special inquiries - into the matter, that I may not judge you unfairly. You have not only - failed, but failed ignominiously. Don’t fidget about while I am talking to - you; sit down and listen to me for I have much to say.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph forced himself to obey in silence. - </p> - <p> - “I am perfectly well aware,” resumed Sir Matthew, “that nowadays young men - think nothing of failing, that they go in for an examination time after - time with light hearts while their unfortunate fathers have to pay the - piper. You were not in a position to behave in that fashion. And you would - have shown, I think, a finer sense of honour if you had worked well.” - </p> - <p> - “I did work,” said Ralph emphatically. “If you———” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew raised his long hand and waved it downwards in a silencing - manner that was peculiarly his own. - </p> - <p> - “I say nothing,” he continued, in his cool, measured tone, “as to what I - might have expected after the large sum I have thrown away on your - schooling at Winchester; I say nothing as to the three months in Germany - and the special coach I provided for you; I say nothing of the manner in - which I took you at once into my own house when there was no one to stand - by you; I say nothing as to the fatherly care I have bestowed on you all - these——” - </p> - <p> - He broke off abruptly, for Ralph, with the look of one goaded past - bearing, had sprung to his feet. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he cried passionately, “at least that word you shall not use: there - was never anything fatherly about you. All those other things that you - cast in my teeth though you say you won’t mention them—they are true - enough, and I have tried to be grateful—I—” he half choked in - the desperate struggle between his pride and a certain sense of courtesy - which still clung to him—“I will try always to be grateful.” He - strode across the room to the window, panting for air. A chuckle escaped - Sir Matthew. - </p> - <p> - “You were always a good hand at acting,” he remarked, “but I shall be - obliged if you will come down from your high horse and remember that I am - talking about a business arrangement. Don’t waste my time, but listen to - what I have to say to you.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph paced back again to the hearthrug and stood there, looking steadily - down at his patron. It somehow seemed as if in those few moments he had - passed from boyhood altogether, even Sir Matthew noted the change in his - look and bearing. “The only thing,” he resumed, “in which I ever saw you - really exert yourself was in that play at the end of the season. I quite - admit that you learnt the part of <i>Charles Surface</i> at very short - notice and that you acted it far better than any amateur I ever had the - pain of watching. But to play a part in ‘The School for Scandal’ is one - thing, and to be fit to play your part in life is another. You will never, - I am convinced, be sharp enough for the Indian Civil Service, I shall not - permit you to go in again for it next year. I have already wasted too much - upon you and shall not throw good money after bad. That’s always a - mistake.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph could not calmly stand by and hear his whole future overturned - without a word; he broke in eagerly, perhaps rashly. “Yet many have - failed the first time and afterwards turned out well,” he pleaded. “The - standard of age, too, is likely to be raised they say. I would work my - hardest. If you will let me try again——” But once more Sir - Matthew gave that expressive downward wave of the hand. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said peremptorily, “You have had your chance and lost it. Still, - I am loth to turn my back altogether on an old friend’s son, and for my - own satisfaction I offer you one more opportunity. I will make a parson of - you. Do you remember that snug little vicarage up in the north of England - where last year we went to call on a Mr. Crosbie? Years ago the - Mactavishes owned the living; it had been in the family for generations. - My father at a time when he was pressed for money sold it to old Crosbie. - I have long wished to have the property again, and only to-day Crosbie - happened to be in town and I got him to promise me that if I bought the - living he would undertake to retire in four years. You had better not tell - it in Gath, for of course the promise to retire is a strictly private - matter, but for the rest it’s all legal enough. Next month you will be - twenty. In four years you could be ordained priest, and I will undertake - to see you through your training and to put you into this living. It’s - three hundred and a house; you could be happy enough up there, and for - your father’s sake I am willing to do as much as that for you.” - </p> - <p> - There was something so artificial in those last words that Ralph, whose - anger had been rising every moment, now broke forth indignantly. - </p> - <p> - “Is it for his sake that you put before me a temptation of this sort? You - surely know—you must know—that my father would never have - accepted a living obtained in that way. Had you offered it him, and had it - been worth ten times the money, he would not have touched it with a pair - of tongs. Why, the thing is rank simony!” - </p> - <p> - “You receive offers of help in a somewhat curious fashion, young man,” - said Sir Matthew with a sneer. “But in spite of that I still think you are - very well cut out for a parson. Your dramatic instincts and your good - voice would fit you well enough for the Church, and you are already able, - I perceive, to preach to your elders and betters.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph winced at the sarcasm, but he caught hold of the weak point in his - opponent’s argument. - </p> - <p> - “No,” he said, emphatically, “I am not fit for the work of a clergyman. - The only thing that can fit a man for that is a distinct call from God. - You are tempting me to go in for the loaves and fishes, and you dare to - say that you do this for my father’s sake—my father, who would have - starved first!” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps he would,” said Sir Matthew coldly. “He was, as all his friends - knew, an unpractical fool. You needn’t look as if you could kill me. He - had excellent abilities but no power of pushing his way, and he left you a - beggar in consequence, proving, according to scripture, that as he had - neglected to secure future provision for his family he had denied the - faith and was worse than an infidel. Now, to return to business; are you - going to accept this offer of mine, or do you intend to be a pig-headed - idiot, and affect to be calling a mere matter of business simony?” - </p> - <p> - Ralph’s eyes lighted up. - </p> - <p> - “I mean,” he said quietly, “to be true to my father’s ideals.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew broke into a discordant laugh. - </p> - <p> - “Did his precious ideals feed you and clothe you and send you to - Winchester? Don’t you know by his own confession that he had mismanaged - his affairs?” - </p> - <p> - “I know,” said Ralph indignantly, “that, whatever his faults, he was at - least an honest man.” - </p> - <p> - He had meant no insinuation whatever, but the words galled his companion - terribly. Sir Matthew rose to his feet in a towering passion. - </p> - <p> - “You impertinent, ungrateful fellow, do you dare to insult me in my own - house? Go, sir, get out of my sight! I have had enough of you. Let us see - now how your ideals will support you! Leave my house and never set foot in - it again!” - </p> - <p> - Ralph, too angry and sore to realise all that the words meant, turned - without a word and left the library. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VI - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “The grace of friendship—mind and heart, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Linked with their fellow heart and mind; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The gains of science, gifts of art; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The sense of oneness with our kind; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The thirst to know and understand— - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - A large and liberal discontent: - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - These are the goods in life’s rich hand, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The things that are more excellent.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - William Watson. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he moment the door - had closed behind the boy Sir Matthew’s anger cooled. For the time it had - been genuine, for quite unintentionally Ralph had used words which stung - him as no others could have done. There were two things in the world that - the company promoter sincerely cared about—successful speculation, - and his reputation as a philanthropist. His adoption of Ralph had been - almost entirely a speculation, one of the specious bits of kindness which - he had intended to redound to his own honour and glory. Having once - undertaken the lad’s education he could not for his own credit’s sake turn - back, but from the very first he had shrewdly guessed that it would prove - a bad investment, and Ralph had been a thorn in his side. To begin with, - the boy was in face curiously like his father, and Sir Matthew had some - lingering remains of affection for his old friend, even though in his - heart he despised him for not being more of a man of the world. He had not - lived the life of a company promoter without having grown perfectly - callous to the sufferings of his victims, but yet the conscience that was - not dead but dormant within him had been faintly stirred at Whinhaven when - he realised that the Rector’s ruin had been his work. Partly to salve his - conscience, but chiefly because the world would applaud the action, he had - adopted Ralph. The boy, however, had not taken kindly to the part assigned - him. He never showed off well before visitors, never learnt to pose as a - grateful recipient of unmerited kindness. On the contrary, Sir Matthew - always had an uncomfortable feeling that Ralph saw through him, and knew - him to be a humbug. As a matter of fact, the taunting allusions he had - just made to Mr. Denmead’s mistakes and errors of judgment had driven his - hearer far from all recollection of Sir Matthew’s actions or character; - Ralph had thought only of that inward picture stamped indelibly upon his - brain of the high-minded and scrupulously honourable father, who somehow - seemed to him more of a living reality as he spoke than the angry, - self-important patron confronting him. - </p> - <p> - “He was at least an honest man!” The words had intended no reflection on - Sir Matthew, but they had gone straight to the company promoter’s one - vulnerable spot, and for the moment had sharply pained him. Incensed at - the perception that this fellow might hurt his jealously guarded - reputation,—that reputation for benevolence which was part of his - stock-in-trade, he had burst forth into angry denunciation, and in one - indignant sentence had severed all connection between them. - </p> - <p> - He took out a memorandum book now, and made an entry in it with much - deliberation, then sat for some time wrapped in thought, gnawing absently - at his pencil case, a trick which he had acquired, and of which the dinted - surface of the silver bore tokens. - </p> - <p> - “One may trust a Denmead to be honourable,” he reflected with a curious - sense of satisfaction. “The boy will never mention that little private - arrangement as to Crosbie’s retiring in four years. I have bought the - living and now the question is how can I use it best to further my own - ends? After all, it’s just as well that this fool has refused it. I can - use it as a bait for some one else, and I’m quit of Ralph for ever. Though - the boy is so like his father in face there’s much more go in him than - there ever was in poor Denmead. He has a bit of the sturdy pluck and - energy of his little Welsh mother. Pshaw! I needn’t trouble about him. - He’s the sort that will swim and not sink, and a little course of - starvation will bring him down from his impossible heights and teach him - that he must do as other men do.” - </p> - <p> - With that he rose and left the library in search of his wife, and having - chatted pleasantly enough with her at afternoon tea, he casually alluded - to Ralph’s departure. - </p> - <p> - “What!” said Lady Mactavish, “Is he going out to India, do you mean.” - </p> - <p> - “Not that I know of,” said Sir Matthew with a laugh. - “He has failed ignominiously in his examination, and has been most - insufferably impertinent to me. I have given him his <i>congé</i>, and he - will trouble us no more.” - </p> - <p> - “The ungrateful boy!” said Lady Mactavish indignantly, “after all that you - have done for him too.” - </p> - <p> - “He has behaved very badly,” said Sir Matthew; “and I think, my dear, we - are well quit of him. I shall not see him again, but you had better just - say good-bye to him, and by-the-by, I think you might give him a couple of - five-pound notes; I should be sorry to launch him into the world without a - penny in his pockets. It might make people think that I had been harsh - with him.” Ralph had gone straight up to the schoolroom in search of - Evereld, but something had delayed her and he found the place deserted. - Throwing himself down on the window-seat, he let the soft west wind cool - his flushed face and tried to think calmly over the interview with Sir - Matthew. The attack on his father had angered him as nothing else could - have done, and it was over this rather than over his own future that he - mused. The sound of Evereld’s voice singing in the passage roused him, but - before she had reached the schoolroom, the red baize door leading from the - other part of the house creaked on its hinges, and Lady Mactavish appeared - upon the scene. - </p> - <p> - “I was looking for you, Ralph,” she said, entering the room in front of - Evereld. “I learn, to my great annoyance, that you have failed in your - examination, failed ignominiously. It is quite clear to us all that you - have not been working properly.” - </p> - <p> - “But every one says that the Indian Civil is such a dreadfully stiff - exam,” said Evereld, “and he did work very hard in Germany; they all said - so.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t interrupt me, my dear,” said Lady Mactavish. “It is not a matter - you can understand. After all that Sir Matthew has done for you. Ralph, I - think at least you might have behaved properly to him. He tells me that - you were so impertinent that he has been forced to order you out of the - house.” - </p> - <p> - “I had no intention of being rude,” said Ralph, standing before her with - much the same expression of impatience, curbed by a sense of obligation - with which he had always taken her fault-finding. - </p> - <p> - “I am quite aware that your intentions are always, according to your own - account, immaculate,” she said scathingly, “but, unfortunately, your words - and actions don’t correspond with them. You have behaved abominably to the - man who has fed, and clothed, and housed you all these years, a man who - has wasted hundreds of pounds on your schooling.” - </p> - <p> - “Believe me, I do not forget what he has done for me,” said Ralph eagerly. - “I am grateful for it. But he used words of my father which were cruel, - words which no son could patiently have listened to.” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing can excuse the way you have behaved,” said Lady Mactavish, “so - say no more about it. What are your plans?” - </p> - <p> - “I have made none,” said Ralph, “except to go by the six o’clock train.” - </p> - <p> - “Where are you going?” - </p> - <p> - “To London,” he replied. - </p> - <p> - Lady Mactavish glanced at him a little uneasily. She could not without - prickings of conscience think of turning this boy adrift. - </p> - <p> - “Sir Matthew, with his usual kindness and generosity, asked me to give you - these,” she said, holding out the bank notes. “Though you have so much - disappointed and pained him, he will not let you be sent away without - money.” - </p> - <p> - But Ralph drew back; there was a look in his eyes which half frightened - Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” he said, “but I cannot take them; after what passed just now - in the library it is out of the question.” - </p> - <p> - Lady Mactavish looked uncomfortable. “You have been so shielded and cared - for that you don’t realise what the world is. You will certainly be - getting into trouble. I desire you to take these.” - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry to refuse you anything,” he said with studied politeness. “But - you ask what is impossible.” - </p> - <p> - “Your pride is perfectly ridiculous,” she said, turning away with a look - of annoyance. “However, I shall retain these notes for you, and when you - have realised your foolishness, you can write and ask me for them.” - </p> - <p> - Something in her tone, touched Ralph. It seemed to him that perhaps after - all she had taken some little thought for his well-being, and that behind - her grumbling, ungracious manner, there was more real heart than he had - dreamed. - </p> - <p> - “Will you not let me say good-bye to you?” he said. “You must not think I - am ungrateful for the home you have given me all these years.” - </p> - <p> - She took leave of him more kindly than he had expected, after which he - turned thoughtfully back into the schoolroom, where he found poor Evereld - sobbing her heart out. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, don’t cry,” he said as if the sight of her tears had added the last - straw to his burden. “It can’t be helped, Evereld, and after all, had I - got through my exam. I should have been going abroad before so very long. - And you are going to school for a year. There will be no end of friends - for you there.” - </p> - <p> - “They won’t be like you,” sobbed Evereld, “You are just like my brother - now. Oh, how I wish we were really brother and sister, then they couldn’t - turn you out like this.” - </p> - <p> - “I wish we were,” said Ralph with a sigh, as he realised how utterly he - had now cut himself off from intercourse with her. - </p> - <p> - “All we can do, I suppose, is to hear of each other through the Professor - and Frau Rosenwald. They will never let me write to you at school. It’s - not as if I were your brother really or even your cousin. They’re awfully - strict at schools about that.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Evereld, resolutely drying her eyes, “We can write in the - holidays, and in a little more than three years’ time I can do just - exactly what I like. Promise, Ralph, that you will come to me when I am - one and twenty. Promise me faithfully.” - </p> - <p> - “I promise,” he said. But as he spoke it seemed to him that by that time a - thousand things might have happened to divide them. He had a perception - somehow that, once broken, that brotherly and sisterly intimacy could - never again be the same thing. Later on, Evereld knew that it was indeed - at an end, but for the moment his promise cheered her, and she set herself - to work to make the most of the present. “Come,” she said, “tea is getting - cold, and you must eat all you can, for who knows where you will dine. Oh, - Ralph! what do you mean to do? Where shall you go in London?” - </p> - <p> - “I think I shall go first to my father’s solicitor, old Mr. Marriott. He - was kind to me when I left Whinhaven, and he will know the whole truth - about things, and will perhaps advise me.” - </p> - <p> - “Shall you go in for the Indian Civil again?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think so, for most likely all that part is true enough. I must - have failed badly; I never was any good at exams. No, I have a great idea - of trying my luck on the stage. That was always my wish since the day when - my father took me to see Washington. We often laughed over the plan and - discussed it, and he had none of that horror of the stage which so many - parsons profess to have.” - </p> - <p> - “That would be delightful,—a thousand times better than going to - India! And perhaps we shall go to see you act. And oh! perhaps you’ll get - to know Macneillie!” - </p> - <p> - “I have no idea where Macneillie has gone to,” said Ralph. “He has not - played in London for the last six years; somebody told me he had started a - Company of his own in the provinces. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to find - out, and write to him. Unless our hero-worship threw a very deceptive halo - round him, he must be an awfully kind-hearted man. Come! drink to my good - fortune, and then like an angel just help me to sort out my things. Tea, - and this notion of yours about Macneillie make me feel like a giant - refreshed. After all, it will be jolly enough to be on one’s own hook - after eating the bitter bread of charity all this time.” - </p> - <p> - “Yet I rather wish you had taken those hank notes,” said Evereld. “How - much money have you, Ralph, to start with?” - </p> - <p> - He felt in one pocket and produced a florin. “That will take me to - London,” he said. He felt in another and produced half a sovereign, “on - that I can live for a week,” he remarked. - </p> - <p> - “And after that?” said Evereld. - </p> - <p> - He shrugged his shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “There are night refuges I believe, where for a penny one can lie in a box - and warm oneself with a leather coverlet. And failing these, there is - always the Park, where you can enjoy part of a bench without any charge at - all.” - </p> - <p> - “Ralph, I’m not going to allow it,” said Evereld, her firm little mouth - assuming its most resolute expression. “Do you think I should have let - Dick go away to starve upon twelve shillings while I was lapped in luxury? - I took you for my brother, the very first night you came, and I’m not - going to give you up, whatever you say.” She unlocked her desk and took - out four sovereigns. “This is all I have left of my allowance; I wish it - were bank notes like the ones you refused. But you can’t refuse mine, - Ralph.” - </p> - <p> - He hesitated. “I don’t think I ought to take them,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Why not?” - </p> - <p> - “The world would be shocked. What right have I to your money?” - </p> - <p> - “Every right, since we belong to each other. And as to the world it has - nothing whatever to do with the matter. Don’t waste time, Ralph. Please - take it for my sake.” - </p> - <p> - He could not resist the blue eyes brimming with tears, but let her place - the money in his hand and gave her a brotherly hug. Then they hastily - began to collect his possessions, talking bravely of the future, and many - times alluding to their old hero Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - In the meantime in Geraghty’s pantry two other friends were colloguing; - Bridget having learnt the fate that was to befall her young gentleman was - opening her heart to her elderly <i>fiancé</i>. - </p> - <p> - “It’s turnin’ of him out that they’re after,” she said indignantly, “And - him a fine handsome boy and knowin’ just nothin’ of the world. Sure thin, - Geraghty, it’s a sin, it’s just a mortal sin, and him without connictions, - let alone relations.” - </p> - <p> - “Where will he be goin’?” asked Geraghty thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - “I heard them say he was goin’ to London, and you know what that will be - meanin’ when a boy’s got neither money nor friends to keep him in the - right way. It breaks me heart to think of it.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, maybe I’d better be tellin’ him of Dan Doolan’s house at Vauxhall. - He’d be with good dacent folk there and they’d not be askin’ a high rint. - Here, give me that tray. I’ll fetch down the schoolroom cups for ye, and - that’ll give me a chance to speak with him.” - </p> - <p> - Geraghty had always been a favourite in the schoolroom, and Ralph turned - to the old fellow now with a hearty appreciation of his kindly - thoughtfulness. - </p> - <p> - “We shall all miss you, Mr. Ralph,” he said. “And if I might make so bold - as to be giving you the ricommindation of some rooms in London, where they - tell me you’re going, I think you’d find them respectable, which is more - than can be said for many places. The house belongs to Dan Doolan, that’s - my sister’s husband’s uncle, he and his wife are very dacent folk and they - would do their utmost for you and give you a warm welcome.” - </p> - <p> - “Trust the Irish for that,” said Ralph, “I’m very much obliged to you, - Geraghty, for I hadn’t an idea where to look for lodgings. Come, Evereld, - now you will feel much happier about me.” - </p> - <p> - He took down the address, and then, with the help of - Geraghty and Bridget and Evereld, the packing was finished and the moment - of leave-taking arrived. The butler had carried down the last portmanteau, - Bridget had invoked blessings on his head and gone away wiping her eyes - with her apron, and the two friends were left in the quiet schoolroom. - </p> - <p> - “Remember your promise,” said Evereld earnestly. - </p> - <p> - “I will remember,” said Ralph. “And after all it is likely enough that we - shall meet before that. Courage, dear! Don’t fret. The time will soon - pass.” - </p> - <p> - “Here is a book for you to read in the train,” she added, afraid to say - much, lest she should break down. “You must have a Dickens to comfort you, - and this will be the best, for the wind is very much in the east to-day, - as dear old Mr. Jarndyce would have said.” - </p> - <p> - She gave him her own copy of “Bleak House” and Ralph, with a choking - sensation in his throat, bent down and kissed the sweet rosy face that was - still so childlike. After that, without another word, he left the house, - and Evereld, running to her bedroom, watched him until he had disappeared - in the distance, then, throwing herself on the bed, cried as though her - heart would break. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VII - </h2> - <p> - “<i>Is our age an age of genuine pity? I have my doubts. It is - pre-eminently an age of bustle, and fuss, and fidget; but I think we are - lacking in tenderness.</i>”—Dr. Jessop. - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>fter the pain of - his farewells had begun to wear off a little, Ralph, being naturally of a - hopeful temperament, turned not without some pleasurable feelings to the - thought of the future that lay before him. More and more his old dreams of - becoming an actor filled his mind, and in the sudden change which had - befallen his fortunes he saw something not unlike a distinct call to - return to his first ideal. He clung all the more to the thought because of - the uprooting he had just undergone, and as he travelled through the - Surrey hills on that summer evening, found comfort in the anchorage of a - firm resolve to do all that was in his power to fit himself for his new - vocation. That one did not climb the ladder at a bound he of course knew - well enough, and he had sense to guess that it would be a difficult matter - to get room even on the lowest step of the ladder. A hard struggle lay - before him, but he was full of vigorous young life and did not shrink from - the prospect. Then, too, he was keenly conscious of the relief of no - longer depending upon the Mactavishes. He could exactly sympathise with - Esther in “Bleak House,” who was always sensible of filling a place in her - godmother’s establishment which ought to have been empty. It was something - after all to be free, even though not precisely knowing how he was to keep - body and soul together. - </p> - <p> - With the exception of old Mr. Marriott there seemed few to whom he could - apply for advice. His late master at Winchester was away in Switzerland; - the Professor and Frau Rosenwald were in Dresden and were little likely to - be able to help him, while of friends of his own age he had scarcely any, - owing to Lady Mactavish’s dislike to his accepting invitations for the - holidays which would have made return invitations necessary. - </p> - <p> - On reaching Charing Cross he went straight to Sir Matthew’s house in Queen - Anne’s Gate, left his luggage there, arranged to come the next day and - pack the few things he had in his room, and then walked to Ebury Street to - inquire whether Mr. Marriott were at home. London had such a deserted air - that he began to fear that the solicitor would have joined in the general - exodus. But fortune favoured him, Mr. Marriott was in town still and had - just returned from the City. He was ushered into a comfortable library, - where, in a few moments, the old lawyer joined him, receiving him in such - a kindly and courteous way that the friendless feeling which had taken - possession of him on his arrival in London quite left him. - </p> - <p> - “I hope you will excuse my coming at such an hour and to your private - house, but I half feared you might be away and I was very anxious for your - advice,” he said, when the old man’s greetings were ended. - </p> - <p> - “I’m heartily glad you did come to-night,” said Mr. Marriott. “For - to-morrow I go to Switzerland with my sister and my daughter. Is Sir - Matthew still in town? Are you staying with him?” - </p> - <p> - “He has this very day turned me out of his house,” said Ralph, and he - briefly told the lawyer what had passed. - </p> - <p> - “This seems a serious matter,” said Mr. Marriott. “We must talk it over - together, but in the meantime, I will send round for your things, and you - will, I hope, spend the night here. After dinner, we will put our heads - together, and see what can be done.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph could only gratefully accept the hospitality, and it proved to be - just the genuine old-fashioned hospitality that does the heart good, and - is as unlike its forced counterfeit as real fruit is unlike its waxen - imitation. - </p> - <p> - Old Mr. Marriott’s sister proved to be one of those eternally young people - who at seventy have more capacity for enjoying life than many girls of - eighteen. Her vivacious face, with its ever varying expression, her kindly - human interest in all things and all people, did more to drive bitter - recollections from Ralph’s mind than anything else could have done. - Moreover, he lost his heart to pretty Katharine Marriott, though she was - many years his senior. Her large, serious, brown eyes, and her air of - gentle dignity seemed to him perfection; he could have imagined her to be - some stately Spanish lady in her black, lace dress, and though she said - little to him, her whole manner was full of sympathetic charm. When the - ladies had left the table, Mr. Marriott began to make further inquiries as - to what had passed that afternoon. - </p> - <p> - “Is it not possible,” he suggested, “that you too readily took Sir Matthew - at his word? He has been kind to you all these years, has he not?” - </p> - <p> - “He has carried out what he undertook,” said Ralph, “and twice, no—three - times—I remember that he really spoke kindly to me. For the rest of - the six years he has never noticed me at all except to find fault.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean that you got into trouble? That your school reports were bad - or anything of that sort?” - </p> - <p> - “No, they were decent enough, and I was never exactly in any scrape, but - somehow, in little ways I always managed to displease him; spoke too much, - or too little, or too loud, or not distinctly. If one made the least noise - in coming into a room or closing a door he couldn’t endure it, or if one - stole in with elaborate care and quietness, he would start and say a - stealthy step was intolerable to him. As to breakfast, the only meal we - ever had with him as children, it used to be a time of torture, for if you - held your knife or fork in a way which did not exactly meet his ideal way - of holding a knife and fork, he made you feel that you had committed a - crime.” - </p> - <p> - “So there was never much love lost between you,” said Mr. Marriott, with a - smile. “Well it is what I feared would happen when I last saw you. Did he - often mention your father’s name?” - </p> - <p> - “Hardly ever, except when some guest was there who was likely to be - impressed with his kindness in having adopted a poor clergyman’s son,” - said Ralph, flushing hotly at certain galling recollections. “It was never - until this afternoon, though, that he dared to speak of my father as an - unpractical fool who had left me a beggar, and to taunt me with the high - ideals which would never have kept me from starving.” - </p> - <p> - “And did this lead to your quarrel?” said the lawyer, his brows - contracting a little. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Ralph, “I replied that my father was at least an honest man, - and he seemed to take that as a sort of personal affront—I’m sure I - don’t know why. He went into a towering rage and ordered me out of his - sight.” - </p> - <p> - “He is morbidly sensitive as to his reputation,” said Mr. Marriott, “and - no doubt he thought you knew something to his disadvantage. Did it ever - occur to you as strange that he should have adopted you?” - </p> - <p> - “At first I thought it was because he had really cared for my father and - because he was my godfather, but before long I began to think it was - chiefly as a sort of telling advertisement,” said Ralph, with a touch of - bitterness in his tone. - </p> - <p> - “All three notions were probably right,” said the lawyer, “but there was - yet another reason of which I can tell you something. On the day we - reached Whinhaven and began to look through your father’s papers, one of - the very first things I came across in his blotting-book was the rough - draft of a letter with a blank for the name in the first line. Seeing that - it bore reference to the unlucky investment he had made, I glanced through - it. It bitterly reproached the man he was writing to, for having - recommended him to place his money in the company which had just gone into - liquidation, and alluded to assurances that had been given him of this - friend’s close knowledge of all the details, and complete confidence in - the safety of the company. I recollect that one sentence referred to you, - and your father said, ‘Should this illness of mine prove fatal, I look to - you, as Ralph’s godfather, to do what you can for him, for it was in - consequence of your advice that I made this unfortunate speculation.’” - </p> - <p> - Ralph started to his feet. “It was Sir Matthew then who ruined him!” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said the lawyer, “on reading that I looked up and casually asked - him if he knew who your godfathers were, he replied that he was one, and - that to the best of his recollection, the other had been a distant kinsman - of your father’s, a certain Sir Richard Denmead, who had died a few years - before. Then, without further comment, I handed him the letter, remarking - that of course, I had no idea on reading it that it bore reference to - himself. He was naturally annoyed and upset, but was obliged to own that - it was the draft of the letter he had received. He was doing what he could - to justify himself when you came into the room, and what passed after that - you no doubt remember.” - </p> - <p> - “I remember,” said Ralph, “that he patronised me—he—my - father’s murderer. The word is not a bit too strong for him. He murdered - my father just as truly as if he had stabbed him to the heart. It was not - the cold that killed him, it was the misery and the depression and the - anxiety for the future. And this false friend of his is the man that goes - about opening bazaars, and posing as a profoundly religious man! Faugh! - It’s revolting!” - </p> - <p> - “I have never liked Sir Matthew Mactavish,” said Mr. Marriott, quietly. - “It is wonderful to me how he impresses people; there must be some germ of - greatness in him or he couldn’t do it. I am quite aware that the discovery - of the truth must make you feel very bitterly towards him, but if you will - take an old man’s advice you will dwell upon the past as little as - possible. You can do no good by thinking of the injury he has done you, - and you will have to be very careful how you speak of him, or in an angry - moment you may make yourself liable to an action for slander; legally you - know a thing may be perfectly true, but if maliciously uttered and in a - way that injures another in his calling it may be nevertheless slander. So - you must not proclaim your wrongs from the housetops. Now the question is - what are you to do to support yourself?” - </p> - <p> - “I want to try my luck on the stage,” said Ralph. “It was my wish long - ago, and I believe that I might make something of it. I shall never be - much good at examinations.” - </p> - <p> - “It seems rather the fashion for young fellows to try it nowadays,” said - the lawyer, “but I should think the life was a very hard one, and like all - other callings in this country it is much overcrowded. Still you might do - worse. I will give you a letter to Barry Sterne; he is a client of mine - and might possibly be able to help you. At any rate he would give you his - advice.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph caught at the suggestion, and when the next morning the Marriotts - started for Switzerland they left him in excellent spirits. - </p> - <p> - “Are you quite sure you have enough to live on until you get work,” asked - the old lawyer, drawing him aside at the last moment. “I will gladly lend - you something.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” replied Ralph. “But I have enough to live on till the end of - September.” - </p> - <p> - “And by that time we shall be in London again,” said Mr. Marriott. “Be - sure you come to see us and let us know how you prosper.” - </p> - <p> - It was not without some trepidation that later in the morning Ralph - presented himself at the house of Barry Sterne, the great actor. He sent - in Mr. Marriott’s letter of introduction and waited nervously in a small - back sitting-room, the window of which opened into one of those miniature - ferneries which one associates with the operating room of a dentist. Three - dejected gold-fish swam aimlessly up and down the narrow tank, and the - ferns looked as if they pined for country air. It was a relief when at - length he was summoned into the adjoining room. Here the sun was shining, - and there was a general sense of ease and comfort, Barry Sterne himself - harmonising very well with his setting, for he was a good-natured looking - giant with a most genial manner, and his broad, expansive face beamed in a - very kindly fashion on his visitor. - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid I can’t do anything for you,” he said, but the words carried - no sting because the tone was so delightful. “I have hundreds of these - applications, and it’s about the most disagreeable part of my life to be - for ever saying ‘no’ to people.” - </p> - <p> - He put a few questions to him, all the while observing him attentively - with his keen eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you see,” he remarked, leaning back easily in his chair and telling - off the various items on his fingers as he proceeded. “Things seem to me - to stand like this. You have a good presence, a good voice, a good manner; - but you have no experience, you have had no special preparation, you have - no money, and you have no friends or relatives in the profession. There - are three points for you and four against you. That means that you will - have a very hard struggle, and will have to be content to take any mortal - thing you can get. Are you prepared for that?” - </p> - <p> - “I am prepared to begin at the very bottom of the profession if only it - will give me a real chance of getting on,” said Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “To make a fool of yourself in a pantomime, for instance,” said the actor, - eyeing him keenly. “Or to walk on and say nothing in a piece that runs for - a couple of hundred nights?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I would do it,” said Ralph, thoughtfully. “If, in the meantime, I - was really learning and making some way.” - </p> - <p> - “Right,” said Barry Sterne. “That’s the way to set to work. But as a rule - a gentleman thinks he must step into the first ranks of the profession - straight away, which is a confounded mistake. I’ll write you a note of - introduction to Costa, the agent. You may thoroughly trust him, and he may - perhaps be able sooner or later to put you in the way of something. I wish - I knew of any opening for you. But I’m off to America next month with Miss - Greville’s Company.” - </p> - <p> - The name instantly recalled Macneillie to Ralph’s mind. - </p> - <p> - “When I was a small boy,” he said, “Mr. Macneillie was once very good to - me. If he were in London still, I might have gone to him. Do you know what - has become of him.” - </p> - <p> - “Hugh Macneillie? Why he would be precisely the man for you. He went to - America about six years ago, had a tremendous success over there, and when - he came back to England started a travelling company of his own. Oh, - Macneillie is a sterling fellow, you couldn’t do better than try to get in - with him. Costa will be able to tell you his whereabouts.” - </p> - <p> - After that, with a few kindly words and good wishes, Ralph found himself - dismissed. - </p> - <p> - The day was intensely hot; however, he set off at once for the agent’s, - handed in Barry Sterne’s letter, was sharply scrutinised by Costa’s keen - Jewish eyes, and had his name entered upon the books, after paying five - shillings. - </p> - <p> - “You must not be too sanguine,” said the agent, his dark melancholy face - contrasting oddly with Ralph’s fresh colouring, and hopeful eyes. “I have - one thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine names down of members of the - profession who are out of employment, or of people who seek to enter the - profession. You bring up the total to two thousand.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph turned a little pale. “Is it so bad as that,” he said. “Then I have - no chance at all it seems to me.” - </p> - <p> - He asked for Macneillie’s present address and went off in very low spirits - to write his letter, pack up his worldly goods, and take up his quarters - in the rooms which Geraghty had recommended. - </p> - <p> - People seldom do things well when they are in low spirits, and Ralph, who - detested giving trouble or asking favours, wrote a stiff, short letter to - Macneillie, asking his advice and inquiring whether he could possibly give - him a place in his company. It was precisely the sort of letter which - Macneillie received by the dozen from stage-struck youths in all parts of - the country. Had he spoken of his boyish hero-worship of the actor, or of - their encounter at Richmond, there would have been a human touch about the - letter which would at once have appealed to the Scotsman; he would - certainly have made a special effort for one so closely connected with the - most tragic day of his life. But Ralph after floundering hopelessly in a - sentence which alluded to the past, tore up his sheet of paper and wrote - the bald, curt note, which so ill conveyed the real state of his case. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie, wearily returning from a rehearsal of four hours’ length, in - which his temper had been severely tried, found the missive in his dreary - lodgings at a south-coast watering place, hastily glanced through the - contents and thrust the letter into his letter-clip among other similar - requests, about which there was no immediate hurry. A fortnight later he - wrote the following short reply: - </p> - <p> - “Dear Sir, - </p> - <p> - “I have no opening at present in my company, and if you really intend to - go into the profession, and have realised that it demands incessant and - most arduous work, I should strongly advise you to begin at the beginning - of all things. Try to get taken on as a super at one of the leading - theatres, where you will have opportunities for studying really great - actors. Costa is a trustworthy agent. - </p> - <p> - “Yours truly, - </p> - <p> - “Hugh Macneillie.” - </p> - <p> - The letter chanced to arrive in Paradise Street on a foggy September - evening when Ralph was in particularly low spirits. He had expected much - from Macneillie and was proportionately disappointed. It seemed almost as - if an old friend had shut the door in his face, nor did he quite realise - that few men as busy, and as much tormented by importunate scribblers as - Macneillie, would have troubled to answer his appeal at all. What was he - to do? Where was he to turn for work? And how much longer would Evereld’s - money hold out? The question was more easily than satisfactorily answered. - It was clearly impossible that he could exist much longer in Paradise - Street, and though its dingy room and bare, scanty furniture was far from - inviting, yet he had grown fond of his good-natured landlord and took a - kindly interest in the whole family of Doolans, with their easy, - happy-go-lucky ways, and strong sense of humour. Life was lonely enough - now. What would it be if he were altogether without a home in this great - wilderness of London? - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER VIII - </h2> - <p> - “<i>A man who habitually pleases himself will become continually more - selfish and sordid, even among the most noble and beautiful conditions - which nature, history, or art can furnish; and, on the other hand, any one - who will try each day to live for the sake of others, will grow more and - more gracious in thought and bearing, however dull and even squalid may be - the outward circumstances of his soul’s probation.</i>”—Dean Paget. - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">R</span>alph’s chief - comfort at this time was in a certain free library at no great distance - from his lodgings. He made his way there now, and for a time lost the - sense of his troubles in the world of books. This evening he had the good - fortune to light upon Stanley Weyman’s “House of the Wolf,” a story which - gave him keener and more healthy enjoyment than he had known for many a - day. When he came back to the everyday world again and set out for his - return walk to Paradise Street, he found that the fog had very much - increased and it was with great difficulty that he could make out his way. - As he was groping cautiously along an almost deserted street, he was - startled by the sound of a shrill, childish voice. - </p> - <p> - “Let me go! Let me go!” it cried passionately. “How dare you stop me? How - dare you?” - </p> - <p> - Ralph ran in the direction of the sound, until in the fog and darkness, he - cannoned against the form of a man who turned angrily upon him, revealing - as he did so, in the dim lamplight which struggled through the murky air, - the evil face of an old <i>roué</i>. Fighting to free herself from him, - like a little wild-cat, was the figure of a mere child; her vigour and - agility were wonderful to behold and it was a task of no great difficulty - for Ralph to help in freeing her from the clutches of the two-legged - brute. Spite of the imperfect light, the child had been quickwitted enough - to recognise the new comer as a protector, and she clung firmly to his - hand as they went down the foggy street, never pausing until all fear of - further molestation was over. Then, panting for breath, she stopped for a - minute beneath a lamp-post, and in the little oasis of light, looked - searchingly up into his face as though to make quite sure what manner of - man he was. He saw now that she must be older than he had thought; from - her height he had fancied her about eleven but he realised both by her - face and her expression, that she must be at least fifteen. Her colouring - was curiously like Evereld’s but the face was sharper, and had a funny - look of assurance and knowledge of the world, which was, nevertheless, - belied by the childish curves of cheek and chin, and by the nervous - pressure with which she still clasped his hand. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know a bit what this street is,” she said, with tears in her - voice, “And if I don’t soon get home grandfather will be dreadfully - anxious about me.” - </p> - <p> - “Where is your home?” asked Ralph, feeling curiously drawn to the forlorn - little mortal who had crossed his path so strangely. - </p> - <p> - “It’s in Paradise Street, Vauxhall,” said the child. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, that’s lucky!” said Ralph. “My rooms are there too. What takes you - out at this time of night? It’s not safe for you to be wandering about - London alone.” - </p> - <p> - “I always do go alone,” said the child, a little indignantly. “And no one - ever dared to bother me before. One of the dressers always walks with me - as far as our roads lie together, but this bit I always do alone ever - since I went to the theatre.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh you are on the stage,” said Ralph, his interest increasing; “Well, you - are lucky to have work; it’s more than I can get.” - </p> - <p> - “I used only to dance,” said the child, eagerly. “But now I have a little - part of my own, but of course you won’t know my name yet, it’s not much - known. I am Miss Ivy Grant.” - </p> - <p> - There was a comical touch of pride and dignity in the words. Ralph’s lip - twitched, but he bowed gravely and said he was delighted to make her - acquaintance. Then, having walked a little further, they suddenly realised - what road they were in and without much more difficulty groped their way - home to Paradise Street. - </p> - <p> - “I want you to come in and see my grandfather,” said Ivy, pausing at her - door. “He will be very grateful to you for having helped me.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph hesitated. “It is late for me to come in now,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “It won’t be late for grandfather, he never settles in till after - midnight. He is half paralysed. Please come.” - </p> - <p> - He couldn’t find it in his heart to resist the pleading little voice, and - Ivy took him through the narrow passage and into the front sitting-room, - where they found a fine looking old man whose flowing, white beard and - many coloured dressing-gown gave him a sort of Eastern look. The small, - grey, critical eyes, however, were not Eastern at all and when he spoke - Ralph fancied that he could detect a slight Scotch accent, which together - with the tone of voice made him think somehow of Sir Matthew Mactavish. - </p> - <p> - He looked searchingly at the new comer, but on Ivy’s hurried explanation - held out his hand cordially, thanking him for coming to the child’s aid - with a warmth which was evidently genuine. - </p> - <p> - “She has to be breadwinner-in-chief to the establishment,” he said, with a - smile, “And being a wise-like little body seldom gets into difficulties. - Being a useless old log myself I should long ago have been hewn down and - cast into the Union had it not been for the Ivy that supported me.” - </p> - <p> - “You say those pretty things because you know it will make me come and - kiss you,” said Ivy, saucily, as she threw off her cloak and hat and - wreathed her arms about the old man’s neck. “And now while I get your - coffee ready you must talk to Mr. Denmead, for he wants work at the - theatre and can’t get it.” - </p> - <p> - “Half a dozen years ago when I was dramatic critic for the <i>Pennon</i> I - might have done something for you,” said the old man, wistfully. “But now - I am little but a burden as I told you. A few pupils come to me still for - lessons in elocution, and I have the training of Ivy who is going to be a - credit to me.” - </p> - <p> - As he spoke he glanced towards the little housewife who with an air of - importance was preparing the supper. Ralph thought he had never before - seen any one move with such grace, and though her face was lacking in the - simplicity and peace which characterised Evereld, it was a particularly - winsome little face. - </p> - <p> - “How did you get on to-night little one?” said the old man. - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” said Ivy as she poured the coffee out of an ancient - percolator into three earthenware cups which had seen hard service. Ralph - observed that she kept the cup without a handle for herself, and carefully - selected him one which was without a chip on the drinking side of the rim. - “But I might easily have broken my leg,” she continued, cheerfully; “for - that stupid Jem had forgotten to shut one of the traps properly, and Mr. - Merrithorne stumbled and hurt his ankle badly.” - </p> - <p> - “What part does he play?” said her grandfather. - </p> - <p> - “Oh he hasn’t very much to do, he is a rather stupid footman and he was - bringing in the luncheon tray with the property pie and that old fowl - which wants painting again so badly, and when he tripped up, the pie went - bowling down the stage, and the fowl landed in Miss West’s lap and every - one roared with laughter. She was dreadfully angry, but afterwards when it - seemed that Mr. Merrithorne was really hurt she was rather sorry for him.” - </p> - <p> - “Who is his understudy?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know. It is such a little part, perhaps he hasn’t one. But he was - limping dreadfully as he went away. I shouldn’t think he could act - to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s possible that might give you a chance,” said the professor of - elocution. “A stupid, countrified man-servant you say, Ivy? Are you pretty - good at dialect?” - </p> - <p> - Ralph laughed, for he knew that he was an adept at a certain south country - dialect, and without more ado stood up and gave the Professor a short and - highly humourous dialogue between a ploughman and his boy, with which he - had often made Evereld and her governess laugh. - </p> - <p> - “Good,” said the Professor, his grey eyes twinkling, “I think you’ll do - young man; but come to me to-morrow morning at nine o’clock and I’ll give - you a few hints about voice production.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph coloured. “You are very good,” he said, “but to tell the truth I am - at my wit’s end for money and much as I would like lessons can’t possibly - afford them.” - </p> - <p> - “Pshaw! nonsense,” said the Professor, knitting his brows. “I’m already in - your debt, for it might have fared ill with the child had you not taken - care of her tonight. If I can give you a helping hand, nothing would - please me better. And after the lesson you might go round with Ivy, and - I’ll give you an introduction to the manager. He’s a man I knew well at - one time.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph’s face lighted up. “I should be very grateful,” he said, eagerly, - “for this waiting about for work is tedious enough, and I shall be starved - out before long.” - </p> - <p> - He went home much cheered and with great expectations. The Professor - interested him; there was something half mysterious about the white-haired - old man which puzzled him and piqued his curiosity. He was particularly - benevolent and kindly and yet he seemed as unpractical as a mere - visionary, and was surely to blame in letting a child like Ivy go to and - from the theatre each night alone. - </p> - <p> - Clearly the granddaughter was manager-in-chief as well as breadwinner, and - as he thought of her winsome little face with its shrewd, light-blue eyes, - slightly <i>retroussé</i> nose, and small, firm mouth he felt a keen - desire to see more of her. She was so quaint in her brisk, housewifely - arrangements, so deft and clever in all her ways; a little conscious at - times, and quite capable of posing for effect, but lovable in spite of - that. - </p> - <p> - “I could soon laugh her out of those little affectations,” he thought to - himself. “And there is such a look of Evereld about her that she must at - heart be good. She is very clever, possibly she is even cunning, and she - has extraordinary tact—almost too much for such a child.” - </p> - <p> - He went to sleep and was haunted all night by that funny, pathetic, little - face of the child actress. Together they fled from a thousand perils, and - when next morning he saw her again face to face, it seemed to him that - they were quite old companions. - </p> - <p> - “Good day,” said the Professor in his bland, pleasant voice as Ralph was - ushered into the dreary little room. “Sit down for a minute, I have not - yet finished with my other pupil. Now sir! don’t mumble like a bee in a - bottle. You know well enough how to get the clear shock of the glottis and - that’s the secret of voice production. You have the voice and the lungs - and the knowledge of the method, but you are lazy, incorrigibly lazy!” - </p> - <p> - The young man crimsoned and with an effort burst out with one of - Prospero’s speeches: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - “I pray thee, mark me. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - To closeness and the bettering of my mind - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - With that which, but by being so retired, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - O’er prized all popular rate, in my false brother - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Awaked an evil nature.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - There he was arrested; for the Professor thundered on the floor with his - walking stick, looking as if he would much have enjoyed laying it about - the victim’s shoulders. - </p> - <p> - His scathing sarcasms, his merciless interruptions, his sharp criticism, - would have tried the patience of Job himself, but his unfortunate pupil - struggled on and really improved marvellously, while Ralph sat an - observant spectator, learning not a little from all that went on. At the - close of the instruction the old man’s serenity of manner returned—he - even praised the youth he had so violently abused but a minute before. The - reason of this soon transpired; he needed his help with the next pupil. - “You are not pressed for time?” he asked, with a smile. “Then I shall be - much obliged if you will kindly help my new pupil, Mr. Denmead, with the - first exercise.” - </p> - <p> - The victim glanced somewhat anxiously at the clock, but the Professor was - evidently an autocrat, and it would have been easier to refuse a request - made by the Czar himself. - </p> - <p> - “You will lie at full length on the floor,” said the Professor, with a - lordly wave of the hand towards Ralph. “My pupil, Mr. Bourne, will then - kneel on your chest, and you will in this position practise the art of - breathing.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph obeyed, not without a strong sense of the absurdity of the whole - scene. Could Sir Matthew Mactavish have seen him at that moment, lying on - the bare boards of a dingy lodging-house in Vauxhall, with a young reciter - of no mean weight kneeling on his chest, with a paralytic and mysterious - old sage roaring and shouting instructions and beating impatient tattoos - with his stick at intervals, while a pretty young girl sat by the window - covering stage shoes with cheap pink satin, how amazed he would have been. - </p> - <p> - This was certainly beginning at the beginning of all things. By eleven - o’clock that morning he was for the first time in his life entering the - stage door of a theatre,—it was one of the outlying suburban houses - at which there was a stock company and a frequent change of plays,—while - Ivy, with her funny little air of importance, showed him all that she - thought would interest him. - </p> - <p> - The manager, a somewhat harassed looking man, took the Professor’s note, - read it hurriedly, and glanced keenly at Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “Does Mr. Merrithorne act to-night?” asked Ivy, anxiously. - </p> - <p> - “No, my dear; he won’t be fit to go on again for a month at least. I - understand, Mr. Denmead, that you are a pupil of Professor Grant.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Ralph, “but I am quite a novice.” - </p> - <p> - “H’m,” said the manager, taking a long look at him. “You’re positively the - first man that ever made that confession to me. I’ve a mind to try you. - Come with me, and I will give you the part. You can read it at rehearsal - if you haven’t time to learn it.” - </p> - <p> - Ivy beamed with delight when he returned to her. - </p> - <p> - “The manager was just in his very best temper,” she said, happily. “Come - to this quiet corner, and I’ll see that no one interrupts you.” - </p> - <p> - The part was short and simple, and Ralph, who had an excellent memory, - learnt it easily enough. But when it came to rehearsing his scenes in the - dreary vastness of the empty theatre amid distant sounds of hammering and - scrubbing, and the perfectly audible comments of his fellow actors, he - felt in despair; there was no getting inside the character, he could only - feel himself Ralph Denmead, in uncomfortable circumstances, and breathing - a curious atmosphere of hostility. He went home feeling nervous and - miserable, but Ivy’s talk helped to amuse him, and distract his attention. - </p> - <p> - “They will like you when they get used to you,” she said, philosophically. - “But some of them think you are just a wealthy amateur, and that you have - paid for the chance of appearing in public. We all hate that kind of man. - Some others say you are an Oxonian wanting a little amusement during the - long vacation, and that you will be going back to the University next - month. And Miss West thinks you are a disguised nobleman.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, then, they’re all of them wrong,” said Ralph, obliged to laugh in - spite of himself. “I’m not a disguised duke, nor even a marquis, but just - plain Ralph Denmead, with very few coins in his pocket, and not a single - relation or rich friend to help him.” - </p> - <p> - When the evening came, Ralph found that the flatness and coldness of the - morning had entirely passed; every one seemed in better spirits, and the - two men who shared his dressing-room were friendly enough directly they - found he was a genuine worker, not a mere <i>dilettante</i>. - </p> - <p> - A youngster who was neither conceited nor grasping, but was content to - begin with a very small part, and a still smaller salary, was quite a - phenomenon, and, as usual, Ralph’s good humour and common-sense, together - with his readiness to see fun in everything, stood him in good stead. - </p> - <p> - When the last awful moment arrived, and he stood at the wings in his - gorgeous livery of drab and scarlet, with powdered hair and knee-breeches, - he found that the atmosphere of hostility which he had felt so oppressive - at rehearsal was entirely gone. - </p> - <p> - “Good luck to you!” said the heavy man, laying a fatherly hand on his - shoulder. “Never fear; you’ll do well enough.” - </p> - <p> - And with these words to hearten him, he took that first desperate plunge - into the icy-cold waters of publicity. - </p> - <p> - Ivy’s face beamed upon him as he returned. - </p> - <p> - “That applause was for you,” she said, rapturously, “and they don’t - generally laugh nearly as much after that blunder with the luncheon - table.” - </p> - <p> - “But I see where I might improve it,” said Ralph, thoughtfully. And truly - enough he did improve each night he played the servant and other small - parts. - </p> - <p> - Then, at the end of a month, Merrithorne’s ankle recovered, he returned to - the theatre, and Ralph once more found himself out of work. - </p> - <p> - What was his next step to be? - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER IX - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “If I were loved, as I desire to be, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - What is there in the great sphere of the earth, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And range of evil between death and birth, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - That I shall fear, if I were loved by thee?” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Tennyson. - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>f yer plase, yer - honour, Mr. Geraghty is below, and would like to see yer honour if its - convaniant,” said little Nora Doolan, thrusting her untidy head into the - cheerless back room in Paradise Street. - </p> - <p> - Ralph, who was pacing to and from learning a part in a Shakesperian play - which he was little likely to act as yet, glanced round with brightening - face. - </p> - <p> - “What? Dear old Geraghty!” he exclaimed. “I’m glad he has looked me up. - Show him upstairs Nora, for I should like to have a talk with him.” - </p> - <p> - The old man-servant responded with alacrity to the warm welcome he - received. - </p> - <p> - “It’s delighted I am to see you again, Mr. Ralph,” he exclaimed, looking - him over with an air of satisfaction as though he had some share in his - well-being. “And it’s in good health that you are looking, sir, and no - mistake.” - </p> - <p> - “Nothing like hard work, Geraghty, for keeping a man well,” said Ralph. - “And I hope I’m settled now for some time to come. You can tell Miss - Evereld that I’m at the very theatre we so often used to go to, and that I - have the pleasure of seeing Washington act every night.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m glad to hear it, sir,” said Geraghty. “We all knew long ago, sir, - that you’d make a first-class actor; it took but a little small bit of - discrimination to see that much.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph laughed. “Well, Geraghty, you mustn’t run away with the notion that - I’m a star, for, as a matter of fact, I am nothing but a super at a pound - a week. But it’s better to begin at the beginning in a good theatre than - to be cock-of-the-walk in a fifth-rate one.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure, sir, it’s just what I was saying but now to my sister about - placing her eldest girl. ‘Never mind how little she earns the first year - or two,’ said I, ‘but for heaven’s sake place her in a gentleman’s family, - and don’t let her demean herself by takin’ service with them that hasn’t - an ounce of breeding to bless themselves with. Let her be kitchen or - scullery-maid or what you will, but have her with gentry.’” - </p> - <p> - “Geraghty,” said Ralph, with a mischievous smile, “You have such a respect - for birth that it’s my firm conviction you’ll be the last and most staunch - supporter left to the House of Lords.” - </p> - <p> - Geraghty laughed all over his face, and his broad shoulders shook. - </p> - <p> - “I’ve seen just a little too much of the aristocracy to pin my faith to - them, sir. Handsome is as handsome does, and gentle is as gentle does. But - from the House of Lords and their marrin’ and muddlin’—Good Lord - deliver us!” - </p> - <p> - Ralph who had purposely provoked this tirade from the Irishman, laughed - and changed the subject by an inquiry after Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “Well, thank God, she’s getting on finely, sir. Seems as if there was a - special Providence over orphans, and Bridget she says why that’s natural - enough, that their parents can see better how to guide them bein’ higher - up so to speak. But, however that may be, at first we all thought she’d - fret her heart out with missin’ you, sir. But in September, Bridget took - her down to the school at Southbourne, and though she was a bit - faint-hearted at the notion, she’d no sooner set eyes on the place than - she was sure she’d be happy there. Bridget says it’s the most beautiful - house and garden you ever saw, and all so comfortable and homelike in - spite of the size. And Miss Evereld writes that she’s as happy as the day - is long, and that they’re teaching her how to nurse sick folks, and that - she’s learnt to darn her own stockin’s—a thing she never got a - chance o’ doin’ at home—and to dance the minuet, and to do algebra, - and I don’t know what beside. But, from what Bridget told me, I - foregathered that it wasn’t a school where they cram them like turkeys for - Christmas or geese for a Michaelmas fair, but just a home on a large scale - for turnin’ out well-mannered young gentlewomen who’ll have a very good - notion how to manage a home on a smaller scale.” - </p> - <p> - When the old Butler had gone, Ralph fell into a reverie. The effect of - hearing all about Evereld had been to make him long very impatiently for - the end of their separation. It was true that when she returned to the - Mactavishes at Christmas he could write to her without any breach of - regulations, but there seemed no chance of their meeting, and he greatly - missed his old companion. He began to weave all manner of visions of - future success, and to imagine that in an incredibly short space of time - he had gained quite a high position at Washington’s theatre, that he met - Evereld in society, and that Sir Matthew, who always paid homage to the - successful, became quite friendly and cordial to him. How strange it would - be to be invited as a distinguished guest to the very house in Queen - Anne’s Gate where he had been snubbed and scolded as a boy. - </p> - <p> - It was with something of a shock that he came back to the prosaic present - and found himself merely a super about to go through, for the fiftieth - time, the wearisome business which was his allotted share in a play which - was likely to run for many months more. - </p> - <p> - It was just at Christmas that he was confronted by one of those decisions - that form the chief difficulty of an actor’s career. To seize the right - opportunity of promotion, yet to avoid “Raw haste, half-sister to delay”; - to have precisely that right judgment which often determines the success - or failure of a life, is hard to all mortals, but hardest to those of the - artistic temperament. The temptation to escape from the monotony of his - present work came to him through the Professor’s granddaughter. - </p> - <p> - To little Ivy Grant he had from the very first seemed a full fledged hero. - He was the first man she had ever looked up to, for although devoted to - her old grandfather it was not easy to respect the Professor. He seemed, - to shrewd little Ivy, a very weak old man, and she despised the weak, not - understanding at all that habit of making large allowance for human - infirmity which grows with the growing years. The old man was a confirmed - opium eater. The habit, begun in a time of physical pain and great mental - worry, had now bound him fast in its cruel chains, and the kindly - benevolence which had struck Ralph at first sight as so strange a contrast - with his blameworthy neglect of Ivy’s safety, was all due to the influence - of the drug. His will was now not in the least his own, and though he had - his moments of exquisite exaltation he had always to pay for them by times - of black depression and misery. Under these circumstances the child’s life - could hardly be a happy one; she was, moreover, scarcely strong enough for - the late hours and the exposure to all sorts of weather which her work - entailed, and in spite of her brisk, managing ways she began to crave for - something more strong and trustworthy to support her than her grandfather - whose simile of the lifeless trunk of the tree kept up by the ivy - supporting it, had been singularly near the truth. - </p> - <p> - When Ralph no longer played at the same theatre, and their meetings became - less frequent, the little girl flagged and lost heart. She had good - impulses but she was easily led, and her friendship with Ralph had filled - her with a sense of dissatisfaction with her own life, and the lives that - most nearly touched her own. Her busy little brain began to form eager - plans for the future, and at last fate put in her way a chance which - revived her drooping spirits, and lighted up her blue eyes with hope. Her - good news arrived on Christmas day, otherwise the festival would have been - cheerless enough, for the old Professor had slept in his invalid chair the - whole of the morning, and Ivy, sitting in solitary state beside the fire, - had eaten a sober little Christmas dinner consisting of a slice of cold - meat and a mince-pie kindly given to her by the landlady. Then having - tidied the bare little room, and stuck a solitary piece of holly in the - window that people might see she was “keeping Christmas” properly, she - returned to her place on the hearthrug, and tried to become interested in - a penny novelette which should have been exciting, but somehow failed to - touch her. - </p> - <p> - “Stupid thing!” she exclaimed presently, throwing the book to the further - end of the room with a little petulant gesture. “I can’t even cry when the - heroine dies. What is the good of a book if you can’t cry over it?” - </p> - <p> - Just then there came a tap at the door, and in walked Ralph with his - cheerful face, and in his hands was a great bunch of ivy and mistletoe. - </p> - <p> - “A happy Christmas to you,” he said, taking her cold little hand in his. - “How’s the Professor? Not worse I hope?” - </p> - <p> - “He is no worse,” said Ivy, “but he has been asleep all day, and it’s - dreadfully dull. Where did you get such lovely evergreens?” - </p> - <p> - “Walked out into the country this morning, right away beyond Hampstead. As - for the mistletoe, that’s a particular present from Dan Doolan, and I’ve - just had to kiss seven small Doolans beneath it before they would let me - out of the house. Now your turn has come.” - </p> - <p> - Ivy laughed and protested, but was thrilled through and through by the - kiss, though it was just as matter-of-fact as that which he had bestowed - on Tim Doolan, aged three. Her little, pale face lighted up radiantly, but - unobservant Ralph saw nothing of that, he was bestowing all his energies - on the decoration of the dreary, little room, and crowning with ivy the - portraits of sundry great actors and actresses. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think Mrs. Siddons ever looked as stiff and forbidding as this?” - he said, glancing round with a smile, as Ivy held him a laurel branch to - put above the frame. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she replied, saucily. “She must have looked like that when she said - in awful tones, ‘Will it wash?’ to the poor frightened shopman who was - serving her.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, perhaps. Well, Ivy, there is no fear that you will ever strike terror - into any one’s heart.” - </p> - <p> - “Who cares for striking terror into people?” she replied, merrily, and as - she spoke she began to float dreamily away into an exquisitely graceful - skirt-dance; her little, childish face growing more and more sweet and - tranquil as she proceeded. - </p> - <p> - Clearly dancing was her vocation. Ralph stood with his back to the fire - watching her perfect grace: it seemed to him the very poetry of motion. - And Ivy was at her very best when she was dancing; at other times her ways - occasionally jarred on him, her acting left much to be desired, and a - certain vein of silliness in her now and then awoke his contempt, but when - dancing she seemed like one inspired; he could only wonder and admire. - </p> - <p> - “Some day you will be our greatest English dancer,” he said, as once more - she settled down into her nook beside the fire. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t want to be that,” said Ivy, “English dancers are never made so - much of as foreigners, and besides, a dancer’s position is not so good. I - mean to be an actress.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s a thousand pities,” said Ralph. “Why do people always want to do - things they can’t do well.” - </p> - <p> - Ivy pouted. - </p> - <p> - “Grandfather doesn’t wish me only to dance,” she said. “And besides I have - just heard of quite a fresh opening. What would you say to earning two - pounds a week?” - </p> - <p> - “I should say I’m not likely to do that yet awhile,” said Ralph, - philosophically. - </p> - <p> - “But you can! you can!” said Ivy, clapping her hands joyfully. “There’s an - opening for you as well as for me, for I specially asked. It’s a ‘fit up’ - company and we should be wanted in February when the pantomime is over.” - </p> - <p> - “Where?” asked Ralph, looking incredulous. - </p> - <p> - “For a tour in Scotland. A ‘fit up’ company too, and nothing to provide - but just wigs and shoes and tights.” - </p> - <p> - “Who is the manager?” - </p> - <p> - “The husband of the leading lady. His name is Skoot.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t like the name,” said Ralph, laughing. - </p> - <p> - “Why what’s in a name?” said Ivy. “The poor man didn’t choose it. For my - part I think it is better than assuming some grand name that doesn’t - belong to him. And then his Christian name is Theophilus.” - </p> - <p> - But Ralph still laughed. - </p> - <p> - “Worse and worse,” he said. “Theophilus Skoot is a detestable combination. - Dick, Tom, or Harry, would have been better. No, no, Ivy; I think we had - better stay where we are.” - </p> - <p> - Ivy looked much disheartened, and to change the subject Ralph suggested - that they should go together to the Abbey. This pleased her, she forgot - the Scotch tour and only revelled in the bliss of the present. To walk to - church on Christmas day with her ideal man, to feel the subtle influence - of the beautiful Abbey, the lights, the music, the religious atmosphere, - seemed to her a sort of foretaste of heaven, a slightly sensuous heaven - perhaps, but the highest she was as yet capable of imagining. Ralph was - not sorry to have the child with him, for his Christmas had been lonely - enough. But his thoughts wandered far away from her during the service. He - was back again at Whinhaven listening to his father’s voice, or he was - with Evereld and her governess listening to solemn old chorales at - Dresden. - </p> - <p> - Presently a very slight thing recalled him to his actual surroundings. The - sermon was about to begin and some one sitting in front of him rose to go - just as the text was given out: - </p> - <p> - “And in the fulness of time God sent———” - </p> - <p> - He heard no more for the vacant place had revealed to him, at a little - distance in front, a profile which arrested his whole attention. - Something in its earnest, absorbed expression, in its exquisite purity, in - the listening look of one who is eager to learn, appealed to him strongly. - Then suddenly his heart gave a bound, for it was borne in upon him that he - was looking at Evereld. Not the Evereld he had left on that summer day as - a playmate and comrade, but a new Evereld who had developed into a woman—the - one woman in all the world for him. He did not wish the sermon ended, he - could have been almost content to sit on there for ever just watching her; - that curious description of heaven as a place - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Where congregations ne’er break up, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And Sabbaths never end,”— - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="noindent"> - a notion which has cast a gloom over so many children’s hearts, seemed to - him in his present mood after all not so impossible. - </p> - <p> - When the service was really over, and the people began to disperse, he was - in a fever lest he should be unable to reach her, and it was not until he - had discovered that Bridget was her companion that he could feel at all - secure of any real talk with her. - </p> - <p> - Ivy, quite unconscious of all this, wondered a little when he paused in - the nave; but she did not at all object to standing there with him, - looking into the dim beauty of the stately building, and with a proud - little consciousness that many people glanced at them as they passed by. - It was so nice, she reflected, to go to church with a man like Ralph, a - man wholly unlike any other she had yet come across in her short and - rather dreary life. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile, Evereld was drawing nearer. Ivy was just admiring her - dark-green jacket and toque with their beaver trimmings, and longing to - have just such a costume herself, when she saw a vivid colour suffuse the - wearer’s face, her blue eyes shone radiantly, her lips smiled such a - welcoming smile at Ralph that no words, no hand-clasp, seemed necessary. - Side by side they passed together out of the Abbey, while Ivy, in blank - surprise, followed in their wake. - </p> - <p> - “To think that you were there all the time and that I never knew it,” said - Evereld, when the greetings were over. “Where is Bridget? How surprised - she will be. Look, Bridget, here is Mr. Ralph come back.” - </p> - <p> - “An’ it’s glad I am to see you, sir. There’ll be no need, I’m thinkin’, to - wish you a happy Christmas, for I can see by your face that you’ve got - it.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph did, indeed, seem to be in the seventh heaven of happiness, but as - he gave a cordial greeting to the old servant he happened to notice Ivy’s - wistful, little face, and, with a pang of reproach for having altogether - forgotten her, he took her hand in his and introduced her to Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “This is a little friend of mine,” he said. “The granddaughter of - Professor Grant, my elocution master.” Evereld liked the look of the - little fairylike figure, but she seemed to her the merest child, and after - a few kindly words she thought no more of her, being naturally absorbed in - Ralph and having so much to say to him after their long separation. - </p> - <p> - Ivy, with a sigh, dropped behind with Bridget, who, in her motherly - fashion, took her under her special protection as they crossed the wide - road near the Aquarium, little guessing that this small person was well - used to going about London quite alone at all hours. - </p> - <p> - “And how are things going at Queen Anne’s Gate?” asked Ralph, when Evereld - had told him all about her life at Southbourne. - </p> - <p> - “It’s so dull I hardly know how to bear it,” said Evereld. “You see, I’m - too big now for children’s parties, and, of course, I’m not out yet. I - miss you all day long, and no one so much as speaks of you, except now and - then Mr. Bruce Wylie, and he always did like you.” - </p> - <p> - “Not he,” said Ralph. “He made believe, though, for the sake of pleasing - you.” - </p> - <p> - “I see that you have not lost your way of thinking evil of people,” said - Evereld, reproachfully. “Mr. Wylie is the kindest man I know.” - </p> - <p> - “But you don’t know him,” said Ralph. “You merely see him now and then and - like his pleasant way of talking, and find him a relief from the Mactavish - clan.” - </p> - <p> - “And how much do you know him?” said Evereld, teasingly. - </p> - <p> - “Not much, certainly,” he was constrained to own with a smile, “and it may - be jealousy that makes me decry him. Yet, if instinct goes for anything, - he is a man I should never trust.” - </p> - <p> - “What! such a frank, straightforward sort of man as that?” she exclaimed, - in dismay. - </p> - <p> - “I know he’s very plausible, I know he has many good points even, but I - fancy he could persuade himself that anything was right if only it - promoted his own ends.” - </p> - <p> - “At any rate, he is the one person who ever troubles to inquire after you, - and I believe that is the chief reason I have for liking him.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph was so well content with this speech that he let the subject drop, - and, as Evereld was eager to hear all that he had been doing since they - had been separated, he began to give her an amusing account of the straits - he had been in and the work he had obtained. Far too soon they reached Sir - Matthew’s house, and were obliged to part. - </p> - <p> - “You will write when you can?” said Evereld, wistfully, as she lingered - for a moment on the steps with her hand in his. “I don’t think Sir Matthew - has any right to object, and I shall want to know what you decide about - Scotland.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, you shall hear directly it is decided,” said Ralph, trying to feel - hopeful. “I wish I knew what would be the wisest thing to do.” - </p> - <p> - Then, with a lingering glance into the sweet eyes lifted to his, he bade - her good-bye and turned away. - </p> - <p> - “How I wish I were the Professor’s little granddaughter,” she thought to - herself as she glanced down the dark road after them, with a sick longing - to be going too. And, had she but known it, Ivy was at that very time - thinking enviously of Ralph’s old friend and of her many advantages. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile Geraghty threw open the front door, and in the cheerful light - that streamed through the hall Evereld caught a vision of Sir Matthew - coming down the stairs, and, taking her courage in both hands, she entered - the house and went straight up to him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER X - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “Savage at heart, and false of tongue, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Subtle with age, and smooth to the young, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Like a snake in his coiling and curling.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - T. Hood. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>o you have been to - the Abbey?” he said, smiling benevolently upon her. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she replied, her blue eyes looking straight into his. “And we have - seen Ralph. He was there, too, just behind us. He walked back with us.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew frowned slightly. Then, recollecting the presence of the - servants, he beckoned Evereld to his study. - </p> - <p> - “Come in here, my dear,” he said, in his soft voice. “You are quite right - to tell me all so frankly, and it is natural enough that you should be - pleased to meet your old playfellow. But you must remember that things are - not now as they once were.” - </p> - <p> - “Ralph and I shall always be friends,” said Evereld, gently, but with a - firmness which startled her guardian. “Things are not altered between us - because we don’t live under the same roof now. How could that alter us?” - </p> - <p> - “My dear, it is for Lady Mactavish and myself to decide who shall or who - shall not be your friends,” he said, with quiet decision. - </p> - <p> - “That may be,” said Evereld, “as far as new friends are concerned, but I - cannot unmake a friend to order—no, not even if the Queen commanded - it.” - </p> - <p> - They both smiled a little. Sir Matthew paced the room in silence. - </p> - <p> - “I must not forbid her to hold any communication with him,” he reflected, - “or let her feel that I am a tyrant and they a couple of martyrs. After - all, she is so young and simple and innocent; no mischief will come of - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Has Ralph found work?” he inquired, not unkindly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said, “at Washington’s theatre; and perhaps he is going on a - Scotch tour.” - </p> - <p> - “Good!” said Sir Matthew, approvingly. “After all, he has talent, and will - make himself a name in time. His best chance would be to marry some - experienced actress older than himself. That has answered very well in one - or two cases. His birth and education would go for something, and if he - plays his cards well the stage may make his fortune. By-the-by, Bruce - Wylie is to dine with us to-night. You like him, do you not?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes,” said Evereld, “I like him very much.” - </p> - <p> - And Sir Matthew, satisfied with the warmth of her tone, dismissed her with - a paternal kiss, and an injunction to put on her prettiest gown in honour - of the festival. - </p> - <p> - Bruce Wylie was certainly the most attractive and amusing of the men who - visited the Mactavishes. He had the easy, comfortable air of an old - friend, and he came and went at all hours, yet never seemed to be present - when he was not wanted. His fair hair and short, fair beard contrasted - rather curiously with his dark, keen eyes. He had a brisk, kindly, - pleasant manner, and a particularly winning voice. There was about him, - too, a saving sense of humour, and the rather heavy atmosphere of Sir - Matthew’s household always seemed less oppressive when he was present. He - was a first-rate <i>raconteur</i>, and Evereld was never tired of - listening to his stories. - </p> - <p> - It was all in vain that she tried to see him with Ralph’s eyes. She - decided in her own mind that his hard experience of the world had made - Ralph somewhat cynical and distrustful. He had convinced her with regard - to Sir Matthew, but to belief in Bruce Wylie she still clung with all the - loyalty of her fresh, innocent youth. - </p> - <p> - And yet the ladies had only left the dining-room a few moments when Bruce - Wylie revealed a very different side of himself. - </p> - <p> - “Ewart’s little girl is looking prettier than usual tonight,” he remarked, - as he picked out the preserved apricots from a small dish in front of him, - leaving only bitter oranges and citrons for those who might come after. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Sir Matthew, “Southbourne has done wonders for her. She had - better have another six months there.” - </p> - <p> - “Was she not eighteen in the autumn? She will want to come out next - season.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think it,” said Sir Matthew. “She is happy enough there, and we - shall do well to keep her from the heiress-hunters till she is safely - betrothed to you.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor little soul!” said Bruce Wylie, reflectively. “There would be no - danger in letting her see a little of the world first.” - </p> - <p> - “We won’t risk that,” said his companion. “What’s to prevent her falling - in love with some young fellow and refusing to look at you. If she ever - lost her heart, she would be the veriest little shrew to manage—there - would be no taming her. We might prevent her marrying till she was of age, - but you know what revelations would come about when her affairs were - looked into. No, no; she must be safely married to her worthy solicitor, - Bruce Wylie, as soon as possible after she leaves school.” - </p> - <p> - Bruce Wylie seemed lost in thought. Sir Matthew watched him, - half-suspiciously. They were friends and confederates, but the company - promoter trusted no one in the world implicitly. - </p> - <p> - “You are thinking that it is a risky venture,” he said, quietly, “but - under the circumstances it’s far the best thing that can be done. If the - South African affair goes on as well as it promises, her money will be - safe enough in the long run; and if a smash comes, why her money will be - gone, but our names and reputations will be safe, and no great harm will - come of it.” - </p> - <p> - “I was not thinking of that,” said Bruce Wylie. “There’s another side to - the business, and one can’t altogether overlook it. I am fond of the - little thing, and I honestly believe she likes me, but if anything of this - should ever leak out, if, after we were married, her suspicions were - roused, why then, as you say, I can imagine that the taming process might - be difficult. Spite of her china-blue eyes, there’s a pretty spice of - determination in Ewart’s little girl.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear fellow, you astonish me,” said Sir Matthew, impatiently. “With - enough on your mind to burden most men heavily, you can yet find time to - worry over the matrimonial squabbles that may ruffle your future peace. - When once she’s your wife you’ll be able to do what you please with her.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not so sure of that,” said Bruce Wylie. “It’s just those little, - gentle women with hardly a word to say for themselves who are always - astonishing people by hidden stores of force and courage and daring at - some critical moment.” - </p> - <p> - “The only possible difficulty with Evereld would be her friendship for - Ralph Donmead,” said Sir Matthew, “and, as ill luck will have it, the - fellow turned up again to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “D——— him!” exclaimed Bruce Wylie. “How was that?” - </p> - <p> - “Saw her at the Abbey, and had the audacity to walk home with her. She - told me all about it with the utmost frankness, and without so much as a - change of colour. I don’t think there is any mischief done yet, but the - less she sees of him the better. It seems that he is doing pretty well on - the stage; at least, I gathered so.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Bruce Wylie, reflectively, “it is always easy to set a - scandal afloat about an actor, and if she seems losing her heart to him - that is the line we must take.” - </p> - <p> - And therewith the two friends fell to talking of other business - arrangements. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <p> - When Ralph turned away from the house in Queen Anne’s Gate, the happy - excitement of the past hour suddenly gave place to a sobering realisation - of things as they were. He, Ralph Denmead, a super at a pound a week, had - had the audacity to fall in love with a girl of whose fortune he had, - indeed, very vague ideas, but who had always been considered an heiress. - That was a situation he liked very little, but it was characteristic of - him that he did not sink into any very great depths of depression. He was - not easily depressed, having been born with one of those equable tempers - which are as delightful as they are rare. Then, too, his very indifference - to money for its own sake, the habit he had inherited from his unworldly - father of a positive dislike of all display and a contempt for all but the - simplest tastes, came now to his aid. Extremes meet. And the marriage, - which would have seemed a perfectly simple and desirable arrangement to a - selfish fortune-hunter, seemed also perfectly possible to Ralph with his - unconventional way of looking at things. He disliked her fortune, would - gladly have foregone it altogether, but saw no reason in the world why it - should stand as a barrier between them. If she loved him all would be - well. He hoped she did love him, but was not certain. Only in that last - quiet good-bye of hers something in its very self-control had given him - hope; for the first time she seemed to shrink a little from showing how - much she felt the parting. She was wholly unlike the little girl he had - left sobbing in the schoolroom at Sir Matthew’s country cottage a few - months before. - </p> - <p> - As he thought of this, a sort of wild desire to succeed in his profession, - and to succeed quickly, took possession of him. His present position at - the foot of the ladder seemed no longer tolerable. Patient plodding had - been well enough earlier in the day, but now the fiery impatience of youth - began to get the better of him. He turned eagerly to Ivy. They had by this - time reached Westminster Bridge, and the cold, fresh wind from the river - and the wider view seemed in harmony with his eager longing for a fuller, - freer life, for an escape from the dull routine of his present work. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me more about this Scotch tour” he said, eagerly. “Do you think - there is really a chance of our getting into the company? Does your - grandfather think Skoot a decent sort of fellow?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes,” said Ivy, her face lighting up radiantly. “Come and talk to him - about it. He has seen both the manager and his wife: he used to know them - long ago. Oh, do think it over again. Just fancy how beautiful it would be - to see Scotland! We would go to Ellen’s Isle together and see the - Trossachs!” - </p> - <p> - Ralph laughed. “I fear there are no theatres on the shores of Loch - Katrine,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Ivy, looking disappointed, “we should at any rate see - mountains, and the travelling would be such fun. I have never been on tour - in my life, hardly ever out of London even. Come in and see grandfather - and talk about it.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph was persuaded to follow her into the dreary, little house, and much - to Ivy’s satisfaction her grandfather was awake and seemed in excellent - spirits. He was inclined to see everything in the world through - rose-coloured spectacles, and was about as fit to advise any one as a baby - of three years old. But his venerable aspect and his smiling benevolent - face were, nevertheless, impressive and Ralph listened eagerly to all that - he said. It was quite true that he had known this manager and his wife - many years ago: they were most estimable people. Skoot himself had real - talent, his wife not much more than a pretty face, but they were - thoroughly worthy people; she was a woman with whom he could trust Ivy, he - had never heard a word against her. He should miss Ivy, but the landlady - would take care of him and the experience and even the change of air would - be very good for the child. He strongly advised Ralph to try and get into - the Company, it was a chance which did not occur every day. He would give - him a letter of introduction and he could see the manager to-morrow. - </p> - <p> - At any other time Ralph would have perceived that the old man’s advice - while he was under the influence of the opium was worth nothing at all. - But now the bland, comfortable voice and hopeful auguries weighed with - him. He accepted the offer of the introduction, and the Professor, urged - by Ivy, who brought him ink and paper and put the pen between his limp, - lazy fingers, actually wrote the letter. After that Ralph bade them - good-bye, went home to dress for the evening, and then set out for the - Marriotts’ house where he had been kindly invited to dine; while Ivy went - to the dress rehearsal of the pantomime. In the evening he talked over his - prospects with Miss Marriott and her niece, giving a very roseate - description of the Scotch proposal. The ladies both advised him to close - with so good an offer; Mr. Marriott would not commit himself, only - counselling him to be sure to have his agreement drawn up in a legal way, - and suggesting that he might take the advice of Washington. But this, as - Ralph knew, would not be so easy; for Washington was a busy man and though - greatly beloved by all his employés had little to do with them personally. - Moreover in his heart of hearts Ralph knew that the great actor would - counsel him to plod on patiently, and every moment he felt that this had - become less possible to him. - </p> - <p> - The end of it was that he seized the very first opportunity of seeing - Theophilus Skoot, and finding him a very decent-looking man, exceedingly - hopeful as to the business they would do in Scotland, and quite willing to - come to terms, he signed the agreement for a six months’ provincial tour - for which he was to receive a salary of two pounds a week, and went back - to Paradise Street in excellent spirits to receive Ivy’s congratulations. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XI - </h2> - <p> - “<i>We ought all to count the cost before we enter upon any line of - conduct, and I would most strongly warn any one against the self-deception - of fancying that he who wishes to be an ambassador of peace can do - otherwise than weep bitterly</i>.”—Frederick Denison Maurice. - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>uring the weeks - that followed, the only thing which marred Ivy’s complete happiness was a - certain jealousy of the bright-faced girl they had met at Westminster - Abbey on Christmas Day. She was constantly asking Ralph questions about - Evereld Ewart; at times he seemed pleased to talk of her, at other times - his face would grow grave and he would answer only in monosyllables in a - way which perplexed his small devotee not a little. However, she gathered - that he did not see any more of his old friend and consoled herself by - hurrying off to Whiteley’s sale to buy a jacket and hat as much like - Evereld’s as her purse would afford. - </p> - <p> - She wore them for the first time on the foggy February morning when Ralph - called for her at her grandfather’s rooms to take her to King’s Cross. For - it had been arranged that she should travel with him to Dumfries where he - was to place her under the special care of the manager’s wife. The old - Professor seemed much depressed when the parting actually came; he kept - looking at the child with wistful eyes and slowly counting out money for - the journey with a small, a very small surplus, in case of accidents as he - said. - </p> - <p> - “Have you kept enough for yourself?” asked Ivy, throwing her arms round - his neck. “I shall be away six months you know.” - </p> - <p> - “I have enough to last me a couple of months,” said the old man, “with - what my pupils will bring in. And by that time you will be able to send me - a little. You are to have a good salary—a very good salary and no - travelling expenses when once you’re in Scotland.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes,” said Ivy, gaily. “I shall be as rich as a queen when I come - back.” - </p> - <p> - The old man’s eyes filled with tears. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, when you come back,” he said, huskily, “When you come back. You will - do what you can for her if she needs help?” he added, shaking hands - tremulously with Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “I will, indeed,” said Ralph, heartily; and there was something in his - look and tone which satisfied the Professor and robbed the parting of its - worst pain. - </p> - <p> - Ivy, too much excited to feel the leave-taking, sprang into the cab with a - joyous sense that at last, like the heroine of a fairy tale, she was - setting out into the world to seek her fortune. It was scarcely right that - she should be starting with the fairy prince beside her, he ought to have - turned up later in the plot and just at some critical moment. Still real - life could not always be regulated by the rules of fiction and she - reflected that it was much nicer to have him at once. - </p> - <p> - She leant back in her corner of the third-class carriage, and thought what - care he had taken of her, how much more gentle his manner was than the - manner of any one else she knew, and how blissful it would be to act with - him for six whole months. He did not talk to her very much, being still - busy with his parts, but she was quite content with the mere pleasure of - his presence and with the delightful novelty of her first long journey. - The Company were to play “Macbeth,” “East Lynne,” “Guy Mannering,” “Rob - Roy,” “The Man of the World,” “Jeannie Deans,” and several short plays - such as “Cramond Brig,” a great favourite in Scotland. Ivy was not well - pleased with her parts in “Macbeth,” being cast for <i>Donal Bain, Fleance - and Macduff’s</i> boy. But she reflected that in the first part she would - always come on with Ralph since he was to play <i>Malcolm</i>, as well as - the part of second witch, while later on she should have the pleasure of - being killed by him in his character of first murderer. Ralph seeing - irrepressible mirth in her face asked what was amusing her. - </p> - <p> - “I have to call you ‘a shag-haired villain,’” she said, laughing till the - tears ran down her face, “and you have to stab me in the fourth act.” - </p> - <p> - “We will have a private rehearsal then, beforehand,” said Ralph, smiling. - “And you will find my red wig very awe-inspiring, I can tell you.” - </p> - <p> - Ivy looked pityingly at her fellow-travellers, wondering how they endured - their humdrum lives, and full of radiant hopes for her own future. - </p> - <p> - The fogs of London had soon given place to bright sunshine, and it seemed - to her that she had left behind all that was cheerless and was going forth - into a glorious world of possibilities. It was certainly a red-letter day - in her life’s calendar. - </p> - <p> - The arrival in Scotland, however, was not so cheerful. The cold which they - had not greatly noticed in the railway carriage, seemed bitter indeed when - they left the train at Dumfries. - </p> - <p> - It was nearly six o’clock and there was little light left. What there was, - revealed snowy roads and slippery pavements. Ivy shivered and clung fast - hold of Ralph’s hand as they made their way to the manager’s rooms, a - red-headed porter, much resembling the shag-haired murderer in “Macbeth,” - going on before them with a luggage truck. He paused at a high house in a - particularly dingy street. The door was opened by a shrewd, hard-featured - woman who, upon Ralph’s inquiry, told them that Mrs. Skoot was in, and - ushered them upstairs to a room where the remains of dinner still lingered - on the table, and a large, portly lady, with blonde hair and big cow-like - eyes, sat with her feet in the fender reading a novel. - </p> - <p> - “So there you are, dear,” she said, greeting Ivy affectionately, but - retaining a greasy thumb in the book to keep her place. “I’m glad you’ve - come, for Mr. Skoot has just arranged to have an extra rehearsal - to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “Is this Mr. Denmead?” she inquired, extending her hand graciously and - taking a rapid survey of him from head to foot. “Have you found rooms - yet?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I have not,” said Ralph, his low-toned voice and quiet manner - contrasting most curiously with her loud accents. “I was going to ask you - if there is any list of lodgings.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure,” she said. “Here it is; you’ll find those all very good and - reasonable. I’ve known most of them myself in past years.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph thanked her and turned to go, glancing with some compassion at Ivy. - “I shall see you again at rehearsal,” he said. “Mind you have something to - eat first.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, I’ll see to her,” said Mrs. Skoot, vociferously. “She’s to board - with me you know, her grandfather made me promise that. Half-past seven - for the rehearsal, don’t forget. Your landlady will be able to direct you - to the theatre.” - </p> - <p> - “What an awful woman!” thought Ralph to himself. “The Professor must be - out of his mind to let Ivy be with her for six whole months. She may be - all that’s virtuous—but as a constant companion! Poor Ivy! I wonder - how such a decent little fellow as Skoot comes to have such a wife!” - </p> - <p> - At this point in his reflections they reached the first house on his list, - but found the rooms already secured by other members of the company. The - same result followed the next application, and yet again the next. He - began to grow tired of wandering about the snowy streets, and catching - sight of a card in a window announcing that rooms were to be had, he - paused at a neat but unpretentious house and once more made his inquiry. - </p> - <p> - A very prim-looking widow appeared in answer to his knock; she seemed - favourably impressed with his appearance and mentioned her terms. - </p> - <p> - “That will do very well. I want the rooms for a week,” said Ralph, longing - to get into a house, for he was half-frozen and very hungry. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t take lodgers that keep late hours,” said the widow, cautiously. - “I like to lock up by half-past ten, sir.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph made an ejaculation of dismay. “I’m afraid I can’t promise that,” he - said. “I’m an actor, you see, and am not likely to be in by that time.” - </p> - <p> - The woman’s whole face stiffened, her very cap seemed to grow as rigid as - buckram, her upper lip lengthened. “We only take <i>Christians</i> here,” - she said in a severe way, and then without another word she closed the - door. - </p> - <p> - It was the first time he had ever been made to feel himself an outcast on - account of his profession, and for a minute the words, by their injustice, - stung him. Then his sense of fun conquered and he laughed to himself as he - walked on with bent head in the teeth of the bitter, east wind. - </p> - <p> - Referring once again to the list of professional lodgings, he consulted - the porter who told him which was the nearest house, and here he at last - got taken in, by a dishevelled but smiling landlady. - </p> - <p> - “There’s Mr. Dudley, one of Mr. Skoot’s company, in my house now,” she - said. “Maybe you could share the sitting-room.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph hesitated, but without more ado the woman stepped into her front - parlour and put the case to the present occupant. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, by all means,” said a hearty voice; and the door was thrown back and - into the narrow passage stepped a tall, powerful-looking man of about - forty, his large, clean-shaven face, twinkling eyes, and broad mouth full - of good humour. Ralph knew at a glance that it was not at all a face of - high type, but it was genial and attractive and it contrasted most - singularly with the forbidding face of the widow who only housed - Christians. - </p> - <p> - “Come in, my boy,” said the hearty voice; “you look half frozen.” - </p> - <p> - “It was the landlady’s proposal,” said Ralph. “You are sure you don’t - mind?” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure not! ‘Mine enemy’s dog, though he had bit me, should stand - this night against my fire.’ Skoot was telling me about you. The little - brute has called a special rehearsal; you had better look sharp and get - something to eat for there’s no knowing how long they will keep us at it. - The Skoots were always great hands at rehearsing.” - </p> - <p> - “You have travelled with them before?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, many years ago, and there’s not much love lost between us. Shouldn’t - have taken this berth now, if I hadn’t been out of an engagement for some - time. I have my doubts if the tour will be a success. Skoot is awfully - hampered, you see, by having to run his wife as leading lady.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph prudently forbore to make any comment, but the thought of acting - with Mrs. Skoot was a sort of nightmare to him. - </p> - <p> - “Have the rest of the company all arrived?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I think so. There’s little Ivy Grant—she’s coming on very well - indeed, devilish pretty girl into the bargain. Then there’s Miss Myra Kay, - a brunette, rather prudish, used to be in Macneillie’s company, but lost - her health, and is now only just starting afresh. As for the men—well, - you’ll see for yourself by-and-by—half of them in my opinion are - sticks, and the other half roaring ranters. Hulloa, you’ll find that a bad - speculation. Never order coffee in Great Britain, for they don’t know how - to make it. Take to whisky, my boy. It’s the only thing for strolling - players.” - </p> - <p> - “Thanks, I detest it,” said Ralph, “and if professional landladies don’t - understand coffee-making, why I’ll brew it myself as we used to do at - Winchester.” - </p> - <p> - “I thought you had been at a public school. What made you take up with the - stage? Didn’t your people object?” - </p> - <p> - “I am alone in the world,” said Ralph. “My guardian wanted me to be a - parson, but I couldn’t go in for that, and so, being turned out of his - house, I thought I would try to realise an old dream of mine and be an - actor.” - </p> - <p> - Dudley had watched him keenly during this speech. He was a man who had led - a notoriously evil life, but he had a good deal of kindliness in his - nature, and there was something in Ralph’s transparent honesty, in his - evident purity of heart and life that appealed to him. Bad as his own - record had been he was wholly without the fiendish desire to drag other - men down with him. - </p> - <p> - “Your dreams were probably very unlike the reality.” he said, with a - smile. “Are you prepared to rough it?” Ralph laughed, and gave him the - account of the straits he had been reduced to, and Dudley having described - the merits and drawbacks of a provincial tour under Skoot’s management, - suggested that they had better be setting off for the rehearsal. - </p> - <p> - They had scarcely opened the stage door when Mrs. Skoot’s shrill voice - made itself heard. She was vehemently complaining about some mistake made - by the baggage man, and the poor harassed culprit stood meekly to receive - her angry threats of dismissal, not daring to proffer excuse or - explanation. Ivy looking scared and cold, stood not far off; her whole - face lighted up when she caught sight of Ralph, and she stole over to - whisper in his ear, “Isn’t Mrs. Skoot dreadful?” - </p> - <p> - “Suggests the queen in ‘Alice in Wonderland,’” he replied, smiling. “Off - with his head!” - </p> - <p> - Ivy was obliged to laugh a little. - </p> - <p> - “That is Miss Myra Kay,” she said, indicating a pale, slim girl, who was - pacing to and fro, book in hand. “I think she is very selfish; they say - she hardly speaks to any one, but just takes care of herself and is quite - wrapped up in her own affairs.” - </p> - <p> - “Take care,” said Ralph, warningly; “you may be overheard.” - </p> - <p> - Dudley now introduced him to one or two of the actors, and before long the - manager himself arrived. He seemed in good spirits, greeted Ralph - pleasantly, pacified his wife, and promptly set them all to work. - </p> - <p> - Only too soon, however, they realised that the length of the rehearsal - depended on Mrs. Skoot and not on her husband. Although it was no business - of hers she seemed unable to refrain from constant interruption and - fault-finding, and before the evening was over she had reduced Miss Kay to - tears, had tormented poor Ivy into the worst of tempers and had goaded - most of the men into a state of sullen wrath. - </p> - <p> - At last, after four hours of this, Mr. Skoot looked at his watch and - announced that it was half-past eleven. Time was the only thing which had - ever been known to conquer Mrs. Skoot; she wisely bowed to the inevitable, - and having reminded Miss Kay that the call was for eleven on the following - morning, she allowed herself to be helped into a handsome fur cloak, and - telling Ivy to follow her, quitted the theatre. - </p> - <p> - Ralph went back to his rooms in low spirits and the next morning did not - much mend matters, for they were kept rehearsing from eleven in the - morning till five in the afternoon. Had it not been for Dudley’s unfailing - good humour, his flashes of fun, and his genial kindliness, Ralph thought - he could not have endured so great a contrast to the whole atmosphere of - Washington’s theatre. - </p> - <p> - He began to feel a sort of angry contempt for the manager who seemed but a - tool in the hands of his wife and was quite indifferent to the annoyance - she gave to others. - </p> - <p> - But in the evening when “Macbeth” was given, when, for the first time in - his life, he had one of Shakspere’s characters to portray, he forgot all - the previous misery. Into the comparatively small part of <i>Malcolm</i> - he had put an amount of thought and study and imagination which surprised - Dudley, and the elder man, as they walked home together, spoke words of - hearty commendation and encouragement which cheered the novice’s heart as - nothing else could have done. - </p> - <p> - On the day before they were to leave Dumfries for Ayr, it chanced that, - being released earlier than usual from rehearsal, Ralph suggested a walk - to Ivy. It was the first chance they had had for any sort of relaxation, - and Ivy listened with delight to the proposal of a visit to the grave of - Burns and to Lincluden Abbey. - </p> - <p> - She was not at all pleased when as they drew near to the Burns’ mausoleum - they caught sight of Myra Kay. As yet Ralph had made no way at all with - this pale, dark-eyed girl, they had scarcely exchanged a dozen words, and - her manner was very reserved and distant. All that he knew about her was - the little he had gleaned from the men of the company. It was reported - that her marriage was to take place in the summer, and that she was - engaged to an actor named Brinton who was now in Macneillie’s Company. She - had the reputation of being cold, cautious, and conventional, but in - comparison with Mrs. Skoot she was so delightful that Ralph felt drawn to - her and was chafed by a perfectly clear consciousness that for some reason - she disapproved of him. He was pleased when she volunteered a few tepid - remarks about Turnerelli’s sculpture, and to Ivy’s disgust he asked her if - she would not join them in their walk to Lincluden Abbey. - </p> - <p> - She hesitated for a moment, then with a glance at his open, boyish face - seemed suddenly to arrive at some determination more important than that - of the mere decision to take a walk. - </p> - <p> - “I will come part of the way with you,” she said. “But since my illness I - am not much of a walker. It is one of the few grudges I harbour against - Mr. Macneillie.” - </p> - <p> - “You were in his Company?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and at Oxford, while playing in an outdoor representation of - ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ got soaked to the skin and had to wear the wet - clothes. The rest of them escaped with colds but I was laid up for six - months. The manager was extremely good to me I must say, and in August I - hope to be back again in his Company.” - </p> - <p> - “You like him then as a manager?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, indeed, there couldn’t be a better. I don’t know how I shall ever - endure all these months with the Skoots, and had I known that that - scoundrel Dudley was to be in the Company I should never have accepted the - engagement.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph raised his eyebrows. “That’s a severe word,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “It’s no more than he deserves,” said Myra Kay, frowning. “I am astonished - that you can share rooms with him and make him your friend.” - </p> - <p> - “He is very likely no worse than many others,” said Ralph, nettled by her - tone. - </p> - <p> - “No worse!” she said, scornfully. “Is it possible you do not know that he - is the wretch who figured in the Houston case? You must remember it—the - stir was so great and it is not eighteen months ago.” - </p> - <p> - “I was at school eighteen months ago and never troubled my head with <i>causes - célèbres</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Myra Kay walked on in silence for a few moments; then she briefly told him - the facts of the case and was pleased to see him wince. - </p> - <p> - “The man has been properly punished,” she continued, with satisfaction, - “and now no decent manager wall have him—at any rate, till the - details of the case are forgotten. He is desperately hard up for money, - and every one cuts him. I hope, now that you know all this, you will have - no more to say to him.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps he has turned over a new leaf,” said Ralph, looking up from the - discoloured track where they were walking to the pure white fields beyond. - </p> - <p> - Myra Kay gave a sarcastic little laugh. - </p> - <p> - “You are far too innocent, Mr. Denmead,” she said; and Ralph thought there - was an unpleasant touch of patronage in her tone. “Does he look as if he - were repenting?” - </p> - <p> - “Men can’t go about in sackcloth and ashes,” said Ralph; “and you surely - wouldn’t have him cultivate a face a yard long? It’s his nature to be full - of fun, and, for my part, I would far rather have to do with a man who has - been openly punished than with a hypocrite who sins with impunity and goes - about posing as a philanthropist.” - </p> - <p> - He thought resentfully of Sir Matthew. - </p> - <p> - “I can’t think how you can speak to him,” said Myra Kay bitterly, “For - your own sake, and for the sake of the profession, you ought to have - nothing to do with him. It was not just a common case of wrongdoing—it - was a specially atrocious affair throughout. They say you are the son of a - clergyman. I should have thought you would have had better judgment than - to mix yourself up with such a man.” - </p> - <p> - “He is precisely the sort of man my father would have befriended,” said - Ralph, warmly. “There was nothing of the Pharisee about him. I remember - how when all the village cut a man who had been in prison for some bad - offence, he found out the fellow’s one vulnerable point—a love of - flowers—and had him up with us at the Rectory the whole of one - Bank-holiday, pottering about the garden and greenhouse, and as happy as a - king in exchanging plants with us, and helping to bud roses.” - </p> - <p> - “That may be well enough for a clergyman, but for you—a mere boy, - knowing so little of the world—it is different. You ought not to - have chosen such a man as your companion.” - </p> - <p> - “I didn’t choose him,” said Ralph, with some warmth. “An ‘unco guid’ widow - shut the door in my face, because I was an actor, and said she only took - in Christians. Then at the next place I went to they gave me shelter and - kind words, and Dudley was goodness itself to me. If I cut him now I - should be a contemptible cad.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said his companion, with a shrug of her shoulders, “you must ‘gang - your own gait.’ But remember that I have warned you.” - </p> - <p> - She turned back soon after this, and Ivy, who had thought the whole - discussion very tiresome, skipped for joy when a bend in the road hid her - from view. - </p> - <p> - But Ralph seemed unusually silent, and as they looked at the ruins of the - old abbey, Ivy could not at all understand the shadow that seemed to have - come over his face. - </p> - <p> - Not a word ever passed Dudley’s lips about his previous life, but there - were not lacking people who promptly told him that Ralph Denmead had just - learnt all about it; and when they moved on to Ayr, he said in his blunt - way: - </p> - <p> - “You’ll not care that we should pig together any longer, I daresay?” - </p> - <p> - “I had much rather share diggings with you than with any of the others,” - said Ralph, heartily. “If I’m not in your way, that is? You are the only - man who has shown me the least kindness.” - </p> - <p> - Dudley made an inarticulate exclamation. He was more touched than he would - have cared to own. - </p> - <p> - “You are thankful for small mercies,” he said, “and gratitude is a rare - thing in the profession. But I like you, lad, and am glad to have you as a - chum. You shall not have cause to be ashamed of me.” - </p> - <p> - And so throughout the strange vicissitudes of the Scotch tour these two - oddly-contrasting characters bore each other company, and for some time - Myra Kay kept aloof from them both. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XII - </h2> - <p> - “<i>All these anxieties will be good for you. They all go to the making of - a man—calling out that God-dependence in him which is the only true - self-dependence, the only true strength</i>.”—Letters of Charles - Kingsley. - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>uring the first - month Theophilus Skoot’s Company prospered as well as could be expected. A - week at Glasgow and a week at Edinburgh, with full houses, cheered every - one; but after that, as they went northward, the days of dearth began. It - was now past the middle of March, and the old proverb, - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “As the light lengthens - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - The cold strengthens,” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="noindent"> - was fulfilling itself in very bitter fashion. Perhaps people were - disinclined to turn out of their comfortable homes on such bleak evenings; - at any rate, the week at Stirling proved a dead failure, and Perth was - wrestling with the influenza demon, and had little leisure to bestow on - strolling players. - </p> - <p> - It was here that one evening Ralph, for the first time, learnt what it is - to work without a salary. - </p> - <p> - He was sitting on a basket, waiting for his cue, with “Pendennis” to cheer - him into forgetfulness of fatigue and cold, when Dudley returned to the - dressing-room, with an odd look lurking about the corners of his mouth. - </p> - <p> - “The ghost walks,” he said, in sepulchral tones. - </p> - <p> - “What do you mean?” said Ralph, laughing. - </p> - <p> - “It’s all very well to laugh. You won’t be able to do that long. There’s - no treasury to-morrow, my boy. ‘The manager regrets,’ etc., etc.” - </p> - <p> - “No treasury!” echoed Ralph, blankly. - </p> - <p> - “I’m not surprised,” said Dudley; “I was always doubtful whether Skoot - would hold out long. But we may have better luck at Dundee.” - </p> - <p> - “And if not, how are we to live?” asked Ralph, recollecting how small a - sum he had to fall back upon. - </p> - <p> - “Why, my dear boy, we must live like the birds of the air, who eat other - folk’s property, and then fly away.” Ralph looked gloomy. - </p> - <p> - “Well, after all,” he said, “the debts will virtually be Skoot’s, not - ours. And, as you say, other places may not be so bad as Perth has been.” - </p> - <p> - This was exactly what the manager observed as they journeyed on from town - to town. He was always apologetic, always bland and pleasant; but not - another penny was ever forthcoming. In other respects, however, the tour - was less unpleasant than at first. The rehearsals were shorter, and Mrs. - Skoot did not venture to irritate them quite so much, but solaced herself - instead with whisky. Moreover, their common trouble formed a sort of bond - of union between the members of the Company; they grumbled together, and - cheered each other up; they were extraordinarily kind in helping one - another; all the little jealousies and quarrels were forgotten in the - general anxiety and distress. As to Myra Kay, she was like another being - altogether; she nursed Ivy through a long and tedious cold, she forgave - Ralph for his friendship with Dudley, and she discussed ways and means in - the most helpful fashion. Her experience and good advice were of - considerable use to Ralph, while, when their prospects were at the - darkest, Ivy managed to extract comfort from dreams about the future, and - would listen by the hour to Myra’s plans for the summer, and to - discussions about her wedding and her trousseau. - </p> - <p> - And so the weary weeks dragged on, until at last, towards the end of - April, they found themselves at Inverness. By this time they were all - beginning to grow desperate for want of money, and Ralph, after a hard - struggle with himself, conquered his pride and wrote to old Mr. Marriott, - telling him of the plight he was in. It was not until the last day of - their engagement at Inverness that the reply, bearing the name of the firm - on the envelope, was placed in his hands. He tore it open eagerly and - turned pale as he read the contents: - </p> - <p> - “Basinghall Street, E. C. - </p> - <p> - “21th April. - </p> - <p> - “Dear Sir, - </p> - <p> - “With reference to your letter of the 25th inst., I beg to inform you that - Mr. Marriott has been very dangerously ill with influenza, and to recruit - his health he has been ordered to take a voyage to Australia. I regret - that in his absence I do not feel myself at liberty to make you any - advance. I am, dear sir, yours truly, - </p> - <p> - “W. G. Maunder.” - </p> - <p> - The next day they moved on to Elgin. The manager looked miserable and - depressed; Mrs. Skoot, though not quite sober, read novels more - assiduously than ever, and among the actors there were loud complaints, - and angry threatenings of a strike. At Elgin the audiences were better - than might have been expected, and the Skoots seemed to revive a little as - they moved on to the neighbouring town of Forres. But the luckless Company - still toiled unpaid. - </p> - <p> - Ralph’s patience was now almost exhausted. Ivy had received piteous - letters telling of her grandfather’s difficulties, and every day it seemed - less and less probable that they would ever again receive their salaries - from the manager. - </p> - <p> - Forres certainly did not look like a place where they would attract large - audiences, and an indescribable feeling of hopelessness stole over him as - he gazed at the old gabled houses and at the one long, irregular street - which formed the chief part of the town. How much longer could he possibly - endure the weary, distasteful life? The halls with their miserable - accommodation behind the scenes—for in few towns had they found a - proper theatre;—the cheap lodgings with their dirty rooms; the daily - marketing under difficulties; and the revolting spectacle of Mrs. Skoot - drowning her discomfiture in drink—all these had become intolerable. - </p> - <p> - “Let us go for a walk,” said Ivy, despairingly. “At any rate out of doors - we can have air and sunshine—we shall have enough of our wretched - rooms later on.” - </p> - <p> - “Come and see the river,” said Myra Kay. “They say there are lovely views - by the Findhorn.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph consented, and the three walked out together into the country, and - did their best to forget the troubles that hemmed them in, as they - wandered among the flowery fields, where Ivy gathered violets and - primroses to her heart’s content. Presently by the river, among the soft - early green of the bushes, they came to a fallen tree, and here they - established themselves while Ralph read to them. They had indulged in two - or three of Dickens’ novels at an old bookstall in Edinburgh in their days - of plenty, and when fortune frowned upon them these shabby volumes had - proved a perfect godsend. They had solaced many a cold journey and - brightened many a dreary lodging-house, and they helped now to distract - them from the thought of their daily increasing troubles. - </p> - <p> - It seemed to Ivy when she looked back afterwards, that this afternoon by - the Findhorn was the last really happy day she was ever to know. She sat - cosily ensconced on the tree trunk with her lap full of flowers which she - delighted in arranging; and Ralph lay on the grass at her feet with his - head propped against the smooth surface of the fallen beech tree. She - noticed how the short waves of his crisp, brown hair contrasted with the - silver-grey of the bark, and how the careworn look which had grown upon - him during the tour was entirely banished now as flashes of mirth passed - over his face, caused by the sayings of Grip the Raven. - </p> - <p> - Myra Kay sat just beyond him; she was knitting socks for her <i>fiancé</i>, - listening at times to the reading, but more often dreaming of her own - future. Everywhere there was that sense of hope and joyous expectation - that seems to belong to the spring-time: the birds sang as Ivy had never - heard them sing before; the lambs frisked delightfully in the soft, green - meadows near their somewhat uninteresting mothers; and into her - half-taught, eager mind there somehow floated new ideas of the meaning of - “green pastures and still waters,” and a firmer confidence in a Shepherd - who would not forget even the members of a travelling company in grievous - straits up in the north of Scotland. - </p> - <p> - “Oh don’t let us go just yet!” she exclaimed, as Ralph closed the book. - “It can’t be time to go back to those stuffy rooms.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m in no hurry,” said Ralph, stretching himself, and falling back into a - more comfortable attitude. - </p> - <p> - He could not see Ivy’s face, but he could see her little, slender fingers - as they pulled the petals off a daisy. The result seemed to displease her; - she threw away the remains of the flower, and gathering another diligently - pulled off each pink-tipped petal, but again threw the stalk from her with - a little impatient gesture. Then she began upon a third, and had become - absorbed in her counting, when suddenly she felt Ralph’s hand lay hold of - hers. - </p> - <p> - “Caught in the act,” he said, laughing. “Don’t you know that - fortune-telling is illegal?” - </p> - <p> - “Not if you tell your own,” said Ivy. - </p> - <p> - Something in her voice made him look at her, and for the first time in her - little childish face he detected an expression which made him clearly - understand that he was not dealing with a mere girl but with a woman. Long - ago he had realised that her hard experience of life had robbed Ivy of the - innocent ignorance which had kept Evereld so young; but he had naturally - fallen into the habit of treating her as he would have treated any other - girl of fifteen with whom he was brought into constant companionship. - Thinking it over now it suddenly occurred to him that during the Scotch - tour Ivy had lost her brisk, managing way, that she was very different - from the independent little being who ordered the Professor’s affairs for - him, that she had become unnaturally fond of being helped and protected. - An uncomfortable fear crossed his mind, but he thought it best to laugh - and try to change the subject. - </p> - <p> - “Are you doing the old thing that Evereld and I used to be fond of!—‘Tinker, - tailor, soldier, sailor?’ And have you always been fated to wed the thief - that you throw away one daisy after another?” - </p> - <p> - “That’s a silly old rhyme,” said Ivy. “Of course I should never think of - marrying any one who wasn’t in the profession.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, that’s quite a mistake,” said Ralph, lightly, determined that he must - be cruel only to be kind. “Two of a trade seldom agree, you know. You - should marry a dreamy philosopher who needed waking up, and being looked - after.” - </p> - <p> - Ivy blushed, and was silent, and Ralph was not sorry to be taken to task - by Myra Kay for his rash assertion that two of a trade never agreed. They - fell into a merry bantering discussion during which Ivy recovered herself. - </p> - <p> - After all, she reflected, why should she be unhappy because he had teased - her a little? His words no doubt meant nothing at all; she would not spoil - this happy afternoon by tormenting herself. - </p> - <p> - “To-morrow’s my birthday,” she said, gaily, as they walked back to Forres. - “I’m going to be sixteen. There’s no rehearsal, and I vote that we three - have a real picnic.” - </p> - <p> - “Carried unanimously,” said Ralph. “We might go as far as this Heronry - they speak of. The longer we are out of our dismal diggings the better.” - </p> - <p> - The play that night was “Macbeth,” and anything more unlike the - arrangements at Washington’s theatre it would be impossible to conceive. - Mr. Skoot was apologetic, Mrs. Skoot endeavoured to be very affable, and - the Company with that readiness to perceive fun, and the real good-nature - which never failed them in an emergency, made the best of the many - discomforts. They dressed behind screens, they laughed and joked, they had - wild hunts for lost belongings, and they chattered incessantly between the - acts under cover of the noisiest piano-playing which could be produced by - one of the ladies, who, with a waterproof cloak over her costume, did duty - as the entire orchestra. - </p> - <p> - A choice selection of Scotch airs was being hammered out at the close of - the Fourth Act, when Ralph, who was groping in a heap of miscellaneous - garments in hopes of rescuing the wig he had worn as first murderer, and - had hastily thrown off during a desperately hurried change into <i>Malcolm’s</i> - attire, found himself close to Dudley. - </p> - <p> - “The manager is positively enjoying himself,” said the comedian. “Skoot is - after all a wonderful man. I shouldn’t wonder if he was persuading himself - that this confounded tour will prove a success. That fellow lives on - dreams. His wife is the one for business.” - </p> - <p> - At that moment Mrs. Skoot, in the most elegant of stage nightdresses, and - with her taper all ready to be lighted at the right moment, appeared for - the sleep-walking scene. Ralph often wondered what effect she had at a - distance; the near view of her was appalling. - </p> - <p> - “I am afraid you have a great deal to put up with,” she said, in unusually - gracious tones, smiling in a ghastly way beneath her paint. “But we must - all learn to take the fortune of war. Our next place will be comfortable - enough.” - </p> - <p> - They were joined just then by Myra Kay in the costume of the <i>Gentlewoman-in-Waiting</i>. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Skoot, who, as a rule, was at daggers drawn with her, accosted her - now pleasantly enough. - </p> - <p> - “I hear that you and Ivy have planned an excursion for to-morrow?” she - said. “Come and breakfast with us at nine o’clock before the start. And - you, too, Mr. Denmead.” - </p> - <p> - They accepted the invitation in some surprise, and as the curtain was rung - up Mrs. Skoot requested Dudley to light her taper, and presently sailed on - to the stage for her great scene, leaving them in astonishment at her - unwonted good-humour. - </p> - <p> - The next day Ralph went, as he had promised, to the manager’s rooms in - time for breakfast. He was within a few yards of the door when he came - upon the heavy man, and his son, a young and very indifferent actor who - usually played four or five small parts. - </p> - <p> - “Have you heard the news?” they exclaimed. “The Company’s dried up.” - </p> - <p> - “What?” said Ralph, in dismay. - </p> - <p> - “The manager has absconded,” said the heavy man, pompously. “Went off by - the first train this morning. It seems that last night when we were all - safely out of the way the baggage man took everything to the station. Then - Skoot and his wife stole out of their lodgings early this morning without - rousing a soul, and here we are landed high and dry in the north-east of - Scotland. Pleasant prospect, isn’t it?” - </p> - <p> - Ralph felt indeed that they were in a desperate plight. He moved on - mechanically to the open door of the manager’s rooms, and caught sight of - a little group in the entrance passage. - </p> - <p> - The landlady, shrill-voiced and indignant, was telling the whole story to - Myra Kay; and Ivy, with an open letter in her hand, and traces of tears on - her little, piquant face stood close by. - </p> - <p> - She was the first to catch sight of him, and hastened forward to greet - him. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Ralph, I’m so glad you have come!” she exclaimed, piteously. “What am - I to do? What can I do?” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIII - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “Who bides his time—he tastes the sweet - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Of honey in the saltest tear; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And though he fares with slowest feet, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Joy runs to meet him, drawing near; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The birds are heralds of his cause, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And like a never-ending rhyme - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The roadsides bloom in his applause, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Who bides his time.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - J. W. Riley. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>ave you had bad - news from home?” asked Ralph, taking the letter which Ivy held towards - him. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said, in a broken voice. “They have had to move my grandfather - to the hospital.” - </p> - <p> - It was but too clear, as Ralph at once perceived from the letter, that the - old Professor was never likely to recover, and that Ivy’s home had ceased - to exist. The landlady wrote to demand rent, and since it was impossible - to pay this, there would doubtless be a sale of the Professor’s few - belongings. - </p> - <p> - And here was this pretty girl of sixteen, stranded, without a penny in her - possession, in a remote Scotch town, where it was impossible to meet with - an engagement. - </p> - <p> - “What am I to do?” she said, lifting her piteous eyes to his with an - appeal that moved him more than he quite liked. He wished that he had not - guessed her secret on the previous day, and that he could treat her once - more in the matter-of-fact-elder-brotherly fashion which he had once - adopted. But this was no longer possible; nay, he felt an almost - irresistible longing to say to her: “I will take care of you. We will set - the world at defiance, and bear our troubles together.” - </p> - <p> - Fortunately he thought of Evereld, and instantly tried to picture her in - the same plight. How would he have felt towards a man who had taken - advantage of her poverty and helplessness to place her in a position which - must, more or less, have compromised her? - </p> - <p> - He folded the letter and gave it back. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t worry yourself more than you can help,” he said, kindly. “I will - talk things over with the others, and we will manage somehow to get you - back to London.” - </p> - <p> - But discussion threw very little light on the main difficulty of how to - raise the necessary money. Every member of the company was desperately - poor, and although Myra Kay offered to take charge of Ivy as far as - London, she had only just enough money to pay for her own railway ticket. - Some intended to go back to Inverness, others were setting out for - Edinburgh or Glasgow, and all were grumbling loudly, and anathematising - the Skoots who could scarcely have chosen a more inconvenient place than - Forres for their flight. - </p> - <p> - He had counted a good deal on Dudley’s good nature; but the comedian - proved the most unsatisfactory adviser of all. - </p> - <p> - “Oh don’t worry your head about Ivy Grant,” he said. “Depend upon it such - a pretty girl will win her way somehow or other. It’s much more to the - point what you and I are to do.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph did not stay to argue the question. Myra Kay was to leave by the - next train for the south, and he was determined that somehow or other Ivy - must go with her. He went up to his room, threw most of his possessions - into a portmanteau, and went to try his fortune at the pawnbrokers. It was - broad daylight, but he had long ago ceased to feel any shame at being - reduced to such straits. He went to-day, however, with a heavy heart; for - he was only too well aware that he could not hope to raise much money on - the few shabby clothes, and the wigs, shoes, and such like, which had - supplemented the theatrical costumes provided by Skoot. Many weeks before, - his father’s watch and chain had been parted with, so that he had nothing - of much value, and his spirits sank lower and lower as the pawnbroker - checked off the garments one by one at terribly small prices. - </p> - <p> - In the very atmosphere of the shop there seemed something depressing; - tales of sordid misery seemed woven in with the shabby rugs and carpets, - the stacks of heterogeneous clothing; and tragedies seemed bound up with - the workmen’s tools, the musical instruments, the relics of household - furniture. - </p> - <p> - “Twenty-five shillin’s and saxpence,” said the master of the shop, “Will I - be makin’ oot the teeckets?” - </p> - <p> - “What’s the price of a third single to London?” asked Ralph. “I must raise - enough for that.” - </p> - <p> - “Ye canna do it, sir, not with these, it’s juist beyon’ ony man’s - contrivin’. Why I’m thinkin’ the teecket to London will be a matter of twa - punds.” - </p> - <p> - He appealed to his assistant. - </p> - <p> - “It’s preceesely forty-two shillin’ and saxpence,” said the young man, - regarding the actor with some interest. - </p> - <p> - “There’s still the portmanteau,” said Ralph. - </p> - <p> - It was an old one of the rector’s, solid and good of its kind. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll gie ye a couple o’ shillin’s for it,” said the pawnbroker. “But - ye’ll no be gettin’ to London, sir, upon twenty-seven and saxpence.” - </p> - <p> - “It must be done,” said Ralph, with a determined look which took the - Scotchman’s fancy. “Make out those tickets, and I’ll be with you again in - five minutes.” - </p> - <p> - “The laddie’s weel-bred,” said the old man to himself. “He’ll win his way - depend on it, there’s grit in him. Yon’s none of your false French - polishin’; it’s sound, good breedin’ and grit.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph, true to his word, appeared again in a few minutes carrying a - Gladstone bag, an overcoat, and a mackintosh. The bag with the change of - linen in it which he had hoped to keep, went for a little more than he had - expected, and with the overcoat brought in enough money for the journey, - and ninepence to spare. He decided not to part with the mackintosh, and - gathering up his sheaf of tickets, bade the old Scotsman good-day, and - went at once to the manager’s deserted rooms. - </p> - <p> - Ivy had grown tired of talking to the landlady, and being in spite of her - troubles exceedingly hungry, had taken her place at the forlorn breakfast - table, and was trying to find comfort in a cup of cold coffee. - </p> - <p> - “Come, that’s a good idea,” said Ralph, cheerfully. “And now I think of - it, I, too, am hungry. Why should we not eat? After Mrs. Skoot’s pressing - invitation it’s a clear duty!” - </p> - <p> - Ivy smiled, and began to fill his cup for him. - </p> - <p> - “What do the rest of the company think I had better do?” she asked, - anxiously. - </p> - <p> - “They all agree that you had better go back to London with Miss Kay. She - will not be able to take you home with her, but I’ve been thinking it - over, and I’m sure your best way will be to go to my old landlady Mrs. Dan - Doolan. She is the soul of good-nature and as long as they have a crust in - the house they will share it with you.” - </p> - <p> - “But I don’t know them, and I can’t go and beg,” said Ivy, with an air of - distaste. - </p> - <p> - “I will write a letter to them which will explain everything,” said Ralph. - “They are good, trustworthy people who will see that no harm happens to - you; they will, I daresay, house you while you look for another - engagement.” - </p> - <p> - “How am I to get the money for my ticket?” - </p> - <p> - “I will see to that for you.” - </p> - <p> - “But you have no money?” - </p> - <p> - “Are you so sure of that?” said Ralph, smiling as he rattled the coins in - his pocket cheerfully. - </p> - <p> - The girl’s face brightened. “You have enough for both of us?” - </p> - <p> - “I am going to stay in Scotland. I shall keep enough to get along with, - you needn’t be anxious.” - </p> - <p> - But this was quite too much for Ivy, she hid her face and burst into - tears. - </p> - <p> - “I can’t go alone,” she sobbed. “I won’t take your money, and leave you - behind in this horrid place. Oh, please, please let us stay together.” - </p> - <p> - For a minute he wavered—the sight of her tears was almost more than - he could endure; the sunshine streaming in through the uncurtained window - turned her brown hair to gold, and revealed in a way that half-dazzled him - the wonderful grace of every line of her figure. With an effort, he turned - away, and began doggedly to pace the room till he recovered himself, and, - with that instinct for straightforward dealing which always characterised - him, frankly answered her suggestion. - </p> - <p> - “That would never do: you will see if you think for a minute. You are no - longer a child, and people would say horrible things about you.” - </p> - <p> - “But you always say we are not to trouble about slanders. You don’t like - conventional people, and yet here you would have me made miserable, for - fear unkind tongues should talk.” - </p> - <p> - “We can’t throw aside all conventions,” said Ralph; “many of them are good - and useful in their way. Are you and I so superhuman that we can afford to - do without all safeguards? I know you think me hard-hearted, but some day - you’ll thank me for persuading you to go with Miss Kay.” - </p> - <p> - Ivy shook her head. “It’s because you don’t really like me; you mean to be - kind, just kind and nothing more. I hate your kindness!” - </p> - <p> - All the grief and love and passion that was pent up in her heart seemed to - break loose into this wild, little speech. - </p> - <p> - Ralph began to pace the room again, he understood her only too well, and - he was sorely perplexed as to what he should do. At last he came to the - somewhat original determination to treat her as he would have liked in her - place to be treated. He sat down by her, and said quietly: - </p> - <p> - “We are all of us unhinged this morning, but I want you, Ivy, to try and - see things as they really are. I’m going to tell you what not another soul - in the world knows, for it will help you to see how we stand. I have a - friend in England who is as yet only my friend, but I’m presumptuous - enough to dream—to hope that some day she will be my wife.” - </p> - <p> - “Then very naturally you can’t care much what happens to other girls,” - said Ivy, perversely. - </p> - <p> - “I care a hundred times more,” said Ralph. “It is just through her that I - have learnt to reverence all women. Were she in your plight up here in - Forres should I not think any man a brute who risked her good name, who - didn’t do his utmost to shield her and help her unselfishly?” - </p> - <p> - Ivy did not reply; her wistful blue eyes were fixed on his now with the - questioning look of a child who is trying to grasp some quite new idea. - She had seen all through her precocious childhood and girlhood a great - deal that called itself love, but was only selfishness and animal passion, - and now through her sorrow and disappointment she was beginning faintly to - perceive another kind of love altogether, a love that was divine and - ennobling. It was just a far-away glimpse such as she had gained of the - landscape one day, when, in spite of cloudy weather, they had climbed - Moncrieffe Hill, and as the mist every now and then cleared off for a few - minutes, they had seen the sun shining on lovely scenery far far in the - distance. She had the same sense now that the glimpse of love she had - gained was real and true, and that the mist was a mere passing discomfort. - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry I was angry,” she exclaimed. “I don’t mean what I said, then. - I like you to be my friend and to help me—at least if it’s right for - me to let you.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course it’s right,” said Ralph. “Didn’t your grandfather trust me to - take you down to Scotland and place you with Mrs. Skoot? I owe it to him - since she has deserted you, to see you safely back in London, and I will - write a line at once to Mrs. Dan Doolan explaining things.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” she said, in a sad, meek little voice. And as he began to - write, her little, sensible, managing ways came back to her and she began - to cut thick slices of bread and butter and wrap them up for the journey. - She then consoled the landlady with her travelling trunk, packed her few - possessions into the smallest compass possible, and by the time Myra Kay - called for her, was waiting ready dressed, looking, indeed, very pale, but - with an air of determination about her firm little mouth which Ralph could - not help admiring. - </p> - <p> - There was a great bustle of departure, but when he had posted his letters - and had taken Ivy’s ticket and stood alone outside the railway carriage - with nothing more to do, a sense of loneliness began to steal over him. - For the first time it occurred to any one to ask what plans he had made - for himself. - </p> - <p> - “Where are you going, Mr. Denmead?” said Myra Kay. - </p> - <p> - “I’m going to take a walking tour,” said Ralph, lightly; “probably I shall - work my way down to Glasgow, and try for an engagement there. By-the-bye, - where is Macneillie’s Company now?” - </p> - <p> - “Just dispersed,” said Myra, cheerfully, as she reflected that her lover - would be in London to meet her. “Macneillie generally winds up soon after - Whitsuntide and starts again at the beginning of August. He has promised - to take me on again then.” - </p> - <p> - “If he has an opening you might say a word for me,” said Ralph, “and Ivy, - let me have a line to say how you get on. I shall have to call for letters - at the Stirling post-office, for I hope to hear of an engagement by that - time.” - </p> - <p> - Just at that moment he was hailed by a familiar voice from a smoking - carriage, and looking round he saw Dudley leaning out of the window. - </p> - <p> - “So you are off to the south, too!” he said. “Lucky fellow, how did you - manage it?” - </p> - <p> - The train had already begun to move, but the comedian with a beaming face - still leant out of the window describing to the last moment the - extraordinary run of luck he had had at billiards. - </p> - <p> - “Go and play the same game,” he counselled; “it’s the only way to raise - the wind. Good-bye, my boy! Meet again in better times.” - </p> - <p> - He waved his hand cheerfully and was borne away, but the thing which - lingered longest in Ralph’s sight was Ivy’s wistful, little face, as to - the very last she gazed back at him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIV - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “And forth into the fields I went, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And nature’s living motion lent - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The pulse of hope to discontent. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “I wonder’d at the bounteous hours - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The slow results of winter showers; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - You scarce could see the grass for flowers. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “I wonder’d while I paced along; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The woods were fill’d so full with song, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - There seem’d no room for sense of wrong.” - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “The Two Voices,” Tennyson. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was just ten - minutes past eleven by the station clock when Ralph, having parted with - his companions, found himself outside in the highroad. He felt horribly - desolate, and stood for a minute or two dismally contemplating a flaming - red and yellow placard of a scene in “Cramond Prig,” which they had - invariably played after “East Lynne.” Wretched as his experiences with the - Company had been, they had at least been less dreary than solitude. He - sorely missed Ivy’s bright face, and the comedian’s cheerful - companionship. There was a certain bitterness too in the reflection that - no one had taken much thought of what was to become of him, and that even - Dudley, who had been kind and friendly enough in the past, had never - dreamt of foregoing his journey to London and of taking two tickets to - Glasgow. - </p> - <p> - With a last look at Forres he turned his steps southward and somewhat - drearily set off on the first stage of his journey. He meant to reach - Grantown that evening, and Grantown appeared to be at least two and twenty - miles off. Fortunately the weather was all in his favour: it was one of - those mornings of early May when the sun is bright and warm and the air - deliciously fresh, and he had not gone far along the uphill road before - his spirits revived. After all he was young and in good health, and there - was something not altogether unpleasant in entire independence. He - reflected with a laugh that although a change of clothes might be - desirable, a knapsack would have been heavy to carry, that the great coat - though useful on a cold night would have been unbearable at the present - moment, and that the sixpence left to him after stamping the letter to his - landlady and letters to the managers of an Edinburgh and a Glasgow - theatre, would at any rate keep him for a few days from actual starvation. - Then for a while he forgot his difficulties altogether in sheer enjoyment - of the country. The lovely outline of the Cluny hills, the glimpses of the - river Findhorn, the beautiful parks surrounding many stately houses, - looked their very best on this perfect spring morning. He caught the - glowing sunlight through the young leaves just unfolded and thought that - the delicate tracery of dark boughs seemed as though ablaze with emeralds. - He had walked for about two hours when he came to a little country church - and burial ground, and paused partly to rest, partly to look up at the - beautiful viaduct which at a great height spanned the river Divie. - </p> - <p> - “Ay, ay,” said a voice, that seemed to rise from one of the graves. “There - are many tourists that stop to admire yonder seven-arched work of man’s - devising, but few—very few that pay much heed to the works of the - Almighty.” - </p> - <p> - There was a strong northern accent about the words; and the careful, - precise English showed that the speaker was better used to reading than to - speaking the language. - </p> - <p> - Ralph had started a little at the suddenness with which the silence had - been broken, and on turning round, he saw a venerable-looking old man with - bushy grey hair and beard, and shrewd yet kindly glance. Evidently he was - the minister of this place. Ralph raised his hat, and smiled a little. - </p> - <p> - “May not the skill of man be taken as one of God’s works?” he said. - </p> - <p> - “No doubt, no doubt,” replied the minister. “When rightly applied that is - to say. But railways, sir, are the devil’s own weapon; they desolate and - mar the country they enter; they bring to the country folk all the evil of - the towns and cities. You have a prophet in your own land that has told - you this in plain words, but you will not heed him, but go on multiplying - the works of evil to your own undoing.” - </p> - <p> - “On such a day as this I am all in favour of walking,” said Ralph, amused - at the minister’s earnestness. - </p> - <p> - “Sir! it’s a grand exercise, you’ll not be finding a better; there are - your bicycles that bend a man’s back like an overstrung bow, and your - tricycles that are no light diversion to push up our Scottish hills, and - there are those works of the evil one which whirl you through creation at - such a pace that you are no wiser at the end of a journey than you were at - the beginning of it. But a man that walks, sir, must be blind and deaf if - he’s not a better man after his walk than he was before.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I shall be able to test your theory,” said Ralph. “For I am walking - as far as Glasgow.” - </p> - <p> - “And which way will you be taking?” asked the minister. “You should spend - a few days among the Grampians, if you are anything of a mountaineer.” - </p> - <p> - “I must push on as fast as I can,” said Ralph; “and by the most direct - route. They told me at Forres that after Grantown I had better make for - Kingussie.” - </p> - <p> - “If you’ll come into the Manse, I will show you on the map the very route - I have often travelled myself in past days,” said the minister. And Ralph, - nothing loth, followed him into his house, and was soon poring over a big - ordnance map, and receiving some very helpful information from the old - man. - </p> - <p> - They were interrupted before long by a knock at the door, and the - appearance of an aged housekeeper with a large, well-fed, tabby cat in her - arms. - </p> - <p> - “The feesh is on the table, sir, and it’s a sair temptation for puss, puir - wee thing, starving hungry as she is.” Ralph sprang up to take leave, - glancing humourously at the fat tabby, who was in such haste for her food. - The minister noted the glance; he noted, too, for the first time, the - extreme shabbiness of his guest’s clothes, and certain signs of - under-feeding about him. - </p> - <p> - “We’ll no keep puss waiting, Tibbie,” he said. “But just lay another place - at the table, for I hope this gentleman has time to dine with me.” Then as - Ralph hesitated to accept the hospitality he overruled all objections by - adding: “You’ll be doing me a real kindness if you’ll stay, for it is not - very often that I get a visitor to talk with in this country place.” - </p> - <p> - He led the way as he spoke into the adjoining room, a plainly-furnished - parlour with nothing ornamental about it, but with a certain charm of its - own, nevertheless, from its pure cleanliness and simplicity. Puss occupied - a chair on her master’s right hand, and purred loudly through the somewhat - long grace, and Tibbie, having provided for the wants of the visitor, left - them to enjoy the meal in peace. For dinner at the Manse was not an affair - with many courses, but just freshly-caught fish from the river, baps baked - that morning by the housekeeper, a salad from the garden, and the remains - of a cheese which had been a present to the minister on New Year’s day. - </p> - <p> - “Now the majority of travellers, as I was saying,” continued the minister, - “are just hurried over the viaduct, causing us nothing but distraction and - annoyance, but a pedestrian like yourself really sees the place, and - cheers the day for us and brings us something to think about.” - </p> - <p> - “I spent the first thirteen years of my life in a country rectory,” said - Ralph. “And remember what a quiet time we had.” - </p> - <p> - “And are you studying for the ministry?” asked the old man. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Ralph. “My guardian gave me the chance of doing that, but I - think you will agree that one can’t be a parson just for the sake of - earning a living.” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly not, sir, certainly not. You are quite in the right. No man - should take up such work without a clear call; far better seek some other - profession.” - </p> - <p> - “That is what I did,” said Ralph, colouring a little. “But I know very - well that you’ll not approve of my profession. I am an actor, and am on my - way now to Stirling where I hope to hear of a fresh engagement either at - Edinburgh or at Glasgow.” - </p> - <p> - Surprise, consternation, regret, were plainly visible in the old man’s - face. He said nothing for a moment, it bewildered him to find that this - young fellow with his straightforward manner and ingenuous modesty, should - have anything to do with the stage. - </p> - <p> - “I am thinking that you will be asking me as you did of the viaduct—may - not the skill of man be taken as one of God’s works?” he said, - thoughtfully. “And I’m fain to confess that I have ever considered - theatres as the highway to hell, and actors as so many servants of the - devil. May God forgive me if I have failed in charity and dealt out harsh - judgment to them.” - </p> - <p> - So they fell into talk together, and Ralph told of the landlady who had - shut the door in his face, and assumed that he was no Christian. He told - of some of the arrangements at the two theatres in London with which he - was acquainted. He told more than one story which he had heard from Myra - Kay of the good that Hugh Macneillie had done. And the old minister - listened and pondered these strange sayings in his heart, looking all the - time with a sort of wistfulness at the fresh, hopeful face opposite him—a - face which somehow haunted him long after Ralph had left the Manse. - </p> - <p> - “He had been through a hard apprenticeship, and I doubt he had little - enough in his pockets,” reflected the old man as he paced the bare, little - parlour. - </p> - <p> - “He’d been defrauded of his pay and had looked on the evil as well as on - the good, but still he pleaded like a born advocate for his calling—his - art; and spite of his troubles there was a blithe look in his face which - sore perplexes me.” - </p> - <p> - He walked to and fro many times, finally he took a Bible from the shelf - and turned over the pages until he came to the words he sought. They were - these: “The joy of the Lord is your strength.” - </p> - <p> - “It was <i>that</i> his look kept bringing before me,” he said to himself, - and he sighed because he knew that there was too little of the element of - joy in his life, and that he plodded on from day to day, considering - religion a privilege and a duty, but somehow missing the gladness which - might have been his. Ralph meanwhile, much refreshed by the rest and food - and by his host’s kindly words, tramped on contentedly enough through the - wild, desolate country which led to Grantown. The sun was just setting as - he reached the village; workmen were making their way homeward, some - children with little, dusty, bare feet were playing battledore and - shuttlecock in the road, the ruddy light on their hair looked like - burnished copper. - </p> - <p> - “Come awa bairns, it’s time ye were a’ in bed,” called a comely mother - standing in the open doorway of one of the houses. - </p> - <p> - “Just a wee whilie,” pleaded the children. - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” she replied, yielding under protest, “You’re an awfu’ care to me!” - </p> - <p> - But there was love and pride in her eyes nevertheless, as she watched - their play. - </p> - <p> - Ralph sighed a little as he tramped on. He was now both hungry and tired, - and began to consider his plans; it was quite clear that he could not - afford the price of a bed, and it was still too light to venture upon such - shelter as might be found in barns or under hedges. He turned into a - baker’s shop, secured a good-sized stale loaf, and then for want of - anything better to do, found his way to the railway station where he - amused himself by looking out trains which he had no money to travel by, - after which, having had the good fortune to find a <i>Glasgow Herald</i> - in the waiting-room, left behind by some traveller, he read until it was - quite dusk. The quiet little place roused into a sort of activity about a - quarter past eight when two trains arrived, one from Perth, the other from - Elgin, and Ralph sauntered on to the platform with a faint hope that he - might see some face that he knew—he could almost in his loneliness - have welcomed the Skoots! But very few passengers alighted, and directly - they had been seen off the premises the porters began to lock up for the - night—no more trains were expected. - </p> - <p> - “After all,” reflected Ralph, as he left the village behind him, and - tramped along the highroad in the gathering gloom, “if I had gone out to - the colonies I should think nothing of camping out for a night. There’s no - more disgrace in it here than there. And luckily there’s no law, as there - is in England, against sleeping under a hedge, I can’t be had up as a - vagrant in Scotland. How, if only I had not been forced to sell - Macneillie’s knife it would have been handy enough for cutting this loaf - which must certainly have come out of the Ark.” - </p> - <p> - He wrenched off the top with difficulty and laughed to himself as he - thought how horrified Lady Mactavish would be, could she see him now in - the shabbiest of clothes, tramping a dusty road and munching stale bread - as he went. - </p> - <p> - “Most certainly I should have Sir Matthew’s charitable dole of ten pounds - thrust into my hand,” he said, with an exulting sense that come what - would, he would never apply for that relief. “Rather than go to him for - help, I would willingly turn into that Refuge for destitute men at - Edinburgh, which we saw as we walked down the Canongate.” He shuddered a - little as the recollection came to him of the sort of man he had seen - seeking shelter there. At any rate out of doors he would have fresh air - and no companions in misery. - </p> - <p> - He must have walked nearly five miles from the village, before he saw in - the faint starlight a large farmhouse with many outbuildings. “This is the - place for me,” he thought, making his way into the yard: but he had yet to - learn the difficulties before him. The doors of a hopeful-looking barn were - securely fastened, and, as he crossed the yard to some other outbuildings, - up sprang a huge dog from his kennel, with angry growls and fierce barks. - He walked up to the mastiff, with swift, light steps, patted its head, - fondled its ears, and explained to it the situation. The dog was - mollified, understood that the intruder’s intentions were honourable, and - even licked his hand, which Ralph took very kindly. - </p> - <p> - Looking round searchingly, he made out, at last, a sort of open shed, near - the stables, and moving across to this, had the good fortune to discover a - cart with trusses of hay in it. - </p> - <p> - “This will exactly suit me my friend,” he said, with a farewell pat to the - dog. “May you sleep as comfortably in that lordly kennel of yours!” And, - so saying, he climbed up into the cart, stowed the remains of his loaf in - a safe place, and with deft hands had soon made himself as warm a bed as - could be desired, out of the hay. - </p> - <p> - He slept soundly, being healthily tired with his long walk—so - soundly, indeed, that though cocks and hens and ducks and turkeys, all - began, at an early hour, to blend their voices in a countrified, but - scarcely musical chorus, he heard nothing. In his dream, Miss Brompton, in - a waterproof, was thumping out “Scots wha hae,” between the acts; and - presently, when certain strange rumblings slightly disturbed him, he - dreamed that it was the thunder in the first scene of “Macbeth,” finally - waking himself up by laughing at the comical sight presented by Mrs. Skoot - as she vainly tried to drag him out of his witch’s cloak that he might - appear as Malcolm. Her angry, impatient face convulsed him with mirth, and - it was with no small bewilderment that he awoke to find himself straggling - out of a heap of hay, while from above, the amazed face of a red-whiskered - man gazed down upon him. The rustic’s round, light-grey eyes had a scared - look, and Ralph suddenly remembered where he was, and began to apologise - and explain. The cart no longer stood in the shed, but had rumbled out - into the highroad, and the driver had evidently no intention of - proceeding, while his uncanny visitant still remained among the hay. - </p> - <p> - “Gude preserve us!” he exclaimed, “I was thinkin’ the cart was bewitched - when I harkened to yon fearsome laughter.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph shook off the hay and leapt lightly into the road; his agility and - grace seemed to strike still deeper awe into the heart of the countryman, - who stared like one fascinated. - </p> - <p> - “A doot you hef brought luck with you to the farm, sir,” he said, looking - down into the comely face and laughing eyes of his astonishing guest. “And - there would hef ben a bowl o’ milk set for you had you bin expeckit. But - it will be a fery long time since the Brownies hef veesited us, and - there’s bin nae luck aboot the farm for mony a year.” - </p> - <p> - “Great Scott! the man thinks I’m a ‘Robin Goodfellow’ or a warlock!” - thought Ralph, highly amused. “And he’s far too much afraid of me to offer - me a ride in his cart.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m just a wayfaring man,” he tried to explain. “Very grateful for the - shelter of your hay-cart on a cold night.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, ay,” said the carter, still evidently holding to his own opinion. - “And it is fery glad we are to be seein’ you, sir. And a ken weel that - it’s na for human bein’s to come into our place at night. Lassie wad bark - till ilka soul in the hoose was wakened, and she will be flying at the - thrapple o’ ony mortal man. But dogs hef aye descreemination to tell the - Brownies when they see them. I will be wishin’ you gude day, sir.” - </p> - <p> - And so saying, he drove off hastily, leaving Ralph to trudge along in - solitude, until catching sight of a stream at a little distance from the - road, he reflected that the best things in life were to be had free of - charge, and that a morning bath would freshen him for the day. - </p> - <p> - As for the driver he chanced to look back from a distance, and catching - sight of his uncanny visitor just as he took a header into the water, was - for ever confirmed in his opinion that he had seen and spoken with a - Brownie. - </p> - <p> - The second day’s walk proved even more enjoyable than the first had done, - except that there was no kindly old minister to provide a midday meal. But - the sense of freedom, the bracing air, and the loveliness of the road - beside the river Spey, with glimpses every now and then of the Cairn Gorm - range, were things to be remembered through a lifetime. With Aviemore - specially, he was delighted. He began to weave plans for the future, and - to dream of wandering with Evereld among those exquisite hills with their - craggy rocks cropping out here and there from between dark pines and - delicately fresh birches, while beyond there stretched great pine woods, - and mountains whose summits were still white with snow. Kingussie - furnished him with bread and with a somewhat draughty sleeping apartment - in the ruined castle which goes by the name of the Ruthven Barracks; but - the night air was keen, and many a time he longed for the warmth and - comfort of the hay-cart. There was something dreary, too, in the desolate - shell of the old residence of the Comyns, and he awoke with a feeling of - depression which was curiously foreign to him. The morning was cloudy, and - the waters of the Spey felt icy cold as he plunged into them; however, the - walk through Glen Tromie which the old minister had specially recommended - to him soon made him warm enough, and the wild beauty of Loch Seilich, and - its surrounding precipices fully justified the praises which his guide had - bestowed on them. He rested for some little while by the loch, ate his - last crust, and counted over, as a miser counts his gold, the three pence - which must somehow carry him to Glasgow. - </p> - <p> - “I must certainly eat less,” he reflected, ruefully, having only dared the - previous night to buy a pennyworth of bread. “The worst of it is this - mountain air makes one so confoundedly hungry. I shall soon be reduced to - eating birds’ eggs, or to singing in front of village alehouses in the - hope of earning money.” - </p> - <p> - His reverie was interrupted by the falling of some heavy drops of rain; he - set out once more on his walk seeing plainly enough from the threatening - sky that a storm was at hand. It came indeed with a speed which surprised - him. Clouds, which blotted out the landscape, hemmed him in; the rising - wind roared through the wilds of Gaick, and the rain came down in sheets, - blinding and drenching him, for no mackintosh yet invented could have - stood the pitiless deluge which showed no sign of abating, but rather - increased in violence. Worst of all, he missed his path so that there was - not even the comfort of knowing that every step was bringing him nearer - his destination. On the contrary, he began to fear that he had altogether - lost himself. - </p> - <p> - The further he went the more hopeless he grew; he was wet to the skin, - every bone in his body ached, and no sign of a track was to be found. It - seemed to him that he was the only living creature in this vast solitude, - and his delight was unbounded when at length, through the driving rain and - mist, he caught sight of a figure approaching him. A collie sprang forward - and barked, and was called back by its master, a tall, manly figure with a - crook in his hand, and under his arm an ugly little black lamb, He seemed - not unlike a picture of the Good Shepherd, and Ralph instantly felt - confidence in the clear, kindly eyes which looked out at him in a friendly - fashion from beneath the Scotch bonnet; there was something noble and - winning in this dark-bearded Highlander. - </p> - <p> - “Can you put me into the track for Dalnacardoch?” asked Ralph, as he - returned the shepherd’s greeting. “I have lost my way in the mist.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XV - </h2> - <p class="indent10"> - “Through ways unlooked for, and through many lands, - </p> - <p class="indent10"> - Far from the rich folds built with human hands, - </p> - <p class="indent10"> - The gracious footprints of His love I trace.” - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Lowell. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>ngus Linklater was - in no danger of mistaking the traveller for a Brownie; one of his long, - keen glances told him much of the truth about Ralph, for he had the rare - gift of insight and his kindly heart warmed to the tired wayfarer. - </p> - <p> - He at once protested that it was out of the question to go on in such - weather to Dalnacardoch, and invited Ralph to take shelter in his cottage, - which was but a few minutes’ walk. - </p> - <p> - Ralph hesitated for a moment. The rain streamed down his face and neck, - his boots felt like a couple of reservoirs, and the thought of shelter was - very tempting. - </p> - <p> - “I will tell you just how it is with me,” he said; “I have but a few pence - left and must reach Stirling before I have a chance of getting my letters - and further supplies. I think I must press on, for there is no time to be - lost.” - </p> - <p> - “Put ony thought o’ troublin’ us oot o’ your head, sir,” said Angus, - instantly reading his companion’s thoughts, and beginning to walk on - beside him. “The hame is just a but and a ben, and you’re kindly welcome - to a’ that we can gie you in the way o’ food and shelter for the night.” - </p> - <p> - “You are very good,” said Ralph. “If you can conveniently take me in I - shall be thankful. But don’t be putting yourselves out for me. When I tell - you that I slept last night in the ruins of the old castle at Kingussie, - and in a hay-cart near Grantown the night before, you will see that to be - under a roof at all will be a luxury to me.” - </p> - <p> - He laughed. The shepherd gave him another of those sympathetic, discerning - looks. - </p> - <p> - “You have had trouble I see,” he said. “But I’m thinkin’ that you’re - meetin’ it in the right way.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh,” said Ralph lightly, “I’m just an actor out of work. For several - weeks we have had plenty to do and no money; now we have neither money nor - work, and I am hoping to get into another company.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s no right that ony man should work without wages,” said Angus; “it’s - clean against Scripture. But just for a wee while I’m thinkin’ that it’s - maybe no sic an ill thing for us to learn that a man’s life consisteth not - in the abundance o’ the things which he possesseth.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, it’s not hard to agree to that now that I’m close to your house,” - said Ralph, “but I’ll confess to you that I was beginning to despair - before I met you.” - </p> - <p> - “Ay,” said Angus, a smile crossing his face, “Ilka ane o’ us is apt to be - like this stray lamb that was tryin’ to mak’ its way hame and was scairt - almost to death with encounterin’ deefficulties. It might have hed the - sense to know that as the sayin’ goes, ‘Where twa are seekin’ they’re sure - to find.’” - </p> - <p> - “Is that one of your Scottish proverbs?” said Ralph, struck by the beauty - of the thought. - </p> - <p> - “Ay, it is, sir, and it often comes to my mind when I’m after the sheep. - Ye mauna despair though you’re oot o’ work. We are maist o’ us ready to - say ‘The Lord’s my shepherd,’ but at the first glint o’ trouble we change - the psalm and say ‘but I’m terrible feart that I’ll come to want.’” - </p> - <p> - There was a sort of dry humour in his manner of saying these last words, - and Ralph smiled. - </p> - <p> - “I see you are a thought-reader,” he said, “as well as a thinker.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, as for that,” said the shepherd, “those that spend their lives amang - the mountains have aye mickle time for thinkin’. It’s a gran’ preevilege - to be set to mind the sheep.” - </p> - <p> - They were now within sight of the cottage and Angus Linklater led the way - through a little garden; at the sound of their footsteps his wife opened - the door, it seemed almost as though she were expecting her husband to - bring some one back with him, but after one glance at the visitor her - eagerness died away; she was a grave woman with dark hair parted plainly - beneath her white mutch, and with a certain sadness in her eyes and in her - voice. Her welcome was, however, as hearty as the shepherd’s and before - long she had furnished Ralph with her husband’s Sunday garments and was - busily preparing tea. When the tired traveller emerged again from the back - room in dry clothes, he thought nothing had ever looked more comfortable - than that homely little kitchen with its fire of logs, its old grandfather - clock, and its quaint, corner cupboard, black with age. Some lines of - Stevenson’s came to his mind as Mrs. Linklater made room for him by the - hearth. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “Noo is the soopit ingle sweet, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - An’ liltin’ kettle.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Delicious too was the tea and the oatcake after his monotonous bread and - water diet. Angus was still out attending to the lamb he had brought home, - and Ralph wondered whether the shepherd and his wife lived alone in this - quiet place. Among the few books on the shelf, he noticed, however, sundry - modern adventuring books which had been the delight of his childhood. “I - see you have some children,” he said, finding his hostess not nearly so - talkative as the shepherd had been. - </p> - <p> - “We hae a son,” she replied, her eyes filling with tears, and crossing the - room she took down “The Dog Crusoe” and showed him the inscription on the - flyleaf. - </p> - <p> - It was a prize for good conduct awarded to Dugald Linklater. Ralph - instantly felt that he had touched on a sore subject but whether the son - were dead or a source of trouble to the mother he could not guess. The - book was still in his hand when Angus returned. - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” he said, with a sigh, “you’re lookin’ at puir Dugald’s prizes. We’ve - lost him, sir. But he’ll come hame yet. I’m no dootin’ that. He’ll come - hame.” - </p> - <p> - Little by little Ralph gathered the facts of the case. It seemed that - Dugald had been a clever and promising lad, that Lord Ederline having a - fancy for him had taken him as his valet, and for a time all had gone - well. But London life had proved too full of temptation for the young - Scotsman, the betting mania had seized him, and had swiftly dragged him - down, until ruined and disgraced he had disappeared into those hidden - depths which are sought by the failures of all classes. It was now three - years since anything had been heard of him, but the father and mother - still lived in the belief that he would return, and Ralph understood now - the expectant look which he had noticed in the sad face of his hostess as - he walked up the garden path with her husband. - </p> - <p> - The absent son seemed to dominate their thoughts and it was with something - almost like envy that Ralph, in his singularly desolate life, thought of - this apparent waste of love. Was it pride, or shame or sheer wickedness - that kept Dugald away from such a home, he wondered? - </p> - <p> - The Linklaters kept very early hours, and after “taking the Book” and - “composing their minds to worship,” they bade their guest good-night. A - bed had been extemporised for him on a comfortable old settle where, with - the shepherd’s plaid to keep him warm, he thought himself in luxurious - quarters. But sleep would not come to him at that hour in the evening and - he lay for a long time watching the ruddy glow from the dying fire on the - hearth and musing over many things. He was glad that the storm had - overtaken him and that he had found shelter in this Highland cottage, for - in its atmosphere there was something curiously peaceful and homelike. It - was many, many years since he had felt so much at one with any household—almost - it seemed to him like a return to his old home. For, perhaps, nothing has - more effect on a sensitive, receptive mind than moral atmosphere; while - those sweet, subtle associations, which are the aftermath of a happy - childhood, are more readily awakened by this native air of the soul than - by things which can be actually seen. - </p> - <p> - He took leave the next morning with a sense that these people had become - his friends, and that somehow they would meet again. The shepherd would - fain have helped him on his way, but he knew better than to offer what his - guest would little like to receive; nor did he, of course, realise how - very few were the pence still remaining to him. They gave him the best - breakfast the house would furnish, and Mrs. Linklater insisted on wrapping - up a shepherd’s pasty, which she said would make a luncheon for him; then, - with kindly cordiality, they bade him farewell, begging him to let them - know how he prospered. - </p> - <p> - Cheered by their friendliness, Ralph walked in very good spirits through - the Gaick Forest to Dalnacardoch, and thence, after a brief rest, made his - way southward to Tummel Bridge. The air felt fresh after the storm and - walking was delightful, but he found no friendly shepherd’s cottage to - shelter him, and passed a very cold and comfortless night under the - shelter of a rick, which proved distinctly uncomfortable as sleeping - quarters. Twice he was roused by mice running over his face, and in the - dead of night a groan and the falling of some heavy object at his very - feet made him start up. It proved to be a drunken and very dirty tramp, - whose neighbourhood was highly undesirable, and Ralph shifted his quarters - to the other side of the rick where the keen, north-east wind was far from - pleasant. He woke again in the grey dawn, feeling stiff and miserable. The - tramp still retained the leeward side of the rick, so there was nothing - for it but to resume his journey, and gradually the morning mist cleared - and the sun rose, revealing the fine outline of Schiehallion and chasing - away the chill discomfort of the night. Indeed, by the time Ralph had - reached the village of Fortingall, he was both hot and sleepy, and finding - the kirkyard deserted, he lay down on a sunny patch of grass, with his - head resting on one of the stone ledges that flanked the railings round - the famous yew tree of three thousand years old. How long he slept he - could not tell, but he awoke at length to the consciousness of hunger. - Having eaten all the bread he had saved from the previous night, he - wandered towards the kirk, and hearing the sound of a voice through the - open windows, realised for the first time that it was Sunday. The preacher - was giving out the One hundred and twenty-first psalm, and pausing to - listen, he heard, to the familiar tune of “French,” the following quaint - metrical version. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “I to the hills will lift mine eyes. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - From whence doth come my aid? - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - My safety cometh from the Lord, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Who heav’n and earth hath made. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Thy foot he’ll not let slide nor will - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - He slumber that thee keeps. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Behold he that keeps Israel - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - He slumbers not nor sleeps. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “The Lord thee keeps, the Lord thy shade - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - On thy right hand doth stay; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The moon by night thee shall not smite, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Nor yet the sun by day. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The Lord shall keep thy soul; he shall - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Preserve thee from all ill. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Henceforth thy going out and in - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - God keep for ever will.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - As the last words were sung, Ralph made his way to the door and entered - the little building, just as the congregation stood up to pray. He felt, - as he had done in the shepherd’s cottage, that sense of fellowship which - was what he needed in his loneliness; nor could the length of the sermon, - with its bewildering array of heads, spoil for him that May morning, and - the strengthening influence of the calm worship hour, which seemed to him - more spiritual, more grand in its simplicity, than elaborately ornate and - showy ceremonials. - </p> - <p> - He went on his way refreshed, and, taking the road to Fearnan, soon - reached the shores of Loch Tay. Away in the distance Ben Lawers rose - rugged and stern against the pale blue of the sky, and the walk left - nothing to be wished in the way of beauty. The only drawback was the - growing sense of fatigue that come over him. He wondered that a walk of - eighteen miles could so exhaust him. It was true he had been out of - training when he started from Forres, and had walked many miles each day - upon short rations, but he was dismayed to find that his powers of - endurance were not greater. - </p> - <p> - It was evening by the time he reached the Bridge of Lochay, and learnt - that he was within a mile of Killin. Feeling now tired out, he resolved to - go no further; moreover, he had learnt from experience that it was better - to sleep at a little distance from towns or villages. He paused to talk to - an old labouring man who was leaning over the bridge. To the left there - was a lovely little wood closely shutting in the river; to the right, the - stream wound its way through green hayfields, and on through the wild - beauty of Glen Lochay to the distant hills which were bathed now in a - mellow, sunset light. Learning from his companion that he could get food - close at hand, Ralph made his way to the little white old-fashioned inn - just beyond the bridge. Its walls were covered with creepers, its garden - gay with flowers, and in the porch were two comfortable chairs. The - landlady seemed a little surprised at his request for two penny worth of - bread: she would have been yet more surprised had she known that he gave - her his very last coins in payment; for the rest, she answered his - questions about Killin, and the distance from thence to Callander, and let - him rest as long as he liked in the porch, bidding him a friendly - good-night when at dusk he once more resumed his journey. Evidently the - inn closed early on the Sabbath, for Ralph heard the door shut and bolted - behind him. - </p> - <p> - He paused, and looked round in search of shelter. Not far off, the ground - sloped steeply up, and fir-trees were planted about it. Climbing over the - low stone wall, he made his way towards a fallen tree, the wide-spreading - roots of which pointed darkly up against the twilight sky. It lay just as - it had fallen in a wintry gale, its rough bark was veiled here and there - by clumps of brake fern, and the turf still grew between the roots as it - had grown when the tree was torn out of the earth by the storm. It proved - a good shelter from the cold night wind, and Ralph crept closely down - beneath it, and soon slept. His sleep, however, was disturbed by horrible - dreams, and when in the early morning he awoke unrefreshed and with aching - head, he felt no inclination to stay longer in his lair. Stretching his - stiff limbs, he stood for a minute looking at the wonderful view before - him. Beyond the river there lay a grand panorama of mountains; here and - there were large plantations of fir, then came wild, bare tracks of - heather, black and cheerless now without its bloom, but relieved at - intervals by grey boulders and patches of grass, while little, white - cottages were dotted, like rare pearls, about the landscape. - </p> - <p> - A good swim in the river revived him, after which he went on to Killin, - and, seeing little chance of selling his mackintosh there, hoped for - better luck that night at Callander; and learning that there was a short - cut to Glen Ogle, left the road and struck across the mountainside, - gaining, as he walked, fine views of Ben Vorlich. Toiling up in the sun - proved warm work, however, and by the time he reached the gloomy, narrow - glen he was thankful to wait and rest. He wondered whether it was the - effect of the place or merely his own fault that such deadly depression - began to creep over him. The stern, purple mountains seemed to frown on - him, the tiny stream down below in the middle of the glen looked miserably - insufficient for its wide, rocky bed, and the lingering mists of early - morning still hung about in weird wreaths. This was the sixth day on which - he had been a vagabond, and he began to wonder whether he should ever - reach Glasgow. With an effort he shook off for a time the sense of - impending evil, and forced himself to eat the remains of the loaf he had - bought on the previous night. - </p> - <p> - “Now,” he thought to himself, as once more he tramped on, “I am bound, - whatever happens, to reach Callander this evening. I must walk or starve; - that will be a good sort of goad.” - </p> - <p> - The road was mostly down hill, and he made a brave start, passed Loch - Earn, which lay far below in the valley, looking exquisitely lovely in the - May sunshine, and then toiled up again towards Strathyre, pausing only to - ask for some water at a grey, slate-roofed farm on the outskirts of the - village. Here he learned the comforting fact that it was but “eight miles - and a bittock” to Callander, and went on in better spirits. Away to the - right he caught beautiful glimpses of the Braes of Balquhidder, and at - last, to his relief, came down to the shores of Loch Lubnaig. - </p> - <p> - But the loch was nearly five miles long, and before he had gone half its - length such intolerable pain and weariness overpowered him that he could - hardly drag one foot after another. He was forced to rest for a while; - then once more blindly staggered on, wondering what was going to happen to - him and counting the milestones with the eagerness of despair. At length - the loch was passed, and the two railway bridges. He knew that he must be - in the Pass of Leny, and as he toiled up the hill could hear the rushing - sound of the river among the trees to the right. Then came the moment when - he could do no more, but sank down half-fainting by the roadside, his head - resting on a rough seat which had been placed against the wall. How long - he lay there he could not tell, but he was roused by the sound of - footsteps close at hand. Half opening his eyes he caught sight of two - hard-featured men, who glanced at him critically and shrugged their - shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “Drunk,” he heard one of them say, “and as early in the afternoon as - this!” - </p> - <p> - The words rankled in poor Ralph’s mind. - </p> - <p> - “If I had not tried to be honest it would never have come to this,” he - reflected. “Because my clothes are shabby and my boots in holes they judge - me. Well, it’s what the poor always have to put up with!” - </p> - <p> - He dragged himself to his feet, and, noticing for the first time some - steps in the wall and a path leading down to the river, thought he would - hide his misery and escape from further comments. He was parched with - thirst, too, but to reach the water proved hopeless. Though the river was - swollen with the recent storm, it went surging and foaming below him among - the rocks in a way which made him feel sick and giddy. He just staggered - on by the narrow, rocky track and the wooden gallery till he reached the - smoother path beyond, which led into a little wood, and here once more his - powers deserted him, and he again lost consciousness. - </p> - <p> - When he came to himself he was lying uneasily across the path, his head on - the mossy bank and his feet hanging perilously over the water. It just - crossed his mind that he might easily enough have lost his life had he - fallen in the opposite direction, and he wondered dreamily whether it - would not have simplified matters, yet, wretched as he was, he felt - somehow glad to be alive. Away in the distance he could see Ben Ledi - rising in its tranquil beauty beyond the foaming river. There was a rocky - islet, too, in the centre of the flood, with a tall, stately fir-tree - growing upon it, the dark foliage strongly contrasting with the white foam - and the vivid green of the trees on the further bank. To his fancy, the - rushing river seemed to ring out the tune of - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “I to the hills will lift mine eyes,” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="noindent"> - as he had heard it sung on the previous day at Fortingall Kirk. - </p> - <p> - All sorts of half-misty memories thronged his fevered brain. He thought he - was walking again with Angus Linklater as he carried the ugly little black - lamb; or he was out boating with his father; or he was at rehearsal, and - Mrs. Skoot was wrathfully haranguing him. Through all these feverish - fancies, there remained the ever-present consciousness of physical misery, - and the rankling recollection of the words he had heard from the two men - who had passed him on the road. Presently, yet another fancy took - possession of him. He was sitting with Evereld in a theatre, and could - distinctly hear the actual words of Shylock’s part: - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?” - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “I thank God, I thank God. Is’t true, is’t true?” - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “I thank thee good Tubal; good news! good news! ha, - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - ha, where? In Genoa?” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="noindent"> - The voice was - certainly not Washington’s. He was puzzled. - </p> - <p> - “Thou stickest a dagger in me,” it resumed, then suddenly broke off, and - in the pause that followed he heard steps approaching. He opened his - eyes, but saw only the familiar view of Ben Ledi and the foaming river. He - had no notion that just behind him stood a tall, striking figure, and that - some one was keenly studying him, not with the critical harshness of the - passers-by in the road, but with the reverent sympathetic manner of the - artist. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVI - </h2> - <p> - “<i>Every man’s task is his life-preserver. The conviction that his work - is dear to God and cannot be spared, defends him.</i>”—Emerson. - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>an I do anything - for you?” asked a mellow, penetrating voice. - </p> - <p> - Ralph shifted his position a little, and looking round, saw a man bending - over him with a curiously attractive face, chestnut-brown hair fast - turning white, large, well-shaped, blue-grey eyes, and that mobile type of - mouth which specially belongs to the actor. He had a strange impression of - having lived through this scene before, and in a moment there flashed back - into his mind a recollection of his first day at Sir Matthew’s house, of - his adventure in the park, and of how Macneillie had pulled him out of the - water. “Oh, is it you?” he cried, with a relief that could hardly have - been greater had he met an old friend. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie in vain racked his memory: he could not in the least recall the - face. However, he was not going to betray this. “Glad I came across you,” - he said. “I often come down here by the river to study a part, this path - is little frequented till the tourist season begins. Let me see, where did - we last meet?” - </p> - <p> - “You will hardly remember it,” said Ralph; “it was at Richmond. I was - quite a small boy and ran up to thank you for having pulled me out of the - water a few weeks before in St. James’ Park. You gave me your knife.” - </p> - <p> - A look of keen and sudden interest flashed over Macneillie’s face. - </p> - <p> - “Of course!” he exclaimed; “I remember it all perfectly. I’m very glad to - have come across you again. What is the matter now? You look very ill. Are - you taking a walking tour?” - </p> - <p> - Ralph smiled. “I set out from Forres last Wednesday morning with sixpence - in my pocket,” he said. “It has been a roughish time.” - </p> - <p> - “I should think so, indeed,” said Macneillie, glancing from the - slightly-built figure to the thin, finely-shaped hands, and realising in a - moment how little fitted this lad was to endure hardships. “From Forres - you say? What was it I was hearing a day or two ago about Forres? Oh, to - be sure, Skoot’s Company came to grief there.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I was in the company,” said Ralph. “Skoot left us in the lurch, and - it was a sort of <i>sauve qui peut</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “So you belong to the profession,” said Macneillie. “That gives you - another claim upon me. Perhaps you are the very Mr. Denmead that Miss Kay - mentioned in her letter.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I am Ralph Denmead. Miss Kay promised she would inquire if you had - any opening for me.” - </p> - <p> - “We’ll see about that, but in the meantime, if I’m not much mistaken, the - influenza fiend means to work his will on you. By the look of you I - should say that you were in a high fever.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know what is the matter with me,” said Ralph, miserably. “I - suppose I fainted just now in the road. I know that a priest and a levite - looked at me, said I was drunk, and passed by on the other side.” - </p> - <p> - “Trust them to leap to the worst conclusions,” said Macneillie. “It’s the - way of the world. But come, I must somehow contrive to get you to my - house.” - </p> - <p> - Ill and exhausted, Ralph for the life of him could not keep the tears out - of his eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You are very kind,” he said, brokenly; “but I didn’t mean to thrust the - part of Good Samaritan on to you. I’m not fit to come to a decent house.” - </p> - <p> - He looked down at his travel-stained clothes, and at the holes in his - boots. - </p> - <p> - “Did you mean to lie here all night?” said Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - “No, I meant to get - on as far as Callander and to pawn this mackintosh. I am better. I’ll push - on now. Perhaps there may be a hospital.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, there isn’t, as it happens,” said Macneillie, watching him - attentively as he struggled to his feet; “and it’s two miles to Callander, - and if you think I’m going to allow you to walk as far as that you’re much - mistaken. I’m a very indifferent Good Samaritan, having no beast to set - you on, but if you’ll try to come with me to the little village of - Kilmahog which is not far off we can rest at a cottage I know of, have a - cup of tea, and take the coach from the Trossachs which will pass there in - about an hour. As for your scruples in coming home with me, you must just - make away with them. My mother has often received me in quite as bad a - plight years ago when I was struggling to get my foot on the ladder. We - most of us have to go through it unless we happen to belong to an old - professional family.” - </p> - <p> - As he talked he had slipped his arm within Ralph’s, and was guiding him up - the narrow path, which, after a steep climb landed them once more in the - road. Without waiting for much response he went on, telling story after - story of his own early days as an actor, and at length the tiny village of - Kilmahog came into sight, and they paused before a little, low white - cottage with a picturesque porch and tiny garden. The mistress of the - house seemed delighted to see her visitor, and responded most hospitably - to his request for a cup of tea while they waited for the coach. She took - them into a parlour hung round with sacred pictures, and possessing a most - curious bed made on a sort of shelf in a curtained recess. Ralph looked - longingly at it as he sank into a chair, but Macneillie shook his head. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I see you want to be Mrs. Murdoch’s patient, but those ‘congealed - beds,’ as I always call them, are not well-suited to a fever.” - </p> - <p> - “And when did ye come hame, sir,” inquired the landlady, returning with - the tea tray; “and hoo are ye likin’ your braw new hoose?” - </p> - <p> - “I came home at the end of last week,” he replied; “and as for the house - it’s to my mother’s liking and that’s all I care for. We hear the trains a - trifle too plainly for my taste, but she likes that, says, you know, that - they are a sort of link with me when I’m away.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, but Mrs. Macneillie she’s main prood o’ her beautiful rooms, but I’m - thinkin’ it’s mair because it’s her son that’s made them a’ for her. She - was in Kilmahog last month settlin’ the account for the milk, and she said - to me that if a’ mithers were blessed with such a son as hers there’d be a - hantle less sorrow in the warld. Those were her verra words, sir.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie laughed. “My mother was always prejudiced in my favour,” he - said. “It’s the one subject you can’t trust her upon.” - </p> - <p> - The good woman bustled off to make the tea, and the actor turned again to - Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “My mother is the best nurse in the world: she will soon have you well - again.” - </p> - <p> - “Why not let me stay here?” said Ralph. “It would give you less trouble. I - shall only spoil your holiday, and perhaps bring the infection into your - house.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, we have most of us been down with this plague already,” said - Macneillie, cheerfully. “I know you covet that antique bed, but we must - have you in a more airy room than this. Perhaps it will make you hesitate - less if I tell you in strict confidence that the new house would never - have been built at all if it had not been for you.” Then, seeing the - bewilderment of his companion’s expression, “I’ll tell you just how it was - some day, it’s too long a story now, for I hear the tea-things coming.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph, utterly at a loss to see how Macneillie could be under any sort of - obligation to him, was obliged to leave the riddle unsolved for the - present. The tea revived him, and when the coach came into sight he almost - thought he could have walked that last mile. A dreamy sense of relief - began to steal over him as they drove on beside the river between the - wooded hills and through the pretty environs of Callander, until at last - they reached the main street itself, and turning sharply to the left began - to climb a steep road. Here, nestling cosily under Callander crag, with - fresh green woods behind it, stood the comfortable, squarely built stone - house that the actor had planned for his mother. The coach paused at the - iron gate, for it was out of the question that they should drive up the - steep approach to the front door; indeed, it was not without difficulty - that Ralph dragged himself up the pebbly incline; he was panting for - breath by the time they reached the house, and it was with some anxiety - that he looked up at the white-capped old lady who stood to greet them in - the porch. - </p> - <p> - “Mother,” said Macneillie, “this is my friend, Mr. Denmead. He has walked - all the way from Forres, and is quite fagged out.” The keen, shrewd eyes - of the Scotchwoman had perceived from a distance the sorry plight of the - visitor, and she looked now not at his deplorable boots and shabby coat, - but at the honest, dark eyes lifted to hers; she saw directly that they - were full of dumb suffering. - </p> - <p> - “I am glad to see any friend of my son’s,” she said, and there was - something curiously comforting in the homely sound of the Scottish accent, - but when she had shaken hands with her guest an almost motherly tenderness - stole into her voice. She begged him to come in and rest, made minute - inquiries as to the hour when the fever attacked him, and having left him - installed on a sofa in the dining-room, drew her son into the hall. - “Hugh,” she said, “the poor laddie is very ill. I will go and make a room - ready for him, and you had better be fetching the doctor.” - </p> - <p> - “I will by-and-bye, but first let us get him settled. Put him into my - room, it’s the most airy. I’ll tell you who he is, mother.” The two had - gone upstairs as they were speaking, and Macneillie closed the door of his - room behind them, and began helping in a deft, sailorlike way to strip the - sheets off his bed. “He is the boy I told you about years ago, who saved - me from making an end of myself on Christine’s wedding day.” At the name, - a sort of shudder of distaste passed through Mrs. Macneillie; it was a - name very rarely mentioned by either of them, and the mother fondly hoped - that at last her son had banished from his mind all memory of that romance - of his youth. But, dearly as they loved each other, there was a good deal - of reserve between them, and she could not tell how it was with him. After - his absence in America, he had come back looking much older, but - apparently in good health and spirits, and more than ever engrossed by his - work. Little as she liked his profession, for she was full of - old-fashioned prejudice and clung to all her old traditions, she - nevertheless often blessed it in her heart for she saw that he lived for - it, and, spite of herself, could not help taking some interest in his - efforts to raise the drama, to give only such plays as were worth acting, - and to manage his company in the best possible way. Still it was - undoubtedly the grief of her life that her son had chosen the stage - instead of the ministry, and he was quite aware of it, and was obliged to - get on without her entire sympathy. She was unable to see that he was - really doing quite as good work as any minister in the land, nor did she - understand that an actor in refusing to follow his clear vocation, would - be as blameworthy as a divine who put his hand to the plough, and then - looked back. She did not speak a word now until they had the clean sheets - spread and all things ready for the invalid. Then she drew her son’s face - down and kissed it. - </p> - <p> - “I shall love to wait on him, Hugh, now that you have told me that.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll like it for his own sake too,” said Macneillie. “It takes a fellow - of good mettle to tramp more than a hundred miles on six-pennyworth of - bread, and wear the look he wore when I found him. Oddly enough, too, I - learnt something about him from Miss Kay’s letter on Saturday; he - belonged to that company that failed, and she told me that she much feared - he had spent almost all the money he had left, on sending back to London a - forlorn little child-actress who had been deserted by the manager’s wife.” - </p> - <p> - “A child? Poor wee thing! There are many perils and dangers in your - profession, Hugh, you can’t deny that.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes there are,” he said, “but I am not sure that life in society, or in - other professions, or in shops and factories, isn’t even more risky. As - for this little Ivy Grant, you may be quite happy about her; he had the - good sense to send her to trustworthy friends.” - </p> - <p> - No more was said, for it was time to fetch the invalid and to send for the - doctor. But later on, Mrs. Macneillie opened her heart to her son. - </p> - <p> - “It’s all very well, Hugh,” she said, “to think that everything is made - right by the little girl being in good hands for the time; but you mark my - words, it will be the same story over again as your own. This poor lad - will be shielding and helping Ivy Grant, and when she has other admirers, - why she’ll throw him off like an old glove. It will be your own story over - again, Hugh.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope not,” said Macneillie. “Let us believe he would have done as much - for any distressed damsel. He is a generous fellow, and every inch a - gentleman; why must we assume that he has fallen in love with the lassie?” - </p> - <p> - “Didn’t I find him sobbing his heart out the moment he was left to - himself?” said Mrs. Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - But at this her son would do nothing but laugh, “My dear mother,” he said, - “That is just the sure and certain sign that he has the influenza, but as - to that far worse malady no sign whatever.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVII - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “So, from the pinched soil of a churlish fate, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - True hearts compel the sap of sturdier growth, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And between earth and heaven stand simply great, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - That these shall seem but their attendants both.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Lowell. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>or some days Ralph - gave his new friends a good deal of anxiety; no doubt the worry and the - underfeeding of the past nine months had told upon him, and culminating in - this week of hardship and exposure had left him very ill-fitted to resist - the modern plague which was scourging the country. By the time he had - turned the corner and was able to spend part of each day in the adjoining - room, he had wound himself very closely about the hearts both of the - mother and the son. For there was something in his blithe cheerfulness - which was very winning and which not even the depression that always - accompanies influenza could affect for very long, any more than Sir - Matthew Mactavish’s treatment could really embitter his nature, though it - occasionally made him speak a few cynical words. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie had by this time heard the story of his life, and had set his - mind at rest by offering to have him in his company at the beginning of - August. He wrote, moreover, to a friend of his, the manager of one of the - Edinburgh theatres, and tried to obtain a temporary engagement for him, to - fill up the summer months. To this there was for some days no response, - and Ralph, who was beginning to chafe at the thought of his penniless - condition, grew depressed, and with the sensitiveness of a convalescent - feared that he was a burden to his kindly host. Macneillie was quick to - discern what was passing in his mind. - </p> - <p> - “Pining for that hospital you were so anxious to find at Callander?” he - said one afternoon when he had found Ralph unusually depressed. - </p> - <p> - The invalid smiled. - </p> - <p> - “Not exactly. But I’m wishing I needn’t spoil your holiday.”. - </p> - <p> - “Have you forgotten what I told you as we waited for the coach that day at - Kilmahog?” said Macneillie, bracing himself up as though for some effort. - “This house would never have been built if it had not been for you. I saw - you hardly took in what I was saying, but it’s as true as that you and I - sit here together smoking. I will try to tell you the whole story.” - </p> - <p> - “Years ago, when I was a young fellow playing juvenile lead in Castor’s - travelling company, there joined us a little, forlorn girl of sixteen, - fresh from school, and utterly innocent. She was very unhappy, and I, - naturally enough, fell into the sort of position that you fell into with - Ivy Grant. She badly wanted a protector, and I did what I could for her. - Well, little by little, this sort of friendship drifted into love, and - though our engagement was not made public and was never recognised by her - parents, they did not exactly forbid it or in any way hinder our - intercourse, being shrewd enough, I suppose, to see that had they done so, - their daughter would only have become more resolute and determined. Things - drifted on like this for ten years. For five of these years we were acting - in the same theatre in London, and I was fairly satisfied to wait, and - never once doubted her. But there came a time when she felt hampered in - her profession for want of money, and just then came an offer of marriage - from a man who, though old enough to be her father, was immensely rich. He - had a title moreover, and as far as I know, he was not a bad fellow—had - he not been of decent repute, I am sure she would not have married him. - Still I had seen enough of him to know that they had not a taste in - common, and the misery of it all unhinged me. She was to be married at the - close of the season, and every night—twice on Saturdays—we had - to act together. It all went on like some ghastly dream”—he pushed - back his chair and began to pace the room as though the recollection were - intolerable. “The play was invariably ‘Hamlet;’ I have never been able to - face the thought of acting the part again. The only thing that carried me - through was a sort of desperate resolve to keep up appearances for her - sake. There had been, naturally enough, a certain amount of gossip about - us, but few knew that we had been actually engaged, and in the very worst - of the time there was a sort of odd sense of triumph, for I knew that I - was acting behind the scenes with a perfection which I was never likely to - touch before the curtain. It told on me, though. When the end of the - season came I had been for eight nights without sleep, and after saying - good-bye to her, and realising that there was no need to keep up any - longer, all power of rational thought seemed suddenly to go from me. I had - acted my part so well that she believed that I had become reconciled to - the thought of her marriage, and I suppose she thought that I should take - that position of friend, which she wished me to take. At any rate her last - words were a request that I would be present at the little country church - where the wedding was to take place. - </p> - <p> - “I left it uncertain whether I would go or not, and went home debating - which would really be best for her, which would set her most at ease. - Could I for the time efface myself so completely as to play the part of an - old friend? If she had really cared for the man she was to marry, that - would have been possible; I could have rejoiced in her happiness. But - this, as things were, I thought out of the question. And then in the - darkness of the night, as I lay wondering stupidly which would be the best - for her, a wild notion that it would be best if I were dead suddenly took - possession of me. I was too worn out to think anything at all about the - right and wrong of the matter; it was just an overmastering idea that - crowded out every other consideration. I even forgot my own mother,—that - has always seemed to me the most incredible part of the whole business. - When morning came, I made my preparations and walked out, with no notion - at all as to place, but only a vague wish to be away from bricks and - mortar. After a time I found myself in Richmond Park, and was making for a - quiet glade I knew of, when there came a sound of footsteps hurrying after - me, a small boy was speaking to me, telling me I had saved him once, and - begging me to accept a silver knife. Here it is you see—I have - carried it ever since.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph in amazement looked at his father’s old fruit knife; could such a - trifling thing have played so great a part in the life of his friend? - </p> - <p> - “I only parted with yours the other day at Forres,” he said, “when - everything that could be spared had to go to the pawnbroker.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I’m glad it is gone,” said Macneillie. “This is the only souvenir - needed. I have had presentations both before that time and since, but - never one that touched me as yours did. Your emphatic assurance that - fruit-knives were of no use to you, since you always ate peel and all, - tickled my fancy and made me smile; that was the first step back to life. - And then your boyish praise was so real that it pleased me, and your - hero-worshipping face haunted me. It reminded me that I should be missed - at any rate by some, and when I reached the glade I was glad that by a - sudden impulse I had given you my knife in exchange. Being thus disarmed - there was nothing to do but to lie down and rest, and what with the heat - of the day and the long walk, I somehow fell asleep at last. When I woke - my brain was perfectly clear again, but there was this little embossed - knife to remind me of the narrow escape I had had. I remember that in the - distance the deer were feeding peacefully, and within a few hundred yards - of me rabbits were scampering to and fro. A great longing for home seized - me as I lay there watching them, the sort of hunger that always comes over - a Scotsman when he has been long away from the mountains. So I hurried - back to town, packed my portmanteau, and took the night train to the - north. There! that is all I have to tell you; and perhaps now you’ll - understand that you are no ordinary stranger to me and to my mother, but - that you belong to us.” - </p> - <p> - “It is good of you to have told me,” said Ralph, “to have trusted me with - so much. But I, too, have a confession to make. That day, when we were in - St. James’ Park, Evereld and I knew who was talking with you as you walked - up and down, and once when you stopped close to the water we could not - help hearing what you both said. I think it was partly that which made us - look on you as our special hero.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie paced the room silently, seeing with all the vividness of a - powerful imagination that scene in the far past: the broad sunny path, the - calm expanse of water, with its little wooded island, the white sails of - the toy boat, the two children watching its progress, and beyond the trees - on the further side of the park the great gloomy pile of Queen Anne’s - Mansions looming up against the sky. Again he seemed to stand in his - misery beside the iron railing looking down into a face which was - deliberately hardening itself against him, yet was still the face that - haunted his dreams with its strange inexplicable fascination. - </p> - <p> - Since her marriage he had never seen Christine; at first he had purposely - avoided her, and after his return from America had still deemed it prudent - to refuse a London engagement, and to enter on that career as manager of a - travelling company which had now for some years absorbed his thoughts and - his energies. He wondered often whether their paths would ever again - cross, and with a certain sturdy Scottish resolution he held on his way, - neither seeking nor avoiding a meeting. - </p> - <p> - He was still talking to Ralph on this summer afternoon, when his mother - came into the room with the letters of the second post. - </p> - <p> - “Ha, here is one from Edinburgh,” exclaimed Macneillie. “Now we shall hear - your fate. Well, it’s not much of an offer but better than nothing. Middle - of June to the end of July, that will fit in well enough. To be walking - gentleman after the parts you have been playing will be uninteresting, but - you will at any rate be secure of your salary, and will be acting with - better people. Here is the list of plays; let us see who the stars are.” - </p> - <p> - Glancing down the paper he gave a perceptible start. - </p> - <p> - “That’s an odd coincidence after what we were just talking about,” he - said, handing the list to his companion; and Ralph saw that in the first - week of July, Christine Greville was to appear as <i>Ellen Douglas</i>. He - hardly knew whether he were glad or sorry. Naturally his affection for - Macneillie tended to make him a somewhat severe judge of the woman who, - after a ten years’ betrothal, had forsaken her lover and married for - money; but nevertheless he wanted to meet her, and Macneillie was not ill - pleased at the chance of thus learning indirectly how Christine prospered - in the life she had chosen. - </p> - <p> - Somehow the news seemed to cheer them both. Macneillie stood gazing out of - the window, lost in thought. - </p> - <p> - The rain had ceased, and though the sky was still in part overclouded - there were little rifts of blue, and in the west a bright gleam which - swept across the hills facing the window in a long level line of golden - brightness. Above, were the dark mountain tops, below, in deep shade, the - woods; and the points of the trees stood out sharply defined along the - broad intervening strip of sunlit grass. He could not have explained his - own feelings, but it seemed to him that some unexpected gleam of - brightness had come, too, into his overclouded life. - </p> - <p> - During the days that followed something of the old hero-worship began to - reassert itself in Ralph’s heart as he learnt to understand more of his - friend’s character. To the genius and fervour and romance of the Kelt, - Macneillie united a singularly strong and virile nature, and although he - had shaken off some of the trammels of the school of theology to which his - mother still belonged, he was emphatically one whose life was ruled by - faith. This was indeed generally recognised, although he was not given to - many words; but the world agreed in describing him by that unsatisfactory - phrase, “a religious man,” and many in the profession could testify that - his religion was of that pure and undefiled kind which is known not so - much by words or outward observances, as by the living of a good, manly - life. - </p> - <p> - There was, to Ralph’s mind, something very touching in the relations - between the actor and his mother. His care in avoiding all topics that - could pain her, his solicitude for her comfort, and the pleasure he took - in the restful home-life, which could only be his at long intervals, - formed but one side of the picture. There was the ineffable pride of the - old lady in her only son, her delight in his success being only modified - by the unconquerable scruples which she still felt as to the stage, - scruples which were, however, difficult to maintain in all their fulness - when she was every day confronted by so admirable a representative of the - actor’s profession. - </p> - <p> - As soon as it was practicable, Macneillie made the convalescent spend a - great part of each day out of doors, at first in the garden or in the wood - at the back of the house, and later on, when walking became possible, on - the hill-side near the wishing-well, where far away from houses and with a - glorious panorama of lake and mountain they rested for hours on the - heather. - </p> - <p> - It was at these times that Ralph received some of those lessons in his art - which were later on of the greatest service to him. - </p> - <p> - By the middle of June he had shaken off the last effects of the influenza, - but although he was thankful to have secured an engagement, he left - Callander very reluctantly, only comforting himself with the reflection - that at the beginning of August he should once more be with Macneillie, - and able perhaps to do a little in return for all the kindness that had - been shown to him. - </p> - <p> - His Good Samaritan started him on his way with sound advice, and all - things needful for a fresh beginning, and the weeks in Edinburgh passed - pleasantly enough. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XVIII - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “On the oppressor’s side was power; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And yet I knew that every wrong, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - However old, however strong, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - But waited God’s avenging hour.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Whittier. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>t length the day - arrived when Christine Greville was to appear. A rehearsal had been called - for eleven, and it so happened that Ralph reached the stage door just as - the “star” with her maid in attendance drove up. He had naturally been - very anxious to see her, and was pleased that their meeting should be in - bright sunlight, not in the dreary gloom of the empty theatre. He caught a - vision of fair hair beneath a broad black straw hat, and of blush roses - that harmonised well with the beautiful but rather grave face. Then it - chanced that in alighting, Miss Greville dropped her parasol, and Ralph of - course promptly stooped to pick it up for her. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” she said, and her low voice thrilled him. “It was careless of - me.” As she spoke her lips smiled, but he thought the brown eyes that for - a moment met his fully were the saddest as well as the sweetest he had - ever seen. - </p> - <p> - The doorkeeper having now perceived her hastened forward, and she passed - into the building. - </p> - <p> - It was with some surprise that in glancing round she saw that Ralph also - had entered. Something in his manner had pleased her, and she presently - turned to the manager with a question. - </p> - <p> - “Who is that young fellow behind us?” she inquired, lowering her voice. - </p> - <p> - “He is a pupil of Macneillie’s,” said the manager, “and at present is only - ‘walking gentleman,’ but he has the makings of a good actor in him.” - </p> - <p> - “Introduce him to me,” said Miss Greville. - </p> - <p> - So Ralph, to his no small delight, was presented to the great lady, who - gave him a cordial hand-shake. - </p> - <p> - “They tell me you are Hugh Macneillie’s pupil,” she said. - </p> - <p> - Ralph flushed a little. - </p> - <p> - “He has taught me more than any one else,” he replied, “and it was through - him that I got this engagement. In August I am to join his company.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah!” she said, and Ralph fancied there was a sort of envy in her tone. - “You are very fortunate to have such a chance. He is one of a thousand. - Where did you come across him?” - </p> - <p> - “At Callander, soon after Whitsuntide. He has built a house there for his - mother.” - </p> - <p> - “She is still living? I am glad of that. She never liked me, having a - rooted aversion to the stage and all connected with it, still she was kind - to me in her way, though disapproving all the time.” - </p> - <p> - “She still disapproves of the stage,” said Ralph. “But she is kindness - itself; if you could but have seen the plight I was in when Macneillie - found me, and took me home with him!” - </p> - <p> - At that moment they were interrupted, but when the rehearsal was over, - Miss Greville again spoke to him. - </p> - <p> - “We must finish our talk,” she said. “I like to hear all about my old - friends. To-morrow I am driving with my little invalid nephew to Roslin—come - and join us, we shall have plenty of room for you.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph was delighted with the invitation; it was quite impossible to remain - a stern judge of Miss Greville now that he had seen her and spoken with - her. He had wondered how it could be that Macneillie, after her - faithlessness, still for her sake remained single. But he wondered no - longer, for it seemed to him, that quite apart from any beauty of feature - or form, she was the most inexplicably fascinating woman he had ever met. - Her every movement seemed to possess a subtle charm; there was a - refinement and delicacy about her manner, a delicious originality about - her way of talking, that made all others in comparison with her seem tame - and commonplace. There was, moreover, something that specially appealed to - Ralph, in the sadness of her face when in repose, and its brilliant - beauty when animated. - </p> - <p> - There was no rehearsal the next day, and Ralph, punctual to the minute, - presented himself at the Windsor Hotel, at the time appointed for the - drive. He was shown into a private sitting-room where a little lame boy of - about nine years old sat by the open window. - </p> - <p> - “Aunt Christine will be here directly,” he said, greeting the visitor with - great friendliness. “She was reading to me and forgot the time. Did you - ever hear her read?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Ralph, “what book was it?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, only about Roslin, but it doesn’t matter what she reads, she makes - everything beautiful—it’s the way she says the words. Mother used to - read to me in Ceylon, but I never cared for it—it sounded so - droney.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you come from Ceylon?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I came last year,” said the small invalid. “I live now with Aunt - Christine, she’s mother’s sister, and I like her next best to mother in - all the world. But Sir Roderick’s a beast. You mustn’t say I said so, but - I hate him because he always says horrid, cutting things to Auntie. He’s - to meet us here, when Auntie’s engagement is over, and we are to go to the - Highlands to stay at a big country house belonging to his cousin.” - </p> - <p> - It was impossible to check the confidences of this small child, who, with - his light brown hair, eager blue eyes and sunburnt face, was by no means - the typical invalid of romance, but just a restless, high-spirited boy, - brimming over with life and merriment. Perhaps it was as well that at that - moment his aunt came into the room. - </p> - <p> - “So sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Denmead,” she said, greeting him in her - charming way. “I was always a sadly unpunctual mortal, but Charlie has no - doubt been entertaining you. Is the carriage at the door? Then we will - ring for one of the waiters, Charlie, to take you down.” - </p> - <p> - “He carries so badly,” said the small invalid, querulously. “I wish Dugald - were here.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, he will come with Sir Roderick on Saturday,” said the aunt. “What - does the waiter do?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know, but he hurts,” said Charlie, wriggling in his big chair. - </p> - <p> - “Will you let me carry you?” said Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said the child, with the air of a monarch bestowing a favour. “Your - hands are so nice and long, not podgy little things like the waiter’s.” - </p> - <p> - The journey to the Stanhope having been safely accomplished, and the child - comfortably installed in the back seat, Christine gathered up the reins, - and with Ralph in the front seat beside her, drove off in the direction of - Roslin. - </p> - <p> - “There is nothing I enjoy so much as driving,” she said. “It is the one - real pleasure of my life.” - </p> - <p> - “Greater than such a triumph as you had last night,” said Ralph. - </p> - <p> - She glanced at him with a sort of surprise. - </p> - <p> - “Did you really think I cared for that?” she said. - “How young you are—how worn and <i>blasée</i> you make me feel. I - cared nothing at all for that ovation—was thankful when the din - ceased and I could go home and be quiet. When one is miserable, there is - at any rate some comfort in being miserable alone—you can throw - aside your smiling mask, and so get something approaching to ease. It is - off now, you see, and I am treating you as if you were a trustworthy, old - friend, but then you are trustworthy, I could tell that the moment I saw - you. Now tell me candidly, did not Mrs. Macneillie tell you she detested - me?” - </p> - <p> - “No, but I heard something of your first acquaintance with them long ago,” - said Ralph; and then he coloured and hesitated, feeling that he had - perhaps said too much. - </p> - <p> - And oddly enough Christine felt that he understood all, and knew that he - would soon find out how, having sacrificed everything to ambition, it now - profited her nothing. - </p> - <p> - “Auntie,” cried a small voice from the back seat. - </p> - <p> - She glanced round with love and tenderness in the face that a moment - before had been so sad. - </p> - <p> - “What is it, darling?” - </p> - <p> - “Why those two girls were so awfully delighted to see you. I saw one catch - hold of the other’s arm and say, ‘There she is!’ just as if you’d been the - Queen herself.” - </p> - <p> - She laughed, but the child’s pride in her, and perhaps the remembrance - that the public really loved her, touched her heart for a moment, and - brought back a look of youth and gladness to her wistful eyes. She turned - again to Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “Now take up our talk where it was interrupted yesterday. You were telling - me what a plight you were in when Hugh Macneillie found you. How had you - got into such difficulties? Couldn’t you get an engagement? Tell me your - story, for we two must be friends.” - </p> - <p> - She was so <i>simpatica</i> that it was impossible to resist her, and - Ralph told her his story; all about the old days at Whinhaven, and his - father’s death; all about his adoption by Sir Matthew Mactavish and his - final dismissal; all about his search for work, his first engagement, and - his experiences at Washington’s Theatre. Christine would have blamed him - more for his folly. In relinquishing his position there had she not, with - her womanly insight, guessed all that he left untold of his feeling for - Evereld, and understood why just at Christmas time he was in such - desperate haste to get on in his profession. - </p> - <p> - With the keen interest of one who had lived the same wandering life, she - heard of the adventures of Skoots’ Company, and listened pityingly to the - account of what Ralph called his “sixpenny tramp” through the Highlands. - But when he told of the friendly shepherd who had met him in the wilds of - Gaiek, she made a sudden exclamation. - </p> - <p> - “Did you say the name was Linklater? Why then I think I can help you to - find the lost son—my husband’s man is named Dugald Linklater. He has - been with us for a year, and would scarcely have endured it so long, I - think, had he not been very fond of Charlie, and anxious too to get a good - character. He had been valet to Lord Ederline, but had left him under a - cloud, and had been out of a situation for a long while. My husband had - had a succession of men, and really took this one in despair.” - </p> - <p> - “Then there can be no doubt about it,” said Ralph, his face lighting up. - “For I know the son was Lord Ederline’s servant. This will be good news - for the shepherd and his wife. How odd that one should come across him in - this way. The world is but a small place after all. What is he like?” - </p> - <p> - “A dark-haired Kelt, very well-mannered, and a decidedly clever fellow. I - know something of his past life, for he is going to marry my maid as soon - as they have each of them saved a little money. Dugald is steady enough - now, but he was nearly ruined by betting. We have very little notion, I - fancy, of the sort of temptation our servants are often exposed to.” - </p> - <p> - “Will he be coming to Edinburgh? Can I see him?” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly. I expect my husband on Saturday evening. Come and call on - Sunday afternoon, and I will make some excuse to send Dugald round to your - rooms afterwards. Then you can tell him all about his home people. But now - tell me about the rest of your journey.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph told the whole tale, and there were tears in his companion’s eyes as - he described the dire struggle of the last day of his wanderings, and his - final collapse in the Pass of Leny. - </p> - <p> - “And it was there Hugh Macneillie found you?” she said tremulously. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he is fond of going up and down that path by the river, he says it - is good practice to rehearse a part in that roar of many waters. I dreamt - I was back again in the theatre with Evereld, then I heard footsteps, and - looked up to see his face. You can’t think what a contrast it was to the - faces I had seen just before in the road, with their cruel contemptuous - stare; it was like looking up into the face of the Christ.” - </p> - <p> - By the time they had returned from Roslin, Christine had heard all that - there was to be heard, with the exception of course of the Richmond Park - incident, and she was able fully to realise the sort of life which her old - lover was living. She did not presume to pity Hugh Macneillie. She knew - indeed that, compared with her lot, his was one to be envied; but she felt - intuitively that he would never recover from the wound she had dealt him, - and knew that she had deliberately robbed him of all that a man most - values. Her heart was very sore that night, and Ralph, now that he knew - more of her, understood with how weary an effort she laughed and talked in - the green room. He longed to be able to serve her, but there was of course - little he could do, beyond showing Charlie the sort of kindness which a - small boy best appreciates. - </p> - <p> - It was with some trepidation that, on the Sunday afternoon at the close of - her engagement, he called to take leave of her. Other visitors were in the - room. She just introduced him to Sir Roderick—a tall, grey-haired, - and decidedly good-looking man, and then left him to make his way as usual - to Charlie’s couch. - </p> - <p> - The child greeted him with delight and eagerly showed him a Kodak which - Christine had just given him, and with which he was longing to take - snap-shots at the people in Prince’s Street. “But I mustn’t do it, Sir - Roderick says, because of the fourth commandment and the Scotch being so - particular. Now do you really think that the fourth commandment was meant - to forbid Kodaks on Sunday?” - </p> - <p> - “Well no,” said Ralph smiling. “I don’t think it has much to do with - photography or with our Sunday.” - </p> - <p> - “And you see,” continued the child eagerly, “even if we are not to do any - manner of work—and of course, every one really does a good deal—you - can’t possibly call it work to take a snap-shot. Why it says, you know, in - the advertisement, that it’s no labour at all. ‘<i>You</i> press the - button, <i>we</i> do all the rest,’ and one wouldn’t ask them to do the - developing to-day. It’s really not so bad as Sir Roderick’s ringing the - bell as he’s doing now, for when he rings twice like that, Dugald has to - come hurrying upstairs like lightning, and I know he has had hardly any - time for his dinner.” - </p> - <p> - At that moment the servant entered in response to his master’s peremptory - summons. Ralph watched him keenly, and had no manner of doubt that this - man was the shepherd’s son, for the likeness to Angus Linklater was - marked. An expressive little bit of pantomime followed; he could not hear - the actual words spoken by Sir Roderick, but the insufferable tone and - manner of the master and the expression of long-enduring but sorely tried - patience on the face of the man, were quite sufficient to reveal much of - their characters. Soon after this the visitors rose to go, and Sir - Roderick having taken leave of them in a pleasant and courteous fashion, - turned round on his wife the moment the door was closed, and apparently - forgetting that they were not alone, hurled at her a torrent of abuse and - scathing sarcasm, which made Ralph long to kick him down-stairs. It seemed - to be about some salmon flies which had been left behind in London, Dugald - having failed to find them in their right place, and imagining that they - had been sent by his master with the first instalment of luggage brought - to Edinburgh by the rest of the family some weeks ago. - </p> - <p> - In Lady Fenchurch’s manner of receiving her husband’s anger there was the - calmness of long use, but her colour rose a little because of the - injustice of the attack, and from a sort of shame that Ralph Denmead - should witness the scene. - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry the mistake was made, but you forget we are not alone,” she - said, seizing on a moment when for want of breath he ceased to swear. - </p> - <p> - He glanced towards the window with annoyance, and with a malice which his - hearers perfectly understood, suddenly changed his line. - </p> - <p> - “Well, if it is not your fault then it must be Dugald’s fault. The d———d - scoundrel shall leave the very day. I can get another man. I’m sick of the - sight of him. He shall see that I’m not to be imposed upon by an idle - fellow who doesn’t know his duties. He shall go, and with the worst - character I ever gave to a servant. He came to me with a bad one, and I’ll - add a telling bit to it.” - </p> - <p> - “I only wonder he has endured the situation so long.” said Christine, - stung by the unfairness of this retaliation. “But you punish yourself more - than you punish him; think what trouble you had before he came. The best - servants must now and then make mistakes.” - </p> - <p> - “The best mistresses are supposed to look to the ways of their household,” - he said maliciously, “and to have some regard for their husbands’ comfort. - D——— you, say no more. I tell you the man shall go, and - if he chooses to bring an action against me for giving him a worse - character than he brought with him, I’ll show up his whole past life.” - </p> - <p> - With that he sauntered out of the room and Ralph, with some presence of - mind, picked up the Kodak and began to talk to Charlie about the best - position for taking a photograph of the Scott memorial just opposite. In a - few minutes Christine slowly crossed the room and sat down in a low chair - beside Charlie’s couch. Her white taper fingers played with the child’s - light hair, but she was quite silent, sitting there listlessly, with the - exhausted look which people wear when they have been battling with a - strong wind. - </p> - <p> - “And she might have been Macneillie’s wife!” thought Ralph. “How can she - endure this wretched existence!” - </p> - <p> - He was made so miserable by the sight of that worst tragedy of life—a - mistaken marriage—and by the thought of the grievous pain and sorrow - it had entailed, that he was quite unable to perceive how immensely both - Christine and Macneillie had been developed by the consequences of that - very mistake. - </p> - <p> - The woman who at seven-and-twenty had sacrificed the entire happiness of - another to her own ambition and the worldly arguments of her parents, who - had allowed the love in her heart to grow weak for lack of nourishment, - who had been capable of utterly deceiving herself and stifling her - conscience, had at four-and-thirty grown clear-eyed and humble through - much sorrow. And as for Macneillie, his years had been spent to such good - purpose that no one with deep insight could have wished that he had - married Christine Greville as she had been seven years ago. There had, - perhaps, been truth in her assertion in St. James’s Park—she might - have dragged him down to a lower level. Undoubtedly, apart, they had each - of them climbed a step higher, and she was more worthy of him now than in - the old days. - </p> - <p> - “Auntie,” said the child, breaking the silence at last, “you won’t really - let Dugald go, will you?” - </p> - <p> - She sighed. - </p> - <p> - “Not if I can help it, dear, but of course he is Sir Roderick’s servant. - Say no more about it, though. I know you are fond of him and would be - sorry to lose him, but we can’t always have what we like.” - </p> - <p> - “I should have thought you might,” said the child. “You who earn such lots - of money. <i>Can’t</i> you have all you like?” - </p> - <p> - She laughed, but there were tears in her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “I can have you, dear, and you are my chief pleasure now,” she said - caressingly. Then, shaking off her cares for awhile, she began to talk to - Ralph, who at the end of the call felt more ready than ever to be her - devoted servant for the rest of his life. - </p> - <p> - “How Evereld will like to hear all about her,” he reflected as he went - down the stairs, “there will be no end to tell her next time we meet.” - </p> - <p> - He was unpleasantly roused from these reflections by encountering on the - staircase Sir Roderick Fenchurch, who paused to shake hands with him in - the most courteous and pleasant way imaginable, as though he had utterly - forgotten that Ralph had been a witness of the stormy scene in the private - sitting-room. As a matter of fact, it was so entirely his custom to abuse - and swear at his wife before the child, before the servants, and before - any one staying in the house, that he never for a moment imagined that - this young actor would have liked to horse-whip him for daring so to treat - a woman. - </p> - <p> - All the world seemed out of joint to Ralph as he walked away from the - hotel through the beautiful city whose noble buildings and grand situation - made such an incongruously fair setting to the sad picture he had just - looked on. He chafed bitterly against the thought of such a man as Sir - Roderick ruining the happiness of his hero Macneillie, and went back to - his rooms with a heart full of indignation to write the letter he felt - bound to send to Callander after meeting Christine Greville. Having - written sundry details as to the play they had been giving during the - week, he turned to the subject which he knew would interest Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Greville has been staying at the Windsor Hotel with her small - nephew, a boy of nine, to whom she is devoted. I have been there several - times, as the child took a fancy to me. He is lame, but likely they say to - recover, and it is wonderful to see her care of him. Two or three times we - went out driving together. She spoke much of you and of the old days. She - looks as young as ever on the stage, but off it her face is careworn and - awfully sad. To-day, when I went to take leave of her, Sir Roderick - Fenchurch was there. He was decent enough till the other visitors were - gone, but then fell into a rage with her about some salmon flies that had - been forgotten; he has a tongue that cuts like a sharp razor; there’s not - a pin to choose between him and the ordinary, wife-beating ‘pleb,’—in - fact, I prefer the latter, for at any rate he can be properly punished, - while this polished scoundrel with his sarcasms and his cruelties of the - tongue can’t be touched. She was very quiet and dignified all through this - scene, but when at last he went out she looked dead tired; this sort of - thing at home, and the hard work of professional life, must be more than - any one could stand for long, I should think. An odd thing has happened. I - have found the son of Linklater, the shepherd who housed me so kindly in - the Gaick Forest. He is now Sir Roderick Fenchurch’s man, but will not be - with him much longer as the brute has given him warning—chiefly to - annoy his wife I believe. Dugald Linklater has just been in to see me, and - I told him I had been to his home, and that they were always looking for - him to come back. He promises to write to his father at once. So there is - one pleasant thing in this day, which Sir Roderick Fenchurch has - overclouded. What can be the purpose in creation of such brutes? They are - enough to have staggered even your prophet Erskine of Linlathen.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XIX - </h2> - <p> - “<i>Nothing mars or misleads the influence that issues from a pure and - humble and unselfish character. A man’s gifts may lack opportunity, his - efforts may be misunderstood and resisted; but the spiritual power of a - consecrated will needs no opportunity and can enter where the doors are - shut.</i>”—Dean Paget. - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>acneillie read and - re-read this letter with the awful craving of a man whose love has for - years been starved of all knowledge of the beloved, except the mere - knowledge that she was still in the world. He had, of course, seen her - name daily in the papers, and had known what plays she was acting in, but - of her real life he had known nothing. He had tried to think that her - marriage though necessarily falling below his ideal of married life might - at any rate be as happy as the average, might at least be tranquil and not - without a certain comfortable respectability. But the brief account given - in Ralph’s letter, and the many details which he could so easily read - between the lines—filled him with misery. The post had brought him - as usual a mass of correspondence; with a sigh of impatience he ran - through it, then pushing it aside caught up his hat and hurriedly left the - house. He was in no humour to climb the hill-side to the wishing-well; - instead, he passed through the village, over Callander Bridge, and taking - a little footpath across the meadows, sought out a favourite nook of his - beside the river Teith, which wound its peaceful course through the - hayfields. A tiny wood had sprung up near this walk at one part, and - Macneillie had a special affection for a certain beech-tree which stood - just at a bend in the river, and under its shade many of his pleasantest - holiday hours were spent. He threw himself down now on the sloping bank - beneath it. Everything was curiously still and peaceful; Ben Ledi rose - majestically in the distance, framed by soft foliage in the foreground, - and the river was emphatically one of those which “glideth at his own - sweet will,” a great contrast to the Leny, which dashed and foamed through - its rocky pass. It was just this calm peacefulness he longed for in his - inward struggle. With all the vividness of one blessed or cursed with a - powerful imagination, he realised Christine as she now was. He knew - instinctively that her heart had awakened from its sleep, that, with the - dead failure of the <i>mariage de convenance</i>, her love which had only - lain dormant had returned—but had returned of course to torture her. - Hitherto he had been able to think of Sir Roderick Fenchurch with a sort - of impartiality. He knew so very little about him; and it was Macneillie’s - nature to think well of people until they disillusioned him; he had even - felt a sort of compassion for the man, because he knew that he could never - really possess Christine’s heart as he, for a time at any rate, had - possessed it. But Ralph’s picture of what the husband really was behind - his society mask had driven out all gentler thoughts, had filled the - Scotsman’s heart with loathing, had over-clouded his whole world. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie was, however, before all things, an honest man. He had not - accepted conventionally the first religious truths put before him, he had - thought much, he had waited patiently, had learnt by degrees, and the hard - training of his life had borne its fruit—it was impossible now, that - he should remain for long in darkness. It flashed upon him that his - trouble came from having stepped out of the right order; for a time he had - lost that absolute trust in God’s education of every human being, which - had for many years been his stronghold. The words of Ralph’s letter came - back to him—“brutes like Sir Roderick are enough to have staggered - even your prophet Erskine of Linlathen.” - </p> - <p> - The name of Thomas Erskine in itself awakened within him a whole train of - memories, for he was one of the many thousands who have been rescued by - the writings of that barrister, laird and saint from falling a prey to the - spirit of unbelief which is the reaction alike from Calvinism and - ceremonialism. - </p> - <p> - Lying under the shade of the beech-tree, the fresh air from the hills - playing softly about his uncovered head, he tried to picture to himself - what Erskine would have thought of this mistaken marriage, with its - unhappy results, and there came back to his mind a passage in “The - Spiritual Order,” in which the writer spoke of the strange difficulty of - retaining faith in God’s loving purpose when confronted with the evils of - the lanes and closes of great towns which seem to be mere hot-beds of vice - and profligacy. How look on those and still believe that education was - God’s whole purpose in creation? “It would be impossible,” said Erskine, - “did we not also realise that <i>there is no haste with God</i>.” - </p> - <p> - Clearly then it was the imperfection of his own nature, the weakness—not - the strength—of his love for Christine, which made him so - desperately impatient at the thought of her suffering; for her sake he - must learn to be “strong and patient,” learn to love with a diviner love, - to wait with a more perfect trust. The letter had come to him like a call - to arms, he was perfectly conscious that it marked a fresh turning-point - in his life; he had learnt more of Christine and her difficulties than he - had known for years, and the only way in which he could interpret the - meaning of it all was that he should pray for her in her grievous need - more unceasingly than he had yet done. - </p> - <p> - And so the time passed by, and at the close of the six weeks’ engagement - Ralph returned to Callander for the few days that remained before - Macneillie’s company was to open at Southbourne with “The Winter’s Tale.” - </p> - <p> - It felt more like a home-coming than he could have imagined possible. His - friend was delighted to have him back again; old Mrs. Macneillie was - scarcely less so, and the servants gave him a cordial welcome, for though - his illness had given a good deal of trouble in the house, he had the gift - of winning hearts, and the forlorn plight in which he had first arrived - had awakened all the best sympathies of the hospitable Scottish household. - He fancied that Macneillie’s deep-set grey eyes were somewhat graver in - expression than before, but his manner, with its touch of quaint, dry - humour, was exactly the same as usual, and it was not until the Tuesday - morning when they set off early to walk together to the Trossachs, that - any allusion was made to the contents of the letter. Then, at last, as - they walked along the shores of Loch Vennachar, Macneillie put a direct - question about Christine. - </p> - <p> - “I am glad you got to know Lady Fenchurch,” he said. “Where did she go - after leaving Edinburgh?” - </p> - <p> - “She went up to the Highlands a fortnight ago to a place called Mearn - Castle, which belongs to a Mrs. Strathavon-Haigh, a widowed cousin of Sir - Roderick’s—a very fast widow, if what I heard in Edinburgh is true. - Lady Fenchurch did not want to go there, but said her husband particularly - wished her to accept the invitation. So she had given up her original plan - of taking Charlie to the sea, and hoped the Highland air would do him as - much good.” - </p> - <p> - “I suppose she was right to try to please her husband,” said Macneillie, - “but Mearn Castle is one of the most abominable country houses going.” - </p> - <p> - “She seemed to know very little about it,” replied Ralph, “only disliked - this gay widow, and wanted to go to some quiet place where rest would have - been more possible. But she evidently tries to do what can be done for her - brute of a husband. Oh! if you could have seen her patience, her dignity, - while that scoundrel was abusing her! I wish I could horse-whip him!” - </p> - <p> - “No need,” said Macneillie, in a low voice, “for every brutal word he will - one day have to give account.” Something in his manner, with its deep - conviction that every wrong should in the future be righteously avenged, - silenced Ralph. He felt ashamed of his vehement impatience, and was not - sorry that, as they approached Loch Achray, Macneillie led away from the - subject by asking after the shepherd’s son. - </p> - <p> - They had passed the Hotel, and were walking through the Trossachs, when - they overtook a gentleman’s servant laden with a soda-water syphon and a - great basket of fruit which he was evidently carrying down to Loch - Katrine. - </p> - <p> - Glancing at the man, Ralph gave an exclamation of astonishment. - </p> - <p> - “Why, Linklater! is it you? I was speaking to Mr. Macneillie about you - only just now.” - </p> - <p> - The man’s face lighted up as he returned Ralph’s cordial greeting, and he - looked searchingly at Macneillie, having very often heard that the actor - was one of Lady Fenchurch’s oldest friends. - </p> - <p> - “I little thought to see you here, sir,” he said, turning to Ralph. “We - came this morning from Stronachlachar, for there was a good wind for - sailing, and Master Charlie was wanting to set foot on Ellen’s Isle. He’s - there now, with her ladyship, and I came on to the Hotel to get these - things for lunch.” - </p> - <p> - “They have left Mearn Castle then?” said Ralph in surprise. - </p> - <p> - “Well, sir,” said Linklater, with a little hesitation in his manner, “if - you’ve not already heard, maybe I had better tell you the whole truth, for - all the world must know it as soon as her ladyship sues for a divorce.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie made an inarticulate exclamation. Like one in a dream he - listened to the man’s brief account. It appeared that Sir Roderick had - seduced the young wife of one of the game-keepers on the Castle estate—that - the enraged husband discovering him had given him such a castigation that - it had been impossible to hush up the affair, and that Lady Fenchurch, on - learning the truth, had left Mearn Castle. - </p> - <p> - There was a pause when the man had ended. Ralph waited for his companion - to ask some question, to make some comment, but Macneillie walked on in - absolute silence, evidently too deeply engrossed in his own reflections to - be even conscious that he was not alone. - </p> - <p> - This, then, was the meaning of his inward perception of Christine’s - grievous need! In this fortnight, during which his whole soul had been - absorbed in prayer for her, she had lived through the most awful crisis of - her life, and now she was near to him in her forlorn, unprotected, worse - than widowed condition. He must at any rate, inquire if she would see him, - ask if he could in any way help her, and here in this quiet spot there was - fortunately no danger that idle talkers would comment on their meeting. He - pencilled a few words in German on one of his cards and turned to - Linklater. - </p> - <p> - “Give this to your mistress,” he said, the title somehow sticking in his - throat. “I will take a boat and row out to the island in a few minutes, - and you can bring back the answer.” - </p> - <p> - By this time they had walked through the glen and had reached the - picturesque landing-place. Linklater hailed the Stronachlachar boatman, - and set off for the island, and the others followed more leisurely, Ralph - taking both oars and Macneillie sitting in the stern, though the far-away - look in his eyes scarcely qualified him for the duties of steersman. - </p> - <p> - The story which Linklater had told them had been so entirely unexpected, - and was in itself so revolting, that neither of them felt inclined to - talk. To Macneillie, moreover, it was as though he had suddenly heard of - the death of the man who had saddened his life; to all intents and - purposes he considered Sir Roderick as dead to Christine, for he came of a - race which for more than three hundred years has always regarded adultery - as the dissolution of a marriage. To him there had never been the least - question as to the distinct teaching of Christ on this point, he believed - that His words clearly sanctioned divorce for infidelity to the marriage - bond and gave freedom to the innocent one. No <i>man</i> could rightly put - asunder those who were married; sin only or death could part them. But - proved infidelity was as truly the divider as love was the bond of union; - the legal ceremonies, whether of marriage or of divorce, were but the - appointed and expedient symbols of spiritual facts—the outward signs - of the birth and death of married life. - </p> - <p> - The seven years of his solitude had taught Macneillie a stern - self-control, and whatever he felt as they rowed across the lake was not - allowed to appear at all in his face. Ralph glanced at him from time to - time and marvelled, perhaps only now realising of what splendid stuff his - hero was made, and how nobly he held in check that difficult temperament - with which actors, artists and musicians are usually endowed. - </p> - <p> - “Which side is the best landing-place?” he asked as they drew near to the - lovely wooded island. - </p> - <p> - “To the right in that bit of a creek,” said Macneillie, beginning to pay - heed to the steering. “There is the boat, I see, but the men are both out - of it.” - </p> - <p> - As he spoke they glided into the little, rocky cleft with its overhanging - trees, its moss-grown boulders, its patches of crimson heather and purple - ling. Then came a few minutes of utter silence, as they waited for - Linklater’s return; Ralph felt anxious and restless, each minute seemed to - him an hour, and he feared that perhaps after all Christine Greville would - refuse to see any one. As for Macneillie he just waited like one who is - intently listening, but Ralph was not sure that the listening was for - Christine’s voice or for the servant’s approaching footsteps, he had a - suspicion that it was for something much more inward. - </p> - <p> - At length, to his great relief, there came a rustling among the boughs and - a trampling of feet, and in a minute Linklater was striding down over the - rocks towards the boat, bearing a note in his hand. Macneillie thanked him - as he took the missive, and unfolding it less deftly than might have been - expected of a seasoned actor, read the following words: - </p> - <p> - “You are the only man I could bear to speak to yet; please come.” - </p> - <p> - He promptly stepped on shore, but Ralph lingered. - </p> - <p> - “I will stay in the boat,” he suggested, “and have a pipe.” - </p> - <p> - “Master Charlie is very anxious you should come and help him with his - Kodak, sir,” said Linklater, respectfully. “He’s just up here at the top, - and her ladyship is at the further side of the island, sketching.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well, then, I’ll come,” said Ralph, and he followed his friend up - the steep ascent. - </p> - <p> - In a little clearing at the top they found the small boy, who gave a - war-whoop of delight as Ralph emerged from the brushwood. - </p> - <p> - “If I hadn’t had such an awful longing for gooseberries, Dugald would - never have met you!” he said gleefully. “Auntie is over there making a - sketch, she’s hidden right away by the trees, but don’t go to her just - yet, do stay and help us lay the things out for lunch, Dugald is going to - make a fire and boil some water, he thinks Auntie will like some tea, - she’s been having such dreadful headaches the last few days.” Macneillie - heard no more, he left Ralph and the child, and Dugald Linklater, and made - his way straight through the tangle of shrubs, trees, and bushes, in the - direction that Charlie had indicated. There was a gleam of white between - the green leaves—it was the sun lighting up the sketching-block on - her easel; in another moment he had parted the thickly-growing branches - and had seen her once more. - </p> - <p> - She was sitting on a fallen tree—not attempting to sketch, but with - her elbows propped on her knees and her face hidden by one of those - shapely white hands he had so often kissed; the sun made a dazzling glory - of her fair hair; her light grey dress and grey straw hat seemed exactly - to harmonise with the green trees and the patches of heather. She had - always had that instinct of fitness which makes some women know exactly - what to wear, and when to wear it. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie stood for a minute watching intently the down-bent head, his - heart throbbing so fast that he felt half-choked. At last, putting force - upon himself, he moved forward. His step recalled her from her sad - reverie, and starting to her feet with the nervous alarm of one who has - lately undergone some great shock, she looked round as though in terror of - pursuit. That startled movement, and the momentary expression he had seen - in her pale face, strengthened Macneillie as nothing else could have done; - he forgot all about himself, realised only that she wanted his protection. - </p> - <p> - “You need not be afraid,” he said, taking her hand in his, “of what use - are old friends if not to help you in time of need?” - </p> - <p> - She struggled hard to reply, but her eyes swam with tears, her lips - refused to frame a word. - </p> - <p> - “Let us sit down here and talk things over quietly,” said Macneillie; “as - I wrote to you just now, Dugald Linklater told us what had passed at Mearn - Castle.” - </p> - <p> - “He told you what he knew,” said Christine in a broken voice. “He could - not tell you of my interview with Sir Roderick.” She paused for a minute, - then the pent-up torrent of words broke forth. “I have heard of women, - yes, and of men, too, refusing to be separated from a guilty partner; but - there must at least be a genuine repentance to make such a plan even - moral. There was none with Sir Roderick. He was vexed at the discovery, - but he made light of the sin itself. In my presence he laughed over the - affair. The house seemed like hell. I could not have stayed in it another - hour!” - </p> - <p> - The look of shrinking horror in her face tortured Macneillie, who could so - well understand how her whole being recoiled from the foul atmosphere that - had surrounded her. It was because he understood how she felt herself - degraded by all she had lived through that he intuitively stretched out - his hand for hers, and held it in a strong, firm clasp. - </p> - <p> - “Do not dwell on all this,” he said, “but tell me how I can help you.” - </p> - <p> - His quiet, tender voice, the reverence of his manner quickly soothed her. - She looked up into his face, and by that mere look seemed to draw in - endless stores of strength and comfort. - </p> - <p> - “Do you know,” she exclaimed with seeming irrelevance, “what Ralph Denmead - said about the day you found him in the Pass of Leny, when he was lying - there ill and half-starved, and looked up to see you bending over him? He - said it was like looking up into the face of the Christ!” - </p> - <p> - “Poor boy!” said Macneillie. “He was in an awful plight, no one with a - grain of kindliness in his nature could have passed him by. He has made me - his debtor for life now, though; it is through him that I have met you - to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “We little thought,” said Christine, “that those two children in St. - James’s Park, playing with their boat, would have anything to do with our - future. How is it, though, that you are grateful to him for bringing about - this meeting? It is I who am grateful to him. But you who have so much to - forgive—you who have avoided me all these years——?” - </p> - <p> - “I dared not seek you out,” said Macneillie, “our paths parted naturally, - and it was safer so. What could I have done for you then? But now all is - different. Are none of your people coming to be with you?” - </p> - <p> - “There is no one to come. As you heard, I daresay, my father died four - years ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I saw the notice in the papers,” said Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - “He lived just long enough,” she resumed, “to see how miserably his scheme - had failed. I had married to please him and to help the family. Well, my - sister’s husband, with no help at all from me or my position, got an - excellent appointment in Ceylon, so there again the scheme proved useless. - Three years ago my mother went out to live with her there, she could do - nothing to make me less miserable, and it only pained her to see my - unhappiness. She realises things less at a distance, and now she is too - much of an invalid to bear the return voyage. A year ago they sent me back - Charlie, Clara’s little boy, and he has been a great comfort. Except for - him I am quite alone.” - </p> - <p> - “I want you to understand,” said Macneillie, “that it is still my highest - happiness to serve you. It is quite possible that in the difficult - position you are in you may need the help of a friend.” - </p> - <p> - “Do I deserve your friendship?” she said questioningly; “you stood aloof - all these years—you would not be my friend then, though I asked - you.” - </p> - <p> - “If I had been a worse man I should have accepted the place you offered in - your company,” said Macneillie; “or perhaps if I had been a better man, I - could entirely have effaced myself and dared to take such a perilous post. - But as things were, it seemed best to go right away. Did you not - understand?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes,” she said in a choked voice. “I understood—and honoured - you. Is it only seven years since you and I acted together? It seems to me - a life-time. All that has gone between has been a sort of dreadful - nightmare. And the worst of it was the feeling that I had deserved the - misery, had deliberately chosen the low level and fought against you when - you tried to drag me up. Oh, it is so long since I had a real friend to - talk to—may I tell you all?” - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” he said, gently. “Why not?” - </p> - <p> - “After a year of it I had grown almost desperate,” she said, clenching her - hands tightly, like one in pain, “and the season’s work had tired me out; - it seemed no use to try any longer even to live an honest life. There was - only one thing that still held me back. I knew if I sank lower still it - would grieve you more than all, and the thought of the pain I had already - given you was always with me. Then one Sunday afternoon I happened to be - alone. Sir Roderick had gone to stay with some friends for the Ascot week, - and there came to me a little girl bringing a note from Lucy Seymour—you - remember how soon after you and I were engaged we had been able to help - her when she was in great trouble. Well, she wrote that her husband had - died abroad and that she had just returned with her child, was herself - dying and wanted to see me. I went to her at once and found her in great - poverty, and in terror of being turned out of her lodgings before the end. - Her life, she said, had been a very happy one, thanks to you and me. Oh, - if you could have heard her gratitude for the past. Every word she said - seemed to draw me back from the horrible indifference that had paralysed - me—she somehow stirred up all my best memories. She had heard that - you were in America, or she would have appealed first to you, for the help - had been chiefly your doing.” - </p> - <p> - “Did she die?” asked Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, about ten days after that Sunday. I had promised to send her little - girl to school, and to befriend her, if, later on, she went into the - profession, and after that Lucy seemed actually to long for death, young - as she was. I saw her every day, and the last night they sent word to the - theatre that there was a sudden change for the worse. Directly my part was - over, I went to her; she died very happily and peacefully, just as day was - breaking. I had never seen any one die before, and on the stage death is - always made somehow to seem like an end, a grand sort of finale. But - Lucy’s death was not like an end at all, it was as quiet and serene as if - she had been merely turning a page in a book. I can’t describe to you how - it altered all my ideas. Afterwards there was her little girl to care for, - and that helped me too, and though I knew everything must still be hard, I - tried after that—tried my very best to please Sir Roderick, and as - far as I could to make our home life more endurable. We had each of us - been much to blame in marrying without any real love, and I knew that I - must ‘dree my weird,’ as you used to say. Well, it is over now—over, - and I can hardly yet realise things. Last night I wrote to my solicitor.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope he is a good one,” said Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Yes</i>, Mr. Marriott, of Basinghall Street; but I am half afraid - whether he himself is back yet from his voyage.” - </p> - <p> - “Ralph Denmead may know, he is an old friend of his. I will inquire. But - in any case many months are sure to pass before all the legal forms are - gone through, and in the meantime you will have to live as quietly and - guardedly as possible. Have you realised that?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said, with a little shiver. “A fortnight of country-house life, - in such a place as Mearn Castle, makes one realise evil more keenly than - years on the stage.” - </p> - <p> - She remembered miserably the people she had met there—men and women - so utterly unprincipled that she loathed and despised them. She remembered - the callous indifference with which her husband had observed all the - annoyances to which she was subjected. She remembered the age-long hours, - unoccupied by professional work—barren of all that could be called - employment. - </p> - <p> - And then, turning from the past as from some hideous dream, she thought - how restful it was to be here in this little island, with the man whose - heart had never faltered from its allegiance, the lover whose - self-sacrificing constancy was as untiring as the love of God. Never from - his lips would she have heard such words as had filled her with a sense of - degradation at Meam Castle. It was the depth of his love, the fineness of - his reverence, which kept him now from expressing the passion which she - knew filled his heart. He would wait till the law had declared her freedom—would - wait and think only of how she could best be shielded from the strife of - tongues. - </p> - <p> - “If you are really at a loss for some quiet place, and for friends who can - rightly protect you, why should you not go for a time to the Herefords’ - house near Firdale?” said Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - “I know them very slightly,” she objected. “Besides, is not that meant for - people who have no money?” - </p> - <p> - “Monkton Verney is for all, I think, who are in need—it’s a Cave of - Adullam—and though you don’t know Mr. and Mrs. Hereford well, you - know Miss Claremont and she is the practical head of things.” - </p> - <p> - “I will at any rate write to her, she is a wonderful woman for - understanding,” said Christine. “I am glad you reminded me of her.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie stood up, for he knew that it would be unwise to stay longer, - and that he must somehow tear himself away. - </p> - <p> - “Write and let me know whether you go there,” he said; “and don’t forget - that if I can do anything for you in any way, I have at least the right of - an old friend. I see the steamer over yonder, and before long a host of - people will be at the landing-stage and some of them may be rowing out to - visit Ellen’s Isle. Even here, in this paradise, Satan walks you see in - the shape of the gossiping British tourist; and your face and mine are - public property. I might do harm by staying here.” - </p> - <p> - “Not even here,” she sighed, “in this lonely place? And it’s so long since - I saw you!” - </p> - <p> - He took her hand in his, and held it for a minute tenderly; looking into - his face, the beauty of its expression of strong patience startled her. - </p> - <p> - “No, not even here,” he said with a quiet smile. “Your reputation is too - precious to me. But remember that in any difficulty or danger I have the - first right to help you.” - </p> - <p> - His courage nerved her to face the parting and even to assume an air of - cheerfulness. - </p> - <p> - “I must come back to Charlie,” she said. “He is sure to be hungry, and - there will be plenty of time for you to have lunch, too, before any - tourists molest us.” - </p> - <p> - So together they walked to the little encampment, where they found the - photographers fraternising over the Kodak, while Dugald had the tea just - ready. And since laughter and tears are not far apart, and the very people - who have lived through a tragedy are happily the ones most easily moved to - see all that is humorous in daily life, there followed a cheerful meal - which might have surprised and even shocked a mere superficial observer of - life, but contained elements of comfort in it for all who understood the - griefs and trials of human-kind. - </p> - <p> - Crowning it all was the unalloyed happiness of the child, whose beaming - face and ringing laughter soothed Christine’s sore heart as nothing else - could have done. - </p> - <p> - “<i>Auf wiederschen!</i>” said Macneillie, when the last moment had come, - and Christine said nothing, but all her soul seemed in her eyes as she - lifted them to his. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XX - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “Paint those eyes, so blue, so kind, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Eager tell-tales of her mind; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Paint with their impetuous stress - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Of inquiring tenderness; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Those frank eyes, where deep doth lie - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - An angelic gravity.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Matthew Arnold. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he - last day of Evereld’s school life was drawing to a close, “packing - day” as they called it, and when it had been a mere question of the - beginning of the holidays it had always been a rather festive occasion. - But on this last evening, standing at the threshold of a new untried life, - there was a good deal of sadness about it, and her usually bright face was - a little clouded as she paced up and down a shady garden walk with her - special friend Bride O’Ryan. The merry voices of the younger children, as - they played hide and seek, and now and then a distant sound of applause - from those who were watching the tennis players, made her feel melancholy, - for to-morrow she would no longer have her nook in this happy, busy hive - of industry, would no longer have a share in the genial life, but would be - in a very different home, a home which was not her own, which had never - seemed in the least homelike, and to which she did not at all want to - return. A happy remembrance caused her cheerfulness to return. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Bride!” she exclaimed, “perhaps, after all, Sir Matthew will let me - spend the next fortnight with you as we begged. He won’t let me go to - Ireland, he was quite set against that, but he may say yes to your - sister’s second letter.” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure,” said Bride, with her most good-humoured smile. “Why should - he be saying no to such a sensible plan? He can’t wish to have you in town - for the first part of August. Doreen has plenty of room for you in this - house she has taken on the Parade, and we will bathe every day, and have - no end of fun.” - </p> - <p> - “Here comes Aimee with a letter. Bride, I believe it will be from Sir - Matthew; things come just when one is talking about them.” - </p> - <p> - A pretty dark-haired girl now approached them. - </p> - <p> - “Fraulein asked me to give you this note,” she said, “I believe it is from - Cousin Doreen.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, that’s Doreen’s writing,” said Bride. “Read it quickly, do.” - </p> - <p> - And Evereld read as follows: - </p> - <p> - “My Dear Evereld, - </p> - <p> - “We shall be delighted if you will spend the next fortnight with us here - at Southbourne. Sir Matthew is quite willing that you should do so, though - he cannot spare you to us after the 14th August, as he wishes you to go - with him to Switzerland. I would have liked you to see our Irish mountains - first; however, they can hold their own very well against any Alp ever - created, and you must come and stay with us next year instead. Tell Bride - to bring you as early to-morrow morning as you like. - </p> - <p> - “Yours affectionately, - </p> - <p> - “Doreen Hereford.” - </p> - <p> - This note gave general satisfaction, and the three friends yielded to the - entreaties of some of the younger children and entered with spirit into - the game of hide and seek, Evereld feeling all the delight of a reprieve - as she realised that for a whole fortnight she should be able to stay at - Southbourne and to postpone the parting with Bride. - </p> - <p> - The next morning when, somewhat saddened by all the partings they had been - through, the two girls were driving down to the Parade, they suddenly - caught sight of a huge poster announcing the advent on the following - Monday of Mr. Hugh Macneillie’s Company, and the performance of “The - Winter’s Tale” “The Rivals” and “The Lady of Lyons.” Evereld knew nothing - of Ralph’s movements; nothing had been heard from him since the Easter - holidays, when he had still been travelling in Scotland. She looked, - however, with no small interest at this poster, having always remembered - their childish worship of Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - “I have never seen ‘The Winter’s Tale,’” said Bride. “We must certainly - go. Doreen is always delighted if we want to see one of Shakspere’s - plays.” - </p> - <p> - By this time they had arrived at their destination and Evereld who already - knew her friend’s family very intimately found herself in the midst of a - lively babel of voices, warmly greeted by pretty Mrs. Hereford, hugged by - her three children, and speedily made to feel quite at home. - </p> - <p> - “How is Dermot?” asked Bride. - </p> - <p> - “Much better,” replied her sister, “you will find him with Mollie in the - drawing-room. Let me see, Evereld has not yet met him. We must present the - family patriot to you. Poor boy he has always been unlucky, and since his - release a year ago from Clonmel gaol he has been desperately ill.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld felt a little in awe of the released victim of the Coercion Act, - but he proved to be the gentlest-mannered of mortals, and her womanly - heart went out at once to the hollow-cheeked, large-eyed invalid whose - humourous smile only seemed to add to the pathos of his face. - </p> - <p> - She was sitting the next day beside his Bath-chair on the Parade while - Mrs. Hereford read to her children when, as she was watching the sedate - couples who passed by in their Sunday best, she suddenly perceived at a - little distance a figure that seemed strangely familiar. Surely no one but - Ralph had precisely that quick, light step? His face was turned away from - her, he was intent on the sea, watching the waves like one who loved them - and had no attention to bestow on anything else. He was almost passing - them with only the breadth of the Parade between when a puff of wind - suddenly whirled away a paper which Dermot had been reading, and hastily - glancing round he picked it up and crossed over to restore it to its - owner. “Ralph!” exclaimed Evereld springing to her feet. - </p> - <p> - “You are here still!” he cried, his whole face lighting up, “I thought - your holidays would certainly have begun. What good fortune to find you so - unexpectedly.” - </p> - <p> - “I have left school and am staying with Mrs. Hereford for a fortnight. I - must introduce you to her.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Hereford knew all about Ralph Denmead, and had always felt that he - had been harshly treated by Sir Matthew Mactavish. She looked at him now - searchingly and she liked him. He had one of those sensitive mouths that - droop a little at the corners in depression or fatigue, but smile as other - mouths cannot smile. The classical nose and well-moulded chin added - character to what was otherwise just a pleasant, boyish face, bearing upon - it the stamp—“good cricketer.” And the thick brown hair not quite so - closely cropped as the hideous prevailing fashion demanded, and the - absence of beard or moustache bespoke him an actor. What she liked best - about him, however, were his clear honest brown eyes, which had the power - of lighting up with a most refreshing mirthfulness. There was something - touching in the unfeigned delight of the friends in this wholly unexpected - meeting, and Mrs. Hereford was determined that they should have the chance - of an uninterrupted talk. - </p> - <p> - “There is still an hour before tea-time,” she said, glancing at her watch. - “Take Mr. Denmead to see the view at the end of the Parade, Evereld, and - then let us all come home together.” - </p> - <p> - The two fell in with this plan very readily. The only difference between - them and the couples Evereld had lately been watching was that they walked - much faster and talked a great deal more. For there was much to tell and - to hear, and Evereld wanted to learn every detail of the unlucky Scotch - tour, and was delighted above measure to think that their hero Macneillie - should have come to the rescue so opportunely. - </p> - <p> - “We saw that his Company was here to-morrow for a week,” she said, - blithely. “How little I dreamed that you were with him, Ralph. Mrs. - Hereford is going to take us to see ‘The Winter’s Tale.’ I do hope you - have a nice part.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I am Florizel. It’s a very nice part indeed,” said Ralph. “And there - is such a jolly country dance. You’ll like that. You can’t think what a - difference it is to be in a Company like this after travelling with those - awful Skoots.” - </p> - <p> - “Which was the worst of the two, the husband or the wife?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh the husband was a swindler, but Mrs. Skoot passes description. How she - did hate me, too! If I had had the money to do it I might easily have - brought an action against her for abusive language. Towards the end of the - time she was never quite sober and once at a railway station she was so - hopelessly drunk that she tumbled headlong down a flight of steps, - alighting exactly on the top of my bath, which she nearly knocked into a - cocked hat! We know now that all the weeks they were not paying us a - penny, so that many of us were half starved, she had money of her own - hoarded away, and no doubt they are living on it comfortably enough.” - </p> - <p> - “What became of that poor little Ivy Grant?” - </p> - <p> - “She stayed for a week with my old landlady and then managed to get into - another travelling company, where she seems to be getting on well. The - Professor died just after her return. He was no protection to her, poor - old man, in fact it was quite the other way. She had to support him, he - was invalided and a confirmed opium-eater. Still it seems lonely for Ivy. - She is a very plucky little girl though, and will, I fancy, get on well in - the profession. Now tell me about yourself. How did you get to know Mrs. - Hereford? and who is she?” - </p> - <p> - “She is the married sister of my great friend at school, Bride O’Ryan; you - will see Bride when we go back to tea, and I know you’ll like her. Every - one likes her, she is such fun and she is always so good-tempered. Mrs. - Hereford lives partly in Ireland, but most of the year in Grosvenor Square - because her husband is in Parliament. And Bride will live with her now - that she has left school. They were all left orphans, and Mrs. Hereford, - who was a good deal older than the others, brought them up. I never knew - anyone so good and delightful as she is.” - </p> - <p> - “I can’t think where I heard the name of Hereford just lately,” said Ralph - musingly. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps it was from Mr. Macneillie, I think Mrs. Hereford has met him - once or twice.” - </p> - <p> - “That was it,” said Ralph, “Macneillie was telling me how Mr. Hereford - gave up his property, Monkton Verney, and turned it into a sort of Cave of - Adullam.” - </p> - <p> - He did not mention to Evereld that Christine Greville was now staying at - this very place. Sooner or later she was sure to hear the whole story, but - he shrank from telling her what had passed at Mearn Castle, and in no - other way could he explain the step Lady Fenchurch had taken. “What is Mr. - Hereford like?” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - “I like him very much,” said Evereld; “he is down here until to-morrow, so - you will see him for yourself. Bride says that till he was married he - never seemed to settle down to anything, that he was the sort of man - everyone expected to do great things, and he never did them. But - afterwards it was quite different; he began to work very hard, and now she - says out in county Wicklow the peasants love him, and he makes such a good - landlord. Bride says he’s almost as Irish as they are.” - </p> - <p> - “And you are here with them for a fortnight? Where after that?” - </p> - <p> - “With the Mactavishs in Switzerland. We shall be a party of six - altogether. I am to go to keep Lady Mactavish company, for Minnie will be - a good deal taken up you see with Major Gillot; they are engaged, the - wedding is to be this autumn. Then there will be Sir Matthew and Mr. Bruce - Wylie.” - </p> - <p> - “The inevitable Wylie!” said Ralph impatiently. “I hate that man.” - </p> - <p> - “And I like him very much,” said Evereld perversely. “You always had a - most unfair prejudice against him. He will certainly be the life of the - party. I was delighted to hear that he was going.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph’s face grew grave, there was an expression in it which startled - Evereld as he turned towards her. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me in earnest,” he said anxiously. “Do you really like this man?” - </p> - <p> - Her truthful eyes met his fully. - </p> - <p> - “Only as I like an elderly man who used to give us chocolates and treats - when we were children,” she said quietly. - </p> - <p> - Ralph in his relief laughed aloud. - </p> - <p> - “He wouldn’t be flattered if he knew that you called him elderly. He - thinks himself just in his prime. How long shall you be abroad?” - </p> - <p> - “Six weeks I think,” said Evereld. - </p> - <p> - There was a silence. They had walked to the extreme end of the Parade and - had wandered down to the sea itself. “Let us sit here by this boat,” she - suggested. “It is so hot walking.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph silently assented; she glanced at him in some perplexity. Why had he - so suddenly become quiet and troubled. - </p> - <p> - “Something has vexed you,” she said gently, yet with a smile. “A penny for - your thoughts.” - </p> - <p> - “I am thinking,” said Ralph, “how hard it is that every holiday-maker, - every idle lounger in Switzerland will have the chance of being with you - while I am altogether cut off from your set, and can only think how other - men will be making love to you.” - </p> - <p> - “They won’t,” she said in low tones. “A girl can always stop that if she - chooses. I have heard Mrs. Hereford say so.” - </p> - <p> - “If you were going to be with her it would be more bearable. But you will - be with Sir Matthew, whose one idea is how to make other people and other - people’s money serve his purposes. Don’t stop me Evereld—I can’t - help it—I distrust him and with very good cause. He and his hateful - speculations were the death of my father. I have proof of that, actual - proof.” - </p> - <p> - “Then I am surprised at nothing,” said Evereld, understanding now all the - ill-concealed dislike and antagonism between Sir Matthew and Ralph which - had often puzzled her in past times. - </p> - <p> - “He ruined my childhood,” said Ralph hotly, “and must I now stand calmly - by while he ruins the rest of my life? Evereld!”—there was a - passionate appeal in his voice which stirred the very depths of her heart, - “I have no right yet to ask you to be my wife—my career is only - beginning—but my darling, I love you—I love you!” - </p> - <p> - He saw her flush and tremble, but she was quite silent. Her words about a - girl always being able to stop that sort of thing if she chose came back - to his mind. - </p> - <p> - “Are you angry with me?” he said pleadingly. “I meant to have waited for - years before speaking, but I was carried away.” - </p> - <p> - She lifted her blue eyes to his, they were bright and dewy, and in her - face there seemed to be the glow of sunrise. - </p> - <p> - “I am glad you didn’t wait, Ralph,” she said softly. - </p> - <p> - Whereupon Ralph had the audacity to kiss her in the full light of day as - they sat under the shelter of the boat; and no one was any the wiser save - an old fisherman who was blest with exceptionally long eyesight; he, with - a smile, fell to thinking of his own young days, and softly sang as he - filled his Sunday pipe the refrain of a sailor’s song: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “Polly, my Polly, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - She is so jolly, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - The bonniest lass in the world!” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - The two were silently but rapturously happy, and it was some little time - before any thought of other people came to trouble Ralph. As for Evereld - her heart seemed to beat to the rhythm of his words, “I love you!” and she - was not at all disposed to consider the question which soon formed itself - in his mind. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder whether I was wrong to speak,” he said. “You must remember - darling that you are free, altogether free. After all, you have seen - nothing of the world. You are not to let the thought of my love bind you.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps I ought not to make a promise while I am Sir Matthew’s ward,” - said Evereld. “That is the only thing which would make me wish to wait; - and now that we understand each other the waiting ought not to be too - hard.” - </p> - <p> - “Suppose you tell Mrs. Hereford just the whole truth,” said Ralph, “and - see what she advises. I shall feel happier about it if you have someone to - turn to, and if she is what she seems to be one could trust her with - anything. I wish I could talk to her some day.” - </p> - <p> - “Well that can easily be managed,” said Evereld. “I will tell her - to-night. I am sure you are right about that. Though Sir Matthew is - untrustworthy we can trust her, and as I am under her care here it seems - right somehow that she should know.” - </p> - <p> - “She will certainly think me the most presumptuous fellow she ever met,” - said Ralph. “Looking at it from an outsider’s point of view it is as bad - as it can be. A fellow who is not quite one and twenty, and only earning - three pounds a week! Mrs. Hereford will call me ‘The first of the Fortune - Hunters,’ and will warn you against me.” - </p> - <p> - “We shall see,” said Evereld laughing. “I shall be very much disappointed - in her if she doesn’t understand you better.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you sure that you understand me?” he said wistfully. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she said, her sweet eyes smiling into his. “I have summered and - wintered you a great many times, as Bridget would say, and I very well - know Ralph that you would much prefer it if my father had left me three - hundred instead of three thousand a year. I think it is a little foolish - of you, for as long as we share it what does it matter which side it comes - from?” - </p> - <p> - A church clock striking four warned them that they must hasten back, and - when they rejoined the others they were chatting together so naturally - that no one dreamt what an important scene in their drama had been played - at the other end of the beach. - </p> - <p> - Ralph found himself speedily made to feel at home in the delightful - atmosphere of the Irish household, with its mirth and good humour, its - cheerful babel of voices. It delighted him to think that Evereld who had - known nothing of real family life should have found such friends, and he - went back to his rooms later on in the highest spirits. - </p> - <p> - The Herefords had guessed nothing of his story and the O’Ryans had been - too much taken up with their own merry discussions to be very observant, - but Macneillie saw at a glance the change that had come over his pupil. - </p> - <p> - “Well?” he said in his genial voice. “What good fortune has befallen you?” - </p> - <p> - “I have found Evereld,” said Ralph blithely. “She is staying on the Parade - with the Max Herefords. Here’s a note for you, by the bye. They want us to - breakfast with them to-morrow at half past nine, it was the only free - time, for they lunch at one, as he has to go up to town, and I knew - rehearsal wouldn’t be over by then.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Macneillie lighting a cigarette, “in your present mood you’re - about as likely to give your mind to Shakspere as that lover and his - lass,” glancing at a very demonstrative couple on the other side of the - road. - </p> - <p> - “We shall have a long and wearing rehearsal to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t understand you, Governor,” said Ralph, using the old stage word - for the Manager as he generally did now to Macneillie, and somehow - conveying by it just the reverence and affection which he felt for the - Scotsman. - </p> - <p> - “I have an unfair advantage over you,” said Macneillie smiling. “I have - heard a great deal about Miss Evereld Ewart and know that she is likely to - distract you from your labours.” - </p> - <p> - “You have heard of her? From whom?” - </p> - <p> - “From you yourself, to be sure, in the feverish nights you had at - Callander. I have long been wishing for the opportunity of quoting Mrs. - Siddons to you, ‘Study, study, study, and don’t marry until you are - thirty.’ - </p> - <p> - “Well we can’t even be engaged yet,” said Ralph; “but we understand each - other and that is something. Tomorrow you must see her.” - </p> - <p> - “I will devote myself to her entirely,” said Macneillie with a mirthful - twinkle in his grey eyes. “And you in the meantime can be profitably - improving your Irish accent with Mrs. Hereford with a view to Sir Lucius - O’Trigger. Your brogue doesn’t quite satisfy me yet.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXI - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “So, from her sky-like spirit, gentleness - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Dropt ever like a sunlit fall of rain, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And his beneath drank in the bright caress - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - As thirstily as would a parched plain, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - That long hath watched the showers of sloping grey - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - For ever, ever, falling far away.”—Lowell. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>fter - Ralph had left, a more sombre hue stole over Evereld’s glowing sky. - She began to think a little of the future, of the countless partings in - store for them, and the more she thought the more silent and grave she - became. - </p> - <p> - “You look tired, my dear,” said Mrs. Hereford as they walked back from - church. “Come in with me and rest. The others have set their hearts on a - stroll by the sea, but you had a long walk this afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Evereld, sitting down beside her hostess near the open window - and looking out into the calm summer evening. “I wanted to tell you about - our walk. And if ever you have time Ralph would so much like to talk to - you too.” - </p> - <p> - The words were said with an effort and Mrs. Hereford glanced at the sweet - girlish face with its downcast eyes and understood in a moment what was - coming. - </p> - <p> - “You two are very old friends,” she said. “Bride told me that you had been - brought up together and that a very nice German lady had done a great deal - for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Evereld, falling naturally into all the old memories. “I don’t - know what we should have done without her. You see the Mactavishs never - really cared for us. But she cared, and dear old Bridget and Geraghty the - butler; and Ralph was just like my brother until the day Sir Matthew - turned him out of the house. He failed you know in the exam, for the - Indian Civil, and they had a quarrel and Ralph had to go. It was only in - that dreadful time after he had gone that I understood how I cared for - him.” - </p> - <p> - “And had you not met him at all since then?” asked Mrs. Hereford. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we met once by accident in the Christmas holidays and then I - thought, I fancied, that he cared a little. But he said nothing till - to-day, and now we understand each other, only Ralph will not let me bind - myself in any way; he had not meant to speak yet at all, he said, but oh, - I am so glad he didn’t wait.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Hereford took the girl’s hand in hers and stroked it silently. Her - thoughts had flown back to a day in her own life when just such an - understanding had been arrived at, she had been about the same age as - Evereld, and looking back now she felt sad as she realised how much - inevitable pain and suspense lay before this girl, what dire possibilities - of misunderstanding, what weary hours of separation. - </p> - <p> - “That is just what I should have said,” she answered after that brief - pause. “But now, understanding all it involves, I confess I don’t want - Mollie and Bride to be in a hurry to follow your example. I want them to - have five or six years of free happy girlhood before all the deeper joys - and cares begin. Of course we can’t choose, and for you and Mr. Denmead, - who have no real home, no near relations, very likely it is the best and - happiest way. I am glad you told me about it, and you must promise if ever - you need anyone to help you, to come to me. I suppose you can hardly make - a confidant of Lady Mactavish?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Evereld, half laughing, half crying. “They are all so horrid - about Ralph. When I am one and twenty and we can really be engaged of - course they must all know, but to tell them this could do no good and - might do great harm.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir Matthew did not insist then on your altogether breaking with your - friend when he was sent away?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Evereld, “I don’t think anyone troubled to think about it until - last Christmas. Then when I met him and told Sir Matthew about it, he did - say something of the sort, but I told him I couldn’t leave off being - Ralph’s friend, and he was very kind and did not forbid my writing to him - in the holidays. If Ralph succeeds on the stage I believe Sir Matthew will - be rather proud of him after all. He does so like people who succeed. I - suppose we may still write to each other now and then.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I think as long as there is nothing underhand about it you may - continue to write,” said Mrs. Hereford. “You will write as friends, not as - lovers; you must deny yourselves that luxury until you come of age. I am - not preaching what I haven’t practised, dear, for we had four years of - that sort of thing before I was actually engaged. There are great - drawbacks but I think some advantages.” - </p> - <p> - “Surely many advantages,” said Evereld. “And I am much more alone in the - world than you were. You had brothers and sisters.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and a profession which was very absorbing,” said Mrs. Hereford, - suppressing a sigh. “Oh, I do think it is a very great gain for you, only - I want you to realise that it is the sort of life that needs no end of - patience and courage and strength. There will be days when all will not be - so bright as you fancy. But I won’t croak any more. You are likely to be - much better at waiting than I was, for impulsiveness is the bane of all - Irish folk.” - </p> - <p> - “And you will talk to Ralph?” pleaded Evereld, knowing how much he would - value the sympathy and counsel of such a woman, and secretly longing that - Mrs. Hereford should know him and appreciate him better. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, to be sure,” said her hostess, with the smile that had won so many - hearts. “We will collogue together after breakfast.” - </p> - <p> - She was true to her promise and while Macneillie was amusing everyone with - stories of various <i>contretemps</i> of stage life, she contrived to - carry off Ralph to see the invalided patriot; after which they had a cosy - little talk in the drawing-room with no one but Baby Donal, a sturdy - little man of three, to keep them company. - </p> - <p> - “Evereld has told me about yesterday afternoon,” said Mrs. Hereford, who - was quite well aware that she must plunge boldly into the very heart of - the matter and not wait for him to beat about the bush. - </p> - <p> - “I should never have spoken so soon if it had not been for the thought of - her Swiss tour with that knave and his solicitor,” said Ralph hotly. - “Forgive me for the expression, but it is not too strong for him.” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Hereford laughed a little. - </p> - <p> - “You needn’t measure your words so carefully; a Kelt is accustomed to much - more fiery language than that. And you really think Sir Matthew Mactavish - a knave? I confess he is a man I intuitively dislike, but I thought he was - a great philanthropist and very much respected.” - </p> - <p> - “So he is,” said Ralph, his face hardening, “but some day the world will - find him out. Some day when he has ruined and murdered others as he ruined - and murdered my father. What a mistake it is only to hang people who are - taken red-handed! They should rather hang the speculators whose victims - may be reckoned by hundreds. There are far more cruel ways of murdering - people than by poison, or knives, or guns.” - </p> - <p> - She had watched him closely as he spoke and saw that his wrath and - indignation were genuine and deep. A great pity filled her heart, and she - understood how intolerable it must seem to Ralph that the girl he loved - should still be in the power of this despicable sham philanthropist. - </p> - <p> - “I think you were quite right to speak to Evereld,” she said warmly. “And - now that you have spoken, the worst of your anxiety ought to be over. The - knowledge that you belong to each other will be strength to both of you.” - </p> - <p> - All the bitterness died out of his face at her words, leaving it once more - frank and boyish, and ingenuous as it was meant to be. The rasping sense - of injustice had done some damage to his character, but the goodness of - Macneillie and the gift of Evereld’s love had already done much to - obliterate the traces of the evil influence. His heart went out now to the - brave noble-minded woman who so readily gave him her thought and sympathy. - </p> - <p> - “Evereld told me you would understand,” he said gratefully, “I don’t think - I could have kept silent, but of course evil-minded people are sure to say - that it is only her fortune I want.” - </p> - <p> - “Evil be to him that evil thinks,” said Mrs. Hereford. “No one who had - talked with you for half an hour even could believe you a fortune hunter. - And when you have lived as many years as I have done in public life, you - will learn to trouble yourself very little indeed as to what people say. - We shall never be true to ourselves, or of much use to any good cause, - till the fear of public opinion has died in us.” - </p> - <p> - “Does living in public life teach one that? I should have thought it would - have taught one to howl with the wolves, to be always on the look-out for - ways of pleasing the public and stroking people the right way, to dread - nothing so much as alienating or offending your audience.” - </p> - <p> - “Many people would agree with that view, but I believe it is false for all - that. Why meddle with what does not concern you? Your work is to live your - own life, to be just and independent, to be true to your own conscience, - and to be a hard-working actor. You have nothing to do with the result on - other people, you can never tell what it may be; and even if you pare down - your actions till you fancy they will please everyone you will end by - forfeiting the esteem of all. It’s like the old fable of the man who first - rode his ass to market and finally carried it.” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly Macneillie’s life is ruled in the way you approve,” said Ralph - thoughtfully. “There never was a manager who so sturdily refused to bow - down to the public. He will not humour the depraved taste for morbid and - dubious plays which has taken possession of the country of late, but - insists on giving only what is really good. The result, however, is that - while a manager who runs one of these risky modern plays makes a fortune, - Macneillie merely earns a competence.” - </p> - <p> - “That may be,” said Mrs. Hereford, “but the result also is that the one - Manager is a curse to his country and the other a Godsend. Your habit of - mind isn’t so commercial that you measure success by the solid gold it - brings in.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope not,” said Ralph laughing. “But to one who knows how hard and - wearing and anxious the life of such a man is bound to be, want of great - visible success seems rather rough. However, to return to the point we - started from, it is a great comfort to know that you don’t think I was - wrong to speak to Evereld yesterday. And a greater comfort still to know - that she has you for a friend; one never feels safe somehow with a man - like Sir Matthew Mactavish, but if she may turn to you in any difficulty I - shall not worry half so much.” - </p> - <p> - “I will promise you to be to her just what I would try to be to one of my - own sisters,” said Mrs. Hereford. “And you, too, must promise to treat us - all as friends. Come in whenever you like, this week; you must make the - most of your chance of seeing Evereld.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie in the meantime had been learning to know Ralph’s future wife. - He had been a little surprised at first to find that she was a decidedly - reserved girl, not strikingly pretty, rather short, and wholly unlike the - being he would have expected Ralph to fall in love with. This was, - however, merely his first impression, he had not been two minutes in the - room with her before he observed how well her head was set on her - shoulders; how in spite of her want of height there was that indescribable - touch of dignity in her carriage which he had vainly tried to impart to - many a novice on the stage. Then she spoke to him during a pause in the - general talk, most of her talking he discovered was done to fill up gaps, - and when she spoke a sort of transformation scene took place. Her face - suddenly became lovely, the china-blue eyes seemed to radiate light and - sweetness, the colour deepened in the softly-rounded cheeks and the most - charming dimple made itself seen. - </p> - <p> - “We are all so much looking forward to ‘The Winter’s Tale’ to night,” she - said. - </p> - <p> - “You have not seen Ralph act before?” asked Macneillie, knowing quite - well what the answer would be but wishing for another variety of the - transformation scene. - </p> - <p> - The blue eyes seemed to deepen in colour and an exquisite tenderness - softened the whole face. - </p> - <p> - “Never on the stage,” she said. “Of course I have seen him just as an - amateur. Do you think he is getting on well?” - </p> - <p> - Now this last question was one to enthrall the heart of any Manager. - Actually this girl did not leap to the conclusion that her lover was by - nature a full-fledged actor, but asked if he was getting on. - </p> - <p> - “She is the most sensible little woman I ever came across,” thought - Macneillie to himself. “In such a case even Mrs. Siddons might have - qualified her advice as to marriage.” - </p> - <p> - By and bye Evereld found herself keeping guard over Baby Donal in the - drawing-room and talking to Ralph, while Macneillie and Max Hereford - adjourned to the smoking-room. The two lovers were serenely happy and saw - the future opening before them in all the gorgeous hues of dawn. But - Macneillie received a stab from his unconscious companion which was - destined to rankle in his heart. They had been speaking of Monkton Verney - and not unnaturally Max Hereford, knowing that Christine Greville was a - friend but knowing nothing of the true state of affairs, referred to her - case. - </p> - <p> - “I only hope she will be able to get her divorce,” he said casually, “but - of course there is a doubt.” - </p> - <p> - “A doubt?” said Macneillie frowning. “Why Sir Roderick never attempted to - deny his guilt.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, there is no doubt as to his guilt, and had she been married in - Scotland all would have been well, for Scotland has one and the same law - for men and women. Unluckily she was married in England.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t understand you. I know little of the law,” said Macneillie, “but - certainly in my country there would be no difficulty when it was a clear - case of the breach of the seventh commandment.” - </p> - <p> - “There would be no difficulty in England for a man,” said Max Hereford, - “but a woman cannot get a divorce here unless she can prove cruelty as - well as adultery on the part of her husband. It is only one of the - instances of our scandalous habit of setting up different standards of - morality for men and women.” - </p> - <p> - “How much longer are the English going to put up with such a grave - injustice?” said Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - “Not long, I fancy, when once they realise it. But at present half of them - are ignorant of the true state of things, while the evil-minded are of - course unwilling to rob themselves of what they regard as a prerogative. - The law as it stands is not only unjust to women but to all moral men. How - easily one can picture a case where, because divorce was not granted, it - was impossible for the innocent woman to marry a man who loved her.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie assented quietly. No one could have guessed how terribly this - suggestion moved him, how clearly he saw in his own mind the picture of an - innocent woman and an upright law-abiding man with their lives wrecked by - this double-standard of morality. - </p> - <p> - “I think,” he said presently, “that at any rate in Miss Greville’s case - there will be little difficulty in proving Sir Roderick’s cruelty.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope it may be so,” said Max Hereford, “but I understand from her - solicitor that different views prevail as to what does exactly constitute - legal cruelty. The case is not likely to come on yet for many months and - the suspense must be terribly trying for her, far worse of course than for - anyone in private life.” - </p> - <p> - “Her decision to stay at Monkton Verney till the case is over seems to me - wise,” said Macneillie. “Your Cave of Adullam is a great Godsend. I wonder - what made you think of such a plan.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, the ‘cave’ was my wife’s doing,” said Max Hereford. “Miss Claremont - is delighted to have her old friend Miss Greville there, and since Barry - Sterne has undertaken the entire management of her theatre there is no - need for her to be troubled in any way about outside things. Why Flo, - Kittie,” he exclaimed breaking off as two pretty little girls darted into - the room, their sunburnt faces aglow with eagerness. - </p> - <p> - “Daddy, there’s a man with the beautifullest voice you ever heard and we - want sixpence for him,” they cried in a breath, “do come and hear him.” - </p> - <p> - And by sheer force of determination the two small elves dragged their - father from the depths of his easy chair. - </p> - <p> - “The tyranny of daughters is a thing you have yet to learn, Mr. - Macneillie,” he said with a smile, as with one elf on his shoulder and the - other impetuously pulling at his hand he sauntered out to the front door. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie flung the end of his cigarette into the grate and began to pace - the room restlessly. The words so unconsciously spoken seemed to put the - finishing touch to his pain, the fatherly pride of his companion’s face - haunted him and filled him with envy, and over and over in his mind he - revolved the torturing doubt which had first been suggested to him that - morning. Would the law free Christine? - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile through the open door there was wafted to him only too - distinctly the familiar song of the street tenor: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “Love once again: Meet me once again: - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Old love is waking, shall it wake in vain?” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Such a life as Macneillie’s may have two very different effects on the man - called upon to endure it. Either it will harden and embitter him, and he - will gradually become a mere cynical observer of others; or it will deepen - and widen his whole character, and he will become more and more tender - towards the lives of other people. Lynx-eyed to detect and prompt to check - as far as possible all that he deemed undesirable or in the least risky - among the members of his company, he was nevertheless always kind-hearted - with regard to any genuine attachment. He knew Ralph now very intimately - and was quite well aware that his feeling for Evereld was no mere passing - fancy. In his own grievous anxiety and suspense there was comfort in - throwing himself into the affairs of his protégé, and a growing desire to - see this love story happily worked out took possession of him. He had, - moreover, taken a great fancy to Evereld, and began now to consider things - from her point of view, trying to picture to himself just how she would - probably feel with regard to Ralph’s profession. She had never seen him on - the stage, had never in fact seen him act at all since the time she had - been of an age to understand what love meant. He wondered how the play - that night would strike her. Would Florizel’s lovemaking possibly jar a - little upon her as she sat there watching it from her place in the stalls? - Or would that gracious womanly wisdom which he had noticed in her save her - from all petty jealousies, all thoughts unworthy of a great art? He - thought it would. Still a girl of nineteen in love with a man like Ralph - Denmead might perchance be excused if she were not entirely able to forget - herself and her own story in the contemplation of Shakspere’s play. - </p> - <p> - “I know what I will do,” he thought to himself. “No one who understands - the training, the learning, the drilling, the matter of fact element of - sheer hard work that makes up the life of an actor is likely to think - stage lovemaking a dangerous pastime. I will persuade Mrs. Hereford to - bring her this morning to rehearsal.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXII - </h2> - <p> - <i>“If art be devoted to the increase of men’s happiness, to the - redemption of the oppressed, or enlargement of our sympathies with each - other, or to such presentment of new and old truth about ourselves and our - relation to the world as may ennoble and fortify us in our sojourn here, - or immediately, as with Dante, to the glory of God, it will be also great - art.”—“Appreciations.”</i> Walter Pater. - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>rs. Hereford who - had readily divined Macneillie’s kindly intention in suggesting that they - should see at any rate part of the rehearsal, wondered to herself whether - his plan had been wise when about noon she found herself with Evereld and - Bride in the dim dreariness of the theatre, which was quite empty save for - a couple of charwomen who were scrubbing the floor of the pit. A civil - attendant took them to the second row of the stalls where they had of - course an excellent view of that inexpressibly dingy and forlorn looking - place—a stage without scenery. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie wearing a Glengarry cap was sitting on a chair with his back to - them directing the dialogue and criticising in his quiet voice the - shortcomings of Paulina and Emilia in the prison scene. At the back of the - stage, some pacing to and fro, some sitting on the floor, were the rest of - the company chatting comfortably together in low tones. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think they are all Quakers?” observed Bride naughtily, “how queer - it does look to see men indoors with their hats on, every variety too, - bowlers, deerstalkers, sailors, and caps.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps it’s draughty on the stage,” said Evereld. “I believe that tall - dark girl must be Miss Myra Kay. She was only married last month. See - Ralph is talking to her, that pretty girl in the blue and white blouse. - She is Hermione I think.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t distract me,” said Bride. “Paulina is handling the stage baby very - well, but it’s too small a doll, why Flo who was the tiniest of babies was - more respectable than that. Ah, Antigonous lifts it from the floor. My - good man you’ll break the child’s neck if you don’t support its head - better. Talk about kites and ravens being instructed to nurse it, why he - wants instruction himself. It’s as bad as seeing a young curate at a - christening.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld was obliged to laugh a little, and her eyes were still bright and - mirthful when suddenly she perceived Ralph emerging through a side door - and approaching them. - </p> - <p> - “I thought you might like a book to follow with,” he said. “Are you - getting thoroughly disillusioned? And shall you never be able to enjoy - seeing a play again, now that you know how it’s done?” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed I shall enjoy it much more,” she said. “Oh there is still a good - deal I see, before you come in. Who is your Perdita?” - </p> - <p> - “The fair-haired girl in blue serge, Miss Eva Carton. She is the daughter - of that Major Carton who was killed in the Soudan.” - </p> - <p> - “I remember you had him in your gallery of heroes. Is she a nice girl?” - </p> - <p> - “Very, I think, but I have not seen much of her yet. They were left badly - off and she has taken to the stage to help her mother. She has only just - joined this company, so we are in the same box.” - </p> - <p> - After this Evereld watched with keen interest the progress of the play. It - seemed to her that Macneillie was almost an ideal instructor. His patience - was marvellous and his criticism though sometimes keen was always kindly. - When the sheep-shearing scene began and Florizel and Perdita with no - helpful accessories had to go through their love-making, while the working - of a sewing-machine and the hammering of carpenters and the scrubbing of - the charwomen could be plainly heard, Evereld realised more than she had - ever done before the prosaic nature of some aspects of an actor’s life. - Macneillie was as fidgetty as any dancing master about the precise way in - which his arm should encircle her waist. Degville himself could not have - laid more stress on the importance of every attitude, and when it came to - the part where Florizel claimed Perdita as his bride in the presence of - the disguised Polixenes he was promptly pulled up in the utterance of the - words: “I take thy hand, this hand, as soft as dove’s down and as white as - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t take her hand as if you were taking a jam tart at a - confectioner’s,” exclaimed Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - And over and over again that particular bit had to be rehearsed until it - was precisely to the Manager’s mind. Finally a diversion was made by the - arrival, long after the time when they should have put in an appearance, - of a few members of the orchestra. In a leisurely way, as though they were - conferring a great favour on the actors, they began to tune up, the pretty - dance of shepherds and shepherdesses was rehearsed, and Bride and Evereld - found themselves longing to join in it. - </p> - <p> - “I really wonder,” said Bride as they walked home, “that you dare to take - me to such a beguiling place, Doreen. Don’t you expect me to be - stage-struck?” - </p> - <p> - “There might be some danger if you only saw the performances,” said Mrs. - Hereford laughing, “but I doubt if you would stand many rehearsals. You - would certainly be fined every day for unpunctuality.” - </p> - <p> - “It must be a weary grind,” said Bride yawning. “One would have to love - one’s art very absorbingly to be able to endure such endless repetition. I - suppose that is the difference between an artist and an ordinary mortal. - An artist never grudges trouble, the dullest little touches here and there - all have an interest for him.” - </p> - <p> - “Certainly, if he is worth his salt,” said Mrs. Hereford. - “That’s what Flo will have to learn if she is to develop as I hope into a - singer.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Bride good-humouredly, “I have only just enough energy for - ordinary life, so I will stick to being an ordinary mortal. And you keep - me company, Evereld. We will make the appreciative audiences for the - others. What is the fun of acting or singing if there is no one to - applaud.” - </p> - <p> - In fact she applauded much more heartily than Evereld that evening. - Evereld’s appreciation was pretty plainly visible in her glowing face and - bright eyes, but she left the hand-clapping to her companion, and sat in a - sort of happy dream watching the play contentedly with the blissful - consciousness that every minute the time drew nearer when Ralph would make - his appearance. - </p> - <p> - After the heavier portions of “The Winter’s Tale,” the pastoral scenes - always come as a relief, and Ralph could hardly have had a more taking - part. Evereld who at rehearsal had never been able to watch him except as - her friend and lover was now entirely absorbed by the play. He was - Florizel to her and Florizel only, he looked the part to perfection, and - there was a sincerity about his acting which carried all before it, and - gave great promise for his future. Macneillie standing at the wings felt - more than content with his pupil. - </p> - <p> - “If the boy can do as well as this at one and twenty, he ought to have a - great career before him,” he thought to himself. “And perhaps like Phelps - he will be one of those who will owe everything to an early and a happy - marriage. That little girl is one of a thousand. It is to be hoped that - Sir Matthew Mactavish will not step in to spoil the game.” - </p> - <p> - The rest of the week passed by only too swiftly. Almost every evening they - went to the theatre, and in the afternoon Ralph would often join them at - tennis. One day there was a cricket match between the members of the - company and a local eleven, on another day a picnic to a ruined castle in - the neighbourhood, and at length the doleful day arrived when the parting - must come. - </p> - <p> - After all it proved to be the elders who were grave and anxious at the - thought of the unknown future which Ralph and Evereld went forth to meet - so confidently. Healthy youth is seldom troubled with forebodings, and the - lovers though saddened for the time by the coming separation could not but - reflect how much more propitious things were than at their last - leave-taking. - </p> - <p> - “How I envied little Ivy Grant as she walked along Queen Anne’s Gate with - you that Christmas day,” said Evereld with a smile. “Where shall you be - this Christmas, Ralph?” - </p> - <p> - “We shall be in Yorkshire,” he replied, “still giving the set of plays you - have seen here. What a good thing it is for me that you can take such an - interest in the work. It must be hard on an actor to do without the - sympathy of those nearest to him. Sometimes one does wish that old Mrs. - Macneillie had not such a feeling against the stage. His life is hard and - lonely enough without having that added to it. Still I think they - understand each other, and it is good to see her pride in him.” - </p> - <p> - “Does she never see him act?” asked Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “Never. She won’t set foot in a theatre; she is not even one of those - people who only object to the name of the thing, and will see a play at - the Crystal Palace or in a Hall. She’s too sensible to take that view.” - </p> - <p> - “Why what is the special merit of a ‘Hall?’” asked Evereld laughing. - </p> - <p> - “Goodness only knows. I often wish those worthy but illogical folk could - feel the discomforts and the woeful plight the company often find - themselves in behind the scenes, with perhaps a couple of dressing-rooms - for the whole lot of them, and no possible place in which to put their - clothes. They would soon realise the advantages of proper theatres.” - </p> - <p> - “Have you seen your good notice in the Southbourne Weekly News?” said - Evereld, glancing at the paper with loving pride. - </p> - <p> - “Yes. It’s rather decent, isn’t it? I always cut out and keep press - notices for Mr. Macneillie. Sharing his lodgings there are a good many - small things of that sort one can do for him.” - </p> - <p> - “Who does the catering?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he does all that. He is a first-rate hand at marketing, having had so - much practice.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall have to come to him for lessons, some day,” said Evereld, - blushing vividly as she realised what the words involved. - </p> - <p> - Whereupon Ralph forgot all about fortunes and guardians and time and - patience, and taking her in his arms kissed her passionately. - </p> - <p> - That was their real parting, or rather the silent pledge that nothing - could really part them. Ralph lingered for some little time afterwards in - the next room talking with the others, and as usual there was the cheerful - Irish babel of many voices, for no one thought in that household of - talking one at a time. Then having received a kindly invitation from Mrs. - Hereford to come and see them either in London or at Hollybrack, he took - his departure, and with the memory of Evereld’s love to cheer him on his - way, rejoined Macneillie’s company at the station. - </p> - <p> - “That is a case I suppose,” said Max Hereford finding himself just then - alone with his wife. - </p> - <p> - “I thought you would guess it,” she said smiling. - </p> - <p> - “You were always a matchmaker at heart, Doreen,” he said teasingly. “But - how about this guardian in the background? He will be playing the Assyrian - and coming down on you like the wolf on the fold.” - </p> - <p> - “I can’t help it if he does,” said Mrs. Hereford, laughter lurking in her - eyes. “Really and truly I have not been match-making. It’s ridiculous for - Sir Matthew Mactavish to allow his ward to be brought up for six years - with such a boy as that, and then to take me to task for allowing the two - old friends to meet in a rational way, and after all if he is annoyed I - believe I should rather like it, for you know Max I always did detest that - man.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, dear, we all know that you are the best hater in the world, and I - know that you are the best lover,” he said stooping to kiss her. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t see how I could have done otherwise,” she said musingly. - “Evidently Mr. Macneillie sees exactly how things are. And what can you do - for a couple of homeless waifs like that but give them your help and - sympathy? A girl with no mother is in such a wretched plight as soon as - her love troubles begin. Don’t I know exactly how my own mistakes and - miseries came from that very cause? Tell me what you really think of Ralph - Denmead?” - </p> - <p> - “I like him,” said Max Hereford. “He seems an honest, straight-forward, - clean-minded fellow, he has plenty of humour, too, in which perhaps - Evereld is a trifle lacking, and just because he has a touch of the Welsh - fire in him and is at times unreasonable and unpractical, as all Kelts are——” - </p> - <p> - “Now, now,” exclaimed Mrs. Hereford with her irresistible laugh. “No dark - hints about Kelts, we all know what that leads to.” - </p> - <p> - “I was going to remark, if you won’t quite throttle me,” he continued - suavely, “that marriages between Kelts and Saxons, though barbarously - prohibited by the oppressive laws of the English conquerors when they - annexed Ireland, always turn out eminently successful. That in fact the - union of hearts is the thing to be aimed at.” - </p> - <p> - “They are not actually betrothed yet, and won’t be until she is of age, - and until he has made his way a little. Then of course there will be a - battle royal with the Mactavish, but he will have no authority over her, - and you and I, Max, will stand by her. She shall be married from - Hollybrack quietly, and they will be able to live very comfortably for, - according to Bride, she will be rich.” - </p> - <p> - “I only hope her guardian is really trustworthy,” said Max Hereford. “I - don’t altogether like what I heard of him the other day from old Marriott. - But, of course, Marriott is one of those steady going old-fashioned - solicitors who are excessively cautious, and it would be almost impossible - for him to approve of a Company Promoter like Sir Matthew. He may be all - right enough.” - </p> - <p> - “We shall see,” said Mrs. Hereford with an expressive little gesture of - the hands, “For my part I wouldn’t trust him for a moment, but you will - say that is my Irish imagination, and of course I have no great knowledge - of the man.” - </p> - <p> - Bride O’Ryan, who had been more or less taken up with her own people - during the past week, had guessed nothing at all as to what was going on. - The two friends had both hitherto been somewhat young for their age, and - they had never been the sort of girls given to premature talk as to lovers - and love-making. Their heroes were either the patriots of the past or the - great leaders of the present, and their school life had been too full of - work and well-organised amusement to leave much time for desultory - dreaming. Bride had of course heard of the life at the Mactavishs, but it - had never entered her head that Ralph Denmead could ever be anything but - Evereld’s adopted brother. - </p> - <p> - It was not until he had actually gone that the truth began to dawn upon - her. She saw that Evereld was making an effort at cheerfulness, that her - face when in repose had a quite new expression of wistfulness, and that - all at once she had grown dreamy and absent. - </p> - <p> - That night, when the mystic hour of “hair brushing” came round, she could - hold her tongue no longer. - </p> - <p> - “I wish,” she said impetuously, “you wouldn’t shut me out of it all. I - know quite well you are unhappy, though you will play the ostrich and bury - your head in the sand in that English way, supposing that no one will - notice you.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld laughed at the old mixture of the similes. - </p> - <p> - “I never heard of an English ostrich,” she said merrily. “If there ever - was one it must long ago have become extinct like the Dodo.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, you laugh now,” said Bride, “but you have looked wretched all the - afternoon, and I saw you crying in church.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld blushed guiltily. - </p> - <p> - “It was very stupid of me, but I couldn’t help remembering how different - all had been last Sunday evening.” - </p> - <p> - “When Mr. Denmead was here,” said Bride boldly. - </p> - <p> - Evereld nodded. - </p> - <p> - Bride looked straight into her soft blue eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Well I’m sure I don’t wonder he lost his heart to you, but all the same I - wish he hadn’t.” - </p> - <p> - “We are not engaged, you know,” said Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it’s just as bad as if you were,” said Bride despondently. - </p> - <p> - “As bad? What an odd way you have of congratulating me.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t congratulate you. I’m very sorry,” said Bride vigorously brushing - her dark hair. “Why should he come disturbing us just when our life is - beginning and we were going to have such a good time. You’ll never be at - all the same to me again. It will be as the poem says: - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - ‘One and one, with a shadowy third.’” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “Nonsense,” said Evereld. “It has made me care for you fifty times more - than I did, Bride, and I need you now more than ever. Besides, can’t you - see how different things are for me. You have your home with your sisters, - and the children; and you have brothers often staying with you, and you - are all sure of each other and everything is so happy that I’m sure I - don’t know how you could leave it all just yet. But I have no real home, - and the only one of the Mactavishs I do really like is to be married in - November. Can’t you understand how beautiful it is to really belong to - someone at last?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Bride. “It was selfish of me to think first of my own part of - it. And after all perhaps you are right, you may need me still. Specially - when the Mactavishs are horrid. They won’t like your engagement a bit.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” replied Evereld quietly. “That is very certain. There are storms - ahead. But I shall know where to turn to. You will always be my friend, - and Mrs. Hereford says I am to come to her in any trouble.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course, Doreen mothers everybody, she always did, Michael says, even - when she was quite a little girl herself.” - </p> - <p> - “And no one will ever be such a friend to me as you, Bride. You and Aimée - Magnay and I will always keep up with each other, whatever happens.” - </p> - <p> - “Talking of Aimée reminds me that I heard from her this morning,” said - Bride. “She says that in September they are all going to Auvergne; her - father has some commission for a picture. They will stay at Mabillon all - the autumn and perhaps even for Christmas. Cousin Espérance thinks I had - better come too for the sake of perfecting my French, but I’m not sure - that I could leave Dermot.” - </p> - <p> - “Take him with you,” suggested Evereld. “The sunshine and the warmth down - there would exactly suit him.” - </p> - <p> - “Why, I never thought of that. It would be a splendid idea, and the - Magnays are so kind-hearted. I know they have lots of room, too, in that - rambling old chateau. Don’t you remember the little picture of it that - Aimée had in our bedroom at school? Come, after all things are not so - dark. You will always be my friend in spite of Mr. Denmead, and perhaps - later on when you are engaged there will be a regular row and you will - have to come to us.” - </p> - <p> - “You look as if you quite longed for the row,” said Evereld smiling - wistfully. “I wish I had a little of the love of fighting which you Irish - people seem to have such stores of. How would you face an angry guardian - under the circumstances, I wonder.” - </p> - <p> - “I should listen patiently to all his objections. Then I should say, ‘Now - hear my side of the case,’ and if he wasn’t convinced by my burning - eloquence why I should inevitably lose my temper and we should part on the - worst of terms. Oh, I should love to have a quarrel with Sir Matthew - Mactavish. It’s a pity we can’t change places just for that time.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, don’t let us talk about it till it comes,” said Evereld with a - little shiver. “When I am quite my own mistress perhaps the mere fact of - being independent will make me dislike the thought of the discussion less. - After all, nothing will really matter when we are engaged; one will be too - busy thinking of the life that will so soon begin.” - </p> - <p> - They were interrupted by a knock at the door. - </p> - <p> - “I want that naughty little sister of mine,” said Mrs. Hereford, looking - in with a smiling face. “Mollie declares there is no getting her invalid - to sleep while you two chatterboxes are overhead.” - </p> - <p> - “Evil take the Coercion Act that made him an invalid,” said Bride, - gathering up her belongings and bidding her friend good-night. - </p> - <p> - Evereld, glancing at Mrs. Hereford, saw for the first time in her face an - expression which startled her. A look of long endured pain, of - heart-breaking disappointment and the wearily deferred hope which makes - the heart sick, such a look as a martyr might have borne, dying in the - darkest hour which heralded the sunrise of his cause. - </p> - <p> - And then even as she gazed the look passed and there was once more in the - face nothing but cheerful, tender motherliness. - </p> - <p> - “Good night, dear little woman,” said Mrs. Hereford. “Don’t lie awake - thinking too long. It is a shocking bad habit.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh,” cried Evereld, clinging with girlish devotion to her hostess. “I do - so hope my love for Ralph will not make me grow narrow. I want to care for - other people and for outside things just as you do.” - </p> - <p> - “You must manage much better than I did, dear,” said Mrs. Hereford, - “perhaps after my own mistakes I may be able to help you.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIII - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “He spoke of beauty: that the dull - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Saw no divinity in grass, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Life in dead stones, or spirit in air; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Then looking as ’twere in a glass - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - He smooth’d his chin and sleek’d his hair - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And said the earth was beautiful.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Tennyson. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he last week at - Southbourne proved a very happy one and Evereld went back to London - feeling as though a veil had been lifted from before her eyes. It was not - only that love had revealed his face to her; but for the first time since - her childish days in India she had known what life could mean in a - thoroughly happy family. - </p> - <p> - The Mactavishs had never encouraged her in making friends. For reasons of - his own Sir Matthew had never allowed her to become really intimate with - any one in town, though she had had the usual round of children’s parties - and had occasionally been allowed to give a children’s dance in the house - in Queen Anne’s Gate. At school, however, close friendships had naturally - been made, and the permission to stay with Bride O’Ryan at Southbourne - had been extorted from Sir Matthew rather reluctantly, and chiefly because - it happened to be a little inconvenient to Lady Mactavish to have the - charge of Evereld until they left for Switzerland. - </p> - <p> - It so happened that the whole course of the girl’s life was affected by - the mere fact that Lady Mactavish and her elder daughter had accepted an - invitation to stay with friends in the country, and that Minnie had been - busy with her trousseau, and, having a particular friend of her own - staying with her, quite declined to be troubled with the society of a - little girl fresh from school. - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew not caring to vex his daughter when he was so soon to lose - her, answered Mrs. Hereford’s second request graciously, little guessing - that in so doing he was signing the death-warrant of his selfish hopes and - schemes. - </p> - <p> - He beamed approvingly on Evereld when she appeared in the drawing-room on - the evening of her return. - </p> - <p> - “Come, that is a refreshing sight for a jaded city man,” he said, stroking - her rosy cheek caressingly. “Never mind, Evereld, we are all going - holiday-making now, and will forget all cares and troubles. Have you seen - our route, my dear?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Evereld, “I’m longing to see it.” - </p> - <p> - She could not help reflecting that the months since the Easter holidays - had wrought a very decided change in Sir Matthew, he looked worn and - harassed, and as though he were longing for rest. He seemed, too, more - fussy and dictatorial than ever, and Evereld’s heart sank at the prospect - of travelling with him, for she knew that travelling is the great test of - character. After the merry talk and the bantering discussions and the hot - but always good-tempered arguments to which she had grown accustomed - during the last fortnight, the talk which prevailed on various vexed - questions, seemed highly distasteful. - </p> - <p> - “I really think,” pleaded Lady Mactavish, in her grumbling voice, “that - considering how very soon Minnie’s marriage will be following our return - it would be most advisable to take at least one maid with us. There are so - many little things Greenway could be getting forward with if she were at - hand.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Papa,” urged the bride-elect. “It will be a most awful nuisance if - we have no maid with us.” - </p> - <p> - “If you think you will always have a maid, my dear, to dance attendance on - you when you are married, you will find you are mistaken. The wife of an - officer in a marching regiment has to learn to be independent, I assure - you. And as to taking a maid to Switzerland I shall not hear of such a - thing. You would find her a trouble in the hotels, useless on the - steamers, and upset by the long journeys. Why Evereld will be wanting to - take her old nurse next!” - </p> - <p> - Evereld laughed, but in her heart she would fain have had Bridget with - her, for she loved her a great deal better than any other member of the - household. - </p> - <p> - The question was thoroughly threshed out, and many disagreeable things - were said on both sides; then Sir Matthew laid down the law as to the size - and amount of the luggage. - </p> - <p> - “No great trunks, mind you,” he said in the voice that meant obedience at - all costs: “a small portmanteau is all that can possibly be allowed. You - don’t go to Switzerland to air your fine clothes but to enjoy yourself, - and there is no enjoyment possible if you are burdened with luggage.” - </p> - <p> - A long wrangle followed upon this, and at the close of it, dinner being - over, Lady Mactavish rose with an air of relief and went away to discuss - the matter anew with her daughters, and to murmur over Sir Matthew’s - extraordinary fussiness. - </p> - <p> - “The heat must be affecting his brain,” she said. “I never knew him so - vexatious. What does he know about the clothes we shall require? And - depend upon it he will be the first to complain if you look shabby. - Evereld my dear, Sir Matthew is calling you I think. Run down and see.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld returned to the dining-room where Sir Matthew was sitting over his - wine. - </p> - <p> - “In case I don’t see you to-morrow, my dear,” he said, “I will give you - this cheque now. Get it cashed in five pound notes, they will pass - anywhere.” - </p> - <p> - “Is this for my journey?” asked Evereld, who had never received a cheque - for a hundred pounds in her life. - </p> - <p> - “No, no, I will manage all your money for you until you come of age. This - is only for your dress and pocket money. I shall give you another cheque - to the same amount in six months’ time. It will be well for you to learn - the value of things and to get into the way of keeping accounts. By the - bye, though I say so much about its not mattering what you wear in - Switzerland you must be sure to take good strong boots. You know Mr. Bruce - Wylie is coming with us?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Evereld, “I’m very glad.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, good-night, my dear. God bless you,” said Sir Matthew. “Tell them I - shall not be in till late.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld having delivered her message, went slowly upstairs to the - school-room, the most homelike place in the whole house. Here she found - Bridget sitting by the open window with her knitting. - </p> - <p> - “My new life has begun, Bridget,” she said, taking her usual place on her - old nurse’s lap. “Look, here is money, a heap of it. I am to go out and - buy thick-soled boots to-morrow with it, and an account book. Bridget, did - you ever keep accounts? And do you ever think it’s allowable to cook - them?” - </p> - <p> - “I can’t say, dearie, I never kept any at all, excepting it was the - savings bank book which the post office clerks keep for one.” - </p> - <p> - “Sir Matthew says I must learn how to manage money and to understand the - value of things,” said Evereld. “So we will go out to-morrow morning, - Bridget, together, and I shall choose you a black silk dress by way of - learning.” - </p> - <p> - “Why then, dearie, it’s for your own dress and not for mine that you must - be spending this upon,” protested Bridget. - </p> - <p> - “It’s to do what I like with, Nursie, and I like to get you the very - nicest gown we can find,” said Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “Well, well, dearie, you were always one to think of other folk first, and - if you will be getting me a dress, let it be a black poplin for the sake - of the old country.” - </p> - <p> - So Bridget and her young mistress set forth the next morning and chose the - best Irish poplin, warranted to wear for a life-time, and Evereld changed - her cheque into twenty crisp five pound notes, eighteen of which Bridget - securely sewed up for her that evening in an inner pocket. - </p> - <p> - “There’s many things you may be wanting to buy if you come back through - Paris,” she said, “let alone its being a bad plan to leave the money - behind you here.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld sighed a little; it somehow hurt her to remember that she had all - this money for her personal wants and fancies, while Ralph thought himself - extremely lucky to be earning three pounds a week. She had, however, a - shrewd suspicion that he perhaps found more satisfaction out of the money - he had honestly worked for, and she eagerly looked forward to the time - when they could share her fortune and make it of real use. - </p> - <p> - The next morning the whole house was in a bustle, and the atmosphere - seemed less oppressive than on the previous night. Sir Matthew, though - looking ill and harassed, brightened up when Evereld appeared ready - dressed for the journey in a trim little navy blue coat and skirt, a light - blue shirt and a dainty white sailor hat. She looked so fresh and innocent - and happy that for the time he quite forgot his schemes in the pleasure of - just looking at her. - </p> - <p> - It was not until they were on the platform at Victoria, and he saw Bruce - Wylie approaching, that he remembered how necessary it was that by the - time Evereld returned to London she should be safely betrothed to her - solicitor. The thought made him glance critically at his friend. As it - happened Bruce Wylie never showed to more advantage than at such a time as - the present. His well cut grey travelling suit and knickerbockers made him - appear much younger than he really was, his fair hair and trim beard, his - merry grey eyes, his easy, pleasant manner were all in his favour. - </p> - <p> - “It will be right enough,” reflected Sir Matthew, - “The girl will be properly in love with him long before the end of the - tour.” - </p> - <p> - He had no notion how differently people regard the same person when one - looks from the standpoint of five-and-fifty and the other from the - standpoint of nineteen. - </p> - <p> - Evereld saw merely the lawyer who had brought her chocolates when she was - a little girl, she knew that he was at least nine-and-forty, and that from - her point of view was elderly; the thirty years between them made a huge - chasm which it would never have occurred to her to bridge over in any way - but that of friendship. Even the friendship could not be the same sort of - thing as that close friendship, that perfect understanding which comes - between two people of the same generation. It would have had in it - something of the position of master and pupil, which might have been - delightful enough with some men, but she had never felt any desire to - learn from Bruce Wylie. She liked him merely because he passed the time, - because he had a fund of good stories and an easy natural way of telling - them. - </p> - <p> - So when Sir Matthew complacently noticed the way in which her face lighted - up as she greeted Bruce Wylie, he was wholly unable to guess that the - reception meant about as much as a child’s joyful greeting of the - appearance of the clown in a pantomime. “Now we shall have some fun,” - reflected Evereld, gladly finding the new comer beside her in the railway - carriage. - </p> - <p> - “I need have no scruples,” reflected Sir Matthew. “She evidently likes him - and encourages him.” - </p> - <p> - Bruce Wylie was not so sure in his own heart how matters stood, for - Evereld was almost too frank and open with him, it was perfectly - impossible to flirt with her, she liked him in the most unabashed manner, - just as she had done when she was a child of eleven. Her enjoyment of his - talk was what it had been then, and he was quite without the power of - kindling in her heart any deeper feeling. - </p> - <p> - Being a shrewd man he laid his plans warily, and worked patiently, never - venturing to make actual love to her. At all costs he must avoid startling - her, or making her draw back from that frank friendliness which was likely - to prove so useful. But every day he was her special companion, and she - could not help feeling grateful to him for the care he took of her, the - pains he took to please her, and the real enjoyment which he managed to - impart to what would otherwise have been rather a trying tour. - </p> - <p> - “Why do you hesitate longer,” urged Sir Matthew, during their stay at - Zermatt, “September is nearly half gone, we have but another fortnight - abroad. Why not propose to the girl here?” - </p> - <p> - “Not yet, not yet,” said Bruce Wylie, “I tell you, Mactavish, she has not - a thought of anything of the kind. She treats me as if I were her - grandfather.” - </p> - <p> - “It seems to me that she is devoted to you,” said Sir Matthew. “She has - not a word to say to any of the young men in the hotel though they are - ready enough to admire her. She deliberately avoids them, I have noticed - her, and is hand and glove with you. What more would you have?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I will arrange it all before the end of the tour,” said Bruce Wylie, - “by hook or crook it must be done. Let me see; to-morrow we go to Glion - for a fortnight. It is there that we must contrive the finale.” - </p> - <p> - “If it were not such a serious matter,” said Sir Matthew with a grim - smile, “One could have a hearty laugh over the irony of fate. Here we are - with an unconscious little slip of a girl and she holds everything in her - hands. For if the difficulty as to her fortune becomes known, then a dozen - other things will collapse shortly after. God bless my soul—it’s - awful to think of!” - </p> - <p> - “So much the more reason to play this part of the game warily,” said Bruce - Wylie. “It is like the story of the child’s hand thrust into the leaking - dam and saving the country from the deluge that would otherwise have come - about. I must capture Evereld’s hand and hold it fast to save the general - ruin; whether she likes it or not it will have to be done.” - </p> - <p> - “And the girl cares for you, there will be no harm in it,” said Sir - Matthew suavely. “I tell you what, Wylie, at Glion we must gradually let - people see that you are in love with her. That will be easy enough without - alarming her. We will set some of the women folk clacking. And if - Evereld’s pride is once touched, if she feels that she has been gossiped - about, that people see that she has encouraged you, and that she is a - little compromised, why then we shall win easily enough. She will very - readily be persuaded into an engagement, and we will take good care to - have her married before the year is out.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” said Bruce Wylie. “At Glion we will advance to the next - stage. It will be a more amusing one than the present, and will need - skilful management. I must think things over. By the bye, she never - mentions Ralph Denmead, her old playfellow. Have you lost sight of him?” - </p> - <p> - “She told me last Christmas that he was going most likely on some tour in - Scotland. Here she comes, we will just ask her, but you need fear nothing - in that quarter. It was just a natural childish friendship between the - two. They know each other’s faults too well to fall in love.” - </p> - <p> - “I see that young Oxonian is persecuting her,” observed Bruce Wylie, - watching a sunburnt undergraduate who had taken to following Evereld about - on all occasions. She did not seem to be at all responsive, and her face - lighted up most satisfactorily when she perceived Sir Matthew, while her - companion was visibly chagrined. - </p> - <p> - “Watching the afterglow?” said Sir Matthew, as they approached. - </p> - <p> - “It’s hardly worth watching to-night,” said the Oxonian sulkily, as he - noticed the alacrity with which Evereld moved towards Bruce Wylie. What - the girl could see in this conceited fellow he could not imagine. - </p> - <p> - “We were just speaking of Ralph Denmead, Evereld,” said Sir Matthew. “Have - you heard of him lately?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I hear from him now and then, and I saw him not so very long ago,” - said Evereld. “He was with Macneillie’s Company when they were at - Southbourne.” By a strong effort of self-control she kept both voice and - manner perfectly calm and natural. - </p> - <p> - “You saw him act?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, he seems getting on very well. The Herefords knew something of Mr. - Macneillie and they breakfasted with us sometimes. He has been very kind - to Ralph.” - </p> - <p> - “Well I’m glad the boy has fallen on his feet,” said Sir Matthew. “I - suppose there was a touch of genius about him, but he was not the least - fit for the Indian Civil Service. Are you staying at Zermatt much longer?” - he added, turning to young Dick Lewisham who was still one of the group. - </p> - <p> - “I am leaving to-morrow,” he replied, “and shall get on as far as - Villeneuve, I think.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah yes, a charming hotel there,” said Sir Matthew, “and the lake in - September is delightful.” - </p> - <p> - Having comfortably disposed of Mr. Lewisham in this fashion he was far - from pleased when on the morning after their arrival at Glion he - encountered him in the garden of the Rigi Vaudois. - </p> - <p> - “It was so abominably hot down below,” said Dick Lewisham cheerfully, “I - was obliged to come on here.” - </p> - <p> - “I should advise you to go on still higher to Mont Caux,” said Sir - Matthew. “It is a magnificent hotel up there.” - </p> - <p> - “Thanks, but this is more handy, and I like the look of the place.” - </p> - <p> - “You’ll find it over-crowded,” said Sir Matthew, “we should not have got - rooms unless we had ordered them beforehand.” - </p> - <p> - “You are a large party,” said the Oxonian, making his way round to the - main entrance. - </p> - <p> - “How that old buffer does detest me,” he reflected. “I begin to think he - is bent on marrying his pretty ward to that beast Wylie, and is afraid I - shall spoil sport. A likely thing when she will give me nothing but snubs - the moment I show a spark of sentiment. Is it possible though that such a - girl can care for a regular man of the world thirty years older than - herself? I’ll never believe it. There’s a mystery somewhere. I shall stay - here and watch how things go.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld greeted him pleasantly, but not at all warmly when she encountered - him after table d’ hôte. She could have liked him extremely if his - attentions had been a little less overwhelming, or if she could have told - him of Ralph. As it was, he frightened her, and she was too much of a - novice to know the best way to steer her course. She invariably fled for - refuge to her old friend, Bruce Wylie, little dreaming that by so doing - she might confirm the gentle hints which Sir Matthew and Lady Mactavish - began to drop cautiously among their acquaintance in the hotel. - </p> - <p> - People enjoy few things more during their idle holiday hours in a health - resort than watching any little drama that may happen to be taking place - before them. - </p> - <p> - Evereld with her sweet innocent face turning to the old friend of her - childhood and apparently encouraging him in every way while she sedulously - snubbed the young Oxonian, was a spectacle that greatly pleased and - edified the English visitors at the Rigi Vaudois. It began to be rumoured - that Mr. Lewisham was only running after her money, that Bruce Wylie saw - it all plainly enough, but that he was practically sure that little Miss - Ewart was attached to him. That in fact an engagement might be declared at - any moment. - </p> - <p> - Something of this sort reached the ears of Dick Lewisham, and so angered - him that he determined to find out the truth for himself. - </p> - <p> - It happened that there was a dance in the hotel that evening, He knew that - Evereld would not refuse to dance with him, and having secured her as his - partner for the first <i>pas de quatre</i>, he afterwards persuaded her to - come out on to the terrace. - </p> - <p> - The garden was deserted, and Dick Lewisham plunged straight into the - subject which was filling his mind. He was a very honest, outspoken sort - of fellow, and he began to fancy that Evereld would not so openly - encourage Bruce Wylie had she known that people were beginning to comment - on it. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Ewart,” he said abruptly. “These little English colonies are always - hot-beds of gossip. And in this case the gossip I have just heard tends to - explain your marked coldness to me. I think there is no need for me to - tell you of my love—of——” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, stop, stop,” said Evereld, “I can’t let you say that. I tried so hard - to show you that I couldn’t care.” - </p> - <p> - Her distress struck him speechless for a moment; instinctively they walked - on to a more sheltered corner of the garden. - </p> - <p> - “It is true then—you already care for—this other.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she faltered. “But no one knows, here, oh, how can you have - guessed?” - </p> - <p> - “Why it is the talk of the hotel,” said Dick Lewisham. “Every one sees - that he cares for you and that you encourage him.” - </p> - <p> - Her eyes dilated. For a moment she stared at him blankly, “What can you - mean?” she cried. “He is in England, and no one here knows—no one - must know.” - </p> - <p> - “Everyone is saying that you and Mr. Wylie care for each other; if that is - true I will trouble you no more.” - </p> - <p> - “They are saying that!” she exclaimed. “How perfectly ridiculous of them!” - and in the sudden revulsion of feeling she burst out laughing, “Why I have - known him since I was a little girl, and even then he seemed to me quite - elderly. My chief reason for liking him as a friend is that he was always - kind to Ralph as well as to me when we were children.” - </p> - <p> - Then in a flash it all came back to Dick Lewisham; once more he stood in - the grounds of the hotel at Zermatt watching the afterglow, and listening - to what was more or less meaningless talk to him about a young actor named - Ralph Denmead. It was somehow less hard to him to retire before an unknown - rival; it was Bruce Wylie he so cordially detested. Moreover in having - thus surprised Evereld Ewart’s secret, his position had been changed - whether he would or no, from that of lover to friend and protector. He - knew what no one else in the place knew, and this gave him, in spite of - his rejection, a sort of soothing sensation. His admiration for Evereld - had been very genuine, but it had been the sort of love which strikes no - very deep roots in the heart. He was now only chivalrously anxious to help - her in any way he could. - </p> - <p> - “I will go away from the place at once if you would rather,” he said, - after a somewhat prolonged pause. “But you may trust me always to respect - what you have told me.” - </p> - <p> - “Then don’t go,” she said, giving him her hand. “I always knew I could - like you as a friend if only you had understood how things were. I think I - won’t dance again to-night. We are to have a long excursion to-morrow. I - will say good-night to you and run in.” - </p> - <p> - “And if at any time I can serve you, be sure you remember me,” said Dick - Lewisham looking into the truthful blue eyes lifted to his. - </p> - <p> - “I will indeed,” she said. “We only wait to be actually engaged till I am - twenty-one. I wish the time would go faster.” - </p> - <p> - Dick Lewisham escorted her back to the hotel, and then lighting a - cigarette returned once more to pace up and down the garden path they had - just quitted. The night was sultry, every now and then he could see summer - lightning playing about the peaks of the Savoy mountains on the other side - of the lake. Still musing over his talk with Evereld he threw himself down - on a sheltered garden seat which stood on a little lawn screened on all - sides by bushes. From time to time he heard steps on the path just beyond, - and caught curious scraps of conversation over which he smiled in a - cynical fashion. - </p> - <p> - Now it was a woman’s voice. - </p> - <p> - “Well, what you can see to admire in her I can’t imagine, and her dress! - why those sleeves might have come out of the ark. Oh you didn’t notice - them. How curious men are.” - </p> - <p> - Next came a pair of lovers. - </p> - <p> - “Dearest!” said one voice. - </p> - <p> - “My own!” replied the other. - </p> - <p> - And Dick Lewisham cruelly coughed. After which dead silence reigned. - </p> - <p> - By and bye a mellow, manly voice startled him into keen attention; it was - Bruce Wylie. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll propose to her to-morrow whatever happens. You can give the others - just a hint and they will keep out of the way. We must have matters - settled before leaving Switzerland. If she refuses me——” - </p> - <p> - “Why then,” said Sir Matthew Mactavish, “I shall step in with the - authority of a guardian. We will have no nonsense about the matter. But - she will not refuse you. She has too much good sense.” - </p> - <p> - The voices died away in the distance. Dick Lewisham laughed long and - silently. - </p> - <p> - “So that is your game, my fine friend! It is you who are after little Miss - Ewart’s money though you have had the slander set afloat that I was a - fortune-hunter. Ho! ho!” he rubbed his hands with satisfaction, “how I - should like to see your face when that little blue-eyed girl rejects you. - I’ll at any rate stay on here to see you when you return.” - </p> - <p> - He was loitering about at the cable railway station the next morning when - Evereld and Janet Mactavish walked from the hotel to take their places in - the down-going carriage. - </p> - <p> - “And where are you off to this morning?” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - “We are going to see the Gorge de Trient,” said Evereld, “at least some of - us are. You are going to sketch near that waterfall, are you not, Janet.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Janet, “but Major Gillot and Minnie and Mr. Wylie will be with - you. Four makes a much better number and I want a quiet day.” - </p> - <p> - Dick Lewisham laughed in his sleeve, he felt sure that Janet had been - taken into the plot. Then with some compunction he glanced at Evereld’s - unsuspicious face; her manner to him was perfect, he felt glad to think - that she trusted him, and wondered much in what fashion she would get - through the excursion. It was hardly likely he feared to be a day of - pleasure to her. - </p> - <p> - They were now joined by Minnie and her <i>fiancé</i>, and at the last - moment Bruce Wylie walked coolly across the little platform and down the - steps, taking his place just before the carriage slid down its steep - incline. - </p> - <p> - “Oh be quick! take care!” said Evereld with a look of alarm; and Dick - Lewisham turned away, musing over the words and the expression of the - girl’s face. - </p> - <p> - “Evidently she likes him very much as an old friend,” he reflected. “I - wonder how she will get on.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIV - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “To hug the wealth ye cannot use, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And lack the riches all may gain, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - O blind and wanting wit to choose, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Who house the chaff and burn the grain! - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And still doth life with starry towers - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Lure to the bright divine ascent! - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Be yours the things ye would: be ours - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - The things that are more excellent.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - William Watson. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>ome over to this - side of the carriage,” said Bruce Wylie as they took their places in the - train at Territet, “you will get the best of the views this side.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld had become quite used to his kindly little arrangements for her - comfort, she felt sure in her own mind that any good-natured man would - have done as much for a girl on her first Swiss tour, and she smiled to - herself at that ridiculous report which Mr. Lewisham had quoted to her. - After all, though, was it not very likely that she herself had misjudged - other people in exactly the same way? She was always making little - romances in her mind about the people they met in the hotels, and they - generally proved to be wrong when closer acquaintance revealed the truth. - </p> - <p> - She felt perfectly happy that September morning as they journeyed along - the lovely lake, past the red roofed Castle of Chillon, past the white - peaks of the Dent du Midi to St. Maurice, and then on once more through - the somewhat trying heat of the Rhone Valley to Vernayaz. - </p> - <p> - “I shall be quite independent of you,” said Janet, “and shall spend my day - sketching. We will all meet here again in time for the train.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh we must come and see you settled,” said Bruce Wylie, “besides Evereld - ought to see the waterfall nearer than from the train. We have our whole - day before us, there is no hurry.” - </p> - <p> - In the end these three walked off together in the direction of the - Pissevache, while the two lovers went in the opposite direction, promising - to order luncheon at the hotel. - </p> - <p> - Evereld seemed more talkative than usual, but when, having duly inspected - the waterfall, he tried hard to draw her into the region of sentiment, she - seemed more provokingly matter of fact than ever. - </p> - <p> - “It’s very sad to think we have only one more excursion before we go - home,” he remarked, “how detestable England will seem after this holiday.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you think so,” said Evereld, “why I am longing to get back to England. - Lovely as this place is, it seems so dreadfully far away.” - </p> - <p> - “Far away from what?” said Bruce Wylie. - </p> - <p> - “Well, from one’s friends and belongings,” said Evereld. - </p> - <p> - Bruce Wylie could only pretend to be deeply offended. - </p> - <p> - “You say that to me,” he said tragically, “one of your oldest friends!” - </p> - <p> - She laughed merrily. - </p> - <p> - “It was certainly a case of what <i>Punch</i> would call ‘Things one would - rather have expressed differently.’ But though the tour has been a great - treat I believe I should always begin to be homesick for England at the - end of six weeks.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh if it is only an abstraction like England I will not be jealous, it - isn’t worth while,” said her companion with a laugh. - </p> - <p> - And Evereld blushed a little, knowing that it was not England in the - abstract, but nearness to Ralph that she longed for. - </p> - <p> - Bruce Wylie saw the blush and was pleased. He entirely misunderstood it, - and might have proposed to her at that very minute, had not some very - dirty little children besieged them just then with the usual request for - money. - </p> - <p> - The straggling street of Vernayaz was not the place for a private - conversation, he would wait till later in the day. - </p> - <p> - After a merry lunch at the hotel with Minnie and Major Gillot they all - went together to see the Gorge de Trient, and here he contrived to fall - behind on the pretext of pointing out some particularly striking effect to - Evereld as they threaded their way through the awful ravine with its - foaming white torrent and its towering heights above. - </p> - <p> - But his effort was useless, for something in the majesty of this great - rock, cleft so strangely, had filled Evereld with awe; she was thinking - her own thoughts and was quite unresponsive to all his attempts to draw - her into conversation. - </p> - <p> - “It feels like a church,” she said once as they paused for a few minutes, - and Bruce Wylie anxious not to jar upon her in any way, relapsed into - silence. - </p> - <p> - Emerging at length from the cool shade of the Gorge de Trient, they - returned to the hotel, Major Gillot ordered coffee, and Bruce Wylie took - the opportunity to draw him aside and suggest a change of programme. - </p> - <p> - “Sir Matthew gave me leave to take Evereld on to Finshauts if she liked - the idea,” he said. “Let us all meet at the station. But don’t wait for us - if we chance to be late. Lady Mactavish might be anxious. I will bring her - on by the next train in any case.” - </p> - <p> - “All right,” said the Major, paying no very great heed to the words, and - well pleased to be left with Minnie for the rest of the time. - </p> - <p> - “Evereld,” said Bruce Wylie, rejoining the ladies, “I don’t know what you - will say to the notion, but it seems to me very hot down in this place, - and we have still some hours before us. I find there is a most beautiful - drive to a place called Finshauts up in the mountains, with a very fine - view of Mont Blanc. Shall you and I make a pilgrimage up there and leave - Miss Mactavish and Major Gillot to enjoy this garden in peace?” - </p> - <p> - “I think it would be lovely,” said Evereld, her eyes lighting up. “I have - been longing to get to the top ever since we came here.” - </p> - <p> - Bruce Wylie was pleased that she should fall in with the idea, and went - off at once to order a carriage, but perhaps her delighted acquiescence - troubled him a little, for he made several attempts to justify his scheme - to his own conscience. - </p> - <p> - “If she accepts me I shall take care to be in good time for the train, and - all will be well,” he argued. “And she will accept me in all probability - after a little persuasion. If not, there is nothing for it but Sir - Matthew’s plan of scaring her with the fear of what people will say. No - real harm will be done, none whatever. We shall merely play a little upon - her credulity and ignorance and her proper pride, and all the rest of it. - The game is worth the candle, for without her, sooner or later we shall be - ruined.” - </p> - <p> - He was more considerate and gentle in manner than ever when at length they - set off together on their drive to Finshauts; her perfect confidence in - him gave him an uncomfortable sensation, he kept on deferring the speech - which must be made, and allowed her to enjoy to the full the beauty of the - winding road with its shady groves of walnut and chestnut trees, and its - wonderful glimpses of the Rhone Valley. They paused after a time to see - the Falls of Emaney, and when they once more got into the carriage, Bruce - Wylie made up his mind that before the next stage was reached his work - must somehow be done. He looked down into her glowing happy face. - </p> - <p> - “You are enjoying it?” he said kindly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh more than I can tell you,” she said. “It is quite the best drive we - have had. What a pity Janet isn’t here.” - </p> - <p> - “For once you must let me be selfish,” said Bruce Wylie laughing. “I am - heartily glad she is not here. ‘Two is company, three is trumpery,’ as the - proverb says.” - </p> - <p> - “I never agree with that proverb,” said Evereld. “We had a three-cornered - friendship at school and it was delightful.” - </p> - <p> - “For school friends it may be well enough. But I am something more than - your friend, Evereld, I am your lover.” - </p> - <p> - The assertion struck her dumb for a minute. - </p> - <p> - “Surely you had realised that?” said Bruce Wylie. “You must, I think, have - known it all these weeks that we have been together.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no, no,” she cried in distress. “I never dreamt of such a thing. - Please never say that again.” - </p> - <p> - “But I must say it again. I want to make you understand me. For years I - have hoped that you would some day be my wife. And when you understand me - better I think you will say ‘yes,’ Evereld.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said desperately, “I can never say it. I could never care for - you in that way. Please let us just be friends as we used to be.” - </p> - <p> - “But things are altered now, you are no longer a child, but a woman. - Believe me, dear, I would make you very happy. You perhaps think that the - difference in our age is a drawback. But some of the happiest marriages I - have known have been marriages of that sort. One can’t make a hard and - fast rule as to age.” - </p> - <p> - “It is not that,” said Evereld. “That might not matter a bit. But I could - never love you.” - </p> - <p> - “I will take my chance of that. The love would grow.” - </p> - <p> - “No, it never could.... Please believe me and say no more. I can’t think - what makes you wish it when you must have met so many much more fit.” - </p> - <p> - “But I have been waiting and hoping for you. And you must at any rate - promise me to think it over for a few days before quite deciding. I have - taken you by surprise. Think it over quietly, and we will talk about it - some other day.” - </p> - <p> - “If I thought for years it would make no difference,” said Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “You fancy so, because like all young girls you have made a sort of ideal - in your own mind, and no living man can come up to that ideal.” - </p> - <p> - She shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “No, not an ideal,” she said softly, and into her eyes there stole the - soft love light which revealed all too clearly her thoughts. - </p> - <p> - “She cares for some one else,” reflected Bruce Wylie, “I suppose it’s that - confounded young Denmead. Well, silence is golden. She must be left till - to-morrow to reflect.” - </p> - <p> - “Dear child,” he said in his mellow voice. “Don’t look so grave. I will - say no more just at present. I only ask you to give what I have said your - careful thought. Here we are at Triquent.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld drew out her watch, but in the worry of the previous evening, - after her talk with Mr. Lewisham, she had forgotten to wind it up—the - hands pointed to four o’clock. - </p> - <p> - “My watch has stopped,” she said, “but surely it is time we turned back! - Finshauts seems much further than I expected.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, we shall soon be there now,” said Bruce Wylie, glancing at the time. - “It takes us some while to climb up, but we shall rattle down again at a - great pace.” - </p> - <p> - It seemed a pity to have come so far and not after all to see the view of - Mont Blanc, and though Evereld longed to be back with the others, and - dreaded the <i>tête-à-tête</i> with her companion after what had passed, - she scarcely liked to say any more about returning. - </p> - <p> - She was grateful to him, moreover, because on the last stage of the - journey he got out and walked beside the driver, leaving her to her great - relief unmolested. - </p> - <p> - “He is a wonderfully kind man,” she reflected. “I hope I wasn’t too - emphatic, but one had to make him quite understand. Even now we shall have - to talk it over again. Oh dear! Oh dear! how I wish Ralph and I were - really engaged, then one wouldn’t be so tongue-tied. I shall only be - twenty in the spring, and there will still be a year to wait.” - </p> - <p> - The road passed now through a wood, and something in its green depths of - shade made her think of a wood near Southbourne where they had once spent - a happy midterm holiday with the Herefords, during her school days. - </p> - <p> - “How I wish I were at school again now,” she thought sadly. “It was all so - happy and easy there, with none of these worries and misunderstandings. - And yet I don’t either, for if I were still at school Ralph would not have - spoken to me that Sunday, that wonderful Sunday.” - </p> - <p> - She fell into a happy dream, and was startled when Bruce Wylie suddenly - appeared at the carriage door and resumed his place beside her. - </p> - <p> - “She was thinking of that boy,” he reflected with annoyance. “This - business will make our task even more disagreeable.” - </p> - <p> - “You look tired,” he said, “when we reach the Hotel Bel Oiseau I will - order some tea to be got ready while we go on to the best point of view.” - </p> - <p> - “But are you sure we shall have time. We must not miss that train,” said - Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, plenty of time. It’s all down hill going back, and besides the horse - must rest, and the driver will certainly expect to drink our health in the - <i>vin du pays</i>.” - </p> - <p> - His manner set her mind at rest, and indeed for a time she forgot all else - in the wonderful panorama that opened out before them as Mont Blanc and - the Chamounix Valley came into view. It was a scene to remember for a - lifetime, and Evereld, with her young heart and her clear conscience, was - able to revel in its beauty, and to cast off altogether all petty cares - and vexations. - </p> - <p> - These, however, returned when they went back to the Hotel Bel Oiseau; a - mistake had been made—or so Bruce Wylie told her—as to the - tea, and it took a long time in coming. Then there was yet another delay - because the coachman had mysteriously disappeared, and when at last the - horse was put in and they turned back to Vernayaz, Evereld was certain - that they had allowed very scanty time for the descent. - </p> - <p> - “It’s as much as we shall do to catch this train,” remarked her companion, - as they at length gained the valley. - </p> - <p> - “There is a train now just passing,” exclaimed Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “Not ours, I daresay,” said Bruce Wylie, “no,” looking at his watch - reassuringly, “it’s not due for another ten minutes. We shall do it all - right, don’t be anxious.” - </p> - <p> - “There, we are punctual to the minute,” he remarked, as they drew up at - the station, “and no train is here. Ha! what’s that you say?” he added, as - an old porter came leisurely up to them. “The train gone? Why, it’s only - now due.” - </p> - <p> - The porter explained, with many gesticulations, that the Monsieur’s watch - was ten minutes slow. - </p> - <p> - “How annoying,” said Bruce Wylie, “when is the next train for St. Maurice - and Territet?” - </p> - <p> - “There are no more this evening, monsieur,” said the porter. “Monsieur - will find many good hotels in Vernayaz.” - </p> - <p> - Bruce Wylie made a well feigned ejaculation of annoyance. - </p> - <p> - “The others will have seen that we were not there,” said Evereld, - springing out of the carriage, “I will run and look for Janet;” but she - returned forlornly in a minute, for Janet was not there. - </p> - <p> - “I think she might have waited,” said the girl, indignantly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, they would naturally conclude we should come on by a later train as - we didn’t turn up till this one started,” said Bruce Wylie, “in fact I - told the Major we should do that if by any ill fortune we were too late. - Who could have guessed that there were no trains later than this?” - </p> - <p> - “You looked out the trains yourself yesterday,” said Evereld, “I should - have thought you would have noticed.” - </p> - <p> - She felt intensely irritated, it was one of those times when a traveller’s - temper is put to the test. - </p> - <p> - Bruce Wylie did not mend matters by his rather stumbling apology. She - could not have explained her feeling, but somehow at that moment she felt - that she could no longer put confidence in him. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I wouldn’t have had such a thing happen for the world,” he said. - “It is all my fault, and I’m extremely sorry. The only thing to be done is - to go back to the Hotel Gorge du Trient. We shall be in time for dinner, I - daresay. To the Hotel, driver!” - </p> - <p> - “Wait,” said Evereld quietly. “I must first send a telegram to Lady - Mactavish explaining things.” - </p> - <p> - “Quite right, of course. I ought to have thought of it. What a sensible - little woman you are, Evereld.” - </p> - <p> - She neither smiled nor responded in any way. A few hours before the - episode would have troubled her very little, but to be stranded in this - place with the man she had just refused was a situation she disliked very - much. Behind it all, too, there lurked a vague feeling that she had been - entrapped into the drive, that perhaps even Janet had guessed what Mr. - Wylie meant to say during the course of this ill-fated expedition. - </p> - <p> - To do him justice, Bruce Wylie took good care to set her perfectly at her - ease directly they arrived at the hotel, himself saw the manageress and - explained things to her, handing over Evereld to her kindly care, and - promising to meet her in the salon. - </p> - <p> - The Swiss manageress gave her a pleasant room, and lent her all that she - needed, and when she went down to the salon a delightful surprise awaited - her. - </p> - <p> - “Why, Evereld!” said a familiar voice, and a tall pretty looking girl - stepped forward with a warm greeting. - </p> - <p> - It was May Coniston, an old schoolfellow who had left Southbourne at - Easter, and had come out to Switzerland for rest after the toils of her - first London season. She introduced Evereld to her mother, and they - listened to her description of the contretemps that had befallen her, and - Evereld introduced Mr. Wylie to them. - </p> - <p> - “It is most fortunate you just happened to come across us,” said May - Coniston cheerfully. “I can lend you everything, and mother will be only - too delighted to take care of you. There is nothing she enjoys so much as - looking after girls.” - </p> - <p> - So in the end Evereld had an extremely pleasant evening, lost her heart to - kindly Mrs. Coniston, sat up hair-brushing with her friend till after - midnight, and was delighted to have May for a companion in her large, - lonely bedroom where, as Mrs. Coniston remarked, they could fancy - themselves back at school once more. - </p> - <p> - Early the next morning, having parted with the Conistons, who were going - to Champéry, Bruce Wylie and Evereld returned to Glion, arriving just in - time for lunch. They encountered Janet and Minnie in the entrance hall, - and Evereld went straight to the <i>salle à manger</i> with them, laughing - over the events of the previous day, and remonstrating with them for - having deserted her. - </p> - <p> - “We all got into the train when it came up,” explained Janet calmly, - “hoping to the last that you would come before it started; it must have - been some minutes in the station. Mamma was vexed with us for coming on, - but of course we all knew you were safe; your telegram got here before we - did.” - </p> - <p> - “Where is Lady Mactavish?” asked Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “She has gone down to Montreux to lunch with Lady Mount Pleasant, who by - the bye has invited us all to go to-morrow to her picnic at a place near - the Rochers de Nave.” - </p> - <p> - Just at that moment Sir Matthew and Mr. Bruce Wylie joined them. There was - something unusual in her guardian’s manner, and Evereld wondered what had - brought the cloud to his brow. It did not disappear at all when he greeted - her, and had it not been for a talkative German doctor, who conversed - learnedly with Janet, their party would have been an uncomfortably silent - one throughout the meal. - </p> - <p> - “I want a few words with you, my dear,” said Sir Matthew, when at last - lunch was over. “Come with me to our own sitting-room. We shall not be - interrupted there.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld’s heart sank. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Wylie has told of his proposal to me,” she reflected. “And Sir - Matthew is vexed with me for refusing his friend.” - </p> - <p> - “Sit down,” said Sir Matthew, motioning her to a sofa beside the window, - and wheeling up a ponderous armchair for himself. “I have, of course, - heard from Mr. Wylie of your very surprising behaviour yesterday. Are you - aware that you have refused one of the best and cleverest of men, a man - too who has been encouraged by you for the last month.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, no,” cried Evereld. “Indeed I never dreamt of encouraging him. How - could I be supposed to think of a man thirty years older than I am as a - lover?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know what you thought about it, my dear, but you did distinctly - encourage him. And everyone here, and at Zermatt, too, I believe, - considered it a case.” - </p> - <p> - “I am very sorry if they thought so, but it was a ridiculous mistake. I - should never dream of marrying Mr. Wylie. He is just a friend and nothing - more.” - </p> - <p> - “I have no patience with this foolish talk about friends,” said Sir - Matthew. “You ought to know enough of the world to realise that it never - puts faith in friendships between men and women.” - </p> - <p> - “Can I not be friends with an elderly man like that? a man of nearly - fifty, who has known me since I was a child?” said Evereld questioningly. - </p> - <p> - “No, you cannot,” said Sir Matthew decidedly. “You have encouraged him all - these weeks, and you must marry him.” - </p> - <p> - The tone of decision would, he thought, at once silence this gentle little - girl with her innocent blue eyes. He received an uncomfortable shock when - she quietly replied: “Of course, if it is really so I can avoid Mr. Wylie - in future. But marry him I will not.” - </p> - <p> - “What possible objection can you have to him?” said her guardian - irritably. “I can tell you, he is a man that most girls would be proud to - accept.” - </p> - <p> - “But I do not love him,” said Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you have been reading novels and have set up some absurd ideal hero - unlike any man who ever existed. Bruce Wylie is one of a thousand, he will - make you perfectly happy, and will save you from the infinite misery of - being run after for the sake of your fortune by unworthy men embarrassed - by debts.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld laughed a little. “I will promise never to marry an unworthy man - embarrassed by debts. But nothing will make me marry Mr. Wylie.” - </p> - <p> - “Then it only remains for me,” said Sir Matthew, “to tell you how things - really are. You must marry him, my dear. The whole place is talking about - you. Your reputation is at stake. Everyone knows that you were stranded - alone with him last night at Vernayaz, and there is only one way to - prevent a scandal arising. You must be engaged to him at once, and you - shall be married when we go back to London. If you like it might be on the - same day that Minnie is married.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld’s eyes dilated. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t understand you,” she said. “Can you really mean that because Mr. - Wylie very carelessly allowed us to miss the train, and didn’t know—or—or - pretended not to know that it was the last train—that I should marry - him because of that?” - </p> - <p> - “Dear child, you are very young and innocent, and the world is a hard - censorious place. The busy tongues of these holiday idlers will certainly - make free with your name. And I can’t permit that. The best way to avoid - scandal, the only way, is to hasten on your marriage.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well,” said Evereld. “But it is not Mr. Wylie that I shall marry.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you dare to tell me that you are engaged to any one else?” said Sir - Matthew. - </p> - <p> - “No, I am certainly not engaged,” said Evereld. “But as soon a I come of - age I shall be engaged.” - </p> - <p> - “To whom,” said Sir Matthew. - </p> - <p> - “To Ralph,” she said, a vivid blush dyeing her cheeks. - </p> - <p> - With an inarticulate exclamation of wrath, Sir Matthew began to pace to - and fro. - </p> - <p> - “This comes of adopting beggars,” he said between his teeth. At that, - Evereld started to her feet, and would have left the room had he not - intercepted her. - </p> - <p> - “How long has this been going on?” he said, angrily. - </p> - <p> - “I never knew I cared for him like that until he had gone away more than a - year ago, when you brought down the news about his examination.” - </p> - <p> - “Just like the ungrateful fellow,” said Sir Matthew. “As soon as he saw - that there was nothing more to be got out of me, he thought to feather his - nest with your fortune.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld struggled hard not to lose control over her temper, but every - pulse in her throbbed indignantly at the words. - </p> - <p> - “I think,” she said in a low voice, “that money is the last thing any - Denmead ever troubled himself to think of.” - </p> - <p> - The words were so true that for a moment they checked Sir Matthew; he - reflected wrathfully that his own action in turning Ralph out of his house - somewhat harshly had brought about this result he so little desired. Up to - that time the friendship between the two had been of a most brotherly and - sisterly character. He was startled from this train of thought by a sudden - and wholly unexpected question from Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “My father used to say every penny he had was invested in railways—is - my money still as he left it?” she inquired. - </p> - <p> - “W—w—w—we have made a few changes; you will learn all - details when you come of age,” said Sir Matthew. - </p> - <p> - Evereld had quick perceptions. She had never heard her guardian stammer - before. She looked him through and through with her clear eyes, and knew - that something was amiss. He coloured under her scrutiny, and complaining - of the heat of the room, pushed the window wider open. - </p> - <p> - “Ralph has good points,” he said, returning to the former topic. “But - depend upon it, my dear, this is an idle fancy of yours; he will fall in - love with some actress and forget all about you. It is only natural that - it should be so.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said. “He will wait for me, and when he has got on a little in - his profession, we shall be engaged. We might have been engaged now only - he was too honourable.” - </p> - <p> - “You talk just as one might expect an innocent girl fresh from school to - talk, my dear,” said Sir Matthew. “But it will not do. Such a marriage - would be preposterous, your father would never have allowed it, and I once - more repeat that acting in your interests I shall insist on your accepting - Mr. Wylie’s offer. You think me unkind; believe me,” he took her hand and - patted it caressingly, “I am not unkind, I am only making you do what is - the best possible thing under the circumstances. You must trust me. There - are elements in the case you cannot understand. There is no safe path for - a woman but the part of obedience to authority. You must be guided by me, - my dear, you must recollect that in all the years you have lived under my - roof I have always shown you kindness and love, and you must try to - believe that I show that kindness now, though I thwart your wishes and wed - you to a man who does not exactly fit in with your girlish and romantic - ideal. We will say no more now, you are tired and agitated. But within the - next two days I shall expect to receive from Mr. Wylie the news that his - offer has been accepted. Think it quietly over. I am convinced that some - day you will thank me for what I have done; ay! and other people will have - good cause to thank me, too.” - </p> - <p> - He stooped and kissed her on the forehead and politely opened the door for - her in token that the interview was at an end. - </p> - <p> - Without a word Evereld left the room and went slowly upstairs. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXV - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “The tissue of the Life to be - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - We weave with colours all our own, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And in the field of destiny - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - We reap as we have sown.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Whittier. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he broad staircase - was covered with cocoa-nut matting, she toiled up the slippery steps - feeling dazed and giddy, groping her way more by instinct than by sight to - her own door. Her room was at the side of the hotel, and its French - window, opening on to a little balcony, looked out over the woods of - Veytaux and the distant turrets of Chillon to the Dent du Midi. She threw - herself down now into the depths of an armchair, letting the soft air play - on her hot cheeks, and staring out in a bewildered way at the lovely view - which contrasted so strangely with her misery. - </p> - <p> - Her whole world seemed to be shaken to its foundation. Her instinct warned - her that the guardian, whose plausible talk and apparent kindliness had - long deceived her, was in no sense a man to be trusted. And seizing the - clue, which his own accusations of others had furnished her with, she - began to wonder if in some unaccountable way Bruce Wylie himself was one - of those fortune-hunters, who finding themselves in difficulties sought to - repair their losses with some heiress’ money. Her clear insight had at - once detected the false ring in his apologies about the lost train on the - previous day. He had somehow forfeited her confidence, and the more she - thought over her interview with Sir Matthew, and the extraordinary - determination he had evidently made to marry her to his friend, the more - she distrusted and dreaded them both. It might possibly be that they had - mismanaged her affairs, and were perhaps speculating with her money. She - had heard of many cases where luckless women had been ruined by a - fraudulent trustee. - </p> - <p> - Fortunately, though young and innocent, Evereld had been wisely educated, - and even in all the agitation of the moment she was able clearly to see - how foolish was the notion that in order to quiet unkind tongues, or to - satisfy the outraged feelings of Mrs. Grundy, she should consent publicly - to perjure herself, by vowing to love as a wife a man she did not desire - to marry. - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew and Bruce Wylie had fancied that a pure-minded, proud girl - would easily be frightened into a marriage which in many respects was - outwardly desirable. Women were seldom logical, and a little novice like - Evereld could, they felt sure, be cajoled or scared or flattered into - obedience to their wishes. Sir Matthew had reserved his direct command and - the allusion to his authority as a guardian as his trump card. He thought - because she had made no reply to this speech that he had convinced her. - But Evereld knew that obedience to the truth must always stand before - obedience to any authority, and she was emphatically not one of those - plastic, weak-minded girls who furnish victims for the modern marriage - market, and allow themselves to be sacrificed to the ambition of their - parents. - </p> - <p> - There was, however, a sort of blind terror in her mind. She had read that - pathetic novel “Jasmine Leigh,” the plot of which turned on the forcible - abduction of an heiress; and now, perhaps, not unnaturally the story - returned to haunt her. Words which Ralph had spoken as to Sir Matthew’s - unscrupulous character, his utter disregard for the victims whose ruin - followed the triumphal procession of his own fame and fortune, haunted - her, too. She had thought him hard and uncharitable when he had spoken of - his godfather, but his words had impressed her nevertheless, and she felt - that they were probably not far from the truth. Like some trapped animal, - she tried desperately to think what possible course she could take. If - only that motherly Mrs. Coniston had been in the hotel she would have told - her all and asked her advice, but she could hardly put the case in a - letter, or travel to Champéry to see her. And there was no one else to - whom she could turn, unless it was Mr. Lewisham, and she doubted if that - would be a wise thing to do. Only a woman could thoroughly understand and - help her. - </p> - <p> - And then the old grief of eight years ago, to which she had grown more or - less accustomed, came back to her with an intensity of bitterness, a new - realisation of irreparable loss. “Oh Mother!” she sobbed. “Oh Mother! - Mother!” - </p> - <p> - A step on the balcony made her hastily try to check her tears. Minnie’s - room was next to hers, and the window also opened on to the little side - balcony. - </p> - <p> - “Why Evereld,” said a cheerful voice. “You dear little goose! Don’t cry. I - know all about it. Papa has told me. Don’t you be frightened. It won’t be - half so bad as you expect. You’ll soon grow very fond of Mr. Wylie. And - you shall have such a pretty wedding dress and as many of your school - friends as you like for bridesmaids. You have no idea what fun you will - have choosing your <i>trousseau</i>. We will stop in Paris on our way - home, and I can put you up to all sorts of things.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t talk like that,” said Evereld, her tears raining down, as the utter - mockery of it all forced itself upon her. - </p> - <p> - “Do you think,” continued Minnie, “that you are the first girl who has - been obliged to give up an early love? Why it’s my firm conviction that no - one ever does marry a first love. If Papa had allowed it I should have - married a lanky curate, and we should still be waiting for the inevitable - country living which might or might not turn up. He put a stop to it all. - And I cried my eyes out just as you are doing. But I am very much obliged - to him now and mean to be very happy with Major Gillot. Now stop crying, - and I will make some tea in my etna, and later on you shall come out with - us and do ‘gooseberry.’” - </p> - <p> - “I’m afraid of meeting Mr. Wylie,” objected Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “Indeed I think you - had better not meet him with your eyes as red as that,” said Minnie with a - laugh. “There’s no need for you to see him till dinner-time, for he has - gone down to Montreux to talk over the arrangements for tomorrow with - Mamma and Lady Mount Pleasant.” - </p> - <p> - There was something comforting in Minnie’s kindly manner, though Evereld - vehemently dissented in her own mind from all her arguments. She obeyed - her, however, and stopped crying, and even found temporary comfort in the - afternoon tea which has a way of tasting so supremely good when made by - oneself abroad. Later on they walked down the Gorge de Chaudron, where - already the trees were arraying themselves in the lovely tints of early - autumn. The two lovers walked a little ahead. Evereld followed slowly and - thoughtfully, regaining her habitual strength and quietness of mind as she - walked, by slow degrees. There was something in her face which puzzled - Bruce Wylie when he met her again that evening at dinner. She looked - older, even he could have fancied thinner, since the morning. He left her - unmolested till the meal was over, but joined her directly afterwards in - the entrance hall, where in the evening people were wont to lounge and - chat unceremoniously. He was discussing thought-reading with a young - American girl and skilfully inveigled Evereld into the conversation. In - old times she had always felt an interest in experiments of this sort; - to-night she felt that not for the world would she permit Bruce Wylie to - touch her. - </p> - <p> - “Let us show Miss Upton the experiment we tried at Zermatt,” said Bruce - Wylie. “It was a brilliant success there.” - </p> - <p> - “I would rather not to-night,” said Evereld colouring. “I am tired.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, try just once,” he said persuasively. - </p> - <p> - But she shook her head. - </p> - <p> - “I must appeal to your guardian,” he said, laughing. “Sir Matthew, we want - you to persuade your ward to do the pin-finding trick.” - </p> - <p> - Rightly or wrongly, Evereld was convinced that if she now yielded her mind - up to him he might abuse his power over her and weaken her resistance to - his other wishes. She stood at bay conscious that many eyes were turned - upon her, determined not to yield, yet puzzled as to how she was to - proceed. - </p> - <p> - “Why Evereld, dear,” said Sir Matthew in his hearty penetrating voice, “of - course you will oblige us all. You are a capital hand at this sort of - thing.” - </p> - <p> - She turned to the pretty American girl, feeling that her only chance was - to appeal to her. She seemed a clever, observant girl, surely she could be - made to understand without words. - </p> - <p> - “I am so sorry,” she said, “to be obliged to say ‘no’ to-night. But I am - tired and am going up to bed. Won’t you try the thought-reading?” Her - clear blue eyes looked straight into the bright eyes of little Miss Upton, - saying as plainly as eyes could express the thought, “Help me out of this - dilemma.” And the American responded instantly to the appeal. - </p> - <p> - “I guess I’ll try whether I can’t do it myself, Mr. Wylie,” she said, - looking up at him archly and holding out a dainty handkerchief. “Blindfold - me instead of Miss Ewart, and see if I’m not just as sharp at finding the - pin.” - </p> - <p> - She made such fun of the whole process that even Bruce Wylie himself - failed to notice that Evereld calmly walked up the broad staircase in - sight of them all, and she was safely locked into her room before any one - had bestowed a thought upon her absence. - </p> - <p> - “I shall always love American girls!” she said to herself. “How quick she - was to understand, I only wish I could thank her, but that’s impossible. - Somehow I must get away from this place. I daren’t stay longer. If only I - knew how best to escape and where to go to! There is Mrs. Hereford. She - would take care of me. But Ireland is so far away, and I fear they would - overtake me before I could get to her. Shall I go to London and make - Bridget take me away to some quiet little country place where no one could - hear of us? Or there is Southbourne, but term will not begin till next - week, and the whole house would be deserted, it would be no use going - there.” None of these plans seemed very promising. To whom could she turn? - </p> - <p> - Restlessly pacing up and down her room, she prayed for guidance, and - almost immediately a well-known name floated into her mind. “Why!” she - exclaimed, “I wonder I never thought of that before.” - </p> - <p> - She stepped out on to the balcony, entered Minnie’s room, took from the - table a continental Bradshaw, and returning once more, sat down resolutely - to puzzle out a route as well as she could. It was no easy matter for one - unversed in the mysteries of railway guides; she found herself terribly - baffled by two places with almost exactly similar names, and she - floundered long in that wilderness of day trains and night trains, and - dark and light figures, which prove traps for the inexperienced. If so - much had not depended upon it she could have laughed over her - perplexities, but as it was she came perilously near to crying over the - Bradshaw, and nothing but dread of Bruce Wylie and the thought of Ralph - enabled her to plod on until at last she had puzzled out her way of - escape. The trains were not so favourable to her plans as she had hoped. - It was impossible to leave till the middle of the next morning, and the - journey would involve four or five changes of trains, and a night at a - hotel. It seemed impossible to go straight through to her destination. - </p> - <p> - “If I go to a hotel,” she reflected, “I must have some sort of luggage or - they will suspect me. I will take my little handbag from here and some - cloak straps in my pocket; then at Geneva I will buy some wraps and make - up a respectable-looking bundle.” - </p> - <p> - By this time her hopes had revived and her courage had returned. She put - back the Bradshaw in Minnie’s room, closed her shutters, bolted her window - and began to make her preparations in a thoughtful, womanly way. - </p> - <p> - Fortunately she had had no expenses in Switzerland, and still carried - about her the eighteen five pound notes which Bridget had counselled her - not to leave behind. In her purse she had also an English sovereign and a - little Swiss silver money. “I need not change a note till I get to Geneva, - that is a comfort,” she reflected, and having carefully destroyed all her - letters and packed a few necessaries into her bag, she crept to bed and - did her best to sleep, but not very successfully. - </p> - <p> - The next morning she could most truthfully plead a headache as an excuse - for not attending Lady Mount Pleasant’s picnic, indeed she remained in - bed; and looked so white and tired when Janet and Minnie came to see her - that they reported her as quite unfit for the expedition, and only in a - state to be left quiet and alone. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Sir Matthew, with a look of annoyance, “it can’t be helped. - She will be right enough to-morrow when her decision is made and - everything has settled down quietly.” - </p> - <p> - Bruce Wylie, who had fully intended to settle matters during the course of - that day, was forced to acquiesce, and since Lady Mount Pleasant and her - contingent had arrived from Montreux, and the carriages were at the door, - there was no time for further discussion. - </p> - <p> - Evereld stole to her window as soon as she heard the sound of wheels and - just caught a sideway glimpse of the picnic party driving off. Then in - breathless haste she dressed, put a letter which she had written to Sir - Matthew on the previous night in a place where it would quickly be found, - bolted her door on the inner side, stepped out of the window and closed - both it and the jalousies behind her and went through Minnie’s room to the - corridor beyond. A chambermaid was sweeping the matting, she smiled in a - friendly fashion and asked if mademoiselle was better. - </p> - <p> - “I still have a headache,” said Evereld, “and am going out of doors. If - you see Miss Mactavish to-night when she returns, please say I do not wish - to be disturbed.” - </p> - <p> - She ran quickly down the stairs, encountering nobody; in the bureau she - caught sight of the manager’s head, but he had his back turned to the door - and did not see her, he was giving out a library book to an old lady who - was accounted the greatest gossip in Glion. Mercifully she, too, was - absorbed and did not look up. - </p> - <p> - Evereld walked quietly through the garden; over her dark blue serge dress - she wore a little blue capuchin cape with red-lined hood, her sailor hat, - and long gauze travelling veil were of the quietest. She was beginning to - hope that she should encounter none of the people staying in the hotel - when, within a stone’s throw of the cable railway station, she came across - Dick Lewisham and little Miss Upton. - </p> - <p> - “Are you better?” said the American kindly. “Your friends told us you were - quite knocked up and could not go to the picnic.” - </p> - <p> - “My head aches still,” said Evereld, “but—but please don’t tell them - that you saw me going out.” - </p> - <p> - It is almost impossible for a naturally open and truthful person to carry - out a secret scheme without some confidante. Evereld liked and trusted - both these acquaintances, and she yielded to that craving for sympathy, - that longing for straightforward speech which was perhaps more natural - than strictly prudent. - </p> - <p> - “I could not go to the picnic because I must avoid Mr. Wylie,” she said in - a low voice. “My guardian is trying to force me to marry him, and I mean - to escape to other friends who will take care of me.” - </p> - <p> - “Did I not tell you how it would be?” said Dick Lewisham. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she faltered, “you were quite right; and now there is nothing for - me to do but to get away at once.” - </p> - <p> - “Remember,” he said, “that you promised to ask my help if you were in any - difficulty.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Evereld. “Perhaps now you would just take my ticket to - Territet.” - </p> - <p> - “Let us all come down to Territet together,” said Miss Upton, “it will be - less noticeable than your going quite alone.” - </p> - <p> - Before many minutes were passed the three were gliding down the steep - incline, and Evereld grew light hearted to think that the difficult first - step had proved so successful. - </p> - <p> - “Are you sure,” said Dick Lewisham, “that you can get to your friends - without difficulty?” - </p> - <p> - “Quite sure, thank you,” she said bravely. - </p> - <p> - “We will not ask you a single question beyond that,” he continued, “for - the less we know the better. If they put us through any very severe - catechism, the utmost we will admit is that you were in the hotel garden - before lunch this morning.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s quite a romance,” said little Miss Upton, rubbing her hands with - satisfaction, “and as I shall want to have the third volume, please send - it over to me at Boston as soon as it’s complete. There’s my card.” - </p> - <p> - “I will be sure to write,” said Evereld, “and thank you so very much for - helping me, both last night and this morning, too. I shall never forget - you.” - </p> - <p> - They walked a little way beyond the station in the direction of Montreux - until they reached a confectioner’s. - </p> - <p> - “I am going in here to get some food for my journey,” said Evereld, “I - will wish you good bye;” she gave her hand to each of them, shyly thanked - Dick Lewisham for his help, and entered the shop. - </p> - <p> - “End of the second volume,” said Miss Upton with a comical expression on - her bright face. “Nothing remains for us, Mr. Lewisham, but to kill time - by a row on the lake. Take me to see Chillon; nothing but an old and - venerable castle will fill up this awful blank, or rouse my interest.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, we shall have some good fun to-night or to-morrow morning,” said Dick - Lewisham, “Messrs. Wylie and Mactavish wall furnish us with some capital - sport. I only hope no harm will happen to that brave little girl.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVI - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “But, by all thy nature’s weakness, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Hidden faults and follies known, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Be thou, in rebuking evil, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Conscious of thine own. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “So, when thoughts of evil-doers - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Waken scorn, or hatred move, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Shall a mournful fellow-feeling - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Temper all with love.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Whittier. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ady Mount - Pleasant’s picnic proved a successful affair, and Sir Matthew prevailed on - her to dine with them at the Rigi Vaudois on her way home. Minnie, running - upstairs to change her dress after the gong had sounded, had scant time to - think of Evereld, she rang for hot water and flew about her room making - the hastiest of toilettes, it was only as the chambermaid was just closing - the door that she called after her. - </p> - <p> - “Marie! Wait a moment. Have you seen Miss Ewart? Is she better?” - </p> - <p> - “I have seen her, Mademoiselle, and she still has <i>migraine</i>,” said - the chambermaid. - </p> - <p> - “Well see that she has all she needs,” said Minnie hurriedly pinning a - cluster of roses in her dress. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, Mademoiselle. But she left word expressly that she did not want to - be disturbed.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, then I will not go in,” said Minnie, flying along the corridor, and - running downstairs. - </p> - <p> - “But I will just ask if the <i>pauvre petite</i> would like a <i>tisane?</i>” - reflected the chambermaid knocking at Evereld’s door. “No response! ’Tis - strange, I will knock again. Mademoiselle! It is I, Marie. Well, ’tis - useless to wait. Without doubt she sleeps. These English are always heavy - sleepers, and after all, sleep is the best cure for <i>la migraine</i>.” - </p> - <p> - But next morning when to repeated knocks there was still no answer, Marie - began to feel anxious. She consulted Miss Mactavish. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Ewart often goes out early in the morning. I expect she has locked - her door and taken her key to the <i>bureau</i>,” was Minnie’s - matter-of-fact solution of the problem. - </p> - <p> - “No, Mademoiselle, the key is not in the bureau. It is on the inside of - the door. I fear Mademoiselle must be very ill.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, we can soon find out,” said Minnie, opening her window and stepping - on to the balcony. - </p> - <p> - To unbolt the <i>jalousies</i> and open Evereld’s French window was the - work of a minute, but Minnie gave a gasp of surprise when she found the - room quite empty. Remembering however the curious eyes of the chambermaid - she controlled herself. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps she is with Lady Mactavish, I will see,” she exclaimed, and - hastily ran down to the next floor in search of her father. She found him - in their private sitting-room, writing letters, and quickly told her - discovery. - </p> - <p> - “Can the child have been so foolish as to run away,” he exclaimed in - dismay. “Well she can’t have gone far, that is one comfort; we shall soon - track her. I will come up with you and see if we can find any clue. Run on - first and tell the maid it is all right and get her out of the way.” - </p> - <p> - He followed more leisurely, and passing through his daughter’s room went - by the balcony to Evereld’s deserted chamber. - </p> - <p> - “The bed has been slept in,” he remarked in a tone of satisfaction, “she - has not gone far.” - </p> - <p> - It did not occur to him that it had never been made on the previous day, - that was just one of those small points of detail which would escape an - ordinary man. Minnie instantly thought of it, but she held her tongue, and - began hurriedly to see what clothes Evereld had taken with her. - </p> - <p> - “Her little travelling bag has gone,” she said, “and her hat and cloak. - See, too, here is a letter just inside her portmanteau directed to you, - Papa.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew who began to look seriously disturbed tore open the letter and - hastily read the following lines:— - </p> - <p> - “My Dear Sir Matthew: - </p> - <p> - “Nothing will induce me to marry Mr. Wylie, and as you insist on my - accepting his proposal within the next two days, and refuse to pay any - heed to what I say as to my future marriage with Ralph, you force me to - act for myself. Please do not be anxious about my safety—I am going - straight to friends who will take every care of me, and it will be useless - to try to make me live again under your roof. - </p> - <p> - “If you make any attempt to force me back I shall put myself under the - protection of the Lord Chancellor, and ask for a thorough investigation of - my affairs. My love to Lady Mactavish and Minnie. I am sorry to vex you - all, but you have left me no alternative. - </p> - <p> - “Yours affly, - </p> - <p> - “Evereld Ewart.” - </p> - <p> - He handed the letter to his daughter, and paced the room, dumb for the - time with anger and surprise. - </p> - <p> - “Where can she have gone?” said Minnie. “And how on earth can we hush it - up here?” - </p> - <p> - “Easily enough,” said her father with contempt in his tone, “say that she - has joined some friends in Montreux, and we can all leave to-morrow. - Indeed I shall go straight home to-day and track her out. Little minx! Who - would have thought her capable of such resistance! A little blue-eyed slip - of a girl, who had hardly a word to say for herself!” - </p> - <p> - He turned away in search of Bruce Wylie, and was glad to see that his - friend was shocked and perplexed by the news. To do the lawyer justice he - was really anxious about Evereld’s safety. - </p> - <p> - “Upon my soul, Mactavish, it’s an ugly business,” he said uneasily, “a - young girl fresh from school, innocent and ignorant and quite unprotected, - crossing Europe alone! I hope to goodness she has gone to those friends of - hers at Champéry. I will set off this morning and see. She would naturally - think of them.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s possible,” said Sir Matthew, with a look of relief. “You go there, - and I will go straight to London making close inquiry all along the route. - Perhaps we may be able to learn something from the people in the hotel - without rousing their curiosity too much. We must avoid getting the girl - talked about. That would be fatal.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s a hateful business,” said Bruce Wylie frowning, “I wish I had never - meddled with it.” - </p> - <p> - “There was more in the child than we dreamt of,” said Sir Matthew, “She - was quiet and gentle and affectionate and I never thought it possible she - would show so stubborn a front. Look at the letter. Why old Ewart himself - might have penned it. As ill luck would have it, she heard the day before - yesterday that changes have been made as to the investment of her money, - and I fear she suspects that all is not right. How on earth she came to - know anything about the Lord Chancellor and her power of appeal to him I - can’t conceive.” - </p> - <p> - “Probably through ‘Iolanthe’ and the ‘such a susceptible Chancellor,’” - said Bruce Wylie with a mirthless laugh, “or through some of her beloved - Charles Dickens’ novels. The fact is, Mactavish, we educate our girls - now-a-days, but expect them to remain fools. Unless we can track Evereld, - and force her to obey you, she has the game in her own hands. Great - Heaven! just think of it! That little girl can absolutely ruin our career, - can give the pinprick which will burst the whole bubble.” - </p> - <p> - It was exasperating to the last degree, and to men who had always taken - the lowest view of womanhood, it was wholly perplexing. They went down to - the <i>salle à manger</i> trying to look unconcerned, but Miss Upton’s - keen eyes read their perturbation. - </p> - <p> - She enjoyed it hugely. - </p> - <p> - “I guess you had a good time yesterday up at the Rochers de Naye?” she - said blithely. - </p> - <p> - “Very, thank you,” said Sir Matthew, “though we were all disappointed that - my ward was not with us. Have you seen anything of her?” - </p> - <p> - The American girl met his keen gaze without flinching in the least. - </p> - <p> - “She was in the garden for a little while yesterday.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, indeed,” Sir Matthew was all on the alert. “Did you have any talk - with her?” - </p> - <p> - “Well—I inquired after her headache,” said Miss Upton casually. “How - is she this morning?” and with perfect <i>sang froid </i>she began to eat - an egg American fashion, a proceeding which she well knew would make Sir - Matthew shudder. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you, she is better,” he said, taking refuge in his cup of coffee. - </p> - <p> - “I’m so glad,” said Miss Upton sweetly. “We must have some more - thought-reading this evening, Mr. Wylie. Perhaps Miss Ewart will be able - to show me the experiment you were speaking of the other night. You are - always successful with her, are you not?” - </p> - <p> - Dick Lewisham at an adjoining table bent low over his newspaper to hide - his amusement. - </p> - <p> - “Unfortunately,” said the solicitor, “we are obliged to leave to-day, or - it would have given me the greatest pleasure.” - </p> - <p> - “What a mistake to leave just when we are all such a nice, congenial - party,” said the American. “Is Miss Ewart really fit to go? She looked so - white and ill when I saw her yesterday.” - </p> - <p> - “She has been travelling about in Switzerland some time,” said Sir - Matthew, “and will, I think, be glad to settle down at home.” - </p> - <p> - “I can understand that,” said Miss Upton. “I don’t think the hotel life - was quite congenial to her. Now, we Americans are brought up to live in - public from our childhood, it’s second nature to us, and we are accustomed - to so much more liberty than you allow your girls. I suppose though your - English girls are much more tractable and obedient than we are.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew winced. - </p> - <p> - “Comparisons are odious,” said Bruce Wylie, with ready politeness, and - after a very scanty breakfast the two men retired discomforted, while Dick - Lewisham and the bright-eyed American enjoyed a quiet laugh at their - expense. - </p> - <p> - To get any clue as to Evereld’s movements seemed impossible, and Sir - Matthew did not care to put the matter into the hands of the police, or to - employ a private detective. In his own mind he felt convinced that Evereld - had gone to England, and he travelled home with the utmost speed, having - first telegraphed to his confidential clerk to meet him at Victoria by the - boat train on the following afternoon. - </p> - <p> - “All well I hope, sir,” said Smither, the clerk, as Sir Matthew gave him a - pleasant greeting. - </p> - <p> - “Quite, thank you; did you get that address?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, sir,” and the clerk handed him a paper. “Da Costa the agent gave it - me.” - </p> - <p> - On the paper were inscribed the words, “Macneillie’s Company, September - 20-27, Theatre Royal. Rilchester.” Sir Matthew promptly detached a key - from his ring and handed it to Smither. - </p> - <p> - “Just see my portmanteau through the Custom House,” he said, “I must catch - the next train at King’s Cross, and will only take my bag with me.” - </p> - <p> - He drove off, but took the precaution of calling at the house in Queen - Anne’s Gate that he might see whether any clue as to Evereld’s movements - was to be had from Geraghty or Bridget. Their entire ignorance was however - so transparent, and Bridget’s inquiries after her young mistress were so - natural that he went off to King’s Cross more certain than ever that - Evereld had avoided London and had gone straight to her lover. He dined in - the train, arrived at Rilchester soon after ten o’clock that evening, took - up his quarters at the Station Hotel, and sent a messenger to the stage - door of the theatre to inquire as to Ralph Denmead’s address, being - careful to avoid giving his name. When however he had obtained what he - wanted and after some trouble had discovered the quiet street to which he - had been directed, it was only to find that Ralph was still at the - theatre. - </p> - <p> - “He’ll not be back for at least another half hour,” said the landlady. - “Can I give him any message?” - </p> - <p> - “I had better come in and wait,” said Sir Matthew. - </p> - <p> - The landlady hesitated a moment, but being impressed as most people were - by Sir Matthew’s manner and bearing, she admitted him and showed him into - a fairly comfortable room where the supper-table was laid for two people. - </p> - <p> - “I have caught them,” said Sir Matthew to himself with an inward chuckle - of satisfaction. “The little fool with her grand talk of the Lord - Chancellor’s protection! She has ruined her case now. We shall have a - scene, that can’t be helped. All’s well that ends well.” - </p> - <p> - Picking up a newspaper he installed himself comfortably in an armchair, - and awaited Ralph’s return. Presently steps were heard outside, the street - door was opened, and two people entered the passage, he put down his paper - and listened. The voice speaking was certainly Ralph’s. - </p> - <p> - “It’s the worst house we have had this week, there weren’t a dozen people - in the Stalls. Ah! I see there’s a note for you here.” - </p> - <p> - There followed sounds as of the opening of an envelope and then the door - handle turned, and Sir Matthew looked up expectantly. Instead however of - his runaway ward, there entered a middle-aged man intently reading an open - letter; for a moment Sir Matthew failed to recognise the tired and rather - despondent face, then it flashed upon him that this must be Hugh - Macneillie. He moved somewhat uneasily, and the actor recalled to the - present, lifted his eyes from the letter and looked at him in mute - astonishment. - </p> - <p> - “I called to see Mr. Denmead,” said Sir Matthew, and at that moment Ralph - blithe and cheerful as ever came into the room giving an astonished - exclamation as he caught sight of his godfather. He greeted him however - with all proper formality and introduced Macneillie. There was a momentary - pause after that; the situation was somewhat embarrassing. - </p> - <p> - “I hope Evereld is well?” he said, chiefly for the sake of breaking the - silence. - </p> - <p> - “I have come here to make inquiries about Evereld,” said Sir Matthew - grimly. “Have the goodness to tell me at once where she is.” - </p> - <p> - “Is she not in Switzerland with Lady Mactavish?” said Ralph, astonishment - and anxiety plainly to be seen in his face. - </p> - <p> - “My good fellow, I know you are an actor, but spare me this private - exhibition,” said Sir Matthew waving his hand in the old manner. “You know - that she has sought refuge with you, and the sooner you give her up to her - lawful guardian the better it will be for you both.” - </p> - <p> - “I think you must have gone out of your mind,” said Ralph, fuming. “How - should I know anything of Evereld’s movements? She is unfortunately under - your protection till she is of age. Do you mean that you have lost her?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, that is exactly what I do mean,” said Sir Matthew wrathfully. “She - merely left a letter behind her saying that she had gone to friends who - would take care of her, and she had had the audacity on the previous day - to tell me with her own lips that she would never marry any one but you.” - </p> - <p> - “She is gone?” said Ralph in horror. “But where?” - </p> - <p> - “That is precisely what I want to learn from you?” said Sir Matthew with a - cold sarcastic smile. - </p> - <p> - “You brute!” said Ralph beside himself with passion. “How can you torture - me like this? Tell me when she left you, and why? You must have treated - her shamefully, or she would never have taken such a step.” - </p> - <p> - “You don’t impose upon me in the least by all this tragedy acting,” said - Sir Matthew. “I am satisfied that you know quite well where she is. - Probably she is in this house.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph seemed on the point of springing at his torturer’s throat, when - Macneillie laid a strong hand on his shoulder and drew him back. - </p> - <p> - “My dear boy, leave this to me” he said. “Surely Sir Matthew, you cannot - seriously believe that we know anything of Miss Ewart’s movements? From - the little I know of her I should imagine she was far too right-minded and - sensible to dream of attempting to seek refuge with her lover. I saw her - once or twice in August when she was staying with Mrs. Hereford at - Southbourne, and was struck by her quiet common-sense.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew was obliged to alter his tone, for he saw at once that there - was force in what Macneillie said. - </p> - <p> - “She told me she had met you at Southbourne. I suppose it was there, - Ralph, that you had the presumption to ask her to marry you?” - </p> - <p> - Ralph had by this time recovered his self-control, he replied with a sort - of quiet dignity which Sir Matthew resented much more than the outburst of - anger. - </p> - <p> - “It was there that I told her I hoped some day to work my way up in the - profession. It was there I learnt that our love was mutual. Surely she - will have gone to Mrs. Hereford for protection. That would be her most - natural impulse.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I had not thought of that. Are the Herefords in London?” said Sir - Matthew, feeling that there was a good deal of sense in the suggestion. - </p> - <p> - “No, they will not be back till Parliament meets, but I know their address - in County Wicklow, and will telegraph to them to-morrow.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew frowned: it galled him terribly to feel that he was helpless. - </p> - <p> - “After all,” he exclaimed. “She may have had the sense to go to her old - Governess in Germany. She would be far more likely to confide in her than - in Mrs. Hereford. I will telegraph to Dresden and inquire.” - </p> - <p> - “And when you have learnt where she is what do you propose to do?” said - Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “Fetch her home, of course, and make her realise what people think of such - escapades.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph seemed about to reply but he checked himself. - </p> - <p> - “Did you imagine I was going to let her set me at defiance?” said Sir - Matthew. “Do you think a girl of nineteen will get the better of me?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Ralph, quietly. “I think she will.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew laughed maliciously and rose to go. - </p> - <p> - “You’re a true Denmead,” he said. “Always sanguine, always foolish and - unpractical. Well, good-night, Mr. Macneillie. I am sorry to have - inflicted this visit on you. Good-night Ralph. Let me know at the Station - Hotel as soon as you get a reply from the Herefords.” Ralph showed him to - the door in silence, and returning to the sitting-room, flung himself down - in a chair by the supper-table, and buried his face in his hands. - </p> - <p> - “What can I do!” he groaned. “Surely there must be something I could do - for her.” - </p> - <p> - “Eat boy, eat,” said Macneillie in his genial voice. “You can’t think to - any purpose when you are dog-tired and as hungry as a hunter. All very - well for Sir Mathew to come in here and rant at half past eleven when he - had dined luxuriously at eight, but for strolling players, who feed at - four and work like galley slaves all the evening, it’s not so easy.” - </p> - <p> - While he talked, he had been carving cold beef, and Ralph who at the best - of times was a small supper eater, and had never felt less inclined for a - meal, found himself forced to begin whether he would or not. - </p> - <p> - “Here’s a salad that I mixed this afternoon after Sydney Smith’s own - receipt,” said Macneillie. “It would be sudden death to most men of this - generation close upon midnight but it’s the reward of hard work to acquire - the digestion of the ostrich and to sleep the sleep of the righteous.” - </p> - <p> - He talked on much in the way he had talked long ago in the Pass of Leny - when he had helped Ralph along the road to Kilmahog; it was the sort of - conversation which did not demand much response, but never failed to hold - the hearer’s attention, because it was racy and humourous. But by and bye - when they had lighted their pipes, he reverted to Sir Matthew’s visit. - </p> - <p> - “Curious man, that ex-guardian of yours,” he said musingly. “I am not - surprised that you two never hit it off. I wonder what it was that drove - little Miss Ewart to take such a decided step.” - </p> - <p> - “I am certain it was some question of marriage,” said Ralph. “Probably he - wanted that brute Wylie to have the control of her fortune. I have always - detested that man. Governor! What am I to do? Will you spare me for a week - and let me see if I can help her?” - </p> - <p> - “No, my dear boy, I will not do anything of the sort,” said Macneillie - resolutely, yet with a most kindly look in his eyes. “I know it’s a hard - thing for you to stay here and go on with your work as if nothing had - happened, and while all the time you are sick with anxiety, but it’s what - we all of us have to put up with now and again. Besides, you could do no - good and you might do great harm. Those who know Miss Ewart best are the - ones who ought to have most confidence in her womanly wisdom. Depend upon - it she is perfectly safe. Such a quiet, well-bred girl as that might go - alone unharmed from one end of Europe to the other.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph pushed back his chair and paced the room restlessly. “The suspense - is the intolerable part of it,” he said, with a break in his voice. - </p> - <p> - “I have good reason to know how hard suspense is to bear,” said - Macneillie. “And yet it’s not the worst, for there’s always a large - mixture of hope in it. Come let us write out your telegram to the - Herefords, it will need careful wording.” - </p> - <p> - The next day was Sunday, but the telegraph office was open for two hours - in the morning, and upon the stroke of eight Ralph stood at the door with - his message to Ireland. He returned again between half past nine and ten - and waited drearily in the office for the reply. But the deep bell of the - cathedral boomed out the hour and still no answer came. - </p> - <p> - “Open again between five and six, sir,” said the official, showing him to - the door. And Ralph, miserably depressed, made his way to the cathedral. - Here for a time he found comfort; but during the psalms the verger ushered - a late-comer into the stall exactly facing him. He saw at a glance that it - was Sir Matthew, and after that there was no more peace for him, but a - dire struggle with his angry heart. - </p> - <p> - After service was over, Sir Matthew joined him in the Close, greeting him - just as if nothing had happened. - </p> - <p> - “Did you telegraph to the Herefords?” he asked. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but as yet there is no reply,” said Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “And I have not heard back from Dresden. We shall both hear this - afternoon. Come and dine with me at eight o’clock and you shall hear the - result.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” said Ralph. “But we leave for Nottingham by the eight ten.” - </p> - <p> - “Come to lunch now then.” - </p> - <p> - But to sit down and eat with the man who had wrought such havoc in his - life and had driven Evereld to take such a desperate step was more than - Ralph could endure. He excused himself, promising, however, to come round - at six o’clock to the hotel and report any news he might receive from - Ireland. His face when he arrived was not reassuring; he looked pale and - miserable. - </p> - <p> - “What news?” said Sir Matthew eagerly. - </p> - <p> - “None,” said Ralph, handing the telegram to his godfather. The words - struck a chill to Sir Matthew’s heart. - </p> - <p> - <i>“Know nothing about her at all. Imagined she was in Switzerland still with - her guardian.”</i> - </p> - <p> - “I have had a similar one from Dresden,” he replied. “She is not there and - wrote last nearly a month ago.” - </p> - <p> - “Is there any clue whatever in the letter she left behind for you?” - suggested Ralph, with a strong desire to see it. Sir Matthew took from his - breast-pocket a methodically arranged packet, and drew out Evereld’s note. - </p> - <p> - “I can find no clue in it,” he said, “perhaps you may be able to do so.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph eagerly read the letter. There was not the slightest hint as to the - direction Evereld had taken, but something in the quiet assurance, the - guarded, dignified tone of the short note brought him comfort. It revealed - a side of his old play-fellow’s character which had hitherto lain dormant. - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Sir Matthew sharply. “You look relieved. What do you make of - it? Where do you think she has gone?” - </p> - <p> - “I have no idea,” said Ralph. “The letter tells nothing. Still she - wouldn’t have written so calmly and confidently if her plans had not been - well thought out. Evereld is not impulsive. Perhaps she had met friends - while you were travelling and has gone to them.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I had a telegram in London from Bruce Wylie who went over to Champéry - on purpose to interview a school friend she had met. She had heard nothing - whatever about her. I shall have to set a private detective to work.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph flushed. - </p> - <p> - “You would surely not do that?” he said quickly. - </p> - <p> - “Why not? I must find her. And I intend to bring her back to my house.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Ralph, “the one thing that remains absolutely certain is that - when Evereld says a thing she means it with her whole heart. She will - certainly appeal to the Lord Chancellor, and I don’t think he will compel - her to return to your house when he has heard the whole truth.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you dare to assert that I have not been in every respect a faithful - and kind guardian to her? I who was her father’s oldest friend?” - </p> - <p> - “I assert nothing,” said Ralph bitterly, as he moved to the door. “But I - can’t forget what your friendship for my father led to.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew made no reply, but turned abruptly to the window, the colour - mounting to his temples. The closing of the door and the sound of Ralph’s - retreating footsteps came as a relief. - </p> - <p> - “If I had but guessed what a serpent’s tooth that boy would prove to me I - would have shipped him straight off to the Colonies instead of educating - him,” he thought to himself. “I was weak—pitiably weak! It was the - look of Denmead’s face as he lay there dead that unmanned me. There was - the ghastly quiet of the country, too, and the child with his old-world - politeness, and that old lawyer with his suspicions. If I had only been - sensible enough to stamp out all sentiment and do the practical thing at - once my plans would not be thwarted now by a chit of a girl who has lost - her heart to a penniless actor.” - </p> - <p> - His face grew dark with anxiety and trouble as he reflected on the - desperate position of his own affairs should Evereld succeed in baffling - him. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVII - </h2> - <p class="indent20"> - “When a friend asks, there is no to-morrow.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - George Herbert. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Evereld parted - with the kindly American girl and Dick Lewisham a sense of great - loneliness for a time overwhelmed her. She looked in a dazed way at the - various delicacies displayed in the prettily arranged shop, wondering - whether she would ever feel hungry again. Having at last selected some - dainty little meat patties, and two crescent-shaped rolls, she walked on - to the next halting-place of the electric tram, and, after a very brief - waiting, found herself, to her great relief, comfortably installed in a - corner seat <i>en route</i> for Vevey. She had judged it more prudent to - take the tram, knowing that she would more easily be traced had she gone - direct from Territet station to Geneva by the railroad or by steamer. When - once they were safely out of Montreux, and the risk of meeting any of the - visitors in the Rigi Vaudois was practically over, she breathed more - freely, even finding time to enjoy the lovely glimpses of the lake and the - mountains as they sped through Clarens and the pretty surroundings of - Vevey. - </p> - <p> - Arrived at length in that quaint old town, she was set down at the railway - station, where she prudently took her ticket only as far as Lausanne, - travelling second class because she knew that she was less liable to find - herself alone, and had heard the continental saying that only fools and - Englishmen travel first class. It was during the twenty minutes’ waiting - time at Lausanne that her perplexities began. - </p> - <p> - A kindly looking English lady, seeing that she seemed to be alone, sat - down beside her and began to talk about the weather and the scenery. - Finally she hazarded a direct question. - </p> - <p> - “Have you a long journey before you?” - </p> - <p> - “Not very long,” said Evereld, colouring, as she glanced inquiringly into - her companion’s face, as though to make sure what sort of person she was. - In one sense the look reassured her, for the most suspicious mortal could - not have credited this mild-faced lady with evil design, but, on the other - hand, she was evidently one of those inquisitive mortals who delight in - asking questions, in season and out of season. - </p> - <p> - “I am going myself to Geneva, if that is your direction we might perhaps - travel together,” said the lady pleasantly. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you,” said Evereld, reflecting that after all she could baffle the - questions by reading when once they had started. - </p> - <p> - “It is not so easy for a girl to travel alone abroad as it is in England,” - said her companion, looking curiously at Evereld’s girlish face. “I almost - wonder your parents allow it.” - </p> - <p> - “I have no parents,” said Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “Indeed, and have you been staying with friends?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Evereld. “And I am on my way now to some other friends.” - Murmuring an excuse she sprang up and went to the window to see whether - the train was nearly ready. - </p> - <p> - “This is dreadful,” she reflected. “If we talk much longer she will drag - the whole story out of me. I will buy some papers and try to make her - read.” - </p> - <p> - “You are sure your luggage is all right?” exclaimed the good lady the - moment she returned. - </p> - <p> - “Quite sure, thank you,” said Evereld, clasping her hand bag closer and - trembling lest she should be asked some quite unanswerable question. - </p> - <p> - At length an official began vigorously to ring the great bell in the - doorway and to shout the intelligence that passengers for Geneva and - various other places must take their seats. - </p> - <p> - “Can I help you?” said Evereld, politely offering to take a basket from - the large heap of possessions with which her neighbour was surrounded. She - was startled to feel something jump inside it in an uncanny way. - </p> - <p> - “Thank you if you would. To tell the truth it is my little dog in there, - but he is such a good traveller, I don’t think you will mind him.” - </p> - <p> - “Shall I say that I detest dogs and so escape to another carriage?” - reflected Evereld smiling to herself. But on the whole in spite of the - tiresome questions she rather liked this good English lady and found a - certain comfort in her presence when once they were installed in the - train. Her spirits rose as they travelled further and further from the - Mactavishs, she even grew hungry, made short work of the provisions she - had bought, parried her friend’s questions skilfully by counter questions - about the pet dog and finally took refuge in “Pride and Prejudice” and in - the delicious humour of Jane Austen’s characters forgot all her dangers - and difficulties till the train steamed into Geneva station. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose your friends will meet you?” asked the talkative lady as she - fastened the dog up in his basket. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Evereld, “but I shall manage very well now, thank you,” and - with rather hurried farewells she sprang from the carriage not offering to - carry the basket any further but promising to send a porter. Fortunately - her companion was in such a bustle with the effort of collecting her - various belongings that she did not notice the English girl’s somewhat - abrupt departure, and Evereld with a joyful sense of escape made her way - to the outside of the station and getting into one of the little public - carriages drove off to make her purchases in the town. - </p> - <p> - Having bought an ulster and a warm shawl which made a very respectable - show when put into her cloak straps she went back to the station, dined in - a leisurely way and passed the rest of her two hours’ waiting time as - patiently as she could. By six o’clock she was safely in the train once - more, with the happy knowledge that she had no more changes that night, - and would arrive at Lyons in rather more than four hours. Her heart danced - for joy as she reflected that by the next afternoon she might have safely - reached Bride O’Ryan and Aimée Magnay, her greatest friends, in Mrs. - Magnay’s old home in Auvergne. That was the safe refuge towards which she - was steering her course, that was the thought which had darted into her - mind on the previous evening when she had decided that flight was the only - thing under the circumstances. - </p> - <p> - Later on however when darkness had stolen like a pall over the landscape, - when weary with want of sleep and worn out with excitement and anxiety, - the glad sense of escape died away, she grew unutterably sad-hearted and - forlorn. - </p> - <p> - At the other end of the carriage two men wrangled together over the vexed - question of having the window open or shut. A fat French lady went to - sleep and snored monotonously, just opposite her a young couple on their - honeymoon laughed and chatted in low tones with much outward - demonstration, while beyond a young mother sat with her baby in her arms, - an air of placid content on her face. - </p> - <p> - Never before had Evereld felt such a unit, never before had she realised - how really alone she was in the world. She shuddered to think what would - have become of her if Ralph had never crossed her path. And then as the - engine throbbed on through the darkness all those terrors of imagining - from which her healthy uneventful life had so far been exempt, laid strong - hold upon her, and made the night hideous. - </p> - <p> - She saw Ralph lying ill and forlorn in a fever hospital. She saw him lying - with pale lips and hands folded in the awful calm of death. She saw - herself alone and brokenhearted, struggling to make something of her - maimed life and failing in the attempt. She saw Sir Matthew tracking her - out and carrying her back to the house in Queen Anne’s Gate. Worst of all - she saw herself standing in church and passively allowing herself to be - married to Bruce Wylie. - </p> - <p> - She had just reached this climax in her miserable thoughts when as the - train stopped at the wayside station the door of the carriage was opened - and in came a very aged priest whose rusty black raiment had an old and - somewhat countrified look. His thin, worn face might have been stern in - youth, but the passing years had mellowed it, and like Southey’s holly - tree what had once been sharp and aggressive had grown tender as it more - nearly approached heaven. His keen eyes seemed to take in the occupants of - the carriage in one glance and he at once divined that the sad little - English girl in the corner was for some reason feeling altogether - desolate. He took the vacant place beside her and began to unwrap a - package which he carried. It proved to be a cage containing a bullfinch, - and Evereld watched with interest the scared fluttering of the bird and - the gentle reassuring face of the old man as he tried to pacify it. - </p> - <p> - “It is its first journey,” he said glancing at her. “The unaccustomed has - terrors for us all. It will soon understand that it is quite safe. Eh, - Fifi? Should I let any harm happen to thee, thou foolish one?” - </p> - <p> - “Can it sing any tune?” said Evereld. “We had one in London that sang a - bit of the National Anthem.” - </p> - <p> - “And Fifi is just as patriotic,” said the old priest laughing, “he will - pipe two lines of <i>Partant pour la Syrie</i>, I am taking him to cheer - up one of my parishioners who is lying ill at Lyons. He will think Fifi - from the Presbytère almost as good as one of his own friends from the - village. And when the lad is better why he will bring back this winged - missionary to me. My old housekeeper would not hear of parting with Fifi - altogether, he is the life of the house she says.” - </p> - <p> - The bird growing now more accustomed to its strange surroundings piped - cheerfully the familiar air of the refrain - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - “Amour a la plus belle - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Honneur au plus vaillant.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “Ah! he sings better than ours ever did,” said Evereld thinking of the - bird Ralph had brought from Whinhaven. - </p> - <p> - “And he is more tractable than a choir boy,” said the old priest laughing. - “Does he sing too loud and tire one’s head—it is but to cover his - cage and he is as quiet as any mouse.” - </p> - <p> - After that they drifted into talk about life in rural France, and by the - time they reached Lyons Evereld felt that the old man had become quite a - friend. - </p> - <p> - The other passengers scrambled out of the carriage each intent on his own - affairs, but the priest helped her courteously with her roll of cloaks. - </p> - <p> - “Would you mind telling me what is the best and most quiet hotel to go - to?” she asked. “I cannot get on any further till nine o’clock to-morrow - morning. I am on my way to stay with friends near Clermont-Ferrand.” - </p> - <p> - “You are over young my child,” he said, “to travel unprotected. But I know - it is not in England as with us, the young <i>demoiselles</i> have greater - liberty. The best plan will be for you to go to an Hotel close by. As it - happens I know the manager and his wife and if you will permit me I will - walk with you to the door, and ask them to take good care of you. I think - you are like Fifi, not over well-accustomed to travelling.” - </p> - <p> - “Thank you very much,” said Evereld gratefully. “Now I shall feel safe - indeed.” - </p> - <p> - The old priest piloted her across the crowded platform and having given - her luggage to the hotel porter himself took her to the Manager’s little - office where Madame, a comely and pleasant looking woman, sat at her desk - busily casting up accounts. Her face lighted up at sight of the old man. - </p> - <p> - “A thousand welcomes Father Nicolas, it is long since you paid us a - visit.” - </p> - <p> - “You are well,” said the old priest, “I need not ask that, for it is - easily to be seen, and busy as usual. Is your husband in?” - </p> - <p> - “He will be desolated, but he has gone to his Club.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, well, I will call and see him to-morrow. In the meantime will you - kindly do your utmost to make this young English lady feel at home and - comfortable. She is unable to travel further till the 8.59 to-morrow - morning. I leave you in good hands,” he said, taking kindly leave of - Evereld, “Madame has a great reputation for taking good care of her - guests.” - </p> - <p> - “It will be my greatest pleasure,” said the manager’s wife. “Mademoiselle - looks tired and will doubtless like to go to her room.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld assented and toiled upstairs after the brisk capable looking - manageress who chatted pleasantly as they went. - </p> - <p> - “He has the best of hearts, old Father Nicolas,” she said. “I have known - him since I was a child. There is not a living thing I verily believe that - he does not love. It was a sight to see him standing on a winter’s morning - in the garden of the Presbytère and feeding the birds before he went to - Mass.” - </p> - <p> - “Where does he live?” asked Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “At Arvron, a little village where there are many poor. His people adore - him. This will be your room, mademoiselle, and shall I send you up a - little hot soup to take the last thing, or will you rather come down to - the <i>salle à manger?</i>” - </p> - <p> - “I should like it here please,” said Evereld. “And you won’t let me - over-sleep myself and miss the train to-morrow. I am so tired, I think I - should sleep the clock round if no one called me.” - </p> - <p> - “I will call you myself,” said the manageress. “It is a busy life here and - I am always an early riser. <i>Bon soir, mademoiselle</i>. I hope you will - be quite rested by the morning.” - </p> - <p> - “How much easier it has all been than I expected,” thought Evereld, as she - made her preparations for the night. “To think that this time yesterday I - was at Glion and in such a panic lest anything should prevent my getting - away! I wonder whether I had better telegraph to Mrs. Magnay, and tell her - I am on my way to ask her protection? I don’t think I will. It might lead - to my being traced later on, and besides I have no idea whether there is a - telegraph office within reasonable reach of the Chateau. How I wonder what - it will be like.” - </p> - <p> - Her reflections were interrupted by the arrival of a pretty young - chambermaid who brought her a basin of the most delicious soup; and long - before midnight she was sound asleep and dreaming of Bride and Aimée. - </p> - <p> - She woke up in excellent spirits, chatted with Madame as she breakfasted - on the coffee and rolls, which the pretty chambermaid brought to her - bedroom, and set off on the next stage of her journey full of hope for the - future and relief that all had passed off so well. At that very minute Sir - Matthew Mactavish was ruefully regarding her empty room at Glion and - wondering how he could possibly trace her out. But Evereld was too busy to - trouble herself much over the thought of his well-deserved discomfiture. - Every one seemed intent on being kind to her here. The Manageress was - almost motherly in her solicitude, the chambermaid waited on her as though - service were a pleasure, and the hotel porter neglected the other - passengers in the omnibus until he had seen her safely established in the - <i>salle d’attente</i> with her possessions. Here to her surprise she - found old Father Nicolas reading his breviary. - </p> - <p> - “It was too early yet to see the sick lad I told you of,” he explained, - “so I thought I would start you on your way, if you will permit me the - pleasure.” - </p> - <p> - “I shall never forget all your kindness,” she said gratefully. “I was - feeling so dreadfully alone till you got into the train last night.” - </p> - <p> - “Well it is no bad thing to learn what loneliness means,” said the old man - thoughtfully. “Nothing so well teaches you to go through life on the look - out for the lonely, that you may serve them. Ha! They come to announce - your train. I will inquire if you have a change of carriages at - Montbrison.” He hurried away, returning in a minute or two to help her - with her packages. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I am sorry to say they will turn you out at Montbrison, but you will - have only ten minutes waiting and no difficulty at all in that quiet - place. I see M. Dubochet and his two daughters—very pleasant people—will - you go in the same carriage?” - </p> - <p> - And so with a few pleasant words of introduction to Mademoiselle Dubochet, - Father Nicolas bade Evereld God-speed, and as the train moved off she - looked out wistfully after her kindly old friend, wondering whether she - should ever again come across him. - </p> - <p> - The clock was striking five when after an uneventful journey Evereld found - herself outside the station at Clermont-Ferrand, giving orders to a - somewhat rough-looking Auvergnat to drive her to the Château de Mabillon. - The man seemed inclined to hold out for a certain sum for the journey and - as Evereld had no notion of the distance, she was determined to make no - rash promises. It would never do to be extravagant now, for there was no - saying how long her last allowance would have to supply her wants. - </p> - <p> - “M. Magnay will settle with you when we reach the château,” she said with - a little touch of dignity in her manner. The man instantly subsided, - feeling that he had no stranger to deal with, but a friend of the family. - And Claude Magnay’s name was quite sufficient to assure him that he would - receive his rightful fare, but not the extortionate sum he had demanded of - the new comer. - </p> - <p> - The little incident had however depressed Evereld. She had spoken - confidently to the man but now a qualm of doubt came over her. She was - about to cast herself on the mercy of Aimée’s parents, and after all she - knew little about them: on their occasional visits to Southbourne, she had - gone with Aimée and Bride to spend Saturday afternoon with them, and she - had been three or four times to their London house, but she realised now - that she was going to ask a very great favour of them, and that possibly - they might not care to shelter her from her lawful guardian. - </p> - <p> - These thoughts lasted all the time they were driving through the narrow - and dingy streets of Clermont-Ferrand, and she fancied that the lava built - houses seemed to frown upon her and to assure her that she was an - unwelcome visitor. Before long however they had left the town behind them - and were driving through the most beautiful country, and in that sunny - smiling landscape it was impossible to give way to anxious thoughts. The - glowing colours of the autumn leaves, the picturesque vineyards, the river - with its gleaming water reflecting the blue sky, and the strange irregular - mountains which rose on every hand filled her with delight. - </p> - <p> - The sun had set when at length they reached a narrower and more secluded - valley; Evereld fancied they must be getting near to Mabillon and inquired - of her driver. - </p> - <p> - “It is two kilometres to the chateau,” said the Auvergnat. Then after a - few minutes he again turned round from the box seat. “Madame Magnay and - her daughter are down at the mill yonder,” he said. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, stop then, and let me speak to them,” said Evereld eagerly; and - springing from the carriage she hastened towards Aimée who quickly - perceived her and ran forward with a cry of joyful astonishment. - </p> - <p> - “This is a delightful surprise. Are you travelling back through France? - Mother, you remember Evereld?” - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Magnay gave her a charming greeting, containing all the warmth and - animation which English greetings so often lack. - </p> - <p> - “I remember Evereld very well, and am more delighted than I can say to - welcome her to my dear old home.” - </p> - <p> - “You are very good,” said Evereld shyly, “I have come to you because I was - in great trouble, and I thought—I felt sure—you would help and - advise me. It is impossible for me to stay longer with Sir Matthew - Mactavish.” - </p> - <p> - Her eyes were full of tears, and Mrs. Magnay taking her hand began to lead - her towards the carriage. - </p> - <p> - “You are quite tired out, poor child,” she said caressingly. “We are very - sorry for your trouble, but very glad that it brought you to Mabillon. - This evening you shall tell us all about it. Do you see that pretty girl - waving her hand to us from the cottage door? That is my dear old Javotte’s - granddaughter. Aimée has told you how she starved herself in the siege of - Paris that we might have food enough. Dear old woman!” - </p> - <p> - “And here is one of the best views of Mont D’Or,” said Aimée, “only the - light is fading so fast you can’t properly see it.” - </p> - <p> - Chatting thus, they soon reached the old château, a great part of which - had now been carefully restored, and Mrs. Magnay seeing how pale and worn - her guest looked, determined to take her straight upstairs. - </p> - <p> - “Run Aimée,” she said, “and tell your father to settle with the driver, - and then bring a cup of tea for Evereld. I shall take her to Bride’s room, - she will be more snug in there I think.” - </p> - <p> - So Evereld was taken straight to her friend, and then while Mrs. Magnay - herself kindled the wood fire, and daintily piled up fir-cones to catch - the blaze, Bride made her rest in the snuggest of easy chairs, and she had - very soon told them the whole story. - </p> - <p> - “I know nothing of English law,” said Mrs. Magnay. “Are you sure you can - put yourself under the protection of the Lord Chancellor?” - </p> - <p> - “I think so,” said Evereld. “Don’t you remember, Bride, how we used to - tease you about your answer in that examination we had, when you wrote—‘The - Lord Chancellor must be a very busy man for Blackstone says he is the - natural guardian of all orphans, idiots and lunatics.’” - </p> - <p> - “To be sure I do,” said Bride laughing. “Well if Blackstone says so, you - must surely be right.” - </p> - <p> - “I will go and talk over matters with my husband, and see what he advises, - and in the meantime, Bride, I strongly advise you to put Evereld to bed. - She looks to me quite tired out. Rest and forget your troubles, dear. No - one can molest you at Mabillon, and you say that Sir Matthew can have no - clue to your whereabouts.” - </p> - <p> - “No, he will naturally think I have gone to Mrs. Hereford, or to my old - governess at Dresden,” said Evereld. “To-morrow I must write to Mrs. - Hereford and ask her to let Ralph know that I am safe. I am so afraid he - may hear that I have disappeared and be anxious about me.” - </p> - <p> - “Write to him,” said Bride, “and let Doreen forward your letter.” - </p> - <p> - In the meantime Mrs. Magnay told the whole story to her husband, and it - was decided that he should put the case straight into the hands of a - London solicitor. Evereld, being consulted as to the one she would prefer, - unhesitatingly named Ralph’s old friend Mr. Marriott of Basinghall Street, - and as Claude Magnay knew that she could not have mentioned a more - trustworthy and efficient man he wrote to him and made her on the - following morning also write with a full description of all that had - passed, of her suspicions with regard to her fortune and of her wish for a - thorough investigation of her affairs. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXVIII - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “No action whether foul or fair, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - A record, written by fingers ghostly, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - As a blessing or a curse, and mostly - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - In the greater weakness or greater strength - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Of the acts that follow it, till at length - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The wrongs of ages are redressed, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And the justice of God made manifest.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - The Golden Legend. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">R</span>alph’s anxieties - came to an end while the Company were fulfilling their engagement at - Nottingham. For one never to be forgotten day there arrived a letter from - Mrs. Hereford, enclosing a long letter on foreign paper from Evereld. The - sheet bore no address and she did not mention the name of the friends who - were taking care of her, but she told him all about their kindness, and - that Bride O’Ryan was with her, that she was quite safe from molestation - and in the depths of the country far away among mountains and woods, where - neither Sir Matthew nor Bruce Wylie could trouble her peace. - </p> - <p> - Later on came news from Mrs. Hereford that Evereld’s affairs had been put - into the hands of Mr. Marriott, and that Mr. Hereford was in consultation - with the old lawyer and would do everything he possibly could: offering, - if it were thought well, to become Evereld’s guardian and trustee should - the Lord Chancellor decide to deprive Sir Matthew of the Trusteeship. - After that for some time came no news at all. - </p> - <p> - At last, growing anxious, Ralph made a hurried expedition to town late one - Saturday night, and sought out his old friend Mr. Marriott on Sunday. - </p> - <p> - He could not however get anything very definite out of him. Mr. Marriott - was always reserved and cautious, but he set him quite at rest as far as - Evereld was concerned. - </p> - <p> - “She is perfectly safe and Sir Matthew can’t touch her, for she is now a - ward of Court,” he said reassuringly. “I am not yet at liberty to speak to - you as to details. I think however your old prejudice against Sir Matthew - Mactavish was not without foundation. Unless I am much mistaken, he will - soon be unmasked. Now to turn to quite another matter;—I understand - from my client Lady Fenchurch, that you were present at Edinburgh last - summer and met Sir Roderick. Tell me as carefully as you can all that - passed while you were present.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph related all that he could remember. - </p> - <p> - “We have exactly the same sort of evidence from many other witnesses of - similar scenes,” said the lawyer. “It will not be worth while calling you - to appear at the trial. If you had witnessed any sort of violence, - physical violence, we should subpoena you at once.” - </p> - <p> - “When does the case come on?” said Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “Possibly next week, but there - is always great uncertainty as to the exact date.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph’s thoughts naturally turned to Macneillie and he remembered his - words about suspense being tolerable because it was always so largely - mixed with hope. - </p> - <p> - The lawyer, however, who knew nothing of his reasons for taking interest - in the Fenchurch case, fancied the shadow on his face was caused by - anxiety for Evereld Ewart, and began to talk in a kindly way of her - future. - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” he said, “I can understand that under the circumstances it is - hard for you not to be allowed even to know where Miss Ewart is. But it is - safer that you should only communicate with her through Mr. and Mrs. - Hereford. Who can tell that Sir Matthew may not pounce down on you again - as he did at Rilchester. You know that she is safe and well and for the - present that must suffice you. I have good reason to believe that the - world will soon see Sir Matthew Mactavish in his true colours, and what - will happen then no one can foretell. There are storms ahead, but I think - they are storms which will at any rate clear your way.” - </p> - <p> - After this enigmatical speech Ralph went back to his work, somewhat - perplexed, yet on the whole relieved and hopeful. There followed ten - uneventful days and then one morning at Brighton, when he came down to - breakfast and opened the paper, the first thing that caught his eye was a - brief paragraph just before the leading article. - </p> - <p> - “In the Divorce Division yesterday the President and a Common Jury had - before them the case of Fenchurch v. Fenchurch and Mackay. The adultery - was not denied but the evidence failed to show legal cruelty on the part - of the defendant. His Lordship was therefore unable to grant a decree - nisi, but ordered a judicial separation with costs, and directed the - amount to be paid into Court in a fortnight. Lady Fenchurch is well known - to the public under her stage name of Miss Christine Greville.” - </p> - <p> - “She is not yet free from that brute then,” thought Ralph, a sick feeling - of disappointment stealing over him as he realised how this news would - darken his friend’s sky, how it would for ever cheat him of his heart’s - desire. Hastily turning the paper to read the longer report, he found a - whole column with the sensational heading, “Theatrical Divorce Suit,” and - feeling how it would all grate upon Macneillie, longed to keep the - newspaper from him. “He shall at any rate have his breakfast in peace,” he - reflected, and crushing the paper in his hands he flung it into the fire. - </p> - <p> - The blaze had only just died down when Macneillie entered. He seemed in - unusually good spirits; they had had good houses for three nights, - moreover the weather was bright and clear, and the autumn sunshine of the - south coast seemed doubly delightful after a gloomy tour in the midlands. - Ralph thought he had never seen him look so young and buoyant and hopeful - as just at that moment. - </p> - <p> - “Nothing like Brighton air for making a man hungry,” said Macneillie - devouring a plateful of porridge and helping himself to eggs and bacon. - “Have they brought round the letters from the theatre?” - </p> - <p> - Ralph handed him a budget, hoping that it would occupy him and make him - forget the paper! But there were no letters of importance and Macneillie - suddenly remembering that there might by chance be news of the Fenchurch - case, which he was aware would probably come on during November, looked - eagerly round the table. - </p> - <p> - “No newspaper?” he said. “How’s that? The Smith boy must have played us - false.” - </p> - <p> - “I will run out and get one,” said Ralph. “Will you have any of the local - ones, too?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, let us see what they have to say about ‘The Winter’s Tale,’” said - Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - Ralph disappeared and Macneillie having finished his breakfast rang for - the maid to clear. - </p> - <p> - “Have you taken our newspaper to any of the other lodgers by mistake?” he - asked, beginning to feel impatient for it. - </p> - <p> - “No, sir,” said the maid. “It’s in here, at least—” looking round in - surprise, “I know it was in here. Mr. Denmead must have taken it away. I - saw him open it when I brought in the coffee.” - </p> - <p> - Then in a flash it dawned upon Macneillie that Ralph had made away with - the paper because it contained bad news. - </p> - <p> - “The boy couldn’t stand seeing me come upon it suddenly,” he thought to - himself. “He wanted me to breakfast first. No one but Ralph would have - thought of that! It is the worst news. I must be ready to bear it.” - </p> - <p> - He stood by the window looking out at the great expanse of sea with its - blue surface crisply ruffled by the fresh wind. Away to the left the - graceful outline of the chain pier seemed to speak of old fashioned - Brighton, and it took him back to a time at least seventeen years ago in - the very earliest days of his betrothal to Christine. How vividly the very - tiniest details of the past came back to him. It had been in the days of - aestheticism and high art colouring, a style which had suited Christine to - perfection. He could remember, too, how at one of the little old-fashioned - stalls he had bought her a dirk-shaped Scotch shawl brooch with a - cairngorm stone in it; they had been far too poor in those days to dream - of diamonds. - </p> - <p> - “She was only a child of seventeen,” he thought to himself, “younger than - Evereld Ewart; and I was not perhaps so very much older than that young - fellow over the way. Yes, I was though—it is Ralph! How slowly he is - walking. I believe the boy cares for me, he hates to be the bearer of ill - news.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph’s usually cheerful face was curiously over-cast; he put down the - papers, muttered something about “going to Brill’s for a swim,” and made - for the door. - </p> - <p> - “Rehearsal at eleven, don’t forget,” said Macneillie, taking up the London - paper with a steady hand. - </p> - <p> - He was glad to be alone, and in the midst of his grievous pain he felt - grateful to Ralph for that little touch of considerateness which had - spared him to some extent,—that strategem which had deferred his - evil day. For as he had said his suspense had been largely mixed with - hope, he had tried to face the other alternative but his very sense of - justice had inclined him to be hopeful. It surely could not be that after - these long years of suffering there should be no release? Max Hereford’s - words had chilled him for the time, but spite of them the hope had - predominated. Now hope lay dead,—remorselessly slain by this unequal - English law, which as a Scotsman seemed to him so extraordinary so - intolerably unfair. - </p> - <p> - When a law is manifestly unjust,—when it flatly contradicts the - foundation truth of Christianity that in Christ all are equal, that there - is neither bond nor free, male nor female—there comes to every one - of strong passions the temptation to break the law. It is such a hard - thing to wait patiently for the slow tedious process of reform, that the - headstrong and the impetuous and the self-indulgent, and all who have not - learnt a stern self-control, will often take the law into their own hands - and defy the world. Macneillie reaped now the benefit of long years of - self-repression and suffering. He saw very clearly that it is only - justifiable to break the law of the land when it interferes with a higher - duty; that to break even a bad law because it interfered with one’s - cherished desire could never be right; that to admit such a course to be - right must sap the very foundations of society. - </p> - <p> - He saw it all plainly enough, yet, being human, could not at once shake - himself free from the haunting consciousness that it lay in his power to - choose present happiness, that in such a case the world would quickly - condone the offence, and—greatest temptation of all—that he - might shield Christine from the difficulties and dangers that were but too - likely to assail one in her position. - </p> - <p> - Fortunately he had but little spare time on his hands, it was already a - quarter to eleven and the mere habit of rigorous punctuality came to his - help. - </p> - <p> - He walked down the parade, and the fresh air and the salt sea breeze - invigorated him, his mind went back, sadly enough, yet with greater - safety, from the future to the past, he seemed to be young once more and - crossing this very Steyne with a tall golden-haired girl, who still - retained something of the simplicity and innocence which she had brought - with her from her quiet school in the country. She was beside him as he - passed through Castle Square, beside him as he walked up North Street, - beside him as he went along the Colonnade and entered the stage door of - the very same theatre where they had acted together all those years ago. - </p> - <p> - There was a rehearsal of “Romeo and Juliet” chiefly for the sake of Ralph, - who was the understudy for Romeo and was obliged to play the part that - evening owing to the illness of the Juvenile Lead—John Carrington. - </p> - <p> - Though of course perfect in his words, he needed a good deal of - instruction, and Macneillie who always found him a pupil after his own - heart, receptive, quick, eager to learn, and with that touch of genius - which is as rare as it is delightful, forgot for a time all his troubles - in the pleasure of teaching. And if, after the night’s performance was - over and his satisfaction with his pupil’s success had had time to pass - into the background, the old temptation came back once more, it came back - with lessened power and found a stronger man to grapple with it. - </p> - <p> - No word passed between master and pupil as to the bad news the morning had - brought, except that as Ralph, somewhat sooner than usual, bade the - Manager goodnight, Macneillie with his most kindly look said to him:— - </p> - <p> - “Your Romeo is the best thing you have done yet. The saying goes, you - know, that no man has the power to act Romeo till he looks too old for the - part; you have done something towards falsifying that axiom, and have - cheered a dark day for me.” - </p> - <p> - “I owe everything to you, Governor,” said Ralph gripping his hand; and as - he turned away he felt that he would have given up all and been content to - play walking gentleman for the rest of his days if only Macneillie could - be spared this grievous trial that had come upon him. He prayed for a - reform of the law as he had never prayed in his life. - </p> - <p> - Left alone, Macneillie paced silently up and down the room, deep in - thought. At length in the small hours of the night, he took pen and paper - and wrote the following letter:— - </p> - <p> - “My dear Christine: - </p> - <p> - “It is impossible after our talk last summer in Scotland, to let such a - time as this pass by in silence. You well know that I love you, nor will I - pretend ignorance of your love for me. Let us be honest and face facts;—truth - makes even what we are called on to bear more endurable. It is because I - love and honour you that I write to bid you farewell. Let us at least be - law-abiding citizens, even though the law be a one-sided, unjust law. - </p> - <p> - “I believe from my heart, that Christ, though disallowing divorce, with - its natural sequence another marriage, for all the trivial reasons which - the Jews were in the habit of putting forward, distinctly permitted them - where a marriage had been broken by the faithlessness of a guilty partner. - And assuredly He never set up one standard of morality for men and another - for women; His words must apply equally to both. - </p> - <p> - “Doubtless some day the gross injustice of the existing English law will - be removed, and as in Scotland there will be one and the same law for men - and women in this matter. For that day I wait and hope. For many reasons I - do not ask now to see you. Is it not better that we should not meet? I am - convinced that it is safer and wiser that we should—both for our own - sakes and for the sake of the profession—keep apart. Many may think - this mere old-fashioned prejudice, but I believe I should serve you better - at a distance than by dangling about you and so giving a handle to those - scandal-mongers who love nothing so dearly as to make free with the name - of some well-known actress. - </p> - <p> - “I dare not write more, save just to beg and pray that if there should - ever be a time when you are in any danger or difficulty, and others—better - fitted to serve because more indifferent—are not at hand, you will - then turn to me for help. - </p> - <p> - “God bless you. Good bye. - </p> - <p> - “Yours ever, - </p> - <p> - “Hugh Macneillie.” - </p> - <p> - The letter reached Christine at Monkton Verney and the sight of it made - the colour rush to her pale face. What she hoped, what she feared she - scarcely knew herself, her heart was all in tumult. She read it in - feverish haste, then again slowly and carefully, and yet a third time - through fast gathering tears. How strangely it contrasted with the - so-called love letters she had received from some men! And yet how - infinitely more it moved her by its calmness and self-restraint! - </p> - <p> - “I was unworthy of you in the past,” she thought. “But God helping me I - will try to be more worthy now.” - </p> - <p> - And without further delay,—dreading perhaps to put off the difficult - task—she wrote him a letter which had in it the fervour of a new and - strong resolve, and the beauty of a perfectly sincere response of soul to - soul. - </p> - <p> - After that she plunged straight into business, and about noon sought out - Miss Claremont and, walking with her in the quiet grounds near the ruined - priory, told her of the plans she had made for the future. - </p> - <p> - “I have as you know made over the management of the theatre to Barry - Sterne. He and his wife have been very good to me for many years, and it - is better now that I should not again be burdened with all the cares of a - Manageress. He proposes that I should take the part of the heroine in the - new play that he is bringing out in January and I have just written to him - accepting the proposal.” - </p> - <p> - “Are you fit yet for work?” asked Miss Claremont looking a little - doubtfully into her companion’s face; it was curiously beautiful this - morning, but not with the beauty of physical strength. Indeed Christine - had never looked capable of bearing any very great strain and the last few - days had taxed her powers to the utmost. - </p> - <p> - “I must get to work,” she said quietly. “There is no safety in idleness. - How odd it seems that a physical break-down comes generally through - overwork, and a moral break-down through too little work.” - </p> - <p> - “When must you leave us?” asked Miss Claremont. - </p> - <p> - “I think I had better go next week, and if you will keep Charlie a few - days longer I can settle into that flat in Victoria Street which I have - the refusal of. I shall manage very well there with my maid, and with - Dugald to wait on Charlie; it will be necessary to live a quiet life for - many reasons.” - </p> - <p> - Miss Claremont assented, nor was it possible to raise any objection to her - companion’s plans. But she could not help secretly wondering whether, with - all her good intentions, Christine was strong enough either in health or - in character to live a life so beset with difficulties. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXIX - </h2> - <p> - “<i>It seems indeed one of the deepest of moral laws, that under the - stress of trial men will strongly tend at least to be whatever in quieter - hours they have made themselves.</i>”—“The Spirit of Discipline.” - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Dean Paget. - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>ecember was now - half over and Macneillie’s company had got as far as Southampton in their - progress along the south coast. It was no slight pleasure to Ralph to find - himself back in his old neighbourhood, and to act in the very theatre - where long ago his father had taken him to see Washington in “The Bells.” - He had heard nothing more from Mr. Marriott, and Evereld’s letters - contained no reference to business matters, but were taken up with - descriptions of life in the French country house, and of the happy time - she was having with Bride O’Ryan. - </p> - <p> - It happened one day that as there was no rehearsal Ralph was able to walk - over to Whinhaven. There were however very few of his old friends left in - the neighbourhood. - </p> - <p> - Sir John and Lady Tresidder were in India, pretty Mabel Tresidder had - married an officer and he had no idea of her present whereabouts, while - even in the village there were many changes. Langston his coast-guard - friend had got promotion and others had left the place or had died. He - felt like a returned ghost as he wandered about the well-known lanes, and - glanced at the familiar garden and at the unchanged outlines of the - Rectory. A little child was playing with a pet rabbit on the lawn just as - he had played in old times. He stood for a minute at the gate watching it - with a strange feeling at his heart which was not all pain, but rather a - sort of tender regret and a glad sense of gratitude for a happy childhood - of which no one could ever rob him. For the rest his return was like all - such returns. He found the church unaltered, the houses bereft of some of - their old inhabitants and the church-yard more full. - </p> - <p> - Ralph however was not a man who liked to linger among graves, he stood - only for a minute by the tomb of his father and mother, and passed on to - that little nook in the park which they had always called the “goodly - heritage.” It was as beautiful as ever, even in leafless December. The - robins were singing blithely, the little brook rippled at the foot of the - steep descent, and an adventurous squirrel had stolen out of his sleeping - place to investigate his secret stores and to take a brief scamper among - the branches. Some day, Ralph thought to himself, he would bring Evereld - to see it all, and with that his thoughts travelled away into a happy - future, and as he walked back to the nearest station regrets for the past - were merged in the realisation that the best part of his life was still - before him, and that many of his dark days had been lived through. - </p> - <p> - He was only just in time to catch the train and was hurriedly searching - for a place when he was startled to hear himself called by his Christian - name, and glancing round he saw someone beckoning to him from a carriage - at a little distance. The door was opened for him, he stepped in, and to - his amazement recognised in the dim light the well-known features of his - Godfather. There was no other occupant of the carriage and Ralph - remembering how they had parted at Rilchester would fain have beat a - retreat. - </p> - <p> - “You are going to Southampton?” asked Sir Matthew. “I heard Macneillie’s - company was there and I came partly for the sake of seeing you.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you bring news of Evereld?” asked Ralph eagerly. - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Sir Matthew, “she has succeeded in baffling me, you were right - there. It is to her wilfulness that all my misfortunes are due.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph bit his lip to keep back the retort that occurred to him. For a - minute the two looked at each other searchingly. Sir Matthew felt a - sinking of the heart as he noticed the angry light in his companion’s - eyes. Ralph on the other hand was perplexed by the pallor and dejection of - hiss Godfather’s face. The Company promoter seemed quite another man, he - looked old and broken, all his suavity of manner, his business-like, - capable air had vanished. - </p> - <p> - “I am ruined,” he said; “worse than ruined—I am disgraced. At any - moment I may be arrested unless I can succeed in leaving the country - unnoticed.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph listened to this startling announcement with an impassive face. He - hardened his heart against the man who had dealt harshly with him. - </p> - <p> - “I suppose it means,” he said, “that another of your Companies has failed - and that this time you have suffered yourself, besides ruining hundreds as - you ruined my father.” - </p> - <p> - “God knows how I regretted his losses,” said Sir Matthew and for the time - there was a ring of genuine feeling in his voice. “It was for that reason - I adopted you, that I educated you, that I took you straight to my own - home. Have you forgotten that?” - </p> - <p> - “Sir, you never gave me a chance of forgetting it,” said Ralph bitterly, - all his worst self called out by contact with this man whom he detested. - “Had I listened to your temptation I should now have been pledged to - become a money-grubbing priest, a trader in holy things, a disgrace to the - church.” - </p> - <p> - He pulled himself up, recollecting that he was not much to boast of as it - was—but a faulty, irritable mortal, full now of resentment, and - hatred and contemptuous anger. - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you were right,” said Sir Matthew with a sigh. “I admit that I - was harsh with you that day, and you have a right to hit me now that I am - down.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph instantly responded to this appeal as the astute Sir Matthew had - calculated. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t let us speak of the past,” he said in an altered tone, “I owe you - my education and I try to be grateful for that. Why did you wish to see - me? What do you want with me?” - </p> - <p> - “We are almost at Southampton,” said Sir Matthew glancing at the lights of - the town. “Let me come to your rooms with you and I will there explain - matters. Is this St. Denys? They stop for tickets here I suppose; have the - goodness to give mine to the collector.” - </p> - <p> - He moved to the further end of the carriage and began to unstrap some rugs - from which he took a highland maud. He was still stooping over the straps - when the tickets wore collected. Then as soon as they moved on once more - he began to swathe himself elaborately in his tartan. - </p> - <p> - “Can I see you alone?” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Ralph, “I am usually with Mr. Macneillie, but he has friends - in Southampton and is staying with them, so I happen to be quite alone.” - </p> - <p> - “All the better” said Sir Matthew a touch of his old manner returning to - him. “We will take a cab. I have only this gladstone with me.” - </p> - <p> - And accepting Ralph’s offer to carry his bag, he drew the tartan carefully - over the lower part of his face and crossed the platform swiftly to the - cabstand. - </p> - <p> - Ralph felt like one in a dream as they drove through the town to his - lodgings, and several times he recalled the day when as a child he had - last left Whinhaven, and Sir Matthew and he had sat thus side by side - driving through the crowded London streets to Queen Anne’s Gate. - </p> - <p> - The tables were turned indeed! It occurred to him even more strikingly as - he took Sir Matthew into his snug little sitting-room in Portland Street - and saw him warming his hands at the fire. Recollecting that his Godfather - was a great tea-drinker, he rang at once and ordered the landlady to make - some ready. - </p> - <p> - “That will be coals of fire on his head,” he thought to himself with a - smile as he recalled the afternoon when he had sat hungrily in Lady - Mactavish’s great drawing-room privileged only to hand cups to other - people. - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew was curiously silent, and as he sat by the fire seemed to care - for nothing but the warmth and the food. By and bye, however, glancing at - his watch he seemed to remember that his time was limited. - </p> - <p> - “You are acting this evening?” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Ralph, “in the ‘Rivals.’ I must be at the theatre in three - quarters of an hour. Can you tell me now what you want with me?” - </p> - <p> - “I want your help,” said Sir Matthew. “At any moment I may be traced. - Though I hope I have eluded pursuit and set them on a wrong track one can - never tell in these days of telegrams and espionage. I don’t ask much of - you. All I want is this; go down to the agents’ and take a place on board - the Havre boat for to-night; let me shelter here until the passengers are - allowed to go on to the steamer and, since you are a practised hand in - making up, help me to disguise myself. I ask nothing but this.” - </p> - <p> - The audacity of the request roused all Ralph’s angry resentment again. He - clenched his hands fiercely and began to pace up and down the room. - </p> - <p> - “You ask me to help you to escape,” he said indignantly, “when I am - certain that you richly deserve to be brought to justice!” - </p> - <p> - “I ask you,” replied Sir Matthew, “to help your Godfather in his great - need. To show a kindness to your father’s old friend.” - </p> - <p> - “You had no kindness for him,” said Ralph. “How can you—how <i>dare</i> - you come to me. You who have desolated homes and broken hearts! Why there - are few things I should like better than to see you arrested and properly - punished.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew’s face grew whiter. - </p> - <p> - “Would you betray me?” he said, “after I have trusted you?” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Ralph indignantly, “certainly not. But I will not stir a finger - to help you. How can you expect me to forget the way in which you have - wronged Evereld?” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew’s keen eyes scrutinised him closely for a minute; he was - puzzled to know how much Ralph had learnt of the truth. - </p> - <p> - “Wronged her?” he said questioningly, “what do you mean?” - </p> - <p> - “I mean that you traded on her innocence and ignorance of the world; that - you tried by the most foul means to force her and frighten her into - marrying Bruce Wylie. That you drove her to escape from you, and that but - for the care and kindness of others she might have got into great - difficulties.” - </p> - <p> - A look of relief crossed Sir Matthew’s face. Ralph certainly did not know - that he had speculated with Evereld’s fortune and lost almost the whole - of it. - </p> - <p> - “You misjudge me,” he said assuming a tone of some dignity. “I cannot - explain matters to you, but I had the best intentions in desiring to see - Evereld safely married to Bruce Wylie. For the rest, it is highly probable - that you will have your wish. You may even see me arrested to-night in - Southampton. However I shall take good care not to remain long in custody. - It will be merely the change of foregoing the journey to Havre and instead - taking a much less costly ticket for a journey to the undiscovered country - from whose bourne no traveller returns.” - </p> - <p> - He stood up and began slowly to button his overcoat. The easy tone in - which he had made the quotation, and the look of quiet determination on - his set face made a very painful impression on Ralph. His anger died away. - Horror and perplexity suddenly overwhelmed him. - </p> - <p> - “What am I to do?” he thought desperately. “What would my father have - done? If it were possible to imagine a man like Macneillie coming with - such a request why I would shelter him and help him. Must I do as much for - a man I loathe. It would be more just to let him be arrested? Why should I - aid a guilty man to escape? It’s conniving at his wickedness. But then - again it’s true that I ate his bread for years. If he should indeed take - his own life I shall certainly wish I had helped him. Good Heavens! how is - a fellow to see the right and wrong of such a case?” He looked round; Sir - Matthew had folded his plaid about him and now moved towards the door. - </p> - <p> - “Good-bye Ralph,” he said, “many thanks for your hospitality.” But Ralph - though he mechanically took the proffered hand spoke no farewell, merely - held the hand in his grasp while over his curiously mobile face a hundred - lights and shades succeeded one another. - </p> - <p> - “Wait,” he said at length, “I cannot let you go like that, Sir Matthew.” - His perplexity and distress were so genuine that for the first time in all - their intercourse the Company Promoter felt a sort of liking for this boy - whom he had wronged and patronised, snubbed and educated, scolded and - secretly hated. He saw that Ralph had all his father’s gentleness and - generosity, but a good deal more strength and warmth of temperament than - the Rector had ever possessed. - </p> - <p> - In dire suspense he waited to know his fate. There was a silence of some - minutes; then Ralph, who had moved across to the fireplace and had - wrestled out his problem with arms propped on the mantelpiece and face - hidden, lifted up his head and once more met the gaze of his father’s old - friend. Sir Matthew was astonished to see that he looked pale and haggard - with the struggle he had passed through. - </p> - <p> - “I will try to help you,” he said simply. - </p> - <p> - “Then,” said Sir Matthew with warmth, “I am justified in having come to - you. You are—as I thought—your father’s son. You are a true - Denmead.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph for the life of him could not help laughing at the words. “You told - me that in a different tone at Rilchester,” he remarked. “The Denmeads, I - think you were good enough to say, were always unpractical fools, aiming - at impossible ideals. I was angry then, but after all perhaps you are - right. I believe I am a fool to help you, but just because you have so - wronged us in the past I am afraid to refuse lest there should be anything - of private spite or revenge in the refusal. What class do you wish to - travel? I will go at once for your ticket.” - </p> - <p> - “Take a second return to Havre, it may be a precaution,” said Sir Matthew. - “The steamer does not leave I think till 11.45. I did not come down by the - boat train for that might very probably have been watched. How about - disguise?” - </p> - <p> - “I will go to the theatre on my way back to you,” said Ralph, “and bring a - grey beard which I think is all that will be needed.” - </p> - <p> - He hurried off, for there was not very much time to spare. Now that his - decision was made he was comparatively at rest, and as he sped along the - dark streets his thoughts went back to Whinhaven and all the quiet - familiar scenes he had just visited. It was strange that Sir Matthew - should have encountered him just as he returned from his old home, and - perhaps, if the truth were known, the Company Promoter might never have - gained his help had it not been for the softening influence of that visit - to the old Rectory and the “goodly heritage.” - </p> - <p> - Having secured the ticket, he made his way to the theatre, where, early - though it was, Macneillie had already arrived and was discussing some - knotty question with the assistant stage manager and the master carpenter. - Ralph slipped by them and ran up to his dressing-room, unearthed the beard - he wanted from his dress-basket, tucked his make-up box under his arm and - hastened away. - </p> - <p> - “Where are you off to?” said Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - “Back again in ten minutes, Governor,” he replied. - </p> - <p> - It was no use now to reflect how little he liked doing the work he had - undertaken, and indeed when he was again in his own room a sort of pity - for his godfather stirred once more in his heart. Sir Matthew was so - broken down, so aged by all that he had gone through! The nervous haste - with which he took the ticket, the hurried questions he put, were so - unlike the hard business man of old times, that it was impossible not to - feel some compassion for one who was the mere wreck of his former self. - </p> - <p> - Utterly exhausted by the high pressure at which he had lately been living, - the sham philanthropist sat by the fire and allowed himself to be done for - like a child, watching with a strange sort of admiration Ralph’s intent - face as with deft touches to the eyebrows and accentuating of certain - wrinkles, he entirely transformed him. When the process of fixing on the - beard with spirit-gum was over and he looked at himself in the glass Sir - Matthew hardly recognised his own features, and saw before him a man at - least twenty years his senior. - </p> - <p> - “Stoop a little more,” said Ralph. “That is better. Now I don’t think even - Lady Mactavish would know you.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew sighed heavily. - </p> - <p> - “It’s mostly for her sake that I care to escape to-night,” he said with a - touch of real feeling in his manner. “She will always be grateful to you, - Ralph, for helping me.” - </p> - <p> - “I will order them to bring you some dinner at eight,” said Ralph, “and if - you like I can drive down to the docks with you at eleven or a little - after.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew caught at this suggestion, and Ralph having finished his work - at the theatre, refused two or three invitations to supper and hurried - back to wind up the most curious service he had yet been called upon to - render to any man. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t think too harshly of me,” said Sir Matthew as they drove down to - the starting-place of the Havre steamer. “Remember that I always expected - the speculation to succeed, that I still think I could have recovered - myself if only things had not all conspired against me at the same time. - You Denmeads can’t understand the temptations that assail an average man - in the city. You were born without the love of money in you, and whatever - happens you are always strictly honourable. Some men are made so. Had I - not felt implicit trust in you how should I dare have put myself now in - your power? You own that you would like to see me arrested and punished, - but I know that you won’t betray me for all that.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t wish to see you punished now,” said Ralph, “and of course I can’t - betray you. But perhaps the best way after all would be for you to give - yourself up to justice.” - </p> - <p> - Sir Matthew broke into a laugh. - </p> - <p> - “You might be your father sitting there and talking! It’s exactly what he - would have said. My dear fellow your ideals are above me, and they are - about as little likely to be adopted by ordinary men of the world as the - ideals in Plato’s republic. I shall certainly not give myself up. I shall - instead try my very best, for the sake of others, to recoup my losses and - to start afresh.” - </p> - <p> - A curiously sanguine look crept over his worn face, and Ralph felt certain - that like a gambler he would return as soon as possible to his great game - of speculation, very likely persuading himself, with the ease of one who - has posed hypocritically for many years, that he did it all from the - purest philanthropic motives. - </p> - <p> - “You had better not come on board with me,” he said as they drew near to - the docks. “And on the whole perhaps I had better not take this tartan - with me, it is too marked. I will bequeath it to you. Good-bye Ralph. Many - thanks to you for what you have done for me.” - </p> - <p> - With the first hearty grip of the hand he had ever given his godson he - bade him farewell and passing up the gangway on board the steamer - disappeared from view. The cold wintry wind came sweeping over the water; - Ralph shivered and was glad enough to wrap the highland maud about him as - he paced up and down watching to see the actual start of the Havre boat. - </p> - <p> - There was a bustle of arrival as the passengers were transferred from the - boat train; he stood in the shadow watching them, and apparently another - man, unobtrusively dressed, was engaged in the same occupation. Ralph felt - sure that the fellow was a detective; he folded the plaid more closely - about his mouth and pulled his hat over his eyes; the man furtively - glanced at him and drew a few steps nearer, whereupon the spirit of - mischief and love of acting overcame all other recollections, and Ralph as - though most desirous of eluding pursuit, slipped quietly away into the - darkness and vanished in the crowd. The detective, with all his suspicions - aroused, gave chase, but presently coming to a place where two streets - branched off, was baffled for a moment. - </p> - <p> - In a deep porch of one of the houses close by, a young man stood - bareheaded, sheltering a flickering fusee with his hat while he tried to - light his pipe. - </p> - <p> - “Seen a man wrapped in a plaid go by this way?” asked the detective - panting. - </p> - <p> - “He has not gone past here,” said Ralph coolly. - </p> - <p> - The man took the other street and just at that moment the sounding of a - steam whistle and the chiming of a clock in a neighbouring house told - Ralph that it was a quarter to twelve and that the boat for Havre was - safely underweigh. - </p> - <p> - He quietly picked up the highland maud from the well shaded corner of the - porch where it had been snugly tucked behind a pillar, and then walked - back to Portland Street musing over Sir Matthew’s fate and wondering what - news the morning would bring. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXX - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “O, gear will buy me rigs o’ land, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And gear will buy me sheep and kye; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - But the tender heart o’ leesome luve, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - The gowd and siller canna buy. - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - We may be poor—Robie and I; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Light is the burden luve lays on, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Content and luve bring peace and joy, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - What mair hae queens upon a throne?”—Burns. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">R</span>alph slept late - the next day and only escaped a fine at Rehearsal by the merciful rule - which permitted ten minutes’ grace. - </p> - <p> - “You have done it by the skin of your teeth,” said Macneillie with a - laugh, “but of course you found the newspaper absorbing.” - </p> - <p> - “I have not even seen it. What is the news?” - </p> - <p> - “There’s a warrant out for the arrest of Sir Matthew Mactavish on a charge - of swindling, and Mr. Bruce Wylie they say is already in Holloway gaol - having been arrested last night.” - </p> - <p> - “Good heavens!” said Ralph, “Bruce Wylie in prison!” - </p> - <p> - “What matters more,” said Macneillie, “is that some South African company - of which they were the leading directors has failed. And this following - closely on the failure of that other Company with which they were - connected will probably cause more failures to follow. Thousands will be - ruined. Mr. Marriott was right enough when he darkly hinted to you that - startling revelations were in store. Well we must get to work. What a - mercy it is that Miss Ewart is safely out of her guardian’s power.” - </p> - <p> - A sudden panic seized Ralph. What if Sir Matthew were to come across - Evereld in France? He had no idea whereabouts she was but for the first - time he wondered whether any possible scheme for getting her again into - his power could have occurred to the Company Promoter. - </p> - <p> - On the previous night such a thought had never entered his head, he had - adopted the more reasonable conclusion that Sir Matthew chose Havre merely - as a possible starting place for America or some distant port where he - could safely shelter. It needed all his patience and self-control to wait - through the tedious rehearsal, and the instant he was free he ran to the - telegraph office and begged Mr. Marriott to send him tidings as soon as - possible with regard to Evereld. - </p> - <p> - The answer set him at rest before the evening’s performance. Evereld was - safe and well and Mr. Marriott begged that Ralph would if possible spend - the following Sunday at his house since there were many things to discuss. - </p> - <p> - It was now only Wednesday so he had still some time to wait, but the worst - of his suspense was over and it was with a very buoyant heart that early - on Sunday morning he presented himself at the old lawyer’s house. After a - pleasant breakfast with the kindly ladies who had always taken an interest - in his career, he was carried off to the study by Mr. Marriott for a - business talk. - </p> - <p> - “I asked you to come up to town,” said the lawyer, “because you have a - right to know the whole truth of things. Sir Matthew Mactavish was not - only a scheming speculator, he was a fraudulent trustee. Miss Ewart’s - affairs were entirely in his hands, and Bruce Wylie her solicitor aided - and abetted the speculations which have dissipated her fortune.” - </p> - <p> - “The brutes!” said Ralph. “Still I can forgive them that. It’s their - abominable scheme for trapping her into a marriage that I can’t forgive.” - </p> - <p> - “Perhaps you hardly realise things yet,” said the lawyer, “I mean exactly - what I say. Instead of being an heiress she has now nothing whatever left - but a couple of hundred a year which, being her mother’s property, and in - the funds, could not be tampered with.” - </p> - <p> - “If she is much troubled about it I am sorry,” said Ralph. “But personally - I don’t care a straw. No one will be able to say now that I was running - after her fortune. How soon do you think we might be married? There is - nothing to wait for now.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, you will have to get the leave of the Lord Chancellor, but I don’t - suppose he will disapprove,” said the lawyer with a smile, “if you are in - a position to support a wife that is. I can’t see any objection to your - marrying before long if Miss Ewart desires it. Go and talk it over with - Mr. Hereford, she is under his guardianship and he is in town till - to-morrow evening.” - </p> - <p> - “What good luck,” said Ralph. “I will go round at once and try to catch - him before he goes out.” - </p> - <p> - “Very well. We shall meet again later on then,” said the old lawyer - kindly. “We can put you up for the night and then you can let me know what - arrangement you and Mr. Hereford have arrived at. I will walk round with - you to Grosvenor Square; these bright frosty mornings are tempting.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph received a friendly greeting from Max Hereford who was amused by his - extreme haste and anxiety to win the Lord Chancellor’s consent to his - marriage with Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “You see, we have been practically engaged for several months,” he argued, - “and I shall never have a moment’s peace about her while she is drifting - about the world. Who can tell whether we have heard the last of Sir - Matthew Mactavish even now! It’s unbearable to think that I don’t even - know where she is.” - </p> - <p> - “Well I can set you at rest on that point,” said Max Hereford laughing. - “She is on her way to Ireland, and my wife will take the greatest care of - her.” - </p> - <p> - “She has left France?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I went myself to bring her home and my sister-in-law came with her. - Dermot will spend the winter in the south and I am taking the two girls - across to Dublin to-morrow night. They are here now.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph’s face was a sight to see. - </p> - <p> - “You must talk to her and find out what her wishes are,” said his host - pleasantly. “I am the last man to advise a prolonged engagement. And since - Marriott has told you that Miss Ewart is no longer an heiress but has been - robbed by those precious scoundrels of almost the whole of her fortune, I - think it only remains for you two to decide upon your own course of - action, subject of course to the approval of the Lord Chancellor. She - shall always find a home with us, as she very well knows, if you think it - advisable to wait.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think it advisable,” said Ralph eagerly. “But of course I must - ask whether she is really willing to put up with the discomforts of a - wandering life.” - </p> - <p> - “I will go and find her,” said Max Hereford, “and you can have an - interview in peace.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld and Bride were in the great drawing-room, both looking rather pale - and tired after their long journey. - </p> - <p> - “Time to go to church?” asked Bride with a portentous yawn. - </p> - <p> - “No my dear, you would only go to sleep,” he said teasingly, “as your - brother-in-law and Evereld’s guardian I strictly prohibit church-going - this morning. Rest and be thankful, and don’t forget that you will be - travelling all to-morrow night. Evereld, if you have energy enough for the - interview, Mr. Marriott has sent someone round on business. Should you - mind just going down to the library? He wants to put a few questions to - you.” Evereld started up, looking rather nervous. - </p> - <p> - “How odd of him to come about business on a Sunday morning,” she said. “I - hope he is not an alarming sort of person. Will you not come down with - me?” - </p> - <p> - “Well I think on the whole you had better be alone,” said Max Hereford - with profound gravity. “I always think it is a mistake to have a third - person at an interview. I should only make you more nervous.” - </p> - <p> - She said no more, but set off bravely for what to her was no slight - ordeal, her first business interview. - </p> - <p> - The touch of dignity, which even as a child she had possessed, was more - noticeable now in the poise of her head and in her whole manner; but the - face was not in the least altered: it was the same sweet gentle face which - had for so long reigned in Ralph’s heart. - </p> - <p> - He sprang up to greet her, and Evereld with a joyous laugh ran towards - him. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Ralph! is it you?” she eried, radiant with happiness. “What a tease - Mr. Hereford is! He told me it was someone from Mr. Marriott on business!” - </p> - <p> - Ralph laughed as he released her from his embrace. “We have not begun in a - very business like way!” he said, “but it is quite true that I have come - from Mr. Marriott’s house. He has been telling me of this fraudulent - trustee who has treated you so shamefully. Are you very angry with those - two rogues? How does it feel to be robbed of a fortune?” - </p> - <p> - “It feels anything but pleasant,” said Evereld warmly. “But what I find it - hardest to forgive is the hypocrisy. Of course it is sad to think that the - money which my father and grandfather earned by such hard work has all - been wasted, specially as I thought it would have been useful to you some - day. Do you realise, dear, that I shall be quite poor?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t care a fig about that,” said Ralph. “But when I remember that - those vile knaves nearly succeeded in trapping you into a marriage which - must have been lifelong misery to you, then—well, I feel like - killing.” - </p> - <p> - “But they never did nearly succeed, Ralph,” she said slipping her hand - into his. “I would have died sooner than marry Bruce Wylie. Oh, how good - it is to be here with you, and quite safe! That time at Glion was - dreadful.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you know that you at nineteen have baffled two of the cleverest rogues - of the present time?” said Ralph. “It is delicious to think of that. How - did you think of such a plan and carry it out so pluckily?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know how,” said Evereld. “But I knew that somehow I must get away - out of their power. Then, when, I was so very unhappy this thought - suddenly came to me of Bride O’Ryan and Aimée Magnay in Auvergne, and - after that it was all quite simple—except, indeed, the Continental - Bradshaw which nearly drove me distracted!” - </p> - <p> - “You told me in your letter about that jolly old priest who took care of - you. We must go and see him some day. I should like to thank him.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I should so like you to see him, and you must go to Mabillon. It is - such a dear old place. I have grown to love it almost as if it were my own - home.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you think we ought now to come to the business part of the - interview?” said Ralph with a mirthful glance. “Do you think, darling, - that you are really willing to become the wife of an actor who has still - to fight his way up the ladder? Remember that as yet you are quite free, - that there is no engagement even between us.” - </p> - <p> - “The engagement really began for me that Sunday at Southbourne,” said - Evereld shyly. - </p> - <p> - “And for me, too,” said Ralph. “But think once more, darling, and try to - realise what it will mean. Ours will have to be, at any rate for some - time, a wandering life. For Macneillie has been so very good to me that I - must stay with him and try to repay him a little for all his training. - Even if a London engagement were to be offered me, and that is not likely, - I should feel bound to stay with him as long as he cares to have me.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes of course,” said Evereld. “Why, we owe everything to him! I - wonder if he would like———” she broke off rather - abruptly. - </p> - <p> - “What were you going to propose?” said Ralph trying to read her face. - There was a wistful look in it now which he did not understand. - </p> - <p> - “Only I have felt so dreadfully sorry for him since the Fenchurch Case. Of - course I heard people talking about it, and I can’t help fancying that he - must still care for Miss Greville.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Ralph. “It is very rough on him.” - </p> - <p> - “I shouldn’t like to take you away from him, Ralph,” she continued, - “specially just now, for I could see quite well at Southbourne that you - are almost like a son to him; you don’t know what things he said about you - when you were talking to Mrs. Hereford that morning. He would miss you - dreadfully. Do you think we could still be in the same house with him when - we are married? Or should I bother him?” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think you would be likely to do that,” said Ralph smiling. “When - I tell him about our marriage I will see how the land lies. I wonder, - darling, whether you will be able to put up with all the discomforts of - life in a travelling company?” - </p> - <p> - “Why it will be the greatest fun!” cried Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I have found it a very jolly life, but, you know, wayfaring men - naturally have to put up with some discomforts. You will find the endless - packing and unpacking, and the settling into fresh lodgings once a week an - awful bore.” - </p> - <p> - “But I shall have you, dear,” she said happily. “And nothing else will - matter much.” - </p> - <p> - “Then it only remains for us to win the Lord Chancellor’s consent and to - tell Macneillie, and find out when he can spare me for a few days. You - won’t make me wait long will you?” - </p> - <p> - “I think Parliament meets on the 5th,” said Evereld, “and we are to come - back from Ireland in the first week of February. I know the Hereford’s - will let me be married from this house, and we will have a quiet wedding. - You see we are both of us alone in the world; except the Marriotts and Mr. - Macneillie there is really no one to ask, for of course the Mactavishs - will keep away from town for some time to come.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder what will become of poor Lady Mactavish,” said Ralph. “I fancy - she has something of her own, so as far as money goes she will be all - right. But how she will feel the disgrace!” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not at all sure,” said Evereld, “that now real trouble has overtaken - her she won’t give up grumbling. If not I am sorry for Janet for she will - have to bear the brunt of it. Oh, Ralph! what a strange world it is! Only - last spring the Mactavishs seemed at the very height of their prosperity, - and were so enchanted about Minnie’s engagement, and now here is Sir - Matthew ruined and disgraced, and Bruce Wylie in prison.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Ralph, “it’s a much better fate than the one they tried to - force upon you. It’s not of them I think, but of the thousands they have - cruelly injured: if you had seen your father die of a broken heart as I - saw mine, you would think prison and exile a very light punishment for - those cursed speculators.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” assented Evereld, “it was more of the suddenness of the change I - was thinking. Last spring, too, you were tramping through Scotland, ill - and half starved, and now——” - </p> - <p> - “Now I am the happiest man in the world,” said Ralph his face aglow with - ardent love. - </p> - <p> - And after that they forgot all the troubles of the past and sat weaving - delicious plans for the future, and enjoying to the full the happy - present. - </p> - <p> - The next day Ralph rejoined the company in the Isle of Wight and in the - evening, when supper was over, he with some trepidation told his story to - the Manager. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie had of late been very silent and depressed and Ralph hated - having to speak of his own happiness to one who was in the depths of - dejection. However with an effort he broke the ice. - </p> - <p> - “I saw Miss Ewart’s new guardian Mr. Hereford in town,” he began, “and it - seems that almost the whole of her fortune has been lost by that swindling - trustee of hers. She has nothing left but a couple of hundred a year which - luckily was tied up and out of Sir Matthew’s reach.” - </p> - <p> - “The scoundrel!” exclaimed Macneillie, “so he had the audacity to put her - fortune into his rotten companies I suppose?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. However it’s an ill wind that blows nobody good. The fortune is gone - but so is Sir Matthew, and the new guardian permits our engagement and - sees no reason why it should be a long one, he is distantly related to the - Lord Chancellor and thinks he will consent to our being married shortly.” - </p> - <p> - “And what does Miss Ewart say? have you heard from her?” - </p> - <p> - “I have seen her, she was passing through London on her way to Ireland. - Well, she talked very sensibly about the money, had hoped it might be - useful to us, but chiefly looked on it in my fashion as a hindrance to our - immediate marriage now safely removed.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie’s grave face was suddenly convulsed with merriment. He laughed - aloud at this view of the case. - </p> - <p> - “Was there ever such a couple of babies!” he said. “Pray how do you mean - to live?” - </p> - <p> - “On my salary to be sure,” said Ralph, “and on the two hundred which - Evereld has left.” - </p> - <p> - “You are over young yet to get much of a salary in London, and, even if we - succeeded in getting you an engagement there, who can tell how long you - would be secure of keeping it? Then living and rent is much higher in - London, and Miss Ewart has never been used to anything except the very - best.” - </p> - <p> - “But why do you speak of London?” said Ralph. “Do you mean to give me the - sack, Governor, if I marry?” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie turned and looked at him in some surprise. - </p> - <p> - “I naturally concluded that having gained some experience with me you - meant to go off at the earliest opportunity. That is the way of the world. - You don’t mean that you intend to bring your wife to travel with us?” - </p> - <p> - “Why not? It is often done. Harden’s wife used to go about with him, they - say.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, of course it is often done, but after the sort of life Miss Ewart has - been accustomed to——” - </p> - <p> - Ralph broke in eagerly. - </p> - <p> - “We talked it over very carefully, I told her exactly what it would be - like, and she is only longing for the fun of it all. Indeed she made a - very audacious proposal.” - </p> - <p> - “What was that?” said Macneillie pleased and interested in spite of - himself. - </p> - <p> - “Her old hero worship of you is as keen as ever, she thinks nothing would - be more delightful than to house-keep for you, and pour out the tea—women - always think they do those things best—It’s quite a mistake! Then, - too, she has a notion that you might miss me if we went off into rooms by - ourselves. I told her that was nonsense.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” said Macneillie, “it’s true enough, my boy. I should miss you very - much. But all the same I hardly know whether it is fair to you both to - spoil the early days of your married life. I am growing a very ‘dour’ sort - of man and that’s a fact.” - </p> - <p> - “You have been a second father to me,” said Ralph, “and Evereld knows - that: so if, as she says, we shall not bother you——” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie laughed. “If she can put up with a ‘dour’ man as third fiddle, - and promise to speak the truth when his playing jars too much with your - harmony I should like nothing better than to have you both with me. To - tell the truth Ralph I dread being alone just now. By the bye, have you - heard Jack Carrington say anything about his part in the new play? Brinton - had a notion he didn’t take to it.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I heard him say it didn’t suit him,” said Ralph. “I don’t see why. - It seems to me rather a decent part.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not at all sure that he will renew his engagement,” said Macneillie. - “And if he leaves, why there is no reason at all why you should not become - Juvenile Lead, and I could raise your salary to five pounds a week. - However that is between ourselves. As for Carrington he has been with me - three years and is likely enough to get a good berth somewhere before - long. When do you two hope to be married?” - </p> - <p> - “Early in the spring if possible,” said Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “Well, I would never counsel a long engagement,” said Macneillie with a - sigh. “You are not obeying the advice of Mrs. Siddons but, after all, - there are exceptions to every rule, and Miss Ewart is one of a thousand. - By the bye, I never told you—little Miss Ivy Grant wrote to ask if I - could give her an engagement and I have offered her the part of the French - girl. She seems to me to have exactly the face for it.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it will suit her down to the ground!” said Ralph looking pleased. “I - am glad poor Ivy has left the Delaines, she was too good for them. Evereld - will be glad that she is to be one of the Company.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXI - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “So let my singing say to you, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - ‘Our hearts are pilgrims going home; - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Love’s kingdom shall most surely come - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - To all who seek Love’s will to do.’” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - “Daydreams.”—A. Gurney. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n the course of - the next four months Ralph’s powers of letter-writing improved amazingly, - and thanks to those love letters and to the bright merry life in the - Hereford household Evereld’s engagement proved a happy one although she - and her lover could only spend two Sundays together during the whole time. - They knew each other so well already however that there was no risk of any - misunderstanding between them, and the waiting-time was too short to be - very irksome. - </p> - <p> - As for Bride O’Ryan she proved herself a friend worth having, threw - herself into all Evereld’s interests with delightful eagerness, and teased - her just enough to add a little salt to the entertainment. - </p> - <p> - The Lord Chancellor kept them for some time in suspense, and furnished - Bride with endless food for merriment. “He is a very formidable guardian,” - she protested, “and when once you get into his clutches it’s very hard - indeed to get out again. I wonder you dared to appeal to him.” - </p> - <p> - “It was the only thing to be done,” said Evereld, “but I do wish he would - be quick and give his consent.” - </p> - <p> - “I have always heard,” said Bride provokingly, “that when once things get - into chancery they stay there for years and years. Remember how it was in - <i>Bleak House</i>.” - </p> - <p> - “Well at any rate Mrs. Hereford says the Lord Chancellor is most - kindhearted,” said Evereld. “And I know he is fond of reading novels, so - he ought to take an interest in the romances of real life. And - particularly he ought to like Ralph, for they say he himself had dreadful - struggles at the beginning of his career when he was a young barrister on - circuit.” - </p> - <p> - However at length the consent was given and it was arranged that, as - Macneillie’s company were not giving any performances in Holy Week, Ralph - and Evereld should be married on Palm Sunday. - </p> - <p> - Evereld like a wise little woman was determined not to waste her substance - in the purchase of a trousseau which would be an endless trouble in their - wandering life. - </p> - <p> - “I have plenty of clothes already,” she protested. “All I shall need is a - nice warm cloak in which I can walk to the theatre in the evening—a - respectable dark sort of garment—and of course my wedding dress; I - won’t be a frumpy bride in a travelling costume.” - </p> - <p> - “No, have a gown like the bride in Blair Leighton’s picture ‘Called to - arms,’” said Ralph who had come up from Bristol to spend a Sunday at the - Hereford’s directly they had returned to London. “It’s a thousand times - prettier than any of the ugly modern fashions.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld did not know the picture but she promised to do her best to copy - it, and with the help of a clever American maid of Mrs. Hereford’s, and - Bridget’s ready assistance, and the advice of all the female members of - the household, her skilful fingers succeeded in turning out a very good - reproduction of the artist’s design at about a fifth of the cost of an - ordinary wedding dress. - </p> - <p> - “Even had I not lost my money,” she said to Bride, “I don’t think I could - have borne to spend much just on clothes when so many people are ruined - and half starving from the failure of all these companies.” - </p> - <p> - That was the greatest shadow that was cast over the happiness of the two - lovers. The appalling accounts of the trouble caused by Sir Matthew’s - wrong doing, the knowledge that many of the victims had literally died - from the shock, that many more had lost their reason, that thousands were - reduced to dire poverty and distress could not but affect them. - </p> - <p> - Evereld was touched too by a very kindly but sad letter from Lady - Mactavish. It contained one sentence which puzzled her not a little. - </p> - <p> - “What does Lady Mactavish mean by speaking of the help you gave Sir - Matthew?” she enquired, a week before their wedding day, as she and Ralph - sat together in the library where in December they had had that first - “business interview.” - </p> - <p> - “What does she say about it?” asked Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “Here is her letter, it is a message to you;—‘Tell Ralph that I - shall never cease to be grateful to him for the help he gave my husband. - It saved his life.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Ralph, “I suppose I am free to speak of it since she - mentioned it to you. He came to me at Southampton, indeed I met him on my - way back from Whinhaven,” and going through the whole story he made her - understand exactly what had taken place. “To this day I don’t know whether - I did right. But if the same thing were to happen again I should still - probably help him. It was the dread of letting one’s private hatred and - resentment bias one against helping a desperate man. As a matter of fact - he has by no means escaped punishment by escaping from England. I don’t - believe there is a corner of the earth where he will long remain - unmolested. He will lead a miserable, hunted life far worse than the life - Bruce Wylie leads in gaol, and with nothing really to look forward to. But - I think he was in earnest when he said that night he would put an end to - himself if they arrested him. And I have never regretted the little I did - to shield him from discovery.” - </p> - <p> - “You wouldn’t have been yourself if you had acted differently,” said - Evereld. “But it must have been hard work to decide.” - </p> - <p> - “I hope I may never again have such a decision to make,” said Ralph. “And - all the time there was the maddening remembrance of what he had made you - suffer. What a strange, complex character he had: there was a sort of - greatness about him all the time. I suppose that was how he deceived - people in such an extraordinary way,—he managed to deceive himself. - Even now a sort of panic seizes me lest he should somehow interfere - between us. I shall never feel at rest about you till we are safely - married.” - </p> - <p> - “Next Sunday,” she whispered. “Where shall you be all this week?” - </p> - <p> - “At Manchester,” he replied “and as ill luck will have it there is a - matinée of the new play and an evening performance of ‘Much Ado’ next - Saturday. However there will be plenty of time to sleep in the train, and - I will meet you somewhere for the early service.” - </p> - <p> - “Let it be at the Abbey then, that seems specially to belong to us. Bride - and I often go there and we can meet you just by the Baptistry at the west - end.” - </p> - <p> - “What time is the wedding to be? I have not even learnt that yet,” he said - laughing. - </p> - <p> - “Mrs. Hereford arranged that it should be at two, that will leave us - plenty of time to catch our train, and I have not told anyone where we - mean to go. That is our secret.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we will keep that dark,” said Ralph. “Otherwise it may be creeping - into the papers. Did you see there was a paragraph about Sir Matthew - Mactavish’s late ward in yesterday’s ‘Veracity’?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes. We couldn’t help laughing over it, but I hope Janet and Minnie won’t - see it. Oh, Ralph! what a nightmare the past is to look back on! and how - happy and safe I am with you!”. - </p> - <p> - Now that all was arranged, she seemed perfectly at rest, able even to - enjoy all the manifold little plans and the cheerful bustle that heralded - the wedding-day. But Ralph down at Manchester spent a feverishly anxious - week, and found it difficult indeed to concentrate his mind on his work. - Most managers would have lost all patience with him, but Macneillie with - the genial breadth of mind and the rare patience that characterised him - took it all very quietly, and perhaps in his secret soul rather enjoyed - the sight of such unusual and unsullied enthusiasm. - </p> - <p> - By the time Saturday arrived, Ralph had become very “ill to live with.” He - wandered about the house imagining that he was busy packing but contriving - to forget half his possessions. He could hardly stir without singing or - whistling, and he would have neglected to put in an appearance at - “Treasury” if Macneillie himself had not reminded him. - </p> - <p> - “You are like your namesake Sir Ralph the Rover,” said the manager, who - had been answering his correspondence as well as he could to a running - accompaniment of Ralph’s voice. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “He felt the cheering power of spring, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - It made him whistle, it made him sing—” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - “We won’t finish the quotation. But my dear fellow you will be quite - played out to-morrow if you go on at this rate.” - </p> - <p> - “How about the train?” said Ralph. “That’s the thing that bothers me. - Shall we ever get through to-night in time to catch the mail?” - </p> - <p> - “For pity’s sake don’t begin to fuss about that already!” said Macneillie - with a comical expression about the corners of his mouth. “It’s a mercy - that marrying and giving in marriage are not every-day occurrences or a - manager’s life would not be worth living.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll promise never to do it again, Governor,” said Ralph with mock - penitence. - </p> - <p> - “Well well,” said Macneillie with a patient shrug of the shoulders, “it - all comes in the day’s work. You will understand now how to render - Claudio’s words ‘Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.’” - </p> - <p> - Ralph thought it extremely obnoxious of the Manchester folk to have - petitioned for a performance of “Much ado about Nothing” on this - particular day, and though he acted Claudio very well it was always to him - an uncongenial character. Macneillie’s Benedick was however considered one - of his best parts and though perhaps he enjoyed playing it as little just - then as Ralph enjoyed going through the wedding scene on the eve of his - own marriage, he was the last man to let his private feelings interfere - with his work either as actor or as manager. - </p> - <p> - The play was carefully rendered, and after a most uncomfortable rush and - scramble, Ralph, thanks chiefly to the help of his many friends in the - company, found himself at the station just as the Scotch mail steamed up - to the platform. Whether Macneillie would arrive in time seemed doubtful, - however as the guard’s whistle sounded he emerged from the booking office, - and with his usual imperturbably grave face sprang in while the train - moved off. - </p> - <p> - Ivy Grant and Myra Brinton had packed up a most tempting little supper for - the two and had taken care to see that it was not forgotten in the hurry - of the last moment; and Macneillie, who always retained the power of - enjoying a holiday under any circumstances, proved a very genial companion - until the advent of another passenger at Crewe, when they relapsed into - silence and settled down to sleep. - </p> - <p> - The night was stormy; torrents of rain washed the windows, and the wind - howled and moaned as the train sped on through the darkness. Ralph tried - in vain to follow the example of his two companions who, quite oblivious - of their surroundings slept composedly through all the din. He was far too - much excited to lose consciousness even for a minute. The carriage lamp - was shaded and, in the dim light, visions of Evereld kept rising before - him. - </p> - <p> - She was a little girl once more, in a black frock, and with soft, bright - hair falling about her shoulders. - </p> - <p> - “Are you not hungry?” she said to him confidentially as they stood - together, strangers and yet somehow already friends, in a drearily grand - London drawing-room. - </p> - <p> - Again she was sitting beside him on the stairs, a fairylike little figure - in white, eating ice pudding supplied to them by the goodnatured Geraghty. - “I somehow think your father and mine will be talking together to-night?” - she said, her sweet blue eyes looking as though they could see right into - that spirit world of which she spoke. - </p> - <p> - On thundered the train, and yet another vision rose before Ralph. He was - in Westminster Abbey and there before him he suddenly saw a face which - took his heart by storm—the face of his old playfellow grown into - gentle gracious womanhood. Then the same face, but with wistful love-lit - eyes was lifted up to his outside the house in Queen Anne’s Gate kindling - hope in his heart and filling him with a glow of happiness which had - carried him through the pain of the parting. These same love-lit eyes and - a yet more wonderful response of soul to soul rose in vision before him as - he recalled a certain summer afternoon by the sea shore. What did it - matter to him that the cold spring wind raged round the carriage piercing - every crevice, or that the hail-stones rattled angrily against the glass! - He was far away from it all, seeing blue waves and the mellow brown side - of a boat and Evereld’s blushing face. The memory of that August day - lasted him all the rest of the way to London; then in the chilly dawn they - made their way to the nearest hotel, where the order of things was - reversed for Ralph at last fell sound asleep on a sofa in the reading room - and it was Macneillie who was wakeful and saw visions of the past—visions - that he dared not dwell upon because with them there came the maddening - recollection that he was close to Christine, that it would be the easiest - thing in the world, yet the most fatal, to go that afternoon and call upon - her. What was she doing? How did she struggle on in the difficult life on - which she had embarked? All the craving to know, all the longing to serve - her must be crushed down in his heart. Alone she must dree her weird. - Alone he must bear the anguish of her pain and his own bitter loss. - </p> - <p> - Almost involuntarily, those hard views of God from which years ago he had - been rescued by Thomas Erskine’s book “The Spiritual Order,” returned now - to him, flooding his mind with rebellious thoughts. - </p> - <p> - Why did all this misery come to him? Why were the mistakes and sins of - others visited upon him? Why were the ways of God so unequal? Other men - prospered. Other men had the desire of their hearts granted. Why was he - for ever to be thwarted? For years he knew that he had made strenuous - efforts to live uprightly, yet there seemed nothing before him but sorrow; - while over yonder there was a mere boy of one and twenty about to gain - after the briefest of struggles the woman he loved. - </p> - <p> - The Tempter had however defeated his own object by introducing the thought - of Ralph Denmead. Macneillie’s heart was too large for jealousy to harbour - in it. Jealousy can only rest long and comfortably in narrow, and cramped - hearts where self love and petty absorption in trifles has contracted the - space. - </p> - <p> - As he glanced across the room he saw that the sunlight was streaming full - upon the sleeper, he got up and lowered the blind pausing for a minute by - the sofa to look at his companion. Ralph was sound asleep, and his - untroubled, boyish face was worth looking at if only for its peace. To - Macneillie it suggested many thoughts. - He remembered his first impression of Ralph, lying in the last stage of - misery on the banks of the Leny, and he delighted to think that partly by - his aid the lad had battled through his difficulties and had got his foot - firmly planted on the ladder of success. - </p> - <p> - There is nothing so strange in life as the manner in which a kindly deed - re-acts in a thousand subtle ways on the doer. And now, as had been the - case before, Macneillie was lured back to life by the one he had helped - long ago. The hard thoughts passed, he stood there in the bright spring - morning strong once more in the belief that the eternal patience of the - All-Father schools each son in the best possible way. - </p> - <p> - Sitting down to the writing-table he filled up a couple of hours with - answering the letters of the previous day, then when the time came, set - off with Ralph to the Abbey and finding the way to the Baptistry unbarred - waited there beside the busts of Maurice and Kingsley, lifted a degree - nearer to that Light and Love of which their epitaphs spoke by the - struggle he had just passed through. - </p> - <p> - They were joined here by Mrs. Hereford, Bride, and Evereld, and Macneillie - thought he had never seen anything more winning than Evereld’s eager - welcome of her lover. He felt very much in harmony with their happiness as - they all went together into the choir, and indeed throughout the day the - depression which had overwhelmed him since he had received the bad news at - Brighton was banished by the unalloyed bliss of the two who were just - stepping into their goodly heritage of mutual love and companionship. - </p> - <p> - It was a thoroughly unconventional wedding with merely the merry Irish - family in the house, with Bride and the two little Hereford girls for - bridesmaids, and Macneillie and an old school fellow who had returned from - Canada just in time to be Ralph’s best man, as the only outsiders. - </p> - <p> - Of course, when at two o’clock they drove to the church, it was crowded - with spectators, for the marriage of the heiress who had been defrauded of - her fortune by Sir Matthew Mactavish had found its inevitable way into the - hands of the paragraph-mongers. But then, as Macneillie remarked, a - marriage ought to take place before a congregation, and it would have been - a thousand pities if this particular marriage had been smuggled through in - secret at some chilly hour of the morning in an empty church. - </p> - <p> - “As it was,” he added, “some idle London folk had the chance of singing - ‘All people that on earth do dwell’ to the old hundredth, and that’s a - chance that doesn’t often come to us in these degenerate days of flabby - modern hymns. All the women, moreover, will go away persuaded in their own - minds that the conventional wedding dress of modern days is ugly and that - the old-world dress of Mrs. Ralph Denmead is far more artistic.” - </p> - <p> - There was one thing, however, which baffled the Press. It described the - service with gusto, and gave the most elaborate details as to the dresses, - but it could not discover where the Bride and Bride-groom intended to - spend the honeymoon. It was reduced at length to the desperate expedient - of a good round lie, and said that they left <i>en route</i> for the - continent. - </p> - <p> - Ralph and Evereld, who had kept this detail entirely to themselves, - laughed contentedly as they read this fable in their snug little - sitting-room at Stratford-on-Avon. - </p> - <p> - “We knew a trick worth two of that,” said Ralph. “Fancy rushing off to the - Continent for a week! It never seemed to occur to anyone that Stratford - was the ideal place for an actor’s honeymoon. We are not going to leave - our Mecca entirely to the Yankees.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld hoped she thought enough of Shakspere as they wandered about the - quaint old place and enjoyed the bright spring weather in the lovely - country around. - </p> - <p> - “It was a delightful thought of yours to come here,” she said, “one likes - to have a beautiful background for the happiest time of one’s life. But - after all, darling, it’s very much in the background, we should really be - as happy in the black country.” - </p> - <p> - “Of course,” said Ralph laughing. “And there’ll be plenty of the black - country to come by and bye. You have no idea what dreary towns we have - sometimes to go to. Are you not afraid when you look forward to that sort - of thing?” - </p> - <p> - “Not a bit,” she said with a radiant face. “Don’t I know now what the song - means when it speaks of ‘The desert being a paradise’? That used to seem - such nonsense in the old days! But with you Ralph———” - </p> - <p> - She was interrupted. They had been walking beside the pollarded willows by - the river, Evereld’s hands were full of the early spring flowers, cowslips - and primroses and delicate white anemones which they had gathered in the - country. She looked up, for a daintily dressed little lady suddenly stood - before her, having deserted a camp-stool and easel though she still - retained palette and brushes in one hand. - </p> - <p> - “Miss Ewart!” she exclaimed with a faint touch of American intonation - which instantly recalled Evereld to Glion. “I am so delighted to meet you - again, and in this spot of all others, this sacred shrine which you lucky - English people possess, though we would give millions of dollars if we - could but transplant it right over the ocean!” - </p> - <p> - “How glad I am to see you!” said Evereld warmly. “I shall never forget - your kindness last September. May I introduce my husband to you? Mr. - Denmead, Miss Upton.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah,” said Miss Upton shaking hands with him, “I congratulate Mr. Denmead - very warmly. And to think that the third volume which you were to have - sent me in America should greet me here by the banks of the Avon! It is - delightful!” - </p> - <p> - “You have not gone back as soon as you expected,” said Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “Well, no. You see the storm at Glion somehow cleared the atmosphere and - many things were altered by it sooner or later,” said Miss Upton her - bright eyes twinkling with fun. “In fact, thanks to you, another romance - began there, and next year when Mr. Lewisham has taken his degree at - Oxford, why he’ll be coming over the ocean to New York, and we have an - idea of following the good example which you and Mr. Denmead have set us. - </p> - <p> - “How glad I am!” said Evereld. “That is charming. Some day we all four - ought to meet at Glion, for it is hard that I should have any disagreeable - associations left with that lovely little place. You ought to see it - Ralph.” - </p> - <p> - “Why not plan a meeting here on one of Shakspere’s birthday’s? We may - possibly be here for some of the performances in the Memorial theatre.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, that’s a better idea still,” agreed both Evereld and the American - girl. - </p> - <p> - And after walking back to the town together they parted on the best of - terms. - </p> - <p> - That evening a note and a little packet were brought to Evereld. They were - from Miss Upton. - </p> - <p> - “Just one line in great haste,” the letter ran, “we are off to Woodstock - to-night, being as they call us true Yankee rushers. You told me you were - not going to set up house yet awhile, but wherever you are I know you will - drink afternoon tea as you did in Switzerland. Stir your tea with these - Stratford Memorial spoons and drink to our next merry meeting in the - birthplace of the Swan of Avon. With all good wishes - </p> - <p> - “Yours cordially, - </p> - <p> - “Minnie K. Upton. - </p> - <p> - “I hope my romance will have as satisfactory an end to its third Volume as - yours.” - </p> - <p> - “What a jolly sort of girl she seems,” said Ralph as Evereld read him the - note, “but that postscript is all wrong, darling. We are not at the end of - things, we are only just at the beginning.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXII - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “Heart, are you great enough - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - For a love that never tires? - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - O heart, are you great enough for love? - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - I have heard of thorns and briers.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Tennyson. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n Easter Monday, - Ralph and Evereld joined the company at Liverpool. It was not without - misgivings that the little bride found herself suddenly launched into a - life of which she knew so little, and as they drove through the busy - streets from the station she had time to conjure up many fears. They were - all however fears lest she should fall short in some way, prove an - indifferent housekeeper, be unable to make friends with Ralph’s friends, - or find herself in other people’s way. But all anxiety was lost sight of - when they reached the little house in Seymour Street and found Macneillie - with his genial voice and fatherly manner waiting to receive them. He was - a man who, from his kindly considerateness and from a certain easy - friendliness of tone, quickly made new comers feel at home with him. - </p> - <p> - Perhaps he intuitively guessed that Evereld’s position would not be - without its difficulties, and he did his very utmost to smooth the way for - her. He at once allowed her to feel that she could be of use. - </p> - <p> - “I am glad you caught the early train from Stratford,” he said as they sat - down to a two o’clock dinner. “No, you must take the head of the table for - the future. I shall claim the privilege of an old man and sit at the side. - As for Ralph he is a very decent carver and we will leave the work to him. - The Brintons were in here just before you came, talking over the reception - which we give this afternoon.” - </p> - <p> - “A reception?” said Evereld shyly. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, in the Foyer. You have just come in the nick of time. I was wanting - help. Let me see, you were introduced to the Brintons I think at - Southbourne.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and to Mr. Carrington, and Miss Eva Carton.” - </p> - <p> - “They have both left us. Well, you will soon get to know us all.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld hoped she might do so, but she was utterly bewildered by the end - of the reception, where she had been introduced to most of the company and - to a number of residents and people of the neighbourhood. As to - recognising Ralph’s fellow artists when she saw them again in the evening - in stage attire, it was impossible. However they good-naturedly told her - they were quite used to being cut, and she found Ivy Grant a very pleasant - companion and had a good deal of talk with her between whiles. - </p> - <p> - Ivy had greatly improved since the days of the Scotch tour; trouble had - developed her in an extraordinary way; she had grown more gentle and - refined, and she still retained her old winsomeness and was a general - favourite. Thanks to Ralph’s straightforwardness that morning at Forres, - she had quickly awakened from her first dream of love, and was none the - worse for it. In fact, it had perhaps done her good, she would not lightly - lose her heart again, and her standard was certain to remain high. - Moreover she knew that Ralph would always be her friend, and she felt - curiously drawn to Evereld, who was quite ready to respond to her - advances. - </p> - <p> - There was something very fascinating to Evereld in the novelty and variety - of this new life; before many days had passed she began to feel quite as - if she belonged to the company. She sympathised keenly with the desire to - have good houses, listened with interest to all the discussions and - arrangements, and soon found herself on friendly terms with almost every - one. - </p> - <p> - “There is one man, though, that I can’t make out at all,” she remarked one - evening. “He always seems to disappear in such an odd way. I mean Mr. - Rawnleigh.” Macneillie and Ralph both laughed. - </p> - <p> - “You would be very clever indeed if you contrived to know anything about - him,” said the Manager. “He chooses to keep himself wrapped in a mystery. - There’s not a creature among us who can tell you anything about him. He’s - the cleverest low comedian I have ever had; but his habits are peculiar. - To my certain knowledge his whole personal wardrobe goes about the world - tied up in a spotted handkerchief. He has no make-up box but just carries - a stick of red rouge and powdered chalk screwed up in paper like tobacco - in his pocket. He puts it on with his finger and rubs it in with a bit of - brown paper. Nobody knows in any town where he lodges, but he is always - punctual at rehearsal, and if in an emergency he happens to be needed, you - can generally find him smoking peacefully in the nearest public-house. He - has never been heard to speak an unnecessary word, and in ordinary life - looks so like a death’s head that he goes by the name of ‘Old Mortality.’” - </p> - <p> - Evereld laughed at this curious description. - </p> - <p> - “He is the sort of man Charles Lamb might have written an essay about,” - she said. “Now let me see if I have grasped the rest of them. The retired - Naval Captain, Mr. Tempest, is the heavy man, isn’t he? Then there are - those two young Oxonians—they are Juveniles. And Ralph’s friend, Mr. - Mowbray, the briefless barrister, what is he?” - </p> - <p> - “He’s the Responsible man,” said Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Brinton, I know, is the old man. And Mr. Thornton, what do you call - him?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, he is the Utility man. Come you would stand a pretty good - examination.” - </p> - <p> - Those spring days were very happy both to Ralph and - Evereld, while Macneillie who had been anxious as to the little bride’s - comfort and well-being, began to feel entirely at rest on that score. - </p> - <p> - It cheered him not a little to have her bright face and thoughtful - housewifely ways making a home out of each temporary resting place. Her - great charm was her ready sympathy and a certain restfulness and quietness - of temperament very soothing to highly-strung artistic natures. When the - two men returned from the theatre, it was delightful to find her - comfortably ensconced with her needlework, ready to take keen interest in - hearing about everything, and always giving a pleasant welcome to any - visitor they might bring back with them. There was nothing fussy about - Evereld: she was the ideal wife for a man of Ralph’s eager Keltic - temperament. - </p> - <p> - During July the company dispersed and Ralph and Evereld went to stay with - the Magnays in London. It was not until the re-assembling in August that - the discomforts of the new life began to become a little more apparent. - Perhaps it was the intense heat of the weather, perhaps the contrast - between the lodgings in a particularly dirty manufacturing town and the - Magnays’ ideal home with all its art treasures, and its dainty half - foreign arrangement. Certainly Evereld’s heart sank a little when she - began to unpack. - </p> - <p> - Their bedroom faced the west and the burning sunshine seemed to steep the - little room in drowsy almost tropical heat. She felt sick and miserable. - Opening the dressing-table drawer she found that her predecessor had left - behind some most uninviting hair-curlers, and some greasepaint. Of course - to throw these away and re-line the drawer was easy enough; but by the - time she had done it and had arranged all their worldly goods and chattels - she felt tired out and was glad to lie down, though she did not dare to - scrutinise the blankets and could only try to find consolation in the - remembrance that the sheets at least were quite immaculate, and the pillow - her own. She was roused from a doze by Ralph’s entrance. - </p> - <p> - “Come and get a little air, darling,” he suggested. “This room is like an - oven. Oh! we have got such a fellow in Thornton’s place! the most - conceited puppy I ever set eyes on. What induced Macneillie to give him a - trial I can’t think, he is quite a novice and though rolling in gold, he - has never thought of offering a premium. I never saw a fellow with so much - side on. He ought to be kicked!” - </p> - <p> - “Who is he?” said Evereld laughing, as she put on her hat and prepared to - go out. - </p> - <p> - “He’s the younger son of an earl, I believe, and rejoices in the name of - Bertie Vane-Ffoulkes. He patronises the manager as if he were doing him a - great favour by joining his company, and he is already plaguing poor Ivy - with attentions that she would far rather be without.” - </p> - <p> - They went to the public garden hoping to find a seat in the shade where - they could watch the tennis, and here they came across Ivy and Miss Helen - Orme, who usually shared lodgings. In attendance on them walked a rather - handsome young man with a pink and white complexion and an air of - complacent self-esteem. Ivy catching sight of them hastened forward with - joyful alacrity though her <i>cavalière servente</i> was in the middle of - one of his most telling anecdotes. - </p> - <p> - “How delightful to meet you again!” she exclaimed taking both Evereld’s - hands in hers. “I have been longing to see you. Now, if that obnoxious Mr. - Vane-Ffoulkes will but take himself off there are so many things I want to - say to you.” - </p> - <p> - The Honorable Bertie, however, never thought himself in the way, he begged - Ralph to introduce him to Mrs. Denmead and kindly patronised them all for - the next hour, chatting in what he flattered himself was a very pleasant - and genial manner about himself, the new costumes he had specially ordered - from Abiram’s for his first appearance on the stage, the great success of - the private theatricals at his father’s place in Southshire when he had - acted with dear Lady Dunlop Tyars, and various anecdotes of high life - which he felt sure would interest “these theatrical people.” - </p> - <p> - At last to their relief he sauntered hack to his hotel. - </p> - <p> - “I wonder whether he really acts well?” said Evereld musingly. “He seems - to have a very high opinion of his own powers. I thought all the men’s - costumes were provided by the management.” - </p> - <p> - “So they are,” said Ralph with a smile, “But nothing worn by just a common - actor would do for him, I suppose. He must have the very best of - everything specially made for him by Abiram, and strike envy into the - hearts of all the rest of us.” - </p> - <p> - “We were so comfortable and friendly before he came,” said Ivy. “And now I - am sure everything will be different. He’s an odious, conceited, - empty-headed amateur, not in the least fit to be an actor. I wish he would - go back to his private theatricals in the country with his Duchesses, and - leave us in peace.” - </p> - <p> - “Poor fellow! perhaps he really means to work hard and improve,” said - Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “You are always charitable,” said Ivy. “As for me I believe we shall never - have a moment’s peace till Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes has gone.” - </p> - <p> - Her prophesy was curiously fulfilled, for it was wonderful how much - trouble and annoyance the wealthy amateur contrived to cause. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie bore with him with considerable patience, being determined that - in spite of his many peccadillos he should have a fair chance. He taught - him as much as it is possible to teach a very conceited mortal, gave him - many hints by which it is to be feared he profited little, and quietly - ignored his rudeness, sometimes enjoying a good laugh over it afterwards - when he described to Evereld what had taken place. - </p> - <p> - Evereld was one of those people who are always receiving confidences. It - was partly her very quietness which made people open their hearts to her. - They knew she would never talk and betray them, and there was something in - her face which inspired those who knew her to come and pour out all their - troubles, certain of meeting sympathy and that sort of womanly wisdom - which is better than any amount of mere cleverness. - </p> - <p> - Even Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes himself was driven at last by the growing - consciousness of his unpopularity to tell her of his difficulties. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know how it is, Mrs. Denmead,” he said one day, when they chanced - to be alone for a few minutes, “I am not gaining ground here. These stage - people are very hard to get on with.” - </p> - <p> - “But they are your fellow artists,” said Evereld lifting her clear eyes to - his, “why do you call them ‘these stage people’ as though they were a - different sort of race?” - </p> - <p> - “Well you know,” said the Honorable Bertie, “of course you know it’s not - quite—not exactly—the same thing. Your husband is of a good - family, I am quite aware of that, but many of the others, why, you know, - they are just nobodies.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld’s mouth twitched as she thought how Macneillie would have taken - off this characteristic little speech. - </p> - <p> - “But art knows nothing of rank,” she said gently. “Who cares about the - parentage of Raphael, or Dante, or David Garrick, or Paganini?” - </p> - <p> - The earl’s son looked somewhat blank. - </p> - <p> - “That’s all very well theoretically,” he said. “But in practice it’s - abominable. I believe there’s a conspiracy against me. They are jealous of - me and don’t mean to let me have a fair chance.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Mr. Macneillie is so just and fair to all, that could never be,” said - Evereld warmly. - </p> - <p> - “The manager is the worst of them,” said the Honorable Bertie, deep gloom - settling on his brow. “I hate his way at rehearsal of making a fool of one - before all the rest of the company.” - </p> - <p> - “But you can’t have a rehearsal all to yourself,” said Evereld laughing. - “You should hear what they say of other managers at rehearsal, who swear - and rave and storm at the actors.” - </p> - <p> - “I shouldn’t mind that half as much,” said Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes. “It’s just - that cool persistent patience, and that insufferable air of dignity he - puts on that I can’t stand. What right has Macneillie to authority and - dignity and all that sort of thing? Why I believe he’s only the son of a - highland crofter.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think you’ll find your ancestors any good in art life,” said - Evereld. “It is what you can do as an actor that matters, and as long as - you feel yourself a different sort of flesh and blood how can you expect - them to like you?” - </p> - <p> - The Honorable Bertie was not used to such straight talking but, to do him - justice, he took it in very good part, and always spoke of Mrs. Ralph - Denmead with respect, though he still cordially hated her husband. Ralph - unfortunately occupied the exact position which he desired, he always - coveted the Juvenile Lead, and Macneillie cruelly refused to give him - anything but the smallest and most insignificant parts until he improved. - </p> - <p> - “How can I make anything out of such a character as this?” he grumbled, - “Why I have only a dozen sentences in the whole play.” - </p> - <p> - “You can make it precisely what the author intended it to be,” said the - Manager. “It is the greatest mistake in the world to judge a part by its - length. You might make much of that character if only you would take the - trouble. But it’s always the way, no heart is put into the work unless the - part is a showy one; you go through it each night like a stick.” - </p> - <p> - There was yet another reason why Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes disliked Ralph. In the - dulness and disappointment of his theatrical tour he solaced himself by - falling in love with Ivy Grant: and Ivy would have nothing to say to him, - refused his presents, and took refuge as much as possible with Ralph and - Evereld, who quite understanding the state of the case did all they could - for her. - </p> - <p> - The more she avoided him, however, the more irrepressible he became, until - at last she quite dreaded meeting him, and had it not been for the - friendship of the Denmeads and Helen Orme she would have fared ill. - </p> - <p> - It was naturally impossible for the Honorable Bertie to confide to Evereld - how cordially he detested her husband; he turned instead to Myra Brinton, - who being at that time in a somewhat uncomfortable frame of mind was far - from proving a wise counsellor. Though in the main a really good woman, - Myra had a somewhat curious code of honour, and she was not without a - considerable share of that worst of failings, jealousy. If any one had - told her in Scotland that she should ever live to become jealous of little - Ivy Grant, she would not have believed it possible. But latterly Ivy had - several times crossed her path. She was making rapid strides in the - profession, and was invariably popular with her audience. This however was - less trying to Myra than the perception that a real friendship was - springing up between Ivy and young Mrs. Denmead, who, it might have been - expected would have more naturally turned to her. She did not realise that - to the young bride there seemed a vast chasm of years between them, that a - woman of seven and twenty seemed far removed from her ways of looking at - everything, and that Evereld dreaded her criticism and turned to Ivy as - the more companionable of the two. - </p> - <p> - Deep down in her heart, moreover, poor Myra could not help contrasting her - own lot with that of Ralph Denmead’s wife. The little bride was so - unfeignedly happy and had such good cause for perfect trust and confidence - in her husband that Myra sometimes felt bitterly towards her. Not that Tom - Brinton was a bad fellow, there was much about him that was likeable; but - the lover of her dreams had ceased to exist, she had settled down into - married life that was perhaps as happy as the average but that - nevertheless left much to be desired. Her husband would never have dreamt - of ill-treating her, indeed in his way he was fond of her still. But it - has been well said that unless we are deliberately kind to everyone, we - shall often be unconsciously cruel, and it was for lack of this kindly - tenderness that Myra’s life was becoming more and more difficult. She used - to watch Ralph’s unfailing care and thoughtful considerateness for Evereld - with an envy that ate into her very heart. She was jealous moreover with a - jealousy that only a woman can understand of the hope of motherhood which - began to dawn for Evereld. It seemed to her that everything a woman covets - was given to this young wife, who had known so little of the hardness of - life, the fierce struggle for success, which had made her own lot so - different. And as time went on a sort of morbid sentimentality crept into - her admiration for Ralph, and she found herself beginning to hate the - sight of Evereld in a way which would have horrified her had she made time - to think out the whole state of things. It was at this time that Mr. - Vane-Ffoulkes turned to her for advice. He could not by any possibility - have chosen a worse confidante. - </p> - <p> - “Why is little Miss Grant always running after the Denmeads?” he - complained. “I can never get two words with her. If it’s not the wife she - is with, then it’s the husband. I can’t think what she sees in that boy, - but whenever he’s in the theatre she’s always talking to him.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, she is very unguarded,” said Myra with a sigh. “Of course he has - known her since she was a child, and he was very good in helping her on - when we were in Theophilus Skoot’s company. But she ought to be more - careful, for there is no doubt that she was very much in love with him in - the old days. You would be doing a good deed if you separated them a - little.” She had not in the least intended to say anything of this sort, - the words seemed put into her mouth, and somehow when once they were said - she vehemently assured herself that she fully believed them. Not only so - but she determined to act up to her belief. - </p> - <p> - “I never saw any one so fascinating,” said the Honorable Bertie, who was - very badly hit indeed. “She’s a regular little witch. I assure you, Mrs. - Brinton, I would marry her to-morrow if I were only lucky enough to have - the chance. But she hasn’t a word to throw at me, and if she is not with - the Denmeads, why she will stick like a leech to Miss Orme, and how is a - man to make love to a girl when that’s the way she treats him? I wonder - whether she still cares for that fellow Denmead? If so, couldn’t you give - his wife a hint, then perhaps she would not have so much to do with her - and I might possibly stand a chance of getting a hearing.” - </p> - <p> - “Well,” said Myra, rather startled by this suggestion. “I could do that if - you like, but of course, it would lead to a quarrel between them.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, never mind what it leads to,” said Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes. “It will at - least give me a fair chance with her. Isn’t it hard, Mrs. Brinton, that - when a fellow doesn’t care a straw the girls are all dying for love of - him, and when at last he does care why the fates ordain that he shall fall - in love with a girl who—well—who doesn’t care a straw for - him.” - </p> - <p> - Myra could have found it in her heart to laugh at this lame ending, and at - the sudden reversal of fortune which had so greatly depressed the earl’s - son, but after all there was something genuine about the poor fellow that - touched her: for the time Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes really was very much in love - with Ivy. It was the sort of passion that might possibly exist for about - six months, it might even prove to be a “hardy annual,” but it was - certainly not a passion of the perennial sort. - </p> - <p> - She promised that she would do her best for him. - </p> - <p> - “If he is an empty-headed fellow,” she reflected, “he is at least rich and - well-connected. It would be a remarkably good marriage for Ivy Grant, and - I will do what I can to further it.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXIII - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “When ye sit by the fire yourselves to warm, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Take care that your tongues do your neighbours no - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - harm.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Old Chimney-piece Motto. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>hristmas had - passed and they were engaged for a fortnight at Mardentown, one of the - large manufacturing places. It was on a frosty clear morning early in the - new year that Myra set out from her rather comfortless lodgings to call on - Evereld. There was no rehearsal that day and she happened to know that - both Macneillie and Ralph were out, so that the coast would be clear for - her operations. - </p> - <p> - “I shall be doing a kindness to her as well as to Ivy and Mr. - Vane-Ffoulkes,” she reflected. “She is so very innocent, it is high time - she understood a little more of the ways of the world.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld was sitting by the fire in a cheerful-looking room into which the - wintry sun shone brightly; flowers were on the table, Christmas cards - daintily arranged were on the mantelpiece; there was a homelike air about - the place which Myra at once noted, and she looked with a pang at the - little garment at which the young wife was working when she entered. - </p> - <p> - “My husband told me Mr. Macneillie was at the theatre so I came in to have - a chat with you,” she said kissing her affectionately. “You are looking - pale this morning, dear, this wandering life is getting too hard for you.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I am very well,” said Evereld brightly, “and as to the travelling I - shall not have much more of that for at the beginning of February I have - promised to go and stay with Mrs. Hereford in London. They all say it is - right, so I mustn’t grumble, but I do so hate leaving Ralph.” - </p> - <p> - “He can come to you for the Sundays,” said Myra. “Where has he gone to - this morning?” - </p> - <p> - “He and Mr. Mowbray have hired bicycles and have gone over to Brookfield - Castle. They will have a beautiful ride for it is so still and the roads - will be nice and dry. Ivy wanted to go too, but she couldn’t manage to get - a bicycle, they were all engaged.” - </p> - <p> - “Well it sounds unkind,” said Myra. “But I am not sorry that she was - forced to stay behind. Ivy is getting too careless of appearances.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you really disapprove of bicycling for women?” asked Evereld. “One has - hardly had time to get used to it, but it seems such capital exercise, and - no one could look more graceful in cycling than Ivy does.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I don’t mean that, dear,” said Myra colouring a little. “I really - hardly know how to explain things to you, for you seem so young and - confiding, and so ready to trust everyone. But you see Ivy rather runs - after your husband. Of course she always was a born flirt, I don’t think - she can help it. But people are beginning to notice it and to talk, they - are indeed.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder any one can be so foolish as to think such things,” said Evereld - with a little air of matronly dignity which became her very well. “Every - one belonging to the company must surely understand that Ivy is so much - with us because she is being actually persecuted by that provoking Mr. - Vane-Ffoulkes.” - </p> - <p> - “Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes is not so bad as people make out, he may be vain and - conceited I quite admit, but he really is in love with Ivy and she is very - foolish to run away from him on every possible occasion. It would be a - capital marriage for her. Why, if the present heir were to die, Mr. - Vane-Ffoulkes comes into the title, Ivy forgets that.” - </p> - <p> - “She positively dislikes him,” said Evereld. “You surely wouldn’t wish her - to marry such a man as that just for his position?” - </p> - <p> - “No, but I think she might be a little more civil to him and at least give - him a hearing. And quite apart from that I really think, dear, you are - ill-advised in having her so much here.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld’s clear blue eyes looked questioningly and in a puzzled fashion at - her visitor. - </p> - <p> - “But we like her and she likes us. Why shouldn’t she come?” - </p> - <p> - “Because it would be much wiser for her not to come,” said Myra. “I know - her past, and you do not. If you are wise you will not have Ivy for your - intimate friend.” - </p> - <p> - A troubled look began to steal over Evereld’s face, she was not well, and - was very ill-fitted just then to take a calm dispassionate view of - anything. Myra’s words and hints agitated her all the more because she - only half understood them. Vaguely she felt that a shadow was creeping - over her cloudless sky. She shivered a little and drew closer to the fire. - </p> - <p> - “Please tell me just what you mean,” she said rather piteously. “I know of - nothing against Ivy, and she has been Ralph’s friend for a long time, so - naturally I like her.” - </p> - <p> - “Naturally!” exclaimed Myra, whose jealous nature found it hard to credit - such a statement. “That only shows how innocent you are, how little you - understand the world. Why to my certain knowledge that girl is in love - with your husband.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld’s eyes dilated, she stared at the speaker for a moment in mute - consternation. Then suddenly she began to laugh but not quite naturally, - her tears were at no great distance. - </p> - <p> - “How ridiculous!” she said. “I wonder you can say such a thing to me. Ivy! - who has been quite foolishly fond of me! Oh, indeed you are mistaken!” - </p> - <p> - “The mistake is yours!” said Myra, “Ivy is a very coaxing little thing and - would of course find it most convenient to have your friendship. She is - clever and managing, and always contrives to get her own way, and then of - course she is a born actress. I have no doubt she was delighted to vow an - eternal friendship with you. It’s just what would suit her best.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld’s heart sank, she seemed to be suddenly plunged into an entirely - new region, where doubt and suspicion and jealousy and evil intention made - the whole atmosphere dark and oppressive. Not since her difficulties at - Glion had she felt so miserable and so utterly perplexed. - </p> - <p> - “You see, dear,” said Myra, “I knew them both in the days of the Scotch - tour, and from the first understood how things were. I daresay your - husband hasn’t told you about it, men forget these things, but there is no - doubt whatever that Ivy was in love with him. I saw it then clearly - enough, and I see it now. Be persuaded by me, and for your own sake and - for her good don’t have her much with you. I am older than you, and I know - the harm that a fascinating little witch like Ivy can work. Of course I - say all this to you in confidence, but I thought it was only kind to give - you a hint. You have not been to the theatre just lately.” - </p> - <p> - “No, I am rather tired of this play,” said Evereld. “I am glad we are to - have a Shaksperian week at Bath.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, ‘legitimate’ is rather refreshing, isn’t it?” said Myra. “But the - dresses are a bother. I have to devise something new for Portia in the - casket scene, for the old one was ruined the last time I wore it. There - were six of us dressing in one room, and there was hardly space to turn - round; the train is all over grease-paint. The men are lucky in having - their costumes provided by the management. Well, good bye, dear, take care - of yourself. And be sure to let me know if there is anything I can do for - you.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld thanked her rather faintly and was not sorry to find herself alone - once more. She felt giddy as she tried to recall exactly what Myra had - said and hinted. Could it possibly be true? And if so what was she to do? - That there was a vein of silliness in Ivy she had long ago discovered; now - and then she said things which jarred a little on her, but the more she - had seen of her the more she had learnt to like her, and her perfectly - open and rational friendship for Ralph had always seemed to her most - natural. Was it true that all the time Ivy had been acting? Myra’s - arguments returned to her with a force which she vainly tried to struggle - against. Had she been able to go out in the sunshine for a brisk walk - probably she would have taken a more quiet view of the state of affairs, - but she was not well enough for that, and the more she brooded over it all - the more miserable she became. - </p> - <p> - Just when her visions were at the darkest the bell rang and the little - servant ushered in Ivy herself. - </p> - <p> - “What luck to find you alone,” said the girl brightly, “I was afraid Mr. - Macneillie would perhaps be in. I’m in the worst of tempers, for on this - perfect day there wasn’t a lady’s bicycle to be had, and there are those - two lucky men enjoying themselves while I am left in this smoky town.” - </p> - <p> - “I was sorry to hear you had been disappointed,” said Evereld, going on - with her work. But somehow as she said the words she knew that she was not - so sorry as she had at first been. Things had changed since Myra’s visit. - She even fancied a difference in Ivy. Was there something more than - cleverness in that winsome face? Was there a certain craftiness in those - ever-changing eyes? She began to think there was, and being a bad hand at - concealing her thoughts, her manner became constrained and she was - extremely unresponsive to the flood of bright talk which Ivy poured out. - </p> - <p> - “Something is worrying you,” said the girl at last growing conscious of - the curious difference in her friend’s manner. “‘Don’t worry! Try - Sunlight!’ as the soap advertisement tells you. Come out with me for a - turn before dinner. Walking is the sovereign remedy for all ills. We used - to try it in Scotland when we were half starving.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld hated herself for it, but she was so overwrought and miserable - that even the use of that word “we” grated upon her. She declined the - invitation, and her manner grew more and more cold and repellent. - </p> - <p> - Ivy was puzzled and hurt. - </p> - <p> - “Have you been alone all the morning?” she said, wondering if perhaps that - accounted for her friend’s manner. - </p> - <p> - “No, I have had a call from Mrs. Brinton,” said Evereld colouring a - little. - </p> - <p> - “Of all perplexing people she is the most perplexing,” said Ivy. “One day - I like her, the next she is perfectly detestable. What did she talk - about?” - </p> - <p> - Evereld faltered a little. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, of various things,” she said blushing. “She is getting ready a new - dress for the Casket scene.” - </p> - <p> - “By the bye,” said Ivy springing up, “that reminds me that I must ask her - for the pattern of a sleeve I want for Jessica. I know she has it.” - </p> - <p> - And with friendly farewells which Evereld could not find it in her heart - to respond to at all cordially she took her departure. - </p> - <p> - No sooner was she out of the house than Evereld’s conscience began to - prick her. She had felt very unkindly towards Ivy, and the wistful look of - surprise and bewilderment which she had seen on the girl’s face as she - uttered her cold farewells kept returning to her. What if Ivy went now to - see Myra and learnt that they had been talking her over? What if after all - this story of Myra’s was quite mistaken, or possibly one of those half - truths that are almost worse and more damaging than utter falsehoods? - </p> - <p> - Shame and regret and self-reproach began to struggle with the wretched - suspicions that had been sown in her heart by Myra’s words, and her long - repressed tears broke forth at last,—she sobbed as if her heart - would break. - </p> - <p> - “How miserably I have failed,” she thought to herself. “How ready I was to - think evil, and to jump to the very worst conclusions. It would be likely - enough that she should have cared for Ralph who was so kind to her when - she was a child—I should only love her all the more if she had loved - him. Why must I fancy at the first hint that there is sin in her - friendship for him now? I won’t believe it—I won’t—I won’t.” - </p> - <p> - She took up her work again and tried to sew, but her tears blinded her, - for she remembered how much harm might already have been done by her angry - resentment and her ready suspicions. Ever since the hope of motherhood had - come to her she had tried her very utmost to rule her thoughts, to dwell - only on what was beautiful and of good report, to read only what was - healthy and ennobling, to see beautiful scenery whenever there was an - opportunity, and in every way to try harder than usual to live up to her - ideal; she knew that in this way the character of the next generation - might be sensibly affected. - </p> - <p> - Well, she had failed just when failure was most bitter to her, and being - now thoroughly upset she had to struggle with all sorts of nervous terrors - and anxieties and forebodings, in which her only resource was to repeat to - herself the words of the Ewart motto “Avaunt Fear!” which had stood her in - good stead during her flight from Sir Matthew. - </p> - <p> - It was the sound of the servant’s step on the stairs and the ominous - rattle of the dinner things which finally checked her tears; she was not - going to be caught crying, and hastily beat a retreat into her bedroom. - </p> - <p> - “If they see me like this they will imagine Ralph is unkind to me!” she - thought, shocked at her own reflection in the looking-glass. “Oh dear, how - I wish he were at home! And yet I don’t, for if he were here just now I - know I couldn’t resist telling him everything, and that would worry him; - and he shall not be worried just now when he is so specially busy studying - ‘Hamlet.’” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie returning from the theatre soon after, could not but observe at - their <i>tête à tête</i> dinner that his companion had been crying, but - like the sensible man he was he affected utter blindness and did the - lion’s share of the talking. - </p> - <p> - “Can you spare me a little time this afternoon,” he said as he rose from - the table. “I want to drive over to a village about three miles from here, - the day is so bright I don’t think you would take cold.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld gladly assented, and Macneillie, who as an old traveller was an - adept at making people comfortable with rugs and cushions, tucked her - comfortably into the best open carriage he had been able to secure and was - glad to see that the fresh air soon brought back the colour to her face - and the light to her eyes. - </p> - <p> - “You and I have both had a dull morning. I have been bored to death with - people incessantly wanting to speak to me, and you I suppose have been - bored by being too much alone.” - </p> - <p> - “No,” she said, “I have not been much alone; Mrs. Brinton came to me - first, and after she had gone Ivy came. They both of them vexed me - somehow, but I think it was my own fault.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie meditated for a few minutes. He had not studied character all - these years for nothing, and Evereld’s transparent honesty and - straightforwardness made her easy reading. Myra he had known for a long - time both before her engagement and since her marriage; she was a much - more complex character, but he understood her thoroughly and had noted, - though she little guessed it, that she was jealous both of Evereld’s - happiness and of Ivy’s success in her profession: moreover he was not - without a shrewd suspicion that she was just a little bit in love with - Ralph herself. - </p> - <p> - “Life is never altogether easy when a great number of people are going - about the world together,” he said. “There are sure to be little rubs. If - you have ever seen anything of military life you will understand that. The - officers’ wives and families are pretty sure to have their quarrels and - little differences now and then, but in the main there is a certain - loyalty that binds them together. It is just the same with us. I have - known people not on speaking terms for weeks, but they generally have a - good-natured reconciliation before the end of the tour.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Evereld, “I can quite fancy that. And I know if I hadn’t been - horrid and suspicious things would have been different this morning. - Please don’t say anything about it to Ralph, I don’t want him to know that - I had been crying.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie could not resist teasing her a little. - </p> - <p> - “What! I thought you were a model husband and wife, and had no secrets - from each other! And here you are pledging me to silence!” - </p> - <p> - She laughed at his comical expression, and felt much better for laughing. - </p> - <p> - “We do tell each other everything as a rule, but this could only vex him - and make things uncomfortable all round, and just now he is studying so - very hard for his first attempt at Hamlet. I really believe he is more - Hamlet than himself; he seems to think of him all day long and even in his - sleep he has taken to muttering bits of his part. It’s quite uncanny to - hear him in the dead of night!” - </p> - <p> - She was quite her cheerful self again and nothing more was said as to what - had passed that morning. Macneillie however turned things over in his mind - and that evening at the theatre he reaped the harvest of a quiet eye, and - began to understand the precise state of affairs. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXIV - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “O for a heart from self set free - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - And doubt and fret and care, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Light as a bird, instinct with glee, - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - That fans the breezy air. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “O for a mind whose virtue moulds - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - All sensuous fair display, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And, like a strong commander, holds - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - A world of thoughts in sway!” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Professor Blackie - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hat has happened - to Evereld?” said Ivy that morning, as Myra graciously cut out for her a - second pattern of the sleeve which she wanted. “I have been to see her and - it was like hurling words at a stone wall. I couldn’t have imagined that - she would ever be like that.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, you have just been in there,” said Myra reflectively. “I am sorry you - went to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “What has come over her?” said Ivy. “She seemed almost to dislike me.” - </p> - <p> - “I think she was a little upset by something she had heard,” said Myra, - handing the pattern to her visitor. - </p> - <p> - “What can she have heard that should make her different to me?” said Ivy - hotly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, my dear,” said Myra with a swift glance at her, “you know people - are beginning to say that you run after Mr. Denmead, and I daresay she - knows that you cared for him when we were in Scotland. Though very - innocent she can hardly help putting two and two together, and it is but - natural that she should resent your making friends with her for the sake - of being able to go about constantly with her husband. You made a mistake - in professing such a very violent friendship for her.” - </p> - <p> - “It is all a horrible lie,” cried Ivy, crimson with anger and distress. - “No wonder she hates me if she believes me to be such a hypocrite as that! - I was her friend—but I never will be again, no, nor Ralph’s either. - Oh! they will discuss it all and talk me over! and I believe it’s your - doing. You told her this lie. How I hate you! how I hate you!” - </p> - <p> - Like a little fury she flung into the fire the pattern which Myra had just - cut out for her, and was gone before her companion could get in a single - word. - </p> - <p> - Down the street she sped, looking prettier than ever because her eyes were - still bright with indignation and her cheeks aglow at the recollection of - what had passed. As ill luck would have it, just as she reached the quiet - road in which she was lodging with Helen Orme, she came suddenly face to - face with Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes. - </p> - <p> - “I had been to inquire if you were in, and to try and persuade you to come - and skate this afternoon,” he said eagerly. “The ice in the park will bear - they say. Do come.” - </p> - <p> - “But I never skated in my life,” said Ivy. - </p> - <p> - “I’ll teach you, I am sure you would learn in a very little while, and it - is just the sort of thing you would do to perfection.” - </p> - <p> - As he spoke a sudden thought darted into Ivy’s mind. Here was a man who - for some time had seriously annoyed her by persistent attentions which she - did not want. She would now change her tactics, would carry on a desperate - flirtation with him, and show these detestable gossips that they were - quite in the wrong. As for the Denmeads she would avoid them as much as - possible, and to Myra she would not vouchsafe a single word, no—not - though they shared dressing-rooms! - </p> - <p> - All this passed through her mind while Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes was assuring her - that she would skate like one to the manner born. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t think I can go,” she said hesitatingly. “For one thing I have no - skates, and then——” - </p> - <p> - “I will manage the skates if only you will just come and try,” he said - persuasively, and after a little more discussion Ivy consented, and the - Honorable Bertie in the seventh heaven of happiness hurried away into the - High Street, there to procure the most dainty little pair of skates that - the place could supply, while Ivy, forgetting her anger in the - satisfaction of her new scheme, ran in to make a hasty meal, and to put on - the prettiest walking-dress and hat she possessed. - </p> - <p> - Late in the afternoon, Ralph and George Mowbray bicycling back from - Brookfield Castle dismounted for a few minutes to watch the skaters in the - park, and to speculate as to the chances of the ice for the next day. - </p> - <p> - “Hullo!” exclaimed Ralph, suddenly perceiving a graceful little figure - skimming past under the guidance of a tall fair-haired man, “Why there’s - Ivy Grant pioneered by the Honorable Bertie! Wonders will never cease.” - </p> - <p> - “So she has caved in at last,” said George Mowbray with a laugh, “having - snubbed him all these months I thought she would have contrived to send - him about his business. How cock-a-hoop he does look!” - </p> - <p> - It was quite patent to every one after this that Ivy’s objections to Mr. - Vane-Ffoulkes were a thing of the past. She accepted every votive offering - he brought her, skated with him at every available opportunity, and - listened in the most flattering way to his extremely vapid talk. For each - inch she granted him he was ready enough to seize an ell, and Macneillie - who had no confidence at all in the character of his wealthy amateur, soon - saw that things must be promptly checked. - </p> - <p> - “My dear,” he said one day to Evereld when their stay at Marden-town was - drawing to a close. “I wish you would somehow contrive to give Ivy Grant a - hint; she is going on very foolishly with Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes, and it is - quite impossible that she can really have any regard for him.” - </p> - <p> - “I can’t manage to get hold of her,” said Evereld sighing. “She won’t come - here and see me, but always makes some excuse.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I shall get rid of Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes then,” said Macneillie. “He - has been an insufferable nuisance ever since he came. Would you believe it—he - actually had the presumption to grumble because Ralph was to play Hamlet! - I believe he seriously thinks he would do it much better himself! The - conceit of that fellow beats everything I ever knew. You should have seen - his face when he found that he was cast for Rosencrantz! It was a - picture!” - </p> - <p> - “I never can understand why you yourself don’t play Hamlet,” said Evereld. - “You would do it splendidly.” - </p> - <p> - “Ralph understands,” said Macneillie a shade crossing his face. “He will - tell you why it is.” - </p> - <p> - There was silence for some minutes. Then, as though shaking himself free - from thoughts he did not wish to dwell upon, Macneillie began to pace the - room and to consider how best to rid the company of the undesirable - presence of the Honorable Bertie. - </p> - <p> - “I have it!” he exclaimed,—suddenly bursting into a fit of laughter. - “Great Scott! That will be the very thing!” he rubbed his hands with keen - satisfaction, chuckling to himself in high glee over the thought of the - fun he anticipated. “Come to the theatre to-night, my dear, and I will - treat you to a new transformation scene which, if I’m not mistaken, will - bring down the house. But mind, not a word of it to any one beforehand.” - </p> - <p> - It was not only his fellow actors who objected to the Honorable Bertie, he - was detested by the stage carpenters and scene shifters, not so much - because of his conceit as because he had an objectionable habit of being - always in the way. For the past week they had been giving a play in which - he took the part of a dragoon guard and though the insignificance of the - character chafed him sorely, he found some consolation in the knowledge - that in uniform he presented a really splendid appearance. - </p> - <p> - Now it chanced that there was a property chair used in this play of - remarkably comfortable proportions, and the Honorable Bertie being long - and lazy invariably lounged at his ease in this chair between the acts, - for he had no change of dress and no opportunity of amusing himself with - Ivy just in the intervals because she happened to have rather elaborate - changes. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie, who was his own Stage Manager, had for some time observed the - cool disregard shown by the amateur of the peremptory call of “Clear!” on - the part of his Assistant stage manager. Deaf to the order Mr. - Vane-Ffoulkes invariably took his ease in the big chair, lazily watching - the busy workers with an air of irritating superiority. - </p> - <p> - “I think I shall cure him of this little habit,” reflected Macneillie with - a smile, and seizing a moment when his victim was the only person visible - on the stage he suddenly rang up the curtain. - </p> - <p> - A roar of laughter rose from the audience, for there in full view sat the - Honorable Bertie with his legs dangling in unconventional comfort over the - arm of the chair. - </p> - <p> - He sprang to his feet in horror, dashed to the practicable door at the - back of the stage deeming it his nearest escape, forgot that he still wore - his guard’s helmet, crashed it violently against the lintel, and by the - time he had staggered back, and with lowered crest disappeared behind the - scenes, left the house in convulsions of merriment. - </p> - <p> - The curtain descended again, and the Honorable Bertie choking with rage - contemplated his battered helmet with a fiery face, and vowed vengeance on - Macneillie, but had not the sense to join in the laughter which even Ivy - could not suppress, do what she would. The sight of her mirth put the last - touch to his wrath, and at the close of the performance he had an angry - interview with the manager who, as he furiously declared, had made him - ridiculous before the whole house. - </p> - <p> - “The curtain was rung up too early,” admitted Macneillie. “But the order - had been given to clear the stage; you persistently disregard that order - every night and must take the consequences.” - </p> - <p> - “I will not stay another day in your d——d company,” said the - Honorable Bertie, fuming. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie bowed in acquiescence; gravely assured the Earl’s son that a - cheque for the amount of his weekly salary should be sent the next day to - his hotel, and bade him good evening. Perhaps Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes did not - quite like to be so promptly taken at his own word, perhaps the quiet - dignity of Macneillie’s manner was too much for him; the threats and - denunciations he longed to pour forth somehow stuck in his throat, and - with a muttered oath he took his departure, leaving Macneillie well - satisfied with the result of his stratagem. - </p> - <p> - Three days after, the company moved on to Gloucester, Ivy however had made - the Business Manager put her in a different railway carriage from the - Denmeads with whom she usually travelled, and Evereld could only contrive - to exchange a few words with her at the station. - </p> - <p> - The following week when they went to Bath matters seemed rather more - favourable. Ralph who had a great liking for the old theatre there with - its many memories, declared that it was the most interesting theatre in - England, and Evereld, partly for the sake of seeing it, partly with the - hope of patching up the quarrel, went with him on the Monday morning to - rehearsal. - </p> - <p> - The play was “The Merchant of Venice” and fortune favoured her, for Ivy - had not a great deal to do, and quickly yielded to the gentle kindly - manner of Ralph’s wife. Together they laughed over Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes’ - discomfiture, and agreed that it was a great relief to be well quit of - him; then, as the rehearsal bid fair to be a lengthy one, Ivy ran out to - buy Bath buns at Fort’s and handed them impartially to all present - including Myra, and Evereld began to think that things would soon come - straight once more. - </p> - <p> - “Do come in to tea with me to-day,” she begged. “I shall be alone for - hours for they mean to go through some of Hamlet this afternoon for - Ralph’s sake, and I shall be going to London next week you know for some - time.” - </p> - <p> - It was difficult to resist the friendly look in her eyes, and Ivy - consented to come, arriving soon after four at the rooms in Kingsmead - Terrace in a somewhat silent mood. However tea and a good laugh over the - vagaries of Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes soon thawed her. - </p> - <p> - “I only wish I had never flirted with him,” she said regretfully. “All the - time I hated and despised him.” - </p> - <p> - “What made you do it then?” said Evereld. - </p> - <p> - Ivy crimsoned. - </p> - <p> - “It was Myra’s fault. I believe she was in league with him. When I found - that she had told you such a lie about me, I thought I would show everyone - how false it was.” - </p> - <p> - “But I knew it to be false almost directly,” said Evereld. “It was only - for an hour or so, before there had been time to think things over that I - believed it, dear. Indeed if I had been well and strong I don’t think I - should have believed it for a moment.” - </p> - <p> - To her surprise Ivy suddenly broke down and began to sob. - </p> - <p> - “Oh,” she said, “I am so dreadfully alone in the world! I don’t think I - can do without you two.” - </p> - <p> - “Why should you do without us?” said Evereld. “I hope you are not going to - punish me any more for having been cold and repellent the other day? Ralph - and I shall always want you to be our friend.” - </p> - <p> - “But how can I be your friend when all these days you have been discussing - me?” - </p> - <p> - “We haven’t discussed you. Ralph has never heard one word of what Myra - said. The only thing he did say was that he thought you did not realise - the sort of man Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes really was, or you would be more - careful. Of course he can’t help knowing, too, that you have quarrelled - with Myra, because you don’t speak to her.” - </p> - <p> - “I am going to tell you just the whole truth,” said Ivy, drying her eyes - and looking straight up at Evereld with an air of resolute courage that - made her winsome little face actually beautiful. “I did love Ralph once. - At first he was just a sort of hero to me, but in Scotland when we were - all so miserable and he was always trying to help me, then I began to love - him; and when the Skoots disappeared and left us stranded at Forres I - couldn’t bear to be parted from him and let him see that I cared. I knew - he understood; for he showed me that it would not do for us to stay - together when the company dispersed, and he told me how he cared for you, - not of course saying your name, but I knew he meant you. At first it made - me angry and miserable, but I liked him so for being true, and for - speaking straightforwardly as very few men do to women; and always he made - me feel that he respected me and liked and trusted me. When later on the - Brintons told me he was engaged to you I was able to be glad of it—I - was indeed; and when Myra told me the other day that you believed such a - lie about me, and I guessed at once it was all her doing—why it - seemed as if she had trodden under foot the very best part of me, and - afterwards I didn’t much care what I did. I think I could almost have - married Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes.” - </p> - <p> - “That would have been an awful fate,” said Evereld with a shudder, as she - realised how much harm her ready suspicions had done. “Ivy dear, you must - promise me never to let anyone come between us again. Ralph and I are - always your friends—do believe that once for all, or I shall never - feel at rest about you.” - </p> - <p> - They kissed each other warmly and the misunderstanding was quite at an - end, leaving them much closer friends than they had been before. To set - things straight with Myra Brinton would probably not prove so easy, but - Evereld was very anxious to effect a reconciliation before she went to - London. - </p> - <p> - Partly with a view to this, and partly because she had not yet seen the - “Merchant of Venice” she got Ralph to take her that night behind the - scenes. - </p> - <p> - Unlike so many of the modern theatres the old theatre at Bath in which - Mrs. Siddons had often acted in former days could boast a comfortable - green room, and here, she and Ralph and Helen Orme did their best to draw - Ivy and Myra Brinton into more pleasant relations. - </p> - <p> - Ivy might have been persuaded to relent, but Myra withdrew into a shell of - cold reserve which made Ralph think of the days when he had first known - her at Dumfries. She looked on with chilling surprise and disapproval - while Evereld chatted in a friendly fashion with Ivy, and quite refused to - join in the general conversation. While all the rest were pinning each - other’s draperies she stood by the fireplace busily occupied with her - powder-puff, apparently quite self-engrossed, but in reality noting with - jealous pangs the easy good fellowship of her fellow artists and the - expression of Ralph’s face as he talked with Evereld and Ivy. She made up - her mind to hold entirely aloof and show how she despised them all, and it - proved quite impossible to make any way with her. - </p> - <p> - Evereld made one last effort in the interval after the third act when - Myra, looking extremely handsome in her lawyer’s cap and gown came into - the green room ready for the Trial scene, and Ivy, in good spirits after - receiving much applause for her sprightly rendering of Jessica’s part, was - quite disposed to break the silence which had now lasted so long between - them. But as it takes two to make a quarrel it also takes two to make an - atonement, and Mrs. Brinton calmly turned her back upon the girl and - sailed across the room to the inevitable powder-box. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t care,” said Ivy under her breath as she shrugged her shoulders - and left the room. “If it pleases her to go about with a black dog on her - back, let her! Now you are going to stand at the wings, Evereld, and enjoy - the Trial scene; you will have a capital view of it just from here. As for - me, I shall run up and change for my moonlight scene. <i>Au revoir!</i>” - </p> - <p> - She felt in a mischievous mood, resenting Myra’s absurd behaviour, and yet - too much pleased by her good reception and by the satisfaction of being on - comfortable terms with Ralph and Evereld again to be exactly angry. - </p> - <p> - “I will dress quickly and run down before Myra comes up for her next - change,” she reflected. “It is just hateful sharing a dressing-room with - anyone when you are not on speaking terms. I wish Mr. Macneillie would - have let her have the ‘Star’ room, but he always will keep the one nearest - the stage for himself whether it is good or bad. Bother! there’s not room - to swing a cat in this place! I wish they would give us more decent - rooms.” Jessica’s dress required a great deal of pinning and draping. It - was by no means easy to dispose of the long trailing fold of light Liberty - silk, and Ivy was in an impatient mood. Suddenly as she tossed the end of - a bit of light gauze drapery over her shoulder it caught by some mischance - in the gas jet from which she had, against rules, removed the guard while - curling her fringe. In an instant it was flaring all about her, and wild - with fright she found it impossible to free herself from its serpent like - coils. - </p> - <p> - Presence of mind had never been one of her characteristics and now the - awful sense of her danger and her horrible loneliness drove her to - distraction. She cried for help, but it seemed to her that she might burn - to death before anyone heard her in that remote place. - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile Evereld standing at the wings was watching with keen interest - Macneillie’s masterly representation of Shylock, and thinking how handsome - Ralph looked as Bassanio, when she was startled by a distant cry. - </p> - <p> - “You take my house when you do take the prop that doth sustain my house,” - pleaded Shylock, and at that instant another much more distinct sound—unquestionably - a scream—from behind, made Evereld’s heart stand still. Surely it - was Ivy’s voice! - </p> - <p> - Without a moment’s hesitation she opened the door leading to the ladies’ - dressing rooms, hurried up the stairs and had just gained the passage - above, when to her horror she saw Ivy rushing forward her pale green dress - all ablaze. - </p> - <p> - Snatching off the warm cloak she had been wearing as she stood at the - wings Evereld flung it about the terrified girl, and exerting all her - strength almost hurled Ivy to the ground, dismayed to see how the flames - were rising towards her face. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t try to get up,” she cried, as Ivy mad with fear and pain would have - leapt to her feet again. “Roll over and we shall crush out the fire.” - </p> - <p> - It could have been only two minutes yet it seemed to them hours before - others hearing the screams came to the rescue, and by that time Evereld - had succeeded in stifling the flames. Macneillie learning directly he came - off the stage that something was amiss hurried up to them and was dismayed - to find what had happened. - </p> - <p> - “Go at once and get hold of Dr. Grey,” he said turning to the business - manager who had been the first to come up. “He is in the front row of the - dress circle. Brinton,” he added turning to the Duke of Venice, who was - the next to appear, “you will help me to lift her into her dressing-room.” - </p> - <p> - “It is so small and crowded,” said Evereld. “Would not the green room be - better? she must be carried down the stairs sooner or later.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, quite true. Give me your cloak, Brinton, we will throw it over her, - and do you go first, Evereld, and see that no one is in the way. We shall - get her safely to the green room before the end of the act.” - </p> - <p> - Ivy’s moans as they carried her were drowned in the applause which - followed the end of the Trial Scene. And Evereld, not pausing to realise - that she was trembling from head to foot, went on before to make ready a - place where they could lay her down, and thanks to the promptitude of the - business manager the doctor was on the spot almost as soon as they were. - </p> - <p> - Ralph, strolling up the stage a few minutes later, having heard nothing - that had passed, was rudely recalled to the present as he approached the - little group of people round the green room door. “The doctor has just - gone in,” he heard some one say, and the words threw him into a sudden - panic of terror. - </p> - <p> - “Let me get by,” he said. “What’s the matter?” - </p> - <p> - “You can’t go in,” said several voices! “Ivy Grant has been awfully burnt, - they say Mrs. Denmead managed to get the fire out.” - </p> - <p> - “Where is my wife?” said Ralph distractedly. - </p> - <p> - “She is in the green room helping. It’s no good my dear boy. I tell you no - one can go in.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph, sick with anxiety for Evereld, and only longing to get her out of - the room, seemed on the point of taking the speaker by the collar and - thrusting him aside, when to his relief the door opened and Macneillie - came out. They all made way for him and heard him giving orders for a - messenger to be sent at once for the ambulance, then before a single - question could be put to him by Ralph, the Assistant stage manager came up - to discuss the arrangements that were to be made for the last act. - Fortunately Ivy’s understudy happened to be present so that no very great - delay was to be feared, and when this matter had been disposed of, Helen - Orme who had good naturedly hurried away to dress in order that she might - be free to offer her help, came hastening back and begged leave to go in - and do what she could for Ivy. - </p> - <p> - “Send Evereld to me,” was Ralph’s parting injunction, and Helen Orme, - feeling very sorry for him, went in and finding that the preliminary - dressing of Ivy’s burns was over, admitted him on her own authority. - </p> - <p> - It was a kindly meant act but under the circumstances a little risky, for - at the first sight of him Evereld’s composure began to give way. The - doctor noticed it at once. - </p> - <p> - “Now, Mrs. Denmead,” he said cheerfully. “Let this lady take your place - for a minute, and you go and sit down. I shall be ready to dress that hand - of yours directly.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” moaned Ivy who had spoken very little since they had carried her - down. “Is Evereld hurt?” - </p> - <p> - “Just a little,” said the doctor. “But she won’t grudge that, for she has - saved your life.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you think you could just manage to get me home,” whispered Evereld, - suddenly realising that her strength would hold out no longer and that she - could only agitate and harm Ivy by staying. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, darling,” said Ralph, “of course I can.” - </p> - <p> - But the cheery doctor had overheard and was beside them in a minute. - </p> - <p> - “Where are you staying?” he said crossing the room to them. “In Kingsmead - Terrace? I will drive you there at once in my carriage. Wait for a minute - and I will bring it round to the stage door. My little patient here will - do well enough now, and before long they will carry her to the hospital in - the ambulance. Just one word with you, Mr. Denmead.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph followed him out of the room. - </p> - <p> - “Now kindly pilot me through these passages,” said the doctor, having put - a brief question or two as to Evereld. “Your part is not quite finished is - it? Another scene yet if I remember right. You must leave me to see your - wife safely home, and don’t be over anxious. Of course, it’s an - unfortunate thing that she has had this fearful shock, but there is no - reason why she should not get on well enough. Have you a decent sort of - landlady with a head on her shoulders?” - </p> - <p> - “She is a capable sort of woman,” said Ralph, “but——” - </p> - <p> - “All right. That will do very well for the present. Here’s my carriage——” - </p> - <p> - He gave directions to the coachman, and in a few minutes time Ralph had - put his wife into the brougham and with a heavy heart had turned back into - the theatre to get through the rest of his work as best he could. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXV - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “God! do not let my loved one die, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - But rather wait until the time - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - That I am grown in purity - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Enough to enter thy pure clime.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - Lowell. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Ivy from time - to time opened her eyes in that dreadful interval of waiting for the - ambulance which seemed to her almost age-long, she saw a curious - succession of faces. First there had been the cheerful doctor, and Evereld - with her brave blue eyes and firm little mouth. Then those two faces had - mysteriously disappeared, and the wrinkled and careworn features of the - wardrobe woman had greeted her instead, and Helen Orme dressed as Nerissa - bent over her and asked her if she suffered much. - </p> - <p> - After that Myra Brinton had stooped and kissed her, to her great - astonishment, and all the foolish little quarrels of the past died out - under the influence of that great uniter of human beings—pain. Ralph - came too with kindly inquiries, and she roused herself to ask again after - Evereld. - </p> - <p> - “You are sure the doctor told the truth?” she asked doubtfully. “Was she - really not badly burnt?” - </p> - <p> - “No, not badly,” said Ralph. “Only one hand blistered and her wrist - scorched.” - </p> - <p> - The summons came just at that minute for Myra and Helen Orme, and he - seized the opportunity to escape, fearful lest she should ask further - questions. He stood at the wings with his friend George Mowbray who was - playing Antonio, watching in a dreamy way the ill-arranged dress which had - been hastily contrived for Ivy’s understudy. - </p> - <p> - He would have missed the cue for his entrance had not George Mowbray - pushed him forward, and it seemed to him that it was not his own voice but - the voice of somebody else that uttered Bassanio’s speeches, while all the - time he himself was away with Evereld, though his body mechanically went - through the business of his part. Macneillie watched him with some - anxiety, but before the play ended, the arrival of the ambulance and the - necessity of seeing Ivy safely transferred to it drove all else from the - manager’s mind. He refused to allow anyone but himself to take her to the - hospital, feeling that she was under his charge, and troubled to remember - that the poor child had not a relation in the world who could now befriend - her. - </p> - <p> - “Do your best to get well quickly, my dear,” he said in his kindly voice - when he took leave of her. “And don’t fret as to the future. You shall - come back to the company whenever you like.” - </p> - <p> - Returning to the theatre he found the scene struck and all the house in - darkness save for the light by the stage door. - </p> - <p> - “Is Mr. Denmead still in his dressing-room?” he inquired. - </p> - <p> - “No sir,” said the door-keeper. “He has been gone some time and Mr. and - Mrs. Brinton with him.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie ran upstairs to speak a word to Ivy’s understudy as to the - dresses needed later in the week, then he walked slowly back to Kingsmead - Terrace, but although he rang repeatedly no one came to answer the door. - </p> - <p> - He was just meditating a burglarious entrance by the kitchen window when - at last he heard footsteps approaching and the latch was raised. - </p> - <p> - Myra Brinton softly opened to him; her face was pale and anxious. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, is it you!” she exclaimed. “I hoped it was the nurse. Tom has gone to - try and get hold of one. Evereld’s child is born and the doctor seems - terribly anxious about her.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie was a true Scotsman and seldom said much when he was moved. He - stalked on into the sitting room and began to pace to and fro in silence. - </p> - <p> - Evereld had grown almost like a daughter to him and the thought of her - peril and of Ralph’s frightful anxiety brought a choking sensation to his - throat. - </p> - <p> - “What of the child?” he asked presently. - </p> - <p> - “It is a boy,” said Myra. “Of course extremely small; they gave him to me - in the next room and I have done what I could for him, the maidservant is - seeing to him now, and the others are in with Evereld. Hark! there is - someone coming downstairs.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie went out into the passage and encountered Ralph who looked as - if years had passed over his head since they last met. - </p> - <p> - “They want another doctor,” he said snatching his hat from the stand. - </p> - <p> - “Give me the name and address and I will go,” said Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - “You have not had your supper,” objected Ralph. “And, as it is, we are - turning the whole house upside down for you.” - </p> - <p> - “What matter!” said Macneillie. “Go back to Evereld, my boy, I will see to - this for you.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph protested no further, indeed his one desire was to return to his - wife, but catching sight of Myra, he paused to inquire after the child. - </p> - <p> - “Evereld keeps asking if it is all right,” he said. “And the doctor, who - would say anything to quiet her, assures her it is all it ought to be. Do - you think there is really a hope that it will live?” - </p> - <p> - “I know so little about such things,” said Myra, with a sick remembrance - of the jealous feelings that had stirred within her on first learning of - Evereld’s hopes. “He is the tiniest little fellow I ever saw, but there - seems nothing amiss with him. Hark! there is a ring at the door bell. It - must be the nurse at last. We will see what she says to him.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph, who had vaguely expected a sort of Mrs. Gamp, was relieved to see a - comely middle-aged woman with a refined and sensible face, and that - wonderful air of composure and capable quietness which makes a trained - nurse so unlike an amateur. - </p> - <p> - She praised all that Myra had done and declared that with care the child - would do well enough, and Ralph, looking for the first time at the little - doll-like face of his son felt a sudden sense of hope and joy and relief - which carried him through the dark hours of that night of anxiety and - suspense. - </p> - <p> - For all night long Evereld lay between life and death. The younger doctor - who had been called in despaired of saving her, and Ralph knew it, though - no one actually put the thought into words. He knew it by the man’s face, - and by the sound of effort in the voice of his first friend, cheery Doctor - Grey. Evereld was dying from exhaustion, and from the terrible shock she - had undergone. - </p> - <p> - Still like a true Denmead he clung to hope, and held his fear at arm’s - length; every word of encouragement that fell from Dr. Grey’s lips helping - him to keep up. - </p> - <p> - Her age was in her favour, her patience, her great firmness and courage - all would stand her in good stead; so said the old doctor; and Ralph hoped - against hope until at last about sunrise a change set in. Even the younger - doctor grew sanguine. Evereld’s hold upon life was evidently growing - firmer. She looked up at Ralph and smiled. - </p> - <p> - “What day is it?” she asked, for pain knows no time limits and she had no - notion whether hours or days had gone by. - </p> - <p> - “It is Tuesday morning,” he said stooping down to kiss her, a rapturous - sense of relief filling his heart. - </p> - <p> - She seemed to meditate for a few minutes, and obediently took the gruel - the nurse brought her. - </p> - <p> - “Why!” she exclaimed presently. “It is your first night in Hamlet, and you - will be tired out. Go and rest, darling.” - </p> - <p> - “The best rest is to see you growing better,” he said tenderly. - </p> - <p> - After another interval she asked about the child. - </p> - <p> - “Do you want to see him?” asked the young doctor, hailing as a good sign - her return of interest. - </p> - <p> - “Not now, later on” she said quietly. “I will try to sleep first. I’m sure - I could sleep if you would go and rest, Ralph.” - </p> - <p> - “Quite right, you are a wise little woman, Mrs. Denmead,” said Dr. Grey. - </p> - <p> - Ralph allowed himself to be taken off by the younger doctor, seeing that - they thought it best he should go. They paused on the way down to visit - the next room, where the good-natured landlady sat in a rocking-chair by - the fire nursing the latest descendant of Sir Ralph Denmead the Crusader - who, instead of being born in a stately castle, had first seen the light - in Kingsmead Terrace at a lodging house specially reserved for what the - landlady termed “Theat’icals.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph could only thank her for all her help, but he was blessed with the - power of expression and the good soul felt fully rewarded for what she had - gone through. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t you mention it, sir, it’s nothing but a pleasure,” she said. “Mrs. - Brinton she was here till one o’clock, and a very pleasant spoken lady she - is and handy with the child. And, says I to her, the finest grown man I - ever see in my life, six foot two in his stocking feet, was not a morsel - bigger than this baby to start with. A fine set up man he was as you could - wish till he lost his leg along of frost bites and under-feeding in the - Crimea.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph looked at the funny little bundle swathed in flannel and almost - laughed at the thought of his possible development into a military hero of - six foot two, losing a leg for his country’s glory! But the mention of - military life made him think of Bridget, and he determined to telegraph to - her at once. - </p> - <p> - Down in the sitting-room they found Macneillie solacing himself with - Shakspere and a pipe, and delighted to hear the more favourable report. - </p> - <p> - “You have been up all night, Governor,” said Ralph regretfully, when the - doctor had gone. - </p> - <p> - “Well, yes, I was afraid you might need me,” said Macneillie. “I had - hardly dared to hope for this good news. Come, sit down and eat, boy, you - are nearly played out. I brewed some coffee for you, but I don’t know - whether it is fit to drink now.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph obeyed, eating like a hungry school boy, and his face gradually - assumed a less ghastly hue. - </p> - <p> - “What time is rehearsal?” he asked glancing at his watch. “Hullo! I forgot - to wind it, and it has run down.” - </p> - <p> - “It’s now eight,” said Macneillie. “Rehearsal is at eleven, but you won’t - be needed. I am going to play Hamlet.” - </p> - <p> - “No, Governor,” said Ralph emphatically. “I shall be all right after a - little sleep, and it was almost the first thing Evereld thought of. Isn’t - she a model actor’s wife?” - </p> - <p> - He knew well that to play Hamlet was almost more than Macneillie could - endure, for long ago the Manager had told him that he had acted it every - night before Christine Greville’s wedding, and that it had become so bound - up with all the mental misery he had gone through at that time that he had - never dared to attempt it again. - </p> - <p> - “Ah, she remembered it,” said Macneillie with a smile. “That was very like - Evereld. I would put off the performance if possible, but it is promised - for three nights and it will be very difficult to manage anything else, - specially as Ivy Grant is <i>hors de combat</i>, too, and her understudy - such a novice. No, we will give the play; I have spent most of the night - in company with the Danish prince and this evening he and I will patch up - our ancient quarrel.” - </p> - <p> - But Ralph was not to be borne down by these arguments, and at last - Macneillie agreed to a compromise. The play had already been rehearsed for - some time. Ralph should be excused from attendance that morning, and if - all were well should play the part as arranged. - </p> - <p> - “Now no more of this argle-bargle as we say in Scotland. To bed with you, - or we shall have you breaking down this evening,” said Macneillie. “What? - a letter you must write?” - </p> - <p> - “Only to Mrs. Hereford, who you know had promised to house Evereld during - her illness.” - </p> - <p> - “I will see to it,” said Macneillie. “And you want this telegram to go to - that nice old Irish body, the soldier’s widow? Well, leave them to me, and - get along with you, do. Follow the excellent example of that son of yours, - and spend your time in sleeping.” - </p> - <p> - Ralph took the advice very literally and for the next eight hours slept - profoundly. He was roused at last to a consciousness that someone was - standing beside his bed, and looking up sleepily was vaguely astonished to - see Bridget’s well-known face. Was he a boy again in Sir Matthew’s house? - And was Bridget as usual coming in to rouse him that he might not incur - his guardian’s wrath by being late for breakfast? His heavy eyelids - drooped again, when he was suddenly startled back to full recollection by - the sound of a wailing baby in the room below. - </p> - <p> - “Why, that must be the boy,” he reflected. “And I am a family man,—and - Sir Matthew has gone to Jericho! What news, Bridget?” he exclaimed - anxiously. “How is my wife?” - </p> - <p> - “She is doing nicely, sir, God bless her sweet soul! Your dinner is ready, - Mr. Ralph, and after that, why you can be coming in to see mistress. She - has had two good sleeps, thank God.” - </p> - <p> - Bridget was in her element with the sole care of the little doll-like - baby. - </p> - <p> - “It’s exactly like you, sir, bless it,” she remarked when Ralph paused on - his way to the theatre to take another look at his small son. - </p> - <p> - “Well, really, Bridget! You can’t expect me to take that for a - compliment,” he said laughing. “He has no eyes to speak of—just a - couple of slits—and as for his face, it seems to be all nose, with - just a little margin of pink puckers.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah, it’s always the outsiders that can see the likeness,” said Bridget. - </p> - <p> - “Look here upon this picture, and on this,” quoted Ralph merrily. “You - will send me off to play Hamlet in a very humble and chastened mood, - Bridget. I never thought I was quite so ugly.” - </p> - <p> - As a matter of fact the great strain he had passed through, and the - present relief, quite blunted the feeling of intense nervousness which - usually overwhelmed him when for the first time he played an important - character. All his fellow actors too were in sympathy with him, and it did - his heart good to hear what they said as to Evereld’s prompt courage and - her plucky rescue of Ivy Grant. The news from the hospital was also - cheering. Ivy was going on as well as could be expected, and although her - burns were severe, she was likely to be able to resume her work in two or - three months’ time, and thanks to Evereld she was not at all disfigured. - </p> - <p> - Ralph’s long and patient study of his part bore excellent fruit. He gave a - really striking representation of Hamlet’s lovable and strangely complex - character; and Macneillie watched his pupil with satisfaction, feeling - to-night more than he had ever done before that Ralph had in him the - makings of a really great actor. - </p> - <p> - “If only that brave little wife of his is spared,” he thought to himself, - “his future is assured. But he is the sort of man who might be altogether - paralysed by a great sorrow. I should fancy it was the early loss of his - wife which turned the Vicar of Whinhaven into a recluse, and according to - Ralph it was certainly a great trouble and disappointment which finally - killed the poor man. What develops one kind of nature ruins another.” - </p> - <p> - In the course of the next few days there was a great deal of anxiety both - on account of Evereld and of the child. In the midst of it there suddenly - appeared upon the scenes the one person who was most capable of cheering - and helping them all. - </p> - <p> - Mrs. Hereford, with her sweet bright face, the youthfulness and vivacity - of which contrasted so curiously with her prematurely grey hair, took them - all by surprise and was quietly announced one afternoon at the house in - Kingsmead Terrace. - </p> - <p> - “How good of you to come!” cried Ralph, feeling as if the mere sight of - her had lifted a load from his mind. - </p> - <p> - “And how is Evereld?” she asked. “They told me at the door she was better, - but I wasn’t sure how much the little servant knew.” - </p> - <p> - “She is better to-day,” said Ralph with a sigh. “But all last night we - were terribly anxious again, I think it was worrying over the child’s - illness.” - </p> - <p> - “He is very delicate I am afraid,” said Mrs. Hereford. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but they are hopeful about him now. Yesterday they thought him - dying, and I had to rush out for a clergyman to get him christened.” - </p> - <p> - “And to go off to your work in the evening I suppose not knowing how - things would be when you came back.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Ralph. “That was the worst part of all. It was my third - appearance as Hamlet, and I all but broke down.” - </p> - <p> - “I well remember what an agony it used to be to sing in public when Dermot - or Molly were dangerously ill,” said Mrs. Hereford. “And talking of Dermot - reminds me of what I came to propose this afternoon. He is much stronger - but the doctor doesn’t care for him to be in London just yet. I think of - taking a house here till the Easter recess, and when Evereld can be moved - we think it would be a capital plan if she came to us here instead of in - town. I am not going to be defrauded of my visitor by this provoking - catastrophe. I have been looking this afternoon at a furnished house which - is to let in Lansdowne Crescent, and if all goes well I don’t see why in a - fortnight or three weeks’ time Evereld and her baby should not come to us - there. I suppose you will have to move on elsewhere with the company?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Ralph, “I must leave next Monday, but luckily we shall only be - at Bristol so I can run over pretty often.” - </p> - <p> - “And we shall always be delighted to have you for your Sundays later on,” - said Mrs. Hereford, “don’t you think it would be better for Evereld to - come to us? She will be rather lonely here.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, it would be the best thing in the world for her to be with you,” said - Ralph. “But it will be disarranging all your plans I am afraid,—and - putting you to so much trouble.” - </p> - <p> - “Not at all,” said Mrs. Hereford. “Evereld and I shall both be widowed - during the week, that is the only drawback; but husbands must work. And in - any case I should have had to take Dermot somewhere, for he is the last - boy to take care of himself and will do the most mad things if he hasn’t a - sister to look after him. I tell him it is becoming such a tax that I - shall really have to take to matchmaking and select him a nice capable - wife who would see that he wore his great-coat in an east wind, and didn’t - always sit in a direct draught. Ah, here is Mr. Macneillie, we must tell - him of our plans.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie rang for tea, and then they discussed the future arrangements - of which he cordially approved. - </p> - <p> - “And how about the poor little thing who was burnt? Is she getting on - well?” asked Mrs. Hereford. - </p> - <p> - “I have just been to see her,” said Macneillie. “Miss Orme and I took her - some flowers. She is suffering a great deal still poor child, but they say - she is wonderfully patient.” - </p> - <p> - “I don’t seem to remember her. Was she with you at Southbourne?” - </p> - <p> - “No, she has only been with us a year,” said Macneillie. “And was getting - on remarkably well. I hope she will be fit to act by Easter. She had a - very narrow escape, and owed her life to Mrs. Denmead’s presence of mind - and courage! They will be greater friends than ever after this.” - </p> - <p> - “I should like to go and see her,” said Mrs. Hereford. “Or is she hardly - up to visitors yet?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, she would like to see you,” said Ralph, “for she has heard so much - about you.” - </p> - <p> - “I am not going to ask to see Evereld to-day, for I am quite sure she - ought to be kept absolutely quiet,” said Mrs. Hereford. “You must tell her - how much I look forward to having her later on. Suppose we walk round to - the hospital now. There will just be time before my return train.” - </p> - <p> - Her cheery sensible talk did more for Ralph than anything else could have - done; he poured out all his anxieties to her, and found in her motherly - wisdom and her hopeful words exactly what he needed to tide him over the - difficulties which overwhelmed him. - </p> - <p> - “What is it about her?” he thought to himself, as he paced up and down - outside the hospital while she paid her visit to Ivy. “She seems to me - just like a gleam of sunshine on a dark day, or a fresh breeze in the - summer. I have met plenty of Irish women who were friendly and pleasant - and delightful to talk to, but it isn’t a mere matter of charm with her,—she - seems to have a heart wide enough to take in every one that is in - trouble.” - </p> - <p> - Doreen Hereford did not find it difficult to make room in her heart for - one so helpless and forlorn as Ivy. The merest glance at the wistful face - in the hospital ward was sufficient. And Ivy responded to her at once and - felt all the comfort of her presence. For Doreen never patronised people, - she mothered them; and between these two forms of helpfulness there lies a - world of difference. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me a little more about that poor child,” she said to Ralph as they - walked to the station. “You have known her for a long time, have you not.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, her grandfather used to give me elocution lessons, she has been on - the stage since she was ten and has had rather a hard apprenticeship. - Evereld has taken a great fancy to her and she needs friends, poor girl, - for she is quite alone in the world. The old Professor died just after our - Scotch company broke up.” - </p> - <p> - “I have been wondering what she will do when she leaves the hospital,” - said Mrs. Hereford. “Would Evereld like it if I asked her to stay with us - too? Or wouldn’t that work well?” - </p> - <p> - “I am sure she would like it,” said Ralph. “But will you have room for - them all?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh yes,” she said laughing. “It’s a big house, and besides we Irish - people know how to stow away large numbers. I want somehow to see more of - little Miss Grant, there is something very winning about her. Talk it over - by and bye with Evereld and see what she thinks.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXVI - </h2> - <p> - “<i>The comfort which poor human beings want in such a world as this is - not the comfort of ease, but the comfort of strength</i>.” - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - C. Kingsley. - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>vereld thought the - whole plan a most delightful one, and if anything could have consoled her - for the parting with Ralph on Monday it would have been the prospect of - spending the time of her convalescence with Bride O’Ryan and Mrs. - Hereford, and of knowing that Ivy was not to be left out in the cold but - was to enjoy just the same hospitality and care. - </p> - <p> - On the Sunday she was allowed to see Myra Brinton for the first time. - Perhaps the events of the week had done more for Myra than for anyone - else; she had been so horrified to discover what mischief her sentimental - fancy for Ralph, her jealousy of Evereld and her quarrel with Ivy had - wrought, that she had taken herself thoroughly in hand, and had learnt a - lesson she would never forget. As for the baby, it played no small part in - her education, and Bridget was always delighted that she should come in - and make much of it. - </p> - <p> - “I don’t know how to thank you enough,” said Evereld looking up at her - gratefully. “They have all told me how good and helpful you were last - Monday, when no one had time to think much of Baby Dick.” - </p> - <p> - “Is he to be called Dick?” said Myra willing to turn the conversation from - herself. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, after my brother who died. Have you seen Ivy yet?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, several times,” said Myra. “I wanted just to tell you that everything - is quite right between us again. I was very wrong, Evereld, to tell you - what I did at Mardentown. It was all a mistake and I little thought what - it would lead to. If poor Ivy had not been in a hurry to be out of my way - before I came back to the dressing-room, I do believe the accident would - never have happened. My horrible gossip might have been the death of both - of you. I can never forget that.” - </p> - <p> - “Don’t let us ever talk of it again,” said Evereld. “We shall all three be - closer friends for the rest of our lives just because this has happened. - That’s the only thing that matters now. And Myra, I wanted to ask you to - be Dick’s Godmother. You had all the trouble of him at first, and so he - seems rightly to belong to you. Mr. Macneillie has promised to be one of - the Godfathers.” - </p> - <p> - This was the finishing touch to the reconciliation and a very happy - thought on the part of the little mother. Nothing could have pleased Myra - more, and she left Bath a much happier and a much better woman. - </p> - <p> - Evereld made herself as happy as she could with her baby and with old - Bridget as companions, but her convalescence was tedious, and she was - unspeakably glad when at length the day arrived for her removal to the - Hereford’s house in Lansdowne Crescent. - </p> - <p> - The beautiful view of the Somersetshire hills and of the grey city in the - valley below, which she gained from her window, the cheerful sense of - family life going on all about her, the companionship of Bride O’Ryan, and - the comfort of having Mrs. Hereford always at hand to advise her about - Dick and to share all her anxieties, seemed exactly what she needed. - </p> - <p> - Her voice recovered its tone, her cheeks regained their fresh bright - colour, and she became once more just a girl again, ready to enjoy life in - her own quiet fashion. - </p> - <p> - “I could almost fancy we were back at school,” said Bride cheerfully. - </p> - <p> - “When, as at present I’m in the shade with the light behind me,” quoted - Evereld merrily. “My hands are about the worst part of me now, they are so - horribly white, otherwise you must own that I am quite presentable. How - strange it seems though to think of the life at Southbourne. It was so - happy while it lasted, but the thought of going back to it is dreadful.” - </p> - <p> - “Instead you spend half the day in playing with Dick,” said Bride - teasingly. “The amount of time you waste on that child is appalling.” - </p> - <p> - “I’m not going to be one of those horrid modern mothers who never have - time to see their own babies,” said Evereld. “It would have been wrong to - have had him at all if I didn’t mean to be his best friend from the very - beginning right through his life.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you mean him to be an actor?” asked Bride, looking at the funny little - face nestled close to Evereld and wondering what it would develop into. - </p> - <p> - “I should like it if he has all that is needed to make one,” said Evereld, - “but who can prophesy whether he has any special gift, or whether he has - patience for all the drudgery it involves?” - </p> - <p> - “Tell me what you really think of the life, now that you have had some - experience of it,” said Bride. “Quite candidly, don’t you find it very - monotonous?” - </p> - <p> - “No, I have found it very interesting,” said Evereld. “I can fancy though - that it must be trying to do nothing but one play for many hundreds of - nights. In a company like ours you see we get plenty of variety.” - </p> - <p> - “And you don’t mind the moving about week by week?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, sometimes it is tiresome, but there are many advantages. Mr. - Macneillie knows a host of interesting people, all over the country, and - they are generally very hospitable to us; besides I like getting to know - fresh places, and as a rule the journeys are not very long or tiring. - Sometimes I used to get a little bored by the incessant talk about things - connected with the stage. But that would be just the same in any other - profession. Don’t you remember how at the chateau we used to get so weary - of the talk between Mr. Magnay and his two artist friends? They say it is - exactly the same among authors, when two or three of them are together - they can’t help talking shop. And as to clergymen, why they are - proverbial! I suppose Kingsley was the only one who ever did entirely - banish ‘clerical shop’ from his home talk.” - </p> - <p> - “Well, I think you are very wonderful people to be able to travel about - for so long without losing your tempers or quarrelling like the Kilkenny - cats,” said Bride. “There’s nothing on earth so trying to the temper as - going about with people. I suppose that’s why they always make an - unfortunate married couple travel on the continent. They learn in that way - what sort of life is in store for them.” - </p> - <p> - Evereld laughed. “You know we do now and then quarrel a little, but as a - rule we are all very friendly. There is only one thing I cannot stand, and - I hope we shall never have such an infliction again.” - </p> - <p> - “What is that?” said Bride smiling at her friend’s vehemence. - </p> - <p> - “A wealthy amateur who thinks he can act but can’t,” said Evereld. “Oh, if - you knew what we have endured all the autumn from an empty-headed fellow, - who thought himself a genius!” - </p> - <p> - “What did he do?” said Bride. - </p> - <p> - “What did he not do! He was insufferably rude to Mr. Macneillie, he hated - Ralph because he wanted the Juvenile Lead himself, he treated all the - other men as though they were beneath contempt, he persecuted all the - ladies of the company with tiresome attentions, and he was always dragging - into the conversation the names of titled people of his acquaintance, or - dropping coroneted envelopes in a casual way. Somehow he contrived to set - us all at sixes and sevens, and there was joy throughout the company when - at last something offended him and he suddenly brought his engagement to - an end.” - </p> - <p> - Bride laughed heartily as she heard of the stratagem by which the Manager - had contrived to bring about this much desired event. - </p> - <p> - “Who would ever think that Mr. Macneillie had so much fun in him as you - describe,” she said. “His face is grave almost to sternness.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, but when it does light up he hardly looks like the same man,” said - Evereld. “I don’t think he would ever have stood the wear and tear of his - life if it hadn’t been for his strong vein of humour.” - </p> - <p> - And with that she fell to musing on the strange fact which most people - discover sooner or later, that it is not the prosperous and happy people - who as a rule are blessed with this divine gift of a sense of the - humourous, but the people whose lives are clouded with care and anxiety, - or those who have to go about the world with an aching heart, or to bear - the consequences of another’s sin. To such as these often enough, by some - mysterious law of compensation, there comes a power, not only of feeling - the pathos of life more acutely, but of perceiving in everything—even - in matters connected with their own sorrows—the subtle touches of - humour which keep life healthy and pure. - </p> - <p> - She noticed it very much in Dermot O’Ryan, who young as he was had passed - through a hard apprenticeship of ill health, misfortune, political - imprisonment, and misunderstanding that to one of his temperament was - excessively hard to bear. - </p> - <p> - He was the only one of the O’Ryans who had any literary tastes, and now - being cut off by his recent illness from active political life he was busy - with a Memoir of his father, a well-known man in the Fenian rising of ‘65, - who had died from the effects of his subsequent imprisonment. - </p> - <p> - Dermot was a thorough Kelt, and Evereld thought his sweet-tempered, - philosophic patience, made him a most delightful companion. They had liked - each other at Southbourne, and had become firm friends during Evereld’s - stay at Auvergne, so that they quickly fell into very easy terms of - intimacy. They were sitting together in the large sunny drawing-room and - Bride was reading a page of the Memoir upon which Dermot wanted a special - criticism, when Mrs. Hereford returned from the hospital bringing Ivy with - her. Dermot looked up rather curiously to see the girl of whom he had - heard so much, but instead of a beautiful and striking face which he could - either have admired or criticised, he saw a little childish creature, with - startled blue-grey eyes and a wistful face which was not exactly pretty - but was somehow more fascinating than if it had possessed more regular - features. - </p> - <p> - At sight of Evereld, Ivy forgot everything and ran across the room to - greet her; she was so small and graceful and light that it seemed almost - as if, like the birds, she had special air cells in her bones, for her - movements had in them something altogether unusual so that merely to watch - her limbs was keen delight. - </p> - <p> - She had, too, an eager quick way of talking, and by the time she had been - introduced to Dermot he felt that the scrap of a hand put into his had - carried away his heart. - </p> - <p> - “I have heard of you from Mrs. Denmead,” she said. “You were one of the - imprisoned patriots.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, most of us have a turn at that sort of thing,” he said smiling. “It’s - part of an Irishman’s training.” Bride made some remark about the - manuscript, and the talk became general, Ivy entering this new world with - a sense of keen interest, and quite in the humour to study Irish history - with Dermot as schoolmaster. - </p> - <p> - During her illness she had had more leisure to think than had ever before - been the case. For five weeks there had been nothing to do, but to keep - quiet and to recover as steadily as might be. At first she had suffered - too much to make any use of the time, but later on, when she was - convalescent, there were long hours when she learnt more of the real truth - of things than she had hitherto grasped. The mere physical pain seemed - afterwards to fit her to understand what had hitherto been a riddle to - her, and the strong feeling for Evereld which grew and deepened in her - heart did wonders for her. All her nature seemed to have become more - tender and sweet; and whereas in time past she would have flirted - violently with Dermot and played with him as a cat plays with a mouse, she - seemed now to have laid aside all her silly little affectations and - coquetries, and to be capable of realising that love is not a game, or a - pastime, or a selfish having, but rather the entrance to all that is most - sacred, the mutual sacrifice of self, the nearest approach of humanity to - the life divine. - </p> - <p> - Dermot made no secret of his admiration for the little actress, it was - quite patent to all observers, but his devotion was so unlike anything she - had hitherto come across in life that Ivy herself was never startled by - it. She quietly drifted into love with him, waking into an altogether new - world as she did so, a world far removed from the reach of men like Mr. - Vane-Ffoulkes with their compliments, and their presents, and their - so-called love, which she knew all the time to be nothing but - thinly-veiled selfishness. - </p> - <p> - At last one day, when Ivy was out driving with Mrs. Hereford, Dermot - seized the opportunity of a confidential talk with Evereld as she sat at - work by the fire. - </p> - <p> - “I want you to give me your advice,” he began, throwing down his pen and - drawing a little nearer to her. “Do you think there is any hope at all for - me with Miss Grant? I am sure you know without any telling that I fell in - love with her the moment she came here. Do you think there is any hope for - me?” - </p> - <p> - “That depends,” said Evereld thoughtfully. - </p> - <p> - “Depends on what?” he asked eagerly. - </p> - <p> - “Well, you see Ivy really cares for her profession and is just beginning - to succeed in it. I don’t think she would consent to retire.” - </p> - <p> - “I could never allow my wife to remain on the stage,” said Dermot his face - clouding. - </p> - <p> - “Then I don’t think you have any business to go to the theatre,” said - Evereld. “Every woman you see on the stage is somebody’s wife or - somebody’s daughter.” - </p> - <p> - “If one realised that, the disgusting things which amuse some audiences - would fail for want of support,” said Dermot musingly. “Not that I imagine - for a moment that Miss Grant would ever accept an engagement of which she - really disapproved. Doreen would agree with her as to sticking to her - profession, and perhaps she is right.” - </p> - <p> - “Having got on so well while she is young,” said Evereld, “for she won’t - be eighteen till May, there seems every prospect of her soon getting to a - really good position. And there is a sort of fascination about her—she - is always popular.” - </p> - <p> - “You mean that I shall have a host of rivals.” - </p> - <p> - “Possibly, but you are early in the field and indeed I think you stand a - very good chance.” - </p> - <p> - “Do you think it would be wrong if I spoke to her now? Would it spoil the - rest of this time for her?” - </p> - <p> - “Well that would depend on the answer she gave you,” said Evereld - laughing. “But indeed I think Ivy is just the sort of girl who would be - happier if engaged while she is quite young. You see she is much in the - position I was in—quite alone in the world with no relations and but - few friends.” - </p> - <p> - So Dermot, who detested waiting and was never at a loss for words, seized - an early opportunity of urging his suit, and Max Hereford, coming down - from town on the following Saturday, was greeted by his wife with the news - that the two were just engaged. - </p> - <p> - “I told you what the result would be when you hospitably invited that - little actress,” he said laughing. “There never was such a matchmaker as - you are, mavourneen. I knew something had happened the moment I caught - sight of your face.” - </p> - <p> - “They are so happy,” she said smiling, “and Ivy is so gentle and sweet; - Dermot will be exactly the right sort of husband for her I do believe. And - she will make him just the capable, brisk, bright little wife that such a - dreamy philosopher needs.” - </p> - <p> - “But I do hope they are not going to marry upon Dermot’s penwork,” said - Max Hereford. “He is making a good income now, but of course one can’t - tell when he may be laid up, for I fear he will never be strong.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, they are quite content to wait for five or six years,” said Mrs. - Hereford. “And I am thankful to say Dermot’s Eastern ideas as to wives are - being overcome by Ivy’s practical good sense. She won’t hear of giving up - her work, and in a talk I had with her the other day she spoke so sensibly - of professional life, which she knows pretty thoroughly, that I am sure - she is right about it. She has the makings of a very fine character in - her, and I shall not be surprised if Dermot’s marriage proves as great a - success as Michael’s has done.” - </p> - <p> - “We shall now not be happy until Mollie and Bride are arranged for,” said - Max Hereford teasingly, “and then there are our own children coming on, so - you have your work cut out for you, dear. By and bye there will be - match-making for the nieces and nephews, and after that no doubt a few - grandchildren coming on. So you will be able to keep your hand in.” - </p> - <p> - “And isn’t it the least I can be doing then, since my own married life has - been so happy?” she said laughing. Ivy, who had not yet seen Mr. Hereford, - stood rather in awe of him and looked up apprehensively when her future - brother-in-law came into the drawing-room where she was helping Dermot - with some proofs. However his greeting was so kindly and his - congratulations to Dermot sounded so genuine that her fears were soon set - at rest; she felt that the family had fully adopted her and that she was - no longer one of the waifs of the world. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXVII - </h2> - <p> - “<i>The grace of God, the light and life that flow from His indwelling, - can lift the very weariest and hardest-driven soul into a dignity of - endurance, a radiance of faith, a simplicity of love, far above all that - this world can give or take away</i>.” Dean Paget. - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>ut perhaps no one - so thoroughly rejoiced in the news of the engagement as Myra Brinton. It - was Ivy herself who first told her, when she and Evereld with Bridget and - Dick in attendance rejoined the company at Worcester. Ralph had of course - heard all about it the first Sunday he had visited them at Bath, but he - had kept his own counsel, for Ivy preferred telling her own news herself - both to Macneillie and to her friends in the company. - </p> - <p> - Nothing could so completely have restored peace and harmony between Myra - and Ivy, all the past mistakes and disagreements faded into oblivion, and - the two became once more excellent friends. - </p> - <p> - As for little Dick he soon became the darling of the whole company. Thanks - to Bridget’s good management he throve wonderfully, spent most of his time - in sleeping, seldom cried, and behaved with discretion on journeys, to the - immense satisfaction of his mother, who proudly reflected that not even - the most crabbed old bachelor in the company could ever complain that Dick - was in the way. - </p> - <p> - Like a true Denmead he was thoroughly well-bred and had a way of - accommodating himself to all surroundings; but Evereld saw he would run an - excellent chance of being spoilt as soon as he grew a little older, for - everyone made much of him and he received votive offerings in such - profusion that it became difficult to pack them. Even the low comedy man - broke his rule of silence so far as to inquire occasionally after his - health, and at Christmas presented him with a magnificent red and blue - clown who shook his head to solemn music. - </p> - <p> - As to Macneillie, though he had always professed total indifference to - children, he was completely subjugated by the wiles of his Godson. Either - from insight into character, or from some consideration of the strong - hands and arms which held him so delightfully, Dick preferred the manager - to anyone else in the world; his father’s long slender hands and taper - fingers were not to be compared for a moment with the comfort of the - highlander’s firm and comfortable grasp. And Macneillie found it - impossible to resist the subtle flattery of this small worshipper who was - always ready to laugh and shout with glee at the mere sight of him. In his - darkest hours the little elf would often cajole him into a temporary - forgetfulness, seeming indeed to take a special delight in beguiling him - into a romp, whenever his clouded brow betokened that his own great - trouble and the bitter thought of Christine’s lonely and difficult life - were weighing him down. - </p> - <p> - On the whole the years which followed the birth of Ralph’s child were as - happy as any Macneillie had known since Christine’s marriage, and as - tranquil as his life was ever likely to be. Ralph and Evereld were like a - son and daughter to him, and both were able to do much to help him in the - busy and harassing days which fall to the lot of most managers. - </p> - <p> - Still there was no denying that his private troubles had more or less - shattered his health; he worked on bravely, as had always been his custom, - but now and then an intolerable sense of weariness crept over him and he - would wonder how much longer he could keep going. - </p> - <p> - At last, soon after Dick had celebrated his second birthday, the manager - suddenly broke down. - </p> - <p> - There was nothing which could definitely account for his failure; he had - indeed been very busy with preparations for the Shaksperian Performances - at Stratford-on-Avon, which were that year to be given by his company - during the birthday week. But hard work seldom does people any harm. It - was rather that he had for years been bearing a load which overtaxed his - strength and at last, from sheer exhaustion, nature gave way. - </p> - <p> - His old enemy, utter sleeplessness, returned to torment him, and there was - nothing for it but to obey the doctor’s orders and go to Scotland for rest - and change. - </p> - <p> - “You are looking sorely fagged, Hugh,” was his mother’s comment when on - the evening of his arrival at Callander they sat together by the fireside. - It was some months since she had seen him and she was quick to note that - he was hollow-cheeked and that his face, as she expressed it, “looked all - eyes.” - </p> - <p> - “Scottish air will soon cure me,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “I - shall sleep to-night.” - </p> - <p> - “Ah lad,” she said with a sigh, “and what reason is there that you should - not be always breathing your native air? If you had but chosen the calling - I would have had you choose, how different all might have been.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we might now have been sitting in the most comfortable Manse,” said - Macneillie, a gleam of humour lighting up his grave face. “Instead of a - lean and hard-worked actor, roaming from place to place, I might have been - a portly minister revered by half the neighbourhood.” - </p> - <p> - “I believe you are tired of your wandering life after all,” she said, - scrutinizing his careworn face with her keen eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Deadly tired,” he admitted with a sigh. “But what has that to do with it? - Are not half the manses in the land filled with weary men who would give - anything for a change in the dull routine of the work they are called to - do? It is the same with all of us, Mother. However much we love our - profession there must be hard times now and again, and somehow we have got - to live through them like men.” - </p> - <p> - She did not reply, but silently knitted away at one of his socks, thinking - to herself how different his life would have been had she had the ordering - of it. He should have come to great honour, should have been a noted - preacher filling a high position in Edinburgh, he should have married - well, and about her in her old age troops of grandchildren should have - played. As it was, his life had she felt been wrecked by the luckless - taste for dramatic art which had puzzled her so much from his childhood - upwards. She laid all his misfortunes to that strange and unaccountable - passion for acting which she was wholly unable to comprehend. It was this - which had brought him into contact with Christine Greville, this which had - debarred him from marriage, this which had for years prevented him from - settling down, and forced him to lead the life of a wanderer. - </p> - <p> - “Hugh,” she said, “is it even now too late? Could you not give up acting - and do something more worthy of your powers?” - </p> - <p> - He started as though someone had struck him a blow. - </p> - <p> - “Give up my profession?” he said in amazement. “Why no, mother, I could - never do that. I am tired out and in a grumbling mood but you must not - take me too literally. My vocation has saved me again and again from - making utter shipwreck. Depend upon it no other work is as you would say - ‘more worthy’ of me.” - </p> - <p> - She urged it no more; but the old sore feeling that his mother could not - understand his point of view, that she still in her heart desired him to - take up work for which he was wholly unfitted, came back to mar the entire - peace of Macneillie’s holiday. - </p> - <p> - On the Saturday before Holy Week he could no longer resist the restless - craving for change which took possession of him as his strength gradually - returned. And taking leave of his mother he left Callander and travelled - down to Stratford, intending there to await the arrival of his company - later on. - </p> - <p> - It was a mild bright afternoon in mid April when he reached the quiet - little town. It seemed to sleep tranquilly in the golden sunshine, - scarcely a breath of air stirred the trees, the beautiful spire of the - stately old church rose into the bluest of skies, and the green fields - flecked with daisies seemed to be just the right setting for a picture so - fair and peaceful. The pastoral character of the scenery somehow suited - Macneillie’s mood better even than the rugged mountains of his own land. - Surely in this quiet loveliness, rich in associations with the great - Master he could gain the rest and the ease he so grievously needed! - </p> - <p> - He would spend his days on the river, would not allow any business - anxieties or arrangements for the following week to invade his repose; - Shakspere and Shakspere’s country should hearten him for the future—the - quiet of Holy Week should lift him up out of the depression which sought - to drag him back into its dreary torture chambers. - </p> - <p> - So he thought to himself on the evening of his arrival; forgetting that - “through the shadow of an agony cometh redemption”;—never dreaming - that in this most tranquil place he was to be confronted with the worst - ordeal of his whole life. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXVIII - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “World’s use is cold—world’s love is vain,— - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - World’s cruelty is bitter bane; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - But pain is not the fruit of pain.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - E. B. Browning. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>f life during the - past three years had been difficult for Macneillie it had been tenfold - more difficult for Christine Greville. As everyone had foreseen, her - position called for a strength of character which she did not possess, for - a power of endurance which she was only learning by slow degrees, and for - that sound judgment and prompt womanly wisdom which had never been her - strong point. - </p> - <p> - She had indeed resigned the cares and anxieties of Management, but this - also meant that she was obliged to put up with whatever arrangements - commended themselves to Barry Sterne at the theatre; and though he and his - wife had always been good friends to her she was often unable to approve - of his way of looking at things. - </p> - <p> - They had nearly come to a serious disagreement when he engaged Dudley the - comedian assuring her that the man had quite lived down his past. And - though time had more or less reconciled her to this belief, she was never - quite without the instinct which had made Myra Kay shrink from the man in - Scotland. She grew to feel a little more confidence in him when one day he - happened to mention Ralph Denmead in her presence. It was not so much what - he said, but rather his tone and expression when referring to Ralph. - </p> - <p> - “So young Denmead is to play Orlando at Stratford next month, I see,” he - observed one morning before rehearsal. “That boy will do well if I’m not - mistaken. There was a touch of genius about him even when I knew him as a - half-starved novice in Scotland.” - </p> - <p> - “Did you know him then?” said Christine for the first time volunteering an - unnecessary remark to Dudley. “He used to tell me when I was acting with - him in Edinburgh what straits he had been reduced to during the spring.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, we had a rough time, but he was always a plucky, goodnatured fellow - ready to take the fortune of war. I’m glad he has fallen on his feet. - Macneillie has been the making of him.” - </p> - <p> - “They say Macneillie’s health has broken down,” said another actor - strolling up. “He has gone to Scotland to recruit.” - </p> - <p> - “He has been roaming about the world too long,” remarked a third. “I - wonder he doesn’t give up his travelling company and settle in town. It - would be better for him in every way.” - </p> - <p> - “Well he’s doing very good work,” said Dudley. “As a matter of fact his - company and Lorimer’s are the only training schools we have for the stage. - How can the rising generation learn otherwise in these days of long runs?” - </p> - <p> - The arrival of Barry Sterne checked the conversation at this moment and - Christine turned away sick at heart, to get through her work as well as - she could to the tune of those haunting words—“His health has broken - down!” - </p> - <p> - Was it true? Or had some lying paragraph in a newspaper set afloat a false - report? - </p> - <p> - Her whole nature seemed to rise up in rebellion against the miserable - ignorance of his movements to which she was doomed. It tortured her to - think that dozens of people who were wholly indifferent to him knew all, - while she was racked with anxiety and fear on his behalf. - </p> - <p> - She went home feeling wretched beyond expression; even Charlie’s eager - greeting could not bring a smile to her face or ease her pain. - </p> - <p> - “Auntie,” he exclaimed, “there’s a lady in the drawing-room waiting to see - you. She has been here a long time, and she would wait for you. Susan says - she looks as if she were in great trouble.” - </p> - <p> - “What name did she give?” asked Christine, her mind still full of Hugh - Macneillie’s illness, and a terror seizing her that some bearer of ill - news had come. - </p> - <p> - Dugald Linklater handed her a card which bore a name quite unknown to her,—Mrs. - Bouvery. She rose with a sigh of weariness. - </p> - <p> - “Don’t wait for me, Charlie,” she said, “I am not hungry and will - interview this lady first.” - </p> - <p> - Everything in Christine’s drawing-room was in the perfection of taste, - there were no bright colours; no incongruous mixtures, the prevailing tint - was a quiet low-toned blue: birds sang in the window, and everywhere her - love of growing plants manifested itself. Nothing could have been more - restful and harmonious than the effect of the whole, and probably no one - could have seemed more tranquil and self-possessed than the graceful - fair-haired woman who came forward to greet her visitor, though all the - time beneath the surface her restless heart was full of passionate pain. - </p> - <p> - “I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long,” she said, her clear musical - voice making each syllable a separate delight to the ear. As she spoke she - looked wonderingly into the hard grief-worn face of the elderly lady who - had risen as she entered and had coldly acknowledged her greeting. - </p> - <p> - There was an uncomfortable pause. - </p> - <p> - “Can I do anything for you?” said Christine, wondering whether her visitor - had called for a subscription, or whether she was perhaps the mother of - some stage-struck girl come for advice? - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” said Mrs. Bouvery, “you can listen to what I have to tell you. You - have broken my daughter’s heart madam, you have ruined her life.” - </p> - <p> - Nervous terror began to fill Christine’s mind. Surely this lady must be - mad. She instinctively measured the distance from the place where she was - sitting to the door. - </p> - <p> - “I do not understand you,” she faltered. “There must be some mistake. I do - not even know your name.” - </p> - <p> - “Your name unfortunately is only too familiar to us, however,” said her - visitor remorselessly. “My daughter was engaged to be married to Captain - Karey and until he had the misfortune to see you on the stage she was - perfectly happy. From that day however, all her misery dated. He was - infatuated about you and you lured him on to his death. - </p> - <p> - “Madam,” said Christine pale with indignation, “you do me a very great - wrong. I never encouraged Captain Karey. On the contrary his persistent - attentions annoyed me very much.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, so you say! so they all say!” said Mrs. Bouvery choking back a sob. - “But I don’t believe a word of it. You actresses are all alike; as long as - your vanity is satisfied you don’t care what wretchedness you cause to - others.” - </p> - <p> - “Is it possible you really believe that I encouraged a mere boy who must - have been at least fifteen years my junior?” said Christine incredulously. - “The moment I saw there was the least risk of anything serious, I would - have nothing more to do with him. Every one of the presents he tried to - give me were returned immediately. What more could I do?” - </p> - <p> - “You could retire from a profession which is unfit for any woman, you - could refuse any longer to make your beauty a snare and a peril to men.” - </p> - <p> - “I think,” said Christine quietly, but with a ring of indignation in her - voice, “you forget that some of the very best of women have been on the - stage. Is art to be crippled, and are we all to retire to nunneries, - because some men are weak fools and some men vicious knaves?” - </p> - <p> - “I do not care to argue with you,” said her visitor coldly, “The fact - remains that you have spoilt my daughter’s whole life.” - </p> - <p> - “Indeed I am very sorry for her,” said Christine with a sigh. “I can’t - blame myself for what has happened, but I can feel very much grieved about - it.” - </p> - <p> - “Whether you blame yourself or not,” said Mrs. Bouvery, “Captain Karey’s - death will be laid to your account at the last day.” - </p> - <p> - “His death?” cried Christine with dilated eyes. “What do you mean? I had - heard nothing.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh you had not seen it in the papers? Yes, he died three days ago from an - over-dose of chloral—it was brought in as ‘death by misadventure.’ I - do not envy you your feelings at this moment. It was a sad day for him - when he first saw you, for him and for my poor daughter.” - </p> - <p> - Christine did not speak a word. She was horror-struck by the news so - abruptly told her; it was no time to assert her own blamelessness, nay she - could pardon the poor grief-stricken woman for reproaching her so - bitterly, for insulting her by such cruel, false imputations. The admirer - whose love letters had so greatly annoyed her, whose infatuation had for - some time past been difficult to baffle, had been driven out of his senses - by his unhappy and overmastering passion, and had died leaving the girl - who had loved him to her desolate sorrow. - </p> - <p> - Had Mrs. Bouvery been less hard and bitter, Christine could have opened - her heart to her, and made her understand how distorted a view of the case - she had taken; as it was they parted almost in silence and she could only - resolve to find out a little more about the daughter and if possible to - write to her later on. - </p> - <p> - But for many days after that the story haunted her and made her miserable. - Afterwards too, in her depression, the thought of Mrs. Bouvery’s cruel - words returned to her. - </p> - <p> - “Had I not been a solitary woman she would never have dared to attack me - like that,” she reflected with tears in her eyes. “A woman without a - protector is at the mercy of anyone who chooses to torment her. Were I not - worse than widowed, Lord Rosscourt and men of his type would be unable to - persecute me with attentions that are insults. They would not dare to send - me letters which one can hardly glance at without feeling defiled.” - </p> - <p> - It happened that among her best and most trusted friends was a certain - literary man named Conway Sartoris. She had known him and the sensible - middle-aged sister who kept house for him for the last ten years, and they - had been the first to discern how very miserable was her married life. - During the difficult years that followed her separation their entirely - unaltered friendship had been a great comfort to her. Conway Sartoris was - not only a brilliant writer and an advanced thinker, but a most delightful - companion, full of dry humour, and shrewd common sense; while his sister - had a genuine affection for Christine and always gave her a warm welcome - at their pretty old-fashioned house in Westminster. She was dining with - them on the following Sunday and found it a great relief to tell them of - the tragedy with which so unwittingly she had become connected, and of - Mrs. Bouvery’s interview. - </p> - <p> - Alas! in seeking comfort she only met with fresh trouble. For the next - evening on her return from the theatre she found a long letter from Conway - Sartoris in which he frankly admitted that his friendship had some time - ago deepened into love, that he was sure her life would always be - difficult and perilous without a protector, and that he would do his - utmost to make her happy. In blank dismay Christine read his proposal that - they should enter into a union which would virtually be a marriage; he - quoted instances in which such unions had been after a time condoned by - society and had proved eminently happy, and he argued very plausibly that - the best way to bring about a speedy reform of the present unjust law - under which she suffered was to add another instance to the cases in which - it had been deliberately and conscientiously broken. - </p> - <p> - His pleading, as far as he himself was concerned, proved of course quite - useless. Christine could only write in reply that her friendship and - respect for him must always remain unaltered, but that her heart was still - with the lover of her youth—the man who through her own weakness and - ambition had been so cruelly sacrificed years ago. - </p> - <p> - To this she received a very straightforward and kindly answer, and Conway - Sartoris entreated her not to allow what had passed in any way to affect - their friendship. But this was more easily said than done. His avowal had - put an end to the perfect ease and rest of their intercourse and she felt - more than ever alone in the world. - </p> - <p> - Another result of this episode was that his arguments were constantly - recurring to her mind. Surely there was great force in the suggestion he - had brought forward in his masterly clear-headed way? Were there not - bound to be exceptions to every rule? Was not Hugh Macneillie’s notion of - obedience even to an unjust law, because it was the law of the land, an - overstrained nicety? It might be a counsel of perfection, but surely it - could not be the actual duty of each citizen? Hugh had such an element of - austerity about his life; kind and genial and tolerant as he was with - regard to others his own notions of right and wrong were so rigid. He was - certainly old-fashioned, not up to date, not able to accommodate himself - to <i>fin de siècle</i> conditions. - </p> - <p> - “I will not let him wreck his life!” she thought, pacing with agitated - steps up and down her room. “My heart is breaking for want of him, and he - is ill and alone. What do I care for the tongues of narrow-minded, - conventional people who know nothing of our real story? ‘Let them rave!’ - He is mine and I am his. All the unfair unequal laws in the world can’t - alter that.” - </p> - <p> - Just then she happened to notice a letter upon the mantel-piece which by - some oversight she had left unopened. - </p> - <p> - “What is this?” she exclaimed glancing through it. “An invitation from - Mrs. Hereford to lunch on Sunday, to meet Ralph Denmead and his wife? Yes, - I will go, from them I may at any rate learn how Hugh is.” - </p> - <p> - Her stay at Monkton Verney had led to her becoming a friend of the - Herefords; she had an unbounded respect for them both, and at their house - in Grosvenor Square she invariably enjoyed herself. Charlie too, liked - nothing better than to go there with her, and there was something in the - atmosphere of the household which was curiously refreshing and - invigorating. They were busy people but they never bored others with their - work, and always seemed to have time for merriment, and for keen - appreciation of the interests of their friends. - </p> - <p> - On this Sunday however she was more taken up with the Denmeads than with - her host and hostess. There was something in the mere happiness of the - young husband and wife that appealed to her, and she had a long talk with - them and heard all that she craved to know. Macneillie, they judged by his - letters, was still far from well, and even the visit to his own country - had failed to do him much good. He was to go on the following day to - Stratford and for the sake of quiet would stay just outside the town at a - curious old-fashioned house called The Swan’s Nest. He would remain there - probably until the Birthday week when they were to rejoin him for the - performances at the Memorial Theatre. - </p> - <p> - Then Evereld had much to say about the Manager’s kindness to them, of - Dick’s devotion to him, and all the many little details which her womanly - instinct taught her would be to Christine what bread is to the starving. - It was all told naturally and simply and as a matter of course, there was - never any uncomfortable consciousness that they knew all about her past - and could guess how bitter was her present. It was only when thinking it - over afterwards that Christine felt sure that the Denmeads knew the whole - truth, and she loved them for their tact and consideration. - </p> - <p> - But all through the night that followed she was haunted by the thought of - Hugh Macneillie ill and alone, unable even to find comfort in his mother’s - society,—beyond the cure even of his native land. - </p> - <p> - It is during wakeful nights that burdens usually grow unbearable. And - Christine had now reached the point when every consideration but the one - prevailing idea is crowded out of the mind. - </p> - <p> - “I cannot let him suffer any more,” she thought. “At all costs this - intolerable state of things must and shall be ended. I am free all this - week, free till Easter Monday. To-morrow I will go down to Leamington with - Charlie and the servants, and the next day I will see him.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XXXIX - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “Greatly to do is great, but greater still - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Greatly to suffer.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - J. Noel Paton. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he following - Tuesday proved to be as fine a day as Christine could have wished. Charlie - was delighted to fall in with her suggestion of driving from Leamington to - Warwick, and she left him with Linklater and his beloved camera to spend a - long afternoon in seeing the castle, the church and the many picturesque - places to be found in the old town. - </p> - <p> - “I have to pay a call in the neighbourhood,” she explained, “and will meet - you here at six o’clock. See that he has plenty to eat, Linklater, for we - made a very early lunch.” - </p> - <p> - When they were safely within the castle gates she ordered a Victoria at - the hotel and drove in to Stratford. Up to that very moment she had felt - eager and alert, ready to dare anything in her desperation. But now when - there was no longer anything to do, she lay back in the carriage feeling - utterly spent, unable to find the least comfort in the soft spring air, or - in the beautiful expanse of country, or in the hedge-rows just bursting - into leaf, or in the joyous song of the birds. It was not until they were - close to Shakspere’s town that her spirit returned to her once more, and - as they passed the Roman Catholic Church she sat up and called to her - driver. - </p> - <p> - “I will get out here,” she said adjusting her white gossamer travelling - veil. “You can drive on and put up at the Shakspere Hotel until I come - there.” - </p> - <p> - The man obeyed and she walked on until upon the left she saw Clopton’s - Bridge, at the further side of which she knew the Swan’s Nest was - situated. As usual she was dressed with scrupulous quietness, there was - nothing in her black serge coat and skirt and sailor hat to distinguish - her from hundreds of other women, and no passer-by would have recognised - her through her veil. - </p> - <p> - Nevertheless her heart failed her somewhat when the little old-fashioned - inn with its red brick walls and tiled roof came into sight. She fully - realised that she was taking a desperate step. - </p> - <p> - But then did not desperate diseases require desperate remedies? And had - not Hugh Macneillie in the letter he wrote her three and a half years ago - entreated her to let him serve her if ever she found herself in a - difficulty? - </p> - <p> - No one else could help her now. He only could shield her and make her life - worth living. And was not he ill and in need of her? Was she not fully - justified in seeking him? She had paused involuntarily on the bridge lost - in thought and now just for a moment the exceeding beauty of the view drew - her attention away from her perplexities. - </p> - <p> - The silvery Avon, crossed a little further down by an old bridge of red - brick, the irregular buildings of the little town, the finely proportioned - Memorial theatre standing in its gardens upon the river’s brink; facing it - a lovely pastoral bit of green meadows, and budding trees, and in the - distance the old church spire with rooks circling about it. - </p> - <p> - In the opposite direction lay peaceful fields, and all along the bank - pollard willows overhung the stream which curved round in a way that - delighted her eye. Just at the bend of the river, moored to a willow tree, - a small golden-brown boat was to be seen. It was empty but on the bank - above it lay the figure of a man with his head propped on his arm and a - book in his hand. She could not distinguish his features at that distance - but from something in his attitude she at once knew that it was Hugh - Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - Moreover she could see a corner of the plaid which he had invariably taken - about with him, the dark blue and green of the Macneil tartan with its - thin alternate cross lines of white and yellow. It was the very same one - that in old days had often been spread over her knees on some cold wintry - railway journey. - </p> - <p> - Somehow the sight of this restored her failing heart; she swiftly made her - way down to the river-side and youth and hope seemed to come back to her - as her feet touched the springy turf and passed lightly over the white and - gold of the daisies. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie, just glancing up from his book, saw a lady approaching clad in - the costume which is almost a uniform; he devoutly hoped, after the - fashion of celebrities on a holiday, that she would not recognise him. - </p> - <p> - Christine could so well read his thoughts and understand his slightest - gesture that she could hardly help laughing. She put up her veil and - walked straight towards him, her brown eyes full of that soft love-light - which for years he had not seen in them. As she paused close to him he - involuntarily looked up once more, and with a cry sprang to his feet. - </p> - <p> - “Christine!” he exclaimed taking both her hands in his. “Is it indeed - you!” - </p> - <p> - Just for one exquisite moment he forgot everything, was only conscious - that she was beside him, and that they loved each other, with a love which - surpassed even the first bliss of the early days of their betrothal. The - next moment, with a horrible revulsion, he remembered the barrier that lay - between them. Neither of them spoke; in the stillness they were each - conscious of the clear birdlike whistle of an errand boy crossing the - bridge. He had caught up one of the prettiest airs in “Haddon Hall”—“To - thine own heart be true”! - </p> - <p> - “Hugh,” she said softly, “you told me if ever a time came when there was - no one else who could help me more fitly that I was to come to you. I am - driven almost desperate and I have come to claim your promise. Where can - we talk quietly?” - </p> - <p> - “If you will not find it too cold I could row you up the river towards - Charlcote,” he said. “Later in the week Stratford will be full of - excursionists, but there is no one on the river this afternoon, we shall - be quite unmolested.” - </p> - <p> - She thought this an excellent plan and let him help her into the boat and - spread the plaid over her knees. - </p> - <p> - “It was by this dear old tartan that I recognised you, at least chiefly by - that,” she said. - </p> - <p> - “Like its owner it has seen its best days,” said Macneillie with a smile. - “But I have the same feeling for it that the fellow in Gounod’s song had - for his old coat, - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - ‘Mon viel ami - </p> - <p class="indent20"> - Ne nous séparons pas.’” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="noindent"> - And he sighed a little as he remembered how in the days of their betrothal - he had often taken her under his “plaidie.” - </p> - <p> - A strange, dreamy, unreal feeling crept over Christine as she leant back - in the stern, while Macneillie with his strong arms rowed her up the - winding river. She almost wished his strokes had not been so long and - steady, for it seemed to her as if this heaven of peace and repose would - end too swiftly. At last he paused. - </p> - <p> - “We couldn’t well find a more lovely place than this,” he said glancing - over his shoulder and dexterously guiding the boat in between the grassy - bank and the branches of an overhanging willow tree. - </p> - <p> - “I never saw such a wonderful colour as these new spring shoots of the - willow,” said Christine, as he drew in his oars and sat down beside her in - the stern. - </p> - <p> - Not a breath of wind stirred the leaves, the flies came out and made a - cheerful droning sound as though summer had already come, a lark was - singing far up in the blue vault above, and everywhere the quiet of - perfect peace seemed to brood. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie felt that longer silence was perilous, he had learned to allow - himself scant leisure when temptation was rife. - </p> - <p> - “Tell me now what your trouble is,” he said quietly. - </p> - <p> - “Oh!” she cried vehemently, “it seems like sacrilege even to speak of it - in such a place as this where all is so peaceful.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie, who was very far from being at peace, smiled a little - involuntarily. - </p> - <p> - “The place is well enough,” he said glancing round. “But now that we are - actually among the ‘pendent boughs’ it reminds me rather too much of - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - ‘There is a willow grows aslant a brook.’ - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="noindent"> - It might be the identical spot where Ophelia was drowned.” - </p> - <p> - “I wonder if it is,” she said diverted for a minute from her own - anxieties. “Poor Ophelia! Somehow I have never cared for acting that part - of late years. You spoiled me for all other Hamlets. I have often wondered - since, Hugh, how you contrived to get through that last season in London.” - </p> - <p> - “Well it was a rough time,” said Macneillie, “for, like the Danish Prince, - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - ‘In my heart there was a kind of fighting - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - That would not let me sleep.’ - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="noindent"> - By the end of the season I was as nearly mad as Hamlet feigned to be. But - no more of that. It is of the present we must talk not of the past. How - can I help you? Has anyone been molesting you?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes,” she faltered. “I will tell you all, and then you will understand.” - </p> - <p> - So in her musical voice, and with that extraordinary charm of manner which - made her irresistible, she told him simply and truthfully all the - difficulties she had had to contend with. Lastly she told him of Conway - Sartoris and of the arguments he had used in his letter. - </p> - <p> - “They seem to me quite unanswerable,” she said, “and he is a man everyone - respects, he is far more intellectual than we are, and he doesn’t merely - theorise, he knows the difficulties of real life. The more I think of it, - the more it seems to me that you and I are wrecking our lives and - suffering so cruelly all for a mistaken idea,—a sort of - fetish-worship for the law of the land.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie had grown very pale, his hands trembled, but from long force of - habit his voice was well under control. - </p> - <p> - “Sin is lawlessness,” he quoted in a low tone. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, yes,” she said quickly. “But this law that parts us, that makes our - lives a hell—you say it is an unjust law and ought to be reformed. - You said that in your letter.” - </p> - <p> - “I long for its reform with all my heart,” he replied. “And the greatest - of living statesmen and the most devoted of English Churchmen did his - utmost in 1857 to prevent this wicked double standard of morality from - ever finding a place in the Divorce Law. He said he would deliberately - prefer an increase in the number of cases of divorce to the acceptance of - this shameful inequality between men and women.” - </p> - <p> - “And are we patiently and tamely to go on enduring it?” she cried. “Why, - surely, all reforms have been won by those who were not afraid to break - the bad laws that had no business to exist. Think of your Covenanters who - gloriously broke the law and saved their country from tyranny! Almost all - heroes and martyrs have broken the law when it deserved to be broken.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, that is true,” he said. “But they only broke it out of obedience to - a higher law, they did not break it for their own gain. My dearest,” he - took her hand and held it closely in his, “though this law cries aloud for - reform, let us be law-abiding citizens, and wait.” - </p> - <p> - Her eyes filled with tears, her voice quivered pitifully when after awhile - she spoke. - </p> - <p> - “You talk of waiting, but when one sees how truth and justice are set at - naught in parliament,—how with people agonising and dying, and with - so much that is wrong to be righted our representatives will haggle - miserably for months and years over useless questions, how from sheer - spite they will waste the time of the nation, how from party jealousy they - will thwart measures,—the thought of waiting grows intolerable.” - </p> - <p> - “But reform is bound to come,” said Macneillie, “most of the fair minded - people who have studied the matter and who know anything of practical life - desire it, we have against us only the narrow minded and the men of - vicious life.” - </p> - <p> - “You say <i>only!</i>” exclaimed Christine with a laugh that was a sob. - “But it is just the narrow good and the vicious bad who work all the - misery of the world. Oh, Hugh! I am not strong and brave like you, I am - weak and tired and worn out. I cannot live longer without you. I have - tried to bear it but I have come to the end of my strength.” - </p> - <p> - She covered her face with her hands, he could see great tears slowly - falling between her slender white fingers, and the sight wrung his heart. - Yet he did not respond to her appeal. It was not because he failed to - understand that bitter cry of exhaustion, it was because he understood it - so well, had been indeed for the last few weeks so drearily conscious of - just that same feeling that he could endure no longer, that his strength - was gone. It was well that Christine could not see his face, for the - agonising struggle which was going on within him was only too clearly - visible. In the intense stillness of the calm sunny afternoon it seemed to - him that all nature was at rest save themselves, and as in moments of - great physical pain some very slight detail will attract the sufferer’s - attention, so now, while he passed through the most cruel ordeal of his - life, Macneillie was watching half unconsciously the pretty movements of a - little water-rat which had run up the stem of a bush growing close to the - river, and was evidently enjoying itself to the best of its ability. The - birds, too, were singing as though in a perfect ecstasy of joy. - </p> - <p> - Their song contrasted mockingly with the torturing thoughts which filled - his mind, and yet nevertheless it was through the joyousness of these - lesser creatures that his help was to come. For it carried him back to the - thought of a great Teacher who, when speaking to “an innumerable multitude - of people,” average men and women, tempest-tossed as he was now, had told - them that not one single bird was forgotten by God, and had said, “Fear - not, ye are of more value than many sparrows.” - </p> - <p> - With that highest courage which in times of dire dismay can rise from what - seems like certain defeat, and kindle hope and strength in the hearts of - others, and win in a desperate fight, Macneillie gripped the words to his - heart and was strong once more, with that trust in God which is man’s - righteousness. - </p> - <p> - “I know exactly what you mean,” he said, as Christine at length looked up - and dried her tears. “Many a time I have felt at the end of my strength. - It’s just a device of the devil’s own making. Depend upon it, God won’t - take away His gift just when it is most needed. Is it likely He would do - that?” - </p> - <p> - “It seems to me that the devil rules,” said Christine. “I can believe in - little but evil in the wretched life I have had to live. Here, with you, - it is different, I seem another being altogether. You can make me good.” - </p> - <p> - There was truth in what she said. He had always had over her the best - possible influence. Without each other they were incomplete. - </p> - <p> - “And yet,” he said, “it is just because I so love and honour you that the - arguments of Conway Sartoris which you mentioned just now, clever and - plausible though they are, seem contemptible. Shall I let the one I love - best in all the world bear shame and reproach? Shall you and I who have - tried all these years to be a credit to the profession give such a handle - to its enemies? Shall we dare to bring down upon innocent children the - curse of illegitimacy? And all because we were too weakly impatient to - wait—or too cowardly to suffer? Forgive me, my dear one, I put these - things in a blunt way, but are they not things we must think out clearly - if we would come safely through this ordeal?” - </p> - <p> - She looked up in his face, it was singularly beautiful just at the minute, - in spite of the havoc which time and suffering had wrought in it. She - fancied that he would wear that look of manly courage, of noble strength - in his resurrection body. The thought seemed to give her new life. - Quietly, indeed with a calmness which surprised herself, she slipped her - hand into his; it was done spontaneously as a child slips its hand into - that of a trusted companion. - </p> - <p> - “You are right, Hugh, quite right,” she said. “We will wait. You must - forgive me for having come here to-day.” - </p> - <p> - “You were only keeping your promise,” he said, “and perhaps to talk things - out was best for both of us.” - </p> - <p> - He was silent for a few minutes, wondering what could be done to render - her life a little more bearable. What was it that had been his own - greatest relief during the last few years? Well, undoubtedly, it had been - the companionship of Ralph and his wife and little Dick. They were a very - fascinating trio and carried about with them an atmosphere of youth and - brightness which was pleasant enough to middle-aged folk sorely burdened - with care and trouble. A sudden idea flashed into his mind. Many people - are ready to assert that they would lay down their lives for those they - love. Macneillie seldom protested in words but had a way of quietly giving - up his most treasured possessions, so quietly, indeed, that most people - hardly noticed that he did it at all. - </p> - <p> - “And now,” he said, “I am going to ask you to do something for me. Do you - recollect a young fellow who was acting with you at Edinburgh four summers - ago—Ralph Denmead by name?” - </p> - <p> - “Why yes, to be sure. I met him only last Sunday at the Herefords. What a - nice fellow he seems, and I lost my heart to his dear little wife.” - </p> - <p> - “I am glad you saw them both, they are a delightful couple. Well now, - could you possibly get him a London engagement? Would Barry Sterne have - any opening for him? It seems to me that there is a very good chance just - now for a young romantic actor. We have no really satisfactory Romeo or - Orlando.” - </p> - <p> - “But surely you are in no hurry to part with him? I hear he is very - popular everywhere.” - </p> - <p> - “For myself I am in no hurry,” said Macneillie. “But I should be glad for - him to get a London engagement, he deserves it, and then this wandering - life is a little hard on his wife and child. They had better settle down, - and if they were somewhere in your neighbourhood you would perhaps - befriend them. Evereld is a dear little woman, you would like her, and she - has the greatest admiration for you.” - </p> - <p> - Christine’s face brightened up, it pleased her greatly that he should have - asked her to do something for him; she resolved to leave no stone unturned - and to do her utmost for his friends. - </p> - <p> - “I should like to have them near me; you can’t think how lonely it is - often,” she said. “If it were not for my work and for Charlie’s - companionship I don’t think I could have endured it all this time. The - best plan would be for Barry Sterne to see him act. I wonder whether there - would be a chance of getting him to ran down for one of the performances - in the Memorial Week?” - </p> - <p> - “That is a good idea,” said Macneillie. “By the bye, Sterne will scarcely - remember it, but the boy did go to him some years ago when he first made - up his mind to be an actor. I have often heard him describe the interview. - He got cold comfort from Sterne and a most discouraging letter from me. - But nothing daunts your real genius. He plodded on, and starved and - struggled till things took a turn. And some day if I am not much mistaken - he will be one of our leading actors.” - </p> - <p> - “His own opinion is that he owes everything to you,” said Christine with a - smile. “I heard a great deal about you on Sunday from both of them. I - shall be so glad if I can really do anything for people you care for, - Hugh. The Denmeads will be quite a new object in life for me.” - </p> - <p> - Those words and the look which went with them were Macneillie’s comfort - when, shortly after, he parted with Christine. But to stay longer at - Stratford with nothing to do had become impossible for him. The river was - a haunted place, he dared not go on it again, everything which on his - arrival had seemed so peaceful bore upon it now the ineffaceable stamp of - the bitter struggle he had passed through. - </p> - <p> - To go back to his work was directly against the doctor’s orders, but go - somewhere he must. He packed his portmanteau, and tried to think of any - place in the world he wished to see, but could not care even to return to - his own country. All things were “weary, stale, flat and unprofitable.” - </p> - <p> - “Fate shall decide,” he said to himself with the ghost of a smile playing - about his lips. And dragging out an ancient atlas from the pile of books - on the sitting-room table, he opened at the map of Europe and solemnly - spun a threepenny bit. After threatening to come to an end in the middle - of the German Ocean it finally settled down in Holland. - </p> - <p> - “Via Harwich and the Hook,” said Macneillie pocketing the arbiter of his - fate. “So be it. I will run across and see if the bulbs are coming into - bloom.” - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XL - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “Be noble! and the nobleness that lies - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - In other men, sleeping, but never dead - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Will rise in majesty to meet thine own; - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Then wilt thou see it gleam in many eyes, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Then will pure light around thy path be shed, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And thou wilt never more be sad and lone.”—Lowell. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he entire change - of scene, the vigour of his own mind, and the sturdy resolution with which - he laid aside care and anxiety soon restored Macneillie to a great extent. - He recovered his power of sleeping, and returned to Stratford to find - Ralph and Evereld already settled there and awaiting him with a warmth of - welcome which did his heart good. To hear him telling comical stories of - his adventures among the Dutch as they lingered over the supper table that - first evening, no one would have believed that he had passed through any - ordeal whatever, and he seemed quite ready for all the hard work that lay - before him. - </p> - <p> - Indeed Ivy Grant thought him unnecessarily vigorous. - </p> - <p> - “It’s all very well for Mr. Macneillie who has been enjoying a holiday all - these weeks, but it’s rather hard on us,” she protested, “to be kept - rehearsing every day till four o’clock, just when we wanted a little free - time, too.” - </p> - <p> - For Ivy was rejoicing in the presence of Dermot and Bride O’Ryan, who had - come down for the Shaksperian performances, Bride for pleasure, and Dermot - chiefly to see Ivy and to write a series of articles for his paper. - </p> - <p> - Evereld was delighted to have her friend with her and thoroughly enjoyed - her first experience of the Memorial week. Stratford had naturally very - happy associations for her, and though the weather was not quite so - perfect as it had been during their brief honeymoon, it did not affect the - audiences which were always large and enthusiastic. - </p> - <p> - One evening towards the end of the week Bride and Evereld were as usual - setting off together for the theatre. There had been rain during the day - but the evening was bright and clear so that there was nothing to prevent - them from going by the river. - </p> - <p> - “There is something so delicious in just stepping into the ‘Miranda’ and - being rowed to the very door,” said Evereld as she took her place in that - same boat in which only a little while before Macneillie and Christine had - had their last interview. “It must be like this at Venice.” - </p> - <p> - “Minus the Shaksperian associations and plus the smells,” said Bride with - a smile. “Here come these vicious swans that look so picturesque and are - really so bad tempered. One of them nearly made an end of Dick the other - day, according to Bridget.” - </p> - <p> - They glided on peacefully, watching the mellow sunset sky and the church - spire and the stately trees surrounding it until the landlord rowed them - up to the steps in the garden surrounding the theatre, and here as they - climbed the grassy bank they were surprised to come across Macneillie - walking to and fro with someone they did not recognise. Evereld wondered - much how it came that he was deep in conversation, for it was nearly time - for the performance to begin. He seemed somewhat relieved when he caught - sight of her and introduced Mr. Barry Sterne, then telling her to see that - the attendants gave him a good place, and arranging to meet him later on, - he hurried to the Stage door, leaving Evereld and Bride to enjoy the talk - of the new comer. - </p> - <p> - “This looks something like Shakspere worship,” he remarked glancing round - the perfectly built theatre which was already well filled. “I wish I had - here with me the curious old fossil I met to-day in the train. There were - a couple of Americans plying him with questions about Stratford; they set - upon him the moment we left Euston, and ‘Wanted to know’ everything. The - old gentleman couldn’t get in a word edgeways for some time, what with the - tunnels and the sharp fire of questions. At last he remarked stiffly, ‘I - have never read any of Shakspere’s plays myself, but I have always - understood that he was a most immoral writer.’ You should have seen the - faces of the two Yankees! It was as good as a play. And the old fellow was - quite unaware that he had said anything extraordinary and blandly went on - reading a religious newspaper!” - </p> - <p> - The play was “As You Like It,” and for the first time Ivy was to play the - part of Celia and Ralph was to make his first appearance as Orlando. - Evereld wondered much what Barry Sterne thought of the performance. He was - rather silent at the close of the second act and she was half afraid that - he had not approved of it until she found that he had been listening to - the criticisms of the people immediately behind them. - </p> - <p> - “It is to me about the most amusing thing in the world to hear the - comments of the public,” he said to Evereld. “Your amateur is always such - a merciless critic. The less he knows the more scathing will be his fault - finding. Now Macneillie’s melancholy Jaques is about as fine a piece of - acting as one could wish to see, I don’t know anyone who makes so much of - the character. But those wise-acres behind are carping away because they - think it shows what cultured mortals they are.” - </p> - <p> - “It is much the same at the Academy,” said Evereld. “The less people know - about painting the more severe are their comments.” - </p> - <p> - “If Lear wrote a modern version of his nonsense alphabet it ought to be ‘C - was the carping cantankerous critic who cavilled and canted of Culture,’” - said Barry Sterne with a laugh. “Your husband makes an excellent Orlando. - I hear, too, that his Romeo is very good. I suppose you have often seen - him in that part?” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, yes, very often. The last time,” she smiled at the remembrance, “was - in the autumn up in the north of England; I shall never forget it. Exactly - opposite the theatre on a bit of waste ground, a wild beast show was being - held, and it had the most noisy band imaginable. All through the Balcony - scene it was thundering out ‘The man that broke the bank at Monte Carlo.’ - And the next night Hamlet had to soliloquise to the strains of ‘Daisy - Bell.’ It was the funniest thing I ever heard!” - </p> - <p> - Barry Sterne capped this story with a reminiscence of the days when he had - been in a travelling company, and by the end of the evening Evereld was - ready to consider him the best raconteur she had ever met. - </p> - <p> - He went round afterwards to Macneillie’s dressing-room and Evereld was - escorted home by Dermot and Bride, who would not however accept her - invitation to supper as they were already engaged to meet Ivy at the - Brintons’. The night had turned chilly. Evereld was glad to find a fire - awaiting them, and she curled herself up comfortably in an armchair - waiting for the return of the men-folk and finishing Black’s charming - story “Judith Shakspere.” - </p> - <p> - “How long they are to-night!” she exclaimed, when the last page was turned - and Judith whose grave she had seen in the chancel of Stratford church - only that morning, had been left happily with her lover Tom Quiney. “I - shall starve if they don’t come soon. What a fire this is for toast! I - will make some to pass the time.” - </p> - <p> - After a while steps were heard on the stairs and in came Macneillie and - Ralph with apologies for having kept her so long. Macneillie, who was a - man with a strong shrinking from any sort of change in his surroundings, - felt a pang as he reflected that soon there would be no bright-faced - little housekeeper waiting to welcome him, and making a home out of each - place they stayed at in their wandering life. He stood warming himself by - the fire noticing dreamily the mute caress which passed between husband - and wife, the funny way in which Evereld divided her attention between the - perfect toasting of a particular slice of bread, and the discussion of the - way in which Orlando had carried Adam in the forest banquet scene, and - then her half anxious glance in his direction which seemed to say, “I know - you are tired and out of spirits but you shall not be bothered with - questions, you shall be fed.” - </p> - <p> - She made them laugh at supper over Barry Sterne’s travelling companion who - had been sure that Shakspere was a most immoral writer, but she could see - that something was troubling Ralph, for instead of being the life of the - party he was silent and abstracted. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie soon solved the mystery, and turning to her with one of his - humourous smiles, said, “I am sure you would think to look at him that he - had dismally failed or had been half slaughtered by the critics. I assure - you, my dear, it’s nothing of the sort. He has just had the offer of a - very good London engagement.” - </p> - <p> - “What, from Mr. Sterne?” asked Evereld in amazement. - </p> - <p> - “Yes, they brought out a new piece you know on Easter Monday and it seems - that Jack Carrington is again going to prove Ralph’s good genius by - failing altogether to get hold of the part he has to play. The fact is, - Carrington is excellent as far as he goes, but his range is limited, he - feels that he will never succeed in this play and Sterne sees it too. They - are parting quite amicably, and he wants Ralph to take his place.” - </p> - <p> - “I can’t leave you, Governor,” said Ralph with a vibration in his voice - which made the tears start to Evereld’s eyes. - </p> - <p> - “Oh no,” she said eagerly. “Don’t let us go—why we belong to you - now.” - </p> - <p> - “My dear child,” said Macneillie, “don’t you go and encourage him in - refusing an offer which he ought to jump at. We have been arguing the - matter ever since we parted with Barry Sterne at the station and nothing - can I get out of Ralph but protests which quite take me back to Mrs. - Micawber. The fact is you two read Dickens to such an extent that you are - quite saturated with him. This is an excellent offer and ought to be - accepted.” - </p> - <p> - “But I never will, no I never will desert Mr. Macneillie!” quoted Evereld - merrily. “Why are you so anxious to get rid of us? You always pretend that - you miss us when we are away.” - </p> - <p> - “So I do, my dear, there’s no pretence about it,” said Macneillie, “but - joking apart, it really would be madness to refuse such a chance as this - just because we are the best of friends and are very happy together. - Moreover there are two special reasons why I want you to accept it. The - first I will tell you now, and the second shall be for Ralph presently. I - don’t deny that I shall miss you horribly, but I shall be happier in the - long run to think that you have a home of your own, and I should always - reproach myself if Ralph neglected a chance which will probably lead on to - fortune. You and I must consider what is best for his career. If he were - my own son I should insist on his going, as it is I can only strongly - advise it.” - </p> - <p> - They talked for some little time over the proposed change, and then - Evereld went to her room leaving the men to argue the matter out at still - greater length over their pipes. In her own mind she began to have some - vague suspicion of the reason why he was so anxious for them to accept the - offer, and later on Ralph confirmed her in this idea. She was still - brushing out her sunny brown hair when he came in. - </p> - <p> - “Well darling, I believe we shall have to go,” he said. “Hateful as it - will be to leave Macneillie, it is of course a step upward, and he seems - really anxious that we should not lose such a chance. Moreover it is not - alone of us that he is thinking. It is of Miss Greville.” - </p> - <p> - “I felt somehow that it was, and yet what difference can it make to her?” - said Evereld wonderingly. “I admire her more than I can tell you, but of - what possible use can we be to her?” - </p> - <p> - “Well it’s hard to say, but she seems to have told Macneillie that she - had taken a great fancy to you the other day when we met her at the - Herefords, and then I think he said something about the possibility of - some opening in London for me, and naturally she would like to help his - friends. Then too from what he told me she must be awfully lonely, and - though she tries to lead as retired a life as possible yet difficulties - are always cropping up.” - </p> - <p> - “Where does she live?”. - </p> - <p> - “She has had a flat in Victoria Street, but is leaving, Barry Sterne told - us. I think he said she had got another flat at Chelsea.” - </p> - <p> - “Could we afford to live in such a neighbourhood as Chelsea?” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, I think we might if we can find anything suitable, my salary will be - better than it is now, and we could furnish by degrees.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, Ralph! what fun!” cried Evereld her eyes lighting up at the prospect - of furnishing, for she was a true woman. - </p> - <p> - “We would do it very, very economically. We would begin like Traddles and - Sophy ‘on a Britannia metal footing;’ there would always be the Memorial - spoons for visitors, you know.” - </p> - <p> - And thus Macneillie’s plot prospered exceedingly, and though the wrench of - parting was hard, Ralph and Evereld soon settled down very happily in - their new quarters, a snug little flat at the very top of the same - building at Chelsea in which Christine Greville occupied the first floor, - and she could see as much or as little of them as she liked. She liked to - see a great deal of them as it happened, and Evereld and Dick were always - ready to come in and companionise Charlie, while Ralph proved himself a - most trusty knight-errant, and the happiness of the young husband and wife - cheered Christine as it had cheered Macneillie. Those whose lives have - been clouded by some grievous trouble are supposed theoretically to hate - the sight of happiness; but that is merely a popular fallacy. With the - great majority it is an intense relief to come across happiness, the mere - sight of it does good, and the happy confer on the sorrowful a real boon - by their mere existence. - </p> - <p> - <br /><br /> - </p> - <hr /> - <p> - <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> </a> - </p> - <div style="height: 4em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - <h2> - CHAPTER XLI - </h2> - <p class="indent15"> - “As Thou hast found me ready to Thy call, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Which stationed me to watch the outer wall, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And, quitting joys and hopes that once were mine, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - To pace with patient steps this narrow line - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Oh! may it be that, coming soon or late, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Thou still shalt find Thy soldier at the gate, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - Who then may follow Thee till sight needs not to prove, - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - And faith will be dissolved in knowledge of Thy love.” - </p> - <p class="indent30"> - G. J. Romanes. - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="pfirst"> - <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was in July, - while Macneillie was spending his summer holiday at Callander, that his - mother’s sudden death made him more than ever alone in the world. They had - passed together a particularly happy fortnight, and though he could see - that she was gradually getting more infirm she had never known a day’s - illness, and her loss came as a terrible shock to him. - </p> - <p> - Ralph and Evereld were able to come down to the funeral, for the London - season was just over and he was glad to have them with him for ten days - before he started once more on tour. He was thinking of selling the house - and furniture, but Ralph who knew what pains he had spent in building it, - and how sad the dispersal of all his old home belongings must be, - persuaded him to leave things much as they were and content himself with - letting it as a furnished house for the summer months. - </p> - <p> - For a time the presence of the Denmeads cheered him a good deal. He - enjoyed hearing every detail of their life in London, and he insisted on - taking them to the Pass of Leny that he might show Evereld the exact spot - where he had first come across her husband. Each morning, too, they used - to tramp up the road leading to the well and Ralph would read aloud from - “Marius the Epicurean,” while Evereld made a sketch which Macneillie had - long desired:—the rough moorland road in the foreground leading to - the crest of the hill; on either side a stretch of purple heather; the - hint of a valley down below where Callander lay hidden and, in the - distance, a range of blue Scottish mountains which he said would make him - breathe “caller” air only to look at. - </p> - <p> - “I shall take it with me wherever I go,” he said. “There is no reason why - wayfaring men shouldn’t have a few possessions of their own. Besides I - have foresworn the travelling clock. It is no good to me since you have - gone, for I can never remember to wind it, so there is one thing less to - pack.” - </p> - <p> - “It was here in this identical place that you coached me that summer after - I was ill,” said Ralph. “I connect it with Florizel, and Claudio, and - Fabian, and with that Scotch play Miss Greville was acting in at - Edinburgh.” - </p> - <p> - “Yes, and taking him altogether he was a very amenable pupil,” said - Macneillie smiling at Evereld. “I wish I could say as much for his - successor.” - </p> - <p> - But unfortunately a second Ralph Denmead proved hard to find. And - Macneillie had a very discouraging time of it all through August and - September. The weather was unusually hot and even in the watering-places - that they visited the audiences were seldom good. Then came a spell of - very wet weather, but the houses were still poor, and it seemed that no - one cared for Shakspere, that old English Comedy ceased to attract and - that the restless spirits of modern people required something much more - highly seasoned. - </p> - <p> - Nourished on skimmed newspaper, hashed review articles, minced magazines - in the form of summaries, and short stories of dubious morality, was it - likely that their brains could be in a condition to receive good wholesome - literary food? - </p> - <p> - Macneillie had long been aware that a wave of evil tendency was passing - over literature and the drama, he had struggled on, never allowing it to - influence his choice of plays, sure that in time the “evil on itself would - back recoil,” and faithful to his own conviction of what was a manager’s - duty. But he began now to think that, before the force of this wave of - uncleanness had spent itself, it would altogether submerge his fortune and - leave him a ruined man. - </p> - <p> - One of the things that tried him most severely was the timidity of those - who should have been his best supporters. The clergy with a few noteworthy - exceptions fulminated against the evil plays but failed to support the - good. He knew that hundreds of them would troop to Washington’s theatre - when they went to London, but they were generally conspicuous by their - absence from the theatres in their own towns where their presence might - really have done much good. Personally they respected him and spoke of him - in warm terms, but very few of them at all understood how hard a fight - this man was making in a time of exceptional difficulty, or how bitter it - was to him when those, from whom he reasonably expected much, held aloof. - </p> - <p> - It was quite the end of September when the Macneillie Company found - themselves once more at Liverpool. They were giving the plays they had - performed at Stratford during the Memorial week, and this made Macneillie - feel the loss of Ralph more acutely than ever. To turn straight from a - pupil who had been extraordinarily receptive, always good-humoured, always - ready to study, and grudging no pains in the effort to please his - instructor and conquer his own faults, to a man of exactly the opposite - type, was hard indeed. It was all the more annoying to Macneillie because - Ralph’s successor had excellent abilities but was cursed with the - conviction that he already knew everything a little better than the - Manager; he had moreover been born with one of those touchy and wayward - natures that are so hard to deal with. He lived in a perpetual state of - taking offence, and though Macneillie apparently ignored this and went - quietly on his way, it nevertheless chafed him a good deal. - </p> - <p> - Then, too, all the many vicissitudes of a travelling company—the - illness of one, the quarrels of another—seemed to worry him more now - that he was alone and had no one to discuss things with. The very rooms he - occupied in Seymour Street were full of memories to him; he had stayed - there more than once with Ralph and Evereld, it had been there that they - had first come to him after their marriage, and the place looked horribly - blank without them. - </p> - <p> - By the Thursday morning of their stay he was in the lowest spirits. For - three nights they had played to wretchedly bad houses owing to counter - attractions elsewhere; his old trouble of sleeplessness was returning and - he felt ill and horribly depressed as he walked down through the wet dingy - streets to the Shakspere Theatre. There was a rehearsal of Romeo and - Juliet, and the insolent manner and insufferable conceit of the Juvenile - Lead proved just the last straw. After going through some great agony in - life, and going through it well and bravely we are sadly apt to break down - under some quite trifling strain. A petty thing will irritate us absurdly - in the reaction after great distress, and Macneillie lost his temper now - and scolded the offending actor right royally. When an habitually quiet, - self-restrained man does lose his temper he usually does it with great - thoroughness. Romeo was impressed as he might have been by a sudden - thunder storm on a winter’s day, but those who really knew the Manager - were troubled at such an unwonted scene, and Ivy glanced at him with the - conviction that his health was again breaking down. - </p> - <p> - It was an uncomfortable rehearsal and Macneillie went back to Seymour - Street doubly depressed. His thoughts turned to that April afternoon at - Stratford on the river. He had been strong then, but - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - “It is very good for strength - </p> - <p class="indent15"> - To know that someone needs you to be strong.” - </p> - <p> - <br /> - </p> - <p> - Christine’s presence, though in one sense it had been his most severe - trial, had been in another an incentive to endure. To-day, in his lonely - room with food before him which he could not touch, with a brain exhausted - by want of rest, and harassed by a hundred cares and annoyances, he came - perilously near to yielding. For that was the worst of it. The struggle - was not one to be gone through once and for all, it was constantly - recurring. And always he had the consciousness that Christine’s reverence - for law was weaker than his own, that she would quickly yield to his - lightest word. It was moreover so fatally easy to go to her, so hard to be - loyal to that shamefully unfair law of the land which should be reformed. - </p> - <p> - To check his thoughts he took up one of the London papers. The first thing - that met his eye was the announcement that Sir Matthew Mactavish had died - in the distant place of refuge which he had succeeded in gaining. And - almost immediately afterwards he noticed a paragraph in which was a brief - account of the marriage of the Honourable Herbert Vane-Ffoulkes to Lady - Dunlop-Tyars, widow of the late Sir John Dunlop-Tyars, Bart. - </p> - <p> - He smiled a little over the memories evoked by those names, but the dark - cloud soon stole over him once more. - </p> - <p> - “Villains can die,” he thought to himself, “and empty-headed fools can - marry, but I must still drag on this death in life!” - </p> - <p> - Then fiends’ voices began to urge him to give up: mocking fiends who - jeered at his obsolete notions of right and wrong: practical fiends who - would have had him cease a vain endeavor to keep up an impossible standard - of morality, and from thenceforth pander to the depraved taste of the - public; shrewd fiends who argued plausibly enough that his health was - breaking down and that it was high time to yield. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie with an effort roused himself and for a while baffled them by - taking a brisk walk; it was cold and wet and dreary but the exercise was a - relief and by the time he had reached the Seaforth Sands he had regained - his composure. The struggle was for the time over, but existence looked to - him as wretched, as cheerless, as that wild desolate country at the - entrance to the Mersey. The rain too began to come down remorselessly, and - he made his way to the station of the electric railway and returned by the - docks to the city. As he was walking along Church Street he chanced to - come across Ralph’s friend George Mowbray. - </p> - <p> - “I am just going to the Art Gallery,” he observed. “Bicycling is hopeless - to-day, the tires do nothing but slip.” - </p> - <p> - “I’ll come with you,” said Macneillie, not because he cared in the least - to see the pictures, but from sheer dread of having spare time on his - hands. - </p> - <p> - He had never before contrived to see the Walker Art Gallery and as he - wandered drearily round the place, seeing yet hardly heeding the treasures - it contains, his attention was at length arrested by Poynter’s well-known - picture “Faithful unto Death.” He was of course familiar with the story of - the sentinel of Pompeii whose skeleton was discovered, hundreds of years - later, standing on guard at his gate. But he never realised till he saw - that picture how awful must have been the man’s temptation to escape and - save himself as all the rest were doing. Behind him were only two or three - flying figures, most of the citizens must already have fled; but before - him, and drawing very near, was the awful lurid glow which meant certain - death. The sentinel stood facing it, he was perfectly upright, perfectly - calm, only in the strong tension of the muscles of the hand one could see - how instinctively he gripped the sword which could now avail him nothing. - In his dilated eyes there was no abject terror but a great awe, an - intensely human look of dread of the swiftly approaching fiery foe. It - would have been an easy thing to desert his post and disobey orders. Had - it ever come into his mind as he gazed across the campagna to Vesuvius - that self preservation was permissible under such circumstances? That a - soldier need not always obey his captain’s orders? Perhaps it had, but - nevertheless he had stood firm and had died in what no doubt seemed a - useless fashion, out of reverence to mere law, never dreaming that his - example would give courage and strength to millions of people in the ages - to come. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie turned away thoughtfully, his mind at work on that old, old - problem of evil and suffering, of the possible gain to others through the - inexplicable pain of the world. - </p> - <p> - The thought of it haunted him as he wrote business letters in his lonely - room, as he went about his work that night at the theatre, as he looked - with a sense of dull disappointment and depression at the rows of empty - stalls, and reflected how much hard toil and careful preparation had been - thrown away on an enterprise by which he was daily losing money. Someone - brought an evening paper into the green room, he glanced hurriedly at an - account of the new play shortly to be produced by Barry Sterne; he read a - few lines as to the part Christine was to take, and was pleased by a brief - allusion to the success Ralph had had in the summer. But as he went back - to his rooms a weary distaste for his work in the provinces came over him, - he longed as he had never longed before to be back in London, to be - working once more with his old comrades. - </p> - <p> - The dismal rain still fell in a drizzle, the flaring lights in the public - house at the corner of Wild Street were reflected garishly in the wet - pavement. A little further on as he crossed London Road he came upon a - small crowd grouped about a tram car, and paused listlessly to see what - was wrong. The horses were vainly struggling to make good their footing on - the slippery road; they stumbled and plunged and strained, but the uphill - way was too much for them, the car slipped back and for a minute the - passengers seemed in some peril. - </p> - <p> - Macneillie drew nearer and spoke to the conductor who was at the horses’ - heads doing his utmost to urge them on. - </p> - <p> - “Is the load too heavy for them?” said Macneillie. - </p> - <p> - “Bless you, no sir,” said the man, “they’ve done it scores of times, but - it’s a strain on ’em when the road’s slippery, and this ’ere roan ’e’es - afraid of coming down. It’s just panic sir, nothing more, ’e can do it fast - enough.” - </p> - <p> - Macneillie stroked the neck of the frightened horse, he had a fellow - feeling for it. - </p> - <p> - “We can’t have the line blocked or the passengers upset,” said the driver, - with an oath which appeared to refresh him greatly. “Come on mate, he must - do it. Take the whip and keep alongside of him thrashing him as we go.” - </p> - <p> - At last with much ado the car was in motion once more, and the poor roan, - kicking and plunging, was dragged and flogged up the hill. - </p> - <p> - “Oh, how could you let them be so cruel, Mr. Macneillie!” said Ivy who, on - her way back to her rooms with Helen Orme, had witnessed the same scene. - </p> - <p> - “Well my dear, I liked it as little as you did,” said the Manager. “But - what was to be done? The load was not too great, it was merely that the - horse was frightened, and there was no persuading it that it would not - come to grief. Like the rest of us it would insist on thinking of the hill - in front of it, instead of concentrating its mind on the next step. You - see while you anathematised the driver I, like the melancholy Jaques, did - ‘moralize this spectacle.’” - </p> - <p> - They laughed and bade him good night, but Ivy looked rather anxiously - after him as, having seen them to their door, he recrossed Seymour Street - to his lodgings a little further up. - </p> - <p> - “Nell,” she said to her companion, “how very ill Mr. Macneillie looks - to-night. I think he will break down altogether.” - </p> - <p> - “Oh, I hope not,” said Helen Orme. “I think he is only depressed. He has - lost his mother lately you see, and besides I’m sure there is plenty to - account for depression with such houses as we have had lately.” - </p> - <p> - Meanwhile Macneillie had reached his desolate rooms. He had been thinking - of the Stratford performances, of Ralph’s brilliant success, of the - crowded theatre;—it seemed to him that he ought now to have found a - sweet-faced little housekeeper sitting by the fire and making toast, that - there ought to have been a welcoming glance from Evereld’s truthful blue - eyes. Instead there was an empty room and a fireless grate and a solitary - meal awaiting him. He sat down and ate dutifully but quite without - appetite. He forced himself to remember how much better it was that Ralph - and Evereld should be near Christine; but the more he thought the more - that horrible craving to be there too assailed him. - </p> - <p> - And presently, for the first time in his life, a feeling of deadly - faintness came over him; he staggered into his bedroom. The gas was turned - low, the window which was at the back of the house had been left wide - open, he breathed more freely and leant for some minutes against the - shutter, vaguely conscious of the night sky and of the dark outline of the - neighbouring buildings. In his eyes there was the same look of awe—of - a great human dread—which makes the eyes of the Pompeian sentinel so - pathetic. He had endured long and patiently, had thought little of the - effect on himself, but now the dread of an utter failure of health seized - him, and he knew that it was no idle fancy but a very real peril which - must be bravely faced. - </p> - <p> - And yet better, a thousand times better, the wreck of body and mind than - the failure to be a law-abiding citizen. Better this cruel absence from - the woman he loved than faithlessness to what he knew to be right. - </p> - <p> - “There is not a pin to choose between me and that tram-car horse!” he - reflected, pulling down the blind and turning up the gas with a humourous - smile flickering even then about his pale lips. “The way is slippery and - there’s a hill to be climbed,—it is collar work, but a step at a - time may do it safely after all. Anyhow I will put ‘a stiff back to a - stubborn brae.’” - </p> - <p> - He paused for a minute to look at Evereld’s water colour sketch of the - moorland road, and to breathe “caller” air as he glanced at the heather - and at the blue mountains beyond the hidden valley. - </p> - <p> - He would go on patiently as a wayfaring man should do; and perchance in - time—oh, how he longed and prayed for that time!—the unjust - law would be reformed, and he and Christine might find rest and a home in - that hidden valley of the future. In any case no one could rob them of - their inheritance beyond. - </p> - <p> - Not, however, until he turned the picture over and read the quotation from - “Marius the Epicurean” which he had written at Callander on the back of - it, did his usual look of quiet strength return to him. - </p> - <p> - The words were these:—“Must not the whole world around have faded - away from him altogether, had he been left for one moment really alone in - it? In his deepest apparent solitude there had been rich entertainment. It - was as if there were not one only, but two wayfarers, side by side.” - </p> - <h3> - THE END - </h3> - <div style="height: 6em;"> - <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> - </div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wayfaring Men, by Edna Lyall - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAYFARING MEN *** - -***** This file should be named 54100-h.htm or 54100-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/1/0/54100/ - -Produced by David Widger from page images generously -provided by the Internet Archive - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive -specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this -eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook -for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, -performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given -away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks -not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the -trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. - -START: FULL LICENSE - -THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE -PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK - -To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free -distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work -(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full -Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at -www.gutenberg.org/license. - -Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works - -1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to -and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property -(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all -the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or -destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your -possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a -Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound -by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the -person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph -1.E.8. - -1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be -used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who -agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few -things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See -paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this -agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. - -1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the -Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection -of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual -works in the collection are in the public domain in the United -States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the -United States and you are located in the United States, we do not -claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, -displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as -all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope -that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting -free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm -works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the -Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily -comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the -same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when -you share it without charge with others. - -1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern -what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are -in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, -check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this -agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, -distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any -other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no -representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any -country outside the United States. - -1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: - -1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other -immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear -prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work -on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the -phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, -performed, viewed, copied or distributed: - - This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and - most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the - United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you - are located before using this ebook. - -1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is -derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not -contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the -copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in -the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are -redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project -Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply -either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or -obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted -with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution -must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any -additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms -will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works -posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the -beginning of this work. - -1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm -License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this -work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. - -1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this -electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without -prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with -active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project -Gutenberg-tm License. - -1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, -compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including -any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access -to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format -other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official -version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site -(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense -to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means -of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain -Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the -full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. - -1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, -performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works -unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. - -1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing -access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works -provided that - -* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from - the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method - you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed - to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has - agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid - within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are - legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty - payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project - Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in - Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg - Literary Archive Foundation." - -* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies - you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he - does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm - License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all - copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue - all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm - works. - -* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of - any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the - electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of - receipt of the work. - -* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free - distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. - -1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than -are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing -from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The -Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm -trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. - -1.F. - -1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable -effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread -works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project -Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may -contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate -or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other -intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or -other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or -cannot be read by your equipment. - -1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right -of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project -Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all -liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal -fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT -LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE -PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE -TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE -LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR -INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH -DAMAGE. - -1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a -defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can -receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a -written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you -received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium -with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you -with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in -lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person -or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second -opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If -the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing -without further opportunities to fix the problem. - -1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth -in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO -OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT -LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. - -1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied -warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of -damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement -violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the -agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or -limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or -unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the -remaining provisions. - -1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the -trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone -providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in -accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the -production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm -electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, -including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of -the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this -or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or -additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any -Defect you cause. - -Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm - -Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of -electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of -computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It -exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations -from people in all walks of life. - -Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the -assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's -goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will -remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project -Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure -and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future -generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see -Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at -www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit -501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the -state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal -Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification -number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by -U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. - -The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the -mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its -volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous -locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt -Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to -date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and -official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact - -For additional contact information: - - Dr. Gregory B. Newby - Chief Executive and Director - gbnewby@pglaf.org - -Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg -Literary Archive Foundation - -Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide -spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of -increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be -freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest -array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations -($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt -status with the IRS. - -The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating -charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United -States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a -considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up -with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations -where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND -DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular -state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate - -While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we -have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition -against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who -approach us with offers to donate. - -International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make -any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from -outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. - -Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation -methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other -ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To -donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate - -Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. - -Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project -Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be -freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and -distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of -volunteer support. - -Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed -editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in -the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. - - - -</pre> - - </body> -</html> diff --git a/old/54100-h/images/0001.jpg b/old/54100-h/images/0001.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 584f960..0000000 --- a/old/54100-h/images/0001.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/54100-h/images/0007.jpg b/old/54100-h/images/0007.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index f6d71a3..0000000 --- a/old/54100-h/images/0007.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/54100-h/images/cover.jpg b/old/54100-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 584f960..0000000 --- a/old/54100-h/images/cover.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/54100-h/images/enlarge.jpg b/old/54100-h/images/enlarge.jpg Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 5a9bcf3..0000000 --- a/old/54100-h/images/enlarge.jpg +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old/2017-02-03-54100-0.zip b/old/old/2017-02-03-54100-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 9467876..0000000 --- a/old/old/2017-02-03-54100-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old/2017-02-03-54100-h.zip b/old/old/2017-02-03-54100-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 17b713d..0000000 --- a/old/old/2017-02-03-54100-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/old/54100-h.htm.2018-10-19 b/old/old/54100-h.htm.2018-10-19 deleted file mode 100644 index d8236d2..0000000 --- a/old/old/54100-h.htm.2018-10-19 +++ /dev/null @@ -1,19551 +0,0 @@ -<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
-
-<!DOCTYPE html
- PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
- "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" >
-
-<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en">
- <head>
- <title>Wayfaring Men, by Edna Lyall</title>
- <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" />
- <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" />
- <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve">
-
- body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify}
- P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .50em; margin-bottom: .50em; }
- H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; }
- hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;}
- .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;}
- blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;}
- .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;}
- .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;}
- .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;}
- .xx-small {font-size: 60%;}
- .x-small {font-size: 75%;}
- .small {font-size: 85%;}
- .large {font-size: 115%;}
- .x-large {font-size: 130%;}
- .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;}
- .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;}
- .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;}
- .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;}
- .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;}
- .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;}
- div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; }
- div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; }
- .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;}
- .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;}
- .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em;
- font-variant: normal; font-style: normal;
- text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD;
- border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;}
- .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em;
- border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left;
- text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;
- font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;}
- .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em;
- border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center;
- text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;
- font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;}
- p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0}
- span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 }
- pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;}
-
-</style>
- </head>
- <body>
-
-
-<pre>
-
-The Project Gutenberg EBook of Wayfaring Men, by Edna Lyall
-
-This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
-other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have
-to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook.
-
-
-
-Title: Wayfaring Men
- A Novel
-
-Author: Edna Lyall
-
-Release Date: February 3, 2017 [EBook #54100]
-
-Language: English
-
-Character set encoding: UTF-8
-
-*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAYFARING MEN ***
-
-
-
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
- <div style="height: 8em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h1>
- WAYFARING MEN
- </h1>
- <h3>
- A Novel
- </h3>
- <h2>
- By Edna Lyall
- </h2>
- <h4>
- Author of “Doreen,” “Donovan,” “We Two,” “To Right the Wrong,” etc., etc.
- </h4>
- <blockquote>
- <p>
- <i>“Every man’s task is his life-preserver. The conviction that his work
- is dear to God and cannot be spared, defends him.”</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- —Emerson
- </p>
- </blockquote>
- <h4>
- New York
- </h4>
- <h4>
- Longmans, Green, and Co.
- </h4>
- <h4>
- London
- </h4>
- <h3>
- 1896
- </h3>
- <p>
- <br /> <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Thou goest thine, and I go mine,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Many ways we wend;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Many days, and many ways,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Ending in one end.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Many a wrong, and its curing song;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Many a road, and many an inn;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Room to roam, but only one home
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- For all the world to win.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- —George MacDonald
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /> <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0001.jpg" alt="0001 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0001.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br /><a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div class="fig" style="width:50%;">
- <img src="images/0007.jpg" alt="0007 " width="100%" /><br />
- </div>
- <h5>
- <a href="images/0007.jpg"><img src="images/enlarge.jpg" alt="" /> </a>
- </h5>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- <b>CONTENTS</b>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> <b>WAYFARING MEN</b> </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL </a>
- </p>
- <p class="toc">
- <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI </a>
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- WAYFARING MEN
- </h2>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER I
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “So is detached, so left all by itself,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The little life, the fact which means so much.
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Shall not God stoop the kindlier to His work,
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Now that the hand He trusted to receive,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And hold it, lets the treasure fall perforce?
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The better; He shall have in orphanage
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- His own way all the clearlier.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- R. Browning.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>
- wonder what will become of Ralph Denmead,” said Lady Tresidder, “it is
- one of the saddest cases I ever heard of; the poor boy seems to be left
- without a single relation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Sir John, musingly. “Just the way with these old decayed
- families, they dwindle slowly away and then become extinct. There was no
- spirit or energy in poor Denmead, the man was a mere hermit and knew
- nothing of the world or he wouldn’t have made such a mull of his affairs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yet Ralph seems to have the energy of ten people,” said Lady Tresidder,
- glancing as she walked at the river which wound its peaceful way through
- the park and reflected in the afternoon light the early spring tints of
- the wooded bank on its further side. At no great distance a boat glided
- swiftly over the calm water: in the stern sat a dark-haired, handsome girl
- of nineteen, while the vigorous little rower seemed to be not more than
- eleven.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor little chap,” said Sir John, “he is terribly cut up about his
- father’s death. I wish we could have kept him here a few days longer, but
- it’s better that he should be put at once into his guardian’s hands.
- There’s no fear that Sir Matthew Mactavish will not do all that’s right
- for him, if only for the sake of his own reputation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose he is a very charitable man,” said Lady Tresidder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, extremely charitable, and very well thought of. For myself, I
- frankly own I don’t like the way in which he mixes up speculation and
- philanthropy, and I’m not at all sure that he was always a good adviser to
- poor Denmead. But he’ll be kind enough to Ralph I’ve no doubt. The boy is
- his godson, and Denmead was one of his oldest friends. By the bye he was
- to be at the Rectory by five o’clock, and the boy ought to be there to
- receive him. They had better be landing, and Mabel can drive him to
- Whinhaven in the pony chaise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to make vigorous signals to the occupants of the boat, who
- somewhat reluctantly came ashore and slowly mounted the rising ground to
- the house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come in and have some tea while they are putting in Ranger,” said Lady
- Tresidder, kindly. “Sir John thinks you ought to be at the Rectory when
- your guardian arrives, and Mab will like a drive with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph grew grave at the thought of a return to the desolate Rectory with
- its darkened windows and awful stillness; he sighed as he followed
- comfortable motherly Lady Tresidder into the drawing-room where flowers
- and well-used books and a cosy tea-table, and some needle work, just put
- aside, gave a curiously homelike air to the whole place.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come and sit by me,” said his hostess in that friendly voice which more
- than anything helped him to forget his troubles. And perhaps it was the
- thought of the hard future confronting him which made Lady Tresidder
- glance so often at the little fellow who had outgrown the stage for
- petting, and who in spite of his smallness was really thirteen, innocent
- and ignorant of the world, and with a touch of the chivalrous gentleness
- of manner that had characterised his father, but in other respects just a
- high spirited, enthusiastic, hungry boy.
- </p>
- <p>
- His honest brown eyes grew less wistful as he waded blissfully through the
- huge slice of Buzzard cake with which Mabel had provided him, but he found
- the goodbyes hard to say, all the harder because of the kindness he
- received. It was only afterwards, as they drove up the steep hill in the
- park, and turned for a last look at the river, that he could remember
- without a choking in his throat, Lady Tresidder’s motherly kiss, and Sir
- John’s kindly farewell and cheery words about future visits, and the half
- sovereign with which he had “tipped” him.
- </p>
- <p>
- There had been no particular reason why the Tresidders should have been so
- good to him. Sir John was not the Squire of Whinhaven, indeed Westbrook
- Hall was not even in his father’s parish: but they had been practically
- Ralph’s only friends ever since he could remember and some of his happiest
- hours had been spent with Mab, who being many years his senior and a
- country girl of the best sort, had been able to teach him to ride and
- drive, to fish, to row, and to care for animals as devotedly as she
- herself did.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mab had a frank, hail fellow well met manner which contrasted rather
- curiously with her beautiful womanly face and delicately chiselled
- features; the world in general considered her somewhat off-hand and
- brusque, but she had in her the makings of a very noble woman, and the boy
- owed much to her companionship. They were very silent as they drove
- through the park, but it was the comfortable silence of friends who have
- perfect confidence in each other. Ralph seemed to be looking with wistful
- eyes at every familiar turn of the road; his eyes rested lingeringly on
- the grey walls of the house down below, and the gleaming silvery river,
- and the old hawthorn bushes, and the fine old chestnut trees.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mab,” he said at length, “may we stop for a minute, and just see the
- bullfinches? Look, there is one of them out of the nest and trying to fly;
- the cat will get hold of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, to be sure,” said Mab. “Will you care to take it with you to London?
- It is fledged and I think you could rear it. Would you like it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rather!” said Ralph emphatically. “And I have a cage at home that would
- do for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So the young bullfinch was carefully placed in a covered basket, and half
- an hour later Mabel Tresidder put down the two forlorn young things at the
- door of Whinhaven Rectory wondering how they would prosper in life.
- </p>
- <p>
- A severe-looking old housekeeper came out at the sound of the wheels.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you’ve come back, Master Ralph,” she said looking him over critically
- to see that he was clean and presentable. “That’s a good job, for Sir
- Matthew has been here ten minutes or more, and the lawyer from London with
- him. Are you coming in, Miss?” she added glancing with no great favour at
- Miss Tresidder, and calling to mind how often in past days she had led
- Ralph through bush and through brier to the great detriment of his
- clothes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I will not come in,” said Mab, “and this is not my real good-bye to
- you, Ralph, for I shall stay and speak to you to-morrow morning after the
- service.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She waved her hand to him, and drove swiftly off, while old Mrs. Grice
- muttered something uncomplimentary about “new-fangled” ways, and not
- liking females at a funeral.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph, meanwhile, had carefully hidden away the basket containing the
- bullfinch, and now stood in the little hall with a heavy heart. The quiet
- of the house was terrible, and the low murmur of strange voices in the
- study accentuated the misery and desolateness, which seemed to grow more
- and more oppressive every moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For goodness sake!” exclaimed old Mrs. Grice, “don’t stand there staring
- at nothing, like a tragedy actor, but go in and make yourself agreeable to
- the gentlemen; wait a bit, wait a bit, your hair’s all rumpled up, not
- seen a brush since the morning, I’ll be bound.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph, made meek by his misery, obediently turned into the room to the
- right of the door, his own special sanctum where he had worked and played
- ever since he could remember, and having brushed his wavy brown hair into
- a state of immaculate order went slowly back once more to the silent
- little hall which was not even enlivened now by the presence of old Mrs.
- Grice. Nothing was to be heard save the ticking of the clock and the low
- murmur of voices from the adjoining room, not a creature was there to take
- compassion on the shy desolate boy. He looked up at the black
- representation of Lord John Harsick and Katharine his wife, which hung
- upon the wall above the old oak chest, and the tears started to his eyes
- as he remembered how he had helped his father to mount this rubbing from a
- brass, some two or three years before. The stately old couple stood there
- holding each others’ hands, he fancied that they looked down on him with a
- sort of pity because he was left so utterly alone. He stood hesitatingly
- on the threshold of the study, dreading to enter, but at length impelled
- to move by a worse fear.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If they come out and catch me here they’ll think I’m eavesdropping!” he
- thought to himself, and therewith manfully turned the handle, and walked
- in.
- </p>
- <p>
- The study was in reality the drawing-room of the Rectory, a pretty room
- with a verandah and French windows opening on to it, and upon one side of
- the fireplace there was a cosy little recess where the Rector had been
- wont to keep his choicest flowers, and where the light from a little
- western window fell upon the marble bust of a sweet-faced woman—the
- mother whom Ralph could remember just in a vague dreamy fashion. Seated
- now at his father’s writing-table was an old gentleman with a kindly,
- astute face, and remarkably thick white hair. Standing with his back to
- the fireplace was a middle-aged man whom Ralph at once recognised from the
- photographs he had seen as his godfather, Sir Matthew Mactavish.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked up anxiously into the shrewd Scottish face, with its reddish
- hair just touched with grey, its keen steel-coloured eyes, its somewhat
- wrinkled forehead and ready smile. It was a powerful and an attractive
- face, but with something about it curiously different to the faces to
- which Ralph had been accustomed; the genial country squires, and the
- country parsons had nothing in common with this brisk, managing man of the
- world.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, my boy,” he said with a kindly greeting, “I’m glad to see you.
- You’ll not remember me for you were but a little fellow when I was last
- here. Let me see, they call you Raphe, don’t they?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not Raphe, but Ralph,” said the boy, and into his mind there darted the
- recollection of a scene that had once been funny but now seemed pathetic,
- of a discussion upon his name between his father and two old antiquaries,
- and of how one of them had patted him on the head with the gruff-voiced
- injunction, “If any one calls you ‘Raphe’ tell him he’s a fool.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was impossible to call such a man as Sir Matthew a fool, and the boy
- turned to greet the lawyer, and was surprised to find that unlike the
- typical solicitor of fiction he was a very noble looking man of the old
- school, gentle and courtly in manner, and evidently understanding how
- embarrassing the interview must be to a lad of thirteen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sit down, Ralph,” said Sir Matthew, motioning him to a chair, “there are
- several things I must talk to you about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph obeyed, not without a curious sensation at being ordered about in
- his own home by a perfect stranger. “Mr. Marriott and I,” resumed his
- godfather, “have been looking into your father’s affairs on our way from
- London, and as a matter of fact they were pretty well known to me before.
- I grieve to say, my boy, that he has left you quite unprovided for.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I—I knew,” said Ralph, “that father had lost a great deal of money
- lately—it was through some company that failed: he told me he never
- would have speculated, but he wanted very much to make money and send me
- to Winchester and then to Oxford; he couldn’t do that, you know, only out
- of the living. But he blamed himself for having done it; he said it was no
- better than gambling.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew had paced up and down the room restlessly during this speech,
- he seemed to be moved by it, and it was the lawyer who first broke the
- silence. “You are happy,” he said to Ralph, “in having the memory of a
- father who was just enough to recognise his own mistakes, and noble enough
- to confess them. Be warned, my boy, and never in the future dabble in
- speculation.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew returned to his former position on the hearthrug. “In the
- meantime,” he said with displeasure in his tone, “his more useful study
- will be how to live in the present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That,” said Mr. Marriott gravely, “is a matter which you, Sir Matthew,
- will no doubt help him to consider.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph, with a child’s quick consciousness that something lay beneath these
- words which he did not altogether understand, glanced from one to the
- other in some perplexity. He saw that Sir Matthew was angry with the
- lawyer, and that the lawyer disapproved somehow of Sir Matthew.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish Mr. Marriott had been my godfather,” he thought to himself. “I
- like him twice as well. Sir Matthew orders one about as though he bossed
- the whole world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, as often happens, he was forced to modify his rather severe
- criticism of his godfather, for Sir Matthew with a genuinely kind glance
- drew him nearer, and laying a hand on his shoulder, said in the most
- genial of voices:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t you be afraid, my boy, I’ll see you through your trouble. Leave
- everything to me. We’ll have you a Wykehamist as I know your father
- wished, and then make a parson of you, eh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh no, thank you,” said Ralph, “I couldn’t be a clergyman, I don’t want
- to be that at all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Eh! What! you have already some other idea? Come tell me, for it’s a real
- help to know what a boy’s tastes are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to be an actor,” said Ralph quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What!” cried Sir Matthew. “Go on the stage? Oh, that’s just a passing
- fancy. No gentleman can take up play-acting as a profession. No, no, I
- don’t send you to Winchester to fit you for such a trumpery calling as
- that. If you’ll not be a parson what do you say to trying for the Indian
- Civil Service? I’m much mistaken if you have not very good abilities, and
- for a man who has to make his own way in the world, why India is the right
- place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like to go to India,” said Ralph, thinking of certain tales of
- jungle life and thrilling adventures with man-eating tigers that he had
- lately read.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well,” said Sir Matthew briskly, “that’s decided then. To Winchester
- for six years, then a choice of the Church or the Indian Civil Service.
- There’s your future my boy, and I will see you fairly started in life
- whichever line you choose. To-morrow you shall come back with me to
- London, so run off now and let them get your things together, and Mr.
- Marriott and I will make all the necessary arrangements with regard to
- your father’s effects.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Not sorry to be dismissed, Ralph made his way upstairs, where he found the
- housekeeper already busy with his packing. She made him collect what few
- possessions he had, two or three pictures, some tools, some books and a
- toy boat; but what she termed “the rubbish,” such as bird’s eggs, mosses,
- fossils, imperfect models of engines, and such like, she entirely declined
- to handle. “The rubbish” must be left, and Ralph with an odd sinking of
- the heart, as he remembered how short was the time remaining to him, began
- his sad round of farewells. He stole quietly up to the attic from which
- the harbour could best be seen, and watched the stately ships going into
- port. Then he walked through the garden with lingering steps; he had
- worked in it with his father so long and so happily that every plant was
- dear to him; to leave it just now in this May weather, when the Gloire de
- Dijon on the south wall was covered with exquisite roses, when the
- snapdragons, which as a little fellow he had delighted in feeding with
- spoonfuls of sugar and water, were just coming into flower, when the
- bedding-out plants, which but three weeks ago they had planted were
- actually in bloom—this was hard indeed! Could it be only three weeks
- since that half-holiday when, with no thought of coming trouble, they had
- worked so merrily together?
- </p>
- <p>
- Passing through the green lauristinus arch he paced slowly on between the
- strawberry-beds now white with blossom. That Saturday had been their last
- really happy day, for the next morning’s post had brought the news of his
- father’s great losses, and though the Sunday’s work had been struggled
- through, the Rector had never been the same again, the burdened look had
- never left his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph thought it all over as he rested his arms on the little iron gate
- leading into the glebe, his eyes wandering sadly over that distant view
- which he had always loved, with its stretch of gorse and heather, and to
- the right the beautiful woods of Whinhaven park, just now in the full
- perfection of their spring tints. Well, it was all over now, and the place
- was to pass into the hands of strangers, and somehow he must get through
- his goodbyes. Making his way to the stable, he flung his arms about the
- neck of old Forester the pony, choked back a sob in his throat as he
- unfastened Skipper the Irish terrier, and picking up in his arms a
- scared-looking white cat, ran at full speed down the drive, across the
- common, with its golden gorse and dark fir trees, until he reached the
- coastguard station. Beneath the flag-staff, with a telescope tucked under
- his arm, there stood a cheery-looking official in trim reefer and
- gold-laced cap. It was Langston—the head of the coastguard station,
- and one of Ralph’s best friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have come to say good-bye, for to-morrow I’m going to London,” said the
- boy hurriedly. “And I want to give you Skipper, if you care to have him.
- He’s of a very good breed, father said, and he’s an awfully friendly dog.
- And if you had room for Toots as well I should be awfully obliged. I know
- he’s not worth anything, and ever since Benjamin was lost Toots has been
- sort of queer, always mewing and roaming about looking for him. But I
- think if you buttered his feet he would stay, and he’s a real good
- mouser.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Langston promised to adopt both dog and cat, but he would not allow all
- the giving to be on one side. He went into his house and returned in a few
- minutes with a little pocket compass.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll ask you to accept that, Master Ralph,” he said, as he gripped the
- boy’s hand in a friendly grasp. “You’ll maybe have rough times in life,
- but steer well, my lad, steer well, and be the man your father would have
- had you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How does one steer if one doesn’t know which is the right way to go?”
- said Ralph with a sigh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why it’s then that you’ll hear your captain’s orders,” said the
- coastguardsman. “Cheer up, Master Ralph, it don’t all depend on the man at
- the wheel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER II
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Ill is that angel which erst fell from heaven,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- But not more ill than he, nor in worse case,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Who hides a traitorous mind with smiling face,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And with a dove’s white feather masks a raven,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Each sin some colour hath it to adorn.
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Hypocrisy, Almighty God doth scorn.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Wm. Drummond, 1616.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>inner proved a
- trying meal that evening, although Sir Matthew and Mr. Marriott exerted
- themselves to talk, and were both of them very kind to their small
- companion. Afterwards they adjourned once more to the study where for the
- sake of the old lawyer a fire had been lighted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The nights are still cold,” he said drawing a chair towards the hearth,
- and warming his thin white hands; “May is but a treacherous month in spite
- of the good things the poets say of it. I understand that your father’s
- illness was caused by a chill,” he added, glancing kindly at Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He caught cold one night when they sent for him down in the village,”
- said Ralph, tears starting to his eyes. “He was called up at two o’clock
- to see a man who was dying: there was an east wind, he said it seemed to
- go right through him. But then you know he had been very much troubled
- because of his losses; for the last ten days he had scarcely eaten
- anything, and had slept badly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew paced the room restlessly, but when he spoke his voice was
- bland and calm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A noble end!” he said, “dying in harness like that; carrying comfort to
- the dying and then lying down upon his own death-bed; a very noble end.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Something in the tone of this speech grated on Ralph, he shrank a little
- closer to the lawyer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why do I hate him?” thought the boy. “He’s going to send me to Winchester
- with his own money, I ought to like him, but I can’t—I can’t!”
- </p>
- <p>
- At that moment old Mrs. Grice appeared at the door asking to speak with
- Mr. Marriott. He followed her into the hall returning in a minute or two
- and approaching Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My boy,” he said, laying a kindly hand on his shoulder, “if you want to
- see your father’s face again it must be now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Together they went up the dimly lighted staircase to the room overhead,
- Sir Matthew following slowly and with reluctance, a strange expression
- lurking about the corners of his mouth. Many thoughts passed through his
- mind as he stood looking down upon the still features of his dead friend;
- if the pale lips could have spoken he well knew they might have reproached
- him; and yet it was less painful to him to look at the stern face of the
- dead, than to watch the grief of the little lad as, through fast falling
- tears he gazed for the last time on his father’s face. It was a relief to
- him when the old lawyer drew the boy gently away, and persuaded him to
- return to the study fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will be good to his son,” thought Sir Matthew as he looked once more at
- the silent form. “I will make it up to Ralph. He shall have the education
- his father would have given him. And then he must shift for himself, I
- shall have done my duty, and he must sink or swim. The very sight of him
- annoys me, but it will be only for a few years, and, meantime, I must put
- up with it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So Ralph for the last time slept in the only home he had ever known, and
- woke the next day to endure as best he might all the last painful
- ceremonies through which it was necessary that he should bear his part.
- When the funeral was over he left Sir John Tresidder to talk with the
- lawyer and Sir Matthew, and drew Mab away into a sheltered nook of the
- walled kitchen garden where stood a rabbit-hutch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “These are the only things left,” he said, mournfully. “Should you care to
- have them, Mab? I should like them to be at Westbrook for I know you would
- be good to them. Rabbi Ben Ezra is the best rabbit that ever lived, and
- he’ll soon get to care for you. Sarah Jane is rather dull, but I suppose
- he likes her, and she doesn’t eat her little ones or do anything horrid of
- that sort like some rabbits.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will take no end of care of them,” said Mab; “but it seems a pity that
- you should leave them. Could you not take them with you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I were going to live with Mr. Marriott I wouldn’t mind asking leave,”
- said Ralph, “but there’s something about Sir Matthew—I don’t know
- what it is—but one can’t ask a favour of him. I’d far rather give up
- the rabbits.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps you are right,” said Mab. “And by the bye Ralph, let me have your
- new address, you are to live with your guardian are you not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They say Sir Matthew is not exactly my guardian. But father’s will was
- made many years ago and he was named as sole executor, and father wrote to
- him the day before he died asking him to see to me. Here comes the man to
- say your carriage is ready.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well,” said Mab. “And tell Mrs. Grice I will send over for the
- rabbits. Good-bye, dear old boy. Don’t forget us all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stooped down, and for the first time in her life kissed him, and Ralph
- having watched at the gate till the carriage was out of sight, suddenly
- felt a horrible wave of desolation sweep over him, and knew that he could
- not keep up one minute longer. Running down the road he fled through the
- churchyard never stopping till he found himself in a lovely sheltered fir
- grove—his favourite nook in the whole park; and here, while the
- nightingales, and the cuckoos, and the thrushes sang joyously overhead, he
- threw himself down at full length on the slippery pine needles that
- covered the warm dry ground, and sobbed as though his heart would break.
- They had always called this particular nook the “Goodly Heritage,” because
- whenever friends had been brought to see it they had always said to the
- Rector: “Ah, Denmead, your lines are fallen in pleasant places.” Poor
- Ralph felt that this saying was no longer true, he thought that the
- pleasantness had forever vanished from his life, and the prospect of going
- forth into the world dependent for every penny upon a man whom he vaguely
- disliked was almost more than he could endure. The boy had a keenly
- sensitive artistic temperament, but luckily his father’s strenuous
- endeavours had taught him self-control; he did not long abandon himself to
- that passion of grief but pulled himself together and began to pace slowly
- through the grove crushing into his hand as he walked a rough hard
- fir-cone. And then gradually as he breathed the soft pine scented air, and
- watched the sunbeams streaking with light the dark fir trunks, and
- glorifying the silvery birch trees in a distant glade which sloped steeply
- down to a little murmuring brook, he realised that the past was his goodly
- heritage, his possession of which no man could rob him, and in
- thankfulness for the home which had been so happy for thirteen years he
- set his face bravely towards the dark future.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Waterloo, first single, a child’s ticket,” said Sir Matthew Mactavish
- entering the booking-office an hour or two later.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I am thirteen,” said Ralph quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then he must have a whole ticket,” said the official, and Sir Matthew
- frowned but was obliged to comply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are so absurdly small,” he said glancing with annoyance at his charge
- as they passed out on to the platform, “you might very well have passed
- for under twelve.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph felt hot all over, partly because no boy likes to be told that he is
- small, partly because he was angry at being reproved for not standing
- calmly by to see the railway company cheated. How could it be that a man
- as wealthy as Sir Matthew could stoop to do a thing which his father in
- spite of narrow means would never have thought of doing? He could as soon
- have imagined him stealing goods from a shop as attempting to defraud in
- this meaner, because less risky, fashion. However, Mr. Marriott happily
- diverted his thoughts just then.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you fond of Dickens?” he said kindly. “Have you read his ‘Tale of Two
- Cities,’ or his ‘Christmas Tales?’”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph had read neither, and was soon leaning back in his corner of the
- railway carriage, forgetful of all his wretchedness, cheered and
- fascinated, amused and filled with kind thoughts by the story of Scrooge,
- and Marley’s ghost, and Tiny Tim, and the Christmas turkey.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was with a pang of regret that he bade old Mr. Marriott farewell when
- they reached London, and illogically yet naturally enough he felt far more
- grateful for the parting sovereign and the kindly glance which the lawyer
- bestowed on him, than for his adoption by Sir Matthew. A sense of utter
- desolation stole over him as Mr. Marriott disappeared, and he followed his
- guardian into a hansom and found himself for the first time in the heart
- of London. To his country eyes the crowded thoroughfares, the grim houses,
- the bustle and confusion, and the sordid misery seemed absolutely hateful;
- it was not until they happened to pass a theatre, and he caught sight of
- the name of a well known actor that his face brightened and his tongue was
- unloosed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” he exclaimed, “does Washington act there? Is that his own theatre?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, to be sure,” said Sir Matthew; “you shall go some night and see
- him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, thank you!” said Ralph rapturously; “how awfully good of you. Father
- took me once to hear him at Southampton, he was playing in ‘The Bells’ one
- Saturday afternoon. It was splendid; there was the dream you know, you saw
- it all before you. He dreamt of the court of justice, and all the time it
- was his own conscience that was killing him, and his remorse for having
- murdered the traveller in the sleigh. I thought I should have choked at
- the end when he believed they were hanging him; he just says, you know, in
- a sort of gasp, ‘Take the rope off my neck!’ and then he falls back dead,
- and the play ends. It felt so jolly to get out of the dark theatre into
- the street, and to find the sun shining, and everything as jolly as usual,
- and to know that all that dreadful misery wasn’t really true.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not true?” said Sir Matthew reflectively. “H’m!” He looked with a sort of
- envy at the boy’s clear innocent eyes, then he turned away; whether he
- were absorbed in his own thoughts or in the observation of the dingy
- crowd, it would have been hard to say.
- </p>
- <p>
- They paused at a house in Bow Street where he had to make some inquiry,
- and Ralph fell into a happy dream about his latest hero the great actor,
- returning with a pang to the uncomfortable present when the hansom at
- length drew up at a house in Queen Anne’s Gate.
- </p>
- <p>
- Feeling very small and desolate he followed his guardian up the broad
- steps and into the imposing entrance hall.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wipe your shoes,” said Sir Matthew, in his brisk authoritative tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph obediently complied, and saw somewhat to his amusement that the same
- command was printed in large black letters on the mat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I have a house of my own,” he reflected, “there shall be a doormat
- with SALVE on it. Then the chaps will know I’m awfully glad to see them,
- and that I’m not thinking first of my carpets.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew, meantime, had been talking to a greyheaded butler; Ralph only
- caught the closing remark: “And let someone show Master Denmead up to the
- school-room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The butler looked at the small lonely boy in his black suit. “Fraulein and
- Miss Evereld are out, sir,” he replied unwilling to send this sad-faced
- little lad into the utter solitude of the upper regions.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, very well, then you had better come with me, Ralph,” said Sir
- Matthew, and he led the way upstairs. The boy glanced nervously round as
- they entered. This was not one of the homelike, comfortable, used
- drawing-rooms such as he had grown to love at Westbrook Hall, but a great
- saloon upholstered in the best style of a well-known firm, and as lacking
- in soul and individuality as a Parisian doll.
- </p>
- <p>
- There were several people present. Lady Mactavish a peevish-looking woman
- with small suspicious blue eyes and a nervous manner, shook hands with him
- and looked him over in a dissatisfied way as though mentally reflecting
- what in the world she was to do with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Janet,” she called turning to her elder daughter, “this is poor Mr.
- Denmead’s son.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Janet, a somewhat sharp-featured clever-looking girl of four-and-twenty,
- came up and shook hands with him, but her cold light eyes beneath the
- fringe of red hair, looked to him unfriendly. She just passed him on to
- her younger sister who was enjoying a comfortable little flirtation at the
- other side of the room with a middle-aged officer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is Ralph Denmead, Minnie,” she said, returning to her former place,
- and resuming the interrupted conversation with a lady caller.
- </p>
- <p>
- Minnie, who was also redhaired, had a more friendly expression, she smiled
- at him as she shook hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fraulein has taken Evereld to her French class, but they will soon be
- home, and then they will look after you,” she said, motioning him to a
- chair at some little distance from herself and the Major. It was a modern
- imitation of an antique chair, very hard in the seat, very high from the
- ground, and with rich carving all over the back which made any sort of
- comfort impossible. As he sat on it with his legs uncomfortably dangling,
- he saw the lady who was talking to Janet put up her long-handled
- eye-glass, and inspect him critically as if he had been some strange
- animal at the Zoological Gardens. However small schoolboys were not
- interesting, she soon put down the eye-glass and turned to Miss Mactavish
- with a question which arrested Ralph’s attention.
- </p>
- <p>
- “By the bye, have you read ‘The Marriage of Melissa’? It is the book of
- the season, you must get it my dear at once, everyone is talking of it,
- and it is an open secret that Sir Algernon Wyte and Mrs. Hereward Lyne
- wrote it, though of course it appeared anonymously.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it? A society novel?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, and such a plot! There’s a tremendous run upon it they say, and
- wherever you go you hear people discussing it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then followed a graphic account of the chief characters, and the most
- difficult situations; it was a plot which made the boy’s ears tingle. He
- wriggled round in his chair and tried to become interested in the vapid
- talk of Major Gillot and Minnie, it was doubtless very interesting to
- them, but to him it seemed the most insane interchange of bantering
- compliments and teasing replies that he had ever heard. Was this love
- making? he wondered. If so, they did it much better in books. It was not
- in this fashion that Frank Osbaldistone wooed Di Vernon, or that John Kidd
- made love to Lorna Doone.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked wearily across to the hearthrug where Sir Matthew was shouting
- unintelligible jargon about the money market into the ear of a deaf old
- Scotsman; then in desperation tried to listen to Lady Mactavish’s
- grumbling voice as she related her difficulties to a soothing and
- sympathetic friend.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are always burdening yourself with other people’s affairs,” said the
- purring voice of the adept in flattery.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Lady Mactavish, “you see my husband is one of those men who
- inspire confidence. They all turn to him naturally. And I do assure you he
- has a perfect passion for adopting children. There’s this boy to-day.
- To-morrow it will be some other sad case. A little while ago it was
- Evereld Ewart, poor Sir Richard Ewart’s little girl. You must see her by
- and bye. Yes, we have taken her in and her nurse and her German governess.
- It’s been a very great anxiety to me, a great responsibility, though I
- make no complaint of the child. Still one likes to have one’s house to
- oneself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And dear Sir Matthew,” remarked the friend, “is fast turning it into an
- orphan asylum. But there it’s just like him! so noble-minded! So ready to
- give and glad to distribute!”
- </p>
- <p>
- There came a little interlude with the tea. Ralph handed about cups and
- hot scones which looked very tempting he thought. But there was no cup for
- him; evidently boys of his age were not supposed to feed in the
- drawing-room. He returned to the mock antique chair with its bony back and
- thought wistfully of the drawing-room at Westbrook Hall, and wondered
- whether Mab was at this very moment finishing that particularly good
- Buzzard cake to which she had so lavishly helped him yesterday. At lunch
- he had been too miserable to eat, but now he was ravenous, and to be at
- once hungry and lonely and unhappy was a sensation he had never before
- experienced. How was he to bear this detestable new life? How was he to
- take root in this uncongenial soil?
- </p>
- <p>
- His dismal reverie was interrupted by Lady Mactavish’s voice: “Just ring
- the bell, Ralph. By this time she must surely be in.” Then as the butler
- appeared, the welcome news came that Miss Evereld was at that moment on
- the stairs. Orders were given that she should come in at once.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph looked eagerly towards the open door, and watched the entrance of a
- little girl who was apparently about a year or two younger than himself.
- She was dressed in a short black frock trimmed with crape, but nothing
- else about her was mournful, her nut-brown hair seemed full of golden
- sunbeams, her rosy face was dimpled and smiling; she seemed neither shy
- nor forward, but stood patiently listening to the remarks of Lady
- Mactavish, and old Lady Mountpleasant, as long as was necessary, then
- having received a warm greeting from Sir Matthew, who appeared to be
- genuinely fond of her, she caught sight of Ralph and crossing the room
- shook hands with him in an eager friendly way. The tide of general
- conversation rolled on, but the two children stood silently looking at
- each other for a minute or two. At last Evereld had a happy intuition.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you not hungry?” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, starving,” said Ralph, with a pathetic glance at the scones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s no good,” said Evereld, noting the look. “We never have anything
- down here, but we’ll try and slip away quietly. No one really wants us you
- see. And I’ll beg Bridget to make us some hot buttered toast. She is the
- dearest old thing in the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does she live here?” said Ralph, as though he doubted whether anything
- superlatively good would be found beneath Sir Matthew’s roof.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is my nurse,” said Evereld. “We came from India you know last
- February. Her husband was a soldier but he died, and then she came to be
- our servant. Look, some more callers are coming in, now is our time to
- slip out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph gladly followed the little girl as she glided dexterously from the
- room, and it was with a sense of mingled triumph and relief that they
- found themselves outside on the staircase.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fraulein Ellerbeck and I have been talking all day about your coming,”
- said Evereld, as they toiled up to the top of the house. “The telegram
- only came at breakfast.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They must all have thought it an awful bore to have me,” said Ralph,
- remembering Lady Mactavish’s preference for having her house to herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We schoolroom people didn’t think it a bore,” said Evereld, gaily. “You
- can’t think how dull it is to have no one to play with. I could hardly do
- my French this afternoon for wondering about you, and once when the master
- asked me something about the difference between <i>connaître</i> and <i>savoir</i>,
- I said, by mistake, ‘Ralph Denmead.’ It was dreadful! Everyone laughed.”
- She laughed herself at the remembrance. “But, you see, I had been thinking
- how well we should get to know each other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A comforting sense of comradeship crept into Ralph’s sore heart; he forgot
- his troubles for a while as he looked at the merry face beside him. It was
- what he would have called an “awfully jolly” little face, with soft curves
- and a dainty little mouth and chin, a rounded forehead from which the hair
- was unfashionably thrown back, and a pair of clear blue eyes that made him
- think of speedwell blossoms.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld led him in triumph to the schoolroom to introduce him to her
- governess, and Miss Ellerbeck’s warm German greeting, so unlike the chilly
- reception he had met with in the drawing-room, at once set him at his
- ease. Bridget, too, accorded him a hearty welcome, and brought in enough
- toast even to satisfy a hungry schoolboy. She was a motherly person, with
- one of those rather melancholy dark faces of almost Spanish outline which
- one meets with among the Mayo peasants. But not all her wanderings or her
- troubles as a soldier’s wife and widow had robbed her of that delicious
- quaint humour which brightens many a desolate Irish cabin, and which
- brightened some parts of this great desolate London house.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER III
- </h2>
- <p class="indent20">
- “I do not love thee, Dr. Fell,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- The reason why I cannot tell;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- But this alone I know full well,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- I do not love thee, Dr. Fell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">P</span>recisely why the
- house seemed to him so dreary Ralph would have found it hard to say. It
- did not usually strike people as anything but a model English home.
- Something had, however, given the boy a clue, and already he vaguely
- guessed, what no one else suspected, that there was a skeleton in the
- cupboard. Little enough had fallen from his father’s lips during those
- last days, yet Ralph had gathered an impression that in some way Sir
- Matthew was connected with that disastrous speculation which had ruined
- his father. He was far too young and ignorant to understand the matter,
- and even had he been sure that Mr. Marriott knew all the facts he could
- not have asked the old lawyer to explain things to him, for was not Sir
- Matthew his godfather? a godfather, moreover, who had generously
- undertaken to provide for him till he was grown up? He was ashamed of
- himself for not being able to feel more grateful, but that vague dislike
- and distrust which he had felt during their first talk at Whinhaven
- Rectory, only grew stronger each hour.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the last guest had departed, Sir Matthew was beset by eager
- questions.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why did you adopt that horrid little schoolboy, papa?” said Janet,
- reproachfully. “You are far too generous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear, you forget; he is my godson, and I couldn’t leave him without a
- helping hand. His father entrusted him to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are all ready to sponge upon you, papa,” said Minnie. “A reputation
- for generosity is a terrible thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For a man’s daughters, eh?” he said, laughingly. “Well, my dear, I don’t
- want you to be troubled in the least. The boy will be going to Winchester
- in September, and we shall only have him in the holidays. As for little
- Evereld, we shall not be keeping her after her first season unless I’m
- much mistaken.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s true she is an heiress,” said Lady Mactavish, critically, “but I
- doubt if she will make a very stylish girl. And she’s far too
- conscientious to get on well in society.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, well, we shall see,” said Sir Matthew, easily. “Already she has one
- fervent admirer. Bruce Wylie makes himself a perfect fool about the
- child.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s old enough to be her father,” said Janet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But she couldn’t have a better husband,” said Sir Matthew, in the voice
- that meant that no more was to be said. “Nothing would give me greater
- satisfaction than to see poor Ewart’s daughter safely under the protection
- of a man like Wylie, before the heiress-hunters have had time to torment
- her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You remember that he dines with us this evening?” said Lady Mactavish.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, to be sure; let me have a list of the guests. And, my dear, remind
- me that I promised Lady Mountpleasant to open the bazaar for the Decayed
- Gentlefolk’s Aid Society at the Albert Hall next month.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are no sooner off with one bazaar than we are on with another,”
- protested Minnie. “Bazaars seem to me the curse of the age.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Blessings in disguise, my dear,” replied her father, with a smile. “The
- days of simple humdrum giving are over, and nowadays, with great wisdom,
- we kill two or more birds with one stone. To my mind, the bazaar is a most
- useful institution, and I should be sorry to see it abandoned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, you would ruin yourself with giving, if I allowed you to do it,” said
- Lady Mactavish, glancing up at him with an air of pride and admiration
- which for the moment made her hard face beautiful.
- </p>
- <p>
- The words touched him, and as he left the room he stooped and kissed her
- forehead. Yet, on the way down to his library, an odd sarcastic smile
- played about his lips, and he thought to himself, “They have yet to learn
- that, had St. Paul been a man of the world, he would have added a
- postscript to his famous chapter, and said, ‘For charity is the best
- policy.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the meanwhile the schoolroom party were snugly ensconced in the
- window-seat overlooking St. James’s Park. Ralph had been cheered by the
- sight of a regiment of Horse Guards, and Miss Ellerbeck had been beguiled
- into telling them stories of the Franco-Prussian War and of her brother’s
- adventures during the campaign. By and bye, as the evening advanced, they
- were interrupted by the appearance of old Geraghty the butler.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir Matthew would like you to be in the drawing-room before dinner, Miss
- Evereld,” he said, “and I was to say there was no need for the young
- gentleman to come down. Maybe he’s tired after the journey,” concluded the
- Irishman, adding these polite words of his own accord, for Sir Matthew had
- curtly remarked, “Not Master Denmead, you understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That means that Mr. Bruce Wylie is coming!” cried Evereld, joyously.
- “He’s such a nice man, and he always brings me chocolate—real French
- chocolate. I never go down unless Mr. Wylie is there. You’ll like him,
- Ralph; he has such nice kind eyes, and such a soft voice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you must run and dress, my child,” said Miss Ellerbeck; “and I,
- too, must be wishing you both goodnight, for I go, as you remember, with a
- friend to the Richter concert. We will light the gas for you, Ralph, and
- then you must, for a short time, make yourself happy with your Charles
- Dickens. Evereld will soon come back to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She bade him a kind good-night, and Ralph took up “The Cricket on the
- Hearth” and tried to read. But it would not do; the book had ceased to
- appeal to him. He threw it down, lowered the gas, and returned to the open
- window, leaning his arms on the sill and looking down through the bars at
- the dim road beneath, with its endless succession of cabs and carriages.
- For a little while it amused him to count the red and yellow lamps as they
- flitted by, but soon his sorrow overwhelmed him once more. It was the
- first time he had been alone since that morning hour in the fir-grove at
- Whinhaven, and now once more all the misery of his loss forced itself upon
- him. He was well fed, well housed, and his immediate future was provided
- for, yet, perhaps, in all London, there was not at that moment a more
- desolate little fellow. To be violently plucked up by the roots and for
- ever banished from that goodly heritage that had so far been his, was in
- itself hard enough; but to belong to no one in particular, to be planted
- down and expected to grow and thrive among loveless strangers seemed
- intolerable, and no ambitious dreams of a future in India came now to his
- help! He saw nothing before him but an endless vista of this same pain and
- aching loss. Tomorrow would be as to-day, and all real happiness had, he
- fancied, gone from him for ever. There is nothing quite so poignant as a
- child’s first great grief, though mercifully, like all acute pain, it
- cannot last long.
- </p>
- <p>
- The passing lights down below had long ceased to interest him, but
- presently through his tears he happened to notice the pointers and the
- Pole Star, and found a sort of comfort in what had for so long been
- familiar. At any rate the same sky was over Whinhaven and London, and the
- motto which he could remember puzzling over in his childhood, illuminated
- in one of the Rectory rooms, returned now to his mind—“Astra castra,
- Numen lumen.” It was true that the stars were his canopy, but was God his
- light? Had He not plunged his whole life in darkness, and set him far away
- from love and help and all that could keep a boy straight?
- </p>
- <p>
- The Westminster chimes rang out just then into the night air, startling
- him back from his perplexed wondering. Ralph was not of the temperament
- that is liable to doubt. He took life very simply, and it would have been
- almost impossible seriously to disturb the faith into which he had grown
- up; the wave of wretched questioning passed, and he knew in his heart that
- just as over the great city with its debates and crimes, its sorrows and
- struggles, the bells ring out their message, so heavenly voices are
- ringing through the consciences of men, guiding, controlling, influencing
- all. Had not his father always said it was mere miserable cowardice to
- believe that darkness would triumph over light, that selfish competition
- would in the end conquer? Love was to be the victor. Love was to rule. And
- the great deep bell as it boomed out the hour seemed to his fancy to ring—“Love!
- Love! Love!” over the restless crowd of hearers.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the meantime, however, his heart was still aching with the loss of the
- man who had been friend and companion, teacher and father in one. Surely
- since God loved him He would send some one to comfort him? Some one whose
- voice he could hear, whose hand he could grasp. For after all it was the
- outward tokens of love and comfort that he craved, as all beings of a
- threefold nature must crave them. A spiritual love could not as yet
- suffice him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now as Ralph leant on the window-sill crying quietly, much as a soldier
- slowly bleeds on a battlefield because there is no one to staunch his
- wound, the schoolroom door opened. He had expected some one to be sent to
- his great need, but had pictured to himself a man. He glanced round into
- the dim room and started when he saw, instead, only a little white-robed
- figure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” he thought to himself in his disappointment, “I ought to have
- known. It is only Evereld come back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it’s you,” he said, with profound dejection in his voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you all in the dark?” said Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve been looking at the carriage lamps,” he replied, evasively.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld made no comment, she knew quite well that he had been crying, and
- a great shyness stole over her—a terror of not being able to reach
- him, and yet a consuming desire somehow to comfort him. She remembered
- that in her own grief grown-up people had always tried to soothe her with
- the adjuration, “Don’t cry, darling.” She had never found any comfort in
- the words, and of course they would vex a boy. Dick would have hated them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know,” she said suddenly, “in some ways you do so remind me of
- Dick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is he?” asked Ralph, still in the dejected voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dick is my brother,” said Evereld. “He died last winter. There was an
- outbreak of cholera. On the Thursday father and mother died, on the Friday
- Dick and I were taken ill, and when I got better they told me he was gone.
- I was the only one left.” Her voice quivered a little. She ended abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” cried Ralph, like one in pain, and instinctively he caught her hand
- in his and held it fast. There was a silence. It seemed as if they did not
- need words just then.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph had not found the strong man of his dreams; he had found instead a
- little girl with griefs greater than his own, and he felt a longing to
- comfort her and care for her, and as far as possible to be to her what
- Dick would have been.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was he older than I am?” was his first question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He was thirteen,” said Evereld. “His birthday was in last September—on
- the 15th.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I was thirteen in September, too,—on the 9th,” said Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only a week between you—how strange!” said Evereld. “And about
- soldiers he was just like you. When you rushed to the window this
- afternoon and saw all the little details about the Horse Guards’ uniforms,
- that I never much noticed before, you made me think of Dick directly. He
- was crazy about uniforms, and Bridget used to make them for him. We’ll get
- her to make you one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think she would?” said Ralph, forgetting his troubles. “We could
- act all sorts of things then, you know. Do you like acting?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I love the dressing-up part,” said Evereld, “I don’t much care about the
- talking, Dick used to do most of that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll do that part,” said Ralph blithely, for although shy and reserved
- with his elders, he was never at a loss for words in a charade, and the
- two instantly fell to discussing future plans, forgetting every grief and
- care in the bliss of perfect companionship.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us come down now,” said Evereld, presently. “Geraghty promised to
- bring us whatever we liked. We’ll sit on the lowest flight of stairs, you
- know, and he’ll help us as the dishes come out of the dining-room. It’s
- such fun. I always do it when there’s a dinner-party.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph consented willingly enough, and found something cheering in the
- general air of excitement that pervaded the house. They sat cosily on the
- rich stair carpet with its soft Eastern colouring, a funny little pair, he
- in his deep black, she in her white Indian muslin, watching the servants
- as they hurried to and fro, and enjoying what Evereld termed “that nice
- sort of late-dinner smell.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But it makes one awfully hungry,” said Ralph, and the good-natured
- Geraghty, catching the words, murmured a comforting assurance as he passed
- by, “I’m coming to you directly, sir,” and in a minute or two with a
- beaming face he reappeared with two delicious oyster patties.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How clever you are, Geraghty,” said the little girl. “You always know
- just what will be nicest.” Whether Geraghty had much regard for their
- powers of digestion may be doubted, but he took a rare delight in tempting
- them with every delicacy, from prawns in aspic, to that curious dish
- called “Angels on horseback.” Ralph was half way through a huge helping of
- ice pudding when a momentary pang of doubt and reproach seized him. Ought
- he to be feasting on the very day of his father’s funeral? Evereld saw the
- change in his face, and helped by what she had lately lived through, was
- able to read his thoughts. “Dick will be so glad that I’ve got you,” she
- said, smiling, though Ralph fancied there were tears in her eyes. “I
- somehow think that your father and mine will be talking together
- to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And those few comfortable words were more to the boy than any number of
- sermons on the resurrection; all his vague beliefs were freshened into
- living parts of his everyday existence, and for the first time he knew for
- himself what had been to him hitherto merely things that others told him.
- </p>
- <p>
- A sudden lull in the roar of voices from the dining-room now took place,
- after which the Babel of many tongues rose once more. “They are just
- beginning dessert,” said Evereld. “That was grace, and in a few minutes
- the ladies will be coming upstairs. I think we had better go to bed now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So they parted, after having arranged that in the walking hour on the next
- morning, they would go together and sail Ralph’s little schooner in St.
- James’ Park.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IV
- </h2>
- <p class="indent5">
- “Of my grief (guess the length of the sword by the sheath’s);
- </p>
- <p class="indent5">
- By the silence of life, more pathetic than death’s!
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Go—be clear of that day.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- E. Barrett Browning.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he Park seemed
- dull and well-nigh deserted when, at about ten o’clock on the following
- day, Fraulein Ellerbeck and the two children made their way to the water’s
- edge. Fraulein said she would establish herself on a seat in a sheltered
- nook not far off, and the children carried her book and her knitting-bag
- for her, chatting as they walked. Pacing slowly towards them was a figure
- which somehow arrested their attention.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why,” said Evereld, lowering her voice, “it is surely the man we saw as
- <i>Benedick</i>, last March, Fraulein. It’s Hugh Macneillie, the actor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph looked curiously and with great interest at a member of the
- profession which had such charms for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie was a man of about seven and thirty, with chestnut-brown hair,
- strongly marked features, and a muscular, well-knit figure. About his
- clean-shaven face there was an air of profound gravity which surprised
- Ralph, who could not conceive how a man capable of acting <i>Benedick</i>,
- and noted for his subtle sense of humour, could wear such an anxious and
- melancholy expression. He glanced at them with dreamy, absent eyes and
- paced slowly by.
- </p>
- <p>
- Yet the little group had not been altogether lost on Hugh Macneillie in
- spite of the unseeing look in his eyes. He had carried away a curiously
- vivid impression of the two children, their black garments and their fresh
- young faces. He gave an impatient sigh, and paced on with quicker steps,
- yet turned again to walk by the side of the water, every now and then
- glancing at his watch with an air of vexation. He had been waiting there
- for a good hour, and he was in a mood which made waiting specially
- irksome.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will give her till half past ten,” he thought to himself, and walked
- doggedly on, his face growing more and more haggard as the time passed by.
- At last the Westminster chimes rang out the half hour; he mechanically
- took out his watch again to verify the time, and setting his teeth hard
- turned to go.
- </p>
- <p>
- At that moment there suddenly appeared, walking towards him, a very
- beautiful woman. It was difficult to say precisely in what her great charm
- lay. Her every movement was full of grace, and although she was dressed
- with scrupulous quietness—indeed with a simplicity that was almost
- severe,—no one could have passed her by without a lingering glance.
- Her complexion was pale but very fair, her hair was like spun gold,
- contrasting curiously with the brown, deep-set eyes; and though the mouth
- was a little too wide and betrayed a not ever strong character, both face
- and manner were full of that indescribable fascination which carries all
- before it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie, though he met her in the company of other people every day of
- his life, though he had known her for at least ten years, went to meet her
- now with his heart throbbing painfully. She gave him a charming little
- greeting, and apologised prettily for being so unpunctual.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is Elizabeth’s fault,” she said, glancing at the maid who accompanied
- her. “She allowed me to oversleep myself. You can wait for me on that
- bench Elizabeth, I shall not be long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The maid walked back to the seat where Fraulein Ellerbeck sat with her
- knitting, and Macneillie, who had scarcely spoken a word as yet, broke the
- silence as they paced on together. “I had almost given you up,” he said, a
- world of repressed impatience in his tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s the wisest thing I ever heard you say, Hugh,” she replied lightly,
- though with a secret effort. “But you must go further. It must be not only
- almost, but altogether.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t let us talk in parables,” said Macneillie, passionately. “You can’t
- compare an hour’s waiting in a park with ten years waiting through the
- best part of a man’s life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A look of pain flashed across her face: there was remorse and tenderness
- in her voice as she replied. But there was not the love he had once heard
- there, and he knew it well enough.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor Hugh!” she said, “I have treated you very badly. But how am I to
- help myself. We have waited for each other, as you say, these ten years,
- but you know well enough that my father and mother will never consent.
- They have made up their minds that I shall make a very different
- marriage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “In other words,” said Macneillie between his teeth, “they have made up
- their minds to sell you to the highest bidder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no, you are so exaggerated, Hugh. Every one can’t look at the matter
- as you with your religious education in the Highlands look at it. Marriage
- is, after all, an arrangement affecting many people and interests. We are
- not living in a romance but in the prosaic nineteenth century. And I must
- not just please myself. I must think of what will best help on my career;
- my first duty is undoubtedly to help and to please my parents who have
- done so much for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You didn’t think so ten years ago,” said Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ten years ago I was a foolish girl of seventeen. You had been very good
- to me when the year before I had been taken straight from school and set
- down alone and friendless in a travelling company. It was natural enough
- that I should love you then, Hugh—you who shielded me and helped
- me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But later on,” said Macneillie, clenching his hands, “when you no longer
- were lonely and friendless, when fame had come to you and all the world
- was at your feet, you very naturally needed me no longer, and your love
- died. Mine was never that sort of love—it will always live.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Christine Greville looked down with troubled face. Ambition and the
- importunities of her parents had for the time stifled her love. She felt
- cold and hard. His passionate constancy annoyed her. “I wish,” she said
- plaintively, “you would not speak like that, Hugh. I hate to think that I
- have pained you, or spoiled your life; but what am I to do? What am I to
- do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned to her eagerly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Be true to your best self, Christine. Trust the man who loved you long
- before this Sir Roderick Fenchurch had ever seen you. I’m not blind! I can
- see the advantages you might gain by marrying him! You would be very rich.
- You could have your own theatre, you would leap at once to a much higher
- position. But do you dream that such a marriage would be happy? Why, you
- have hardly a taste in common, and he is old enough to be your father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, as to happiness,” she said, impatiently, “I have long ceased to
- expect that. Don’t think me brutal if I speak plainly. I have had your
- love all these years, and it has not made me really happy. And if I
- married you, Hugh, I should not be happy at all. You are much too good for
- me, your standard of life is far too high. You would not be able to draw
- me up, and I should be always longing to drag you down to my level. It
- would be a life of perpetual strain and tension.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no,” he cried passionately, and as he spoke he caught her hand in his
- as though he felt that she was slipping from him. “Together, darling, we
- should be happy, we should be strong to work for art’s sake and for
- truth’s sake—strong to fight all that is evil.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They had paused, and were standing now beside the railing that fenced off
- the grass and bushes, and within a stone’s throw of Ralph and Evereld;
- half unconsciously Macneillie watched the progress of the toy boat as the
- soft summer wind filled its white sails. At a little distance the ducks
- swam about the wooded island, and in the golden haze Queen Anne’s Mansions
- loomed up impressively like some great fortress.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I don’t want to toil and to struggle like that,” said his companion,
- petulantly. “Every word you say only proves to me how far we have drifted
- apart, Hugh. You have a sort of ideal of me in your mind not in the least
- like the true Christine. I tell you I am tired of all your ideals and aims
- and dreams of raising the drama. That is not what I care for. I care for
- success and applause—yes I do, don’t interrupt me. I care for them,
- and I must have them. And I want a better position, and I want much, much
- more money. I want other things, too, which you can never give me. You’ll
- never be a rich man, Hugh, it’s somehow not in you; you’ll never push your
- way to the very front of the profession. But I must do that, nothing but
- the very first place will satisfy me. I have ten times your ambition.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “By that sin fell the angels,” said Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t quote Shakspere, we have enough of him every evening,” she said,
- forcing a laugh. “And for me, I am not an angel as you very well know.
- Come, let us make an end of this useless talk. My father is at this moment
- discussing settlements with Sir Roderick, and in a day or two all the
- world will know that the marriage is arranged.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie’s lips moved but no words would come—he breathed hard.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t look like that, Hugh,” she exclaimed. “We shall often see each
- other; we shall be the best of friends; and when I have my own theatre,
- why you shall be the first to find a place in the company.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A look of hot anger flashed across Macneillie’s haggard face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think I would accept such a post?” he said, indignantly. “For what
- do you take me?” Then, his tone softening to tender reproach, “You don’t
- understand a man’s love—you don’t understand!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps I don’t understand it,” she said, looking rather nettled; “but I
- have met plenty of men who were dying for love of me one month and raving
- about some one else the next. There, I must go home. Talking only makes
- matters worse. Go and take a good walk, Hugh, or you will act abominably
- to-night. <i>Au revoir!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- She beckoned to her maid and turned away abruptly, anxious to put an end
- to an interview which had been trying to both of them. Her face was grave
- and down-cast as she walked, and more than once she sighed heavily. She
- had never been formally betrothed to Macneillie, but there had been a
- private engagement between them, and she had spoken quite truly when she
- said that his care during her girlhood had shielded her from many perils.
- Her love for him had been very real; she had struggled long against the
- opposition of her parents, but at last her strength had failed, and little
- by little she had yielded to the influence which by degrees had paralysed
- her powers of loving.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor Hugh,” she thought to herself, remorsefully. “He is terribly cut up.
- But I was never good enough for him. Sir Roderick and the low level will
- suit me much better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After he was left alone, Macneillie did not move for some minutes. He just
- leant on the iron fence with clenched hands and set face, despair in his
- heart. The voices of the two children to the right fell on his ear,
- mingling strangely with his miserable thoughts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall lose her! I shall lose her!” cried the boy in a tragic voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How came you to let go of the string?” asked his small companion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had forgotten all about it; I was thinking of those people. Hurrah! the
- wind is shifting; she is coming nearer. I do believe I could reach her
- with my stick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie watched the boy’s strenuous efforts to recapture the tiny
- craft, which seemed almost within his reach, yet somehow always eluded
- him. Suddenly, at the very moment when his stick had touched the boat, he
- lost his balance and fell headlong over the low foot-rail into the water.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie had hurried to the rescue before Evereld’s cry of terror had
- reached Fraulein Ellerbeck. He lifted out the dripping boy and laid him on
- the path, and Ralph, recovering from the shock and rubbing his wet
- eyelashes, looked up to find a grave face bending over him and to meet the
- inquiry of the kindest blue-grey eyes he had ever seen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “None the worse for your bath, I hope?” said Macneillie, smiling a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, thank you,” said Ralph, struggling to his feet and looking very much
- like Johnnie Head-in-air when “with hooks the two strong men hooked poor
- Johnnie out again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was awfully good of you to help me,” he added, gratefully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now let us rescue the boat,” said Macneillie, winning golden opinions
- from the children by the real pains he took to capture the <i>Rob Roy</i>,
- and the same from Fraulein Ellerbeck by his courteous farewell.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So few Englishmen,” she remarked, “know how to bow. You must take a
- lesson from him, Ralph.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And, oh, Fraulein,” said Evereld, as they walked briskly home, that Ralph
- might change his clothes, “did you see what a long time Miss Christine
- Greville stayed talking to him? And part of the time they were quite close
- to us, and we heard her say that soon every one would know she was to be
- married—I think, to some very rich man—and she would have a
- theatre of her own, and Mr. Macneillie should act there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You should not have listened, my dears,” said Fraulein Ellerbeck,
- uneasily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, indeed, Fraulein, we couldn’t help it; her voice was so very, very
- clear, it reached us every word just like raindrops pattering on leaves.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And so did his voice too,” said Ralph. “He seemed quite angry when she
- said that. He said he would never accept such a post, and that she didn’t
- a bit understand how he loved her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, well,” said Fraulein, “let us say no more about it now; and be sure
- you never repeat what you accidentally overheard. It may be a secret from
- people in general, and it would be more honourable if you treated it as a
- secret.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The children promised that they would do so, but, like the celebrated
- parrot, though they said nothing, they thought the more, and Macneillie
- became their great hero. Through him they had both received their first
- glimpse into the unknown region where men and women loved and suffered;
- and, since they both were missing the familiar home life and the close
- companionship of parents, they seized eagerly on this new outlet for
- certain feelings of reverence and hero-worship which they both possessed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Could the actor have known what sympathy and devotion these two felt for
- him, or how real was their childish love and admiration, he would have
- felt, even at that bitter time in his life, a touch of amused gratitude
- and wonder. Wholly unknown to himself he was filling the minds of two
- somewhat desolate little mortals, brightening their tedious days, and
- drawing them out of themselves and their own troubles.
- </p>
- <p>
- Often, in after years, they would laugh to think what pleasure they had
- found in running downstairs before the breakfast gong had sounded, that
- they might get possession of the <i>Times</i> and see the announcement of
- “Hamlet,” in which Macneillie was appearing. And one morning it chanced
- that their two smiling faces were still bent over the paper when Sir
- Matthew came into the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” he said, kindly, “what good news have you found?”
- </p>
- <p>
- For once Ralph forgot the shy stiffness of manner which usually crept over
- him at his guardian’s approach.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh,” he said, in an eager boyish way, “We were just looking at the cast
- for ‘Hamlet.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure. I had quite forgotten that you were stage-struck, and that I
- had promised you to go to see Washington. You must get Fraulein Ellerbeck
- to take you some day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We would much rather see Macneillie,” said Evereld, “for it was
- Macneillie, you know, who helped Ralph out when he tumbled into the
- water.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well,” said Sir Matthew, “then do that instead. Fraulein Ellerbeck,
- will you take tickets for them?—and the sooner the better, for I
- hear there has been a great run on the seats there since the announcement
- of Miss Greville’s marriage. She’s to marry Sir Roderick Fenchurch at the
- end of the season.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph and Evereld having poured forth delighted thanks, discreetly kept
- silence when the conversation turned on Miss Greville’s betrothal.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They say, you know,” said Janet, “that it is a great surprise to every
- one, and that it was always supposed she would marry Macneillie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And in response to this every one had something to say about the
- probability or the improbability of such a story, save the two children
- who, with a proud pleasure in feeling that Macneillie’s secret was safe in
- their keeping, went on eating bacon with the most absolute control of
- countenance.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the eagerly awaited day at length arrived and the two
- hero-worshippers were sitting in bliss at the theatre, they found some
- difficulty at first in recognising Macneillie. He was just the Danish
- prince and no one else. It was only when both hero and heroine were called
- before the curtain, that they could at all think of him as the same man
- they had seen a few weeks before in St. James’ Park.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he led forward Miss Greville the contrast between them was curiously
- marked. She, with her smiling face, her air of perfect ease and content,
- seemed thoroughly to enjoy the warm reception. He, on the other hand,
- merely bowed mechanically, and looked as if this interlude were highly
- distasteful to him; the children could have fancied that he was positively
- nervous, though they doubted whether an experienced actor could really
- know what nervousness meant.
- </p>
- <p>
- After that call before the curtain they lost the sense that <i>Hamlet</i>
- himself was actually present; always through the passionate scenes and the
- tragic death which followed, it was not entirely <i>Hamlet</i>, but
- Macneillie with his own personal troubles that they saw; they wondered
- much how he could get through his part, and more and more after that day
- his name continually recurred in their talk, in their games, and even in
- their prayers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Just at the close of the season they saw him once again. Fraulein
- Ellerbeck had promised that on the first fine Saturday they should go to
- Richmond Park, taking their lunch with them. They had learnt from the
- conversation of their elders at the breakfast table that it was the very
- day on which Miss Christine Greville was to marry Sir Roderick Fenchurch.
- The marriage was to take place at a small country church, and was to be of
- a strictly private character. They had talked of it more than once as they
- sat at lunch under the trees in the park, and early in the afternoon as
- they wandered along the quiet paths and watched the deer grazing
- peacefully, their minds were full of their hero and his trouble. Suddenly
- Evereld gripped hold of her companion’s arm.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look!” she exclaimed in a low voice. “Is it not Mr. Macneillie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph’s heart beat fast as he glanced at the approaching figure. Had their
- incessant thought of him conjured up a sort of vision of the actor? Or was
- it indeed himself? Nearer approach answered the question plainly enough.
- It was undoubtedly Macneillie, but there was something in his ghastly face
- which struck terror into the boy’s heart, it reminded him of that awful
- shadow of death which he had seen stealing over his father on that last
- never-to-be-forgotten day. Apparently quite unconscious of their presence,
- Macneillie passed by, but in a minute Ralph, to the amazement of Fraulein
- Ellerbeck and Evereld, had rushed back and overtaken him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I beg your pardon,” he said, panting a little; “but I am the boy you
- saved the other day in St. James’ Park. And—and please will you take
- this knife as a remembrance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He thrust into Macneillie’s hand a little old-fashioned silver fruit knife
- which had belonged to his father.
- </p>
- <p>
- The actor evidently dragged himself back with an effort to the world of
- realities. He looked in a puzzled way at the boy and at the embossed
- handle of the knife.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are very good,” he said in a perplexed tone. “Yes, yes, I remember
- you now—you and your boat. But I don’t like to take your knife away
- from you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But, indeed, I never use it; I always eat peel and all,” said Ralph with
- an earnestness which brought a smile to Macneillie’s face. “We went to see
- you as <i>Hamlet</i>, and you were splendid! Please take it. You don’t
- know how awfully I like you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie’s eyes gave him a kindly glance and his cold fingers closed
- over the boy’s small hot hand in a hearty grip.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I will certainly use it,” he said. “It shall travel in my pocket for
- the rest of my life. But only on condition that you take this. Don’t get
- into mischief with it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And with a smile he put into his hand a clasp-knife, and while Ralph was
- still lost in admiration of the longest and sharpest blade he had ever
- seen, Macneillie passed rapidly on and disappeared among the trees.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Ralph, how delightful!” cried Evereld, as the boy rejoined them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How could you be so brave as to go up and speak to him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m awfully glad he took the fruit knife,” said Ralph. “But I wish he
- hadn’t given me this. It’s such a beauty and I had done nothing for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps you had,” said Fraulein Ellerbeck, thoughtfully. “The unseen and
- unrealised help is often the most real help of all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER V
- </h2>
- <p>
- “<i>The recognition of his rights therefore, the justice he requires of
- our hands or our thoughts, is the recognition of that which the person, in
- his inmost nature, really is; and as sympathy alone can discover that
- which really is in matters of feeling and thought, true justice is in its
- essence a finer knowledge through love.</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Appreciations,</i>” Walter Pater.
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>ix years after
- that memorable August day, Ralph and Evereld might have been seen on the
- tennis ground attached to the pretty house near Redvale, which Sir Matthew
- was pleased to call his “little country cottage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was decidedly one of those cottages of gentility which once caused the
- devil to grin. But in spite of that it was a very charming place. Its
- windows commanded an exquisite view over the hills and woods of one of the
- southern counties, and its gardens were the admiration of the whole
- neighbourhood. The tennis-lawn lay to the left of the house in a cosy nook
- of its own, and there was no one to see the vigorous game which the two
- were playing. This was a pity, for the play was skilful and dainty to
- watch, and the players themselves were worth looking at.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph, who had been a remarkably small boy, was never likely, as Geraghty
- expressed it, to be “six foot long and broad,” but he had developed into a
- well-proportioned, healthy-looking fellow, and still retained his open,
- boyish face, expressive brown eyes, and thick, wavy brown hair. Evereld
- was even less changed, she was still very small and young for her age; and
- although she was fast approaching her eighteenth birthday she wore the
- sort of nondescript dress which girls often wear during their last year in
- the schoolroom, her skirt revealing a pair of pretty ankles, and her hair
- still hanging down her back.
- </p>
- <p>
- The contest was an exciting one, but it ended in a victory for Ralph,
- whose greater strength usually conquered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am heavily handicapped,” said Evereld, throwing up her racket with a
- laugh. “We’ll borrow the vicar’s cassock and the Lord Chancellor’s wig and
- you shall play a set in them and see if I don’t beat you then!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come and rest,” said Ralph, strolling towards the little shady arbour at
- the side of the lawn. “The sun is grilling.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You would find it worse if you had all this weight to endure,” said
- Evereld, shaking back the cloud of nut-brown hair which hung over her
- shoulders. “I shall take to plaiting it up, then at least one would be
- cool.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, don’t!” protested Ralph. “You’ll never look half as nice afterwards.
- And besides, when girls do up their hair they always leave off being
- natural and get grown-up and horrid, and can’t talk sense to a fellow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My hair has nothing to do with being natural,” said Evereld, fanning
- herself with a big fern. “How could I help being natural with you, when we
- have been together all this long time? How I do wish I were a boy and
- might have gone in for the Indian Civil, too. By-the-by, Ralph, is that
- to-day’s paper? Is there any news about your exam?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They sent the wrong paper,” said Ralph taking it up. “See, it’s last
- night’s <i>Evening Standard</i> instead of this morning’s; they have been
- taking a nap down at the bookstall. I wonder if there really is anything
- in at last. It seems hard lines to keep us on tenterhooks from the 1st
- June till August.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t believe you have worried about it. Your head was full of those
- private theatricals the moment the exam. was over. How well they went off!
- I never saw Sir Matthew so nice to you. He really did for once appreciate
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was because other people praised me” said Ralph. “He would never
- have said one word of his own accord. You’ll never find him committing
- himself before he knows whether he will be swimming with the stream.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ralph, do you know I think you are growing rather hard. I hate to hear
- you say things like that about Sir Matthew. If Fraulein were here she
- would have a hundred instances of his kindness to tell us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes she would,” owned Ralph. “She has been our good angel all these
- years. Worse luck to that old professor who married her and left us to
- ourselves. Why, Evereld, just look at it in that way. What should you and
- I have been like if all this time we had only had the sort of indifferent
- cold charity which the Mactavishes have given us? Oh, I know there has
- been money spent on me: do you think I have ever been allowed to forget
- that for a moment? But Sir Matthew spoils with one hand the good he does
- with the other. Thank heaven, I shall soon be on my own hook. I wonder
- what life out in India will be like—and what the chances of getting
- any cricket are?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld fell to talking of happy reminiscences of Simla, and they were
- planning all manner of impossible arrangements for the future, in which
- they fondly imagined their present brotherly and sisterly relations would
- be maintained, when Bridget suddenly appeared upon the scene.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Evereld,” she exclaimed, “you’d best be coming in to change your
- frock, my dear. Sir Matthew has come down without any warning from London.
- He’s in the library, Mr. Ralph and they did tell me he was askin’ for you.
- Geraghty he just passed me the word that he thought Sir Matthew was
- troubled in his mind about some little matter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph flushed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see now,” he exclaimed, turning to Evereld, “if I haven’t gone and
- failed in that wretched exam! What on earth shall I do if I have?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, you will go in for it again next year,” said Evereld
- philosophically. “But who says you have failed? It may be nothing to do
- with the exam. Besides, you know that your coach and Professor Rosenwald
- and Fraulein—I mean Frau Rosenwald—all thought you were safe
- to pass.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know I had worked hard,” said Ralph. “Well, let me go and hear the
- worst at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t despair so soon. As for me, I believe you have passed, and that it
- is only some business matter that’s worrying Sir Matthew. Good luck to
- you. Don’t stay long in the library. I shall be dressed in ten minutes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She waved her hand gaily and ran upstairs, while Ralph, with a great dread
- hanging over him, went to the library.
- </p>
- <p>
- With other people he was invariably cheerful and talkative, but with Sir
- Matthew he was never his best self. To begin with, he was always ill at
- ease, and by a sort of fate he seemed destined to say and do exactly what
- would annoy his patron. If he was silent, Sir Matthew was in the habit of
- rating him for his dulness. If he laughed and talked, he was ordered not
- to make so much noise. If he hazarded an opinion he was sure to meet with
- a snub, and at all times and seasons he was hedged in by significant
- reminders that he was eating the bread of charity. It was well for him
- that he had seen comparatively little of the Mactavishes, thanks to his
- life at Winchester and to his friendship with Evereld and her governess;
- but he had seen enough to do him considerable harm and to plant seeds of
- pride, and hardness, and distrust of humanity in his heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew was sitting at his bureau. He glanced up as the door opened,
- bestowed a curt nod upon Ralph and went on writing in silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They told me you were inquiring for me,” said Ralph nervously, noting at
- once the storm signals in Sir Matthew’s face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did send for you,” said the master of the house grimly, as he signed
- his name with two flourishing M’s, and methodically folded, directed and
- stamped his dispatch.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph, horribly chafed by the manner of his reception and by the suspense,
- turned to the window and took up a newspaper which was lying near it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Put that down,” thundered Sir Matthew, as though he had been ordering a
- child of four years old.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir?” said Ralph, in angry astonishment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think I don’t understand your game,” said Sir Matthew. “You are
- pretending to look for news of your examination when all the time you
- perfectly well know that you have failed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Failed!” cried Ralph turning pale, and realising how little he had
- believed in failure when he had talked of the possibility with Evereld.
- “Who says I have failed? Where are the lists?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He snatched at the paper again, neither heeding Sir Matthew’s orders nor
- his scoffing laugh. Here was the list of the successful candidates, and
- with eager eyes he looked down it. The name of Denmead was not there.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew silently watched his expression of bewildered despair, but
- though it would have appealed to some men it did not appeal to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now that the newspaper corroborates what I told you, perhaps you believe
- my word,” he said sarcastically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I beg your pardon,” said Ralph, “I did
- not mean to doubt you—but the shock———”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now my good fellow, you may as well be silent, the less said about a
- shock the better; you know perfectly well that you never deserved to pass
- that examination. You had idled away your time over cricket and
- theatricals, and now you have to face the consequences.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are the first person to say that,” said Ralph, resentfully. “They all
- told me I had an excellent chance and was well prepared.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The examiners, however, thought differently,” said Sir Matthew; “your
- work was miserable. I have this very day been making special inquiries
- into the matter, that I may not judge you unfairly. You have not only
- failed, but failed ignominiously. Don’t fidget about while I am talking to
- you; sit down and listen to me for I have much to say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph forced himself to obey in silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am perfectly well aware,” resumed Sir Matthew, “that nowadays young men
- think nothing of failing, that they go in for an examination time after
- time with light hearts while their unfortunate fathers have to pay the
- piper. You were not in a position to behave in that fashion. And you would
- have shown, I think, a finer sense of honour if you had worked well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I did work,” said Ralph emphatically. “If you———”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew raised his long hand and waved it downwards in a silencing
- manner that was peculiarly his own.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I say nothing,” he continued, in his cool, measured tone, “as to what I
- might have expected after the large sum I have thrown away on your
- schooling at Winchester; I say nothing as to the three months in Germany
- and the special coach I provided for you; I say nothing of the manner in
- which I took you at once into my own house when there was no one to stand
- by you; I say nothing as to the fatherly care I have bestowed on you all
- these——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He broke off abruptly, for Ralph, with the look of one goaded past
- bearing, had sprung to his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he cried passionately, “at least that word you shall not use: there
- was never anything fatherly about you. All those other things that you
- cast in my teeth though you say you won’t mention them—they are true
- enough, and I have tried to be grateful—I—” he half choked in
- the desperate struggle between his pride and a certain sense of courtesy
- which still clung to him—“I will try always to be grateful.” He
- strode across the room to the window, panting for air. A chuckle escaped
- Sir Matthew.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were always a good hand at acting,” he remarked, “but I shall be
- obliged if you will come down from your high horse and remember that I am
- talking about a business arrangement. Don’t waste my time, but listen to
- what I have to say to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph paced back again to the hearthrug and stood there, looking steadily
- down at his patron. It somehow seemed as if in those few moments he had
- passed from boyhood altogether, even Sir Matthew noted the change in his
- look and bearing. “The only thing,” he resumed, “in which I ever saw you
- really exert yourself was in that play at the end of the season. I quite
- admit that you learnt the part of <i>Charles Surface</i> at very short
- notice and that you acted it far better than any amateur I ever had the
- pain of watching. But to play a part in ‘The School for Scandal’ is one
- thing, and to be fit to play your part in life is another. You will never,
- I am convinced, be sharp enough for the Indian Civil Service, I shall not
- permit you to go in again for it next year. I have already wasted too much
- upon you and shall not throw good money after bad. That’s always a
- mistake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph could not calmly stand by and hear his whole future overturned
- without a word; he broke in eagerly, perhaps rashly. “Yet many have
- failed the first time and afterwards turned out well,” he pleaded. “The
- standard of age, too, is likely to be raised they say. I would work my
- hardest. If you will let me try again——” But once more Sir
- Matthew gave that expressive downward wave of the hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he said peremptorily, “You have had your chance and lost it. Still,
- I am loth to turn my back altogether on an old friend’s son, and for my
- own satisfaction I offer you one more opportunity. I will make a parson of
- you. Do you remember that snug little vicarage up in the north of England
- where last year we went to call on a Mr. Crosbie? Years ago the
- Mactavishes owned the living; it had been in the family for generations.
- My father at a time when he was pressed for money sold it to old Crosbie.
- I have long wished to have the property again, and only to-day Crosbie
- happened to be in town and I got him to promise me that if I bought the
- living he would undertake to retire in four years. You had better not tell
- it in Gath, for of course the promise to retire is a strictly private
- matter, but for the rest it’s all legal enough. Next month you will be
- twenty. In four years you could be ordained priest, and I will undertake
- to see you through your training and to put you into this living. It’s
- three hundred and a house; you could be happy enough up there, and for
- your father’s sake I am willing to do as much as that for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something so artificial in those last words that Ralph, whose
- anger had been rising every moment, now broke forth indignantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it for his sake that you put before me a temptation of this sort? You
- surely know—you must know—that my father would never have
- accepted a living obtained in that way. Had you offered it him, and had it
- been worth ten times the money, he would not have touched it with a pair
- of tongs. Why, the thing is rank simony!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You receive offers of help in a somewhat curious fashion, young man,”
- said Sir Matthew with a sneer. “But in spite of that I still think you are
- very well cut out for a parson. Your dramatic instincts and your good
- voice would fit you well enough for the Church, and you are already able,
- I perceive, to preach to your elders and betters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph winced at the sarcasm, but he caught hold of the weak point in his
- opponent’s argument.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” he said, emphatically, “I am not fit for the work of a clergyman.
- The only thing that can fit a man for that is a distinct call from God.
- You are tempting me to go in for the loaves and fishes, and you dare to
- say that you do this for my father’s sake—my father, who would have
- starved first!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps he would,” said Sir Matthew coldly. “He was, as all his friends
- knew, an unpractical fool. You needn’t look as if you could kill me. He
- had excellent abilities but no power of pushing his way, and he left you a
- beggar in consequence, proving, according to scripture, that as he had
- neglected to secure future provision for his family he had denied the
- faith and was worse than an infidel. Now, to return to business; are you
- going to accept this offer of mine, or do you intend to be a pig-headed
- idiot, and affect to be calling a mere matter of business simony?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph’s eyes lighted up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean,” he said quietly, “to be true to my father’s ideals.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew broke into a discordant laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did his precious ideals feed you and clothe you and send you to
- Winchester? Don’t you know by his own confession that he had mismanaged
- his affairs?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know,” said Ralph indignantly, “that, whatever his faults, he was at
- least an honest man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had meant no insinuation whatever, but the words galled his companion
- terribly. Sir Matthew rose to his feet in a towering passion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You impertinent, ungrateful fellow, do you dare to insult me in my own
- house? Go, sir, get out of my sight! I have had enough of you. Let us see
- now how your ideals will support you! Leave my house and never set foot in
- it again!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph, too angry and sore to realise all that the words meant, turned
- without a word and left the library.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VI
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “The grace of friendship—mind and heart,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Linked with their fellow heart and mind;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The gains of science, gifts of art;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The sense of oneness with our kind;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The thirst to know and understand—
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- A large and liberal discontent:
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- These are the goods in life’s rich hand,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The things that are more excellent.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- William Watson.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he moment the door
- had closed behind the boy Sir Matthew’s anger cooled. For the time it had
- been genuine, for quite unintentionally Ralph had used words which stung
- him as no others could have done. There were two things in the world that
- the company promoter sincerely cared about—successful speculation,
- and his reputation as a philanthropist. His adoption of Ralph had been
- almost entirely a speculation, one of the specious bits of kindness which
- he had intended to redound to his own honour and glory. Having once
- undertaken the lad’s education he could not for his own credit’s sake turn
- back, but from the very first he had shrewdly guessed that it would prove
- a bad investment, and Ralph had been a thorn in his side. To begin with,
- the boy was in face curiously like his father, and Sir Matthew had some
- lingering remains of affection for his old friend, even though in his
- heart he despised him for not being more of a man of the world. He had not
- lived the life of a company promoter without having grown perfectly
- callous to the sufferings of his victims, but yet the conscience that was
- not dead but dormant within him had been faintly stirred at Whinhaven when
- he realised that the Rector’s ruin had been his work. Partly to salve his
- conscience, but chiefly because the world would applaud the action, he had
- adopted Ralph. The boy, however, had not taken kindly to the part assigned
- him. He never showed off well before visitors, never learnt to pose as a
- grateful recipient of unmerited kindness. On the contrary, Sir Matthew
- always had an uncomfortable feeling that Ralph saw through him, and knew
- him to be a humbug. As a matter of fact, the taunting allusions he had
- just made to Mr. Denmead’s mistakes and errors of judgment had driven his
- hearer far from all recollection of Sir Matthew’s actions or character;
- Ralph had thought only of that inward picture stamped indelibly upon his
- brain of the high-minded and scrupulously honourable father, who somehow
- seemed to him more of a living reality as he spoke than the angry,
- self-important patron confronting him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He was at least an honest man!” The words had intended no reflection on
- Sir Matthew, but they had gone straight to the company promoter’s one
- vulnerable spot, and for the moment had sharply pained him. Incensed at
- the perception that this fellow might hurt his jealously guarded
- reputation,—that reputation for benevolence which was part of his
- stock-in-trade, he had burst forth into angry denunciation, and in one
- indignant sentence had severed all connection between them.
- </p>
- <p>
- He took out a memorandum book now, and made an entry in it with much
- deliberation, then sat for some time wrapped in thought, gnawing absently
- at his pencil case, a trick which he had acquired, and of which the dinted
- surface of the silver bore tokens.
- </p>
- <p>
- “One may trust a Denmead to be honourable,” he reflected with a curious
- sense of satisfaction. “The boy will never mention that little private
- arrangement as to Crosbie’s retiring in four years. I have bought the
- living and now the question is how can I use it best to further my own
- ends? After all, it’s just as well that this fool has refused it. I can
- use it as a bait for some one else, and I’m quit of Ralph for ever. Though
- the boy is so like his father in face there’s much more go in him than
- there ever was in poor Denmead. He has a bit of the sturdy pluck and
- energy of his little Welsh mother. Pshaw! I needn’t trouble about him.
- He’s the sort that will swim and not sink, and a little course of
- starvation will bring him down from his impossible heights and teach him
- that he must do as other men do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With that he rose and left the library in search of his wife, and having
- chatted pleasantly enough with her at afternoon tea, he casually alluded
- to Ralph’s departure.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What!” said Lady Mactavish, “Is he going out to India, do you mean.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not that I know of,” said Sir Matthew with a laugh.
- “He has failed ignominiously in his examination, and has been most
- insufferably impertinent to me. I have given him his <i>congé</i>, and he
- will trouble us no more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The ungrateful boy!” said Lady Mactavish indignantly, “after all that you
- have done for him too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has behaved very badly,” said Sir Matthew; “and I think, my dear, we
- are well quit of him. I shall not see him again, but you had better just
- say good-bye to him, and by-the-by, I think you might give him a couple of
- five-pound notes; I should be sorry to launch him into the world without a
- penny in his pockets. It might make people think that I had been harsh
- with him.” Ralph had gone straight up to the schoolroom in search of
- Evereld, but something had delayed her and he found the place deserted.
- Throwing himself down on the window-seat, he let the soft west wind cool
- his flushed face and tried to think calmly over the interview with Sir
- Matthew. The attack on his father had angered him as nothing else could
- have done, and it was over this rather than over his own future that he
- mused. The sound of Evereld’s voice singing in the passage roused him, but
- before she had reached the schoolroom, the red baize door leading from the
- other part of the house creaked on its hinges, and Lady Mactavish appeared
- upon the scene.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was looking for you, Ralph,” she said, entering the room in front of
- Evereld. “I learn, to my great annoyance, that you have failed in your
- examination, failed ignominiously. It is quite clear to us all that you
- have not been working properly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But every one says that the Indian Civil is such a dreadfully stiff
- exam,” said Evereld, “and he did work very hard in Germany; they all said
- so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t interrupt me, my dear,” said Lady Mactavish. “It is not a matter
- you can understand. After all that Sir Matthew has done for you. Ralph, I
- think at least you might have behaved properly to him. He tells me that
- you were so impertinent that he has been forced to order you out of the
- house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had no intention of being rude,” said Ralph, standing before her with
- much the same expression of impatience, curbed by a sense of obligation
- with which he had always taken her fault-finding.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am quite aware that your intentions are always, according to your own
- account, immaculate,” she said scathingly, “but, unfortunately, your words
- and actions don’t correspond with them. You have behaved abominably to the
- man who has fed, and clothed, and housed you all these years, a man who
- has wasted hundreds of pounds on your schooling.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Believe me, I do not forget what he has done for me,” said Ralph eagerly.
- “I am grateful for it. But he used words of my father which were cruel,
- words which no son could patiently have listened to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing can excuse the way you have behaved,” said Lady Mactavish, “so
- say no more about it. What are your plans?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have made none,” said Ralph, “except to go by the six o’clock train.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where are you going?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To London,” he replied.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Mactavish glanced at him a little uneasily. She could not without
- prickings of conscience think of turning this boy adrift.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir Matthew, with his usual kindness and generosity, asked me to give you
- these,” she said, holding out the bank notes. “Though you have so much
- disappointed and pained him, he will not let you be sent away without
- money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Ralph drew back; there was a look in his eyes which half frightened
- Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” he said, “but I cannot take them; after what passed just now
- in the library it is out of the question.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Lady Mactavish looked uncomfortable. “You have been so shielded and cared
- for that you don’t realise what the world is. You will certainly be
- getting into trouble. I desire you to take these.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry to refuse you anything,” he said with studied politeness. “But
- you ask what is impossible.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your pride is perfectly ridiculous,” she said, turning away with a look
- of annoyance. “However, I shall retain these notes for you, and when you
- have realised your foolishness, you can write and ask me for them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Something in her tone, touched Ralph. It seemed to him that perhaps after
- all she had taken some little thought for his well-being, and that behind
- her grumbling, ungracious manner, there was more real heart than he had
- dreamed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you not let me say good-bye to you?” he said. “You must not think I
- am ungrateful for the home you have given me all these years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She took leave of him more kindly than he had expected, after which he
- turned thoughtfully back into the schoolroom, where he found poor Evereld
- sobbing her heart out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, don’t cry,” he said as if the sight of her tears had added the last
- straw to his burden. “It can’t be helped, Evereld, and after all, had I
- got through my exam. I should have been going abroad before so very long.
- And you are going to school for a year. There will be no end of friends
- for you there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They won’t be like you,” sobbed Evereld, “You are just like my brother
- now. Oh, how I wish we were really brother and sister, then they couldn’t
- turn you out like this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish we were,” said Ralph with a sigh, as he realised how utterly he
- had now cut himself off from intercourse with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All we can do, I suppose, is to hear of each other through the Professor
- and Frau Rosenwald. They will never let me write to you at school. It’s
- not as if I were your brother really or even your cousin. They’re awfully
- strict at schools about that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Evereld, resolutely drying her eyes, “We can write in the
- holidays, and in a little more than three years’ time I can do just
- exactly what I like. Promise, Ralph, that you will come to me when I am
- one and twenty. Promise me faithfully.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I promise,” he said. But as he spoke it seemed to him that by that time a
- thousand things might have happened to divide them. He had a perception
- somehow that, once broken, that brotherly and sisterly intimacy could
- never again be the same thing. Later on, Evereld knew that it was indeed
- at an end, but for the moment his promise cheered her, and she set herself
- to work to make the most of the present. “Come,” she said, “tea is getting
- cold, and you must eat all you can, for who knows where you will dine. Oh,
- Ralph! what do you mean to do? Where shall you go in London?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I shall go first to my father’s solicitor, old Mr. Marriott. He
- was kind to me when I left Whinhaven, and he will know the whole truth
- about things, and will perhaps advise me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall you go in for the Indian Civil again?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think so, for most likely all that part is true enough. I must
- have failed badly; I never was any good at exams. No, I have a great idea
- of trying my luck on the stage. That was always my wish since the day when
- my father took me to see Washington. We often laughed over the plan and
- discussed it, and he had none of that horror of the stage which so many
- parsons profess to have.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That would be delightful,—a thousand times better than going to
- India! And perhaps we shall go to see you act. And oh! perhaps you’ll get
- to know Macneillie!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have no idea where Macneillie has gone to,” said Ralph. “He has not
- played in London for the last six years; somebody told me he had started a
- Company of his own in the provinces. It wouldn’t be a bad idea to find
- out, and write to him. Unless our hero-worship threw a very deceptive halo
- round him, he must be an awfully kind-hearted man. Come! drink to my good
- fortune, and then like an angel just help me to sort out my things. Tea,
- and this notion of yours about Macneillie make me feel like a giant
- refreshed. After all, it will be jolly enough to be on one’s own hook
- after eating the bitter bread of charity all this time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yet I rather wish you had taken those hank notes,” said Evereld. “How
- much money have you, Ralph, to start with?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He felt in one pocket and produced a florin. “That will take me to
- London,” he said. He felt in another and produced half a sovereign, “on
- that I can live for a week,” he remarked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And after that?” said Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- He shrugged his shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are night refuges I believe, where for a penny one can lie in a box
- and warm oneself with a leather coverlet. And failing these, there is
- always the Park, where you can enjoy part of a bench without any charge at
- all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ralph, I’m not going to allow it,” said Evereld, her firm little mouth
- assuming its most resolute expression. “Do you think I should have let
- Dick go away to starve upon twelve shillings while I was lapped in luxury?
- I took you for my brother, the very first night you came, and I’m not
- going to give you up, whatever you say.” She unlocked her desk and took
- out four sovereigns. “This is all I have left of my allowance; I wish it
- were bank notes like the ones you refused. But you can’t refuse mine,
- Ralph.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He hesitated. “I don’t think I ought to take them,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The world would be shocked. What right have I to your money?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Every right, since we belong to each other. And as to the world it has
- nothing whatever to do with the matter. Don’t waste time, Ralph. Please
- take it for my sake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He could not resist the blue eyes brimming with tears, but let her place
- the money in his hand and gave her a brotherly hug. Then they hastily
- began to collect his possessions, talking bravely of the future, and many
- times alluding to their old hero Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the meantime in Geraghty’s pantry two other friends were colloguing;
- Bridget having learnt the fate that was to befall her young gentleman was
- opening her heart to her elderly <i>fiancé</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s turnin’ of him out that they’re after,” she said indignantly, “And
- him a fine handsome boy and knowin’ just nothin’ of the world. Sure thin,
- Geraghty, it’s a sin, it’s just a mortal sin, and him without connictions,
- let alone relations.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where will he be goin’?” asked Geraghty thoughtfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I heard them say he was goin’ to London, and you know what that will be
- meanin’ when a boy’s got neither money nor friends to keep him in the
- right way. It breaks me heart to think of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, maybe I’d better be tellin’ him of Dan Doolan’s house at Vauxhall.
- He’d be with good dacent folk there and they’d not be askin’ a high rint.
- Here, give me that tray. I’ll fetch down the schoolroom cups for ye, and
- that’ll give me a chance to speak with him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Geraghty had always been a favourite in the schoolroom, and Ralph turned
- to the old fellow now with a hearty appreciation of his kindly
- thoughtfulness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall all miss you, Mr. Ralph,” he said. “And if I might make so bold
- as to be giving you the ricommindation of some rooms in London, where they
- tell me you’re going, I think you’d find them respectable, which is more
- than can be said for many places. The house belongs to Dan Doolan, that’s
- my sister’s husband’s uncle, he and his wife are very dacent folk and they
- would do their utmost for you and give you a warm welcome.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Trust the Irish for that,” said Ralph, “I’m very much obliged to you,
- Geraghty, for I hadn’t an idea where to look for lodgings. Come, Evereld,
- now you will feel much happier about me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took down the address, and then, with the help of
- Geraghty and Bridget and Evereld, the packing was finished and the moment
- of leave-taking arrived. The butler had carried down the last portmanteau,
- Bridget had invoked blessings on his head and gone away wiping her eyes
- with her apron, and the two friends were left in the quiet schoolroom.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Remember your promise,” said Evereld earnestly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will remember,” said Ralph. “And after all it is likely enough that we
- shall meet before that. Courage, dear! Don’t fret. The time will soon
- pass.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here is a book for you to read in the train,” she added, afraid to say
- much, lest she should break down. “You must have a Dickens to comfort you,
- and this will be the best, for the wind is very much in the east to-day,
- as dear old Mr. Jarndyce would have said.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She gave him her own copy of “Bleak House” and Ralph, with a choking
- sensation in his throat, bent down and kissed the sweet rosy face that was
- still so childlike. After that, without another word, he left the house,
- and Evereld, running to her bedroom, watched him until he had disappeared
- in the distance, then, throwing herself on the bed, cried as though her
- heart would break.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VII
- </h2>
- <p>
- “<i>Is our age an age of genuine pity? I have my doubts. It is
- pre-eminently an age of bustle, and fuss, and fidget; but I think we are
- lacking in tenderness.</i>”—Dr. Jessop.
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>fter the pain of
- his farewells had begun to wear off a little, Ralph, being naturally of a
- hopeful temperament, turned not without some pleasurable feelings to the
- thought of the future that lay before him. More and more his old dreams of
- becoming an actor filled his mind, and in the sudden change which had
- befallen his fortunes he saw something not unlike a distinct call to
- return to his first ideal. He clung all the more to the thought because of
- the uprooting he had just undergone, and as he travelled through the
- Surrey hills on that summer evening, found comfort in the anchorage of a
- firm resolve to do all that was in his power to fit himself for his new
- vocation. That one did not climb the ladder at a bound he of course knew
- well enough, and he had sense to guess that it would be a difficult matter
- to get room even on the lowest step of the ladder. A hard struggle lay
- before him, but he was full of vigorous young life and did not shrink from
- the prospect. Then, too, he was keenly conscious of the relief of no
- longer depending upon the Mactavishes. He could exactly sympathise with
- Esther in “Bleak House,” who was always sensible of filling a place in her
- godmother’s establishment which ought to have been empty. It was something
- after all to be free, even though not precisely knowing how he was to keep
- body and soul together.
- </p>
- <p>
- With the exception of old Mr. Marriott there seemed few to whom he could
- apply for advice. His late master at Winchester was away in Switzerland;
- the Professor and Frau Rosenwald were in Dresden and were little likely to
- be able to help him, while of friends of his own age he had scarcely any,
- owing to Lady Mactavish’s dislike to his accepting invitations for the
- holidays which would have made return invitations necessary.
- </p>
- <p>
- On reaching Charing Cross he went straight to Sir Matthew’s house in Queen
- Anne’s Gate, left his luggage there, arranged to come the next day and
- pack the few things he had in his room, and then walked to Ebury Street to
- inquire whether Mr. Marriott were at home. London had such a deserted air
- that he began to fear that the solicitor would have joined in the general
- exodus. But fortune favoured him, Mr. Marriott was in town still and had
- just returned from the City. He was ushered into a comfortable library,
- where, in a few moments, the old lawyer joined him, receiving him in such
- a kindly and courteous way that the friendless feeling which had taken
- possession of him on his arrival in London quite left him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope you will excuse my coming at such an hour and to your private
- house, but I half feared you might be away and I was very anxious for your
- advice,” he said, when the old man’s greetings were ended.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m heartily glad you did come to-night,” said Mr. Marriott. “For
- to-morrow I go to Switzerland with my sister and my daughter. Is Sir
- Matthew still in town? Are you staying with him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has this very day turned me out of his house,” said Ralph, and he
- briefly told the lawyer what had passed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This seems a serious matter,” said Mr. Marriott. “We must talk it over
- together, but in the meantime, I will send round for your things, and you
- will, I hope, spend the night here. After dinner, we will put our heads
- together, and see what can be done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph could only gratefully accept the hospitality, and it proved to be
- just the genuine old-fashioned hospitality that does the heart good, and
- is as unlike its forced counterfeit as real fruit is unlike its waxen
- imitation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Old Mr. Marriott’s sister proved to be one of those eternally young people
- who at seventy have more capacity for enjoying life than many girls of
- eighteen. Her vivacious face, with its ever varying expression, her kindly
- human interest in all things and all people, did more to drive bitter
- recollections from Ralph’s mind than anything else could have done.
- Moreover, he lost his heart to pretty Katharine Marriott, though she was
- many years his senior. Her large, serious, brown eyes, and her air of
- gentle dignity seemed to him perfection; he could have imagined her to be
- some stately Spanish lady in her black, lace dress, and though she said
- little to him, her whole manner was full of sympathetic charm. When the
- ladies had left the table, Mr. Marriott began to make further inquiries as
- to what had passed that afternoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it not possible,” he suggested, “that you too readily took Sir Matthew
- at his word? He has been kind to you all these years, has he not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has carried out what he undertook,” said Ralph, “and twice, no—three
- times—I remember that he really spoke kindly to me. For the rest of
- the six years he has never noticed me at all except to find fault.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean that you got into trouble? That your school reports were bad
- or anything of that sort?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, they were decent enough, and I was never exactly in any scrape, but
- somehow, in little ways I always managed to displease him; spoke too much,
- or too little, or too loud, or not distinctly. If one made the least noise
- in coming into a room or closing a door he couldn’t endure it, or if one
- stole in with elaborate care and quietness, he would start and say a
- stealthy step was intolerable to him. As to breakfast, the only meal we
- ever had with him as children, it used to be a time of torture, for if you
- held your knife or fork in a way which did not exactly meet his ideal way
- of holding a knife and fork, he made you feel that you had committed a
- crime.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So there was never much love lost between you,” said Mr. Marriott, with a
- smile. “Well it is what I feared would happen when I last saw you. Did he
- often mention your father’s name?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hardly ever, except when some guest was there who was likely to be
- impressed with his kindness in having adopted a poor clergyman’s son,”
- said Ralph, flushing hotly at certain galling recollections. “It was never
- until this afternoon, though, that he dared to speak of my father as an
- unpractical fool who had left me a beggar, and to taunt me with the high
- ideals which would never have kept me from starving.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And did this lead to your quarrel?” said the lawyer, his brows
- contracting a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Ralph, “I replied that my father was at least an honest man,
- and he seemed to take that as a sort of personal affront—I’m sure I
- don’t know why. He went into a towering rage and ordered me out of his
- sight.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is morbidly sensitive as to his reputation,” said Mr. Marriott, “and
- no doubt he thought you knew something to his disadvantage. Did it ever
- occur to you as strange that he should have adopted you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At first I thought it was because he had really cared for my father and
- because he was my godfather, but before long I began to think it was
- chiefly as a sort of telling advertisement,” said Ralph, with a touch of
- bitterness in his tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All three notions were probably right,” said the lawyer, “but there was
- yet another reason of which I can tell you something. On the day we
- reached Whinhaven and began to look through your father’s papers, one of
- the very first things I came across in his blotting-book was the rough
- draft of a letter with a blank for the name in the first line. Seeing that
- it bore reference to the unlucky investment he had made, I glanced through
- it. It bitterly reproached the man he was writing to, for having
- recommended him to place his money in the company which had just gone into
- liquidation, and alluded to assurances that had been given him of this
- friend’s close knowledge of all the details, and complete confidence in
- the safety of the company. I recollect that one sentence referred to you,
- and your father said, ‘Should this illness of mine prove fatal, I look to
- you, as Ralph’s godfather, to do what you can for him, for it was in
- consequence of your advice that I made this unfortunate speculation.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph started to his feet. “It was Sir Matthew then who ruined him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said the lawyer, “on reading that I looked up and casually asked
- him if he knew who your godfathers were, he replied that he was one, and
- that to the best of his recollection, the other had been a distant kinsman
- of your father’s, a certain Sir Richard Denmead, who had died a few years
- before. Then, without further comment, I handed him the letter, remarking
- that of course, I had no idea on reading it that it bore reference to
- himself. He was naturally annoyed and upset, but was obliged to own that
- it was the draft of the letter he had received. He was doing what he could
- to justify himself when you came into the room, and what passed after that
- you no doubt remember.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I remember,” said Ralph, “that he patronised me—he—my
- father’s murderer. The word is not a bit too strong for him. He murdered
- my father just as truly as if he had stabbed him to the heart. It was not
- the cold that killed him, it was the misery and the depression and the
- anxiety for the future. And this false friend of his is the man that goes
- about opening bazaars, and posing as a profoundly religious man! Faugh!
- It’s revolting!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have never liked Sir Matthew Mactavish,” said Mr. Marriott, quietly.
- “It is wonderful to me how he impresses people; there must be some germ of
- greatness in him or he couldn’t do it. I am quite aware that the discovery
- of the truth must make you feel very bitterly towards him, but if you will
- take an old man’s advice you will dwell upon the past as little as
- possible. You can do no good by thinking of the injury he has done you,
- and you will have to be very careful how you speak of him, or in an angry
- moment you may make yourself liable to an action for slander; legally you
- know a thing may be perfectly true, but if maliciously uttered and in a
- way that injures another in his calling it may be nevertheless slander. So
- you must not proclaim your wrongs from the housetops. Now the question is
- what are you to do to support yourself?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want to try my luck on the stage,” said Ralph. “It was my wish long
- ago, and I believe that I might make something of it. I shall never be
- much good at examinations.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems rather the fashion for young fellows to try it nowadays,” said
- the lawyer, “but I should think the life was a very hard one, and like all
- other callings in this country it is much overcrowded. Still you might do
- worse. I will give you a letter to Barry Sterne; he is a client of mine
- and might possibly be able to help you. At any rate he would give you his
- advice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph caught at the suggestion, and when the next morning the Marriotts
- started for Switzerland they left him in excellent spirits.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you quite sure you have enough to live on until you get work,” asked
- the old lawyer, drawing him aside at the last moment. “I will gladly lend
- you something.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” replied Ralph. “But I have enough to live on till the end of
- September.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And by that time we shall be in London again,” said Mr. Marriott. “Be
- sure you come to see us and let us know how you prosper.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not without some trepidation that later in the morning Ralph
- presented himself at the house of Barry Sterne, the great actor. He sent
- in Mr. Marriott’s letter of introduction and waited nervously in a small
- back sitting-room, the window of which opened into one of those miniature
- ferneries which one associates with the operating room of a dentist. Three
- dejected gold-fish swam aimlessly up and down the narrow tank, and the
- ferns looked as if they pined for country air. It was a relief when at
- length he was summoned into the adjoining room. Here the sun was shining,
- and there was a general sense of ease and comfort, Barry Sterne himself
- harmonising very well with his setting, for he was a good-natured looking
- giant with a most genial manner, and his broad, expansive face beamed in a
- very kindly fashion on his visitor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid I can’t do anything for you,” he said, but the words carried
- no sting because the tone was so delightful. “I have hundreds of these
- applications, and it’s about the most disagreeable part of my life to be
- for ever saying ‘no’ to people.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He put a few questions to him, all the while observing him attentively
- with his keen eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you see,” he remarked, leaning back easily in his chair and telling
- off the various items on his fingers as he proceeded. “Things seem to me
- to stand like this. You have a good presence, a good voice, a good manner;
- but you have no experience, you have had no special preparation, you have
- no money, and you have no friends or relatives in the profession. There
- are three points for you and four against you. That means that you will
- have a very hard struggle, and will have to be content to take any mortal
- thing you can get. Are you prepared for that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am prepared to begin at the very bottom of the profession if only it
- will give me a real chance of getting on,” said Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To make a fool of yourself in a pantomime, for instance,” said the actor,
- eyeing him keenly. “Or to walk on and say nothing in a piece that runs for
- a couple of hundred nights?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I would do it,” said Ralph, thoughtfully. “If, in the meantime, I
- was really learning and making some way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Right,” said Barry Sterne. “That’s the way to set to work. But as a rule
- a gentleman thinks he must step into the first ranks of the profession
- straight away, which is a confounded mistake. I’ll write you a note of
- introduction to Costa, the agent. You may thoroughly trust him, and he may
- perhaps be able sooner or later to put you in the way of something. I wish
- I knew of any opening for you. But I’m off to America next month with Miss
- Greville’s Company.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The name instantly recalled Macneillie to Ralph’s mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When I was a small boy,” he said, “Mr. Macneillie was once very good to
- me. If he were in London still, I might have gone to him. Do you know what
- has become of him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hugh Macneillie? Why he would be precisely the man for you. He went to
- America about six years ago, had a tremendous success over there, and when
- he came back to England started a travelling company of his own. Oh,
- Macneillie is a sterling fellow, you couldn’t do better than try to get in
- with him. Costa will be able to tell you his whereabouts.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After that, with a few kindly words and good wishes, Ralph found himself
- dismissed.
- </p>
- <p>
- The day was intensely hot; however, he set off at once for the agent’s,
- handed in Barry Sterne’s letter, was sharply scrutinised by Costa’s keen
- Jewish eyes, and had his name entered upon the books, after paying five
- shillings.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must not be too sanguine,” said the agent, his dark melancholy face
- contrasting oddly with Ralph’s fresh colouring, and hopeful eyes. “I have
- one thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine names down of members of the
- profession who are out of employment, or of people who seek to enter the
- profession. You bring up the total to two thousand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph turned a little pale. “Is it so bad as that,” he said. “Then I have
- no chance at all it seems to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He asked for Macneillie’s present address and went off in very low spirits
- to write his letter, pack up his worldly goods, and take up his quarters
- in the rooms which Geraghty had recommended.
- </p>
- <p>
- People seldom do things well when they are in low spirits, and Ralph, who
- detested giving trouble or asking favours, wrote a stiff, short letter to
- Macneillie, asking his advice and inquiring whether he could possibly give
- him a place in his company. It was precisely the sort of letter which
- Macneillie received by the dozen from stage-struck youths in all parts of
- the country. Had he spoken of his boyish hero-worship of the actor, or of
- their encounter at Richmond, there would have been a human touch about the
- letter which would at once have appealed to the Scotsman; he would
- certainly have made a special effort for one so closely connected with the
- most tragic day of his life. But Ralph after floundering hopelessly in a
- sentence which alluded to the past, tore up his sheet of paper and wrote
- the bald, curt note, which so ill conveyed the real state of his case.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie, wearily returning from a rehearsal of four hours’ length, in
- which his temper had been severely tried, found the missive in his dreary
- lodgings at a south-coast watering place, hastily glanced through the
- contents and thrust the letter into his letter-clip among other similar
- requests, about which there was no immediate hurry. A fortnight later he
- wrote the following short reply:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear Sir,
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have no opening at present in my company, and if you really intend to
- go into the profession, and have realised that it demands incessant and
- most arduous work, I should strongly advise you to begin at the beginning
- of all things. Try to get taken on as a super at one of the leading
- theatres, where you will have opportunities for studying really great
- actors. Costa is a trustworthy agent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yours truly,
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hugh Macneillie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The letter chanced to arrive in Paradise Street on a foggy September
- evening when Ralph was in particularly low spirits. He had expected much
- from Macneillie and was proportionately disappointed. It seemed almost as
- if an old friend had shut the door in his face, nor did he quite realise
- that few men as busy, and as much tormented by importunate scribblers as
- Macneillie, would have troubled to answer his appeal at all. What was he
- to do? Where was he to turn for work? And how much longer would Evereld’s
- money hold out? The question was more easily than satisfactorily answered.
- It was clearly impossible that he could exist much longer in Paradise
- Street, and though its dingy room and bare, scanty furniture was far from
- inviting, yet he had grown fond of his good-natured landlord and took a
- kindly interest in the whole family of Doolans, with their easy,
- happy-go-lucky ways, and strong sense of humour. Life was lonely enough
- now. What would it be if he were altogether without a home in this great
- wilderness of London?
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER VIII
- </h2>
- <p>
- “<i>A man who habitually pleases himself will become continually more
- selfish and sordid, even among the most noble and beautiful conditions
- which nature, history, or art can furnish; and, on the other hand, any one
- who will try each day to live for the sake of others, will grow more and
- more gracious in thought and bearing, however dull and even squalid may be
- the outward circumstances of his soul’s probation.</i>”—Dean Paget.
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">R</span>alph’s chief
- comfort at this time was in a certain free library at no great distance
- from his lodgings. He made his way there now, and for a time lost the
- sense of his troubles in the world of books. This evening he had the good
- fortune to light upon Stanley Weyman’s “House of the Wolf,” a story which
- gave him keener and more healthy enjoyment than he had known for many a
- day. When he came back to the everyday world again and set out for his
- return walk to Paradise Street, he found that the fog had very much
- increased and it was with great difficulty that he could make out his way.
- As he was groping cautiously along an almost deserted street, he was
- startled by the sound of a shrill, childish voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me go! Let me go!” it cried passionately. “How dare you stop me? How
- dare you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph ran in the direction of the sound, until in the fog and darkness, he
- cannoned against the form of a man who turned angrily upon him, revealing
- as he did so, in the dim lamplight which struggled through the murky air,
- the evil face of an old <i>roué</i>. Fighting to free herself from him,
- like a little wild-cat, was the figure of a mere child; her vigour and
- agility were wonderful to behold and it was a task of no great difficulty
- for Ralph to help in freeing her from the clutches of the two-legged
- brute. Spite of the imperfect light, the child had been quickwitted enough
- to recognise the new comer as a protector, and she clung firmly to his
- hand as they went down the foggy street, never pausing until all fear of
- further molestation was over. Then, panting for breath, she stopped for a
- minute beneath a lamp-post, and in the little oasis of light, looked
- searchingly up into his face as though to make quite sure what manner of
- man he was. He saw now that she must be older than he had thought; from
- her height he had fancied her about eleven but he realised both by her
- face and her expression, that she must be at least fifteen. Her colouring
- was curiously like Evereld’s but the face was sharper, and had a funny
- look of assurance and knowledge of the world, which was, nevertheless,
- belied by the childish curves of cheek and chin, and by the nervous
- pressure with which she still clasped his hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know a bit what this street is,” she said, with tears in her
- voice, “And if I don’t soon get home grandfather will be dreadfully
- anxious about me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where is your home?” asked Ralph, feeling curiously drawn to the forlorn
- little mortal who had crossed his path so strangely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s in Paradise Street, Vauxhall,” said the child.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, that’s lucky!” said Ralph. “My rooms are there too. What takes you
- out at this time of night? It’s not safe for you to be wandering about
- London alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I always do go alone,” said the child, a little indignantly. “And no one
- ever dared to bother me before. One of the dressers always walks with me
- as far as our roads lie together, but this bit I always do alone ever
- since I went to the theatre.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh you are on the stage,” said Ralph, his interest increasing; “Well, you
- are lucky to have work; it’s more than I can get.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I used only to dance,” said the child, eagerly. “But now I have a little
- part of my own, but of course you won’t know my name yet, it’s not much
- known. I am Miss Ivy Grant.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a comical touch of pride and dignity in the words. Ralph’s lip
- twitched, but he bowed gravely and said he was delighted to make her
- acquaintance. Then, having walked a little further, they suddenly realised
- what road they were in and without much more difficulty groped their way
- home to Paradise Street.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want you to come in and see my grandfather,” said Ivy, pausing at her
- door. “He will be very grateful to you for having helped me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph hesitated. “It is late for me to come in now,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It won’t be late for grandfather, he never settles in till after
- midnight. He is half paralysed. Please come.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He couldn’t find it in his heart to resist the pleading little voice, and
- Ivy took him through the narrow passage and into the front sitting-room,
- where they found a fine looking old man whose flowing, white beard and
- many coloured dressing-gown gave him a sort of Eastern look. The small,
- grey, critical eyes, however, were not Eastern at all and when he spoke
- Ralph fancied that he could detect a slight Scotch accent, which together
- with the tone of voice made him think somehow of Sir Matthew Mactavish.
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked searchingly at the new comer, but on Ivy’s hurried explanation
- held out his hand cordially, thanking him for coming to the child’s aid
- with a warmth which was evidently genuine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She has to be breadwinner-in-chief to the establishment,” he said, with a
- smile, “And being a wise-like little body seldom gets into difficulties.
- Being a useless old log myself I should long ago have been hewn down and
- cast into the Union had it not been for the Ivy that supported me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You say those pretty things because you know it will make me come and
- kiss you,” said Ivy, saucily, as she threw off her cloak and hat and
- wreathed her arms about the old man’s neck. “And now while I get your
- coffee ready you must talk to Mr. Denmead, for he wants work at the
- theatre and can’t get it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Half a dozen years ago when I was dramatic critic for the <i>Pennon</i> I
- might have done something for you,” said the old man, wistfully. “But now
- I am little but a burden as I told you. A few pupils come to me still for
- lessons in elocution, and I have the training of Ivy who is going to be a
- credit to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he spoke he glanced towards the little housewife who with an air of
- importance was preparing the supper. Ralph thought he had never before
- seen any one move with such grace, and though her face was lacking in the
- simplicity and peace which characterised Evereld, it was a particularly
- winsome little face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How did you get on to-night little one?” said the old man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well,” said Ivy as she poured the coffee out of an ancient
- percolator into three earthenware cups which had seen hard service. Ralph
- observed that she kept the cup without a handle for herself, and carefully
- selected him one which was without a chip on the drinking side of the rim.
- “But I might easily have broken my leg,” she continued, cheerfully; “for
- that stupid Jem had forgotten to shut one of the traps properly, and Mr.
- Merrithorne stumbled and hurt his ankle badly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What part does he play?” said her grandfather.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh he hasn’t very much to do, he is a rather stupid footman and he was
- bringing in the luncheon tray with the property pie and that old fowl
- which wants painting again so badly, and when he tripped up, the pie went
- bowling down the stage, and the fowl landed in Miss West’s lap and every
- one roared with laughter. She was dreadfully angry, but afterwards when it
- seemed that Mr. Merrithorne was really hurt she was rather sorry for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is his understudy?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know. It is such a little part, perhaps he hasn’t one. But he was
- limping dreadfully as he went away. I shouldn’t think he could act
- to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s possible that might give you a chance,” said the professor of
- elocution. “A stupid, countrified man-servant you say, Ivy? Are you pretty
- good at dialect?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph laughed, for he knew that he was an adept at a certain south country
- dialect, and without more ado stood up and gave the Professor a short and
- highly humourous dialogue between a ploughman and his boy, with which he
- had often made Evereld and her governess laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good,” said the Professor, his grey eyes twinkling, “I think you’ll do
- young man; but come to me to-morrow morning at nine o’clock and I’ll give
- you a few hints about voice production.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph coloured. “You are very good,” he said, “but to tell the truth I am
- at my wit’s end for money and much as I would like lessons can’t possibly
- afford them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pshaw! nonsense,” said the Professor, knitting his brows. “I’m already in
- your debt, for it might have fared ill with the child had you not taken
- care of her tonight. If I can give you a helping hand, nothing would
- please me better. And after the lesson you might go round with Ivy, and
- I’ll give you an introduction to the manager. He’s a man I knew well at
- one time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph’s face lighted up. “I should be very grateful,” he said, eagerly,
- “for this waiting about for work is tedious enough, and I shall be starved
- out before long.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He went home much cheered and with great expectations. The Professor
- interested him; there was something half mysterious about the white-haired
- old man which puzzled him and piqued his curiosity. He was particularly
- benevolent and kindly and yet he seemed as unpractical as a mere
- visionary, and was surely to blame in letting a child like Ivy go to and
- from the theatre each night alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- Clearly the granddaughter was manager-in-chief as well as breadwinner, and
- as he thought of her winsome little face with its shrewd, light-blue eyes,
- slightly <i>retroussé</i> nose, and small, firm mouth he felt a keen
- desire to see more of her. She was so quaint in her brisk, housewifely
- arrangements, so deft and clever in all her ways; a little conscious at
- times, and quite capable of posing for effect, but lovable in spite of
- that.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could soon laugh her out of those little affectations,” he thought to
- himself. “And there is such a look of Evereld about her that she must at
- heart be good. She is very clever, possibly she is even cunning, and she
- has extraordinary tact—almost too much for such a child.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He went to sleep and was haunted all night by that funny, pathetic, little
- face of the child actress. Together they fled from a thousand perils, and
- when next morning he saw her again face to face, it seemed to him that
- they were quite old companions.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good day,” said the Professor in his bland, pleasant voice as Ralph was
- ushered into the dreary little room. “Sit down for a minute, I have not
- yet finished with my other pupil. Now sir! don’t mumble like a bee in a
- bottle. You know well enough how to get the clear shock of the glottis and
- that’s the secret of voice production. You have the voice and the lungs
- and the knowledge of the method, but you are lazy, incorrigibly lazy!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The young man crimsoned and with an effort burst out with one of
- Prospero’s speeches:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- “I pray thee, mark me.
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- To closeness and the bettering of my mind
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- With that which, but by being so retired,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- O’er prized all popular rate, in my false brother
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Awaked an evil nature.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- There he was arrested; for the Professor thundered on the floor with his
- walking stick, looking as if he would much have enjoyed laying it about
- the victim’s shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- His scathing sarcasms, his merciless interruptions, his sharp criticism,
- would have tried the patience of Job himself, but his unfortunate pupil
- struggled on and really improved marvellously, while Ralph sat an
- observant spectator, learning not a little from all that went on. At the
- close of the instruction the old man’s serenity of manner returned—he
- even praised the youth he had so violently abused but a minute before. The
- reason of this soon transpired; he needed his help with the next pupil.
- “You are not pressed for time?” he asked, with a smile. “Then I shall be
- much obliged if you will kindly help my new pupil, Mr. Denmead, with the
- first exercise.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The victim glanced somewhat anxiously at the clock, but the Professor was
- evidently an autocrat, and it would have been easier to refuse a request
- made by the Czar himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will lie at full length on the floor,” said the Professor, with a
- lordly wave of the hand towards Ralph. “My pupil, Mr. Bourne, will then
- kneel on your chest, and you will in this position practise the art of
- breathing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph obeyed, not without a strong sense of the absurdity of the whole
- scene. Could Sir Matthew Mactavish have seen him at that moment, lying on
- the bare boards of a dingy lodging-house in Vauxhall, with a young reciter
- of no mean weight kneeling on his chest, with a paralytic and mysterious
- old sage roaring and shouting instructions and beating impatient tattoos
- with his stick at intervals, while a pretty young girl sat by the window
- covering stage shoes with cheap pink satin, how amazed he would have been.
- </p>
- <p>
- This was certainly beginning at the beginning of all things. By eleven
- o’clock that morning he was for the first time in his life entering the
- stage door of a theatre,—it was one of the outlying suburban houses
- at which there was a stock company and a frequent change of plays,—while
- Ivy, with her funny little air of importance, showed him all that she
- thought would interest him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The manager, a somewhat harassed looking man, took the Professor’s note,
- read it hurriedly, and glanced keenly at Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does Mr. Merrithorne act to-night?” asked Ivy, anxiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, my dear; he won’t be fit to go on again for a month at least. I
- understand, Mr. Denmead, that you are a pupil of Professor Grant.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Ralph, “but I am quite a novice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “H’m,” said the manager, taking a long look at him. “You’re positively the
- first man that ever made that confession to me. I’ve a mind to try you.
- Come with me, and I will give you the part. You can read it at rehearsal
- if you haven’t time to learn it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy beamed with delight when he returned to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The manager was just in his very best temper,” she said, happily. “Come
- to this quiet corner, and I’ll see that no one interrupts you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The part was short and simple, and Ralph, who had an excellent memory,
- learnt it easily enough. But when it came to rehearsing his scenes in the
- dreary vastness of the empty theatre amid distant sounds of hammering and
- scrubbing, and the perfectly audible comments of his fellow actors, he
- felt in despair; there was no getting inside the character, he could only
- feel himself Ralph Denmead, in uncomfortable circumstances, and breathing
- a curious atmosphere of hostility. He went home feeling nervous and
- miserable, but Ivy’s talk helped to amuse him, and distract his attention.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They will like you when they get used to you,” she said, philosophically.
- “But some of them think you are just a wealthy amateur, and that you have
- paid for the chance of appearing in public. We all hate that kind of man.
- Some others say you are an Oxonian wanting a little amusement during the
- long vacation, and that you will be going back to the University next
- month. And Miss West thinks you are a disguised nobleman.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, then, they’re all of them wrong,” said Ralph, obliged to laugh in
- spite of himself. “I’m not a disguised duke, nor even a marquis, but just
- plain Ralph Denmead, with very few coins in his pocket, and not a single
- relation or rich friend to help him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When the evening came, Ralph found that the flatness and coldness of the
- morning had entirely passed; every one seemed in better spirits, and the
- two men who shared his dressing-room were friendly enough directly they
- found he was a genuine worker, not a mere <i>dilettante</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- A youngster who was neither conceited nor grasping, but was content to
- begin with a very small part, and a still smaller salary, was quite a
- phenomenon, and, as usual, Ralph’s good humour and common-sense, together
- with his readiness to see fun in everything, stood him in good stead.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the last awful moment arrived, and he stood at the wings in his
- gorgeous livery of drab and scarlet, with powdered hair and knee-breeches,
- he found that the atmosphere of hostility which he had felt so oppressive
- at rehearsal was entirely gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good luck to you!” said the heavy man, laying a fatherly hand on his
- shoulder. “Never fear; you’ll do well enough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And with these words to hearten him, he took that first desperate plunge
- into the icy-cold waters of publicity.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy’s face beamed upon him as he returned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That applause was for you,” she said, rapturously, “and they don’t
- generally laugh nearly as much after that blunder with the luncheon
- table.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I see where I might improve it,” said Ralph, thoughtfully. And truly
- enough he did improve each night he played the servant and other small
- parts.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, at the end of a month, Merrithorne’s ankle recovered, he returned to
- the theatre, and Ralph once more found himself out of work.
- </p>
- <p>
- What was his next step to be?
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER IX
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “If I were loved, as I desire to be,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- What is there in the great sphere of the earth,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And range of evil between death and birth,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- That I shall fear, if I were loved by thee?”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Tennyson.
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>f yer plase, yer
- honour, Mr. Geraghty is below, and would like to see yer honour if its
- convaniant,” said little Nora Doolan, thrusting her untidy head into the
- cheerless back room in Paradise Street.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph, who was pacing to and from learning a part in a Shakesperian play
- which he was little likely to act as yet, glanced round with brightening
- face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What? Dear old Geraghty!” he exclaimed. “I’m glad he has looked me up.
- Show him upstairs Nora, for I should like to have a talk with him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man-servant responded with alacrity to the warm welcome he
- received.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s delighted I am to see you again, Mr. Ralph,” he exclaimed, looking
- him over with an air of satisfaction as though he had some share in his
- well-being. “And it’s in good health that you are looking, sir, and no
- mistake.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing like hard work, Geraghty, for keeping a man well,” said Ralph.
- “And I hope I’m settled now for some time to come. You can tell Miss
- Evereld that I’m at the very theatre we so often used to go to, and that I
- have the pleasure of seeing Washington act every night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m glad to hear it, sir,” said Geraghty. “We all knew long ago, sir,
- that you’d make a first-class actor; it took but a little small bit of
- discrimination to see that much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph laughed. “Well, Geraghty, you mustn’t run away with the notion that
- I’m a star, for, as a matter of fact, I am nothing but a super at a pound
- a week. But it’s better to begin at the beginning in a good theatre than
- to be cock-of-the-walk in a fifth-rate one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure, sir, it’s just what I was saying but now to my sister about
- placing her eldest girl. ‘Never mind how little she earns the first year
- or two,’ said I, ‘but for heaven’s sake place her in a gentleman’s family,
- and don’t let her demean herself by takin’ service with them that hasn’t
- an ounce of breeding to bless themselves with. Let her be kitchen or
- scullery-maid or what you will, but have her with gentry.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Geraghty,” said Ralph, with a mischievous smile, “You have such a respect
- for birth that it’s my firm conviction you’ll be the last and most staunch
- supporter left to the House of Lords.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Geraghty laughed all over his face, and his broad shoulders shook.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ve seen just a little too much of the aristocracy to pin my faith to
- them, sir. Handsome is as handsome does, and gentle is as gentle does. But
- from the House of Lords and their marrin’ and muddlin’—Good Lord
- deliver us!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph who had purposely provoked this tirade from the Irishman, laughed
- and changed the subject by an inquiry after Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, thank God, she’s getting on finely, sir. Seems as if there was a
- special Providence over orphans, and Bridget she says why that’s natural
- enough, that their parents can see better how to guide them bein’ higher
- up so to speak. But, however that may be, at first we all thought she’d
- fret her heart out with missin’ you, sir. But in September, Bridget took
- her down to the school at Southbourne, and though she was a bit
- faint-hearted at the notion, she’d no sooner set eyes on the place than
- she was sure she’d be happy there. Bridget says it’s the most beautiful
- house and garden you ever saw, and all so comfortable and homelike in
- spite of the size. And Miss Evereld writes that she’s as happy as the day
- is long, and that they’re teaching her how to nurse sick folks, and that
- she’s learnt to darn her own stockin’s—a thing she never got a
- chance o’ doin’ at home—and to dance the minuet, and to do algebra,
- and I don’t know what beside. But, from what Bridget told me, I
- foregathered that it wasn’t a school where they cram them like turkeys for
- Christmas or geese for a Michaelmas fair, but just a home on a large scale
- for turnin’ out well-mannered young gentlewomen who’ll have a very good
- notion how to manage a home on a smaller scale.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When the old Butler had gone, Ralph fell into a reverie. The effect of
- hearing all about Evereld had been to make him long very impatiently for
- the end of their separation. It was true that when she returned to the
- Mactavishes at Christmas he could write to her without any breach of
- regulations, but there seemed no chance of their meeting, and he greatly
- missed his old companion. He began to weave all manner of visions of
- future success, and to imagine that in an incredibly short space of time
- he had gained quite a high position at Washington’s theatre, that he met
- Evereld in society, and that Sir Matthew, who always paid homage to the
- successful, became quite friendly and cordial to him. How strange it would
- be to be invited as a distinguished guest to the very house in Queen
- Anne’s Gate where he had been snubbed and scolded as a boy.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was with something of a shock that he came back to the prosaic present
- and found himself merely a super about to go through, for the fiftieth
- time, the wearisome business which was his allotted share in a play which
- was likely to run for many months more.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was just at Christmas that he was confronted by one of those decisions
- that form the chief difficulty of an actor’s career. To seize the right
- opportunity of promotion, yet to avoid “Raw haste, half-sister to delay”;
- to have precisely that right judgment which often determines the success
- or failure of a life, is hard to all mortals, but hardest to those of the
- artistic temperament. The temptation to escape from the monotony of his
- present work came to him through the Professor’s granddaughter.
- </p>
- <p>
- To little Ivy Grant he had from the very first seemed a full fledged hero.
- He was the first man she had ever looked up to, for although devoted to
- her old grandfather it was not easy to respect the Professor. He seemed,
- to shrewd little Ivy, a very weak old man, and she despised the weak, not
- understanding at all that habit of making large allowance for human
- infirmity which grows with the growing years. The old man was a confirmed
- opium eater. The habit, begun in a time of physical pain and great mental
- worry, had now bound him fast in its cruel chains, and the kindly
- benevolence which had struck Ralph at first sight as so strange a contrast
- with his blameworthy neglect of Ivy’s safety, was all due to the influence
- of the drug. His will was now not in the least his own, and though he had
- his moments of exquisite exaltation he had always to pay for them by times
- of black depression and misery. Under these circumstances the child’s life
- could hardly be a happy one; she was, moreover, scarcely strong enough for
- the late hours and the exposure to all sorts of weather which her work
- entailed, and in spite of her brisk, managing ways she began to crave for
- something more strong and trustworthy to support her than her grandfather
- whose simile of the lifeless trunk of the tree kept up by the ivy
- supporting it, had been singularly near the truth.
- </p>
- <p>
- When Ralph no longer played at the same theatre, and their meetings became
- less frequent, the little girl flagged and lost heart. She had good
- impulses but she was easily led, and her friendship with Ralph had filled
- her with a sense of dissatisfaction with her own life, and the lives that
- most nearly touched her own. Her busy little brain began to form eager
- plans for the future, and at last fate put in her way a chance which
- revived her drooping spirits, and lighted up her blue eyes with hope. Her
- good news arrived on Christmas day, otherwise the festival would have been
- cheerless enough, for the old Professor had slept in his invalid chair the
- whole of the morning, and Ivy, sitting in solitary state beside the fire,
- had eaten a sober little Christmas dinner consisting of a slice of cold
- meat and a mince-pie kindly given to her by the landlady. Then having
- tidied the bare little room, and stuck a solitary piece of holly in the
- window that people might see she was “keeping Christmas” properly, she
- returned to her place on the hearthrug, and tried to become interested in
- a penny novelette which should have been exciting, but somehow failed to
- touch her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stupid thing!” she exclaimed presently, throwing the book to the further
- end of the room with a little petulant gesture. “I can’t even cry when the
- heroine dies. What is the good of a book if you can’t cry over it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Just then there came a tap at the door, and in walked Ralph with his
- cheerful face, and in his hands was a great bunch of ivy and mistletoe.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A happy Christmas to you,” he said, taking her cold little hand in his.
- “How’s the Professor? Not worse I hope?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is no worse,” said Ivy, “but he has been asleep all day, and it’s
- dreadfully dull. Where did you get such lovely evergreens?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Walked out into the country this morning, right away beyond Hampstead. As
- for the mistletoe, that’s a particular present from Dan Doolan, and I’ve
- just had to kiss seven small Doolans beneath it before they would let me
- out of the house. Now your turn has come.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy laughed and protested, but was thrilled through and through by the
- kiss, though it was just as matter-of-fact as that which he had bestowed
- on Tim Doolan, aged three. Her little, pale face lighted up radiantly, but
- unobservant Ralph saw nothing of that, he was bestowing all his energies
- on the decoration of the dreary, little room, and crowning with ivy the
- portraits of sundry great actors and actresses.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think Mrs. Siddons ever looked as stiff and forbidding as this?”
- he said, glancing round with a smile, as Ivy held him a laurel branch to
- put above the frame.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she replied, saucily. “She must have looked like that when she said
- in awful tones, ‘Will it wash?’ to the poor frightened shopman who was
- serving her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, perhaps. Well, Ivy, there is no fear that you will ever strike terror
- into any one’s heart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who cares for striking terror into people?” she replied, merrily, and as
- she spoke she began to float dreamily away into an exquisitely graceful
- skirt-dance; her little, childish face growing more and more sweet and
- tranquil as she proceeded.
- </p>
- <p>
- Clearly dancing was her vocation. Ralph stood with his back to the fire
- watching her perfect grace: it seemed to him the very poetry of motion.
- And Ivy was at her very best when she was dancing; at other times her ways
- occasionally jarred on him, her acting left much to be desired, and a
- certain vein of silliness in her now and then awoke his contempt, but when
- dancing she seemed like one inspired; he could only wonder and admire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Some day you will be our greatest English dancer,” he said, as once more
- she settled down into her nook beside the fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t want to be that,” said Ivy, “English dancers are never made so
- much of as foreigners, and besides, a dancer’s position is not so good. I
- mean to be an actress.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s a thousand pities,” said Ralph. “Why do people always want to do
- things they can’t do well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy pouted.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Grandfather doesn’t wish me only to dance,” she said. “And besides I have
- just heard of quite a fresh opening. What would you say to earning two
- pounds a week?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should say I’m not likely to do that yet awhile,” said Ralph,
- philosophically.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you can! you can!” said Ivy, clapping her hands joyfully. “There’s an
- opening for you as well as for me, for I specially asked. It’s a ‘fit up’
- company and we should be wanted in February when the pantomime is over.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where?” asked Ralph, looking incredulous.
- </p>
- <p>
- “For a tour in Scotland. A ‘fit up’ company too, and nothing to provide
- but just wigs and shoes and tights.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is the manager?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The husband of the leading lady. His name is Skoot.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t like the name,” said Ralph, laughing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why what’s in a name?” said Ivy. “The poor man didn’t choose it. For my
- part I think it is better than assuming some grand name that doesn’t
- belong to him. And then his Christian name is Theophilus.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Ralph still laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Worse and worse,” he said. “Theophilus Skoot is a detestable combination.
- Dick, Tom, or Harry, would have been better. No, no, Ivy; I think we had
- better stay where we are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy looked much disheartened, and to change the subject Ralph suggested
- that they should go together to the Abbey. This pleased her, she forgot
- the Scotch tour and only revelled in the bliss of the present. To walk to
- church on Christmas day with her ideal man, to feel the subtle influence
- of the beautiful Abbey, the lights, the music, the religious atmosphere,
- seemed to her a sort of foretaste of heaven, a slightly sensuous heaven
- perhaps, but the highest she was as yet capable of imagining. Ralph was
- not sorry to have the child with him, for his Christmas had been lonely
- enough. But his thoughts wandered far away from her during the service. He
- was back again at Whinhaven listening to his father’s voice, or he was
- with Evereld and her governess listening to solemn old chorales at
- Dresden.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presently a very slight thing recalled him to his actual surroundings. The
- sermon was about to begin and some one sitting in front of him rose to go
- just as the text was given out:
- </p>
- <p>
- “And in the fulness of time God sent———”
- </p>
- <p>
- He heard no more for the vacant place had revealed to him, at a little
- distance in front, a profile which arrested his whole attention.
- Something in its earnest, absorbed expression, in its exquisite purity, in
- the listening look of one who is eager to learn, appealed to him strongly.
- Then suddenly his heart gave a bound, for it was borne in upon him that he
- was looking at Evereld. Not the Evereld he had left on that summer day as
- a playmate and comrade, but a new Evereld who had developed into a woman—the
- one woman in all the world for him. He did not wish the sermon ended, he
- could have been almost content to sit on there for ever just watching her;
- that curious description of heaven as a place
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Where congregations ne’er break up,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And Sabbaths never end,”—
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="noindent">
- a notion which has cast a gloom over so many children’s hearts, seemed to
- him in his present mood after all not so impossible.
- </p>
- <p>
- When the service was really over, and the people began to disperse, he was
- in a fever lest he should be unable to reach her, and it was not until he
- had discovered that Bridget was her companion that he could feel at all
- secure of any real talk with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy, quite unconscious of all this, wondered a little when he paused in
- the nave; but she did not at all object to standing there with him,
- looking into the dim beauty of the stately building, and with a proud
- little consciousness that many people glanced at them as they passed by.
- It was so nice, she reflected, to go to church with a man like Ralph, a
- man wholly unlike any other she had yet come across in her short and
- rather dreary life.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile, Evereld was drawing nearer. Ivy was just admiring her
- dark-green jacket and toque with their beaver trimmings, and longing to
- have just such a costume herself, when she saw a vivid colour suffuse the
- wearer’s face, her blue eyes shone radiantly, her lips smiled such a
- welcoming smile at Ralph that no words, no hand-clasp, seemed necessary.
- Side by side they passed together out of the Abbey, while Ivy, in blank
- surprise, followed in their wake.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To think that you were there all the time and that I never knew it,” said
- Evereld, when the greetings were over. “Where is Bridget? How surprised
- she will be. Look, Bridget, here is Mr. Ralph come back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “An’ it’s glad I am to see you, sir. There’ll be no need, I’m thinkin’, to
- wish you a happy Christmas, for I can see by your face that you’ve got
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph did, indeed, seem to be in the seventh heaven of happiness, but as
- he gave a cordial greeting to the old servant he happened to notice Ivy’s
- wistful, little face, and, with a pang of reproach for having altogether
- forgotten her, he took her hand in his and introduced her to Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is a little friend of mine,” he said. “The granddaughter of
- Professor Grant, my elocution master.” Evereld liked the look of the
- little fairylike figure, but she seemed to her the merest child, and after
- a few kindly words she thought no more of her, being naturally absorbed in
- Ralph and having so much to say to him after their long separation.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy, with a sigh, dropped behind with Bridget, who, in her motherly
- fashion, took her under her special protection as they crossed the wide
- road near the Aquarium, little guessing that this small person was well
- used to going about London quite alone at all hours.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And how are things going at Queen Anne’s Gate?” asked Ralph, when Evereld
- had told him all about her life at Southbourne.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s so dull I hardly know how to bear it,” said Evereld. “You see, I’m
- too big now for children’s parties, and, of course, I’m not out yet. I
- miss you all day long, and no one so much as speaks of you, except now and
- then Mr. Bruce Wylie, and he always did like you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not he,” said Ralph. “He made believe, though, for the sake of pleasing
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see that you have not lost your way of thinking evil of people,” said
- Evereld, reproachfully. “Mr. Wylie is the kindest man I know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you don’t know him,” said Ralph. “You merely see him now and then and
- like his pleasant way of talking, and find him a relief from the Mactavish
- clan.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And how much do you know him?” said Evereld, teasingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not much, certainly,” he was constrained to own with a smile, “and it may
- be jealousy that makes me decry him. Yet, if instinct goes for anything,
- he is a man I should never trust.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What! such a frank, straightforward sort of man as that?” she exclaimed,
- in dismay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know he’s very plausible, I know he has many good points even, but I
- fancy he could persuade himself that anything was right if only it
- promoted his own ends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At any rate, he is the one person who ever troubles to inquire after you,
- and I believe that is the chief reason I have for liking him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph was so well content with this speech that he let the subject drop,
- and, as Evereld was eager to hear all that he had been doing since they
- had been separated, he began to give her an amusing account of the straits
- he had been in and the work he had obtained. Far too soon they reached Sir
- Matthew’s house, and were obliged to part.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will write when you can?” said Evereld, wistfully, as she lingered
- for a moment on the steps with her hand in his. “I don’t think Sir Matthew
- has any right to object, and I shall want to know what you decide about
- Scotland.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, you shall hear directly it is decided,” said Ralph, trying to feel
- hopeful. “I wish I knew what would be the wisest thing to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, with a lingering glance into the sweet eyes lifted to his, he bade
- her good-bye and turned away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How I wish I were the Professor’s little granddaughter,” she thought to
- herself as she glanced down the dark road after them, with a sick longing
- to be going too. And, had she but known it, Ivy was at that very time
- thinking enviously of Ralph’s old friend and of her many advantages.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile Geraghty threw open the front door, and in the cheerful light
- that streamed through the hall Evereld caught a vision of Sir Matthew
- coming down the stairs, and, taking her courage in both hands, she entered
- the house and went straight up to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER X
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Savage at heart, and false of tongue,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Subtle with age, and smooth to the young,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Like a snake in his coiling and curling.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- T. Hood.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">S</span>o you have been to
- the Abbey?” he said, smiling benevolently upon her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she replied, her blue eyes looking straight into his. “And we have
- seen Ralph. He was there, too, just behind us. He walked back with us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew frowned slightly. Then, recollecting the presence of the
- servants, he beckoned Evereld to his study.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come in here, my dear,” he said, in his soft voice. “You are quite right
- to tell me all so frankly, and it is natural enough that you should be
- pleased to meet your old playfellow. But you must remember that things are
- not now as they once were.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ralph and I shall always be friends,” said Evereld, gently, but with a
- firmness which startled her guardian. “Things are not altered between us
- because we don’t live under the same roof now. How could that alter us?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear, it is for Lady Mactavish and myself to decide who shall or who
- shall not be your friends,” he said, with quiet decision.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That may be,” said Evereld, “as far as new friends are concerned, but I
- cannot unmake a friend to order—no, not even if the Queen commanded
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They both smiled a little. Sir Matthew paced the room in silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must not forbid her to hold any communication with him,” he reflected,
- “or let her feel that I am a tyrant and they a couple of martyrs. After
- all, she is so young and simple and innocent; no mischief will come of
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Has Ralph found work?” he inquired, not unkindly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said, “at Washington’s theatre; and perhaps he is going on a
- Scotch tour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good!” said Sir Matthew, approvingly. “After all, he has talent, and will
- make himself a name in time. His best chance would be to marry some
- experienced actress older than himself. That has answered very well in one
- or two cases. His birth and education would go for something, and if he
- plays his cards well the stage may make his fortune. By-the-by, Bruce
- Wylie is to dine with us to-night. You like him, do you not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes,” said Evereld, “I like him very much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And Sir Matthew, satisfied with the warmth of her tone, dismissed her with
- a paternal kiss, and an injunction to put on her prettiest gown in honour
- of the festival.
- </p>
- <p>
- Bruce Wylie was certainly the most attractive and amusing of the men who
- visited the Mactavishes. He had the easy, comfortable air of an old
- friend, and he came and went at all hours, yet never seemed to be present
- when he was not wanted. His fair hair and short, fair beard contrasted
- rather curiously with his dark, keen eyes. He had a brisk, kindly,
- pleasant manner, and a particularly winning voice. There was about him,
- too, a saving sense of humour, and the rather heavy atmosphere of Sir
- Matthew’s household always seemed less oppressive when he was present. He
- was a first-rate <i>raconteur</i>, and Evereld was never tired of
- listening to his stories.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was all in vain that she tried to see him with Ralph’s eyes. She
- decided in her own mind that his hard experience of the world had made
- Ralph somewhat cynical and distrustful. He had convinced her with regard
- to Sir Matthew, but to belief in Bruce Wylie she still clung with all the
- loyalty of her fresh, innocent youth.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet the ladies had only left the dining-room a few moments when Bruce
- Wylie revealed a very different side of himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ewart’s little girl is looking prettier than usual tonight,” he remarked,
- as he picked out the preserved apricots from a small dish in front of him,
- leaving only bitter oranges and citrons for those who might come after.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Sir Matthew, “Southbourne has done wonders for her. She had
- better have another six months there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was she not eighteen in the autumn? She will want to come out next
- season.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think it,” said Sir Matthew. “She is happy enough there, and we
- shall do well to keep her from the heiress-hunters till she is safely
- betrothed to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor little soul!” said Bruce Wylie, reflectively. “There would be no
- danger in letting her see a little of the world first.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We won’t risk that,” said his companion. “What’s to prevent her falling
- in love with some young fellow and refusing to look at you. If she ever
- lost her heart, she would be the veriest little shrew to manage—there
- would be no taming her. We might prevent her marrying till she was of age,
- but you know what revelations would come about when her affairs were
- looked into. No, no; she must be safely married to her worthy solicitor,
- Bruce Wylie, as soon as possible after she leaves school.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bruce Wylie seemed lost in thought. Sir Matthew watched him,
- half-suspiciously. They were friends and confederates, but the company
- promoter trusted no one in the world implicitly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are thinking that it is a risky venture,” he said, quietly, “but
- under the circumstances it’s far the best thing that can be done. If the
- South African affair goes on as well as it promises, her money will be
- safe enough in the long run; and if a smash comes, why her money will be
- gone, but our names and reputations will be safe, and no great harm will
- come of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was not thinking of that,” said Bruce Wylie. “There’s another side to
- the business, and one can’t altogether overlook it. I am fond of the
- little thing, and I honestly believe she likes me, but if anything of this
- should ever leak out, if, after we were married, her suspicions were
- roused, why then, as you say, I can imagine that the taming process might
- be difficult. Spite of her china-blue eyes, there’s a pretty spice of
- determination in Ewart’s little girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear fellow, you astonish me,” said Sir Matthew, impatiently. “With
- enough on your mind to burden most men heavily, you can yet find time to
- worry over the matrimonial squabbles that may ruffle your future peace.
- When once she’s your wife you’ll be able to do what you please with her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not so sure of that,” said Bruce Wylie. “It’s just those little,
- gentle women with hardly a word to say for themselves who are always
- astonishing people by hidden stores of force and courage and daring at
- some critical moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The only possible difficulty with Evereld would be her friendship for
- Ralph Donmead,” said Sir Matthew, “and, as ill luck will have it, the
- fellow turned up again to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “D——— him!” exclaimed Bruce Wylie. “How was that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Saw her at the Abbey, and had the audacity to walk home with her. She
- told me all about it with the utmost frankness, and without so much as a
- change of colour. I don’t think there is any mischief done yet, but the
- less she sees of him the better. It seems that he is doing pretty well on
- the stage; at least, I gathered so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Bruce Wylie, reflectively, “it is always easy to set a
- scandal afloat about an actor, and if she seems losing her heart to him
- that is the line we must take.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And therewith the two friends fell to talking of other business
- arrangements.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <p>
- When Ralph turned away from the house in Queen Anne’s Gate, the happy
- excitement of the past hour suddenly gave place to a sobering realisation
- of things as they were. He, Ralph Denmead, a super at a pound a week, had
- had the audacity to fall in love with a girl of whose fortune he had,
- indeed, very vague ideas, but who had always been considered an heiress.
- That was a situation he liked very little, but it was characteristic of
- him that he did not sink into any very great depths of depression. He was
- not easily depressed, having been born with one of those equable tempers
- which are as delightful as they are rare. Then, too, his very indifference
- to money for its own sake, the habit he had inherited from his unworldly
- father of a positive dislike of all display and a contempt for all but the
- simplest tastes, came now to his aid. Extremes meet. And the marriage,
- which would have seemed a perfectly simple and desirable arrangement to a
- selfish fortune-hunter, seemed also perfectly possible to Ralph with his
- unconventional way of looking at things. He disliked her fortune, would
- gladly have foregone it altogether, but saw no reason in the world why it
- should stand as a barrier between them. If she loved him all would be
- well. He hoped she did love him, but was not certain. Only in that last
- quiet good-bye of hers something in its very self-control had given him
- hope; for the first time she seemed to shrink a little from showing how
- much she felt the parting. She was wholly unlike the little girl he had
- left sobbing in the schoolroom at Sir Matthew’s country cottage a few
- months before.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he thought of this, a sort of wild desire to succeed in his profession,
- and to succeed quickly, took possession of him. His present position at
- the foot of the ladder seemed no longer tolerable. Patient plodding had
- been well enough earlier in the day, but now the fiery impatience of youth
- began to get the better of him. He turned eagerly to Ivy. They had by this
- time reached Westminster Bridge, and the cold, fresh wind from the river
- and the wider view seemed in harmony with his eager longing for a fuller,
- freer life, for an escape from the dull routine of his present work.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me more about this Scotch tour” he said, eagerly. “Do you think
- there is really a chance of our getting into the company? Does your
- grandfather think Skoot a decent sort of fellow?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes,” said Ivy, her face lighting up radiantly. “Come and talk to him
- about it. He has seen both the manager and his wife: he used to know them
- long ago. Oh, do think it over again. Just fancy how beautiful it would be
- to see Scotland! We would go to Ellen’s Isle together and see the
- Trossachs!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph laughed. “I fear there are no theatres on the shores of Loch
- Katrine,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Ivy, looking disappointed, “we should at any rate see
- mountains, and the travelling would be such fun. I have never been on tour
- in my life, hardly ever out of London even. Come in and see grandfather
- and talk about it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph was persuaded to follow her into the dreary, little house, and much
- to Ivy’s satisfaction her grandfather was awake and seemed in excellent
- spirits. He was inclined to see everything in the world through
- rose-coloured spectacles, and was about as fit to advise any one as a baby
- of three years old. But his venerable aspect and his smiling benevolent
- face were, nevertheless, impressive and Ralph listened eagerly to all that
- he said. It was quite true that he had known this manager and his wife
- many years ago: they were most estimable people. Skoot himself had real
- talent, his wife not much more than a pretty face, but they were
- thoroughly worthy people; she was a woman with whom he could trust Ivy, he
- had never heard a word against her. He should miss Ivy, but the landlady
- would take care of him and the experience and even the change of air would
- be very good for the child. He strongly advised Ralph to try and get into
- the Company, it was a chance which did not occur every day. He would give
- him a letter of introduction and he could see the manager to-morrow.
- </p>
- <p>
- At any other time Ralph would have perceived that the old man’s advice
- while he was under the influence of the opium was worth nothing at all.
- But now the bland, comfortable voice and hopeful auguries weighed with
- him. He accepted the offer of the introduction, and the Professor, urged
- by Ivy, who brought him ink and paper and put the pen between his limp,
- lazy fingers, actually wrote the letter. After that Ralph bade them
- good-bye, went home to dress for the evening, and then set out for the
- Marriotts’ house where he had been kindly invited to dine; while Ivy went
- to the dress rehearsal of the pantomime. In the evening he talked over his
- prospects with Miss Marriott and her niece, giving a very roseate
- description of the Scotch proposal. The ladies both advised him to close
- with so good an offer; Mr. Marriott would not commit himself, only
- counselling him to be sure to have his agreement drawn up in a legal way,
- and suggesting that he might take the advice of Washington. But this, as
- Ralph knew, would not be so easy; for Washington was a busy man and though
- greatly beloved by all his employés had little to do with them personally.
- Moreover in his heart of hearts Ralph knew that the great actor would
- counsel him to plod on patiently, and every moment he felt that this had
- become less possible to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The end of it was that he seized the very first opportunity of seeing
- Theophilus Skoot, and finding him a very decent-looking man, exceedingly
- hopeful as to the business they would do in Scotland, and quite willing to
- come to terms, he signed the agreement for a six months’ provincial tour
- for which he was to receive a salary of two pounds a week, and went back
- to Paradise Street in excellent spirits to receive Ivy’s congratulations.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XI
- </h2>
- <p>
- “<i>We ought all to count the cost before we enter upon any line of
- conduct, and I would most strongly warn any one against the self-deception
- of fancying that he who wishes to be an ambassador of peace can do
- otherwise than weep bitterly</i>.”—Frederick Denison Maurice.
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>uring the weeks
- that followed, the only thing which marred Ivy’s complete happiness was a
- certain jealousy of the bright-faced girl they had met at Westminster
- Abbey on Christmas Day. She was constantly asking Ralph questions about
- Evereld Ewart; at times he seemed pleased to talk of her, at other times
- his face would grow grave and he would answer only in monosyllables in a
- way which perplexed his small devotee not a little. However, she gathered
- that he did not see any more of his old friend and consoled herself by
- hurrying off to Whiteley’s sale to buy a jacket and hat as much like
- Evereld’s as her purse would afford.
- </p>
- <p>
- She wore them for the first time on the foggy February morning when Ralph
- called for her at her grandfather’s rooms to take her to King’s Cross. For
- it had been arranged that she should travel with him to Dumfries where he
- was to place her under the special care of the manager’s wife. The old
- Professor seemed much depressed when the parting actually came; he kept
- looking at the child with wistful eyes and slowly counting out money for
- the journey with a small, a very small surplus, in case of accidents as he
- said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you kept enough for yourself?” asked Ivy, throwing her arms round
- his neck. “I shall be away six months you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have enough to last me a couple of months,” said the old man, “with
- what my pupils will bring in. And by that time you will be able to send me
- a little. You are to have a good salary—a very good salary and no
- travelling expenses when once you’re in Scotland.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes,” said Ivy, gaily. “I shall be as rich as a queen when I come
- back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old man’s eyes filled with tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, when you come back,” he said, huskily, “When you come back. You will
- do what you can for her if she needs help?” he added, shaking hands
- tremulously with Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will, indeed,” said Ralph, heartily; and there was something in his
- look and tone which satisfied the Professor and robbed the parting of its
- worst pain.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy, too much excited to feel the leave-taking, sprang into the cab with a
- joyous sense that at last, like the heroine of a fairy tale, she was
- setting out into the world to seek her fortune. It was scarcely right that
- she should be starting with the fairy prince beside her, he ought to have
- turned up later in the plot and just at some critical moment. Still real
- life could not always be regulated by the rules of fiction and she
- reflected that it was much nicer to have him at once.
- </p>
- <p>
- She leant back in her corner of the third-class carriage, and thought what
- care he had taken of her, how much more gentle his manner was than the
- manner of any one else she knew, and how blissful it would be to act with
- him for six whole months. He did not talk to her very much, being still
- busy with his parts, but she was quite content with the mere pleasure of
- his presence and with the delightful novelty of her first long journey.
- The Company were to play “Macbeth,” “East Lynne,” “Guy Mannering,” “Rob
- Roy,” “The Man of the World,” “Jeannie Deans,” and several short plays
- such as “Cramond Brig,” a great favourite in Scotland. Ivy was not well
- pleased with her parts in “Macbeth,” being cast for <i>Donal Bain, Fleance
- and Macduff’s</i> boy. But she reflected that in the first part she would
- always come on with Ralph since he was to play <i>Malcolm</i>, as well as
- the part of second witch, while later on she should have the pleasure of
- being killed by him in his character of first murderer. Ralph seeing
- irrepressible mirth in her face asked what was amusing her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have to call you ‘a shag-haired villain,’” she said, laughing till the
- tears ran down her face, “and you have to stab me in the fourth act.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We will have a private rehearsal then, beforehand,” said Ralph, smiling.
- “And you will find my red wig very awe-inspiring, I can tell you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy looked pityingly at her fellow-travellers, wondering how they endured
- their humdrum lives, and full of radiant hopes for her own future.
- </p>
- <p>
- The fogs of London had soon given place to bright sunshine, and it seemed
- to her that she had left behind all that was cheerless and was going forth
- into a glorious world of possibilities. It was certainly a red-letter day
- in her life’s calendar.
- </p>
- <p>
- The arrival in Scotland, however, was not so cheerful. The cold which they
- had not greatly noticed in the railway carriage, seemed bitter indeed when
- they left the train at Dumfries.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was nearly six o’clock and there was little light left. What there was,
- revealed snowy roads and slippery pavements. Ivy shivered and clung fast
- hold of Ralph’s hand as they made their way to the manager’s rooms, a
- red-headed porter, much resembling the shag-haired murderer in “Macbeth,”
- going on before them with a luggage truck. He paused at a high house in a
- particularly dingy street. The door was opened by a shrewd, hard-featured
- woman who, upon Ralph’s inquiry, told them that Mrs. Skoot was in, and
- ushered them upstairs to a room where the remains of dinner still lingered
- on the table, and a large, portly lady, with blonde hair and big cow-like
- eyes, sat with her feet in the fender reading a novel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So there you are, dear,” she said, greeting Ivy affectionately, but
- retaining a greasy thumb in the book to keep her place. “I’m glad you’ve
- come, for Mr. Skoot has just arranged to have an extra rehearsal
- to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is this Mr. Denmead?” she inquired, extending her hand graciously and
- taking a rapid survey of him from head to foot. “Have you found rooms
- yet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I have not,” said Ralph, his low-toned voice and quiet manner
- contrasting most curiously with her loud accents. “I was going to ask you
- if there is any list of lodgings.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure,” she said. “Here it is; you’ll find those all very good and
- reasonable. I’ve known most of them myself in past years.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph thanked her and turned to go, glancing with some compassion at Ivy.
- “I shall see you again at rehearsal,” he said. “Mind you have something to
- eat first.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, I’ll see to her,” said Mrs. Skoot, vociferously. “She’s to board
- with me you know, her grandfather made me promise that. Half-past seven
- for the rehearsal, don’t forget. Your landlady will be able to direct you
- to the theatre.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What an awful woman!” thought Ralph to himself. “The Professor must be
- out of his mind to let Ivy be with her for six whole months. She may be
- all that’s virtuous—but as a constant companion! Poor Ivy! I wonder
- how such a decent little fellow as Skoot comes to have such a wife!”
- </p>
- <p>
- At this point in his reflections they reached the first house on his list,
- but found the rooms already secured by other members of the company. The
- same result followed the next application, and yet again the next. He
- began to grow tired of wandering about the snowy streets, and catching
- sight of a card in a window announcing that rooms were to be had, he
- paused at a neat but unpretentious house and once more made his inquiry.
- </p>
- <p>
- A very prim-looking widow appeared in answer to his knock; she seemed
- favourably impressed with his appearance and mentioned her terms.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That will do very well. I want the rooms for a week,” said Ralph, longing
- to get into a house, for he was half-frozen and very hungry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t take lodgers that keep late hours,” said the widow, cautiously.
- “I like to lock up by half-past ten, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph made an ejaculation of dismay. “I’m afraid I can’t promise that,” he
- said. “I’m an actor, you see, and am not likely to be in by that time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The woman’s whole face stiffened, her very cap seemed to grow as rigid as
- buckram, her upper lip lengthened. “We only take <i>Christians</i> here,”
- she said in a severe way, and then without another word she closed the
- door.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the first time he had ever been made to feel himself an outcast on
- account of his profession, and for a minute the words, by their injustice,
- stung him. Then his sense of fun conquered and he laughed to himself as he
- walked on with bent head in the teeth of the bitter, east wind.
- </p>
- <p>
- Referring once again to the list of professional lodgings, he consulted
- the porter who told him which was the nearest house, and here he at last
- got taken in, by a dishevelled but smiling landlady.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s Mr. Dudley, one of Mr. Skoot’s company, in my house now,” she
- said. “Maybe you could share the sitting-room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph hesitated, but without more ado the woman stepped into her front
- parlour and put the case to the present occupant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, by all means,” said a hearty voice; and the door was thrown back and
- into the narrow passage stepped a tall, powerful-looking man of about
- forty, his large, clean-shaven face, twinkling eyes, and broad mouth full
- of good humour. Ralph knew at a glance that it was not at all a face of
- high type, but it was genial and attractive and it contrasted most
- singularly with the forbidding face of the widow who only housed
- Christians.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come in, my boy,” said the hearty voice; “you look half frozen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was the landlady’s proposal,” said Ralph. “You are sure you don’t
- mind?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure not! ‘Mine enemy’s dog, though he had bit me, should stand
- this night against my fire.’ Skoot was telling me about you. The little
- brute has called a special rehearsal; you had better look sharp and get
- something to eat for there’s no knowing how long they will keep us at it.
- The Skoots were always great hands at rehearsing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have travelled with them before?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, many years ago, and there’s not much love lost between us. Shouldn’t
- have taken this berth now, if I hadn’t been out of an engagement for some
- time. I have my doubts if the tour will be a success. Skoot is awfully
- hampered, you see, by having to run his wife as leading lady.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph prudently forbore to make any comment, but the thought of acting
- with Mrs. Skoot was a sort of nightmare to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have the rest of the company all arrived?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I think so. There’s little Ivy Grant—she’s coming on very well
- indeed, devilish pretty girl into the bargain. Then there’s Miss Myra Kay,
- a brunette, rather prudish, used to be in Macneillie’s company, but lost
- her health, and is now only just starting afresh. As for the men—well,
- you’ll see for yourself by-and-by—half of them in my opinion are
- sticks, and the other half roaring ranters. Hulloa, you’ll find that a bad
- speculation. Never order coffee in Great Britain, for they don’t know how
- to make it. Take to whisky, my boy. It’s the only thing for strolling
- players.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thanks, I detest it,” said Ralph, “and if professional landladies don’t
- understand coffee-making, why I’ll brew it myself as we used to do at
- Winchester.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought you had been at a public school. What made you take up with the
- stage? Didn’t your people object?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am alone in the world,” said Ralph. “My guardian wanted me to be a
- parson, but I couldn’t go in for that, and so, being turned out of his
- house, I thought I would try to realise an old dream of mine and be an
- actor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dudley had watched him keenly during this speech. He was a man who had led
- a notoriously evil life, but he had a good deal of kindliness in his
- nature, and there was something in Ralph’s transparent honesty, in his
- evident purity of heart and life that appealed to him. Bad as his own
- record had been he was wholly without the fiendish desire to drag other
- men down with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your dreams were probably very unlike the reality.” he said, with a
- smile. “Are you prepared to rough it?” Ralph laughed, and gave him the
- account of the straits he had been reduced to, and Dudley having described
- the merits and drawbacks of a provincial tour under Skoot’s management,
- suggested that they had better be setting off for the rehearsal.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had scarcely opened the stage door when Mrs. Skoot’s shrill voice
- made itself heard. She was vehemently complaining about some mistake made
- by the baggage man, and the poor harassed culprit stood meekly to receive
- her angry threats of dismissal, not daring to proffer excuse or
- explanation. Ivy looking scared and cold, stood not far off; her whole
- face lighted up when she caught sight of Ralph, and she stole over to
- whisper in his ear, “Isn’t Mrs. Skoot dreadful?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Suggests the queen in ‘Alice in Wonderland,’” he replied, smiling. “Off
- with his head!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy was obliged to laugh a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is Miss Myra Kay,” she said, indicating a pale, slim girl, who was
- pacing to and fro, book in hand. “I think she is very selfish; they say
- she hardly speaks to any one, but just takes care of herself and is quite
- wrapped up in her own affairs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take care,” said Ralph, warningly; “you may be overheard.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dudley now introduced him to one or two of the actors, and before long the
- manager himself arrived. He seemed in good spirits, greeted Ralph
- pleasantly, pacified his wife, and promptly set them all to work.
- </p>
- <p>
- Only too soon, however, they realised that the length of the rehearsal
- depended on Mrs. Skoot and not on her husband. Although it was no business
- of hers she seemed unable to refrain from constant interruption and
- fault-finding, and before the evening was over she had reduced Miss Kay to
- tears, had tormented poor Ivy into the worst of tempers and had goaded
- most of the men into a state of sullen wrath.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last, after four hours of this, Mr. Skoot looked at his watch and
- announced that it was half-past eleven. Time was the only thing which had
- ever been known to conquer Mrs. Skoot; she wisely bowed to the inevitable,
- and having reminded Miss Kay that the call was for eleven on the following
- morning, she allowed herself to be helped into a handsome fur cloak, and
- telling Ivy to follow her, quitted the theatre.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph went back to his rooms in low spirits and the next morning did not
- much mend matters, for they were kept rehearsing from eleven in the
- morning till five in the afternoon. Had it not been for Dudley’s unfailing
- good humour, his flashes of fun, and his genial kindliness, Ralph thought
- he could not have endured so great a contrast to the whole atmosphere of
- Washington’s theatre.
- </p>
- <p>
- He began to feel a sort of angry contempt for the manager who seemed but a
- tool in the hands of his wife and was quite indifferent to the annoyance
- she gave to others.
- </p>
- <p>
- But in the evening when “Macbeth” was given, when, for the first time in
- his life, he had one of Shakspere’s characters to portray, he forgot all
- the previous misery. Into the comparatively small part of <i>Malcolm</i>
- he had put an amount of thought and study and imagination which surprised
- Dudley, and the elder man, as they walked home together, spoke words of
- hearty commendation and encouragement which cheered the novice’s heart as
- nothing else could have done.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the day before they were to leave Dumfries for Ayr, it chanced that,
- being released earlier than usual from rehearsal, Ralph suggested a walk
- to Ivy. It was the first chance they had had for any sort of relaxation,
- and Ivy listened with delight to the proposal of a visit to the grave of
- Burns and to Lincluden Abbey.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was not at all pleased when as they drew near to the Burns’ mausoleum
- they caught sight of Myra Kay. As yet Ralph had made no way at all with
- this pale, dark-eyed girl, they had scarcely exchanged a dozen words, and
- her manner was very reserved and distant. All that he knew about her was
- the little he had gleaned from the men of the company. It was reported
- that her marriage was to take place in the summer, and that she was
- engaged to an actor named Brinton who was now in Macneillie’s Company. She
- had the reputation of being cold, cautious, and conventional, but in
- comparison with Mrs. Skoot she was so delightful that Ralph felt drawn to
- her and was chafed by a perfectly clear consciousness that for some reason
- she disapproved of him. He was pleased when she volunteered a few tepid
- remarks about Turnerelli’s sculpture, and to Ivy’s disgust he asked her if
- she would not join them in their walk to Lincluden Abbey.
- </p>
- <p>
- She hesitated for a moment, then with a glance at his open, boyish face
- seemed suddenly to arrive at some determination more important than that
- of the mere decision to take a walk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will come part of the way with you,” she said. “But since my illness I
- am not much of a walker. It is one of the few grudges I harbour against
- Mr. Macneillie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were in his Company?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, and at Oxford, while playing in an outdoor representation of
- ‘Midsummer Night’s Dream,’ got soaked to the skin and had to wear the wet
- clothes. The rest of them escaped with colds but I was laid up for six
- months. The manager was extremely good to me I must say, and in August I
- hope to be back again in his Company.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You like him then as a manager?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, indeed, there couldn’t be a better. I don’t know how I shall ever
- endure all these months with the Skoots, and had I known that that
- scoundrel Dudley was to be in the Company I should never have accepted the
- engagement.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph raised his eyebrows. “That’s a severe word,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s no more than he deserves,” said Myra Kay, frowning. “I am astonished
- that you can share rooms with him and make him your friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is very likely no worse than many others,” said Ralph, nettled by her
- tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No worse!” she said, scornfully. “Is it possible you do not know that he
- is the wretch who figured in the Houston case? You must remember it—the
- stir was so great and it is not eighteen months ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was at school eighteen months ago and never troubled my head with <i>causes
- célèbres</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Myra Kay walked on in silence for a few moments; then she briefly told him
- the facts of the case and was pleased to see him wince.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The man has been properly punished,” she continued, with satisfaction,
- “and now no decent manager wall have him—at any rate, till the
- details of the case are forgotten. He is desperately hard up for money,
- and every one cuts him. I hope, now that you know all this, you will have
- no more to say to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps he has turned over a new leaf,” said Ralph, looking up from the
- discoloured track where they were walking to the pure white fields beyond.
- </p>
- <p>
- Myra Kay gave a sarcastic little laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are far too innocent, Mr. Denmead,” she said; and Ralph thought there
- was an unpleasant touch of patronage in her tone. “Does he look as if he
- were repenting?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Men can’t go about in sackcloth and ashes,” said Ralph; “and you surely
- wouldn’t have him cultivate a face a yard long? It’s his nature to be full
- of fun, and, for my part, I would far rather have to do with a man who has
- been openly punished than with a hypocrite who sins with impunity and goes
- about posing as a philanthropist.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He thought resentfully of Sir Matthew.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t think how you can speak to him,” said Myra Kay bitterly, “For
- your own sake, and for the sake of the profession, you ought to have
- nothing to do with him. It was not just a common case of wrongdoing—it
- was a specially atrocious affair throughout. They say you are the son of a
- clergyman. I should have thought you would have had better judgment than
- to mix yourself up with such a man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is precisely the sort of man my father would have befriended,” said
- Ralph, warmly. “There was nothing of the Pharisee about him. I remember
- how when all the village cut a man who had been in prison for some bad
- offence, he found out the fellow’s one vulnerable point—a love of
- flowers—and had him up with us at the Rectory the whole of one
- Bank-holiday, pottering about the garden and greenhouse, and as happy as a
- king in exchanging plants with us, and helping to bud roses.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That may be well enough for a clergyman, but for you—a mere boy,
- knowing so little of the world—it is different. You ought not to
- have chosen such a man as your companion.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I didn’t choose him,” said Ralph, with some warmth. “An ‘unco guid’ widow
- shut the door in my face, because I was an actor, and said she only took
- in Christians. Then at the next place I went to they gave me shelter and
- kind words, and Dudley was goodness itself to me. If I cut him now I
- should be a contemptible cad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said his companion, with a shrug of her shoulders, “you must ‘gang
- your own gait.’ But remember that I have warned you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned back soon after this, and Ivy, who had thought the whole
- discussion very tiresome, skipped for joy when a bend in the road hid her
- from view.
- </p>
- <p>
- But Ralph seemed unusually silent, and as they looked at the ruins of the
- old abbey, Ivy could not at all understand the shadow that seemed to have
- come over his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Not a word ever passed Dudley’s lips about his previous life, but there
- were not lacking people who promptly told him that Ralph Denmead had just
- learnt all about it; and when they moved on to Ayr, he said in his blunt
- way:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll not care that we should pig together any longer, I daresay?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had much rather share diggings with you than with any of the others,”
- said Ralph, heartily. “If I’m not in your way, that is? You are the only
- man who has shown me the least kindness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dudley made an inarticulate exclamation. He was more touched than he would
- have cared to own.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are thankful for small mercies,” he said, “and gratitude is a rare
- thing in the profession. But I like you, lad, and am glad to have you as a
- chum. You shall not have cause to be ashamed of me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And so throughout the strange vicissitudes of the Scotch tour these two
- oddly-contrasting characters bore each other company, and for some time
- Myra Kay kept aloof from them both.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XII
- </h2>
- <p>
- “<i>All these anxieties will be good for you. They all go to the making of
- a man—calling out that God-dependence in him which is the only true
- self-dependence, the only true strength</i>.”—Letters of Charles
- Kingsley.
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>uring the first
- month Theophilus Skoot’s Company prospered as well as could be expected. A
- week at Glasgow and a week at Edinburgh, with full houses, cheered every
- one; but after that, as they went northward, the days of dearth began. It
- was now past the middle of March, and the old proverb,
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “As the light lengthens
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- The cold strengthens,”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="noindent">
- was fulfilling itself in very bitter fashion. Perhaps people were
- disinclined to turn out of their comfortable homes on such bleak evenings;
- at any rate, the week at Stirling proved a dead failure, and Perth was
- wrestling with the influenza demon, and had little leisure to bestow on
- strolling players.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was here that one evening Ralph, for the first time, learnt what it is
- to work without a salary.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was sitting on a basket, waiting for his cue, with “Pendennis” to cheer
- him into forgetfulness of fatigue and cold, when Dudley returned to the
- dressing-room, with an odd look lurking about the corners of his mouth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The ghost walks,” he said, in sepulchral tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do you mean?” said Ralph, laughing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s all very well to laugh. You won’t be able to do that long. There’s
- no treasury to-morrow, my boy. ‘The manager regrets,’ etc., etc.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No treasury!” echoed Ralph, blankly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not surprised,” said Dudley; “I was always doubtful whether Skoot
- would hold out long. But we may have better luck at Dundee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And if not, how are we to live?” asked Ralph, recollecting how small a
- sum he had to fall back upon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, my dear boy, we must live like the birds of the air, who eat other
- folk’s property, and then fly away.” Ralph looked gloomy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, after all,” he said, “the debts will virtually be Skoot’s, not
- ours. And, as you say, other places may not be so bad as Perth has been.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was exactly what the manager observed as they journeyed on from town
- to town. He was always apologetic, always bland and pleasant; but not
- another penny was ever forthcoming. In other respects, however, the tour
- was less unpleasant than at first. The rehearsals were shorter, and Mrs.
- Skoot did not venture to irritate them quite so much, but solaced herself
- instead with whisky. Moreover, their common trouble formed a sort of bond
- of union between the members of the Company; they grumbled together, and
- cheered each other up; they were extraordinarily kind in helping one
- another; all the little jealousies and quarrels were forgotten in the
- general anxiety and distress. As to Myra Kay, she was like another being
- altogether; she nursed Ivy through a long and tedious cold, she forgave
- Ralph for his friendship with Dudley, and she discussed ways and means in
- the most helpful fashion. Her experience and good advice were of
- considerable use to Ralph, while, when their prospects were at the
- darkest, Ivy managed to extract comfort from dreams about the future, and
- would listen by the hour to Myra’s plans for the summer, and to
- discussions about her wedding and her trousseau.
- </p>
- <p>
- And so the weary weeks dragged on, until at last, towards the end of
- April, they found themselves at Inverness. By this time they were all
- beginning to grow desperate for want of money, and Ralph, after a hard
- struggle with himself, conquered his pride and wrote to old Mr. Marriott,
- telling him of the plight he was in. It was not until the last day of
- their engagement at Inverness that the reply, bearing the name of the firm
- on the envelope, was placed in his hands. He tore it open eagerly and
- turned pale as he read the contents:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Basinghall Street, E. C.
- </p>
- <p>
- “21th April.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear Sir,
- </p>
- <p>
- “With reference to your letter of the 25th inst., I beg to inform you that
- Mr. Marriott has been very dangerously ill with influenza, and to recruit
- his health he has been ordered to take a voyage to Australia. I regret
- that in his absence I do not feel myself at liberty to make you any
- advance. I am, dear sir, yours truly,
- </p>
- <p>
- “W. G. Maunder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day they moved on to Elgin. The manager looked miserable and
- depressed; Mrs. Skoot, though not quite sober, read novels more
- assiduously than ever, and among the actors there were loud complaints,
- and angry threatenings of a strike. At Elgin the audiences were better
- than might have been expected, and the Skoots seemed to revive a little as
- they moved on to the neighbouring town of Forres. But the luckless Company
- still toiled unpaid.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph’s patience was now almost exhausted. Ivy had received piteous
- letters telling of her grandfather’s difficulties, and every day it seemed
- less and less probable that they would ever again receive their salaries
- from the manager.
- </p>
- <p>
- Forres certainly did not look like a place where they would attract large
- audiences, and an indescribable feeling of hopelessness stole over him as
- he gazed at the old gabled houses and at the one long, irregular street
- which formed the chief part of the town. How much longer could he possibly
- endure the weary, distasteful life? The halls with their miserable
- accommodation behind the scenes—for in few towns had they found a
- proper theatre;—the cheap lodgings with their dirty rooms; the daily
- marketing under difficulties; and the revolting spectacle of Mrs. Skoot
- drowning her discomfiture in drink—all these had become intolerable.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us go for a walk,” said Ivy, despairingly. “At any rate out of doors
- we can have air and sunshine—we shall have enough of our wretched
- rooms later on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come and see the river,” said Myra Kay. “They say there are lovely views
- by the Findhorn.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph consented, and the three walked out together into the country, and
- did their best to forget the troubles that hemmed them in, as they
- wandered among the flowery fields, where Ivy gathered violets and
- primroses to her heart’s content. Presently by the river, among the soft
- early green of the bushes, they came to a fallen tree, and here they
- established themselves while Ralph read to them. They had indulged in two
- or three of Dickens’ novels at an old bookstall in Edinburgh in their days
- of plenty, and when fortune frowned upon them these shabby volumes had
- proved a perfect godsend. They had solaced many a cold journey and
- brightened many a dreary lodging-house, and they helped now to distract
- them from the thought of their daily increasing troubles.
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed to Ivy when she looked back afterwards, that this afternoon by
- the Findhorn was the last really happy day she was ever to know. She sat
- cosily ensconced on the tree trunk with her lap full of flowers which she
- delighted in arranging; and Ralph lay on the grass at her feet with his
- head propped against the smooth surface of the fallen beech tree. She
- noticed how the short waves of his crisp, brown hair contrasted with the
- silver-grey of the bark, and how the careworn look which had grown upon
- him during the tour was entirely banished now as flashes of mirth passed
- over his face, caused by the sayings of Grip the Raven.
- </p>
- <p>
- Myra Kay sat just beyond him; she was knitting socks for her <i>fiancé</i>,
- listening at times to the reading, but more often dreaming of her own
- future. Everywhere there was that sense of hope and joyous expectation
- that seems to belong to the spring-time: the birds sang as Ivy had never
- heard them sing before; the lambs frisked delightfully in the soft, green
- meadows near their somewhat uninteresting mothers; and into her
- half-taught, eager mind there somehow floated new ideas of the meaning of
- “green pastures and still waters,” and a firmer confidence in a Shepherd
- who would not forget even the members of a travelling company in grievous
- straits up in the north of Scotland.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh don’t let us go just yet!” she exclaimed, as Ralph closed the book.
- “It can’t be time to go back to those stuffy rooms.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m in no hurry,” said Ralph, stretching himself, and falling back into a
- more comfortable attitude.
- </p>
- <p>
- He could not see Ivy’s face, but he could see her little, slender fingers
- as they pulled the petals off a daisy. The result seemed to displease her;
- she threw away the remains of the flower, and gathering another diligently
- pulled off each pink-tipped petal, but again threw the stalk from her with
- a little impatient gesture. Then she began upon a third, and had become
- absorbed in her counting, when suddenly she felt Ralph’s hand lay hold of
- hers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Caught in the act,” he said, laughing. “Don’t you know that
- fortune-telling is illegal?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not if you tell your own,” said Ivy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Something in her voice made him look at her, and for the first time in her
- little childish face he detected an expression which made him clearly
- understand that he was not dealing with a mere girl but with a woman. Long
- ago he had realised that her hard experience of life had robbed Ivy of the
- innocent ignorance which had kept Evereld so young; but he had naturally
- fallen into the habit of treating her as he would have treated any other
- girl of fifteen with whom he was brought into constant companionship.
- Thinking it over now it suddenly occurred to him that during the Scotch
- tour Ivy had lost her brisk, managing way, that she was very different
- from the independent little being who ordered the Professor’s affairs for
- him, that she had become unnaturally fond of being helped and protected.
- An uncomfortable fear crossed his mind, but he thought it best to laugh
- and try to change the subject.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you doing the old thing that Evereld and I used to be fond of!—‘Tinker,
- tailor, soldier, sailor?’ And have you always been fated to wed the thief
- that you throw away one daisy after another?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s a silly old rhyme,” said Ivy. “Of course I should never think of
- marrying any one who wasn’t in the profession.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, that’s quite a mistake,” said Ralph, lightly, determined that he must
- be cruel only to be kind. “Two of a trade seldom agree, you know. You
- should marry a dreamy philosopher who needed waking up, and being looked
- after.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy blushed, and was silent, and Ralph was not sorry to be taken to task
- by Myra Kay for his rash assertion that two of a trade never agreed. They
- fell into a merry bantering discussion during which Ivy recovered herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- After all, she reflected, why should she be unhappy because he had teased
- her a little? His words no doubt meant nothing at all; she would not spoil
- this happy afternoon by tormenting herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To-morrow’s my birthday,” she said, gaily, as they walked back to Forres.
- “I’m going to be sixteen. There’s no rehearsal, and I vote that we three
- have a real picnic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Carried unanimously,” said Ralph. “We might go as far as this Heronry
- they speak of. The longer we are out of our dismal diggings the better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The play that night was “Macbeth,” and anything more unlike the
- arrangements at Washington’s theatre it would be impossible to conceive.
- Mr. Skoot was apologetic, Mrs. Skoot endeavoured to be very affable, and
- the Company with that readiness to perceive fun, and the real good-nature
- which never failed them in an emergency, made the best of the many
- discomforts. They dressed behind screens, they laughed and joked, they had
- wild hunts for lost belongings, and they chattered incessantly between the
- acts under cover of the noisiest piano-playing which could be produced by
- one of the ladies, who, with a waterproof cloak over her costume, did duty
- as the entire orchestra.
- </p>
- <p>
- A choice selection of Scotch airs was being hammered out at the close of
- the Fourth Act, when Ralph, who was groping in a heap of miscellaneous
- garments in hopes of rescuing the wig he had worn as first murderer, and
- had hastily thrown off during a desperately hurried change into <i>Malcolm’s</i>
- attire, found himself close to Dudley.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The manager is positively enjoying himself,” said the comedian. “Skoot is
- after all a wonderful man. I shouldn’t wonder if he was persuading himself
- that this confounded tour will prove a success. That fellow lives on
- dreams. His wife is the one for business.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At that moment Mrs. Skoot, in the most elegant of stage nightdresses, and
- with her taper all ready to be lighted at the right moment, appeared for
- the sleep-walking scene. Ralph often wondered what effect she had at a
- distance; the near view of her was appalling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am afraid you have a great deal to put up with,” she said, in unusually
- gracious tones, smiling in a ghastly way beneath her paint. “But we must
- all learn to take the fortune of war. Our next place will be comfortable
- enough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were joined just then by Myra Kay in the costume of the <i>Gentlewoman-in-Waiting</i>.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Skoot, who, as a rule, was at daggers drawn with her, accosted her
- now pleasantly enough.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hear that you and Ivy have planned an excursion for to-morrow?” she
- said. “Come and breakfast with us at nine o’clock before the start. And
- you, too, Mr. Denmead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They accepted the invitation in some surprise, and as the curtain was rung
- up Mrs. Skoot requested Dudley to light her taper, and presently sailed on
- to the stage for her great scene, leaving them in astonishment at her
- unwonted good-humour.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day Ralph went, as he had promised, to the manager’s rooms in
- time for breakfast. He was within a few yards of the door when he came
- upon the heavy man, and his son, a young and very indifferent actor who
- usually played four or five small parts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you heard the news?” they exclaimed. “The Company’s dried up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What?” said Ralph, in dismay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The manager has absconded,” said the heavy man, pompously. “Went off by
- the first train this morning. It seems that last night when we were all
- safely out of the way the baggage man took everything to the station. Then
- Skoot and his wife stole out of their lodgings early this morning without
- rousing a soul, and here we are landed high and dry in the north-east of
- Scotland. Pleasant prospect, isn’t it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph felt indeed that they were in a desperate plight. He moved on
- mechanically to the open door of the manager’s rooms, and caught sight of
- a little group in the entrance passage.
- </p>
- <p>
- The landlady, shrill-voiced and indignant, was telling the whole story to
- Myra Kay; and Ivy, with an open letter in her hand, and traces of tears on
- her little, piquant face stood close by.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was the first to catch sight of him, and hastened forward to greet
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Ralph, I’m so glad you have come!” she exclaimed, piteously. “What am
- I to do? What can I do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIII
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Who bides his time—he tastes the sweet
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Of honey in the saltest tear;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And though he fares with slowest feet,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Joy runs to meet him, drawing near;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The birds are heralds of his cause,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And like a never-ending rhyme
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The roadsides bloom in his applause,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Who bides his time.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- J. W. Riley.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">H</span>ave you had bad
- news from home?” asked Ralph, taking the letter which Ivy held towards
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said, in a broken voice. “They have had to move my grandfather
- to the hospital.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was but too clear, as Ralph at once perceived from the letter, that the
- old Professor was never likely to recover, and that Ivy’s home had ceased
- to exist. The landlady wrote to demand rent, and since it was impossible
- to pay this, there would doubtless be a sale of the Professor’s few
- belongings.
- </p>
- <p>
- And here was this pretty girl of sixteen, stranded, without a penny in her
- possession, in a remote Scotch town, where it was impossible to meet with
- an engagement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What am I to do?” she said, lifting her piteous eyes to his with an
- appeal that moved him more than he quite liked. He wished that he had not
- guessed her secret on the previous day, and that he could treat her once
- more in the matter-of-fact-elder-brotherly fashion which he had once
- adopted. But this was no longer possible; nay, he felt an almost
- irresistible longing to say to her: “I will take care of you. We will set
- the world at defiance, and bear our troubles together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Fortunately he thought of Evereld, and instantly tried to picture her in
- the same plight. How would he have felt towards a man who had taken
- advantage of her poverty and helplessness to place her in a position which
- must, more or less, have compromised her?
- </p>
- <p>
- He folded the letter and gave it back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t worry yourself more than you can help,” he said, kindly. “I will
- talk things over with the others, and we will manage somehow to get you
- back to London.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But discussion threw very little light on the main difficulty of how to
- raise the necessary money. Every member of the company was desperately
- poor, and although Myra Kay offered to take charge of Ivy as far as
- London, she had only just enough money to pay for her own railway ticket.
- Some intended to go back to Inverness, others were setting out for
- Edinburgh or Glasgow, and all were grumbling loudly, and anathematising
- the Skoots who could scarcely have chosen a more inconvenient place than
- Forres for their flight.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had counted a good deal on Dudley’s good nature; but the comedian
- proved the most unsatisfactory adviser of all.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh don’t worry your head about Ivy Grant,” he said. “Depend upon it such
- a pretty girl will win her way somehow or other. It’s much more to the
- point what you and I are to do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph did not stay to argue the question. Myra Kay was to leave by the
- next train for the south, and he was determined that somehow or other Ivy
- must go with her. He went up to his room, threw most of his possessions
- into a portmanteau, and went to try his fortune at the pawnbrokers. It was
- broad daylight, but he had long ago ceased to feel any shame at being
- reduced to such straits. He went to-day, however, with a heavy heart; for
- he was only too well aware that he could not hope to raise much money on
- the few shabby clothes, and the wigs, shoes, and such like, which had
- supplemented the theatrical costumes provided by Skoot. Many weeks before,
- his father’s watch and chain had been parted with, so that he had nothing
- of much value, and his spirits sank lower and lower as the pawnbroker
- checked off the garments one by one at terribly small prices.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the very atmosphere of the shop there seemed something depressing;
- tales of sordid misery seemed woven in with the shabby rugs and carpets,
- the stacks of heterogeneous clothing; and tragedies seemed bound up with
- the workmen’s tools, the musical instruments, the relics of household
- furniture.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Twenty-five shillin’s and saxpence,” said the master of the shop, “Will I
- be makin’ oot the teeckets?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What’s the price of a third single to London?” asked Ralph. “I must raise
- enough for that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ye canna do it, sir, not with these, it’s juist beyon’ ony man’s
- contrivin’. Why I’m thinkin’ the teecket to London will be a matter of twa
- punds.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He appealed to his assistant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s preceesely forty-two shillin’ and saxpence,” said the young man,
- regarding the actor with some interest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s still the portmanteau,” said Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was an old one of the rector’s, solid and good of its kind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll gie ye a couple o’ shillin’s for it,” said the pawnbroker. “But
- ye’ll no be gettin’ to London, sir, upon twenty-seven and saxpence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It must be done,” said Ralph, with a determined look which took the
- Scotchman’s fancy. “Make out those tickets, and I’ll be with you again in
- five minutes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The laddie’s weel-bred,” said the old man to himself. “He’ll win his way
- depend on it, there’s grit in him. Yon’s none of your false French
- polishin’; it’s sound, good breedin’ and grit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph, true to his word, appeared again in a few minutes carrying a
- Gladstone bag, an overcoat, and a mackintosh. The bag with the change of
- linen in it which he had hoped to keep, went for a little more than he had
- expected, and with the overcoat brought in enough money for the journey,
- and ninepence to spare. He decided not to part with the mackintosh, and
- gathering up his sheaf of tickets, bade the old Scotsman good-day, and
- went at once to the manager’s deserted rooms.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy had grown tired of talking to the landlady, and being in spite of her
- troubles exceedingly hungry, had taken her place at the forlorn breakfast
- table, and was trying to find comfort in a cup of cold coffee.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, that’s a good idea,” said Ralph, cheerfully. “And now I think of
- it, I, too, am hungry. Why should we not eat? After Mrs. Skoot’s pressing
- invitation it’s a clear duty!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy smiled, and began to fill his cup for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What do the rest of the company think I had better do?” she asked,
- anxiously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They all agree that you had better go back to London with Miss Kay. She
- will not be able to take you home with her, but I’ve been thinking it
- over, and I’m sure your best way will be to go to my old landlady Mrs. Dan
- Doolan. She is the soul of good-nature and as long as they have a crust in
- the house they will share it with you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I don’t know them, and I can’t go and beg,” said Ivy, with an air of
- distaste.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will write a letter to them which will explain everything,” said Ralph.
- “They are good, trustworthy people who will see that no harm happens to
- you; they will, I daresay, house you while you look for another
- engagement.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How am I to get the money for my ticket?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will see to that for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you have no money?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you so sure of that?” said Ralph, smiling as he rattled the coins in
- his pocket cheerfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- The girl’s face brightened. “You have enough for both of us?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am going to stay in Scotland. I shall keep enough to get along with,
- you needn’t be anxious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But this was quite too much for Ivy, she hid her face and burst into
- tears.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t go alone,” she sobbed. “I won’t take your money, and leave you
- behind in this horrid place. Oh, please, please let us stay together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For a minute he wavered—the sight of her tears was almost more than
- he could endure; the sunshine streaming in through the uncurtained window
- turned her brown hair to gold, and revealed in a way that half-dazzled him
- the wonderful grace of every line of her figure. With an effort, he turned
- away, and began doggedly to pace the room till he recovered himself, and,
- with that instinct for straightforward dealing which always characterised
- him, frankly answered her suggestion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That would never do: you will see if you think for a minute. You are no
- longer a child, and people would say horrible things about you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you always say we are not to trouble about slanders. You don’t like
- conventional people, and yet here you would have me made miserable, for
- fear unkind tongues should talk.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We can’t throw aside all conventions,” said Ralph; “many of them are good
- and useful in their way. Are you and I so superhuman that we can afford to
- do without all safeguards? I know you think me hard-hearted, but some day
- you’ll thank me for persuading you to go with Miss Kay.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy shook her head. “It’s because you don’t really like me; you mean to be
- kind, just kind and nothing more. I hate your kindness!”
- </p>
- <p>
- All the grief and love and passion that was pent up in her heart seemed to
- break loose into this wild, little speech.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph began to pace the room again, he understood her only too well, and
- he was sorely perplexed as to what he should do. At last he came to the
- somewhat original determination to treat her as he would have liked in her
- place to be treated. He sat down by her, and said quietly:
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are all of us unhinged this morning, but I want you, Ivy, to try and
- see things as they really are. I’m going to tell you what not another soul
- in the world knows, for it will help you to see how we stand. I have a
- friend in England who is as yet only my friend, but I’m presumptuous
- enough to dream—to hope that some day she will be my wife.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then very naturally you can’t care much what happens to other girls,”
- said Ivy, perversely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I care a hundred times more,” said Ralph. “It is just through her that I
- have learnt to reverence all women. Were she in your plight up here in
- Forres should I not think any man a brute who risked her good name, who
- didn’t do his utmost to shield her and help her unselfishly?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy did not reply; her wistful blue eyes were fixed on his now with the
- questioning look of a child who is trying to grasp some quite new idea.
- She had seen all through her precocious childhood and girlhood a great
- deal that called itself love, but was only selfishness and animal passion,
- and now through her sorrow and disappointment she was beginning faintly to
- perceive another kind of love altogether, a love that was divine and
- ennobling. It was just a far-away glimpse such as she had gained of the
- landscape one day, when, in spite of cloudy weather, they had climbed
- Moncrieffe Hill, and as the mist every now and then cleared off for a few
- minutes, they had seen the sun shining on lovely scenery far far in the
- distance. She had the same sense now that the glimpse of love she had
- gained was real and true, and that the mist was a mere passing discomfort.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry I was angry,” she exclaimed. “I don’t mean what I said, then.
- I like you to be my friend and to help me—at least if it’s right for
- me to let you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course it’s right,” said Ralph. “Didn’t your grandfather trust me to
- take you down to Scotland and place you with Mrs. Skoot? I owe it to him
- since she has deserted you, to see you safely back in London, and I will
- write a line at once to Mrs. Dan Doolan explaining things.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” she said, in a sad, meek little voice. And as he began to
- write, her little, sensible, managing ways came back to her and she began
- to cut thick slices of bread and butter and wrap them up for the journey.
- She then consoled the landlady with her travelling trunk, packed her few
- possessions into the smallest compass possible, and by the time Myra Kay
- called for her, was waiting ready dressed, looking, indeed, very pale, but
- with an air of determination about her firm little mouth which Ralph could
- not help admiring.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a great bustle of departure, but when he had posted his letters
- and had taken Ivy’s ticket and stood alone outside the railway carriage
- with nothing more to do, a sense of loneliness began to steal over him.
- For the first time it occurred to any one to ask what plans he had made
- for himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where are you going, Mr. Denmead?” said Myra Kay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m going to take a walking tour,” said Ralph, lightly; “probably I shall
- work my way down to Glasgow, and try for an engagement there. By-the-bye,
- where is Macneillie’s Company now?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just dispersed,” said Myra, cheerfully, as she reflected that her lover
- would be in London to meet her. “Macneillie generally winds up soon after
- Whitsuntide and starts again at the beginning of August. He has promised
- to take me on again then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he has an opening you might say a word for me,” said Ralph, “and Ivy,
- let me have a line to say how you get on. I shall have to call for letters
- at the Stirling post-office, for I hope to hear of an engagement by that
- time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Just at that moment he was hailed by a familiar voice from a smoking
- carriage, and looking round he saw Dudley leaning out of the window.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you are off to the south, too!” he said. “Lucky fellow, how did you
- manage it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The train had already begun to move, but the comedian with a beaming face
- still leant out of the window describing to the last moment the
- extraordinary run of luck he had had at billiards.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go and play the same game,” he counselled; “it’s the only way to raise
- the wind. Good-bye, my boy! Meet again in better times.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He waved his hand cheerfully and was borne away, but the thing which
- lingered longest in Ralph’s sight was Ivy’s wistful, little face, as to
- the very last she gazed back at him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIV
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “And forth into the fields I went,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And nature’s living motion lent
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The pulse of hope to discontent.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “I wonder’d at the bounteous hours
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The slow results of winter showers;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- You scarce could see the grass for flowers.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “I wonder’d while I paced along;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The woods were fill’d so full with song,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- There seem’d no room for sense of wrong.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “The Two Voices,” Tennyson.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was just ten
- minutes past eleven by the station clock when Ralph, having parted with
- his companions, found himself outside in the highroad. He felt horribly
- desolate, and stood for a minute or two dismally contemplating a flaming
- red and yellow placard of a scene in “Cramond Prig,” which they had
- invariably played after “East Lynne.” Wretched as his experiences with the
- Company had been, they had at least been less dreary than solitude. He
- sorely missed Ivy’s bright face, and the comedian’s cheerful
- companionship. There was a certain bitterness too in the reflection that
- no one had taken much thought of what was to become of him, and that even
- Dudley, who had been kind and friendly enough in the past, had never
- dreamt of foregoing his journey to London and of taking two tickets to
- Glasgow.
- </p>
- <p>
- With a last look at Forres he turned his steps southward and somewhat
- drearily set off on the first stage of his journey. He meant to reach
- Grantown that evening, and Grantown appeared to be at least two and twenty
- miles off. Fortunately the weather was all in his favour: it was one of
- those mornings of early May when the sun is bright and warm and the air
- deliciously fresh, and he had not gone far along the uphill road before
- his spirits revived. After all he was young and in good health, and there
- was something not altogether unpleasant in entire independence. He
- reflected with a laugh that although a change of clothes might be
- desirable, a knapsack would have been heavy to carry, that the great coat
- though useful on a cold night would have been unbearable at the present
- moment, and that the sixpence left to him after stamping the letter to his
- landlady and letters to the managers of an Edinburgh and a Glasgow
- theatre, would at any rate keep him for a few days from actual starvation.
- Then for a while he forgot his difficulties altogether in sheer enjoyment
- of the country. The lovely outline of the Cluny hills, the glimpses of the
- river Findhorn, the beautiful parks surrounding many stately houses,
- looked their very best on this perfect spring morning. He caught the
- glowing sunlight through the young leaves just unfolded and thought that
- the delicate tracery of dark boughs seemed as though ablaze with emeralds.
- He had walked for about two hours when he came to a little country church
- and burial ground, and paused partly to rest, partly to look up at the
- beautiful viaduct which at a great height spanned the river Divie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, ay,” said a voice, that seemed to rise from one of the graves. “There
- are many tourists that stop to admire yonder seven-arched work of man’s
- devising, but few—very few that pay much heed to the works of the
- Almighty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a strong northern accent about the words; and the careful,
- precise English showed that the speaker was better used to reading than to
- speaking the language.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph had started a little at the suddenness with which the silence had
- been broken, and on turning round, he saw a venerable-looking old man with
- bushy grey hair and beard, and shrewd yet kindly glance. Evidently he was
- the minister of this place. Ralph raised his hat, and smiled a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “May not the skill of man be taken as one of God’s works?” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No doubt, no doubt,” replied the minister. “When rightly applied that is
- to say. But railways, sir, are the devil’s own weapon; they desolate and
- mar the country they enter; they bring to the country folk all the evil of
- the towns and cities. You have a prophet in your own land that has told
- you this in plain words, but you will not heed him, but go on multiplying
- the works of evil to your own undoing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “On such a day as this I am all in favour of walking,” said Ralph, amused
- at the minister’s earnestness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir! it’s a grand exercise, you’ll not be finding a better; there are
- your bicycles that bend a man’s back like an overstrung bow, and your
- tricycles that are no light diversion to push up our Scottish hills, and
- there are those works of the evil one which whirl you through creation at
- such a pace that you are no wiser at the end of a journey than you were at
- the beginning of it. But a man that walks, sir, must be blind and deaf if
- he’s not a better man after his walk than he was before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I shall be able to test your theory,” said Ralph. “For I am walking
- as far as Glasgow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And which way will you be taking?” asked the minister. “You should spend
- a few days among the Grampians, if you are anything of a mountaineer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must push on as fast as I can,” said Ralph; “and by the most direct
- route. They told me at Forres that after Grantown I had better make for
- Kingussie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you’ll come into the Manse, I will show you on the map the very route
- I have often travelled myself in past days,” said the minister. And Ralph,
- nothing loth, followed him into his house, and was soon poring over a big
- ordnance map, and receiving some very helpful information from the old
- man.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were interrupted before long by a knock at the door, and the
- appearance of an aged housekeeper with a large, well-fed, tabby cat in her
- arms.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The feesh is on the table, sir, and it’s a sair temptation for puss, puir
- wee thing, starving hungry as she is.” Ralph sprang up to take leave,
- glancing humourously at the fat tabby, who was in such haste for her food.
- The minister noted the glance; he noted, too, for the first time, the
- extreme shabbiness of his guest’s clothes, and certain signs of
- under-feeding about him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ll no keep puss waiting, Tibbie,” he said. “But just lay another place
- at the table, for I hope this gentleman has time to dine with me.” Then as
- Ralph hesitated to accept the hospitality he overruled all objections by
- adding: “You’ll be doing me a real kindness if you’ll stay, for it is not
- very often that I get a visitor to talk with in this country place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He led the way as he spoke into the adjoining room, a plainly-furnished
- parlour with nothing ornamental about it, but with a certain charm of its
- own, nevertheless, from its pure cleanliness and simplicity. Puss occupied
- a chair on her master’s right hand, and purred loudly through the somewhat
- long grace, and Tibbie, having provided for the wants of the visitor, left
- them to enjoy the meal in peace. For dinner at the Manse was not an affair
- with many courses, but just freshly-caught fish from the river, baps baked
- that morning by the housekeeper, a salad from the garden, and the remains
- of a cheese which had been a present to the minister on New Year’s day.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now the majority of travellers, as I was saying,” continued the minister,
- “are just hurried over the viaduct, causing us nothing but distraction and
- annoyance, but a pedestrian like yourself really sees the place, and
- cheers the day for us and brings us something to think about.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I spent the first thirteen years of my life in a country rectory,” said
- Ralph. “And remember what a quiet time we had.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And are you studying for the ministry?” asked the old man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Ralph. “My guardian gave me the chance of doing that, but I
- think you will agree that one can’t be a parson just for the sake of
- earning a living.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly not, sir, certainly not. You are quite in the right. No man
- should take up such work without a clear call; far better seek some other
- profession.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is what I did,” said Ralph, colouring a little. “But I know very
- well that you’ll not approve of my profession. I am an actor, and am on my
- way now to Stirling where I hope to hear of a fresh engagement either at
- Edinburgh or at Glasgow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Surprise, consternation, regret, were plainly visible in the old man’s
- face. He said nothing for a moment, it bewildered him to find that this
- young fellow with his straightforward manner and ingenuous modesty, should
- have anything to do with the stage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am thinking that you will be asking me as you did of the viaduct—may
- not the skill of man be taken as one of God’s works?” he said,
- thoughtfully. “And I’m fain to confess that I have ever considered
- theatres as the highway to hell, and actors as so many servants of the
- devil. May God forgive me if I have failed in charity and dealt out harsh
- judgment to them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So they fell into talk together, and Ralph told of the landlady who had
- shut the door in his face, and assumed that he was no Christian. He told
- of some of the arrangements at the two theatres in London with which he
- was acquainted. He told more than one story which he had heard from Myra
- Kay of the good that Hugh Macneillie had done. And the old minister
- listened and pondered these strange sayings in his heart, looking all the
- time with a sort of wistfulness at the fresh, hopeful face opposite him—a
- face which somehow haunted him long after Ralph had left the Manse.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He had been through a hard apprenticeship, and I doubt he had little
- enough in his pockets,” reflected the old man as he paced the bare, little
- parlour.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’d been defrauded of his pay and had looked on the evil as well as on
- the good, but still he pleaded like a born advocate for his calling—his
- art; and spite of his troubles there was a blithe look in his face which
- sore perplexes me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He walked to and fro many times, finally he took a Bible from the shelf
- and turned over the pages until he came to the words he sought. They were
- these: “The joy of the Lord is your strength.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was <i>that</i> his look kept bringing before me,” he said to himself,
- and he sighed because he knew that there was too little of the element of
- joy in his life, and that he plodded on from day to day, considering
- religion a privilege and a duty, but somehow missing the gladness which
- might have been his. Ralph meanwhile, much refreshed by the rest and food
- and by his host’s kindly words, tramped on contentedly enough through the
- wild, desolate country which led to Grantown. The sun was just setting as
- he reached the village; workmen were making their way homeward, some
- children with little, dusty, bare feet were playing battledore and
- shuttlecock in the road, the ruddy light on their hair looked like
- burnished copper.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come awa bairns, it’s time ye were a’ in bed,” called a comely mother
- standing in the open doorway of one of the houses.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just a wee whilie,” pleaded the children.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah!” she replied, yielding under protest, “You’re an awfu’ care to me!”
- </p>
- <p>
- But there was love and pride in her eyes nevertheless, as she watched
- their play.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph sighed a little as he tramped on. He was now both hungry and tired,
- and began to consider his plans; it was quite clear that he could not
- afford the price of a bed, and it was still too light to venture upon such
- shelter as might be found in barns or under hedges. He turned into a
- baker’s shop, secured a good-sized stale loaf, and then for want of
- anything better to do, found his way to the railway station where he
- amused himself by looking out trains which he had no money to travel by,
- after which, having had the good fortune to find a <i>Glasgow Herald</i>
- in the waiting-room, left behind by some traveller, he read until it was
- quite dusk. The quiet little place roused into a sort of activity about a
- quarter past eight when two trains arrived, one from Perth, the other from
- Elgin, and Ralph sauntered on to the platform with a faint hope that he
- might see some face that he knew—he could almost in his loneliness
- have welcomed the Skoots! But very few passengers alighted, and directly
- they had been seen off the premises the porters began to lock up for the
- night—no more trains were expected.
- </p>
- <p>
- “After all,” reflected Ralph, as he left the village behind him, and
- tramped along the highroad in the gathering gloom, “if I had gone out to
- the colonies I should think nothing of camping out for a night. There’s no
- more disgrace in it here than there. And luckily there’s no law, as there
- is in England, against sleeping under a hedge, I can’t be had up as a
- vagrant in Scotland. How, if only I had not been forced to sell
- Macneillie’s knife it would have been handy enough for cutting this loaf
- which must certainly have come out of the Ark.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He wrenched off the top with difficulty and laughed to himself as he
- thought how horrified Lady Mactavish would be, could she see him now in
- the shabbiest of clothes, tramping a dusty road and munching stale bread
- as he went.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Most certainly I should have Sir Matthew’s charitable dole of ten pounds
- thrust into my hand,” he said, with an exulting sense that come what
- would, he would never apply for that relief. “Rather than go to him for
- help, I would willingly turn into that Refuge for destitute men at
- Edinburgh, which we saw as we walked down the Canongate.” He shuddered a
- little as the recollection came to him of the sort of man he had seen
- seeking shelter there. At any rate out of doors he would have fresh air
- and no companions in misery.
- </p>
- <p>
- He must have walked nearly five miles from the village, before he saw in
- the faint starlight a large farmhouse with many outbuildings. “This is the
- place for me,” he thought, making his way into the yard: but he had yet to
- learn the difficulties before him. The doors of a hopeful-looking barn were
- securely fastened, and, as he crossed the yard to some other outbuildings,
- up sprang a huge dog from his kennel, with angry growls and fierce barks.
- He walked up to the mastiff, with swift, light steps, patted its head,
- fondled its ears, and explained to it the situation. The dog was
- mollified, understood that the intruder’s intentions were honourable, and
- even licked his hand, which Ralph took very kindly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Looking round searchingly, he made out, at last, a sort of open shed, near
- the stables, and moving across to this, had the good fortune to discover a
- cart with trusses of hay in it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This will exactly suit me my friend,” he said, with a farewell pat to the
- dog. “May you sleep as comfortably in that lordly kennel of yours!” And,
- so saying, he climbed up into the cart, stowed the remains of his loaf in
- a safe place, and with deft hands had soon made himself as warm a bed as
- could be desired, out of the hay.
- </p>
- <p>
- He slept soundly, being healthily tired with his long walk—so
- soundly, indeed, that though cocks and hens and ducks and turkeys, all
- began, at an early hour, to blend their voices in a countrified, but
- scarcely musical chorus, he heard nothing. In his dream, Miss Brompton, in
- a waterproof, was thumping out “Scots wha hae,” between the acts; and
- presently, when certain strange rumblings slightly disturbed him, he
- dreamed that it was the thunder in the first scene of “Macbeth,” finally
- waking himself up by laughing at the comical sight presented by Mrs. Skoot
- as she vainly tried to drag him out of his witch’s cloak that he might
- appear as Malcolm. Her angry, impatient face convulsed him with mirth, and
- it was with no small bewilderment that he awoke to find himself straggling
- out of a heap of hay, while from above, the amazed face of a red-whiskered
- man gazed down upon him. The rustic’s round, light-grey eyes had a scared
- look, and Ralph suddenly remembered where he was, and began to apologise
- and explain. The cart no longer stood in the shed, but had rumbled out
- into the highroad, and the driver had evidently no intention of
- proceeding, while his uncanny visitant still remained among the hay.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Gude preserve us!” he exclaimed, “I was thinkin’ the cart was bewitched
- when I harkened to yon fearsome laughter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph shook off the hay and leapt lightly into the road; his agility and
- grace seemed to strike still deeper awe into the heart of the countryman,
- who stared like one fascinated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A doot you hef brought luck with you to the farm, sir,” he said, looking
- down into the comely face and laughing eyes of his astonishing guest. “And
- there would hef ben a bowl o’ milk set for you had you bin expeckit. But
- it will be a fery long time since the Brownies hef veesited us, and
- there’s bin nae luck aboot the farm for mony a year.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Great Scott! the man thinks I’m a ‘Robin Goodfellow’ or a warlock!”
- thought Ralph, highly amused. “And he’s far too much afraid of me to offer
- me a ride in his cart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m just a wayfaring man,” he tried to explain. “Very grateful for the
- shelter of your hay-cart on a cold night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, ay,” said the carter, still evidently holding to his own opinion.
- “And it is fery glad we are to be seein’ you, sir. And a ken weel that
- it’s na for human bein’s to come into our place at night. Lassie wad bark
- till ilka soul in the hoose was wakened, and she will be flying at the
- thrapple o’ ony mortal man. But dogs hef aye descreemination to tell the
- Brownies when they see them. I will be wishin’ you gude day, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And so saying, he drove off hastily, leaving Ralph to trudge along in
- solitude, until catching sight of a stream at a little distance from the
- road, he reflected that the best things in life were to be had free of
- charge, and that a morning bath would freshen him for the day.
- </p>
- <p>
- As for the driver he chanced to look back from a distance, and catching
- sight of his uncanny visitor just as he took a header into the water, was
- for ever confirmed in his opinion that he had seen and spoken with a
- Brownie.
- </p>
- <p>
- The second day’s walk proved even more enjoyable than the first had done,
- except that there was no kindly old minister to provide a midday meal. But
- the sense of freedom, the bracing air, and the loveliness of the road
- beside the river Spey, with glimpses every now and then of the Cairn Gorm
- range, were things to be remembered through a lifetime. With Aviemore
- specially, he was delighted. He began to weave plans for the future, and
- to dream of wandering with Evereld among those exquisite hills with their
- craggy rocks cropping out here and there from between dark pines and
- delicately fresh birches, while beyond there stretched great pine woods,
- and mountains whose summits were still white with snow. Kingussie
- furnished him with bread and with a somewhat draughty sleeping apartment
- in the ruined castle which goes by the name of the Ruthven Barracks; but
- the night air was keen, and many a time he longed for the warmth and
- comfort of the hay-cart. There was something dreary, too, in the desolate
- shell of the old residence of the Comyns, and he awoke with a feeling of
- depression which was curiously foreign to him. The morning was cloudy, and
- the waters of the Spey felt icy cold as he plunged into them; however, the
- walk through Glen Tromie which the old minister had specially recommended
- to him soon made him warm enough, and the wild beauty of Loch Seilich, and
- its surrounding precipices fully justified the praises which his guide had
- bestowed on them. He rested for some little while by the loch, ate his
- last crust, and counted over, as a miser counts his gold, the three pence
- which must somehow carry him to Glasgow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must certainly eat less,” he reflected, ruefully, having only dared the
- previous night to buy a pennyworth of bread. “The worst of it is this
- mountain air makes one so confoundedly hungry. I shall soon be reduced to
- eating birds’ eggs, or to singing in front of village alehouses in the
- hope of earning money.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His reverie was interrupted by the falling of some heavy drops of rain; he
- set out once more on his walk seeing plainly enough from the threatening
- sky that a storm was at hand. It came indeed with a speed which surprised
- him. Clouds, which blotted out the landscape, hemmed him in; the rising
- wind roared through the wilds of Gaick, and the rain came down in sheets,
- blinding and drenching him, for no mackintosh yet invented could have
- stood the pitiless deluge which showed no sign of abating, but rather
- increased in violence. Worst of all, he missed his path so that there was
- not even the comfort of knowing that every step was bringing him nearer
- his destination. On the contrary, he began to fear that he had altogether
- lost himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- The further he went the more hopeless he grew; he was wet to the skin,
- every bone in his body ached, and no sign of a track was to be found. It
- seemed to him that he was the only living creature in this vast solitude,
- and his delight was unbounded when at length, through the driving rain and
- mist, he caught sight of a figure approaching him. A collie sprang forward
- and barked, and was called back by its master, a tall, manly figure with a
- crook in his hand, and under his arm an ugly little black lamb, He seemed
- not unlike a picture of the Good Shepherd, and Ralph instantly felt
- confidence in the clear, kindly eyes which looked out at him in a friendly
- fashion from beneath the Scotch bonnet; there was something noble and
- winning in this dark-bearded Highlander.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can you put me into the track for Dalnacardoch?” asked Ralph, as he
- returned the shepherd’s greeting. “I have lost my way in the mist.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XV
- </h2>
- <p class="indent10">
- “Through ways unlooked for, and through many lands,
- </p>
- <p class="indent10">
- Far from the rich folds built with human hands,
- </p>
- <p class="indent10">
- The gracious footprints of His love I trace.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Lowell.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>ngus Linklater was
- in no danger of mistaking the traveller for a Brownie; one of his long,
- keen glances told him much of the truth about Ralph, for he had the rare
- gift of insight and his kindly heart warmed to the tired wayfarer.
- </p>
- <p>
- He at once protested that it was out of the question to go on in such
- weather to Dalnacardoch, and invited Ralph to take shelter in his cottage,
- which was but a few minutes’ walk.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph hesitated for a moment. The rain streamed down his face and neck,
- his boots felt like a couple of reservoirs, and the thought of shelter was
- very tempting.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will tell you just how it is with me,” he said; “I have but a few pence
- left and must reach Stirling before I have a chance of getting my letters
- and further supplies. I think I must press on, for there is no time to be
- lost.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Put ony thought o’ troublin’ us oot o’ your head, sir,” said Angus,
- instantly reading his companion’s thoughts, and beginning to walk on
- beside him. “The hame is just a but and a ben, and you’re kindly welcome
- to a’ that we can gie you in the way o’ food and shelter for the night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are very good,” said Ralph. “If you can conveniently take me in I
- shall be thankful. But don’t be putting yourselves out for me. When I tell
- you that I slept last night in the ruins of the old castle at Kingussie,
- and in a hay-cart near Grantown the night before, you will see that to be
- under a roof at all will be a luxury to me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He laughed. The shepherd gave him another of those sympathetic, discerning
- looks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have had trouble I see,” he said. “But I’m thinkin’ that you’re
- meetin’ it in the right way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh,” said Ralph lightly, “I’m just an actor out of work. For several
- weeks we have had plenty to do and no money; now we have neither money nor
- work, and I am hoping to get into another company.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s no right that ony man should work without wages,” said Angus; “it’s
- clean against Scripture. But just for a wee while I’m thinkin’ that it’s
- maybe no sic an ill thing for us to learn that a man’s life consisteth not
- in the abundance o’ the things which he possesseth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, it’s not hard to agree to that now that I’m close to your house,”
- said Ralph, “but I’ll confess to you that I was beginning to despair
- before I met you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay,” said Angus, a smile crossing his face, “Ilka ane o’ us is apt to be
- like this stray lamb that was tryin’ to mak’ its way hame and was scairt
- almost to death with encounterin’ deefficulties. It might have hed the
- sense to know that as the sayin’ goes, ‘Where twa are seekin’ they’re sure
- to find.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is that one of your Scottish proverbs?” said Ralph, struck by the beauty
- of the thought.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ay, it is, sir, and it often comes to my mind when I’m after the sheep.
- Ye mauna despair though you’re oot o’ work. We are maist o’ us ready to
- say ‘The Lord’s my shepherd,’ but at the first glint o’ trouble we change
- the psalm and say ‘but I’m terrible feart that I’ll come to want.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a sort of dry humour in his manner of saying these last words,
- and Ralph smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see you are a thought-reader,” he said, “as well as a thinker.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, as for that,” said the shepherd, “those that spend their lives amang
- the mountains have aye mickle time for thinkin’. It’s a gran’ preevilege
- to be set to mind the sheep.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were now within sight of the cottage and Angus Linklater led the way
- through a little garden; at the sound of their footsteps his wife opened
- the door, it seemed almost as though she were expecting her husband to
- bring some one back with him, but after one glance at the visitor her
- eagerness died away; she was a grave woman with dark hair parted plainly
- beneath her white mutch, and with a certain sadness in her eyes and in her
- voice. Her welcome was, however, as hearty as the shepherd’s and before
- long she had furnished Ralph with her husband’s Sunday garments and was
- busily preparing tea. When the tired traveller emerged again from the back
- room in dry clothes, he thought nothing had ever looked more comfortable
- than that homely little kitchen with its fire of logs, its old grandfather
- clock, and its quaint, corner cupboard, black with age. Some lines of
- Stevenson’s came to his mind as Mrs. Linklater made room for him by the
- hearth.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “Noo is the soopit ingle sweet,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- An’ liltin’ kettle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Delicious too was the tea and the oatcake after his monotonous bread and
- water diet. Angus was still out attending to the lamb he had brought home,
- and Ralph wondered whether the shepherd and his wife lived alone in this
- quiet place. Among the few books on the shelf, he noticed, however, sundry
- modern adventuring books which had been the delight of his childhood. “I
- see you have some children,” he said, finding his hostess not nearly so
- talkative as the shepherd had been.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We hae a son,” she replied, her eyes filling with tears, and crossing the
- room she took down “The Dog Crusoe” and showed him the inscription on the
- flyleaf.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a prize for good conduct awarded to Dugald Linklater. Ralph
- instantly felt that he had touched on a sore subject but whether the son
- were dead or a source of trouble to the mother he could not guess. The
- book was still in his hand when Angus returned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” he said, with a sigh, “you’re lookin’ at puir Dugald’s prizes. We’ve
- lost him, sir. But he’ll come hame yet. I’m no dootin’ that. He’ll come
- hame.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Little by little Ralph gathered the facts of the case. It seemed that
- Dugald had been a clever and promising lad, that Lord Ederline having a
- fancy for him had taken him as his valet, and for a time all had gone
- well. But London life had proved too full of temptation for the young
- Scotsman, the betting mania had seized him, and had swiftly dragged him
- down, until ruined and disgraced he had disappeared into those hidden
- depths which are sought by the failures of all classes. It was now three
- years since anything had been heard of him, but the father and mother
- still lived in the belief that he would return, and Ralph understood now
- the expectant look which he had noticed in the sad face of his hostess as
- he walked up the garden path with her husband.
- </p>
- <p>
- The absent son seemed to dominate their thoughts and it was with something
- almost like envy that Ralph, in his singularly desolate life, thought of
- this apparent waste of love. Was it pride, or shame or sheer wickedness
- that kept Dugald away from such a home, he wondered?
- </p>
- <p>
- The Linklaters kept very early hours, and after “taking the Book” and
- “composing their minds to worship,” they bade their guest good-night. A
- bed had been extemporised for him on a comfortable old settle where, with
- the shepherd’s plaid to keep him warm, he thought himself in luxurious
- quarters. But sleep would not come to him at that hour in the evening and
- he lay for a long time watching the ruddy glow from the dying fire on the
- hearth and musing over many things. He was glad that the storm had
- overtaken him and that he had found shelter in this Highland cottage, for
- in its atmosphere there was something curiously peaceful and homelike. It
- was many, many years since he had felt so much at one with any household—almost
- it seemed to him like a return to his old home. For, perhaps, nothing has
- more effect on a sensitive, receptive mind than moral atmosphere; while
- those sweet, subtle associations, which are the aftermath of a happy
- childhood, are more readily awakened by this native air of the soul than
- by things which can be actually seen.
- </p>
- <p>
- He took leave the next morning with a sense that these people had become
- his friends, and that somehow they would meet again. The shepherd would
- fain have helped him on his way, but he knew better than to offer what his
- guest would little like to receive; nor did he, of course, realise how
- very few were the pence still remaining to him. They gave him the best
- breakfast the house would furnish, and Mrs. Linklater insisted on wrapping
- up a shepherd’s pasty, which she said would make a luncheon for him; then,
- with kindly cordiality, they bade him farewell, begging him to let them
- know how he prospered.
- </p>
- <p>
- Cheered by their friendliness, Ralph walked in very good spirits through
- the Gaick Forest to Dalnacardoch, and thence, after a brief rest, made his
- way southward to Tummel Bridge. The air felt fresh after the storm and
- walking was delightful, but he found no friendly shepherd’s cottage to
- shelter him, and passed a very cold and comfortless night under the
- shelter of a rick, which proved distinctly uncomfortable as sleeping
- quarters. Twice he was roused by mice running over his face, and in the
- dead of night a groan and the falling of some heavy object at his very
- feet made him start up. It proved to be a drunken and very dirty tramp,
- whose neighbourhood was highly undesirable, and Ralph shifted his quarters
- to the other side of the rick where the keen, north-east wind was far from
- pleasant. He woke again in the grey dawn, feeling stiff and miserable. The
- tramp still retained the leeward side of the rick, so there was nothing
- for it but to resume his journey, and gradually the morning mist cleared
- and the sun rose, revealing the fine outline of Schiehallion and chasing
- away the chill discomfort of the night. Indeed, by the time Ralph had
- reached the village of Fortingall, he was both hot and sleepy, and finding
- the kirkyard deserted, he lay down on a sunny patch of grass, with his
- head resting on one of the stone ledges that flanked the railings round
- the famous yew tree of three thousand years old. How long he slept he
- could not tell, but he awoke at length to the consciousness of hunger.
- Having eaten all the bread he had saved from the previous night, he
- wandered towards the kirk, and hearing the sound of a voice through the
- open windows, realised for the first time that it was Sunday. The preacher
- was giving out the One hundred and twenty-first psalm, and pausing to
- listen, he heard, to the familiar tune of “French,” the following quaint
- metrical version.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “I to the hills will lift mine eyes.
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- From whence doth come my aid?
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- My safety cometh from the Lord,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Who heav’n and earth hath made.
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Thy foot he’ll not let slide nor will
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- He slumber that thee keeps.
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Behold he that keeps Israel
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- He slumbers not nor sleeps.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “The Lord thee keeps, the Lord thy shade
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- On thy right hand doth stay;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The moon by night thee shall not smite,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Nor yet the sun by day.
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The Lord shall keep thy soul; he shall
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Preserve thee from all ill.
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Henceforth thy going out and in
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- God keep for ever will.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- As the last words were sung, Ralph made his way to the door and entered
- the little building, just as the congregation stood up to pray. He felt,
- as he had done in the shepherd’s cottage, that sense of fellowship which
- was what he needed in his loneliness; nor could the length of the sermon,
- with its bewildering array of heads, spoil for him that May morning, and
- the strengthening influence of the calm worship hour, which seemed to him
- more spiritual, more grand in its simplicity, than elaborately ornate and
- showy ceremonials.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went on his way refreshed, and, taking the road to Fearnan, soon
- reached the shores of Loch Tay. Away in the distance Ben Lawers rose
- rugged and stern against the pale blue of the sky, and the walk left
- nothing to be wished in the way of beauty. The only drawback was the
- growing sense of fatigue that come over him. He wondered that a walk of
- eighteen miles could so exhaust him. It was true he had been out of
- training when he started from Forres, and had walked many miles each day
- upon short rations, but he was dismayed to find that his powers of
- endurance were not greater.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was evening by the time he reached the Bridge of Lochay, and learnt
- that he was within a mile of Killin. Feeling now tired out, he resolved to
- go no further; moreover, he had learnt from experience that it was better
- to sleep at a little distance from towns or villages. He paused to talk to
- an old labouring man who was leaning over the bridge. To the left there
- was a lovely little wood closely shutting in the river; to the right, the
- stream wound its way through green hayfields, and on through the wild
- beauty of Glen Lochay to the distant hills which were bathed now in a
- mellow, sunset light. Learning from his companion that he could get food
- close at hand, Ralph made his way to the little white old-fashioned inn
- just beyond the bridge. Its walls were covered with creepers, its garden
- gay with flowers, and in the porch were two comfortable chairs. The
- landlady seemed a little surprised at his request for two penny worth of
- bread: she would have been yet more surprised had she known that he gave
- her his very last coins in payment; for the rest, she answered his
- questions about Killin, and the distance from thence to Callander, and let
- him rest as long as he liked in the porch, bidding him a friendly
- good-night when at dusk he once more resumed his journey. Evidently the
- inn closed early on the Sabbath, for Ralph heard the door shut and bolted
- behind him.
- </p>
- <p>
- He paused, and looked round in search of shelter. Not far off, the ground
- sloped steeply up, and fir-trees were planted about it. Climbing over the
- low stone wall, he made his way towards a fallen tree, the wide-spreading
- roots of which pointed darkly up against the twilight sky. It lay just as
- it had fallen in a wintry gale, its rough bark was veiled here and there
- by clumps of brake fern, and the turf still grew between the roots as it
- had grown when the tree was torn out of the earth by the storm. It proved
- a good shelter from the cold night wind, and Ralph crept closely down
- beneath it, and soon slept. His sleep, however, was disturbed by horrible
- dreams, and when in the early morning he awoke unrefreshed and with aching
- head, he felt no inclination to stay longer in his lair. Stretching his
- stiff limbs, he stood for a minute looking at the wonderful view before
- him. Beyond the river there lay a grand panorama of mountains; here and
- there were large plantations of fir, then came wild, bare tracks of
- heather, black and cheerless now without its bloom, but relieved at
- intervals by grey boulders and patches of grass, while little, white
- cottages were dotted, like rare pearls, about the landscape.
- </p>
- <p>
- A good swim in the river revived him, after which he went on to Killin,
- and, seeing little chance of selling his mackintosh there, hoped for
- better luck that night at Callander; and learning that there was a short
- cut to Glen Ogle, left the road and struck across the mountainside,
- gaining, as he walked, fine views of Ben Vorlich. Toiling up in the sun
- proved warm work, however, and by the time he reached the gloomy, narrow
- glen he was thankful to wait and rest. He wondered whether it was the
- effect of the place or merely his own fault that such deadly depression
- began to creep over him. The stern, purple mountains seemed to frown on
- him, the tiny stream down below in the middle of the glen looked miserably
- insufficient for its wide, rocky bed, and the lingering mists of early
- morning still hung about in weird wreaths. This was the sixth day on which
- he had been a vagabond, and he began to wonder whether he should ever
- reach Glasgow. With an effort he shook off for a time the sense of
- impending evil, and forced himself to eat the remains of the loaf he had
- bought on the previous night.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now,” he thought to himself, as once more he tramped on, “I am bound,
- whatever happens, to reach Callander this evening. I must walk or starve;
- that will be a good sort of goad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The road was mostly down hill, and he made a brave start, passed Loch
- Earn, which lay far below in the valley, looking exquisitely lovely in the
- May sunshine, and then toiled up again towards Strathyre, pausing only to
- ask for some water at a grey, slate-roofed farm on the outskirts of the
- village. Here he learned the comforting fact that it was but “eight miles
- and a bittock” to Callander, and went on in better spirits. Away to the
- right he caught beautiful glimpses of the Braes of Balquhidder, and at
- last, to his relief, came down to the shores of Loch Lubnaig.
- </p>
- <p>
- But the loch was nearly five miles long, and before he had gone half its
- length such intolerable pain and weariness overpowered him that he could
- hardly drag one foot after another. He was forced to rest for a while;
- then once more blindly staggered on, wondering what was going to happen to
- him and counting the milestones with the eagerness of despair. At length
- the loch was passed, and the two railway bridges. He knew that he must be
- in the Pass of Leny, and as he toiled up the hill could hear the rushing
- sound of the river among the trees to the right. Then came the moment when
- he could do no more, but sank down half-fainting by the roadside, his head
- resting on a rough seat which had been placed against the wall. How long
- he lay there he could not tell, but he was roused by the sound of
- footsteps close at hand. Half opening his eyes he caught sight of two
- hard-featured men, who glanced at him critically and shrugged their
- shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Drunk,” he heard one of them say, “and as early in the afternoon as
- this!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words rankled in poor Ralph’s mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I had not tried to be honest it would never have come to this,” he
- reflected. “Because my clothes are shabby and my boots in holes they judge
- me. Well, it’s what the poor always have to put up with!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He dragged himself to his feet, and, noticing for the first time some
- steps in the wall and a path leading down to the river, thought he would
- hide his misery and escape from further comments. He was parched with
- thirst, too, but to reach the water proved hopeless. Though the river was
- swollen with the recent storm, it went surging and foaming below him among
- the rocks in a way which made him feel sick and giddy. He just staggered
- on by the narrow, rocky track and the wooden gallery till he reached the
- smoother path beyond, which led into a little wood, and here once more his
- powers deserted him, and he again lost consciousness.
- </p>
- <p>
- When he came to himself he was lying uneasily across the path, his head on
- the mossy bank and his feet hanging perilously over the water. It just
- crossed his mind that he might easily enough have lost his life had he
- fallen in the opposite direction, and he wondered dreamily whether it
- would not have simplified matters, yet, wretched as he was, he felt
- somehow glad to be alive. Away in the distance he could see Ben Ledi
- rising in its tranquil beauty beyond the foaming river. There was a rocky
- islet, too, in the centre of the flood, with a tall, stately fir-tree
- growing upon it, the dark foliage strongly contrasting with the white foam
- and the vivid green of the trees on the further bank. To his fancy, the
- rushing river seemed to ring out the tune of
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “I to the hills will lift mine eyes,”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="noindent">
- as he had heard it sung on the previous day at Fortingall Kirk.
- </p>
- <p>
- All sorts of half-misty memories thronged his fevered brain. He thought he
- was walking again with Angus Linklater as he carried the ugly little black
- lamb; or he was out boating with his father; or he was at rehearsal, and
- Mrs. Skoot was wrathfully haranguing him. Through all these feverish
- fancies, there remained the ever-present consciousness of physical misery,
- and the rankling recollection of the words he had heard from the two men
- who had passed him on the road. Presently, yet another fancy took
- possession of him. He was sitting with Evereld in a theatre, and could
- distinctly hear the actual words of Shylock’s part:
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “What, what, what? ill luck, ill luck?”
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “I thank God, I thank God. Is’t true, is’t true?”
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “I thank thee good Tubal; good news! good news! ha,
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- ha, where? In Genoa?”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="noindent">
- The voice was
- certainly not Washington’s. He was puzzled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thou stickest a dagger in me,” it resumed, then suddenly broke off, and
- in the pause that followed he heard steps approaching. He opened his
- eyes, but saw only the familiar view of Ben Ledi and the foaming river. He
- had no notion that just behind him stood a tall, striking figure, and that
- some one was keenly studying him, not with the critical harshness of the
- passers-by in the road, but with the reverent sympathetic manner of the
- artist.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVI
- </h2>
- <p>
- “<i>Every man’s task is his life-preserver. The conviction that his work
- is dear to God and cannot be spared, defends him.</i>”—Emerson.
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>an I do anything
- for you?” asked a mellow, penetrating voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph shifted his position a little, and looking round, saw a man bending
- over him with a curiously attractive face, chestnut-brown hair fast
- turning white, large, well-shaped, blue-grey eyes, and that mobile type of
- mouth which specially belongs to the actor. He had a strange impression of
- having lived through this scene before, and in a moment there flashed back
- into his mind a recollection of his first day at Sir Matthew’s house, of
- his adventure in the park, and of how Macneillie had pulled him out of the
- water. “Oh, is it you?” he cried, with a relief that could hardly have
- been greater had he met an old friend.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie in vain racked his memory: he could not in the least recall the
- face. However, he was not going to betray this. “Glad I came across you,”
- he said. “I often come down here by the river to study a part, this path
- is little frequented till the tourist season begins. Let me see, where did
- we last meet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You will hardly remember it,” said Ralph; “it was at Richmond. I was
- quite a small boy and ran up to thank you for having pulled me out of the
- water a few weeks before in St. James’ Park. You gave me your knife.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A look of keen and sudden interest flashed over Macneillie’s face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course!” he exclaimed; “I remember it all perfectly. I’m very glad to
- have come across you again. What is the matter now? You look very ill. Are
- you taking a walking tour?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph smiled. “I set out from Forres last Wednesday morning with sixpence
- in my pocket,” he said. “It has been a roughish time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should think so, indeed,” said Macneillie, glancing from the
- slightly-built figure to the thin, finely-shaped hands, and realising in a
- moment how little fitted this lad was to endure hardships. “From Forres
- you say? What was it I was hearing a day or two ago about Forres? Oh, to
- be sure, Skoot’s Company came to grief there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I was in the company,” said Ralph. “Skoot left us in the lurch, and
- it was a sort of <i>sauve qui peut</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So you belong to the profession,” said Macneillie. “That gives you
- another claim upon me. Perhaps you are the very Mr. Denmead that Miss Kay
- mentioned in her letter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I am Ralph Denmead. Miss Kay promised she would inquire if you had
- any opening for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We’ll see about that, but in the meantime, if I’m not much mistaken, the
- influenza fiend means to work his will on you. By the look of you I
- should say that you were in a high fever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know what is the matter with me,” said Ralph, miserably. “I
- suppose I fainted just now in the road. I know that a priest and a levite
- looked at me, said I was drunk, and passed by on the other side.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Trust them to leap to the worst conclusions,” said Macneillie. “It’s the
- way of the world. But come, I must somehow contrive to get you to my
- house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ill and exhausted, Ralph for the life of him could not keep the tears out
- of his eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are very kind,” he said, brokenly; “but I didn’t mean to thrust the
- part of Good Samaritan on to you. I’m not fit to come to a decent house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He looked down at his travel-stained clothes, and at the holes in his
- boots.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you mean to lie here all night?” said Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I meant to get
- on as far as Callander and to pawn this mackintosh. I am better. I’ll push
- on now. Perhaps there may be a hospital.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, there isn’t, as it happens,” said Macneillie, watching him
- attentively as he struggled to his feet; “and it’s two miles to Callander,
- and if you think I’m going to allow you to walk as far as that you’re much
- mistaken. I’m a very indifferent Good Samaritan, having no beast to set
- you on, but if you’ll try to come with me to the little village of
- Kilmahog which is not far off we can rest at a cottage I know of, have a
- cup of tea, and take the coach from the Trossachs which will pass there in
- about an hour. As for your scruples in coming home with me, you must just
- make away with them. My mother has often received me in quite as bad a
- plight years ago when I was struggling to get my foot on the ladder. We
- most of us have to go through it unless we happen to belong to an old
- professional family.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he talked he had slipped his arm within Ralph’s, and was guiding him up
- the narrow path, which, after a steep climb landed them once more in the
- road. Without waiting for much response he went on, telling story after
- story of his own early days as an actor, and at length the tiny village of
- Kilmahog came into sight, and they paused before a little, low white
- cottage with a picturesque porch and tiny garden. The mistress of the
- house seemed delighted to see her visitor, and responded most hospitably
- to his request for a cup of tea while they waited for the coach. She took
- them into a parlour hung round with sacred pictures, and possessing a most
- curious bed made on a sort of shelf in a curtained recess. Ralph looked
- longingly at it as he sank into a chair, but Macneillie shook his head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I see you want to be Mrs. Murdoch’s patient, but those ‘congealed
- beds,’ as I always call them, are not well-suited to a fever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And when did ye come hame, sir,” inquired the landlady, returning with
- the tea tray; “and hoo are ye likin’ your braw new hoose?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I came home at the end of last week,” he replied; “and as for the house
- it’s to my mother’s liking and that’s all I care for. We hear the trains a
- trifle too plainly for my taste, but she likes that, says, you know, that
- they are a sort of link with me when I’m away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, but Mrs. Macneillie she’s main prood o’ her beautiful rooms, but I’m
- thinkin’ it’s mair because it’s her son that’s made them a’ for her. She
- was in Kilmahog last month settlin’ the account for the milk, and she said
- to me that if a’ mithers were blessed with such a son as hers there’d be a
- hantle less sorrow in the warld. Those were her verra words, sir.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie laughed. “My mother was always prejudiced in my favour,” he
- said. “It’s the one subject you can’t trust her upon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The good woman bustled off to make the tea, and the actor turned again to
- Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My mother is the best nurse in the world: she will soon have you well
- again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not let me stay here?” said Ralph. “It would give you less trouble. I
- shall only spoil your holiday, and perhaps bring the infection into your
- house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, we have most of us been down with this plague already,” said
- Macneillie, cheerfully. “I know you covet that antique bed, but we must
- have you in a more airy room than this. Perhaps it will make you hesitate
- less if I tell you in strict confidence that the new house would never
- have been built at all if it had not been for you.” Then, seeing the
- bewilderment of his companion’s expression, “I’ll tell you just how it was
- some day, it’s too long a story now, for I hear the tea-things coming.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph, utterly at a loss to see how Macneillie could be under any sort of
- obligation to him, was obliged to leave the riddle unsolved for the
- present. The tea revived him, and when the coach came into sight he almost
- thought he could have walked that last mile. A dreamy sense of relief
- began to steal over him as they drove on beside the river between the
- wooded hills and through the pretty environs of Callander, until at last
- they reached the main street itself, and turning sharply to the left began
- to climb a steep road. Here, nestling cosily under Callander crag, with
- fresh green woods behind it, stood the comfortable, squarely built stone
- house that the actor had planned for his mother. The coach paused at the
- iron gate, for it was out of the question that they should drive up the
- steep approach to the front door; indeed, it was not without difficulty
- that Ralph dragged himself up the pebbly incline; he was panting for
- breath by the time they reached the house, and it was with some anxiety
- that he looked up at the white-capped old lady who stood to greet them in
- the porch.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mother,” said Macneillie, “this is my friend, Mr. Denmead. He has walked
- all the way from Forres, and is quite fagged out.” The keen, shrewd eyes
- of the Scotchwoman had perceived from a distance the sorry plight of the
- visitor, and she looked now not at his deplorable boots and shabby coat,
- but at the honest, dark eyes lifted to hers; she saw directly that they
- were full of dumb suffering.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad to see any friend of my son’s,” she said, and there was
- something curiously comforting in the homely sound of the Scottish accent,
- but when she had shaken hands with her guest an almost motherly tenderness
- stole into her voice. She begged him to come in and rest, made minute
- inquiries as to the hour when the fever attacked him, and having left him
- installed on a sofa in the dining-room, drew her son into the hall.
- “Hugh,” she said, “the poor laddie is very ill. I will go and make a room
- ready for him, and you had better be fetching the doctor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will by-and-bye, but first let us get him settled. Put him into my
- room, it’s the most airy. I’ll tell you who he is, mother.” The two had
- gone upstairs as they were speaking, and Macneillie closed the door of his
- room behind them, and began helping in a deft, sailorlike way to strip the
- sheets off his bed. “He is the boy I told you about years ago, who saved
- me from making an end of myself on Christine’s wedding day.” At the name,
- a sort of shudder of distaste passed through Mrs. Macneillie; it was a
- name very rarely mentioned by either of them, and the mother fondly hoped
- that at last her son had banished from his mind all memory of that romance
- of his youth. But, dearly as they loved each other, there was a good deal
- of reserve between them, and she could not tell how it was with him. After
- his absence in America, he had come back looking much older, but
- apparently in good health and spirits, and more than ever engrossed by his
- work. Little as she liked his profession, for she was full of
- old-fashioned prejudice and clung to all her old traditions, she
- nevertheless often blessed it in her heart for she saw that he lived for
- it, and, spite of herself, could not help taking some interest in his
- efforts to raise the drama, to give only such plays as were worth acting,
- and to manage his company in the best possible way. Still it was
- undoubtedly the grief of her life that her son had chosen the stage
- instead of the ministry, and he was quite aware of it, and was obliged to
- get on without her entire sympathy. She was unable to see that he was
- really doing quite as good work as any minister in the land, nor did she
- understand that an actor in refusing to follow his clear vocation, would
- be as blameworthy as a divine who put his hand to the plough, and then
- looked back. She did not speak a word now until they had the clean sheets
- spread and all things ready for the invalid. Then she drew her son’s face
- down and kissed it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall love to wait on him, Hugh, now that you have told me that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll like it for his own sake too,” said Macneillie. “It takes a fellow
- of good mettle to tramp more than a hundred miles on six-pennyworth of
- bread, and wear the look he wore when I found him. Oddly enough, too, I
- learnt something about him from Miss Kay’s letter on Saturday; he
- belonged to that company that failed, and she told me that she much feared
- he had spent almost all the money he had left, on sending back to London a
- forlorn little child-actress who had been deserted by the manager’s wife.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A child? Poor wee thing! There are many perils and dangers in your
- profession, Hugh, you can’t deny that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes there are,” he said, “but I am not sure that life in society, or in
- other professions, or in shops and factories, isn’t even more risky. As
- for this little Ivy Grant, you may be quite happy about her; he had the
- good sense to send her to trustworthy friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- No more was said, for it was time to fetch the invalid and to send for the
- doctor. But later on, Mrs. Macneillie opened her heart to her son.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s all very well, Hugh,” she said, “to think that everything is made
- right by the little girl being in good hands for the time; but you mark my
- words, it will be the same story over again as your own. This poor lad
- will be shielding and helping Ivy Grant, and when she has other admirers,
- why she’ll throw him off like an old glove. It will be your own story over
- again, Hugh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope not,” said Macneillie. “Let us believe he would have done as much
- for any distressed damsel. He is a generous fellow, and every inch a
- gentleman; why must we assume that he has fallen in love with the lassie?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Didn’t I find him sobbing his heart out the moment he was left to
- himself?” said Mrs. Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- But at this her son would do nothing but laugh, “My dear mother,” he said,
- “That is just the sure and certain sign that he has the influenza, but as
- to that far worse malady no sign whatever.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVII
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “So, from the pinched soil of a churlish fate,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- True hearts compel the sap of sturdier growth,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And between earth and heaven stand simply great,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- That these shall seem but their attendants both.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Lowell.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">F</span>or some days Ralph
- gave his new friends a good deal of anxiety; no doubt the worry and the
- underfeeding of the past nine months had told upon him, and culminating in
- this week of hardship and exposure had left him very ill-fitted to resist
- the modern plague which was scourging the country. By the time he had
- turned the corner and was able to spend part of each day in the adjoining
- room, he had wound himself very closely about the hearts both of the
- mother and the son. For there was something in his blithe cheerfulness
- which was very winning and which not even the depression that always
- accompanies influenza could affect for very long, any more than Sir
- Matthew Mactavish’s treatment could really embitter his nature, though it
- occasionally made him speak a few cynical words.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie had by this time heard the story of his life, and had set his
- mind at rest by offering to have him in his company at the beginning of
- August. He wrote, moreover, to a friend of his, the manager of one of the
- Edinburgh theatres, and tried to obtain a temporary engagement for him, to
- fill up the summer months. To this there was for some days no response,
- and Ralph, who was beginning to chafe at the thought of his penniless
- condition, grew depressed, and with the sensitiveness of a convalescent
- feared that he was a burden to his kindly host. Macneillie was quick to
- discern what was passing in his mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Pining for that hospital you were so anxious to find at Callander?” he
- said one afternoon when he had found Ralph unusually depressed.
- </p>
- <p>
- The invalid smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not exactly. But I’m wishing I needn’t spoil your holiday.”.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you forgotten what I told you as we waited for the coach that day at
- Kilmahog?” said Macneillie, bracing himself up as though for some effort.
- “This house would never have been built if it had not been for you. I saw
- you hardly took in what I was saying, but it’s as true as that you and I
- sit here together smoking. I will try to tell you the whole story.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Years ago, when I was a young fellow playing juvenile lead in Castor’s
- travelling company, there joined us a little, forlorn girl of sixteen,
- fresh from school, and utterly innocent. She was very unhappy, and I,
- naturally enough, fell into the sort of position that you fell into with
- Ivy Grant. She badly wanted a protector, and I did what I could for her.
- Well, little by little, this sort of friendship drifted into love, and
- though our engagement was not made public and was never recognised by her
- parents, they did not exactly forbid it or in any way hinder our
- intercourse, being shrewd enough, I suppose, to see that had they done so,
- their daughter would only have become more resolute and determined. Things
- drifted on like this for ten years. For five of these years we were acting
- in the same theatre in London, and I was fairly satisfied to wait, and
- never once doubted her. But there came a time when she felt hampered in
- her profession for want of money, and just then came an offer of marriage
- from a man who, though old enough to be her father, was immensely rich. He
- had a title moreover, and as far as I know, he was not a bad fellow—had
- he not been of decent repute, I am sure she would not have married him.
- Still I had seen enough of him to know that they had not a taste in
- common, and the misery of it all unhinged me. She was to be married at the
- close of the season, and every night—twice on Saturdays—we had
- to act together. It all went on like some ghastly dream”—he pushed
- back his chair and began to pace the room as though the recollection were
- intolerable. “The play was invariably ‘Hamlet;’ I have never been able to
- face the thought of acting the part again. The only thing that carried me
- through was a sort of desperate resolve to keep up appearances for her
- sake. There had been, naturally enough, a certain amount of gossip about
- us, but few knew that we had been actually engaged, and in the very worst
- of the time there was a sort of odd sense of triumph, for I knew that I
- was acting behind the scenes with a perfection which I was never likely to
- touch before the curtain. It told on me, though. When the end of the
- season came I had been for eight nights without sleep, and after saying
- good-bye to her, and realising that there was no need to keep up any
- longer, all power of rational thought seemed suddenly to go from me. I had
- acted my part so well that she believed that I had become reconciled to
- the thought of her marriage, and I suppose she thought that I should take
- that position of friend, which she wished me to take. At any rate her last
- words were a request that I would be present at the little country church
- where the wedding was to take place.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I left it uncertain whether I would go or not, and went home debating
- which would really be best for her, which would set her most at ease.
- Could I for the time efface myself so completely as to play the part of an
- old friend? If she had really cared for the man she was to marry, that
- would have been possible; I could have rejoiced in her happiness. But
- this, as things were, I thought out of the question. And then in the
- darkness of the night, as I lay wondering stupidly which would be the best
- for her, a wild notion that it would be best if I were dead suddenly took
- possession of me. I was too worn out to think anything at all about the
- right and wrong of the matter; it was just an overmastering idea that
- crowded out every other consideration. I even forgot my own mother,—that
- has always seemed to me the most incredible part of the whole business.
- When morning came, I made my preparations and walked out, with no notion
- at all as to place, but only a vague wish to be away from bricks and
- mortar. After a time I found myself in Richmond Park, and was making for a
- quiet glade I knew of, when there came a sound of footsteps hurrying after
- me, a small boy was speaking to me, telling me I had saved him once, and
- begging me to accept a silver knife. Here it is you see—I have
- carried it ever since.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph in amazement looked at his father’s old fruit knife; could such a
- trifling thing have played so great a part in the life of his friend?
- </p>
- <p>
- “I only parted with yours the other day at Forres,” he said, “when
- everything that could be spared had to go to the pawnbroker.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I’m glad it is gone,” said Macneillie. “This is the only souvenir
- needed. I have had presentations both before that time and since, but
- never one that touched me as yours did. Your emphatic assurance that
- fruit-knives were of no use to you, since you always ate peel and all,
- tickled my fancy and made me smile; that was the first step back to life.
- And then your boyish praise was so real that it pleased me, and your
- hero-worshipping face haunted me. It reminded me that I should be missed
- at any rate by some, and when I reached the glade I was glad that by a
- sudden impulse I had given you my knife in exchange. Being thus disarmed
- there was nothing to do but to lie down and rest, and what with the heat
- of the day and the long walk, I somehow fell asleep at last. When I woke
- my brain was perfectly clear again, but there was this little embossed
- knife to remind me of the narrow escape I had had. I remember that in the
- distance the deer were feeding peacefully, and within a few hundred yards
- of me rabbits were scampering to and fro. A great longing for home seized
- me as I lay there watching them, the sort of hunger that always comes over
- a Scotsman when he has been long away from the mountains. So I hurried
- back to town, packed my portmanteau, and took the night train to the
- north. There! that is all I have to tell you; and perhaps now you’ll
- understand that you are no ordinary stranger to me and to my mother, but
- that you belong to us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is good of you to have told me,” said Ralph, “to have trusted me with
- so much. But I, too, have a confession to make. That day, when we were in
- St. James’ Park, Evereld and I knew who was talking with you as you walked
- up and down, and once when you stopped close to the water we could not
- help hearing what you both said. I think it was partly that which made us
- look on you as our special hero.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie paced the room silently, seeing with all the vividness of a
- powerful imagination that scene in the far past: the broad sunny path, the
- calm expanse of water, with its little wooded island, the white sails of
- the toy boat, the two children watching its progress, and beyond the trees
- on the further side of the park the great gloomy pile of Queen Anne’s
- Mansions looming up against the sky. Again he seemed to stand in his
- misery beside the iron railing looking down into a face which was
- deliberately hardening itself against him, yet was still the face that
- haunted his dreams with its strange inexplicable fascination.
- </p>
- <p>
- Since her marriage he had never seen Christine; at first he had purposely
- avoided her, and after his return from America had still deemed it prudent
- to refuse a London engagement, and to enter on that career as manager of a
- travelling company which had now for some years absorbed his thoughts and
- his energies. He wondered often whether their paths would ever again
- cross, and with a certain sturdy Scottish resolution he held on his way,
- neither seeking nor avoiding a meeting.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was still talking to Ralph on this summer afternoon, when his mother
- came into the room with the letters of the second post.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ha, here is one from Edinburgh,” exclaimed Macneillie. “Now we shall hear
- your fate. Well, it’s not much of an offer but better than nothing. Middle
- of June to the end of July, that will fit in well enough. To be walking
- gentleman after the parts you have been playing will be uninteresting, but
- you will at any rate be secure of your salary, and will be acting with
- better people. Here is the list of plays; let us see who the stars are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Glancing down the paper he gave a perceptible start.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s an odd coincidence after what we were just talking about,” he
- said, handing the list to his companion; and Ralph saw that in the first
- week of July, Christine Greville was to appear as <i>Ellen Douglas</i>. He
- hardly knew whether he were glad or sorry. Naturally his affection for
- Macneillie tended to make him a somewhat severe judge of the woman who,
- after a ten years’ betrothal, had forsaken her lover and married for
- money; but nevertheless he wanted to meet her, and Macneillie was not ill
- pleased at the chance of thus learning indirectly how Christine prospered
- in the life she had chosen.
- </p>
- <p>
- Somehow the news seemed to cheer them both. Macneillie stood gazing out of
- the window, lost in thought.
- </p>
- <p>
- The rain had ceased, and though the sky was still in part overclouded
- there were little rifts of blue, and in the west a bright gleam which
- swept across the hills facing the window in a long level line of golden
- brightness. Above, were the dark mountain tops, below, in deep shade, the
- woods; and the points of the trees stood out sharply defined along the
- broad intervening strip of sunlit grass. He could not have explained his
- own feelings, but it seemed to him that some unexpected gleam of
- brightness had come, too, into his overclouded life.
- </p>
- <p>
- During the days that followed something of the old hero-worship began to
- reassert itself in Ralph’s heart as he learnt to understand more of his
- friend’s character. To the genius and fervour and romance of the Kelt,
- Macneillie united a singularly strong and virile nature, and although he
- had shaken off some of the trammels of the school of theology to which his
- mother still belonged, he was emphatically one whose life was ruled by
- faith. This was indeed generally recognised, although he was not given to
- many words; but the world agreed in describing him by that unsatisfactory
- phrase, “a religious man,” and many in the profession could testify that
- his religion was of that pure and undefiled kind which is known not so
- much by words or outward observances, as by the living of a good, manly
- life.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was, to Ralph’s mind, something very touching in the relations
- between the actor and his mother. His care in avoiding all topics that
- could pain her, his solicitude for her comfort, and the pleasure he took
- in the restful home-life, which could only be his at long intervals,
- formed but one side of the picture. There was the ineffable pride of the
- old lady in her only son, her delight in his success being only modified
- by the unconquerable scruples which she still felt as to the stage,
- scruples which were, however, difficult to maintain in all their fulness
- when she was every day confronted by so admirable a representative of the
- actor’s profession.
- </p>
- <p>
- As soon as it was practicable, Macneillie made the convalescent spend a
- great part of each day out of doors, at first in the garden or in the wood
- at the back of the house, and later on, when walking became possible, on
- the hill-side near the wishing-well, where far away from houses and with a
- glorious panorama of lake and mountain they rested for hours on the
- heather.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was at these times that Ralph received some of those lessons in his art
- which were later on of the greatest service to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- By the middle of June he had shaken off the last effects of the influenza,
- but although he was thankful to have secured an engagement, he left
- Callander very reluctantly, only comforting himself with the reflection
- that at the beginning of August he should once more be with Macneillie,
- and able perhaps to do a little in return for all the kindness that had
- been shown to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- His Good Samaritan started him on his way with sound advice, and all
- things needful for a fresh beginning, and the weeks in Edinburgh passed
- pleasantly enough.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XVIII
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “On the oppressor’s side was power;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And yet I knew that every wrong,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- However old, however strong,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- But waited God’s avenging hour.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Whittier.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>t length the day
- arrived when Christine Greville was to appear. A rehearsal had been called
- for eleven, and it so happened that Ralph reached the stage door just as
- the “star” with her maid in attendance drove up. He had naturally been
- very anxious to see her, and was pleased that their meeting should be in
- bright sunlight, not in the dreary gloom of the empty theatre. He caught a
- vision of fair hair beneath a broad black straw hat, and of blush roses
- that harmonised well with the beautiful but rather grave face. Then it
- chanced that in alighting, Miss Greville dropped her parasol, and Ralph of
- course promptly stooped to pick it up for her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” she said, and her low voice thrilled him. “It was careless of
- me.” As she spoke her lips smiled, but he thought the brown eyes that for
- a moment met his fully were the saddest as well as the sweetest he had
- ever seen.
- </p>
- <p>
- The doorkeeper having now perceived her hastened forward, and she passed
- into the building.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was with some surprise that in glancing round she saw that Ralph also
- had entered. Something in his manner had pleased her, and she presently
- turned to the manager with a question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is that young fellow behind us?” she inquired, lowering her voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is a pupil of Macneillie’s,” said the manager, “and at present is only
- ‘walking gentleman,’ but he has the makings of a good actor in him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Introduce him to me,” said Miss Greville.
- </p>
- <p>
- So Ralph, to his no small delight, was presented to the great lady, who
- gave him a cordial hand-shake.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They tell me you are Hugh Macneillie’s pupil,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph flushed a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has taught me more than any one else,” he replied, “and it was through
- him that I got this engagement. In August I am to join his company.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah!” she said, and Ralph fancied there was a sort of envy in her tone.
- “You are very fortunate to have such a chance. He is one of a thousand.
- Where did you come across him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At Callander, soon after Whitsuntide. He has built a house there for his
- mother.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is still living? I am glad of that. She never liked me, having a
- rooted aversion to the stage and all connected with it, still she was kind
- to me in her way, though disapproving all the time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She still disapproves of the stage,” said Ralph. “But she is kindness
- itself; if you could but have seen the plight I was in when Macneillie
- found me, and took me home with him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- At that moment they were interrupted, but when the rehearsal was over,
- Miss Greville again spoke to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We must finish our talk,” she said. “I like to hear all about my old
- friends. To-morrow I am driving with my little invalid nephew to Roslin—come
- and join us, we shall have plenty of room for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph was delighted with the invitation; it was quite impossible to remain
- a stern judge of Miss Greville now that he had seen her and spoken with
- her. He had wondered how it could be that Macneillie, after her
- faithlessness, still for her sake remained single. But he wondered no
- longer, for it seemed to him, that quite apart from any beauty of feature
- or form, she was the most inexplicably fascinating woman he had ever met.
- Her every movement seemed to possess a subtle charm; there was a
- refinement and delicacy about her manner, a delicious originality about
- her way of talking, that made all others in comparison with her seem tame
- and commonplace. There was, moreover, something that specially appealed to
- Ralph, in the sadness of her face when in repose, and its brilliant
- beauty when animated.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was no rehearsal the next day, and Ralph, punctual to the minute,
- presented himself at the Windsor Hotel, at the time appointed for the
- drive. He was shown into a private sitting-room where a little lame boy of
- about nine years old sat by the open window.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Aunt Christine will be here directly,” he said, greeting the visitor with
- great friendliness. “She was reading to me and forgot the time. Did you
- ever hear her read?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Ralph, “what book was it?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, only about Roslin, but it doesn’t matter what she reads, she makes
- everything beautiful—it’s the way she says the words. Mother used to
- read to me in Ceylon, but I never cared for it—it sounded so
- droney.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you come from Ceylon?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I came last year,” said the small invalid. “I live now with Aunt
- Christine, she’s mother’s sister, and I like her next best to mother in
- all the world. But Sir Roderick’s a beast. You mustn’t say I said so, but
- I hate him because he always says horrid, cutting things to Auntie. He’s
- to meet us here, when Auntie’s engagement is over, and we are to go to the
- Highlands to stay at a big country house belonging to his cousin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was impossible to check the confidences of this small child, who, with
- his light brown hair, eager blue eyes and sunburnt face, was by no means
- the typical invalid of romance, but just a restless, high-spirited boy,
- brimming over with life and merriment. Perhaps it was as well that at that
- moment his aunt came into the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Denmead,” she said, greeting him in her
- charming way. “I was always a sadly unpunctual mortal, but Charlie has no
- doubt been entertaining you. Is the carriage at the door? Then we will
- ring for one of the waiters, Charlie, to take you down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He carries so badly,” said the small invalid, querulously. “I wish Dugald
- were here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, he will come with Sir Roderick on Saturday,” said the aunt. “What
- does the waiter do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know, but he hurts,” said Charlie, wriggling in his big chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will you let me carry you?” said Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said the child, with the air of a monarch bestowing a favour. “Your
- hands are so nice and long, not podgy little things like the waiter’s.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The journey to the Stanhope having been safely accomplished, and the child
- comfortably installed in the back seat, Christine gathered up the reins,
- and with Ralph in the front seat beside her, drove off in the direction of
- Roslin.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is nothing I enjoy so much as driving,” she said. “It is the one
- real pleasure of my life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Greater than such a triumph as you had last night,” said Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- She glanced at him with a sort of surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you really think I cared for that?” she said.
- “How young you are—how worn and <i>blasée</i> you make me feel. I
- cared nothing at all for that ovation—was thankful when the din
- ceased and I could go home and be quiet. When one is miserable, there is
- at any rate some comfort in being miserable alone—you can throw
- aside your smiling mask, and so get something approaching to ease. It is
- off now, you see, and I am treating you as if you were a trustworthy, old
- friend, but then you are trustworthy, I could tell that the moment I saw
- you. Now tell me candidly, did not Mrs. Macneillie tell you she detested
- me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, but I heard something of your first acquaintance with them long ago,”
- said Ralph; and then he coloured and hesitated, feeling that he had
- perhaps said too much.
- </p>
- <p>
- And oddly enough Christine felt that he understood all, and knew that he
- would soon find out how, having sacrificed everything to ambition, it now
- profited her nothing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Auntie,” cried a small voice from the back seat.
- </p>
- <p>
- She glanced round with love and tenderness in the face that a moment
- before had been so sad.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it, darling?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why those two girls were so awfully delighted to see you. I saw one catch
- hold of the other’s arm and say, ‘There she is!’ just as if you’d been the
- Queen herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed, but the child’s pride in her, and perhaps the remembrance
- that the public really loved her, touched her heart for a moment, and
- brought back a look of youth and gladness to her wistful eyes. She turned
- again to Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now take up our talk where it was interrupted yesterday. You were telling
- me what a plight you were in when Hugh Macneillie found you. How had you
- got into such difficulties? Couldn’t you get an engagement? Tell me your
- story, for we two must be friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was so <i>simpatica</i> that it was impossible to resist her, and
- Ralph told her his story; all about the old days at Whinhaven, and his
- father’s death; all about his adoption by Sir Matthew Mactavish and his
- final dismissal; all about his search for work, his first engagement, and
- his experiences at Washington’s Theatre. Christine would have blamed him
- more for his folly. In relinquishing his position there had she not, with
- her womanly insight, guessed all that he left untold of his feeling for
- Evereld, and understood why just at Christmas time he was in such
- desperate haste to get on in his profession.
- </p>
- <p>
- With the keen interest of one who had lived the same wandering life, she
- heard of the adventures of Skoots’ Company, and listened pityingly to the
- account of what Ralph called his “sixpenny tramp” through the Highlands.
- But when he told of the friendly shepherd who had met him in the wilds of
- Gaiek, she made a sudden exclamation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you say the name was Linklater? Why then I think I can help you to
- find the lost son—my husband’s man is named Dugald Linklater. He has
- been with us for a year, and would scarcely have endured it so long, I
- think, had he not been very fond of Charlie, and anxious too to get a good
- character. He had been valet to Lord Ederline, but had left him under a
- cloud, and had been out of a situation for a long while. My husband had
- had a succession of men, and really took this one in despair.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then there can be no doubt about it,” said Ralph, his face lighting up.
- “For I know the son was Lord Ederline’s servant. This will be good news
- for the shepherd and his wife. How odd that one should come across him in
- this way. The world is but a small place after all. What is he like?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A dark-haired Kelt, very well-mannered, and a decidedly clever fellow. I
- know something of his past life, for he is going to marry my maid as soon
- as they have each of them saved a little money. Dugald is steady enough
- now, but he was nearly ruined by betting. We have very little notion, I
- fancy, of the sort of temptation our servants are often exposed to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Will he be coming to Edinburgh? Can I see him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly. I expect my husband on Saturday evening. Come and call on
- Sunday afternoon, and I will make some excuse to send Dugald round to your
- rooms afterwards. Then you can tell him all about his home people. But now
- tell me about the rest of your journey.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph told the whole tale, and there were tears in his companion’s eyes as
- he described the dire struggle of the last day of his wanderings, and his
- final collapse in the Pass of Leny.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And it was there Hugh Macneillie found you?” she said tremulously.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, he is fond of going up and down that path by the river, he says it
- is good practice to rehearse a part in that roar of many waters. I dreamt
- I was back again in the theatre with Evereld, then I heard footsteps, and
- looked up to see his face. You can’t think what a contrast it was to the
- faces I had seen just before in the road, with their cruel contemptuous
- stare; it was like looking up into the face of the Christ.”
- </p>
- <p>
- By the time they had returned from Roslin, Christine had heard all that
- there was to be heard, with the exception of course of the Richmond Park
- incident, and she was able fully to realise the sort of life which her old
- lover was living. She did not presume to pity Hugh Macneillie. She knew
- indeed that, compared with her lot, his was one to be envied; but she felt
- intuitively that he would never recover from the wound she had dealt him,
- and knew that she had deliberately robbed him of all that a man most
- values. Her heart was very sore that night, and Ralph, now that he knew
- more of her, understood with how weary an effort she laughed and talked in
- the green room. He longed to be able to serve her, but there was of course
- little he could do, beyond showing Charlie the sort of kindness which a
- small boy best appreciates.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was with some trepidation that, on the Sunday afternoon at the close of
- her engagement, he called to take leave of her. Other visitors were in the
- room. She just introduced him to Sir Roderick—a tall, grey-haired,
- and decidedly good-looking man, and then left him to make his way as usual
- to Charlie’s couch.
- </p>
- <p>
- The child greeted him with delight and eagerly showed him a Kodak which
- Christine had just given him, and with which he was longing to take
- snap-shots at the people in Prince’s Street. “But I mustn’t do it, Sir
- Roderick says, because of the fourth commandment and the Scotch being so
- particular. Now do you really think that the fourth commandment was meant
- to forbid Kodaks on Sunday?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well no,” said Ralph smiling. “I don’t think it has much to do with
- photography or with our Sunday.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you see,” continued the child eagerly, “even if we are not to do any
- manner of work—and of course, every one really does a good deal—you
- can’t possibly call it work to take a snap-shot. Why it says, you know, in
- the advertisement, that it’s no labour at all. ‘<i>You</i> press the
- button, <i>we</i> do all the rest,’ and one wouldn’t ask them to do the
- developing to-day. It’s really not so bad as Sir Roderick’s ringing the
- bell as he’s doing now, for when he rings twice like that, Dugald has to
- come hurrying upstairs like lightning, and I know he has had hardly any
- time for his dinner.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At that moment the servant entered in response to his master’s peremptory
- summons. Ralph watched him keenly, and had no manner of doubt that this
- man was the shepherd’s son, for the likeness to Angus Linklater was
- marked. An expressive little bit of pantomime followed; he could not hear
- the actual words spoken by Sir Roderick, but the insufferable tone and
- manner of the master and the expression of long-enduring but sorely tried
- patience on the face of the man, were quite sufficient to reveal much of
- their characters. Soon after this the visitors rose to go, and Sir
- Roderick having taken leave of them in a pleasant and courteous fashion,
- turned round on his wife the moment the door was closed, and apparently
- forgetting that they were not alone, hurled at her a torrent of abuse and
- scathing sarcasm, which made Ralph long to kick him down-stairs. It seemed
- to be about some salmon flies which had been left behind in London, Dugald
- having failed to find them in their right place, and imagining that they
- had been sent by his master with the first instalment of luggage brought
- to Edinburgh by the rest of the family some weeks ago.
- </p>
- <p>
- In Lady Fenchurch’s manner of receiving her husband’s anger there was the
- calmness of long use, but her colour rose a little because of the
- injustice of the attack, and from a sort of shame that Ralph Denmead
- should witness the scene.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry the mistake was made, but you forget we are not alone,” she
- said, seizing on a moment when for want of breath he ceased to swear.
- </p>
- <p>
- He glanced towards the window with annoyance, and with a malice which his
- hearers perfectly understood, suddenly changed his line.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, if it is not your fault then it must be Dugald’s fault. The d———d
- scoundrel shall leave the very day. I can get another man. I’m sick of the
- sight of him. He shall see that I’m not to be imposed upon by an idle
- fellow who doesn’t know his duties. He shall go, and with the worst
- character I ever gave to a servant. He came to me with a bad one, and I’ll
- add a telling bit to it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I only wonder he has endured the situation so long.” said Christine,
- stung by the unfairness of this retaliation. “But you punish yourself more
- than you punish him; think what trouble you had before he came. The best
- servants must now and then make mistakes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The best mistresses are supposed to look to the ways of their household,”
- he said maliciously, “and to have some regard for their husbands’ comfort.
- D——— you, say no more. I tell you the man shall go, and
- if he chooses to bring an action against me for giving him a worse
- character than he brought with him, I’ll show up his whole past life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With that he sauntered out of the room and Ralph, with some presence of
- mind, picked up the Kodak and began to talk to Charlie about the best
- position for taking a photograph of the Scott memorial just opposite. In a
- few minutes Christine slowly crossed the room and sat down in a low chair
- beside Charlie’s couch. Her white taper fingers played with the child’s
- light hair, but she was quite silent, sitting there listlessly, with the
- exhausted look which people wear when they have been battling with a
- strong wind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And she might have been Macneillie’s wife!” thought Ralph. “How can she
- endure this wretched existence!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was made so miserable by the sight of that worst tragedy of life—a
- mistaken marriage—and by the thought of the grievous pain and sorrow
- it had entailed, that he was quite unable to perceive how immensely both
- Christine and Macneillie had been developed by the consequences of that
- very mistake.
- </p>
- <p>
- The woman who at seven-and-twenty had sacrificed the entire happiness of
- another to her own ambition and the worldly arguments of her parents, who
- had allowed the love in her heart to grow weak for lack of nourishment,
- who had been capable of utterly deceiving herself and stifling her
- conscience, had at four-and-thirty grown clear-eyed and humble through
- much sorrow. And as for Macneillie, his years had been spent to such good
- purpose that no one with deep insight could have wished that he had
- married Christine Greville as she had been seven years ago. There had,
- perhaps, been truth in her assertion in St. James’s Park—she might
- have dragged him down to a lower level. Undoubtedly, apart, they had each
- of them climbed a step higher, and she was more worthy of him now than in
- the old days.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Auntie,” said the child, breaking the silence at last, “you won’t really
- let Dugald go, will you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She sighed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not if I can help it, dear, but of course he is Sir Roderick’s servant.
- Say no more about it, though. I know you are fond of him and would be
- sorry to lose him, but we can’t always have what we like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should have thought you might,” said the child. “You who earn such lots
- of money. <i>Can’t</i> you have all you like?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed, but there were tears in her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can have you, dear, and you are my chief pleasure now,” she said
- caressingly. Then, shaking off her cares for awhile, she began to talk to
- Ralph, who at the end of the call felt more ready than ever to be her
- devoted servant for the rest of his life.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How Evereld will like to hear all about her,” he reflected as he went
- down the stairs, “there will be no end to tell her next time we meet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was unpleasantly roused from these reflections by encountering on the
- staircase Sir Roderick Fenchurch, who paused to shake hands with him in
- the most courteous and pleasant way imaginable, as though he had utterly
- forgotten that Ralph had been a witness of the stormy scene in the private
- sitting-room. As a matter of fact, it was so entirely his custom to abuse
- and swear at his wife before the child, before the servants, and before
- any one staying in the house, that he never for a moment imagined that
- this young actor would have liked to horse-whip him for daring so to treat
- a woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- All the world seemed out of joint to Ralph as he walked away from the
- hotel through the beautiful city whose noble buildings and grand situation
- made such an incongruously fair setting to the sad picture he had just
- looked on. He chafed bitterly against the thought of such a man as Sir
- Roderick ruining the happiness of his hero Macneillie, and went back to
- his rooms with a heart full of indignation to write the letter he felt
- bound to send to Callander after meeting Christine Greville. Having
- written sundry details as to the play they had been giving during the
- week, he turned to the subject which he knew would interest Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Greville has been staying at the Windsor Hotel with her small
- nephew, a boy of nine, to whom she is devoted. I have been there several
- times, as the child took a fancy to me. He is lame, but likely they say to
- recover, and it is wonderful to see her care of him. Two or three times we
- went out driving together. She spoke much of you and of the old days. She
- looks as young as ever on the stage, but off it her face is careworn and
- awfully sad. To-day, when I went to take leave of her, Sir Roderick
- Fenchurch was there. He was decent enough till the other visitors were
- gone, but then fell into a rage with her about some salmon flies that had
- been forgotten; he has a tongue that cuts like a sharp razor; there’s not
- a pin to choose between him and the ordinary, wife-beating ‘pleb,’—in
- fact, I prefer the latter, for at any rate he can be properly punished,
- while this polished scoundrel with his sarcasms and his cruelties of the
- tongue can’t be touched. She was very quiet and dignified all through this
- scene, but when at last he went out she looked dead tired; this sort of
- thing at home, and the hard work of professional life, must be more than
- any one could stand for long, I should think. An odd thing has happened. I
- have found the son of Linklater, the shepherd who housed me so kindly in
- the Gaick Forest. He is now Sir Roderick Fenchurch’s man, but will not be
- with him much longer as the brute has given him warning—chiefly to
- annoy his wife I believe. Dugald Linklater has just been in to see me, and
- I told him I had been to his home, and that they were always looking for
- him to come back. He promises to write to his father at once. So there is
- one pleasant thing in this day, which Sir Roderick Fenchurch has
- overclouded. What can be the purpose in creation of such brutes? They are
- enough to have staggered even your prophet Erskine of Linlathen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XIX
- </h2>
- <p>
- “<i>Nothing mars or misleads the influence that issues from a pure and
- humble and unselfish character. A man’s gifts may lack opportunity, his
- efforts may be misunderstood and resisted; but the spiritual power of a
- consecrated will needs no opportunity and can enter where the doors are
- shut.</i>”—Dean Paget.
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>acneillie read and
- re-read this letter with the awful craving of a man whose love has for
- years been starved of all knowledge of the beloved, except the mere
- knowledge that she was still in the world. He had, of course, seen her
- name daily in the papers, and had known what plays she was acting in, but
- of her real life he had known nothing. He had tried to think that her
- marriage though necessarily falling below his ideal of married life might
- at any rate be as happy as the average, might at least be tranquil and not
- without a certain comfortable respectability. But the brief account given
- in Ralph’s letter, and the many details which he could so easily read
- between the lines—filled him with misery. The post had brought him
- as usual a mass of correspondence; with a sigh of impatience he ran
- through it, then pushing it aside caught up his hat and hurriedly left the
- house. He was in no humour to climb the hill-side to the wishing-well;
- instead, he passed through the village, over Callander Bridge, and taking
- a little footpath across the meadows, sought out a favourite nook of his
- beside the river Teith, which wound its peaceful course through the
- hayfields. A tiny wood had sprung up near this walk at one part, and
- Macneillie had a special affection for a certain beech-tree which stood
- just at a bend in the river, and under its shade many of his pleasantest
- holiday hours were spent. He threw himself down now on the sloping bank
- beneath it. Everything was curiously still and peaceful; Ben Ledi rose
- majestically in the distance, framed by soft foliage in the foreground,
- and the river was emphatically one of those which “glideth at his own
- sweet will,” a great contrast to the Leny, which dashed and foamed through
- its rocky pass. It was just this calm peacefulness he longed for in his
- inward struggle. With all the vividness of one blessed or cursed with a
- powerful imagination, he realised Christine as she now was. He knew
- instinctively that her heart had awakened from its sleep, that, with the
- dead failure of the <i>mariage de convenance</i>, her love which had only
- lain dormant had returned—but had returned of course to torture her.
- Hitherto he had been able to think of Sir Roderick Fenchurch with a sort
- of impartiality. He knew so very little about him; and it was Macneillie’s
- nature to think well of people until they disillusioned him; he had even
- felt a sort of compassion for the man, because he knew that he could never
- really possess Christine’s heart as he, for a time at any rate, had
- possessed it. But Ralph’s picture of what the husband really was behind
- his society mask had driven out all gentler thoughts, had filled the
- Scotsman’s heart with loathing, had over-clouded his whole world.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie was, however, before all things, an honest man. He had not
- accepted conventionally the first religious truths put before him, he had
- thought much, he had waited patiently, had learnt by degrees, and the hard
- training of his life had borne its fruit—it was impossible now, that
- he should remain for long in darkness. It flashed upon him that his
- trouble came from having stepped out of the right order; for a time he had
- lost that absolute trust in God’s education of every human being, which
- had for many years been his stronghold. The words of Ralph’s letter came
- back to him—“brutes like Sir Roderick are enough to have staggered
- even your prophet Erskine of Linlathen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The name of Thomas Erskine in itself awakened within him a whole train of
- memories, for he was one of the many thousands who have been rescued by
- the writings of that barrister, laird and saint from falling a prey to the
- spirit of unbelief which is the reaction alike from Calvinism and
- ceremonialism.
- </p>
- <p>
- Lying under the shade of the beech-tree, the fresh air from the hills
- playing softly about his uncovered head, he tried to picture to himself
- what Erskine would have thought of this mistaken marriage, with its
- unhappy results, and there came back to his mind a passage in “The
- Spiritual Order,” in which the writer spoke of the strange difficulty of
- retaining faith in God’s loving purpose when confronted with the evils of
- the lanes and closes of great towns which seem to be mere hot-beds of vice
- and profligacy. How look on those and still believe that education was
- God’s whole purpose in creation? “It would be impossible,” said Erskine,
- “did we not also realise that <i>there is no haste with God</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Clearly then it was the imperfection of his own nature, the weakness—not
- the strength—of his love for Christine, which made him so
- desperately impatient at the thought of her suffering; for her sake he
- must learn to be “strong and patient,” learn to love with a diviner love,
- to wait with a more perfect trust. The letter had come to him like a call
- to arms, he was perfectly conscious that it marked a fresh turning-point
- in his life; he had learnt more of Christine and her difficulties than he
- had known for years, and the only way in which he could interpret the
- meaning of it all was that he should pray for her in her grievous need
- more unceasingly than he had yet done.
- </p>
- <p>
- And so the time passed by, and at the close of the six weeks’ engagement
- Ralph returned to Callander for the few days that remained before
- Macneillie’s company was to open at Southbourne with “The Winter’s Tale.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It felt more like a home-coming than he could have imagined possible. His
- friend was delighted to have him back again; old Mrs. Macneillie was
- scarcely less so, and the servants gave him a cordial welcome, for though
- his illness had given a good deal of trouble in the house, he had the gift
- of winning hearts, and the forlorn plight in which he had first arrived
- had awakened all the best sympathies of the hospitable Scottish household.
- He fancied that Macneillie’s deep-set grey eyes were somewhat graver in
- expression than before, but his manner, with its touch of quaint, dry
- humour, was exactly the same as usual, and it was not until the Tuesday
- morning when they set off early to walk together to the Trossachs, that
- any allusion was made to the contents of the letter. Then, at last, as
- they walked along the shores of Loch Vennachar, Macneillie put a direct
- question about Christine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad you got to know Lady Fenchurch,” he said. “Where did she go
- after leaving Edinburgh?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She went up to the Highlands a fortnight ago to a place called Mearn
- Castle, which belongs to a Mrs. Strathavon-Haigh, a widowed cousin of Sir
- Roderick’s—a very fast widow, if what I heard in Edinburgh is true.
- Lady Fenchurch did not want to go there, but said her husband particularly
- wished her to accept the invitation. So she had given up her original plan
- of taking Charlie to the sea, and hoped the Highland air would do him as
- much good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose she was right to try to please her husband,” said Macneillie,
- “but Mearn Castle is one of the most abominable country houses going.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She seemed to know very little about it,” replied Ralph, “only disliked
- this gay widow, and wanted to go to some quiet place where rest would have
- been more possible. But she evidently tries to do what can be done for her
- brute of a husband. Oh! if you could have seen her patience, her dignity,
- while that scoundrel was abusing her! I wish I could horse-whip him!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No need,” said Macneillie, in a low voice, “for every brutal word he will
- one day have to give account.” Something in his manner, with its deep
- conviction that every wrong should in the future be righteously avenged,
- silenced Ralph. He felt ashamed of his vehement impatience, and was not
- sorry that, as they approached Loch Achray, Macneillie led away from the
- subject by asking after the shepherd’s son.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had passed the Hotel, and were walking through the Trossachs, when
- they overtook a gentleman’s servant laden with a soda-water syphon and a
- great basket of fruit which he was evidently carrying down to Loch
- Katrine.
- </p>
- <p>
- Glancing at the man, Ralph gave an exclamation of astonishment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Linklater! is it you? I was speaking to Mr. Macneillie about you
- only just now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man’s face lighted up as he returned Ralph’s cordial greeting, and he
- looked searchingly at Macneillie, having very often heard that the actor
- was one of Lady Fenchurch’s oldest friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I little thought to see you here, sir,” he said, turning to Ralph. “We
- came this morning from Stronachlachar, for there was a good wind for
- sailing, and Master Charlie was wanting to set foot on Ellen’s Isle. He’s
- there now, with her ladyship, and I came on to the Hotel to get these
- things for lunch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They have left Mearn Castle then?” said Ralph in surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, sir,” said Linklater, with a little hesitation in his manner, “if
- you’ve not already heard, maybe I had better tell you the whole truth, for
- all the world must know it as soon as her ladyship sues for a divorce.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie made an inarticulate exclamation. Like one in a dream he
- listened to the man’s brief account. It appeared that Sir Roderick had
- seduced the young wife of one of the game-keepers on the Castle estate—that
- the enraged husband discovering him had given him such a castigation that
- it had been impossible to hush up the affair, and that Lady Fenchurch, on
- learning the truth, had left Mearn Castle.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a pause when the man had ended. Ralph waited for his companion
- to ask some question, to make some comment, but Macneillie walked on in
- absolute silence, evidently too deeply engrossed in his own reflections to
- be even conscious that he was not alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- This, then, was the meaning of his inward perception of Christine’s
- grievous need! In this fortnight, during which his whole soul had been
- absorbed in prayer for her, she had lived through the most awful crisis of
- her life, and now she was near to him in her forlorn, unprotected, worse
- than widowed condition. He must at any rate, inquire if she would see him,
- ask if he could in any way help her, and here in this quiet spot there was
- fortunately no danger that idle talkers would comment on their meeting. He
- pencilled a few words in German on one of his cards and turned to
- Linklater.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give this to your mistress,” he said, the title somehow sticking in his
- throat. “I will take a boat and row out to the island in a few minutes,
- and you can bring back the answer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- By this time they had walked through the glen and had reached the
- picturesque landing-place. Linklater hailed the Stronachlachar boatman,
- and set off for the island, and the others followed more leisurely, Ralph
- taking both oars and Macneillie sitting in the stern, though the far-away
- look in his eyes scarcely qualified him for the duties of steersman.
- </p>
- <p>
- The story which Linklater had told them had been so entirely unexpected,
- and was in itself so revolting, that neither of them felt inclined to
- talk. To Macneillie, moreover, it was as though he had suddenly heard of
- the death of the man who had saddened his life; to all intents and
- purposes he considered Sir Roderick as dead to Christine, for he came of a
- race which for more than three hundred years has always regarded adultery
- as the dissolution of a marriage. To him there had never been the least
- question as to the distinct teaching of Christ on this point, he believed
- that His words clearly sanctioned divorce for infidelity to the marriage
- bond and gave freedom to the innocent one. No <i>man</i> could rightly put
- asunder those who were married; sin only or death could part them. But
- proved infidelity was as truly the divider as love was the bond of union;
- the legal ceremonies, whether of marriage or of divorce, were but the
- appointed and expedient symbols of spiritual facts—the outward signs
- of the birth and death of married life.
- </p>
- <p>
- The seven years of his solitude had taught Macneillie a stern
- self-control, and whatever he felt as they rowed across the lake was not
- allowed to appear at all in his face. Ralph glanced at him from time to
- time and marvelled, perhaps only now realising of what splendid stuff his
- hero was made, and how nobly he held in check that difficult temperament
- with which actors, artists and musicians are usually endowed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Which side is the best landing-place?” he asked as they drew near to the
- lovely wooded island.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To the right in that bit of a creek,” said Macneillie, beginning to pay
- heed to the steering. “There is the boat, I see, but the men are both out
- of it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he spoke they glided into the little, rocky cleft with its overhanging
- trees, its moss-grown boulders, its patches of crimson heather and purple
- ling. Then came a few minutes of utter silence, as they waited for
- Linklater’s return; Ralph felt anxious and restless, each minute seemed to
- him an hour, and he feared that perhaps after all Christine Greville would
- refuse to see any one. As for Macneillie he just waited like one who is
- intently listening, but Ralph was not sure that the listening was for
- Christine’s voice or for the servant’s approaching footsteps, he had a
- suspicion that it was for something much more inward.
- </p>
- <p>
- At length, to his great relief, there came a rustling among the boughs and
- a trampling of feet, and in a minute Linklater was striding down over the
- rocks towards the boat, bearing a note in his hand. Macneillie thanked him
- as he took the missive, and unfolding it less deftly than might have been
- expected of a seasoned actor, read the following words:
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are the only man I could bear to speak to yet; please come.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He promptly stepped on shore, but Ralph lingered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will stay in the boat,” he suggested, “and have a pipe.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Master Charlie is very anxious you should come and help him with his
- Kodak, sir,” said Linklater, respectfully. “He’s just up here at the top,
- and her ladyship is at the further side of the island, sketching.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well, then, I’ll come,” said Ralph, and he followed his friend up
- the steep ascent.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a little clearing at the top they found the small boy, who gave a
- war-whoop of delight as Ralph emerged from the brushwood.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I hadn’t had such an awful longing for gooseberries, Dugald would
- never have met you!” he said gleefully. “Auntie is over there making a
- sketch, she’s hidden right away by the trees, but don’t go to her just
- yet, do stay and help us lay the things out for lunch, Dugald is going to
- make a fire and boil some water, he thinks Auntie will like some tea,
- she’s been having such dreadful headaches the last few days.” Macneillie
- heard no more, he left Ralph and the child, and Dugald Linklater, and made
- his way straight through the tangle of shrubs, trees, and bushes, in the
- direction that Charlie had indicated. There was a gleam of white between
- the green leaves—it was the sun lighting up the sketching-block on
- her easel; in another moment he had parted the thickly-growing branches
- and had seen her once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was sitting on a fallen tree—not attempting to sketch, but with
- her elbows propped on her knees and her face hidden by one of those
- shapely white hands he had so often kissed; the sun made a dazzling glory
- of her fair hair; her light grey dress and grey straw hat seemed exactly
- to harmonise with the green trees and the patches of heather. She had
- always had that instinct of fitness which makes some women know exactly
- what to wear, and when to wear it.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie stood for a minute watching intently the down-bent head, his
- heart throbbing so fast that he felt half-choked. At last, putting force
- upon himself, he moved forward. His step recalled her from her sad
- reverie, and starting to her feet with the nervous alarm of one who has
- lately undergone some great shock, she looked round as though in terror of
- pursuit. That startled movement, and the momentary expression he had seen
- in her pale face, strengthened Macneillie as nothing else could have done;
- he forgot all about himself, realised only that she wanted his protection.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You need not be afraid,” he said, taking her hand in his, “of what use
- are old friends if not to help you in time of need?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She struggled hard to reply, but her eyes swam with tears, her lips
- refused to frame a word.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us sit down here and talk things over quietly,” said Macneillie; “as
- I wrote to you just now, Dugald Linklater told us what had passed at Mearn
- Castle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He told you what he knew,” said Christine in a broken voice. “He could
- not tell you of my interview with Sir Roderick.” She paused for a minute,
- then the pent-up torrent of words broke forth. “I have heard of women,
- yes, and of men, too, refusing to be separated from a guilty partner; but
- there must at least be a genuine repentance to make such a plan even
- moral. There was none with Sir Roderick. He was vexed at the discovery,
- but he made light of the sin itself. In my presence he laughed over the
- affair. The house seemed like hell. I could not have stayed in it another
- hour!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The look of shrinking horror in her face tortured Macneillie, who could so
- well understand how her whole being recoiled from the foul atmosphere that
- had surrounded her. It was because he understood how she felt herself
- degraded by all she had lived through that he intuitively stretched out
- his hand for hers, and held it in a strong, firm clasp.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do not dwell on all this,” he said, “but tell me how I can help you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His quiet, tender voice, the reverence of his manner quickly soothed her.
- She looked up into his face, and by that mere look seemed to draw in
- endless stores of strength and comfort.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know,” she exclaimed with seeming irrelevance, “what Ralph Denmead
- said about the day you found him in the Pass of Leny, when he was lying
- there ill and half-starved, and looked up to see you bending over him? He
- said it was like looking up into the face of the Christ!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor boy!” said Macneillie. “He was in an awful plight, no one with a
- grain of kindliness in his nature could have passed him by. He has made me
- his debtor for life now, though; it is through him that I have met you
- to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We little thought,” said Christine, “that those two children in St.
- James’s Park, playing with their boat, would have anything to do with our
- future. How is it, though, that you are grateful to him for bringing about
- this meeting? It is I who am grateful to him. But you who have so much to
- forgive—you who have avoided me all these years——?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dared not seek you out,” said Macneillie, “our paths parted naturally,
- and it was safer so. What could I have done for you then? But now all is
- different. Are none of your people coming to be with you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is no one to come. As you heard, I daresay, my father died four
- years ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I saw the notice in the papers,” said Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He lived just long enough,” she resumed, “to see how miserably his scheme
- had failed. I had married to please him and to help the family. Well, my
- sister’s husband, with no help at all from me or my position, got an
- excellent appointment in Ceylon, so there again the scheme proved useless.
- Three years ago my mother went out to live with her there, she could do
- nothing to make me less miserable, and it only pained her to see my
- unhappiness. She realises things less at a distance, and now she is too
- much of an invalid to bear the return voyage. A year ago they sent me back
- Charlie, Clara’s little boy, and he has been a great comfort. Except for
- him I am quite alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want you to understand,” said Macneillie, “that it is still my highest
- happiness to serve you. It is quite possible that in the difficult
- position you are in you may need the help of a friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do I deserve your friendship?” she said questioningly; “you stood aloof
- all these years—you would not be my friend then, though I asked
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I had been a worse man I should have accepted the place you offered in
- your company,” said Macneillie; “or perhaps if I had been a better man, I
- could entirely have effaced myself and dared to take such a perilous post.
- But as things were, it seemed best to go right away. Did you not
- understand?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes,” she said in a choked voice. “I understood—and honoured
- you. Is it only seven years since you and I acted together? It seems to me
- a life-time. All that has gone between has been a sort of dreadful
- nightmare. And the worst of it was the feeling that I had deserved the
- misery, had deliberately chosen the low level and fought against you when
- you tried to drag me up. Oh, it is so long since I had a real friend to
- talk to—may I tell you all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” he said, gently. “Why not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “After a year of it I had grown almost desperate,” she said, clenching her
- hands tightly, like one in pain, “and the season’s work had tired me out;
- it seemed no use to try any longer even to live an honest life. There was
- only one thing that still held me back. I knew if I sank lower still it
- would grieve you more than all, and the thought of the pain I had already
- given you was always with me. Then one Sunday afternoon I happened to be
- alone. Sir Roderick had gone to stay with some friends for the Ascot week,
- and there came to me a little girl bringing a note from Lucy Seymour—you
- remember how soon after you and I were engaged we had been able to help
- her when she was in great trouble. Well, she wrote that her husband had
- died abroad and that she had just returned with her child, was herself
- dying and wanted to see me. I went to her at once and found her in great
- poverty, and in terror of being turned out of her lodgings before the end.
- Her life, she said, had been a very happy one, thanks to you and me. Oh,
- if you could have heard her gratitude for the past. Every word she said
- seemed to draw me back from the horrible indifference that had paralysed
- me—she somehow stirred up all my best memories. She had heard that
- you were in America, or she would have appealed first to you, for the help
- had been chiefly your doing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did she die?” asked Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, about ten days after that Sunday. I had promised to send her little
- girl to school, and to befriend her, if, later on, she went into the
- profession, and after that Lucy seemed actually to long for death, young
- as she was. I saw her every day, and the last night they sent word to the
- theatre that there was a sudden change for the worse. Directly my part was
- over, I went to her; she died very happily and peacefully, just as day was
- breaking. I had never seen any one die before, and on the stage death is
- always made somehow to seem like an end, a grand sort of finale. But
- Lucy’s death was not like an end at all, it was as quiet and serene as if
- she had been merely turning a page in a book. I can’t describe to you how
- it altered all my ideas. Afterwards there was her little girl to care for,
- and that helped me too, and though I knew everything must still be hard, I
- tried after that—tried my very best to please Sir Roderick, and as
- far as I could to make our home life more endurable. We had each of us
- been much to blame in marrying without any real love, and I knew that I
- must ‘dree my weird,’ as you used to say. Well, it is over now—over,
- and I can hardly yet realise things. Last night I wrote to my solicitor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope he is a good one,” said Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Yes</i>, Mr. Marriott, of Basinghall Street; but I am half afraid
- whether he himself is back yet from his voyage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ralph Denmead may know, he is an old friend of his. I will inquire. But
- in any case many months are sure to pass before all the legal forms are
- gone through, and in the meantime you will have to live as quietly and
- guardedly as possible. Have you realised that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said, with a little shiver. “A fortnight of country-house life,
- in such a place as Mearn Castle, makes one realise evil more keenly than
- years on the stage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She remembered miserably the people she had met there—men and women
- so utterly unprincipled that she loathed and despised them. She remembered
- the callous indifference with which her husband had observed all the
- annoyances to which she was subjected. She remembered the age-long hours,
- unoccupied by professional work—barren of all that could be called
- employment.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then, turning from the past as from some hideous dream, she thought
- how restful it was to be here in this little island, with the man whose
- heart had never faltered from its allegiance, the lover whose
- self-sacrificing constancy was as untiring as the love of God. Never from
- his lips would she have heard such words as had filled her with a sense of
- degradation at Meam Castle. It was the depth of his love, the fineness of
- his reverence, which kept him now from expressing the passion which she
- knew filled his heart. He would wait till the law had declared her freedom—would
- wait and think only of how she could best be shielded from the strife of
- tongues.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you are really at a loss for some quiet place, and for friends who can
- rightly protect you, why should you not go for a time to the Herefords’
- house near Firdale?” said Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know them very slightly,” she objected. “Besides, is not that meant for
- people who have no money?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Monkton Verney is for all, I think, who are in need—it’s a Cave of
- Adullam—and though you don’t know Mr. and Mrs. Hereford well, you
- know Miss Claremont and she is the practical head of things.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will at any rate write to her, she is a wonderful woman for
- understanding,” said Christine. “I am glad you reminded me of her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie stood up, for he knew that it would be unwise to stay longer,
- and that he must somehow tear himself away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Write and let me know whether you go there,” he said; “and don’t forget
- that if I can do anything for you in any way, I have at least the right of
- an old friend. I see the steamer over yonder, and before long a host of
- people will be at the landing-stage and some of them may be rowing out to
- visit Ellen’s Isle. Even here, in this paradise, Satan walks you see in
- the shape of the gossiping British tourist; and your face and mine are
- public property. I might do harm by staying here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not even here,” she sighed, “in this lonely place? And it’s so long since
- I saw you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He took her hand in his, and held it for a minute tenderly; looking into
- his face, the beauty of its expression of strong patience startled her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, not even here,” he said with a quiet smile. “Your reputation is too
- precious to me. But remember that in any difficulty or danger I have the
- first right to help you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His courage nerved her to face the parting and even to assume an air of
- cheerfulness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must come back to Charlie,” she said. “He is sure to be hungry, and
- there will be plenty of time for you to have lunch, too, before any
- tourists molest us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So together they walked to the little encampment, where they found the
- photographers fraternising over the Kodak, while Dugald had the tea just
- ready. And since laughter and tears are not far apart, and the very people
- who have lived through a tragedy are happily the ones most easily moved to
- see all that is humorous in daily life, there followed a cheerful meal
- which might have surprised and even shocked a mere superficial observer of
- life, but contained elements of comfort in it for all who understood the
- griefs and trials of human-kind.
- </p>
- <p>
- Crowning it all was the unalloyed happiness of the child, whose beaming
- face and ringing laughter soothed Christine’s sore heart as nothing else
- could have done.
- </p>
- <p>
- “<i>Auf wiederschen!</i>” said Macneillie, when the last moment had come,
- and Christine said nothing, but all her soul seemed in her eyes as she
- lifted them to his.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XX
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Paint those eyes, so blue, so kind,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Eager tell-tales of her mind;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Paint with their impetuous stress
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Of inquiring tenderness;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Those frank eyes, where deep doth lie
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- An angelic gravity.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Matthew Arnold.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he
- last day of Evereld’s school life was drawing to a close, “packing
- day” as they called it, and when it had been a mere question of the
- beginning of the holidays it had always been a rather festive occasion.
- But on this last evening, standing at the threshold of a new untried life,
- there was a good deal of sadness about it, and her usually bright face was
- a little clouded as she paced up and down a shady garden walk with her
- special friend Bride O’Ryan. The merry voices of the younger children, as
- they played hide and seek, and now and then a distant sound of applause
- from those who were watching the tennis players, made her feel melancholy,
- for to-morrow she would no longer have her nook in this happy, busy hive
- of industry, would no longer have a share in the genial life, but would be
- in a very different home, a home which was not her own, which had never
- seemed in the least homelike, and to which she did not at all want to
- return. A happy remembrance caused her cheerfulness to return.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Bride!” she exclaimed, “perhaps, after all, Sir Matthew will let me
- spend the next fortnight with you as we begged. He won’t let me go to
- Ireland, he was quite set against that, but he may say yes to your
- sister’s second letter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure,” said Bride, with her most good-humoured smile. “Why should
- he be saying no to such a sensible plan? He can’t wish to have you in town
- for the first part of August. Doreen has plenty of room for you in this
- house she has taken on the Parade, and we will bathe every day, and have
- no end of fun.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here comes Aimee with a letter. Bride, I believe it will be from Sir
- Matthew; things come just when one is talking about them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A pretty dark-haired girl now approached them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fraulein asked me to give you this note,” she said, “I believe it is from
- Cousin Doreen.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, that’s Doreen’s writing,” said Bride. “Read it quickly, do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And Evereld read as follows:
- </p>
- <p>
- “My Dear Evereld,
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall be delighted if you will spend the next fortnight with us here
- at Southbourne. Sir Matthew is quite willing that you should do so, though
- he cannot spare you to us after the 14th August, as he wishes you to go
- with him to Switzerland. I would have liked you to see our Irish mountains
- first; however, they can hold their own very well against any Alp ever
- created, and you must come and stay with us next year instead. Tell Bride
- to bring you as early to-morrow morning as you like.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yours affectionately,
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doreen Hereford.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This note gave general satisfaction, and the three friends yielded to the
- entreaties of some of the younger children and entered with spirit into
- the game of hide and seek, Evereld feeling all the delight of a reprieve
- as she realised that for a whole fortnight she should be able to stay at
- Southbourne and to postpone the parting with Bride.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next morning when, somewhat saddened by all the partings they had been
- through, the two girls were driving down to the Parade, they suddenly
- caught sight of a huge poster announcing the advent on the following
- Monday of Mr. Hugh Macneillie’s Company, and the performance of “The
- Winter’s Tale” “The Rivals” and “The Lady of Lyons.” Evereld knew nothing
- of Ralph’s movements; nothing had been heard from him since the Easter
- holidays, when he had still been travelling in Scotland. She looked,
- however, with no small interest at this poster, having always remembered
- their childish worship of Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have never seen ‘The Winter’s Tale,’” said Bride. “We must certainly
- go. Doreen is always delighted if we want to see one of Shakspere’s
- plays.”
- </p>
- <p>
- By this time they had arrived at their destination and Evereld who already
- knew her friend’s family very intimately found herself in the midst of a
- lively babel of voices, warmly greeted by pretty Mrs. Hereford, hugged by
- her three children, and speedily made to feel quite at home.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How is Dermot?” asked Bride.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Much better,” replied her sister, “you will find him with Mollie in the
- drawing-room. Let me see, Evereld has not yet met him. We must present the
- family patriot to you. Poor boy he has always been unlucky, and since his
- release a year ago from Clonmel gaol he has been desperately ill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld felt a little in awe of the released victim of the Coercion Act,
- but he proved to be the gentlest-mannered of mortals, and her womanly
- heart went out at once to the hollow-cheeked, large-eyed invalid whose
- humourous smile only seemed to add to the pathos of his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was sitting the next day beside his Bath-chair on the Parade while
- Mrs. Hereford read to her children when, as she was watching the sedate
- couples who passed by in their Sunday best, she suddenly perceived at a
- little distance a figure that seemed strangely familiar. Surely no one but
- Ralph had precisely that quick, light step? His face was turned away from
- her, he was intent on the sea, watching the waves like one who loved them
- and had no attention to bestow on anything else. He was almost passing
- them with only the breadth of the Parade between when a puff of wind
- suddenly whirled away a paper which Dermot had been reading, and hastily
- glancing round he picked it up and crossed over to restore it to its
- owner. “Ralph!” exclaimed Evereld springing to her feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are here still!” he cried, his whole face lighting up, “I thought
- your holidays would certainly have begun. What good fortune to find you so
- unexpectedly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have left school and am staying with Mrs. Hereford for a fortnight. I
- must introduce you to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Hereford knew all about Ralph Denmead, and had always felt that he
- had been harshly treated by Sir Matthew Mactavish. She looked at him now
- searchingly and she liked him. He had one of those sensitive mouths that
- droop a little at the corners in depression or fatigue, but smile as other
- mouths cannot smile. The classical nose and well-moulded chin added
- character to what was otherwise just a pleasant, boyish face, bearing upon
- it the stamp—“good cricketer.” And the thick brown hair not quite so
- closely cropped as the hideous prevailing fashion demanded, and the
- absence of beard or moustache bespoke him an actor. What she liked best
- about him, however, were his clear honest brown eyes, which had the power
- of lighting up with a most refreshing mirthfulness. There was something
- touching in the unfeigned delight of the friends in this wholly unexpected
- meeting, and Mrs. Hereford was determined that they should have the chance
- of an uninterrupted talk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is still an hour before tea-time,” she said, glancing at her watch.
- “Take Mr. Denmead to see the view at the end of the Parade, Evereld, and
- then let us all come home together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The two fell in with this plan very readily. The only difference between
- them and the couples Evereld had lately been watching was that they walked
- much faster and talked a great deal more. For there was much to tell and
- to hear, and Evereld wanted to learn every detail of the unlucky Scotch
- tour, and was delighted above measure to think that their hero Macneillie
- should have come to the rescue so opportunely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We saw that his Company was here to-morrow for a week,” she said,
- blithely. “How little I dreamed that you were with him, Ralph. Mrs.
- Hereford is going to take us to see ‘The Winter’s Tale.’ I do hope you
- have a nice part.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I am Florizel. It’s a very nice part indeed,” said Ralph. “And there
- is such a jolly country dance. You’ll like that. You can’t think what a
- difference it is to be in a Company like this after travelling with those
- awful Skoots.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Which was the worst of the two, the husband or the wife?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh the husband was a swindler, but Mrs. Skoot passes description. How she
- did hate me, too! If I had had the money to do it I might easily have
- brought an action against her for abusive language. Towards the end of the
- time she was never quite sober and once at a railway station she was so
- hopelessly drunk that she tumbled headlong down a flight of steps,
- alighting exactly on the top of my bath, which she nearly knocked into a
- cocked hat! We know now that all the weeks they were not paying us a
- penny, so that many of us were half starved, she had money of her own
- hoarded away, and no doubt they are living on it comfortably enough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What became of that poor little Ivy Grant?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She stayed for a week with my old landlady and then managed to get into
- another travelling company, where she seems to be getting on well. The
- Professor died just after her return. He was no protection to her, poor
- old man, in fact it was quite the other way. She had to support him, he
- was invalided and a confirmed opium-eater. Still it seems lonely for Ivy.
- She is a very plucky little girl though, and will, I fancy, get on well in
- the profession. Now tell me about yourself. How did you get to know Mrs.
- Hereford? and who is she?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is the married sister of my great friend at school, Bride O’Ryan; you
- will see Bride when we go back to tea, and I know you’ll like her. Every
- one likes her, she is such fun and she is always so good-tempered. Mrs.
- Hereford lives partly in Ireland, but most of the year in Grosvenor Square
- because her husband is in Parliament. And Bride will live with her now
- that she has left school. They were all left orphans, and Mrs. Hereford,
- who was a good deal older than the others, brought them up. I never knew
- anyone so good and delightful as she is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t think where I heard the name of Hereford just lately,” said Ralph
- musingly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps it was from Mr. Macneillie, I think Mrs. Hereford has met him
- once or twice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That was it,” said Ralph, “Macneillie was telling me how Mr. Hereford
- gave up his property, Monkton Verney, and turned it into a sort of Cave of
- Adullam.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He did not mention to Evereld that Christine Greville was now staying at
- this very place. Sooner or later she was sure to hear the whole story, but
- he shrank from telling her what had passed at Mearn Castle, and in no
- other way could he explain the step Lady Fenchurch had taken. “What is Mr.
- Hereford like?” he inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I like him very much,” said Evereld; “he is down here until to-morrow, so
- you will see him for yourself. Bride says that till he was married he
- never seemed to settle down to anything, that he was the sort of man
- everyone expected to do great things, and he never did them. But
- afterwards it was quite different; he began to work very hard, and now she
- says out in county Wicklow the peasants love him, and he makes such a good
- landlord. Bride says he’s almost as Irish as they are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you are here with them for a fortnight? Where after that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “With the Mactavishs in Switzerland. We shall be a party of six
- altogether. I am to go to keep Lady Mactavish company, for Minnie will be
- a good deal taken up you see with Major Gillot; they are engaged, the
- wedding is to be this autumn. Then there will be Sir Matthew and Mr. Bruce
- Wylie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The inevitable Wylie!” said Ralph impatiently. “I hate that man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I like him very much,” said Evereld perversely. “You always had a
- most unfair prejudice against him. He will certainly be the life of the
- party. I was delighted to hear that he was going.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph’s face grew grave, there was an expression in it which startled
- Evereld as he turned towards her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me in earnest,” he said anxiously. “Do you really like this man?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her truthful eyes met his fully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only as I like an elderly man who used to give us chocolates and treats
- when we were children,” she said quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph in his relief laughed aloud.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He wouldn’t be flattered if he knew that you called him elderly. He
- thinks himself just in his prime. How long shall you be abroad?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Six weeks I think,” said Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a silence. They had walked to the extreme end of the Parade and
- had wandered down to the sea itself. “Let us sit here by this boat,” she
- suggested. “It is so hot walking.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph silently assented; she glanced at him in some perplexity. Why had he
- so suddenly become quiet and troubled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Something has vexed you,” she said gently, yet with a smile. “A penny for
- your thoughts.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am thinking,” said Ralph, “how hard it is that every holiday-maker,
- every idle lounger in Switzerland will have the chance of being with you
- while I am altogether cut off from your set, and can only think how other
- men will be making love to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They won’t,” she said in low tones. “A girl can always stop that if she
- chooses. I have heard Mrs. Hereford say so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you were going to be with her it would be more bearable. But you will
- be with Sir Matthew, whose one idea is how to make other people and other
- people’s money serve his purposes. Don’t stop me Evereld—I can’t
- help it—I distrust him and with very good cause. He and his hateful
- speculations were the death of my father. I have proof of that, actual
- proof.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I am surprised at nothing,” said Evereld, understanding now all the
- ill-concealed dislike and antagonism between Sir Matthew and Ralph which
- had often puzzled her in past times.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He ruined my childhood,” said Ralph hotly, “and must I now stand calmly
- by while he ruins the rest of my life? Evereld!”—there was a
- passionate appeal in his voice which stirred the very depths of her heart,
- “I have no right yet to ask you to be my wife—my career is only
- beginning—but my darling, I love you—I love you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw her flush and tremble, but she was quite silent. Her words about a
- girl always being able to stop that sort of thing if she chose came back
- to his mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you angry with me?” he said pleadingly. “I meant to have waited for
- years before speaking, but I was carried away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She lifted her blue eyes to his, they were bright and dewy, and in her
- face there seemed to be the glow of sunrise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad you didn’t wait, Ralph,” she said softly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Whereupon Ralph had the audacity to kiss her in the full light of day as
- they sat under the shelter of the boat; and no one was any the wiser save
- an old fisherman who was blest with exceptionally long eyesight; he, with
- a smile, fell to thinking of his own young days, and softly sang as he
- filled his Sunday pipe the refrain of a sailor’s song:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “Polly, my Polly,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- She is so jolly,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- The bonniest lass in the world!”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- The two were silently but rapturously happy, and it was some little time
- before any thought of other people came to trouble Ralph. As for Evereld
- her heart seemed to beat to the rhythm of his words, “I love you!” and she
- was not at all disposed to consider the question which soon formed itself
- in his mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder whether I was wrong to speak,” he said. “You must remember
- darling that you are free, altogether free. After all, you have seen
- nothing of the world. You are not to let the thought of my love bind you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps I ought not to make a promise while I am Sir Matthew’s ward,”
- said Evereld. “That is the only thing which would make me wish to wait;
- and now that we understand each other the waiting ought not to be too
- hard.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Suppose you tell Mrs. Hereford just the whole truth,” said Ralph, “and
- see what she advises. I shall feel happier about it if you have someone to
- turn to, and if she is what she seems to be one could trust her with
- anything. I wish I could talk to her some day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well that can easily be managed,” said Evereld. “I will tell her
- to-night. I am sure you are right about that. Though Sir Matthew is
- untrustworthy we can trust her, and as I am under her care here it seems
- right somehow that she should know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She will certainly think me the most presumptuous fellow she ever met,”
- said Ralph. “Looking at it from an outsider’s point of view it is as bad
- as it can be. A fellow who is not quite one and twenty, and only earning
- three pounds a week! Mrs. Hereford will call me ‘The first of the Fortune
- Hunters,’ and will warn you against me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall see,” said Evereld laughing. “I shall be very much disappointed
- in her if she doesn’t understand you better.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you sure that you understand me?” he said wistfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she said, her sweet eyes smiling into his. “I have summered and
- wintered you a great many times, as Bridget would say, and I very well
- know Ralph that you would much prefer it if my father had left me three
- hundred instead of three thousand a year. I think it is a little foolish
- of you, for as long as we share it what does it matter which side it comes
- from?”
- </p>
- <p>
- A church clock striking four warned them that they must hasten back, and
- when they rejoined the others they were chatting together so naturally
- that no one dreamt what an important scene in their drama had been played
- at the other end of the beach.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph found himself speedily made to feel at home in the delightful
- atmosphere of the Irish household, with its mirth and good humour, its
- cheerful babel of voices. It delighted him to think that Evereld who had
- known nothing of real family life should have found such friends, and he
- went back to his rooms later on in the highest spirits.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Herefords had guessed nothing of his story and the O’Ryans had been
- too much taken up with their own merry discussions to be very observant,
- but Macneillie saw at a glance the change that had come over his pupil.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well?” he said in his genial voice. “What good fortune has befallen you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have found Evereld,” said Ralph blithely. “She is staying on the Parade
- with the Max Herefords. Here’s a note for you, by the bye. They want us to
- breakfast with them to-morrow at half past nine, it was the only free
- time, for they lunch at one, as he has to go up to town, and I knew
- rehearsal wouldn’t be over by then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Macneillie lighting a cigarette, “in your present mood you’re
- about as likely to give your mind to Shakspere as that lover and his
- lass,” glancing at a very demonstrative couple on the other side of the
- road.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall have a long and wearing rehearsal to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t understand you, Governor,” said Ralph, using the old stage word
- for the Manager as he generally did now to Macneillie, and somehow
- conveying by it just the reverence and affection which he felt for the
- Scotsman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have an unfair advantage over you,” said Macneillie smiling. “I have
- heard a great deal about Miss Evereld Ewart and know that she is likely to
- distract you from your labours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have heard of her? From whom?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “From you yourself, to be sure, in the feverish nights you had at
- Callander. I have long been wishing for the opportunity of quoting Mrs.
- Siddons to you, ‘Study, study, study, and don’t marry until you are
- thirty.’
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well we can’t even be engaged yet,” said Ralph; “but we understand each
- other and that is something. Tomorrow you must see her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will devote myself to her entirely,” said Macneillie with a mirthful
- twinkle in his grey eyes. “And you in the meantime can be profitably
- improving your Irish accent with Mrs. Hereford with a view to Sir Lucius
- O’Trigger. Your brogue doesn’t quite satisfy me yet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXI
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “So, from her sky-like spirit, gentleness
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Dropt ever like a sunlit fall of rain,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And his beneath drank in the bright caress
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- As thirstily as would a parched plain,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- That long hath watched the showers of sloping grey
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- For ever, ever, falling far away.”—Lowell.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">A</span>fter
- Ralph had left, a more sombre hue stole over Evereld’s glowing sky.
- She began to think a little of the future, of the countless partings in
- store for them, and the more she thought the more silent and grave she
- became.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You look tired, my dear,” said Mrs. Hereford as they walked back from
- church. “Come in with me and rest. The others have set their hearts on a
- stroll by the sea, but you had a long walk this afternoon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Evereld, sitting down beside her hostess near the open window
- and looking out into the calm summer evening. “I wanted to tell you about
- our walk. And if ever you have time Ralph would so much like to talk to
- you too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words were said with an effort and Mrs. Hereford glanced at the sweet
- girlish face with its downcast eyes and understood in a moment what was
- coming.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You two are very old friends,” she said. “Bride told me that you had been
- brought up together and that a very nice German lady had done a great deal
- for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Evereld, falling naturally into all the old memories. “I don’t
- know what we should have done without her. You see the Mactavishs never
- really cared for us. But she cared, and dear old Bridget and Geraghty the
- butler; and Ralph was just like my brother until the day Sir Matthew
- turned him out of the house. He failed you know in the exam, for the
- Indian Civil, and they had a quarrel and Ralph had to go. It was only in
- that dreadful time after he had gone that I understood how I cared for
- him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And had you not met him at all since then?” asked Mrs. Hereford.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we met once by accident in the Christmas holidays and then I
- thought, I fancied, that he cared a little. But he said nothing till
- to-day, and now we understand each other, only Ralph will not let me bind
- myself in any way; he had not meant to speak yet at all, he said, but oh,
- I am so glad he didn’t wait.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Hereford took the girl’s hand in hers and stroked it silently. Her
- thoughts had flown back to a day in her own life when just such an
- understanding had been arrived at, she had been about the same age as
- Evereld, and looking back now she felt sad as she realised how much
- inevitable pain and suspense lay before this girl, what dire possibilities
- of misunderstanding, what weary hours of separation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is just what I should have said,” she answered after that brief
- pause. “But now, understanding all it involves, I confess I don’t want
- Mollie and Bride to be in a hurry to follow your example. I want them to
- have five or six years of free happy girlhood before all the deeper joys
- and cares begin. Of course we can’t choose, and for you and Mr. Denmead,
- who have no real home, no near relations, very likely it is the best and
- happiest way. I am glad you told me about it, and you must promise if ever
- you need anyone to help you, to come to me. I suppose you can hardly make
- a confidant of Lady Mactavish?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Evereld, half laughing, half crying. “They are all so horrid
- about Ralph. When I am one and twenty and we can really be engaged of
- course they must all know, but to tell them this could do no good and
- might do great harm.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir Matthew did not insist then on your altogether breaking with your
- friend when he was sent away?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Evereld, “I don’t think anyone troubled to think about it until
- last Christmas. Then when I met him and told Sir Matthew about it, he did
- say something of the sort, but I told him I couldn’t leave off being
- Ralph’s friend, and he was very kind and did not forbid my writing to him
- in the holidays. If Ralph succeeds on the stage I believe Sir Matthew will
- be rather proud of him after all. He does so like people who succeed. I
- suppose we may still write to each other now and then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I think as long as there is nothing underhand about it you may
- continue to write,” said Mrs. Hereford. “You will write as friends, not as
- lovers; you must deny yourselves that luxury until you come of age. I am
- not preaching what I haven’t practised, dear, for we had four years of
- that sort of thing before I was actually engaged. There are great
- drawbacks but I think some advantages.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Surely many advantages,” said Evereld. “And I am much more alone in the
- world than you were. You had brothers and sisters.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, and a profession which was very absorbing,” said Mrs. Hereford,
- suppressing a sigh. “Oh, I do think it is a very great gain for you, only
- I want you to realise that it is the sort of life that needs no end of
- patience and courage and strength. There will be days when all will not be
- so bright as you fancy. But I won’t croak any more. You are likely to be
- much better at waiting than I was, for impulsiveness is the bane of all
- Irish folk.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you will talk to Ralph?” pleaded Evereld, knowing how much he would
- value the sympathy and counsel of such a woman, and secretly longing that
- Mrs. Hereford should know him and appreciate him better.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, to be sure,” said her hostess, with the smile that had won so many
- hearts. “We will collogue together after breakfast.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was true to her promise and while Macneillie was amusing everyone with
- stories of various <i>contretemps</i> of stage life, she contrived to
- carry off Ralph to see the invalided patriot; after which they had a cosy
- little talk in the drawing-room with no one but Baby Donal, a sturdy
- little man of three, to keep them company.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Evereld has told me about yesterday afternoon,” said Mrs. Hereford, who
- was quite well aware that she must plunge boldly into the very heart of
- the matter and not wait for him to beat about the bush.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should never have spoken so soon if it had not been for the thought of
- her Swiss tour with that knave and his solicitor,” said Ralph hotly.
- “Forgive me for the expression, but it is not too strong for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Hereford laughed a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You needn’t measure your words so carefully; a Kelt is accustomed to much
- more fiery language than that. And you really think Sir Matthew Mactavish
- a knave? I confess he is a man I intuitively dislike, but I thought he was
- a great philanthropist and very much respected.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So he is,” said Ralph, his face hardening, “but some day the world will
- find him out. Some day when he has ruined and murdered others as he ruined
- and murdered my father. What a mistake it is only to hang people who are
- taken red-handed! They should rather hang the speculators whose victims
- may be reckoned by hundreds. There are far more cruel ways of murdering
- people than by poison, or knives, or guns.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She had watched him closely as he spoke and saw that his wrath and
- indignation were genuine and deep. A great pity filled her heart, and she
- understood how intolerable it must seem to Ralph that the girl he loved
- should still be in the power of this despicable sham philanthropist.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think you were quite right to speak to Evereld,” she said warmly. “And
- now that you have spoken, the worst of your anxiety ought to be over. The
- knowledge that you belong to each other will be strength to both of you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- All the bitterness died out of his face at her words, leaving it once more
- frank and boyish, and ingenuous as it was meant to be. The rasping sense
- of injustice had done some damage to his character, but the goodness of
- Macneillie and the gift of Evereld’s love had already done much to
- obliterate the traces of the evil influence. His heart went out now to the
- brave noble-minded woman who so readily gave him her thought and sympathy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Evereld told me you would understand,” he said gratefully, “I don’t think
- I could have kept silent, but of course evil-minded people are sure to say
- that it is only her fortune I want.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Evil be to him that evil thinks,” said Mrs. Hereford. “No one who had
- talked with you for half an hour even could believe you a fortune hunter.
- And when you have lived as many years as I have done in public life, you
- will learn to trouble yourself very little indeed as to what people say.
- We shall never be true to ourselves, or of much use to any good cause,
- till the fear of public opinion has died in us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does living in public life teach one that? I should have thought it would
- have taught one to howl with the wolves, to be always on the look-out for
- ways of pleasing the public and stroking people the right way, to dread
- nothing so much as alienating or offending your audience.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Many people would agree with that view, but I believe it is false for all
- that. Why meddle with what does not concern you? Your work is to live your
- own life, to be just and independent, to be true to your own conscience,
- and to be a hard-working actor. You have nothing to do with the result on
- other people, you can never tell what it may be; and even if you pare down
- your actions till you fancy they will please everyone you will end by
- forfeiting the esteem of all. It’s like the old fable of the man who first
- rode his ass to market and finally carried it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly Macneillie’s life is ruled in the way you approve,” said Ralph
- thoughtfully. “There never was a manager who so sturdily refused to bow
- down to the public. He will not humour the depraved taste for morbid and
- dubious plays which has taken possession of the country of late, but
- insists on giving only what is really good. The result, however, is that
- while a manager who runs one of these risky modern plays makes a fortune,
- Macneillie merely earns a competence.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That may be,” said Mrs. Hereford, “but the result also is that the one
- Manager is a curse to his country and the other a Godsend. Your habit of
- mind isn’t so commercial that you measure success by the solid gold it
- brings in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope not,” said Ralph laughing. “But to one who knows how hard and
- wearing and anxious the life of such a man is bound to be, want of great
- visible success seems rather rough. However, to return to the point we
- started from, it is a great comfort to know that you don’t think I was
- wrong to speak to Evereld yesterday. And a greater comfort still to know
- that she has you for a friend; one never feels safe somehow with a man
- like Sir Matthew Mactavish, but if she may turn to you in any difficulty I
- shall not worry half so much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will promise you to be to her just what I would try to be to one of my
- own sisters,” said Mrs. Hereford. “And you, too, must promise to treat us
- all as friends. Come in whenever you like, this week; you must make the
- most of your chance of seeing Evereld.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie in the meantime had been learning to know Ralph’s future wife.
- He had been a little surprised at first to find that she was a decidedly
- reserved girl, not strikingly pretty, rather short, and wholly unlike the
- being he would have expected Ralph to fall in love with. This was,
- however, merely his first impression, he had not been two minutes in the
- room with her before he observed how well her head was set on her
- shoulders; how in spite of her want of height there was that indescribable
- touch of dignity in her carriage which he had vainly tried to impart to
- many a novice on the stage. Then she spoke to him during a pause in the
- general talk, most of her talking he discovered was done to fill up gaps,
- and when she spoke a sort of transformation scene took place. Her face
- suddenly became lovely, the china-blue eyes seemed to radiate light and
- sweetness, the colour deepened in the softly-rounded cheeks and the most
- charming dimple made itself seen.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are all so much looking forward to ‘The Winter’s Tale’ to night,” she
- said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have not seen Ralph act before?” asked Macneillie, knowing quite
- well what the answer would be but wishing for another variety of the
- transformation scene.
- </p>
- <p>
- The blue eyes seemed to deepen in colour and an exquisite tenderness
- softened the whole face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never on the stage,” she said. “Of course I have seen him just as an
- amateur. Do you think he is getting on well?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Now this last question was one to enthrall the heart of any Manager.
- Actually this girl did not leap to the conclusion that her lover was by
- nature a full-fledged actor, but asked if he was getting on.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is the most sensible little woman I ever came across,” thought
- Macneillie to himself. “In such a case even Mrs. Siddons might have
- qualified her advice as to marriage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- By and bye Evereld found herself keeping guard over Baby Donal in the
- drawing-room and talking to Ralph, while Macneillie and Max Hereford
- adjourned to the smoking-room. The two lovers were serenely happy and saw
- the future opening before them in all the gorgeous hues of dawn. But
- Macneillie received a stab from his unconscious companion which was
- destined to rankle in his heart. They had been speaking of Monkton Verney
- and not unnaturally Max Hereford, knowing that Christine Greville was a
- friend but knowing nothing of the true state of affairs, referred to her
- case.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I only hope she will be able to get her divorce,” he said casually, “but
- of course there is a doubt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A doubt?” said Macneillie frowning. “Why Sir Roderick never attempted to
- deny his guilt.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, there is no doubt as to his guilt, and had she been married in
- Scotland all would have been well, for Scotland has one and the same law
- for men and women. Unluckily she was married in England.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t understand you. I know little of the law,” said Macneillie, “but
- certainly in my country there would be no difficulty when it was a clear
- case of the breach of the seventh commandment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There would be no difficulty in England for a man,” said Max Hereford,
- “but a woman cannot get a divorce here unless she can prove cruelty as
- well as adultery on the part of her husband. It is only one of the
- instances of our scandalous habit of setting up different standards of
- morality for men and women.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How much longer are the English going to put up with such a grave
- injustice?” said Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not long, I fancy, when once they realise it. But at present half of them
- are ignorant of the true state of things, while the evil-minded are of
- course unwilling to rob themselves of what they regard as a prerogative.
- The law as it stands is not only unjust to women but to all moral men. How
- easily one can picture a case where, because divorce was not granted, it
- was impossible for the innocent woman to marry a man who loved her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie assented quietly. No one could have guessed how terribly this
- suggestion moved him, how clearly he saw in his own mind the picture of an
- innocent woman and an upright law-abiding man with their lives wrecked by
- this double-standard of morality.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think,” he said presently, “that at any rate in Miss Greville’s case
- there will be little difficulty in proving Sir Roderick’s cruelty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope it may be so,” said Max Hereford, “but I understand from her
- solicitor that different views prevail as to what does exactly constitute
- legal cruelty. The case is not likely to come on yet for many months and
- the suspense must be terribly trying for her, far worse of course than for
- anyone in private life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her decision to stay at Monkton Verney till the case is over seems to me
- wise,” said Macneillie. “Your Cave of Adullam is a great Godsend. I wonder
- what made you think of such a plan.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, the ‘cave’ was my wife’s doing,” said Max Hereford. “Miss Claremont
- is delighted to have her old friend Miss Greville there, and since Barry
- Sterne has undertaken the entire management of her theatre there is no
- need for her to be troubled in any way about outside things. Why Flo,
- Kittie,” he exclaimed breaking off as two pretty little girls darted into
- the room, their sunburnt faces aglow with eagerness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Daddy, there’s a man with the beautifullest voice you ever heard and we
- want sixpence for him,” they cried in a breath, “do come and hear him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And by sheer force of determination the two small elves dragged their
- father from the depths of his easy chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The tyranny of daughters is a thing you have yet to learn, Mr.
- Macneillie,” he said with a smile, as with one elf on his shoulder and the
- other impetuously pulling at his hand he sauntered out to the front door.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie flung the end of his cigarette into the grate and began to pace
- the room restlessly. The words so unconsciously spoken seemed to put the
- finishing touch to his pain, the fatherly pride of his companion’s face
- haunted him and filled him with envy, and over and over in his mind he
- revolved the torturing doubt which had first been suggested to him that
- morning. Would the law free Christine?
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile through the open door there was wafted to him only too
- distinctly the familiar song of the street tenor:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Love once again: Meet me once again:
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Old love is waking, shall it wake in vain?”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Such a life as Macneillie’s may have two very different effects on the man
- called upon to endure it. Either it will harden and embitter him, and he
- will gradually become a mere cynical observer of others; or it will deepen
- and widen his whole character, and he will become more and more tender
- towards the lives of other people. Lynx-eyed to detect and prompt to check
- as far as possible all that he deemed undesirable or in the least risky
- among the members of his company, he was nevertheless always kind-hearted
- with regard to any genuine attachment. He knew Ralph now very intimately
- and was quite well aware that his feeling for Evereld was no mere passing
- fancy. In his own grievous anxiety and suspense there was comfort in
- throwing himself into the affairs of his protégé, and a growing desire to
- see this love story happily worked out took possession of him. He had,
- moreover, taken a great fancy to Evereld, and began now to consider things
- from her point of view, trying to picture to himself just how she would
- probably feel with regard to Ralph’s profession. She had never seen him on
- the stage, had never in fact seen him act at all since the time she had
- been of an age to understand what love meant. He wondered how the play
- that night would strike her. Would Florizel’s lovemaking possibly jar a
- little upon her as she sat there watching it from her place in the stalls?
- Or would that gracious womanly wisdom which he had noticed in her save her
- from all petty jealousies, all thoughts unworthy of a great art? He
- thought it would. Still a girl of nineteen in love with a man like Ralph
- Denmead might perchance be excused if she were not entirely able to forget
- herself and her own story in the contemplation of Shakspere’s play.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know what I will do,” he thought to himself. “No one who understands
- the training, the learning, the drilling, the matter of fact element of
- sheer hard work that makes up the life of an actor is likely to think
- stage lovemaking a dangerous pastime. I will persuade Mrs. Hereford to
- bring her this morning to rehearsal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXII
- </h2>
- <p>
- <i>“If art be devoted to the increase of men’s happiness, to the
- redemption of the oppressed, or enlargement of our sympathies with each
- other, or to such presentment of new and old truth about ourselves and our
- relation to the world as may ennoble and fortify us in our sojourn here,
- or immediately, as with Dante, to the glory of God, it will be also great
- art.”—“Appreciations.”</i> Walter Pater.
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">M</span>rs. Hereford who
- had readily divined Macneillie’s kindly intention in suggesting that they
- should see at any rate part of the rehearsal, wondered to herself whether
- his plan had been wise when about noon she found herself with Evereld and
- Bride in the dim dreariness of the theatre, which was quite empty save for
- a couple of charwomen who were scrubbing the floor of the pit. A civil
- attendant took them to the second row of the stalls where they had of
- course an excellent view of that inexpressibly dingy and forlorn looking
- place—a stage without scenery.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie wearing a Glengarry cap was sitting on a chair with his back to
- them directing the dialogue and criticising in his quiet voice the
- shortcomings of Paulina and Emilia in the prison scene. At the back of the
- stage, some pacing to and fro, some sitting on the floor, were the rest of
- the company chatting comfortably together in low tones.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think they are all Quakers?” observed Bride naughtily, “how queer
- it does look to see men indoors with their hats on, every variety too,
- bowlers, deerstalkers, sailors, and caps.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps it’s draughty on the stage,” said Evereld. “I believe that tall
- dark girl must be Miss Myra Kay. She was only married last month. See
- Ralph is talking to her, that pretty girl in the blue and white blouse.
- She is Hermione I think.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t distract me,” said Bride. “Paulina is handling the stage baby very
- well, but it’s too small a doll, why Flo who was the tiniest of babies was
- more respectable than that. Ah, Antigonous lifts it from the floor. My
- good man you’ll break the child’s neck if you don’t support its head
- better. Talk about kites and ravens being instructed to nurse it, why he
- wants instruction himself. It’s as bad as seeing a young curate at a
- christening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld was obliged to laugh a little, and her eyes were still bright and
- mirthful when suddenly she perceived Ralph emerging through a side door
- and approaching them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought you might like a book to follow with,” he said. “Are you
- getting thoroughly disillusioned? And shall you never be able to enjoy
- seeing a play again, now that you know how it’s done?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed I shall enjoy it much more,” she said. “Oh there is still a good
- deal I see, before you come in. Who is your Perdita?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The fair-haired girl in blue serge, Miss Eva Carton. She is the daughter
- of that Major Carton who was killed in the Soudan.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I remember you had him in your gallery of heroes. Is she a nice girl?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very, I think, but I have not seen much of her yet. They were left badly
- off and she has taken to the stage to help her mother. She has only just
- joined this company, so we are in the same box.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After this Evereld watched with keen interest the progress of the play. It
- seemed to her that Macneillie was almost an ideal instructor. His patience
- was marvellous and his criticism though sometimes keen was always kindly.
- When the sheep-shearing scene began and Florizel and Perdita with no
- helpful accessories had to go through their love-making, while the working
- of a sewing-machine and the hammering of carpenters and the scrubbing of
- the charwomen could be plainly heard, Evereld realised more than she had
- ever done before the prosaic nature of some aspects of an actor’s life.
- Macneillie was as fidgetty as any dancing master about the precise way in
- which his arm should encircle her waist. Degville himself could not have
- laid more stress on the importance of every attitude, and when it came to
- the part where Florizel claimed Perdita as his bride in the presence of
- the disguised Polixenes he was promptly pulled up in the utterance of the
- words: “I take thy hand, this hand, as soft as dove’s down and as white as
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t take her hand as if you were taking a jam tart at a
- confectioner’s,” exclaimed Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- And over and over again that particular bit had to be rehearsed until it
- was precisely to the Manager’s mind. Finally a diversion was made by the
- arrival, long after the time when they should have put in an appearance,
- of a few members of the orchestra. In a leisurely way, as though they were
- conferring a great favour on the actors, they began to tune up, the pretty
- dance of shepherds and shepherdesses was rehearsed, and Bride and Evereld
- found themselves longing to join in it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I really wonder,” said Bride as they walked home, “that you dare to take
- me to such a beguiling place, Doreen. Don’t you expect me to be
- stage-struck?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There might be some danger if you only saw the performances,” said Mrs.
- Hereford laughing, “but I doubt if you would stand many rehearsals. You
- would certainly be fined every day for unpunctuality.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It must be a weary grind,” said Bride yawning. “One would have to love
- one’s art very absorbingly to be able to endure such endless repetition. I
- suppose that is the difference between an artist and an ordinary mortal.
- An artist never grudges trouble, the dullest little touches here and there
- all have an interest for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Certainly, if he is worth his salt,” said Mrs. Hereford.
- “That’s what Flo will have to learn if she is to develop as I hope into a
- singer.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Bride good-humouredly, “I have only just enough energy for
- ordinary life, so I will stick to being an ordinary mortal. And you keep
- me company, Evereld. We will make the appreciative audiences for the
- others. What is the fun of acting or singing if there is no one to
- applaud.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In fact she applauded much more heartily than Evereld that evening.
- Evereld’s appreciation was pretty plainly visible in her glowing face and
- bright eyes, but she left the hand-clapping to her companion, and sat in a
- sort of happy dream watching the play contentedly with the blissful
- consciousness that every minute the time drew nearer when Ralph would make
- his appearance.
- </p>
- <p>
- After the heavier portions of “The Winter’s Tale,” the pastoral scenes
- always come as a relief, and Ralph could hardly have had a more taking
- part. Evereld who at rehearsal had never been able to watch him except as
- her friend and lover was now entirely absorbed by the play. He was
- Florizel to her and Florizel only, he looked the part to perfection, and
- there was a sincerity about his acting which carried all before it, and
- gave great promise for his future. Macneillie standing at the wings felt
- more than content with his pupil.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If the boy can do as well as this at one and twenty, he ought to have a
- great career before him,” he thought to himself. “And perhaps like Phelps
- he will be one of those who will owe everything to an early and a happy
- marriage. That little girl is one of a thousand. It is to be hoped that
- Sir Matthew Mactavish will not step in to spoil the game.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The rest of the week passed by only too swiftly. Almost every evening they
- went to the theatre, and in the afternoon Ralph would often join them at
- tennis. One day there was a cricket match between the members of the
- company and a local eleven, on another day a picnic to a ruined castle in
- the neighbourhood, and at length the doleful day arrived when the parting
- must come.
- </p>
- <p>
- After all it proved to be the elders who were grave and anxious at the
- thought of the unknown future which Ralph and Evereld went forth to meet
- so confidently. Healthy youth is seldom troubled with forebodings, and the
- lovers though saddened for the time by the coming separation could not but
- reflect how much more propitious things were than at their last
- leave-taking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How I envied little Ivy Grant as she walked along Queen Anne’s Gate with
- you that Christmas day,” said Evereld with a smile. “Where shall you be
- this Christmas, Ralph?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall be in Yorkshire,” he replied, “still giving the set of plays you
- have seen here. What a good thing it is for me that you can take such an
- interest in the work. It must be hard on an actor to do without the
- sympathy of those nearest to him. Sometimes one does wish that old Mrs.
- Macneillie had not such a feeling against the stage. His life is hard and
- lonely enough without having that added to it. Still I think they
- understand each other, and it is good to see her pride in him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Does she never see him act?” asked Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Never. She won’t set foot in a theatre; she is not even one of those
- people who only object to the name of the thing, and will see a play at
- the Crystal Palace or in a Hall. She’s too sensible to take that view.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why what is the special merit of a ‘Hall?’” asked Evereld laughing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Goodness only knows. I often wish those worthy but illogical folk could
- feel the discomforts and the woeful plight the company often find
- themselves in behind the scenes, with perhaps a couple of dressing-rooms
- for the whole lot of them, and no possible place in which to put their
- clothes. They would soon realise the advantages of proper theatres.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you seen your good notice in the Southbourne Weekly News?” said
- Evereld, glancing at the paper with loving pride.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. It’s rather decent, isn’t it? I always cut out and keep press
- notices for Mr. Macneillie. Sharing his lodgings there are a good many
- small things of that sort one can do for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who does the catering?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he does all that. He is a first-rate hand at marketing, having had so
- much practice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall have to come to him for lessons, some day,” said Evereld,
- blushing vividly as she realised what the words involved.
- </p>
- <p>
- Whereupon Ralph forgot all about fortunes and guardians and time and
- patience, and taking her in his arms kissed her passionately.
- </p>
- <p>
- That was their real parting, or rather the silent pledge that nothing
- could really part them. Ralph lingered for some little time afterwards in
- the next room talking with the others, and as usual there was the cheerful
- Irish babel of many voices, for no one thought in that household of
- talking one at a time. Then having received a kindly invitation from Mrs.
- Hereford to come and see them either in London or at Hollybrack, he took
- his departure, and with the memory of Evereld’s love to cheer him on his
- way, rejoined Macneillie’s company at the station.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a case I suppose,” said Max Hereford finding himself just then
- alone with his wife.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I thought you would guess it,” she said smiling.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were always a matchmaker at heart, Doreen,” he said teasingly. “But
- how about this guardian in the background? He will be playing the Assyrian
- and coming down on you like the wolf on the fold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t help it if he does,” said Mrs. Hereford, laughter lurking in her
- eyes. “Really and truly I have not been match-making. It’s ridiculous for
- Sir Matthew Mactavish to allow his ward to be brought up for six years
- with such a boy as that, and then to take me to task for allowing the two
- old friends to meet in a rational way, and after all if he is annoyed I
- believe I should rather like it, for you know Max I always did detest that
- man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, dear, we all know that you are the best hater in the world, and I
- know that you are the best lover,” he said stooping to kiss her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t see how I could have done otherwise,” she said musingly.
- “Evidently Mr. Macneillie sees exactly how things are. And what can you do
- for a couple of homeless waifs like that but give them your help and
- sympathy? A girl with no mother is in such a wretched plight as soon as
- her love troubles begin. Don’t I know exactly how my own mistakes and
- miseries came from that very cause? Tell me what you really think of Ralph
- Denmead?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I like him,” said Max Hereford. “He seems an honest, straight-forward,
- clean-minded fellow, he has plenty of humour, too, in which perhaps
- Evereld is a trifle lacking, and just because he has a touch of the Welsh
- fire in him and is at times unreasonable and unpractical, as all Kelts are——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, now,” exclaimed Mrs. Hereford with her irresistible laugh. “No dark
- hints about Kelts, we all know what that leads to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was going to remark, if you won’t quite throttle me,” he continued
- suavely, “that marriages between Kelts and Saxons, though barbarously
- prohibited by the oppressive laws of the English conquerors when they
- annexed Ireland, always turn out eminently successful. That in fact the
- union of hearts is the thing to be aimed at.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are not actually betrothed yet, and won’t be until she is of age,
- and until he has made his way a little. Then of course there will be a
- battle royal with the Mactavish, but he will have no authority over her,
- and you and I, Max, will stand by her. She shall be married from
- Hollybrack quietly, and they will be able to live very comfortably for,
- according to Bride, she will be rich.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I only hope her guardian is really trustworthy,” said Max Hereford. “I
- don’t altogether like what I heard of him the other day from old Marriott.
- But, of course, Marriott is one of those steady going old-fashioned
- solicitors who are excessively cautious, and it would be almost impossible
- for him to approve of a Company Promoter like Sir Matthew. He may be all
- right enough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall see,” said Mrs. Hereford with an expressive little gesture of
- the hands, “For my part I wouldn’t trust him for a moment, but you will
- say that is my Irish imagination, and of course I have no great knowledge
- of the man.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bride O’Ryan, who had been more or less taken up with her own people
- during the past week, had guessed nothing at all as to what was going on.
- The two friends had both hitherto been somewhat young for their age, and
- they had never been the sort of girls given to premature talk as to lovers
- and love-making. Their heroes were either the patriots of the past or the
- great leaders of the present, and their school life had been too full of
- work and well-organised amusement to leave much time for desultory
- dreaming. Bride had of course heard of the life at the Mactavishs, but it
- had never entered her head that Ralph Denmead could ever be anything but
- Evereld’s adopted brother.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not until he had actually gone that the truth began to dawn upon
- her. She saw that Evereld was making an effort at cheerfulness, that her
- face when in repose had a quite new expression of wistfulness, and that
- all at once she had grown dreamy and absent.
- </p>
- <p>
- That night, when the mystic hour of “hair brushing” came round, she could
- hold her tongue no longer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wish,” she said impetuously, “you wouldn’t shut me out of it all. I
- know quite well you are unhappy, though you will play the ostrich and bury
- your head in the sand in that English way, supposing that no one will
- notice you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld laughed at the old mixture of the similes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never heard of an English ostrich,” she said merrily. “If there ever
- was one it must long ago have become extinct like the Dodo.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, you laugh now,” said Bride, “but you have looked wretched all the
- afternoon, and I saw you crying in church.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld blushed guiltily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was very stupid of me, but I couldn’t help remembering how different
- all had been last Sunday evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When Mr. Denmead was here,” said Bride boldly.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld nodded.
- </p>
- <p>
- Bride looked straight into her soft blue eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well I’m sure I don’t wonder he lost his heart to you, but all the same I
- wish he hadn’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are not engaged, you know,” said Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it’s just as bad as if you were,” said Bride despondently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As bad? What an odd way you have of congratulating me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t congratulate you. I’m very sorry,” said Bride vigorously brushing
- her dark hair. “Why should he come disturbing us just when our life is
- beginning and we were going to have such a good time. You’ll never be at
- all the same to me again. It will be as the poem says:
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- ‘One and one, with a shadowy third.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nonsense,” said Evereld. “It has made me care for you fifty times more
- than I did, Bride, and I need you now more than ever. Besides, can’t you
- see how different things are for me. You have your home with your sisters,
- and the children; and you have brothers often staying with you, and you
- are all sure of each other and everything is so happy that I’m sure I
- don’t know how you could leave it all just yet. But I have no real home,
- and the only one of the Mactavishs I do really like is to be married in
- November. Can’t you understand how beautiful it is to really belong to
- someone at last?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Bride. “It was selfish of me to think first of my own part of
- it. And after all perhaps you are right, you may need me still. Specially
- when the Mactavishs are horrid. They won’t like your engagement a bit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” replied Evereld quietly. “That is very certain. There are storms
- ahead. But I shall know where to turn to. You will always be my friend,
- and Mrs. Hereford says I am to come to her in any trouble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course, Doreen mothers everybody, she always did, Michael says, even
- when she was quite a little girl herself.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And no one will ever be such a friend to me as you, Bride. You and Aimée
- Magnay and I will always keep up with each other, whatever happens.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Talking of Aimée reminds me that I heard from her this morning,” said
- Bride. “She says that in September they are all going to Auvergne; her
- father has some commission for a picture. They will stay at Mabillon all
- the autumn and perhaps even for Christmas. Cousin Espérance thinks I had
- better come too for the sake of perfecting my French, but I’m not sure
- that I could leave Dermot.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take him with you,” suggested Evereld. “The sunshine and the warmth down
- there would exactly suit him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, I never thought of that. It would be a splendid idea, and the
- Magnays are so kind-hearted. I know they have lots of room, too, in that
- rambling old chateau. Don’t you remember the little picture of it that
- Aimée had in our bedroom at school? Come, after all things are not so
- dark. You will always be my friend in spite of Mr. Denmead, and perhaps
- later on when you are engaged there will be a regular row and you will
- have to come to us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You look as if you quite longed for the row,” said Evereld smiling
- wistfully. “I wish I had a little of the love of fighting which you Irish
- people seem to have such stores of. How would you face an angry guardian
- under the circumstances, I wonder.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should listen patiently to all his objections. Then I should say, ‘Now
- hear my side of the case,’ and if he wasn’t convinced by my burning
- eloquence why I should inevitably lose my temper and we should part on the
- worst of terms. Oh, I should love to have a quarrel with Sir Matthew
- Mactavish. It’s a pity we can’t change places just for that time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, don’t let us talk about it till it comes,” said Evereld with a
- little shiver. “When I am quite my own mistress perhaps the mere fact of
- being independent will make me dislike the thought of the discussion less.
- After all, nothing will really matter when we are engaged; one will be too
- busy thinking of the life that will so soon begin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They were interrupted by a knock at the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want that naughty little sister of mine,” said Mrs. Hereford, looking
- in with a smiling face. “Mollie declares there is no getting her invalid
- to sleep while you two chatterboxes are overhead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Evil take the Coercion Act that made him an invalid,” said Bride,
- gathering up her belongings and bidding her friend good-night.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld, glancing at Mrs. Hereford, saw for the first time in her face an
- expression which startled her. A look of long endured pain, of
- heart-breaking disappointment and the wearily deferred hope which makes
- the heart sick, such a look as a martyr might have borne, dying in the
- darkest hour which heralded the sunrise of his cause.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then even as she gazed the look passed and there was once more in the
- face nothing but cheerful, tender motherliness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good night, dear little woman,” said Mrs. Hereford. “Don’t lie awake
- thinking too long. It is a shocking bad habit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh,” cried Evereld, clinging with girlish devotion to her hostess. “I do
- so hope my love for Ralph will not make me grow narrow. I want to care for
- other people and for outside things just as you do.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must manage much better than I did, dear,” said Mrs. Hereford,
- “perhaps after my own mistakes I may be able to help you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIII
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “He spoke of beauty: that the dull
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Saw no divinity in grass,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Life in dead stones, or spirit in air;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Then looking as ’twere in a glass
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- He smooth’d his chin and sleek’d his hair
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And said the earth was beautiful.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Tennyson.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he last week at
- Southbourne proved a very happy one and Evereld went back to London
- feeling as though a veil had been lifted from before her eyes. It was not
- only that love had revealed his face to her; but for the first time since
- her childish days in India she had known what life could mean in a
- thoroughly happy family.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Mactavishs had never encouraged her in making friends. For reasons of
- his own Sir Matthew had never allowed her to become really intimate with
- any one in town, though she had had the usual round of children’s parties
- and had occasionally been allowed to give a children’s dance in the house
- in Queen Anne’s Gate. At school, however, close friendships had naturally
- been made, and the permission to stay with Bride O’Ryan at Southbourne
- had been extorted from Sir Matthew rather reluctantly, and chiefly because
- it happened to be a little inconvenient to Lady Mactavish to have the
- charge of Evereld until they left for Switzerland.
- </p>
- <p>
- It so happened that the whole course of the girl’s life was affected by
- the mere fact that Lady Mactavish and her elder daughter had accepted an
- invitation to stay with friends in the country, and that Minnie had been
- busy with her trousseau, and, having a particular friend of her own
- staying with her, quite declined to be troubled with the society of a
- little girl fresh from school.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew not caring to vex his daughter when he was so soon to lose
- her, answered Mrs. Hereford’s second request graciously, little guessing
- that in so doing he was signing the death-warrant of his selfish hopes and
- schemes.
- </p>
- <p>
- He beamed approvingly on Evereld when she appeared in the drawing-room on
- the evening of her return.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come, that is a refreshing sight for a jaded city man,” he said, stroking
- her rosy cheek caressingly. “Never mind, Evereld, we are all going
- holiday-making now, and will forget all cares and troubles. Have you seen
- our route, my dear?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Evereld, “I’m longing to see it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She could not help reflecting that the months since the Easter holidays
- had wrought a very decided change in Sir Matthew, he looked worn and
- harassed, and as though he were longing for rest. He seemed, too, more
- fussy and dictatorial than ever, and Evereld’s heart sank at the prospect
- of travelling with him, for she knew that travelling is the great test of
- character. After the merry talk and the bantering discussions and the hot
- but always good-tempered arguments to which she had grown accustomed
- during the last fortnight, the talk which prevailed on various vexed
- questions, seemed highly distasteful.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I really think,” pleaded Lady Mactavish, in her grumbling voice, “that
- considering how very soon Minnie’s marriage will be following our return
- it would be most advisable to take at least one maid with us. There are so
- many little things Greenway could be getting forward with if she were at
- hand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Papa,” urged the bride-elect. “It will be a most awful nuisance if
- we have no maid with us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you think you will always have a maid, my dear, to dance attendance on
- you when you are married, you will find you are mistaken. The wife of an
- officer in a marching regiment has to learn to be independent, I assure
- you. And as to taking a maid to Switzerland I shall not hear of such a
- thing. You would find her a trouble in the hotels, useless on the
- steamers, and upset by the long journeys. Why Evereld will be wanting to
- take her old nurse next!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld laughed, but in her heart she would fain have had Bridget with
- her, for she loved her a great deal better than any other member of the
- household.
- </p>
- <p>
- The question was thoroughly threshed out, and many disagreeable things
- were said on both sides; then Sir Matthew laid down the law as to the size
- and amount of the luggage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No great trunks, mind you,” he said in the voice that meant obedience at
- all costs: “a small portmanteau is all that can possibly be allowed. You
- don’t go to Switzerland to air your fine clothes but to enjoy yourself,
- and there is no enjoyment possible if you are burdened with luggage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A long wrangle followed upon this, and at the close of it, dinner being
- over, Lady Mactavish rose with an air of relief and went away to discuss
- the matter anew with her daughters, and to murmur over Sir Matthew’s
- extraordinary fussiness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The heat must be affecting his brain,” she said. “I never knew him so
- vexatious. What does he know about the clothes we shall require? And
- depend upon it he will be the first to complain if you look shabby.
- Evereld my dear, Sir Matthew is calling you I think. Run down and see.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld returned to the dining-room where Sir Matthew was sitting over his
- wine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In case I don’t see you to-morrow, my dear,” he said, “I will give you
- this cheque now. Get it cashed in five pound notes, they will pass
- anywhere.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is this for my journey?” asked Evereld, who had never received a cheque
- for a hundred pounds in her life.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, no, I will manage all your money for you until you come of age. This
- is only for your dress and pocket money. I shall give you another cheque
- to the same amount in six months’ time. It will be well for you to learn
- the value of things and to get into the way of keeping accounts. By the
- bye, though I say so much about its not mattering what you wear in
- Switzerland you must be sure to take good strong boots. You know Mr. Bruce
- Wylie is coming with us?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Evereld, “I’m very glad.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, good-night, my dear. God bless you,” said Sir Matthew. “Tell them I
- shall not be in till late.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld having delivered her message, went slowly upstairs to the
- school-room, the most homelike place in the whole house. Here she found
- Bridget sitting by the open window with her knitting.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My new life has begun, Bridget,” she said, taking her usual place on her
- old nurse’s lap. “Look, here is money, a heap of it. I am to go out and
- buy thick-soled boots to-morrow with it, and an account book. Bridget, did
- you ever keep accounts? And do you ever think it’s allowable to cook
- them?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t say, dearie, I never kept any at all, excepting it was the
- savings bank book which the post office clerks keep for one.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir Matthew says I must learn how to manage money and to understand the
- value of things,” said Evereld. “So we will go out to-morrow morning,
- Bridget, together, and I shall choose you a black silk dress by way of
- learning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why then, dearie, it’s for your own dress and not for mine that you must
- be spending this upon,” protested Bridget.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s to do what I like with, Nursie, and I like to get you the very
- nicest gown we can find,” said Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, well, dearie, you were always one to think of other folk first, and
- if you will be getting me a dress, let it be a black poplin for the sake
- of the old country.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So Bridget and her young mistress set forth the next morning and chose the
- best Irish poplin, warranted to wear for a life-time, and Evereld changed
- her cheque into twenty crisp five pound notes, eighteen of which Bridget
- securely sewed up for her that evening in an inner pocket.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s many things you may be wanting to buy if you come back through
- Paris,” she said, “let alone its being a bad plan to leave the money
- behind you here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld sighed a little; it somehow hurt her to remember that she had all
- this money for her personal wants and fancies, while Ralph thought himself
- extremely lucky to be earning three pounds a week. She had, however, a
- shrewd suspicion that he perhaps found more satisfaction out of the money
- he had honestly worked for, and she eagerly looked forward to the time
- when they could share her fortune and make it of real use.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next morning the whole house was in a bustle, and the atmosphere
- seemed less oppressive than on the previous night. Sir Matthew, though
- looking ill and harassed, brightened up when Evereld appeared ready
- dressed for the journey in a trim little navy blue coat and skirt, a light
- blue shirt and a dainty white sailor hat. She looked so fresh and innocent
- and happy that for the time he quite forgot his schemes in the pleasure of
- just looking at her.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not until they were on the platform at Victoria, and he saw Bruce
- Wylie approaching, that he remembered how necessary it was that by the
- time Evereld returned to London she should be safely betrothed to her
- solicitor. The thought made him glance critically at his friend. As it
- happened Bruce Wylie never showed to more advantage than at such a time as
- the present. His well cut grey travelling suit and knickerbockers made him
- appear much younger than he really was, his fair hair and trim beard, his
- merry grey eyes, his easy, pleasant manner were all in his favour.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will be right enough,” reflected Sir Matthew,
- “The girl will be properly in love with him long before the end of the
- tour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He had no notion how differently people regard the same person when one
- looks from the standpoint of five-and-fifty and the other from the
- standpoint of nineteen.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld saw merely the lawyer who had brought her chocolates when she was
- a little girl, she knew that he was at least nine-and-forty, and that from
- her point of view was elderly; the thirty years between them made a huge
- chasm which it would never have occurred to her to bridge over in any way
- but that of friendship. Even the friendship could not be the same sort of
- thing as that close friendship, that perfect understanding which comes
- between two people of the same generation. It would have had in it
- something of the position of master and pupil, which might have been
- delightful enough with some men, but she had never felt any desire to
- learn from Bruce Wylie. She liked him merely because he passed the time,
- because he had a fund of good stories and an easy natural way of telling
- them.
- </p>
- <p>
- So when Sir Matthew complacently noticed the way in which her face lighted
- up as she greeted Bruce Wylie, he was wholly unable to guess that the
- reception meant about as much as a child’s joyful greeting of the
- appearance of the clown in a pantomime. “Now we shall have some fun,”
- reflected Evereld, gladly finding the new comer beside her in the railway
- carriage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I need have no scruples,” reflected Sir Matthew. “She evidently likes him
- and encourages him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bruce Wylie was not so sure in his own heart how matters stood, for
- Evereld was almost too frank and open with him, it was perfectly
- impossible to flirt with her, she liked him in the most unabashed manner,
- just as she had done when she was a child of eleven. Her enjoyment of his
- talk was what it had been then, and he was quite without the power of
- kindling in her heart any deeper feeling.
- </p>
- <p>
- Being a shrewd man he laid his plans warily, and worked patiently, never
- venturing to make actual love to her. At all costs he must avoid startling
- her, or making her draw back from that frank friendliness which was likely
- to prove so useful. But every day he was her special companion, and she
- could not help feeling grateful to him for the care he took of her, the
- pains he took to please her, and the real enjoyment which he managed to
- impart to what would otherwise have been rather a trying tour.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why do you hesitate longer,” urged Sir Matthew, during their stay at
- Zermatt, “September is nearly half gone, we have but another fortnight
- abroad. Why not propose to the girl here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not yet, not yet,” said Bruce Wylie, “I tell you, Mactavish, she has not
- a thought of anything of the kind. She treats me as if I were her
- grandfather.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems to me that she is devoted to you,” said Sir Matthew. “She has
- not a word to say to any of the young men in the hotel though they are
- ready enough to admire her. She deliberately avoids them, I have noticed
- her, and is hand and glove with you. What more would you have?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I will arrange it all before the end of the tour,” said Bruce Wylie,
- “by hook or crook it must be done. Let me see; to-morrow we go to Glion
- for a fortnight. It is there that we must contrive the finale.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If it were not such a serious matter,” said Sir Matthew with a grim
- smile, “One could have a hearty laugh over the irony of fate. Here we are
- with an unconscious little slip of a girl and she holds everything in her
- hands. For if the difficulty as to her fortune becomes known, then a dozen
- other things will collapse shortly after. God bless my soul—it’s
- awful to think of!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So much the more reason to play this part of the game warily,” said Bruce
- Wylie. “It is like the story of the child’s hand thrust into the leaking
- dam and saving the country from the deluge that would otherwise have come
- about. I must capture Evereld’s hand and hold it fast to save the general
- ruin; whether she likes it or not it will have to be done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And the girl cares for you, there will be no harm in it,” said Sir
- Matthew suavely. “I tell you what, Wylie, at Glion we must gradually let
- people see that you are in love with her. That will be easy enough without
- alarming her. We will set some of the women folk clacking. And if
- Evereld’s pride is once touched, if she feels that she has been gossiped
- about, that people see that she has encouraged you, and that she is a
- little compromised, why then we shall win easily enough. She will very
- readily be persuaded into an engagement, and we will take good care to
- have her married before the year is out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well,” said Bruce Wylie. “At Glion we will advance to the next
- stage. It will be a more amusing one than the present, and will need
- skilful management. I must think things over. By the bye, she never
- mentions Ralph Denmead, her old playfellow. Have you lost sight of him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She told me last Christmas that he was going most likely on some tour in
- Scotland. Here she comes, we will just ask her, but you need fear nothing
- in that quarter. It was just a natural childish friendship between the
- two. They know each other’s faults too well to fall in love.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I see that young Oxonian is persecuting her,” observed Bruce Wylie,
- watching a sunburnt undergraduate who had taken to following Evereld about
- on all occasions. She did not seem to be at all responsive, and her face
- lighted up most satisfactorily when she perceived Sir Matthew, while her
- companion was visibly chagrined.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Watching the afterglow?” said Sir Matthew, as they approached.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s hardly worth watching to-night,” said the Oxonian sulkily, as he
- noticed the alacrity with which Evereld moved towards Bruce Wylie. What
- the girl could see in this conceited fellow he could not imagine.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We were just speaking of Ralph Denmead, Evereld,” said Sir Matthew. “Have
- you heard of him lately?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I hear from him now and then, and I saw him not so very long ago,”
- said Evereld. “He was with Macneillie’s Company when they were at
- Southbourne.” By a strong effort of self-control she kept both voice and
- manner perfectly calm and natural.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You saw him act?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, he seems getting on very well. The Herefords knew something of Mr.
- Macneillie and they breakfasted with us sometimes. He has been very kind
- to Ralph.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well I’m glad the boy has fallen on his feet,” said Sir Matthew. “I
- suppose there was a touch of genius about him, but he was not the least
- fit for the Indian Civil Service. Are you staying at Zermatt much longer?”
- he added, turning to young Dick Lewisham who was still one of the group.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am leaving to-morrow,” he replied, “and shall get on as far as
- Villeneuve, I think.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah yes, a charming hotel there,” said Sir Matthew, “and the lake in
- September is delightful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Having comfortably disposed of Mr. Lewisham in this fashion he was far
- from pleased when on the morning after their arrival at Glion he
- encountered him in the garden of the Rigi Vaudois.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was so abominably hot down below,” said Dick Lewisham cheerfully, “I
- was obliged to come on here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should advise you to go on still higher to Mont Caux,” said Sir
- Matthew. “It is a magnificent hotel up there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thanks, but this is more handy, and I like the look of the place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’ll find it over-crowded,” said Sir Matthew, “we should not have got
- rooms unless we had ordered them beforehand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are a large party,” said the Oxonian, making his way round to the
- main entrance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How that old buffer does detest me,” he reflected. “I begin to think he
- is bent on marrying his pretty ward to that beast Wylie, and is afraid I
- shall spoil sport. A likely thing when she will give me nothing but snubs
- the moment I show a spark of sentiment. Is it possible though that such a
- girl can care for a regular man of the world thirty years older than
- herself? I’ll never believe it. There’s a mystery somewhere. I shall stay
- here and watch how things go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld greeted him pleasantly, but not at all warmly when she encountered
- him after table d’ hôte. She could have liked him extremely if his
- attentions had been a little less overwhelming, or if she could have told
- him of Ralph. As it was, he frightened her, and she was too much of a
- novice to know the best way to steer her course. She invariably fled for
- refuge to her old friend, Bruce Wylie, little dreaming that by so doing
- she might confirm the gentle hints which Sir Matthew and Lady Mactavish
- began to drop cautiously among their acquaintance in the hotel.
- </p>
- <p>
- People enjoy few things more during their idle holiday hours in a health
- resort than watching any little drama that may happen to be taking place
- before them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld with her sweet innocent face turning to the old friend of her
- childhood and apparently encouraging him in every way while she sedulously
- snubbed the young Oxonian, was a spectacle that greatly pleased and
- edified the English visitors at the Rigi Vaudois. It began to be rumoured
- that Mr. Lewisham was only running after her money, that Bruce Wylie saw
- it all plainly enough, but that he was practically sure that little Miss
- Ewart was attached to him. That in fact an engagement might be declared at
- any moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Something of this sort reached the ears of Dick Lewisham, and so angered
- him that he determined to find out the truth for himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- It happened that there was a dance in the hotel that evening, He knew that
- Evereld would not refuse to dance with him, and having secured her as his
- partner for the first <i>pas de quatre</i>, he afterwards persuaded her to
- come out on to the terrace.
- </p>
- <p>
- The garden was deserted, and Dick Lewisham plunged straight into the
- subject which was filling his mind. He was a very honest, outspoken sort
- of fellow, and he began to fancy that Evereld would not so openly
- encourage Bruce Wylie had she known that people were beginning to comment
- on it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Ewart,” he said abruptly. “These little English colonies are always
- hot-beds of gossip. And in this case the gossip I have just heard tends to
- explain your marked coldness to me. I think there is no need for me to
- tell you of my love—of——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, stop, stop,” said Evereld, “I can’t let you say that. I tried so hard
- to show you that I couldn’t care.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her distress struck him speechless for a moment; instinctively they walked
- on to a more sheltered corner of the garden.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is true then—you already care for—this other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she faltered. “But no one knows, here, oh, how can you have
- guessed?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why it is the talk of the hotel,” said Dick Lewisham. “Every one sees
- that he cares for you and that you encourage him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes dilated. For a moment she stared at him blankly, “What can you
- mean?” she cried. “He is in England, and no one here knows—no one
- must know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Everyone is saying that you and Mr. Wylie care for each other; if that is
- true I will trouble you no more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are saying that!” she exclaimed. “How perfectly ridiculous of them!”
- and in the sudden revulsion of feeling she burst out laughing, “Why I have
- known him since I was a little girl, and even then he seemed to me quite
- elderly. My chief reason for liking him as a friend is that he was always
- kind to Ralph as well as to me when we were children.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then in a flash it all came back to Dick Lewisham; once more he stood in
- the grounds of the hotel at Zermatt watching the afterglow, and listening
- to what was more or less meaningless talk to him about a young actor named
- Ralph Denmead. It was somehow less hard to him to retire before an unknown
- rival; it was Bruce Wylie he so cordially detested. Moreover in having
- thus surprised Evereld Ewart’s secret, his position had been changed
- whether he would or no, from that of lover to friend and protector. He
- knew what no one else in the place knew, and this gave him, in spite of
- his rejection, a sort of soothing sensation. His admiration for Evereld
- had been very genuine, but it had been the sort of love which strikes no
- very deep roots in the heart. He was now only chivalrously anxious to help
- her in any way he could.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will go away from the place at once if you would rather,” he said,
- after a somewhat prolonged pause. “But you may trust me always to respect
- what you have told me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then don’t go,” she said, giving him her hand. “I always knew I could
- like you as a friend if only you had understood how things were. I think I
- won’t dance again to-night. We are to have a long excursion to-morrow. I
- will say good-night to you and run in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And if at any time I can serve you, be sure you remember me,” said Dick
- Lewisham looking into the truthful blue eyes lifted to his.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will indeed,” she said. “We only wait to be actually engaged till I am
- twenty-one. I wish the time would go faster.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dick Lewisham escorted her back to the hotel, and then lighting a
- cigarette returned once more to pace up and down the garden path they had
- just quitted. The night was sultry, every now and then he could see summer
- lightning playing about the peaks of the Savoy mountains on the other side
- of the lake. Still musing over his talk with Evereld he threw himself down
- on a sheltered garden seat which stood on a little lawn screened on all
- sides by bushes. From time to time he heard steps on the path just beyond,
- and caught curious scraps of conversation over which he smiled in a
- cynical fashion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now it was a woman’s voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, what you can see to admire in her I can’t imagine, and her dress!
- why those sleeves might have come out of the ark. Oh you didn’t notice
- them. How curious men are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Next came a pair of lovers.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dearest!” said one voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My own!” replied the other.
- </p>
- <p>
- And Dick Lewisham cruelly coughed. After which dead silence reigned.
- </p>
- <p>
- By and bye a mellow, manly voice startled him into keen attention; it was
- Bruce Wylie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll propose to her to-morrow whatever happens. You can give the others
- just a hint and they will keep out of the way. We must have matters
- settled before leaving Switzerland. If she refuses me——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why then,” said Sir Matthew Mactavish, “I shall step in with the
- authority of a guardian. We will have no nonsense about the matter. But
- she will not refuse you. She has too much good sense.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The voices died away in the distance. Dick Lewisham laughed long and
- silently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So that is your game, my fine friend! It is you who are after little Miss
- Ewart’s money though you have had the slander set afloat that I was a
- fortune-hunter. Ho! ho!” he rubbed his hands with satisfaction, “how I
- should like to see your face when that little blue-eyed girl rejects you.
- I’ll at any rate stay on here to see you when you return.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was loitering about at the cable railway station the next morning when
- Evereld and Janet Mactavish walked from the hotel to take their places in
- the down-going carriage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And where are you off to this morning?” he inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are going to see the Gorge de Trient,” said Evereld, “at least some of
- us are. You are going to sketch near that waterfall, are you not, Janet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Janet, “but Major Gillot and Minnie and Mr. Wylie will be with
- you. Four makes a much better number and I want a quiet day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dick Lewisham laughed in his sleeve, he felt sure that Janet had been
- taken into the plot. Then with some compunction he glanced at Evereld’s
- unsuspicious face; her manner to him was perfect, he felt glad to think
- that she trusted him, and wondered much in what fashion she would get
- through the excursion. It was hardly likely he feared to be a day of
- pleasure to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were now joined by Minnie and her <i>fiancé</i>, and at the last
- moment Bruce Wylie walked coolly across the little platform and down the
- steps, taking his place just before the carriage slid down its steep
- incline.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh be quick! take care!” said Evereld with a look of alarm; and Dick
- Lewisham turned away, musing over the words and the expression of the
- girl’s face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Evidently she likes him very much as an old friend,” he reflected. “I
- wonder how she will get on.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIV
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “To hug the wealth ye cannot use,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And lack the riches all may gain,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- O blind and wanting wit to choose,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Who house the chaff and burn the grain!
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And still doth life with starry towers
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Lure to the bright divine ascent!
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Be yours the things ye would: be ours
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- The things that are more excellent.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- William Watson.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>ome over to this
- side of the carriage,” said Bruce Wylie as they took their places in the
- train at Territet, “you will get the best of the views this side.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld had become quite used to his kindly little arrangements for her
- comfort, she felt sure in her own mind that any good-natured man would
- have done as much for a girl on her first Swiss tour, and she smiled to
- herself at that ridiculous report which Mr. Lewisham had quoted to her.
- After all, though, was it not very likely that she herself had misjudged
- other people in exactly the same way? She was always making little
- romances in her mind about the people they met in the hotels, and they
- generally proved to be wrong when closer acquaintance revealed the truth.
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt perfectly happy that September morning as they journeyed along
- the lovely lake, past the red roofed Castle of Chillon, past the white
- peaks of the Dent du Midi to St. Maurice, and then on once more through
- the somewhat trying heat of the Rhone Valley to Vernayaz.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall be quite independent of you,” said Janet, “and shall spend my day
- sketching. We will all meet here again in time for the train.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh we must come and see you settled,” said Bruce Wylie, “besides Evereld
- ought to see the waterfall nearer than from the train. We have our whole
- day before us, there is no hurry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the end these three walked off together in the direction of the
- Pissevache, while the two lovers went in the opposite direction, promising
- to order luncheon at the hotel.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld seemed more talkative than usual, but when, having duly inspected
- the waterfall, he tried hard to draw her into the region of sentiment, she
- seemed more provokingly matter of fact than ever.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s very sad to think we have only one more excursion before we go
- home,” he remarked, “how detestable England will seem after this holiday.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think so,” said Evereld, “why I am longing to get back to England.
- Lovely as this place is, it seems so dreadfully far away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Far away from what?” said Bruce Wylie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, from one’s friends and belongings,” said Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- Bruce Wylie could only pretend to be deeply offended.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You say that to me,” he said tragically, “one of your oldest friends!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed merrily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was certainly a case of what <i>Punch</i> would call ‘Things one would
- rather have expressed differently.’ But though the tour has been a great
- treat I believe I should always begin to be homesick for England at the
- end of six weeks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh if it is only an abstraction like England I will not be jealous, it
- isn’t worth while,” said her companion with a laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- And Evereld blushed a little, knowing that it was not England in the
- abstract, but nearness to Ralph that she longed for.
- </p>
- <p>
- Bruce Wylie saw the blush and was pleased. He entirely misunderstood it,
- and might have proposed to her at that very minute, had not some very
- dirty little children besieged them just then with the usual request for
- money.
- </p>
- <p>
- The straggling street of Vernayaz was not the place for a private
- conversation, he would wait till later in the day.
- </p>
- <p>
- After a merry lunch at the hotel with Minnie and Major Gillot they all
- went together to see the Gorge de Trient, and here he contrived to fall
- behind on the pretext of pointing out some particularly striking effect to
- Evereld as they threaded their way through the awful ravine with its
- foaming white torrent and its towering heights above.
- </p>
- <p>
- But his effort was useless, for something in the majesty of this great
- rock, cleft so strangely, had filled Evereld with awe; she was thinking
- her own thoughts and was quite unresponsive to all his attempts to draw
- her into conversation.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It feels like a church,” she said once as they paused for a few minutes,
- and Bruce Wylie anxious not to jar upon her in any way, relapsed into
- silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Emerging at length from the cool shade of the Gorge de Trient, they
- returned to the hotel, Major Gillot ordered coffee, and Bruce Wylie took
- the opportunity to draw him aside and suggest a change of programme.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir Matthew gave me leave to take Evereld on to Finshauts if she liked
- the idea,” he said. “Let us all meet at the station. But don’t wait for us
- if we chance to be late. Lady Mactavish might be anxious. I will bring her
- on by the next train in any case.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right,” said the Major, paying no very great heed to the words, and
- well pleased to be left with Minnie for the rest of the time.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Evereld,” said Bruce Wylie, rejoining the ladies, “I don’t know what you
- will say to the notion, but it seems to me very hot down in this place,
- and we have still some hours before us. I find there is a most beautiful
- drive to a place called Finshauts up in the mountains, with a very fine
- view of Mont Blanc. Shall you and I make a pilgrimage up there and leave
- Miss Mactavish and Major Gillot to enjoy this garden in peace?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think it would be lovely,” said Evereld, her eyes lighting up. “I have
- been longing to get to the top ever since we came here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bruce Wylie was pleased that she should fall in with the idea, and went
- off at once to order a carriage, but perhaps her delighted acquiescence
- troubled him a little, for he made several attempts to justify his scheme
- to his own conscience.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If she accepts me I shall take care to be in good time for the train, and
- all will be well,” he argued. “And she will accept me in all probability
- after a little persuasion. If not, there is nothing for it but Sir
- Matthew’s plan of scaring her with the fear of what people will say. No
- real harm will be done, none whatever. We shall merely play a little upon
- her credulity and ignorance and her proper pride, and all the rest of it.
- The game is worth the candle, for without her, sooner or later we shall be
- ruined.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was more considerate and gentle in manner than ever when at length they
- set off together on their drive to Finshauts; her perfect confidence in
- him gave him an uncomfortable sensation, he kept on deferring the speech
- which must be made, and allowed her to enjoy to the full the beauty of the
- winding road with its shady groves of walnut and chestnut trees, and its
- wonderful glimpses of the Rhone Valley. They paused after a time to see
- the Falls of Emaney, and when they once more got into the carriage, Bruce
- Wylie made up his mind that before the next stage was reached his work
- must somehow be done. He looked down into her glowing happy face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are enjoying it?” he said kindly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh more than I can tell you,” she said. “It is quite the best drive we
- have had. What a pity Janet isn’t here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For once you must let me be selfish,” said Bruce Wylie laughing. “I am
- heartily glad she is not here. ‘Two is company, three is trumpery,’ as the
- proverb says.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never agree with that proverb,” said Evereld. “We had a three-cornered
- friendship at school and it was delightful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For school friends it may be well enough. But I am something more than
- your friend, Evereld, I am your lover.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The assertion struck her dumb for a minute.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Surely you had realised that?” said Bruce Wylie. “You must, I think, have
- known it all these weeks that we have been together.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no, no,” she cried in distress. “I never dreamt of such a thing.
- Please never say that again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I must say it again. I want to make you understand me. For years I
- have hoped that you would some day be my wife. And when you understand me
- better I think you will say ‘yes,’ Evereld.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said desperately, “I can never say it. I could never care for
- you in that way. Please let us just be friends as we used to be.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But things are altered now, you are no longer a child, but a woman.
- Believe me, dear, I would make you very happy. You perhaps think that the
- difference in our age is a drawback. But some of the happiest marriages I
- have known have been marriages of that sort. One can’t make a hard and
- fast rule as to age.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not that,” said Evereld. “That might not matter a bit. But I could
- never love you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will take my chance of that. The love would grow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, it never could.... Please believe me and say no more. I can’t think
- what makes you wish it when you must have met so many much more fit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I have been waiting and hoping for you. And you must at any rate
- promise me to think it over for a few days before quite deciding. I have
- taken you by surprise. Think it over quietly, and we will talk about it
- some other day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I thought for years it would make no difference,” said Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You fancy so, because like all young girls you have made a sort of ideal
- in your own mind, and no living man can come up to that ideal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, not an ideal,” she said softly, and into her eyes there stole the
- soft love light which revealed all too clearly her thoughts.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She cares for some one else,” reflected Bruce Wylie, “I suppose it’s that
- confounded young Denmead. Well, silence is golden. She must be left till
- to-morrow to reflect.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear child,” he said in his mellow voice. “Don’t look so grave. I will
- say no more just at present. I only ask you to give what I have said your
- careful thought. Here we are at Triquent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld drew out her watch, but in the worry of the previous evening,
- after her talk with Mr. Lewisham, she had forgotten to wind it up—the
- hands pointed to four o’clock.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My watch has stopped,” she said, “but surely it is time we turned back!
- Finshauts seems much further than I expected.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, we shall soon be there now,” said Bruce Wylie, glancing at the time.
- “It takes us some while to climb up, but we shall rattle down again at a
- great pace.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It seemed a pity to have come so far and not after all to see the view of
- Mont Blanc, and though Evereld longed to be back with the others, and
- dreaded the <i>tête-à-tête</i> with her companion after what had passed,
- she scarcely liked to say any more about returning.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was grateful to him, moreover, because on the last stage of the
- journey he got out and walked beside the driver, leaving her to her great
- relief unmolested.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is a wonderfully kind man,” she reflected. “I hope I wasn’t too
- emphatic, but one had to make him quite understand. Even now we shall have
- to talk it over again. Oh dear! Oh dear! how I wish Ralph and I were
- really engaged, then one wouldn’t be so tongue-tied. I shall only be
- twenty in the spring, and there will still be a year to wait.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The road passed now through a wood, and something in its green depths of
- shade made her think of a wood near Southbourne where they had once spent
- a happy midterm holiday with the Herefords, during her school days.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How I wish I were at school again now,” she thought sadly. “It was all so
- happy and easy there, with none of these worries and misunderstandings.
- And yet I don’t either, for if I were still at school Ralph would not have
- spoken to me that Sunday, that wonderful Sunday.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She fell into a happy dream, and was startled when Bruce Wylie suddenly
- appeared at the carriage door and resumed his place beside her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was thinking of that boy,” he reflected with annoyance. “This
- business will make our task even more disagreeable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You look tired,” he said, “when we reach the Hotel Bel Oiseau I will
- order some tea to be got ready while we go on to the best point of view.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But are you sure we shall have time. We must not miss that train,” said
- Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, plenty of time. It’s all down hill going back, and besides the horse
- must rest, and the driver will certainly expect to drink our health in the
- <i>vin du pays</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His manner set her mind at rest, and indeed for a time she forgot all else
- in the wonderful panorama that opened out before them as Mont Blanc and
- the Chamounix Valley came into view. It was a scene to remember for a
- lifetime, and Evereld, with her young heart and her clear conscience, was
- able to revel in its beauty, and to cast off altogether all petty cares
- and vexations.
- </p>
- <p>
- These, however, returned when they went back to the Hotel Bel Oiseau; a
- mistake had been made—or so Bruce Wylie told her—as to the
- tea, and it took a long time in coming. Then there was yet another delay
- because the coachman had mysteriously disappeared, and when at last the
- horse was put in and they turned back to Vernayaz, Evereld was certain
- that they had allowed very scanty time for the descent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s as much as we shall do to catch this train,” remarked her companion,
- as they at length gained the valley.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is a train now just passing,” exclaimed Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not ours, I daresay,” said Bruce Wylie, “no,” looking at his watch
- reassuringly, “it’s not due for another ten minutes. We shall do it all
- right, don’t be anxious.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There, we are punctual to the minute,” he remarked, as they drew up at
- the station, “and no train is here. Ha! what’s that you say?” he added, as
- an old porter came leisurely up to them. “The train gone? Why, it’s only
- now due.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The porter explained, with many gesticulations, that the Monsieur’s watch
- was ten minutes slow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How annoying,” said Bruce Wylie, “when is the next train for St. Maurice
- and Territet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There are no more this evening, monsieur,” said the porter. “Monsieur
- will find many good hotels in Vernayaz.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bruce Wylie made a well feigned ejaculation of annoyance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The others will have seen that we were not there,” said Evereld,
- springing out of the carriage, “I will run and look for Janet;” but she
- returned forlornly in a minute, for Janet was not there.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think she might have waited,” said the girl, indignantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, they would naturally conclude we should come on by a later train as
- we didn’t turn up till this one started,” said Bruce Wylie, “in fact I
- told the Major we should do that if by any ill fortune we were too late.
- Who could have guessed that there were no trains later than this?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You looked out the trains yourself yesterday,” said Evereld, “I should
- have thought you would have noticed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt intensely irritated, it was one of those times when a traveller’s
- temper is put to the test.
- </p>
- <p>
- Bruce Wylie did not mend matters by his rather stumbling apology. She
- could not have explained her feeling, but somehow at that moment she felt
- that she could no longer put confidence in him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I wouldn’t have had such a thing happen for the world,” he said.
- “It is all my fault, and I’m extremely sorry. The only thing to be done is
- to go back to the Hotel Gorge du Trient. We shall be in time for dinner, I
- daresay. To the Hotel, driver!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait,” said Evereld quietly. “I must first send a telegram to Lady
- Mactavish explaining things.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite right, of course. I ought to have thought of it. What a sensible
- little woman you are, Evereld.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She neither smiled nor responded in any way. A few hours before the
- episode would have troubled her very little, but to be stranded in this
- place with the man she had just refused was a situation she disliked very
- much. Behind it all, too, there lurked a vague feeling that she had been
- entrapped into the drive, that perhaps even Janet had guessed what Mr.
- Wylie meant to say during the course of this ill-fated expedition.
- </p>
- <p>
- To do him justice, Bruce Wylie took good care to set her perfectly at her
- ease directly they arrived at the hotel, himself saw the manageress and
- explained things to her, handing over Evereld to her kindly care, and
- promising to meet her in the salon.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Swiss manageress gave her a pleasant room, and lent her all that she
- needed, and when she went down to the salon a delightful surprise awaited
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, Evereld!” said a familiar voice, and a tall pretty looking girl
- stepped forward with a warm greeting.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was May Coniston, an old schoolfellow who had left Southbourne at
- Easter, and had come out to Switzerland for rest after the toils of her
- first London season. She introduced Evereld to her mother, and they
- listened to her description of the contretemps that had befallen her, and
- Evereld introduced Mr. Wylie to them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is most fortunate you just happened to come across us,” said May
- Coniston cheerfully. “I can lend you everything, and mother will be only
- too delighted to take care of you. There is nothing she enjoys so much as
- looking after girls.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So in the end Evereld had an extremely pleasant evening, lost her heart to
- kindly Mrs. Coniston, sat up hair-brushing with her friend till after
- midnight, and was delighted to have May for a companion in her large,
- lonely bedroom where, as Mrs. Coniston remarked, they could fancy
- themselves back at school once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- Early the next morning, having parted with the Conistons, who were going
- to Champéry, Bruce Wylie and Evereld returned to Glion, arriving just in
- time for lunch. They encountered Janet and Minnie in the entrance hall,
- and Evereld went straight to the <i>salle à manger</i> with them, laughing
- over the events of the previous day, and remonstrating with them for
- having deserted her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We all got into the train when it came up,” explained Janet calmly,
- “hoping to the last that you would come before it started; it must have
- been some minutes in the station. Mamma was vexed with us for coming on,
- but of course we all knew you were safe; your telegram got here before we
- did.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where is Lady Mactavish?” asked Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She has gone down to Montreux to lunch with Lady Mount Pleasant, who by
- the bye has invited us all to go to-morrow to her picnic at a place near
- the Rochers de Nave.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Just at that moment Sir Matthew and Mr. Bruce Wylie joined them. There was
- something unusual in her guardian’s manner, and Evereld wondered what had
- brought the cloud to his brow. It did not disappear at all when he greeted
- her, and had it not been for a talkative German doctor, who conversed
- learnedly with Janet, their party would have been an uncomfortably silent
- one throughout the meal.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want a few words with you, my dear,” said Sir Matthew, when at last
- lunch was over. “Come with me to our own sitting-room. We shall not be
- interrupted there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld’s heart sank.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Wylie has told of his proposal to me,” she reflected. “And Sir
- Matthew is vexed with me for refusing his friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sit down,” said Sir Matthew, motioning her to a sofa beside the window,
- and wheeling up a ponderous armchair for himself. “I have, of course,
- heard from Mr. Wylie of your very surprising behaviour yesterday. Are you
- aware that you have refused one of the best and cleverest of men, a man
- too who has been encouraged by you for the last month.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, no,” cried Evereld. “Indeed I never dreamt of encouraging him. How
- could I be supposed to think of a man thirty years older than I am as a
- lover?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know what you thought about it, my dear, but you did distinctly
- encourage him. And everyone here, and at Zermatt, too, I believe,
- considered it a case.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am very sorry if they thought so, but it was a ridiculous mistake. I
- should never dream of marrying Mr. Wylie. He is just a friend and nothing
- more.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have no patience with this foolish talk about friends,” said Sir
- Matthew. “You ought to know enough of the world to realise that it never
- puts faith in friendships between men and women.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can I not be friends with an elderly man like that? a man of nearly
- fifty, who has known me since I was a child?” said Evereld questioningly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, you cannot,” said Sir Matthew decidedly. “You have encouraged him all
- these weeks, and you must marry him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The tone of decision would, he thought, at once silence this gentle little
- girl with her innocent blue eyes. He received an uncomfortable shock when
- she quietly replied: “Of course, if it is really so I can avoid Mr. Wylie
- in future. But marry him I will not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What possible objection can you have to him?” said her guardian
- irritably. “I can tell you, he is a man that most girls would be proud to
- accept.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I do not love him,” said Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you have been reading novels and have set up some absurd ideal hero
- unlike any man who ever existed. Bruce Wylie is one of a thousand, he will
- make you perfectly happy, and will save you from the infinite misery of
- being run after for the sake of your fortune by unworthy men embarrassed
- by debts.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld laughed a little. “I will promise never to marry an unworthy man
- embarrassed by debts. But nothing will make me marry Mr. Wylie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then it only remains for me,” said Sir Matthew, “to tell you how things
- really are. You must marry him, my dear. The whole place is talking about
- you. Your reputation is at stake. Everyone knows that you were stranded
- alone with him last night at Vernayaz, and there is only one way to
- prevent a scandal arising. You must be engaged to him at once, and you
- shall be married when we go back to London. If you like it might be on the
- same day that Minnie is married.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld’s eyes dilated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t understand you,” she said. “Can you really mean that because Mr.
- Wylie very carelessly allowed us to miss the train, and didn’t know—or—or
- pretended not to know that it was the last train—that I should marry
- him because of that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Dear child, you are very young and innocent, and the world is a hard
- censorious place. The busy tongues of these holiday idlers will certainly
- make free with your name. And I can’t permit that. The best way to avoid
- scandal, the only way, is to hasten on your marriage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well,” said Evereld. “But it is not Mr. Wylie that I shall marry.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you dare to tell me that you are engaged to any one else?” said Sir
- Matthew.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I am certainly not engaged,” said Evereld. “But as soon a I come of
- age I shall be engaged.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To whom,” said Sir Matthew.
- </p>
- <p>
- “To Ralph,” she said, a vivid blush dyeing her cheeks.
- </p>
- <p>
- With an inarticulate exclamation of wrath, Sir Matthew began to pace to
- and fro.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This comes of adopting beggars,” he said between his teeth. At that,
- Evereld started to her feet, and would have left the room had he not
- intercepted her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How long has this been going on?” he said, angrily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never knew I cared for him like that until he had gone away more than a
- year ago, when you brought down the news about his examination.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just like the ungrateful fellow,” said Sir Matthew. “As soon as he saw
- that there was nothing more to be got out of me, he thought to feather his
- nest with your fortune.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld struggled hard not to lose control over her temper, but every
- pulse in her throbbed indignantly at the words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think,” she said in a low voice, “that money is the last thing any
- Denmead ever troubled himself to think of.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The words were so true that for a moment they checked Sir Matthew; he
- reflected wrathfully that his own action in turning Ralph out of his house
- somewhat harshly had brought about this result he so little desired. Up to
- that time the friendship between the two had been of a most brotherly and
- sisterly character. He was startled from this train of thought by a sudden
- and wholly unexpected question from Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My father used to say every penny he had was invested in railways—is
- my money still as he left it?” she inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “W—w—w—we have made a few changes; you will learn all
- details when you come of age,” said Sir Matthew.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld had quick perceptions. She had never heard her guardian stammer
- before. She looked him through and through with her clear eyes, and knew
- that something was amiss. He coloured under her scrutiny, and complaining
- of the heat of the room, pushed the window wider open.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ralph has good points,” he said, returning to the former topic. “But
- depend upon it, my dear, this is an idle fancy of yours; he will fall in
- love with some actress and forget all about you. It is only natural that
- it should be so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said. “He will wait for me, and when he has got on a little in
- his profession, we shall be engaged. We might have been engaged now only
- he was too honourable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You talk just as one might expect an innocent girl fresh from school to
- talk, my dear,” said Sir Matthew. “But it will not do. Such a marriage
- would be preposterous, your father would never have allowed it, and I once
- more repeat that acting in your interests I shall insist on your accepting
- Mr. Wylie’s offer. You think me unkind; believe me,” he took her hand and
- patted it caressingly, “I am not unkind, I am only making you do what is
- the best possible thing under the circumstances. You must trust me. There
- are elements in the case you cannot understand. There is no safe path for
- a woman but the part of obedience to authority. You must be guided by me,
- my dear, you must recollect that in all the years you have lived under my
- roof I have always shown you kindness and love, and you must try to
- believe that I show that kindness now, though I thwart your wishes and wed
- you to a man who does not exactly fit in with your girlish and romantic
- ideal. We will say no more now, you are tired and agitated. But within the
- next two days I shall expect to receive from Mr. Wylie the news that his
- offer has been accepted. Think it quietly over. I am convinced that some
- day you will thank me for what I have done; ay! and other people will have
- good cause to thank me, too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stooped and kissed her on the forehead and politely opened the door for
- her in token that the interview was at an end.
- </p>
- <p>
- Without a word Evereld left the room and went slowly upstairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXV
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “The tissue of the Life to be
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- We weave with colours all our own,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And in the field of destiny
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- We reap as we have sown.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Whittier.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he broad staircase
- was covered with cocoa-nut matting, she toiled up the slippery steps
- feeling dazed and giddy, groping her way more by instinct than by sight to
- her own door. Her room was at the side of the hotel, and its French
- window, opening on to a little balcony, looked out over the woods of
- Veytaux and the distant turrets of Chillon to the Dent du Midi. She threw
- herself down now into the depths of an armchair, letting the soft air play
- on her hot cheeks, and staring out in a bewildered way at the lovely view
- which contrasted so strangely with her misery.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her whole world seemed to be shaken to its foundation. Her instinct warned
- her that the guardian, whose plausible talk and apparent kindliness had
- long deceived her, was in no sense a man to be trusted. And seizing the
- clue, which his own accusations of others had furnished her with, she
- began to wonder if in some unaccountable way Bruce Wylie himself was one
- of those fortune-hunters, who finding themselves in difficulties sought to
- repair their losses with some heiress’ money. Her clear insight had at
- once detected the false ring in his apologies about the lost train on the
- previous day. He had somehow forfeited her confidence, and the more she
- thought over her interview with Sir Matthew, and the extraordinary
- determination he had evidently made to marry her to his friend, the more
- she distrusted and dreaded them both. It might possibly be that they had
- mismanaged her affairs, and were perhaps speculating with her money. She
- had heard of many cases where luckless women had been ruined by a
- fraudulent trustee.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fortunately, though young and innocent, Evereld had been wisely educated,
- and even in all the agitation of the moment she was able clearly to see
- how foolish was the notion that in order to quiet unkind tongues, or to
- satisfy the outraged feelings of Mrs. Grundy, she should consent publicly
- to perjure herself, by vowing to love as a wife a man she did not desire
- to marry.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew and Bruce Wylie had fancied that a pure-minded, proud girl
- would easily be frightened into a marriage which in many respects was
- outwardly desirable. Women were seldom logical, and a little novice like
- Evereld could, they felt sure, be cajoled or scared or flattered into
- obedience to their wishes. Sir Matthew had reserved his direct command and
- the allusion to his authority as a guardian as his trump card. He thought
- because she had made no reply to this speech that he had convinced her.
- But Evereld knew that obedience to the truth must always stand before
- obedience to any authority, and she was emphatically not one of those
- plastic, weak-minded girls who furnish victims for the modern marriage
- market, and allow themselves to be sacrificed to the ambition of their
- parents.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was, however, a sort of blind terror in her mind. She had read that
- pathetic novel “Jasmine Leigh,” the plot of which turned on the forcible
- abduction of an heiress; and now, perhaps, not unnaturally the story
- returned to haunt her. Words which Ralph had spoken as to Sir Matthew’s
- unscrupulous character, his utter disregard for the victims whose ruin
- followed the triumphal procession of his own fame and fortune, haunted
- her, too. She had thought him hard and uncharitable when he had spoken of
- his godfather, but his words had impressed her nevertheless, and she felt
- that they were probably not far from the truth. Like some trapped animal,
- she tried desperately to think what possible course she could take. If
- only that motherly Mrs. Coniston had been in the hotel she would have told
- her all and asked her advice, but she could hardly put the case in a
- letter, or travel to Champéry to see her. And there was no one else to
- whom she could turn, unless it was Mr. Lewisham, and she doubted if that
- would be a wise thing to do. Only a woman could thoroughly understand and
- help her.
- </p>
- <p>
- And then the old grief of eight years ago, to which she had grown more or
- less accustomed, came back to her with an intensity of bitterness, a new
- realisation of irreparable loss. “Oh Mother!” she sobbed. “Oh Mother!
- Mother!”
- </p>
- <p>
- A step on the balcony made her hastily try to check her tears. Minnie’s
- room was next to hers, and the window also opened on to the little side
- balcony.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why Evereld,” said a cheerful voice. “You dear little goose! Don’t cry. I
- know all about it. Papa has told me. Don’t you be frightened. It won’t be
- half so bad as you expect. You’ll soon grow very fond of Mr. Wylie. And
- you shall have such a pretty wedding dress and as many of your school
- friends as you like for bridesmaids. You have no idea what fun you will
- have choosing your <i>trousseau</i>. We will stop in Paris on our way
- home, and I can put you up to all sorts of things.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t talk like that,” said Evereld, her tears raining down, as the utter
- mockery of it all forced itself upon her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think,” continued Minnie, “that you are the first girl who has
- been obliged to give up an early love? Why it’s my firm conviction that no
- one ever does marry a first love. If Papa had allowed it I should have
- married a lanky curate, and we should still be waiting for the inevitable
- country living which might or might not turn up. He put a stop to it all.
- And I cried my eyes out just as you are doing. But I am very much obliged
- to him now and mean to be very happy with Major Gillot. Now stop crying,
- and I will make some tea in my etna, and later on you shall come out with
- us and do ‘gooseberry.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m afraid of meeting Mr. Wylie,” objected Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed I think you
- had better not meet him with your eyes as red as that,” said Minnie with a
- laugh. “There’s no need for you to see him till dinner-time, for he has
- gone down to Montreux to talk over the arrangements for tomorrow with
- Mamma and Lady Mount Pleasant.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something comforting in Minnie’s kindly manner, though Evereld
- vehemently dissented in her own mind from all her arguments. She obeyed
- her, however, and stopped crying, and even found temporary comfort in the
- afternoon tea which has a way of tasting so supremely good when made by
- oneself abroad. Later on they walked down the Gorge de Chaudron, where
- already the trees were arraying themselves in the lovely tints of early
- autumn. The two lovers walked a little ahead. Evereld followed slowly and
- thoughtfully, regaining her habitual strength and quietness of mind as she
- walked, by slow degrees. There was something in her face which puzzled
- Bruce Wylie when he met her again that evening at dinner. She looked
- older, even he could have fancied thinner, since the morning. He left her
- unmolested till the meal was over, but joined her directly afterwards in
- the entrance hall, where in the evening people were wont to lounge and
- chat unceremoniously. He was discussing thought-reading with a young
- American girl and skilfully inveigled Evereld into the conversation. In
- old times she had always felt an interest in experiments of this sort;
- to-night she felt that not for the world would she permit Bruce Wylie to
- touch her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us show Miss Upton the experiment we tried at Zermatt,” said Bruce
- Wylie. “It was a brilliant success there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I would rather not to-night,” said Evereld colouring. “I am tired.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, try just once,” he said persuasively.
- </p>
- <p>
- But she shook her head.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must appeal to your guardian,” he said, laughing. “Sir Matthew, we want
- you to persuade your ward to do the pin-finding trick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Rightly or wrongly, Evereld was convinced that if she now yielded her mind
- up to him he might abuse his power over her and weaken her resistance to
- his other wishes. She stood at bay conscious that many eyes were turned
- upon her, determined not to yield, yet puzzled as to how she was to
- proceed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why Evereld, dear,” said Sir Matthew in his hearty penetrating voice, “of
- course you will oblige us all. You are a capital hand at this sort of
- thing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She turned to the pretty American girl, feeling that her only chance was
- to appeal to her. She seemed a clever, observant girl, surely she could be
- made to understand without words.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am so sorry,” she said, “to be obliged to say ‘no’ to-night. But I am
- tired and am going up to bed. Won’t you try the thought-reading?” Her
- clear blue eyes looked straight into the bright eyes of little Miss Upton,
- saying as plainly as eyes could express the thought, “Help me out of this
- dilemma.” And the American responded instantly to the appeal.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess I’ll try whether I can’t do it myself, Mr. Wylie,” she said,
- looking up at him archly and holding out a dainty handkerchief. “Blindfold
- me instead of Miss Ewart, and see if I’m not just as sharp at finding the
- pin.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She made such fun of the whole process that even Bruce Wylie himself
- failed to notice that Evereld calmly walked up the broad staircase in
- sight of them all, and she was safely locked into her room before any one
- had bestowed a thought upon her absence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall always love American girls!” she said to herself. “How quick she
- was to understand, I only wish I could thank her, but that’s impossible.
- Somehow I must get away from this place. I daren’t stay longer. If only I
- knew how best to escape and where to go to! There is Mrs. Hereford. She
- would take care of me. But Ireland is so far away, and I fear they would
- overtake me before I could get to her. Shall I go to London and make
- Bridget take me away to some quiet little country place where no one could
- hear of us? Or there is Southbourne, but term will not begin till next
- week, and the whole house would be deserted, it would be no use going
- there.” None of these plans seemed very promising. To whom could she turn?
- </p>
- <p>
- Restlessly pacing up and down her room, she prayed for guidance, and
- almost immediately a well-known name floated into her mind. “Why!” she
- exclaimed, “I wonder I never thought of that before.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She stepped out on to the balcony, entered Minnie’s room, took from the
- table a continental Bradshaw, and returning once more, sat down resolutely
- to puzzle out a route as well as she could. It was no easy matter for one
- unversed in the mysteries of railway guides; she found herself terribly
- baffled by two places with almost exactly similar names, and she
- floundered long in that wilderness of day trains and night trains, and
- dark and light figures, which prove traps for the inexperienced. If so
- much had not depended upon it she could have laughed over her
- perplexities, but as it was she came perilously near to crying over the
- Bradshaw, and nothing but dread of Bruce Wylie and the thought of Ralph
- enabled her to plod on until at last she had puzzled out her way of
- escape. The trains were not so favourable to her plans as she had hoped.
- It was impossible to leave till the middle of the next morning, and the
- journey would involve four or five changes of trains, and a night at a
- hotel. It seemed impossible to go straight through to her destination.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I go to a hotel,” she reflected, “I must have some sort of luggage or
- they will suspect me. I will take my little handbag from here and some
- cloak straps in my pocket; then at Geneva I will buy some wraps and make
- up a respectable-looking bundle.”
- </p>
- <p>
- By this time her hopes had revived and her courage had returned. She put
- back the Bradshaw in Minnie’s room, closed her shutters, bolted her window
- and began to make her preparations in a thoughtful, womanly way.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fortunately she had had no expenses in Switzerland, and still carried
- about her the eighteen five pound notes which Bridget had counselled her
- not to leave behind. In her purse she had also an English sovereign and a
- little Swiss silver money. “I need not change a note till I get to Geneva,
- that is a comfort,” she reflected, and having carefully destroyed all her
- letters and packed a few necessaries into her bag, she crept to bed and
- did her best to sleep, but not very successfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next morning she could most truthfully plead a headache as an excuse
- for not attending Lady Mount Pleasant’s picnic, indeed she remained in
- bed; and looked so white and tired when Janet and Minnie came to see her
- that they reported her as quite unfit for the expedition, and only in a
- state to be left quiet and alone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Sir Matthew, with a look of annoyance, “it can’t be helped.
- She will be right enough to-morrow when her decision is made and
- everything has settled down quietly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bruce Wylie, who had fully intended to settle matters during the course of
- that day, was forced to acquiesce, and since Lady Mount Pleasant and her
- contingent had arrived from Montreux, and the carriages were at the door,
- there was no time for further discussion.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld stole to her window as soon as she heard the sound of wheels and
- just caught a sideway glimpse of the picnic party driving off. Then in
- breathless haste she dressed, put a letter which she had written to Sir
- Matthew on the previous night in a place where it would quickly be found,
- bolted her door on the inner side, stepped out of the window and closed
- both it and the jalousies behind her and went through Minnie’s room to the
- corridor beyond. A chambermaid was sweeping the matting, she smiled in a
- friendly fashion and asked if mademoiselle was better.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I still have a headache,” said Evereld, “and am going out of doors. If
- you see Miss Mactavish to-night when she returns, please say I do not wish
- to be disturbed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She ran quickly down the stairs, encountering nobody; in the bureau she
- caught sight of the manager’s head, but he had his back turned to the door
- and did not see her, he was giving out a library book to an old lady who
- was accounted the greatest gossip in Glion. Mercifully she, too, was
- absorbed and did not look up.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld walked quietly through the garden; over her dark blue serge dress
- she wore a little blue capuchin cape with red-lined hood, her sailor hat,
- and long gauze travelling veil were of the quietest. She was beginning to
- hope that she should encounter none of the people staying in the hotel
- when, within a stone’s throw of the cable railway station, she came across
- Dick Lewisham and little Miss Upton.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you better?” said the American kindly. “Your friends told us you were
- quite knocked up and could not go to the picnic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My head aches still,” said Evereld, “but—but please don’t tell them
- that you saw me going out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It is almost impossible for a naturally open and truthful person to carry
- out a secret scheme without some confidante. Evereld liked and trusted
- both these acquaintances, and she yielded to that craving for sympathy,
- that longing for straightforward speech which was perhaps more natural
- than strictly prudent.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could not go to the picnic because I must avoid Mr. Wylie,” she said in
- a low voice. “My guardian is trying to force me to marry him, and I mean
- to escape to other friends who will take care of me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did I not tell you how it would be?” said Dick Lewisham.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she faltered, “you were quite right; and now there is nothing for
- me to do but to get away at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Remember,” he said, “that you promised to ask my help if you were in any
- difficulty.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Evereld. “Perhaps now you would just take my ticket to
- Territet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let us all come down to Territet together,” said Miss Upton, “it will be
- less noticeable than your going quite alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Before many minutes were passed the three were gliding down the steep
- incline, and Evereld grew light hearted to think that the difficult first
- step had proved so successful.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you sure,” said Dick Lewisham, “that you can get to your friends
- without difficulty?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite sure, thank you,” she said bravely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We will not ask you a single question beyond that,” he continued, “for
- the less we know the better. If they put us through any very severe
- catechism, the utmost we will admit is that you were in the hotel garden
- before lunch this morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s quite a romance,” said little Miss Upton, rubbing her hands with
- satisfaction, “and as I shall want to have the third volume, please send
- it over to me at Boston as soon as it’s complete. There’s my card.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will be sure to write,” said Evereld, “and thank you so very much for
- helping me, both last night and this morning, too. I shall never forget
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They walked a little way beyond the station in the direction of Montreux
- until they reached a confectioner’s.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am going in here to get some food for my journey,” said Evereld, “I
- will wish you good bye;” she gave her hand to each of them, shyly thanked
- Dick Lewisham for his help, and entered the shop.
- </p>
- <p>
- “End of the second volume,” said Miss Upton with a comical expression on
- her bright face. “Nothing remains for us, Mr. Lewisham, but to kill time
- by a row on the lake. Take me to see Chillon; nothing but an old and
- venerable castle will fill up this awful blank, or rouse my interest.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, we shall have some good fun to-night or to-morrow morning,” said Dick
- Lewisham, “Messrs. Wylie and Mactavish wall furnish us with some capital
- sport. I only hope no harm will happen to that brave little girl.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVI
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “But, by all thy nature’s weakness,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Hidden faults and follies known,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Be thou, in rebuking evil,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Conscious of thine own.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “So, when thoughts of evil-doers
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Waken scorn, or hatred move,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Shall a mournful fellow-feeling
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Temper all with love.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Whittier.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">L</span>ady Mount
- Pleasant’s picnic proved a successful affair, and Sir Matthew prevailed on
- her to dine with them at the Rigi Vaudois on her way home. Minnie, running
- upstairs to change her dress after the gong had sounded, had scant time to
- think of Evereld, she rang for hot water and flew about her room making
- the hastiest of toilettes, it was only as the chambermaid was just closing
- the door that she called after her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Marie! Wait a moment. Have you seen Miss Ewart? Is she better?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have seen her, Mademoiselle, and she still has <i>migraine</i>,” said
- the chambermaid.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well see that she has all she needs,” said Minnie hurriedly pinning a
- cluster of roses in her dress.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, Mademoiselle. But she left word expressly that she did not want to
- be disturbed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, then I will not go in,” said Minnie, flying along the corridor, and
- running downstairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I will just ask if the <i>pauvre petite</i> would like a <i>tisane?</i>”
- reflected the chambermaid knocking at Evereld’s door. “No response! ’Tis
- strange, I will knock again. Mademoiselle! It is I, Marie. Well, ’tis
- useless to wait. Without doubt she sleeps. These English are always heavy
- sleepers, and after all, sleep is the best cure for <i>la migraine</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But next morning when to repeated knocks there was still no answer, Marie
- began to feel anxious. She consulted Miss Mactavish.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Ewart often goes out early in the morning. I expect she has locked
- her door and taken her key to the <i>bureau</i>,” was Minnie’s
- matter-of-fact solution of the problem.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, Mademoiselle, the key is not in the bureau. It is on the inside of
- the door. I fear Mademoiselle must be very ill.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, we can soon find out,” said Minnie, opening her window and stepping
- on to the balcony.
- </p>
- <p>
- To unbolt the <i>jalousies</i> and open Evereld’s French window was the
- work of a minute, but Minnie gave a gasp of surprise when she found the
- room quite empty. Remembering however the curious eyes of the chambermaid
- she controlled herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps she is with Lady Mactavish, I will see,” she exclaimed, and
- hastily ran down to the next floor in search of her father. She found him
- in their private sitting-room, writing letters, and quickly told her
- discovery.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can the child have been so foolish as to run away,” he exclaimed in
- dismay. “Well she can’t have gone far, that is one comfort; we shall soon
- track her. I will come up with you and see if we can find any clue. Run on
- first and tell the maid it is all right and get her out of the way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He followed more leisurely, and passing through his daughter’s room went
- by the balcony to Evereld’s deserted chamber.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The bed has been slept in,” he remarked in a tone of satisfaction, “she
- has not gone far.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It did not occur to him that it had never been made on the previous day,
- that was just one of those small points of detail which would escape an
- ordinary man. Minnie instantly thought of it, but she held her tongue, and
- began hurriedly to see what clothes Evereld had taken with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her little travelling bag has gone,” she said, “and her hat and cloak.
- See, too, here is a letter just inside her portmanteau directed to you,
- Papa.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew who began to look seriously disturbed tore open the letter and
- hastily read the following lines:—
- </p>
- <p>
- “My Dear Sir Matthew:
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing will induce me to marry Mr. Wylie, and as you insist on my
- accepting his proposal within the next two days, and refuse to pay any
- heed to what I say as to my future marriage with Ralph, you force me to
- act for myself. Please do not be anxious about my safety—I am going
- straight to friends who will take every care of me, and it will be useless
- to try to make me live again under your roof.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you make any attempt to force me back I shall put myself under the
- protection of the Lord Chancellor, and ask for a thorough investigation of
- my affairs. My love to Lady Mactavish and Minnie. I am sorry to vex you
- all, but you have left me no alternative.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yours affly,
- </p>
- <p>
- “Evereld Ewart.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He handed the letter to his daughter, and paced the room, dumb for the
- time with anger and surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where can she have gone?” said Minnie. “And how on earth can we hush it
- up here?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Easily enough,” said her father with contempt in his tone, “say that she
- has joined some friends in Montreux, and we can all leave to-morrow.
- Indeed I shall go straight home to-day and track her out. Little minx! Who
- would have thought her capable of such resistance! A little blue-eyed slip
- of a girl, who had hardly a word to say for herself!”
- </p>
- <p>
- He turned away in search of Bruce Wylie, and was glad to see that his
- friend was shocked and perplexed by the news. To do the lawyer justice he
- was really anxious about Evereld’s safety.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Upon my soul, Mactavish, it’s an ugly business,” he said uneasily, “a
- young girl fresh from school, innocent and ignorant and quite unprotected,
- crossing Europe alone! I hope to goodness she has gone to those friends of
- hers at Champéry. I will set off this morning and see. She would naturally
- think of them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s possible,” said Sir Matthew, with a look of relief. “You go there,
- and I will go straight to London making close inquiry all along the route.
- Perhaps we may be able to learn something from the people in the hotel
- without rousing their curiosity too much. We must avoid getting the girl
- talked about. That would be fatal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s a hateful business,” said Bruce Wylie frowning, “I wish I had never
- meddled with it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There was more in the child than we dreamt of,” said Sir Matthew, “She
- was quiet and gentle and affectionate and I never thought it possible she
- would show so stubborn a front. Look at the letter. Why old Ewart himself
- might have penned it. As ill luck would have it, she heard the day before
- yesterday that changes have been made as to the investment of her money,
- and I fear she suspects that all is not right. How on earth she came to
- know anything about the Lord Chancellor and her power of appeal to him I
- can’t conceive.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Probably through ‘Iolanthe’ and the ‘such a susceptible Chancellor,’”
- said Bruce Wylie with a mirthless laugh, “or through some of her beloved
- Charles Dickens’ novels. The fact is, Mactavish, we educate our girls
- now-a-days, but expect them to remain fools. Unless we can track Evereld,
- and force her to obey you, she has the game in her own hands. Great
- Heaven! just think of it! That little girl can absolutely ruin our career,
- can give the pinprick which will burst the whole bubble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was exasperating to the last degree, and to men who had always taken
- the lowest view of womanhood, it was wholly perplexing. They went down to
- the <i>salle à manger</i> trying to look unconcerned, but Miss Upton’s
- keen eyes read their perturbation.
- </p>
- <p>
- She enjoyed it hugely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I guess you had a good time yesterday up at the Rochers de Naye?” she
- said blithely.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very, thank you,” said Sir Matthew, “though we were all disappointed that
- my ward was not with us. Have you seen anything of her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The American girl met his keen gaze without flinching in the least.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was in the garden for a little while yesterday.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, indeed,” Sir Matthew was all on the alert. “Did you have any talk
- with her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well—I inquired after her headache,” said Miss Upton casually. “How
- is she this morning?” and with perfect <i>sang froid </i>she began to eat
- an egg American fashion, a proceeding which she well knew would make Sir
- Matthew shudder.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you, she is better,” he said, taking refuge in his cup of coffee.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m so glad,” said Miss Upton sweetly. “We must have some more
- thought-reading this evening, Mr. Wylie. Perhaps Miss Ewart will be able
- to show me the experiment you were speaking of the other night. You are
- always successful with her, are you not?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Dick Lewisham at an adjoining table bent low over his newspaper to hide
- his amusement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Unfortunately,” said the solicitor, “we are obliged to leave to-day, or
- it would have given me the greatest pleasure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a mistake to leave just when we are all such a nice, congenial
- party,” said the American. “Is Miss Ewart really fit to go? She looked so
- white and ill when I saw her yesterday.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She has been travelling about in Switzerland some time,” said Sir
- Matthew, “and will, I think, be glad to settle down at home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can understand that,” said Miss Upton. “I don’t think the hotel life
- was quite congenial to her. Now, we Americans are brought up to live in
- public from our childhood, it’s second nature to us, and we are accustomed
- to so much more liberty than you allow your girls. I suppose though your
- English girls are much more tractable and obedient than we are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew winced.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Comparisons are odious,” said Bruce Wylie, with ready politeness, and
- after a very scanty breakfast the two men retired discomforted, while Dick
- Lewisham and the bright-eyed American enjoyed a quiet laugh at their
- expense.
- </p>
- <p>
- To get any clue as to Evereld’s movements seemed impossible, and Sir
- Matthew did not care to put the matter into the hands of the police, or to
- employ a private detective. In his own mind he felt convinced that Evereld
- had gone to England, and he travelled home with the utmost speed, having
- first telegraphed to his confidential clerk to meet him at Victoria by the
- boat train on the following afternoon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “All well I hope, sir,” said Smither, the clerk, as Sir Matthew gave him a
- pleasant greeting.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite, thank you; did you get that address?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, sir,” and the clerk handed him a paper. “Da Costa the agent gave it
- me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- On the paper were inscribed the words, “Macneillie’s Company, September
- 20-27, Theatre Royal. Rilchester.” Sir Matthew promptly detached a key
- from his ring and handed it to Smither.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just see my portmanteau through the Custom House,” he said, “I must catch
- the next train at King’s Cross, and will only take my bag with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He drove off, but took the precaution of calling at the house in Queen
- Anne’s Gate that he might see whether any clue as to Evereld’s movements
- was to be had from Geraghty or Bridget. Their entire ignorance was however
- so transparent, and Bridget’s inquiries after her young mistress were so
- natural that he went off to King’s Cross more certain than ever that
- Evereld had avoided London and had gone straight to her lover. He dined in
- the train, arrived at Rilchester soon after ten o’clock that evening, took
- up his quarters at the Station Hotel, and sent a messenger to the stage
- door of the theatre to inquire as to Ralph Denmead’s address, being
- careful to avoid giving his name. When however he had obtained what he
- wanted and after some trouble had discovered the quiet street to which he
- had been directed, it was only to find that Ralph was still at the
- theatre.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’ll not be back for at least another half hour,” said the landlady.
- “Can I give him any message?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had better come in and wait,” said Sir Matthew.
- </p>
- <p>
- The landlady hesitated a moment, but being impressed as most people were
- by Sir Matthew’s manner and bearing, she admitted him and showed him into
- a fairly comfortable room where the supper-table was laid for two people.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have caught them,” said Sir Matthew to himself with an inward chuckle
- of satisfaction. “The little fool with her grand talk of the Lord
- Chancellor’s protection! She has ruined her case now. We shall have a
- scene, that can’t be helped. All’s well that ends well.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Picking up a newspaper he installed himself comfortably in an armchair,
- and awaited Ralph’s return. Presently steps were heard outside, the street
- door was opened, and two people entered the passage, he put down his paper
- and listened. The voice speaking was certainly Ralph’s.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s the worst house we have had this week, there weren’t a dozen people
- in the Stalls. Ah! I see there’s a note for you here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There followed sounds as of the opening of an envelope and then the door
- handle turned, and Sir Matthew looked up expectantly. Instead however of
- his runaway ward, there entered a middle-aged man intently reading an open
- letter; for a moment Sir Matthew failed to recognise the tired and rather
- despondent face, then it flashed upon him that this must be Hugh
- Macneillie. He moved somewhat uneasily, and the actor recalled to the
- present, lifted his eyes from the letter and looked at him in mute
- astonishment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I called to see Mr. Denmead,” said Sir Matthew, and at that moment Ralph
- blithe and cheerful as ever came into the room giving an astonished
- exclamation as he caught sight of his godfather. He greeted him however
- with all proper formality and introduced Macneillie. There was a momentary
- pause after that; the situation was somewhat embarrassing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope Evereld is well?” he said, chiefly for the sake of breaking the
- silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have come here to make inquiries about Evereld,” said Sir Matthew
- grimly. “Have the goodness to tell me at once where she is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is she not in Switzerland with Lady Mactavish?” said Ralph, astonishment
- and anxiety plainly to be seen in his face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My good fellow, I know you are an actor, but spare me this private
- exhibition,” said Sir Matthew waving his hand in the old manner. “You know
- that she has sought refuge with you, and the sooner you give her up to her
- lawful guardian the better it will be for you both.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think you must have gone out of your mind,” said Ralph, fuming. “How
- should I know anything of Evereld’s movements? She is unfortunately under
- your protection till she is of age. Do you mean that you have lost her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, that is exactly what I do mean,” said Sir Matthew wrathfully. “She
- merely left a letter behind her saying that she had gone to friends who
- would take care of her, and she had had the audacity on the previous day
- to tell me with her own lips that she would never marry any one but you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is gone?” said Ralph in horror. “But where?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is precisely what I want to learn from you?” said Sir Matthew with a
- cold sarcastic smile.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You brute!” said Ralph beside himself with passion. “How can you torture
- me like this? Tell me when she left you, and why? You must have treated
- her shamefully, or she would never have taken such a step.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You don’t impose upon me in the least by all this tragedy acting,” said
- Sir Matthew. “I am satisfied that you know quite well where she is.
- Probably she is in this house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph seemed on the point of springing at his torturer’s throat, when
- Macneillie laid a strong hand on his shoulder and drew him back.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear boy, leave this to me” he said. “Surely Sir Matthew, you cannot
- seriously believe that we know anything of Miss Ewart’s movements? From
- the little I know of her I should imagine she was far too right-minded and
- sensible to dream of attempting to seek refuge with her lover. I saw her
- once or twice in August when she was staying with Mrs. Hereford at
- Southbourne, and was struck by her quiet common-sense.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew was obliged to alter his tone, for he saw at once that there
- was force in what Macneillie said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She told me she had met you at Southbourne. I suppose it was there,
- Ralph, that you had the presumption to ask her to marry you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph had by this time recovered his self-control, he replied with a sort
- of quiet dignity which Sir Matthew resented much more than the outburst of
- anger.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was there that I told her I hoped some day to work my way up in the
- profession. It was there I learnt that our love was mutual. Surely she
- will have gone to Mrs. Hereford for protection. That would be her most
- natural impulse.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I had not thought of that. Are the Herefords in London?” said Sir
- Matthew, feeling that there was a good deal of sense in the suggestion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, they will not be back till Parliament meets, but I know their address
- in County Wicklow, and will telegraph to them to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew frowned: it galled him terribly to feel that he was helpless.
- </p>
- <p>
- “After all,” he exclaimed. “She may have had the sense to go to her old
- Governess in Germany. She would be far more likely to confide in her than
- in Mrs. Hereford. I will telegraph to Dresden and inquire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And when you have learnt where she is what do you propose to do?” said
- Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fetch her home, of course, and make her realise what people think of such
- escapades.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph seemed about to reply but he checked himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you imagine I was going to let her set me at defiance?” said Sir
- Matthew. “Do you think a girl of nineteen will get the better of me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Ralph, quietly. “I think she will.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew laughed maliciously and rose to go.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You’re a true Denmead,” he said. “Always sanguine, always foolish and
- unpractical. Well, good-night, Mr. Macneillie. I am sorry to have
- inflicted this visit on you. Good-night Ralph. Let me know at the Station
- Hotel as soon as you get a reply from the Herefords.” Ralph showed him to
- the door in silence, and returning to the sitting-room, flung himself down
- in a chair by the supper-table, and buried his face in his hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What can I do!” he groaned. “Surely there must be something I could do
- for her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Eat boy, eat,” said Macneillie in his genial voice. “You can’t think to
- any purpose when you are dog-tired and as hungry as a hunter. All very
- well for Sir Mathew to come in here and rant at half past eleven when he
- had dined luxuriously at eight, but for strolling players, who feed at
- four and work like galley slaves all the evening, it’s not so easy.”
- </p>
- <p>
- While he talked, he had been carving cold beef, and Ralph who at the best
- of times was a small supper eater, and had never felt less inclined for a
- meal, found himself forced to begin whether he would or not.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here’s a salad that I mixed this afternoon after Sydney Smith’s own
- receipt,” said Macneillie. “It would be sudden death to most men of this
- generation close upon midnight but it’s the reward of hard work to acquire
- the digestion of the ostrich and to sleep the sleep of the righteous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He talked on much in the way he had talked long ago in the Pass of Leny
- when he had helped Ralph along the road to Kilmahog; it was the sort of
- conversation which did not demand much response, but never failed to hold
- the hearer’s attention, because it was racy and humourous. But by and bye
- when they had lighted their pipes, he reverted to Sir Matthew’s visit.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Curious man, that ex-guardian of yours,” he said musingly. “I am not
- surprised that you two never hit it off. I wonder what it was that drove
- little Miss Ewart to take such a decided step.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am certain it was some question of marriage,” said Ralph. “Probably he
- wanted that brute Wylie to have the control of her fortune. I have always
- detested that man. Governor! What am I to do? Will you spare me for a week
- and let me see if I can help her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, my dear boy, I will not do anything of the sort,” said Macneillie
- resolutely, yet with a most kindly look in his eyes. “I know it’s a hard
- thing for you to stay here and go on with your work as if nothing had
- happened, and while all the time you are sick with anxiety, but it’s what
- we all of us have to put up with now and again. Besides, you could do no
- good and you might do great harm. Those who know Miss Ewart best are the
- ones who ought to have most confidence in her womanly wisdom. Depend upon
- it she is perfectly safe. Such a quiet, well-bred girl as that might go
- alone unharmed from one end of Europe to the other.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph pushed back his chair and paced the room restlessly. “The suspense
- is the intolerable part of it,” he said, with a break in his voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have good reason to know how hard suspense is to bear,” said
- Macneillie. “And yet it’s not the worst, for there’s always a large
- mixture of hope in it. Come let us write out your telegram to the
- Herefords, it will need careful wording.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day was Sunday, but the telegraph office was open for two hours
- in the morning, and upon the stroke of eight Ralph stood at the door with
- his message to Ireland. He returned again between half past nine and ten
- and waited drearily in the office for the reply. But the deep bell of the
- cathedral boomed out the hour and still no answer came.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Open again between five and six, sir,” said the official, showing him to
- the door. And Ralph, miserably depressed, made his way to the cathedral.
- Here for a time he found comfort; but during the psalms the verger ushered
- a late-comer into the stall exactly facing him. He saw at a glance that it
- was Sir Matthew, and after that there was no more peace for him, but a
- dire struggle with his angry heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- After service was over, Sir Matthew joined him in the Close, greeting him
- just as if nothing had happened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you telegraph to the Herefords?” he asked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, but as yet there is no reply,” said Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And I have not heard back from Dresden. We shall both hear this
- afternoon. Come and dine with me at eight o’clock and you shall hear the
- result.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” said Ralph. “But we leave for Nottingham by the eight ten.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come to lunch now then.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But to sit down and eat with the man who had wrought such havoc in his
- life and had driven Evereld to take such a desperate step was more than
- Ralph could endure. He excused himself, promising, however, to come round
- at six o’clock to the hotel and report any news he might receive from
- Ireland. His face when he arrived was not reassuring; he looked pale and
- miserable.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What news?” said Sir Matthew eagerly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “None,” said Ralph, handing the telegram to his godfather. The words
- struck a chill to Sir Matthew’s heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- <i>“Know nothing about her at all. Imagined she was in Switzerland still with
- her guardian.”</i>
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have had a similar one from Dresden,” he replied. “She is not there and
- wrote last nearly a month ago.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is there any clue whatever in the letter she left behind for you?”
- suggested Ralph, with a strong desire to see it. Sir Matthew took from his
- breast-pocket a methodically arranged packet, and drew out Evereld’s note.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can find no clue in it,” he said, “perhaps you may be able to do so.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph eagerly read the letter. There was not the slightest hint as to the
- direction Evereld had taken, but something in the quiet assurance, the
- guarded, dignified tone of the short note brought him comfort. It revealed
- a side of his old play-fellow’s character which had hitherto lain dormant.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Sir Matthew sharply. “You look relieved. What do you make of
- it? Where do you think she has gone?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have no idea,” said Ralph. “The letter tells nothing. Still she
- wouldn’t have written so calmly and confidently if her plans had not been
- well thought out. Evereld is not impulsive. Perhaps she had met friends
- while you were travelling and has gone to them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I had a telegram in London from Bruce Wylie who went over to Champéry
- on purpose to interview a school friend she had met. She had heard nothing
- whatever about her. I shall have to set a private detective to work.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph flushed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You would surely not do that?” he said quickly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not? I must find her. And I intend to bring her back to my house.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Ralph, “the one thing that remains absolutely certain is that
- when Evereld says a thing she means it with her whole heart. She will
- certainly appeal to the Lord Chancellor, and I don’t think he will compel
- her to return to your house when he has heard the whole truth.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you dare to assert that I have not been in every respect a faithful
- and kind guardian to her? I who was her father’s oldest friend?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I assert nothing,” said Ralph bitterly, as he moved to the door. “But I
- can’t forget what your friendship for my father led to.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew made no reply, but turned abruptly to the window, the colour
- mounting to his temples. The closing of the door and the sound of Ralph’s
- retreating footsteps came as a relief.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If I had but guessed what a serpent’s tooth that boy would prove to me I
- would have shipped him straight off to the Colonies instead of educating
- him,” he thought to himself. “I was weak—pitiably weak! It was the
- look of Denmead’s face as he lay there dead that unmanned me. There was
- the ghastly quiet of the country, too, and the child with his old-world
- politeness, and that old lawyer with his suspicions. If I had only been
- sensible enough to stamp out all sentiment and do the practical thing at
- once my plans would not be thwarted now by a chit of a girl who has lost
- her heart to a penniless actor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- His face grew dark with anxiety and trouble as he reflected on the
- desperate position of his own affairs should Evereld succeed in baffling
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVII
- </h2>
- <p class="indent20">
- “When a friend asks, there is no to-morrow.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- George Herbert.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Evereld parted
- with the kindly American girl and Dick Lewisham a sense of great
- loneliness for a time overwhelmed her. She looked in a dazed way at the
- various delicacies displayed in the prettily arranged shop, wondering
- whether she would ever feel hungry again. Having at last selected some
- dainty little meat patties, and two crescent-shaped rolls, she walked on
- to the next halting-place of the electric tram, and, after a very brief
- waiting, found herself, to her great relief, comfortably installed in a
- corner seat <i>en route</i> for Vevey. She had judged it more prudent to
- take the tram, knowing that she would more easily be traced had she gone
- direct from Territet station to Geneva by the railroad or by steamer. When
- once they were safely out of Montreux, and the risk of meeting any of the
- visitors in the Rigi Vaudois was practically over, she breathed more
- freely, even finding time to enjoy the lovely glimpses of the lake and the
- mountains as they sped through Clarens and the pretty surroundings of
- Vevey.
- </p>
- <p>
- Arrived at length in that quaint old town, she was set down at the railway
- station, where she prudently took her ticket only as far as Lausanne,
- travelling second class because she knew that she was less liable to find
- herself alone, and had heard the continental saying that only fools and
- Englishmen travel first class. It was during the twenty minutes’ waiting
- time at Lausanne that her perplexities began.
- </p>
- <p>
- A kindly looking English lady, seeing that she seemed to be alone, sat
- down beside her and began to talk about the weather and the scenery.
- Finally she hazarded a direct question.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you a long journey before you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not very long,” said Evereld, colouring, as she glanced inquiringly into
- her companion’s face, as though to make sure what sort of person she was.
- In one sense the look reassured her, for the most suspicious mortal could
- not have credited this mild-faced lady with evil design, but, on the other
- hand, she was evidently one of those inquisitive mortals who delight in
- asking questions, in season and out of season.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am going myself to Geneva, if that is your direction we might perhaps
- travel together,” said the lady pleasantly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you,” said Evereld, reflecting that after all she could baffle the
- questions by reading when once they had started.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is not so easy for a girl to travel alone abroad as it is in England,”
- said her companion, looking curiously at Evereld’s girlish face. “I almost
- wonder your parents allow it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have no parents,” said Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed, and have you been staying with friends?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Evereld. “And I am on my way now to some other friends.”
- Murmuring an excuse she sprang up and went to the window to see whether
- the train was nearly ready.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is dreadful,” she reflected. “If we talk much longer she will drag
- the whole story out of me. I will buy some papers and try to make her
- read.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are sure your luggage is all right?” exclaimed the good lady the
- moment she returned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite sure, thank you,” said Evereld, clasping her hand bag closer and
- trembling lest she should be asked some quite unanswerable question.
- </p>
- <p>
- At length an official began vigorously to ring the great bell in the
- doorway and to shout the intelligence that passengers for Geneva and
- various other places must take their seats.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can I help you?” said Evereld, politely offering to take a basket from
- the large heap of possessions with which her neighbour was surrounded. She
- was startled to feel something jump inside it in an uncanny way.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you if you would. To tell the truth it is my little dog in there,
- but he is such a good traveller, I don’t think you will mind him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Shall I say that I detest dogs and so escape to another carriage?”
- reflected Evereld smiling to herself. But on the whole in spite of the
- tiresome questions she rather liked this good English lady and found a
- certain comfort in her presence when once they were installed in the
- train. Her spirits rose as they travelled further and further from the
- Mactavishs, she even grew hungry, made short work of the provisions she
- had bought, parried her friend’s questions skilfully by counter questions
- about the pet dog and finally took refuge in “Pride and Prejudice” and in
- the delicious humour of Jane Austen’s characters forgot all her dangers
- and difficulties till the train steamed into Geneva station.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose your friends will meet you?” asked the talkative lady as she
- fastened the dog up in his basket.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Evereld, “but I shall manage very well now, thank you,” and
- with rather hurried farewells she sprang from the carriage not offering to
- carry the basket any further but promising to send a porter. Fortunately
- her companion was in such a bustle with the effort of collecting her
- various belongings that she did not notice the English girl’s somewhat
- abrupt departure, and Evereld with a joyful sense of escape made her way
- to the outside of the station and getting into one of the little public
- carriages drove off to make her purchases in the town.
- </p>
- <p>
- Having bought an ulster and a warm shawl which made a very respectable
- show when put into her cloak straps she went back to the station, dined in
- a leisurely way and passed the rest of her two hours’ waiting time as
- patiently as she could. By six o’clock she was safely in the train once
- more, with the happy knowledge that she had no more changes that night,
- and would arrive at Lyons in rather more than four hours. Her heart danced
- for joy as she reflected that by the next afternoon she might have safely
- reached Bride O’Ryan and Aimée Magnay, her greatest friends, in Mrs.
- Magnay’s old home in Auvergne. That was the safe refuge towards which she
- was steering her course, that was the thought which had darted into her
- mind on the previous evening when she had decided that flight was the only
- thing under the circumstances.
- </p>
- <p>
- Later on however when darkness had stolen like a pall over the landscape,
- when weary with want of sleep and worn out with excitement and anxiety,
- the glad sense of escape died away, she grew unutterably sad-hearted and
- forlorn.
- </p>
- <p>
- At the other end of the carriage two men wrangled together over the vexed
- question of having the window open or shut. A fat French lady went to
- sleep and snored monotonously, just opposite her a young couple on their
- honeymoon laughed and chatted in low tones with much outward
- demonstration, while beyond a young mother sat with her baby in her arms,
- an air of placid content on her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- Never before had Evereld felt such a unit, never before had she realised
- how really alone she was in the world. She shuddered to think what would
- have become of her if Ralph had never crossed her path. And then as the
- engine throbbed on through the darkness all those terrors of imagining
- from which her healthy uneventful life had so far been exempt, laid strong
- hold upon her, and made the night hideous.
- </p>
- <p>
- She saw Ralph lying ill and forlorn in a fever hospital. She saw him lying
- with pale lips and hands folded in the awful calm of death. She saw
- herself alone and brokenhearted, struggling to make something of her
- maimed life and failing in the attempt. She saw Sir Matthew tracking her
- out and carrying her back to the house in Queen Anne’s Gate. Worst of all
- she saw herself standing in church and passively allowing herself to be
- married to Bruce Wylie.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had just reached this climax in her miserable thoughts when as the
- train stopped at the wayside station the door of the carriage was opened
- and in came a very aged priest whose rusty black raiment had an old and
- somewhat countrified look. His thin, worn face might have been stern in
- youth, but the passing years had mellowed it, and like Southey’s holly
- tree what had once been sharp and aggressive had grown tender as it more
- nearly approached heaven. His keen eyes seemed to take in the occupants of
- the carriage in one glance and he at once divined that the sad little
- English girl in the corner was for some reason feeling altogether
- desolate. He took the vacant place beside her and began to unwrap a
- package which he carried. It proved to be a cage containing a bullfinch,
- and Evereld watched with interest the scared fluttering of the bird and
- the gentle reassuring face of the old man as he tried to pacify it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is its first journey,” he said glancing at her. “The unaccustomed has
- terrors for us all. It will soon understand that it is quite safe. Eh,
- Fifi? Should I let any harm happen to thee, thou foolish one?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can it sing any tune?” said Evereld. “We had one in London that sang a
- bit of the National Anthem.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And Fifi is just as patriotic,” said the old priest laughing, “he will
- pipe two lines of <i>Partant pour la Syrie</i>, I am taking him to cheer
- up one of my parishioners who is lying ill at Lyons. He will think Fifi
- from the Presbytère almost as good as one of his own friends from the
- village. And when the lad is better why he will bring back this winged
- missionary to me. My old housekeeper would not hear of parting with Fifi
- altogether, he is the life of the house she says.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The bird growing now more accustomed to its strange surroundings piped
- cheerfully the familiar air of the refrain
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- “Amour a la plus belle
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Honneur au plus vaillant.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah! he sings better than ours ever did,” said Evereld thinking of the
- bird Ralph had brought from Whinhaven.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And he is more tractable than a choir boy,” said the old priest laughing.
- “Does he sing too loud and tire one’s head—it is but to cover his
- cage and he is as quiet as any mouse.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After that they drifted into talk about life in rural France, and by the
- time they reached Lyons Evereld felt that the old man had become quite a
- friend.
- </p>
- <p>
- The other passengers scrambled out of the carriage each intent on his own
- affairs, but the priest helped her courteously with her roll of cloaks.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would you mind telling me what is the best and most quiet hotel to go
- to?” she asked. “I cannot get on any further till nine o’clock to-morrow
- morning. I am on my way to stay with friends near Clermont-Ferrand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are over young my child,” he said, “to travel unprotected. But I know
- it is not in England as with us, the young <i>demoiselles</i> have greater
- liberty. The best plan will be for you to go to an Hotel close by. As it
- happens I know the manager and his wife and if you will permit me I will
- walk with you to the door, and ask them to take good care of you. I think
- you are like Fifi, not over well-accustomed to travelling.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Thank you very much,” said Evereld gratefully. “Now I shall feel safe
- indeed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The old priest piloted her across the crowded platform and having given
- her luggage to the hotel porter himself took her to the Manager’s little
- office where Madame, a comely and pleasant looking woman, sat at her desk
- busily casting up accounts. Her face lighted up at sight of the old man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A thousand welcomes Father Nicolas, it is long since you paid us a
- visit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are well,” said the old priest, “I need not ask that, for it is
- easily to be seen, and busy as usual. Is your husband in?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He will be desolated, but he has gone to his Club.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, well, I will call and see him to-morrow. In the meantime will you
- kindly do your utmost to make this young English lady feel at home and
- comfortable. She is unable to travel further till the 8.59 to-morrow
- morning. I leave you in good hands,” he said, taking kindly leave of
- Evereld, “Madame has a great reputation for taking good care of her
- guests.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It will be my greatest pleasure,” said the manager’s wife. “Mademoiselle
- looks tired and will doubtless like to go to her room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld assented and toiled upstairs after the brisk capable looking
- manageress who chatted pleasantly as they went.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has the best of hearts, old Father Nicolas,” she said. “I have known
- him since I was a child. There is not a living thing I verily believe that
- he does not love. It was a sight to see him standing on a winter’s morning
- in the garden of the Presbytère and feeding the birds before he went to
- Mass.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where does he live?” asked Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “At Arvron, a little village where there are many poor. His people adore
- him. This will be your room, mademoiselle, and shall I send you up a
- little hot soup to take the last thing, or will you rather come down to
- the <i>salle à manger?</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like it here please,” said Evereld. “And you won’t let me
- over-sleep myself and miss the train to-morrow. I am so tired, I think I
- should sleep the clock round if no one called me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will call you myself,” said the manageress. “It is a busy life here and
- I am always an early riser. <i>Bon soir, mademoiselle</i>. I hope you will
- be quite rested by the morning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How much easier it has all been than I expected,” thought Evereld, as she
- made her preparations for the night. “To think that this time yesterday I
- was at Glion and in such a panic lest anything should prevent my getting
- away! I wonder whether I had better telegraph to Mrs. Magnay, and tell her
- I am on my way to ask her protection? I don’t think I will. It might lead
- to my being traced later on, and besides I have no idea whether there is a
- telegraph office within reasonable reach of the Chateau. How I wonder what
- it will be like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her reflections were interrupted by the arrival of a pretty young
- chambermaid who brought her a basin of the most delicious soup; and long
- before midnight she was sound asleep and dreaming of Bride and Aimée.
- </p>
- <p>
- She woke up in excellent spirits, chatted with Madame as she breakfasted
- on the coffee and rolls, which the pretty chambermaid brought to her
- bedroom, and set off on the next stage of her journey full of hope for the
- future and relief that all had passed off so well. At that very minute Sir
- Matthew Mactavish was ruefully regarding her empty room at Glion and
- wondering how he could possibly trace her out. But Evereld was too busy to
- trouble herself much over the thought of his well-deserved discomfiture.
- Every one seemed intent on being kind to her here. The Manageress was
- almost motherly in her solicitude, the chambermaid waited on her as though
- service were a pleasure, and the hotel porter neglected the other
- passengers in the omnibus until he had seen her safely established in the
- <i>salle d’attente</i> with her possessions. Here to her surprise she
- found old Father Nicolas reading his breviary.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was too early yet to see the sick lad I told you of,” he explained,
- “so I thought I would start you on your way, if you will permit me the
- pleasure.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall never forget all your kindness,” she said gratefully. “I was
- feeling so dreadfully alone till you got into the train last night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well it is no bad thing to learn what loneliness means,” said the old man
- thoughtfully. “Nothing so well teaches you to go through life on the look
- out for the lonely, that you may serve them. Ha! They come to announce
- your train. I will inquire if you have a change of carriages at
- Montbrison.” He hurried away, returning in a minute or two to help her
- with her packages.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I am sorry to say they will turn you out at Montbrison, but you will
- have only ten minutes waiting and no difficulty at all in that quiet
- place. I see M. Dubochet and his two daughters—very pleasant people—will
- you go in the same carriage?”
- </p>
- <p>
- And so with a few pleasant words of introduction to Mademoiselle Dubochet,
- Father Nicolas bade Evereld God-speed, and as the train moved off she
- looked out wistfully after her kindly old friend, wondering whether she
- should ever again come across him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The clock was striking five when after an uneventful journey Evereld found
- herself outside the station at Clermont-Ferrand, giving orders to a
- somewhat rough-looking Auvergnat to drive her to the Château de Mabillon.
- The man seemed inclined to hold out for a certain sum for the journey and
- as Evereld had no notion of the distance, she was determined to make no
- rash promises. It would never do to be extravagant now, for there was no
- saying how long her last allowance would have to supply her wants.
- </p>
- <p>
- “M. Magnay will settle with you when we reach the château,” she said with
- a little touch of dignity in her manner. The man instantly subsided,
- feeling that he had no stranger to deal with, but a friend of the family.
- And Claude Magnay’s name was quite sufficient to assure him that he would
- receive his rightful fare, but not the extortionate sum he had demanded of
- the new comer.
- </p>
- <p>
- The little incident had however depressed Evereld. She had spoken
- confidently to the man but now a qualm of doubt came over her. She was
- about to cast herself on the mercy of Aimée’s parents, and after all she
- knew little about them: on their occasional visits to Southbourne, she had
- gone with Aimée and Bride to spend Saturday afternoon with them, and she
- had been three or four times to their London house, but she realised now
- that she was going to ask a very great favour of them, and that possibly
- they might not care to shelter her from her lawful guardian.
- </p>
- <p>
- These thoughts lasted all the time they were driving through the narrow
- and dingy streets of Clermont-Ferrand, and she fancied that the lava built
- houses seemed to frown upon her and to assure her that she was an
- unwelcome visitor. Before long however they had left the town behind them
- and were driving through the most beautiful country, and in that sunny
- smiling landscape it was impossible to give way to anxious thoughts. The
- glowing colours of the autumn leaves, the picturesque vineyards, the river
- with its gleaming water reflecting the blue sky, and the strange irregular
- mountains which rose on every hand filled her with delight.
- </p>
- <p>
- The sun had set when at length they reached a narrower and more secluded
- valley; Evereld fancied they must be getting near to Mabillon and inquired
- of her driver.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is two kilometres to the chateau,” said the Auvergnat. Then after a
- few minutes he again turned round from the box seat. “Madame Magnay and
- her daughter are down at the mill yonder,” he said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, stop then, and let me speak to them,” said Evereld eagerly; and
- springing from the carriage she hastened towards Aimée who quickly
- perceived her and ran forward with a cry of joyful astonishment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This is a delightful surprise. Are you travelling back through France?
- Mother, you remember Evereld?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Magnay gave her a charming greeting, containing all the warmth and
- animation which English greetings so often lack.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I remember Evereld very well, and am more delighted than I can say to
- welcome her to my dear old home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are very good,” said Evereld shyly, “I have come to you because I was
- in great trouble, and I thought—I felt sure—you would help and
- advise me. It is impossible for me to stay longer with Sir Matthew
- Mactavish.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes were full of tears, and Mrs. Magnay taking her hand began to lead
- her towards the carriage.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are quite tired out, poor child,” she said caressingly. “We are very
- sorry for your trouble, but very glad that it brought you to Mabillon.
- This evening you shall tell us all about it. Do you see that pretty girl
- waving her hand to us from the cottage door? That is my dear old Javotte’s
- granddaughter. Aimée has told you how she starved herself in the siege of
- Paris that we might have food enough. Dear old woman!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And here is one of the best views of Mont D’Or,” said Aimée, “only the
- light is fading so fast you can’t properly see it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Chatting thus, they soon reached the old château, a great part of which
- had now been carefully restored, and Mrs. Magnay seeing how pale and worn
- her guest looked, determined to take her straight upstairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Run Aimée,” she said, “and tell your father to settle with the driver,
- and then bring a cup of tea for Evereld. I shall take her to Bride’s room,
- she will be more snug in there I think.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So Evereld was taken straight to her friend, and then while Mrs. Magnay
- herself kindled the wood fire, and daintily piled up fir-cones to catch
- the blaze, Bride made her rest in the snuggest of easy chairs, and she had
- very soon told them the whole story.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know nothing of English law,” said Mrs. Magnay. “Are you sure you can
- put yourself under the protection of the Lord Chancellor?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think so,” said Evereld. “Don’t you remember, Bride, how we used to
- tease you about your answer in that examination we had, when you wrote—‘The
- Lord Chancellor must be a very busy man for Blackstone says he is the
- natural guardian of all orphans, idiots and lunatics.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- “To be sure I do,” said Bride laughing. “Well if Blackstone says so, you
- must surely be right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will go and talk over matters with my husband, and see what he advises,
- and in the meantime, Bride, I strongly advise you to put Evereld to bed.
- She looks to me quite tired out. Rest and forget your troubles, dear. No
- one can molest you at Mabillon, and you say that Sir Matthew can have no
- clue to your whereabouts.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, he will naturally think I have gone to Mrs. Hereford, or to my old
- governess at Dresden,” said Evereld. “To-morrow I must write to Mrs.
- Hereford and ask her to let Ralph know that I am safe. I am so afraid he
- may hear that I have disappeared and be anxious about me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Write to him,” said Bride, “and let Doreen forward your letter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the meantime Mrs. Magnay told the whole story to her husband, and it
- was decided that he should put the case straight into the hands of a
- London solicitor. Evereld, being consulted as to the one she would prefer,
- unhesitatingly named Ralph’s old friend Mr. Marriott of Basinghall Street,
- and as Claude Magnay knew that she could not have mentioned a more
- trustworthy and efficient man he wrote to him and made her on the
- following morning also write with a full description of all that had
- passed, of her suspicions with regard to her fortune and of her wish for a
- thorough investigation of her affairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXVIII
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “No action whether foul or fair,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Is ever done, but it leaves somewhere
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- A record, written by fingers ghostly,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- As a blessing or a curse, and mostly
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- In the greater weakness or greater strength
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Of the acts that follow it, till at length
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The wrongs of ages are redressed,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And the justice of God made manifest.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- The Golden Legend.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">R</span>alph’s anxieties
- came to an end while the Company were fulfilling their engagement at
- Nottingham. For one never to be forgotten day there arrived a letter from
- Mrs. Hereford, enclosing a long letter on foreign paper from Evereld. The
- sheet bore no address and she did not mention the name of the friends who
- were taking care of her, but she told him all about their kindness, and
- that Bride O’Ryan was with her, that she was quite safe from molestation
- and in the depths of the country far away among mountains and woods, where
- neither Sir Matthew nor Bruce Wylie could trouble her peace.
- </p>
- <p>
- Later on came news from Mrs. Hereford that Evereld’s affairs had been put
- into the hands of Mr. Marriott, and that Mr. Hereford was in consultation
- with the old lawyer and would do everything he possibly could: offering,
- if it were thought well, to become Evereld’s guardian and trustee should
- the Lord Chancellor decide to deprive Sir Matthew of the Trusteeship.
- After that for some time came no news at all.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last, growing anxious, Ralph made a hurried expedition to town late one
- Saturday night, and sought out his old friend Mr. Marriott on Sunday.
- </p>
- <p>
- He could not however get anything very definite out of him. Mr. Marriott
- was always reserved and cautious, but he set him quite at rest as far as
- Evereld was concerned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is perfectly safe and Sir Matthew can’t touch her, for she is now a
- ward of Court,” he said reassuringly. “I am not yet at liberty to speak to
- you as to details. I think however your old prejudice against Sir Matthew
- Mactavish was not without foundation. Unless I am much mistaken, he will
- soon be unmasked. Now to turn to quite another matter;—I understand
- from my client Lady Fenchurch, that you were present at Edinburgh last
- summer and met Sir Roderick. Tell me as carefully as you can all that
- passed while you were present.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph related all that he could remember.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We have exactly the same sort of evidence from many other witnesses of
- similar scenes,” said the lawyer. “It will not be worth while calling you
- to appear at the trial. If you had witnessed any sort of violence,
- physical violence, we should subpoena you at once.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When does the case come on?” said Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Possibly next week, but there
- is always great uncertainty as to the exact date.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph’s thoughts naturally turned to Macneillie and he remembered his
- words about suspense being tolerable because it was always so largely
- mixed with hope.
- </p>
- <p>
- The lawyer, however, who knew nothing of his reasons for taking interest
- in the Fenchurch case, fancied the shadow on his face was caused by
- anxiety for Evereld Ewart, and began to talk in a kindly way of her
- future.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” he said, “I can understand that under the circumstances it is
- hard for you not to be allowed even to know where Miss Ewart is. But it is
- safer that you should only communicate with her through Mr. and Mrs.
- Hereford. Who can tell that Sir Matthew may not pounce down on you again
- as he did at Rilchester. You know that she is safe and well and for the
- present that must suffice you. I have good reason to believe that the
- world will soon see Sir Matthew Mactavish in his true colours, and what
- will happen then no one can foretell. There are storms ahead, but I think
- they are storms which will at any rate clear your way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After this enigmatical speech Ralph went back to his work, somewhat
- perplexed, yet on the whole relieved and hopeful. There followed ten
- uneventful days and then one morning at Brighton, when he came down to
- breakfast and opened the paper, the first thing that caught his eye was a
- brief paragraph just before the leading article.
- </p>
- <p>
- “In the Divorce Division yesterday the President and a Common Jury had
- before them the case of Fenchurch v. Fenchurch and Mackay. The adultery
- was not denied but the evidence failed to show legal cruelty on the part
- of the defendant. His Lordship was therefore unable to grant a decree
- nisi, but ordered a judicial separation with costs, and directed the
- amount to be paid into Court in a fortnight. Lady Fenchurch is well known
- to the public under her stage name of Miss Christine Greville.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is not yet free from that brute then,” thought Ralph, a sick feeling
- of disappointment stealing over him as he realised how this news would
- darken his friend’s sky, how it would for ever cheat him of his heart’s
- desire. Hastily turning the paper to read the longer report, he found a
- whole column with the sensational heading, “Theatrical Divorce Suit,” and
- feeling how it would all grate upon Macneillie, longed to keep the
- newspaper from him. “He shall at any rate have his breakfast in peace,” he
- reflected, and crushing the paper in his hands he flung it into the fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- The blaze had only just died down when Macneillie entered. He seemed in
- unusually good spirits; they had had good houses for three nights,
- moreover the weather was bright and clear, and the autumn sunshine of the
- south coast seemed doubly delightful after a gloomy tour in the midlands.
- Ralph thought he had never seen him look so young and buoyant and hopeful
- as just at that moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nothing like Brighton air for making a man hungry,” said Macneillie
- devouring a plateful of porridge and helping himself to eggs and bacon.
- “Have they brought round the letters from the theatre?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph handed him a budget, hoping that it would occupy him and make him
- forget the paper! But there were no letters of importance and Macneillie
- suddenly remembering that there might by chance be news of the Fenchurch
- case, which he was aware would probably come on during November, looked
- eagerly round the table.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No newspaper?” he said. “How’s that? The Smith boy must have played us
- false.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will run out and get one,” said Ralph. “Will you have any of the local
- ones, too?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, let us see what they have to say about ‘The Winter’s Tale,’” said
- Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph disappeared and Macneillie having finished his breakfast rang for
- the maid to clear.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you taken our newspaper to any of the other lodgers by mistake?” he
- asked, beginning to feel impatient for it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, sir,” said the maid. “It’s in here, at least—” looking round in
- surprise, “I know it was in here. Mr. Denmead must have taken it away. I
- saw him open it when I brought in the coffee.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then in a flash it dawned upon Macneillie that Ralph had made away with
- the paper because it contained bad news.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The boy couldn’t stand seeing me come upon it suddenly,” he thought to
- himself. “He wanted me to breakfast first. No one but Ralph would have
- thought of that! It is the worst news. I must be ready to bear it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood by the window looking out at the great expanse of sea with its
- blue surface crisply ruffled by the fresh wind. Away to the left the
- graceful outline of the chain pier seemed to speak of old fashioned
- Brighton, and it took him back to a time at least seventeen years ago in
- the very earliest days of his betrothal to Christine. How vividly the very
- tiniest details of the past came back to him. It had been in the days of
- aestheticism and high art colouring, a style which had suited Christine to
- perfection. He could remember, too, how at one of the little old-fashioned
- stalls he had bought her a dirk-shaped Scotch shawl brooch with a
- cairngorm stone in it; they had been far too poor in those days to dream
- of diamonds.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She was only a child of seventeen,” he thought to himself, “younger than
- Evereld Ewart; and I was not perhaps so very much older than that young
- fellow over the way. Yes, I was though—it is Ralph! How slowly he is
- walking. I believe the boy cares for me, he hates to be the bearer of ill
- news.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph’s usually cheerful face was curiously over-cast; he put down the
- papers, muttered something about “going to Brill’s for a swim,” and made
- for the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Rehearsal at eleven, don’t forget,” said Macneillie, taking up the London
- paper with a steady hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was glad to be alone, and in the midst of his grievous pain he felt
- grateful to Ralph for that little touch of considerateness which had
- spared him to some extent,—that strategem which had deferred his
- evil day. For as he had said his suspense had been largely mixed with
- hope, he had tried to face the other alternative but his very sense of
- justice had inclined him to be hopeful. It surely could not be that after
- these long years of suffering there should be no release? Max Hereford’s
- words had chilled him for the time, but spite of them the hope had
- predominated. Now hope lay dead,—remorselessly slain by this unequal
- English law, which as a Scotsman seemed to him so extraordinary so
- intolerably unfair.
- </p>
- <p>
- When a law is manifestly unjust,—when it flatly contradicts the
- foundation truth of Christianity that in Christ all are equal, that there
- is neither bond nor free, male nor female—there comes to every one
- of strong passions the temptation to break the law. It is such a hard
- thing to wait patiently for the slow tedious process of reform, that the
- headstrong and the impetuous and the self-indulgent, and all who have not
- learnt a stern self-control, will often take the law into their own hands
- and defy the world. Macneillie reaped now the benefit of long years of
- self-repression and suffering. He saw very clearly that it is only
- justifiable to break the law of the land when it interferes with a higher
- duty; that to break even a bad law because it interfered with one’s
- cherished desire could never be right; that to admit such a course to be
- right must sap the very foundations of society.
- </p>
- <p>
- He saw it all plainly enough, yet, being human, could not at once shake
- himself free from the haunting consciousness that it lay in his power to
- choose present happiness, that in such a case the world would quickly
- condone the offence, and—greatest temptation of all—that he
- might shield Christine from the difficulties and dangers that were but too
- likely to assail one in her position.
- </p>
- <p>
- Fortunately he had but little spare time on his hands, it was already a
- quarter to eleven and the mere habit of rigorous punctuality came to his
- help.
- </p>
- <p>
- He walked down the parade, and the fresh air and the salt sea breeze
- invigorated him, his mind went back, sadly enough, yet with greater
- safety, from the future to the past, he seemed to be young once more and
- crossing this very Steyne with a tall golden-haired girl, who still
- retained something of the simplicity and innocence which she had brought
- with her from her quiet school in the country. She was beside him as he
- passed through Castle Square, beside him as he walked up North Street,
- beside him as he went along the Colonnade and entered the stage door of
- the very same theatre where they had acted together all those years ago.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a rehearsal of “Romeo and Juliet” chiefly for the sake of Ralph,
- who was the understudy for Romeo and was obliged to play the part that
- evening owing to the illness of the Juvenile Lead—John Carrington.
- </p>
- <p>
- Though of course perfect in his words, he needed a good deal of
- instruction, and Macneillie who always found him a pupil after his own
- heart, receptive, quick, eager to learn, and with that touch of genius
- which is as rare as it is delightful, forgot for a time all his troubles
- in the pleasure of teaching. And if, after the night’s performance was
- over and his satisfaction with his pupil’s success had had time to pass
- into the background, the old temptation came back once more, it came back
- with lessened power and found a stronger man to grapple with it.
- </p>
- <p>
- No word passed between master and pupil as to the bad news the morning had
- brought, except that as Ralph, somewhat sooner than usual, bade the
- Manager goodnight, Macneillie with his most kindly look said to him:—
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your Romeo is the best thing you have done yet. The saying goes, you
- know, that no man has the power to act Romeo till he looks too old for the
- part; you have done something towards falsifying that axiom, and have
- cheered a dark day for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I owe everything to you, Governor,” said Ralph gripping his hand; and as
- he turned away he felt that he would have given up all and been content to
- play walking gentleman for the rest of his days if only Macneillie could
- be spared this grievous trial that had come upon him. He prayed for a
- reform of the law as he had never prayed in his life.
- </p>
- <p>
- Left alone, Macneillie paced silently up and down the room, deep in
- thought. At length in the small hours of the night, he took pen and paper
- and wrote the following letter:—
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear Christine:
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is impossible after our talk last summer in Scotland, to let such a
- time as this pass by in silence. You well know that I love you, nor will I
- pretend ignorance of your love for me. Let us be honest and face facts;—truth
- makes even what we are called on to bear more endurable. It is because I
- love and honour you that I write to bid you farewell. Let us at least be
- law-abiding citizens, even though the law be a one-sided, unjust law.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe from my heart, that Christ, though disallowing divorce, with
- its natural sequence another marriage, for all the trivial reasons which
- the Jews were in the habit of putting forward, distinctly permitted them
- where a marriage had been broken by the faithlessness of a guilty partner.
- And assuredly He never set up one standard of morality for men and another
- for women; His words must apply equally to both.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Doubtless some day the gross injustice of the existing English law will
- be removed, and as in Scotland there will be one and the same law for men
- and women in this matter. For that day I wait and hope. For many reasons I
- do not ask now to see you. Is it not better that we should not meet? I am
- convinced that it is safer and wiser that we should—both for our own
- sakes and for the sake of the profession—keep apart. Many may think
- this mere old-fashioned prejudice, but I believe I should serve you better
- at a distance than by dangling about you and so giving a handle to those
- scandal-mongers who love nothing so dearly as to make free with the name
- of some well-known actress.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I dare not write more, save just to beg and pray that if there should
- ever be a time when you are in any danger or difficulty, and others—better
- fitted to serve because more indifferent—are not at hand, you will
- then turn to me for help.
- </p>
- <p>
- “God bless you. Good bye.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yours ever,
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hugh Macneillie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The letter reached Christine at Monkton Verney and the sight of it made
- the colour rush to her pale face. What she hoped, what she feared she
- scarcely knew herself, her heart was all in tumult. She read it in
- feverish haste, then again slowly and carefully, and yet a third time
- through fast gathering tears. How strangely it contrasted with the
- so-called love letters she had received from some men! And yet how
- infinitely more it moved her by its calmness and self-restraint!
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was unworthy of you in the past,” she thought. “But God helping me I
- will try to be more worthy now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And without further delay,—dreading perhaps to put off the difficult
- task—she wrote him a letter which had in it the fervour of a new and
- strong resolve, and the beauty of a perfectly sincere response of soul to
- soul.
- </p>
- <p>
- After that she plunged straight into business, and about noon sought out
- Miss Claremont and, walking with her in the quiet grounds near the ruined
- priory, told her of the plans she had made for the future.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have as you know made over the management of the theatre to Barry
- Sterne. He and his wife have been very good to me for many years, and it
- is better now that I should not again be burdened with all the cares of a
- Manageress. He proposes that I should take the part of the heroine in the
- new play that he is bringing out in January and I have just written to him
- accepting the proposal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you fit yet for work?” asked Miss Claremont looking a little
- doubtfully into her companion’s face; it was curiously beautiful this
- morning, but not with the beauty of physical strength. Indeed Christine
- had never looked capable of bearing any very great strain and the last few
- days had taxed her powers to the utmost.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I must get to work,” she said quietly. “There is no safety in idleness.
- How odd it seems that a physical break-down comes generally through
- overwork, and a moral break-down through too little work.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “When must you leave us?” asked Miss Claremont.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I had better go next week, and if you will keep Charlie a few
- days longer I can settle into that flat in Victoria Street which I have
- the refusal of. I shall manage very well there with my maid, and with
- Dugald to wait on Charlie; it will be necessary to live a quiet life for
- many reasons.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Miss Claremont assented, nor was it possible to raise any objection to her
- companion’s plans. But she could not help secretly wondering whether, with
- all her good intentions, Christine was strong enough either in health or
- in character to live a life so beset with difficulties.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXIX
- </h2>
- <p>
- “<i>It seems indeed one of the deepest of moral laws, that under the
- stress of trial men will strongly tend at least to be whatever in quieter
- hours they have made themselves.</i>”—“The Spirit of Discipline.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Dean Paget.
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">D</span>ecember was now
- half over and Macneillie’s company had got as far as Southampton in their
- progress along the south coast. It was no slight pleasure to Ralph to find
- himself back in his old neighbourhood, and to act in the very theatre
- where long ago his father had taken him to see Washington in “The Bells.”
- He had heard nothing more from Mr. Marriott, and Evereld’s letters
- contained no reference to business matters, but were taken up with
- descriptions of life in the French country house, and of the happy time
- she was having with Bride O’Ryan.
- </p>
- <p>
- It happened one day that as there was no rehearsal Ralph was able to walk
- over to Whinhaven. There were however very few of his old friends left in
- the neighbourhood.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir John and Lady Tresidder were in India, pretty Mabel Tresidder had
- married an officer and he had no idea of her present whereabouts, while
- even in the village there were many changes. Langston his coast-guard
- friend had got promotion and others had left the place or had died. He
- felt like a returned ghost as he wandered about the well-known lanes, and
- glanced at the familiar garden and at the unchanged outlines of the
- Rectory. A little child was playing with a pet rabbit on the lawn just as
- he had played in old times. He stood for a minute at the gate watching it
- with a strange feeling at his heart which was not all pain, but rather a
- sort of tender regret and a glad sense of gratitude for a happy childhood
- of which no one could ever rob him. For the rest his return was like all
- such returns. He found the church unaltered, the houses bereft of some of
- their old inhabitants and the church-yard more full.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph however was not a man who liked to linger among graves, he stood
- only for a minute by the tomb of his father and mother, and passed on to
- that little nook in the park which they had always called the “goodly
- heritage.” It was as beautiful as ever, even in leafless December. The
- robins were singing blithely, the little brook rippled at the foot of the
- steep descent, and an adventurous squirrel had stolen out of his sleeping
- place to investigate his secret stores and to take a brief scamper among
- the branches. Some day, Ralph thought to himself, he would bring Evereld
- to see it all, and with that his thoughts travelled away into a happy
- future, and as he walked back to the nearest station regrets for the past
- were merged in the realisation that the best part of his life was still
- before him, and that many of his dark days had been lived through.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was only just in time to catch the train and was hurriedly searching
- for a place when he was startled to hear himself called by his Christian
- name, and glancing round he saw someone beckoning to him from a carriage
- at a little distance. The door was opened for him, he stepped in, and to
- his amazement recognised in the dim light the well-known features of his
- Godfather. There was no other occupant of the carriage and Ralph
- remembering how they had parted at Rilchester would fain have beat a
- retreat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are going to Southampton?” asked Sir Matthew. “I heard Macneillie’s
- company was there and I came partly for the sake of seeing you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you bring news of Evereld?” asked Ralph eagerly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Sir Matthew, “she has succeeded in baffling me, you were right
- there. It is to her wilfulness that all my misfortunes are due.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph bit his lip to keep back the retort that occurred to him. For a
- minute the two looked at each other searchingly. Sir Matthew felt a
- sinking of the heart as he noticed the angry light in his companion’s
- eyes. Ralph on the other hand was perplexed by the pallor and dejection of
- hiss Godfather’s face. The Company promoter seemed quite another man, he
- looked old and broken, all his suavity of manner, his business-like,
- capable air had vanished.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am ruined,” he said; “worse than ruined—I am disgraced. At any
- moment I may be arrested unless I can succeed in leaving the country
- unnoticed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph listened to this startling announcement with an impassive face. He
- hardened his heart against the man who had dealt harshly with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I suppose it means,” he said, “that another of your Companies has failed
- and that this time you have suffered yourself, besides ruining hundreds as
- you ruined my father.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “God knows how I regretted his losses,” said Sir Matthew and for the time
- there was a ring of genuine feeling in his voice. “It was for that reason
- I adopted you, that I educated you, that I took you straight to my own
- home. Have you forgotten that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sir, you never gave me a chance of forgetting it,” said Ralph bitterly,
- all his worst self called out by contact with this man whom he detested.
- “Had I listened to your temptation I should now have been pledged to
- become a money-grubbing priest, a trader in holy things, a disgrace to the
- church.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He pulled himself up, recollecting that he was not much to boast of as it
- was—but a faulty, irritable mortal, full now of resentment, and
- hatred and contemptuous anger.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps you were right,” said Sir Matthew with a sigh. “I admit that I
- was harsh with you that day, and you have a right to hit me now that I am
- down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph instantly responded to this appeal as the astute Sir Matthew had
- calculated.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t let us speak of the past,” he said in an altered tone, “I owe you
- my education and I try to be grateful for that. Why did you wish to see
- me? What do you want with me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We are almost at Southampton,” said Sir Matthew glancing at the lights of
- the town. “Let me come to your rooms with you and I will there explain
- matters. Is this St. Denys? They stop for tickets here I suppose; have the
- goodness to give mine to the collector.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He moved to the further end of the carriage and began to unstrap some rugs
- from which he took a highland maud. He was still stooping over the straps
- when the tickets wore collected. Then as soon as they moved on once more
- he began to swathe himself elaborately in his tartan.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can I see you alone?” he inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Ralph, “I am usually with Mr. Macneillie, but he has friends
- in Southampton and is staying with them, so I happen to be quite alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All the better” said Sir Matthew a touch of his old manner returning to
- him. “We will take a cab. I have only this gladstone with me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And accepting Ralph’s offer to carry his bag, he drew the tartan carefully
- over the lower part of his face and crossed the platform swiftly to the
- cabstand.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph felt like one in a dream as they drove through the town to his
- lodgings, and several times he recalled the day when as a child he had
- last left Whinhaven, and Sir Matthew and he had sat thus side by side
- driving through the crowded London streets to Queen Anne’s Gate.
- </p>
- <p>
- The tables were turned indeed! It occurred to him even more strikingly as
- he took Sir Matthew into his snug little sitting-room in Portland Street
- and saw him warming his hands at the fire. Recollecting that his Godfather
- was a great tea-drinker, he rang at once and ordered the landlady to make
- some ready.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That will be coals of fire on his head,” he thought to himself with a
- smile as he recalled the afternoon when he had sat hungrily in Lady
- Mactavish’s great drawing-room privileged only to hand cups to other
- people.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew was curiously silent, and as he sat by the fire seemed to care
- for nothing but the warmth and the food. By and bye, however, glancing at
- his watch he seemed to remember that his time was limited.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are acting this evening?” he inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Ralph, “in the ‘Rivals.’ I must be at the theatre in three
- quarters of an hour. Can you tell me now what you want with me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want your help,” said Sir Matthew. “At any moment I may be traced.
- Though I hope I have eluded pursuit and set them on a wrong track one can
- never tell in these days of telegrams and espionage. I don’t ask much of
- you. All I want is this; go down to the agents’ and take a place on board
- the Havre boat for to-night; let me shelter here until the passengers are
- allowed to go on to the steamer and, since you are a practised hand in
- making up, help me to disguise myself. I ask nothing but this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The audacity of the request roused all Ralph’s angry resentment again. He
- clenched his hands fiercely and began to pace up and down the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You ask me to help you to escape,” he said indignantly, “when I am
- certain that you richly deserve to be brought to justice!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I ask you,” replied Sir Matthew, “to help your Godfather in his great
- need. To show a kindness to your father’s old friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You had no kindness for him,” said Ralph. “How can you—how <i>dare</i>
- you come to me. You who have desolated homes and broken hearts! Why there
- are few things I should like better than to see you arrested and properly
- punished.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew’s face grew whiter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Would you betray me?” he said, “after I have trusted you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Ralph indignantly, “certainly not. But I will not stir a finger
- to help you. How can you expect me to forget the way in which you have
- wronged Evereld?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew’s keen eyes scrutinised him closely for a minute; he was
- puzzled to know how much Ralph had learnt of the truth.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wronged her?” he said questioningly, “what do you mean?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I mean that you traded on her innocence and ignorance of the world; that
- you tried by the most foul means to force her and frighten her into
- marrying Bruce Wylie. That you drove her to escape from you, and that but
- for the care and kindness of others she might have got into great
- difficulties.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A look of relief crossed Sir Matthew’s face. Ralph certainly did not know
- that he had speculated with Evereld’s fortune and lost almost the whole
- of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You misjudge me,” he said assuming a tone of some dignity. “I cannot
- explain matters to you, but I had the best intentions in desiring to see
- Evereld safely married to Bruce Wylie. For the rest, it is highly probable
- that you will have your wish. You may even see me arrested to-night in
- Southampton. However I shall take good care not to remain long in custody.
- It will be merely the change of foregoing the journey to Havre and instead
- taking a much less costly ticket for a journey to the undiscovered country
- from whose bourne no traveller returns.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He stood up and began slowly to button his overcoat. The easy tone in
- which he had made the quotation, and the look of quiet determination on
- his set face made a very painful impression on Ralph. His anger died away.
- Horror and perplexity suddenly overwhelmed him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What am I to do?” he thought desperately. “What would my father have
- done? If it were possible to imagine a man like Macneillie coming with
- such a request why I would shelter him and help him. Must I do as much for
- a man I loathe. It would be more just to let him be arrested? Why should I
- aid a guilty man to escape? It’s conniving at his wickedness. But then
- again it’s true that I ate his bread for years. If he should indeed take
- his own life I shall certainly wish I had helped him. Good Heavens! how is
- a fellow to see the right and wrong of such a case?” He looked round; Sir
- Matthew had folded his plaid about him and now moved towards the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good-bye Ralph,” he said, “many thanks for your hospitality.” But Ralph
- though he mechanically took the proffered hand spoke no farewell, merely
- held the hand in his grasp while over his curiously mobile face a hundred
- lights and shades succeeded one another.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Wait,” he said at length, “I cannot let you go like that, Sir Matthew.”
- His perplexity and distress were so genuine that for the first time in all
- their intercourse the Company Promoter felt a sort of liking for this boy
- whom he had wronged and patronised, snubbed and educated, scolded and
- secretly hated. He saw that Ralph had all his father’s gentleness and
- generosity, but a good deal more strength and warmth of temperament than
- the Rector had ever possessed.
- </p>
- <p>
- In dire suspense he waited to know his fate. There was a silence of some
- minutes; then Ralph, who had moved across to the fireplace and had
- wrestled out his problem with arms propped on the mantelpiece and face
- hidden, lifted up his head and once more met the gaze of his father’s old
- friend. Sir Matthew was astonished to see that he looked pale and haggard
- with the struggle he had passed through.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will try to help you,” he said simply.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then,” said Sir Matthew with warmth, “I am justified in having come to
- you. You are—as I thought—your father’s son. You are a true
- Denmead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph for the life of him could not help laughing at the words. “You told
- me that in a different tone at Rilchester,” he remarked. “The Denmeads, I
- think you were good enough to say, were always unpractical fools, aiming
- at impossible ideals. I was angry then, but after all perhaps you are
- right. I believe I am a fool to help you, but just because you have so
- wronged us in the past I am afraid to refuse lest there should be anything
- of private spite or revenge in the refusal. What class do you wish to
- travel? I will go at once for your ticket.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Take a second return to Havre, it may be a precaution,” said Sir Matthew.
- “The steamer does not leave I think till 11.45. I did not come down by the
- boat train for that might very probably have been watched. How about
- disguise?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will go to the theatre on my way back to you,” said Ralph, “and bring a
- grey beard which I think is all that will be needed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He hurried off, for there was not very much time to spare. Now that his
- decision was made he was comparatively at rest, and as he sped along the
- dark streets his thoughts went back to Whinhaven and all the quiet
- familiar scenes he had just visited. It was strange that Sir Matthew
- should have encountered him just as he returned from his old home, and
- perhaps, if the truth were known, the Company Promoter might never have
- gained his help had it not been for the softening influence of that visit
- to the old Rectory and the “goodly heritage.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Having secured the ticket, he made his way to the theatre, where, early
- though it was, Macneillie had already arrived and was discussing some
- knotty question with the assistant stage manager and the master carpenter.
- Ralph slipped by them and ran up to his dressing-room, unearthed the beard
- he wanted from his dress-basket, tucked his make-up box under his arm and
- hastened away.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where are you off to?” said Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Back again in ten minutes, Governor,” he replied.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was no use now to reflect how little he liked doing the work he had
- undertaken, and indeed when he was again in his own room a sort of pity
- for his godfather stirred once more in his heart. Sir Matthew was so
- broken down, so aged by all that he had gone through! The nervous haste
- with which he took the ticket, the hurried questions he put, were so
- unlike the hard business man of old times, that it was impossible not to
- feel some compassion for one who was the mere wreck of his former self.
- </p>
- <p>
- Utterly exhausted by the high pressure at which he had lately been living,
- the sham philanthropist sat by the fire and allowed himself to be done for
- like a child, watching with a strange sort of admiration Ralph’s intent
- face as with deft touches to the eyebrows and accentuating of certain
- wrinkles, he entirely transformed him. When the process of fixing on the
- beard with spirit-gum was over and he looked at himself in the glass Sir
- Matthew hardly recognised his own features, and saw before him a man at
- least twenty years his senior.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Stoop a little more,” said Ralph. “That is better. Now I don’t think even
- Lady Mactavish would know you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew sighed heavily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s mostly for her sake that I care to escape to-night,” he said with a
- touch of real feeling in his manner. “She will always be grateful to you,
- Ralph, for helping me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will order them to bring you some dinner at eight,” said Ralph, “and if
- you like I can drive down to the docks with you at eleven or a little
- after.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew caught at this suggestion, and Ralph having finished his work
- at the theatre, refused two or three invitations to supper and hurried
- back to wind up the most curious service he had yet been called upon to
- render to any man.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t think too harshly of me,” said Sir Matthew as they drove down to
- the starting-place of the Havre steamer. “Remember that I always expected
- the speculation to succeed, that I still think I could have recovered
- myself if only things had not all conspired against me at the same time.
- You Denmeads can’t understand the temptations that assail an average man
- in the city. You were born without the love of money in you, and whatever
- happens you are always strictly honourable. Some men are made so. Had I
- not felt implicit trust in you how should I dare have put myself now in
- your power? You own that you would like to see me arrested and punished,
- but I know that you won’t betray me for all that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t wish to see you punished now,” said Ralph, “and of course I can’t
- betray you. But perhaps the best way after all would be for you to give
- yourself up to justice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Sir Matthew broke into a laugh.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You might be your father sitting there and talking! It’s exactly what he
- would have said. My dear fellow your ideals are above me, and they are
- about as little likely to be adopted by ordinary men of the world as the
- ideals in Plato’s republic. I shall certainly not give myself up. I shall
- instead try my very best, for the sake of others, to recoup my losses and
- to start afresh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A curiously sanguine look crept over his worn face, and Ralph felt certain
- that like a gambler he would return as soon as possible to his great game
- of speculation, very likely persuading himself, with the ease of one who
- has posed hypocritically for many years, that he did it all from the
- purest philanthropic motives.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You had better not come on board with me,” he said as they drew near to
- the docks. “And on the whole perhaps I had better not take this tartan
- with me, it is too marked. I will bequeath it to you. Good-bye Ralph. Many
- thanks to you for what you have done for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With the first hearty grip of the hand he had ever given his godson he
- bade him farewell and passing up the gangway on board the steamer
- disappeared from view. The cold wintry wind came sweeping over the water;
- Ralph shivered and was glad enough to wrap the highland maud about him as
- he paced up and down watching to see the actual start of the Havre boat.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was a bustle of arrival as the passengers were transferred from the
- boat train; he stood in the shadow watching them, and apparently another
- man, unobtrusively dressed, was engaged in the same occupation. Ralph felt
- sure that the fellow was a detective; he folded the plaid more closely
- about his mouth and pulled his hat over his eyes; the man furtively
- glanced at him and drew a few steps nearer, whereupon the spirit of
- mischief and love of acting overcame all other recollections, and Ralph as
- though most desirous of eluding pursuit, slipped quietly away into the
- darkness and vanished in the crowd. The detective, with all his suspicions
- aroused, gave chase, but presently coming to a place where two streets
- branched off, was baffled for a moment.
- </p>
- <p>
- In a deep porch of one of the houses close by, a young man stood
- bareheaded, sheltering a flickering fusee with his hat while he tried to
- light his pipe.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Seen a man wrapped in a plaid go by this way?” asked the detective
- panting.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has not gone past here,” said Ralph coolly.
- </p>
- <p>
- The man took the other street and just at that moment the sounding of a
- steam whistle and the chiming of a clock in a neighbouring house told
- Ralph that it was a quarter to twelve and that the boat for Havre was
- safely underweigh.
- </p>
- <p>
- He quietly picked up the highland maud from the well shaded corner of the
- porch where it had been snugly tucked behind a pillar, and then walked
- back to Portland Street musing over Sir Matthew’s fate and wondering what
- news the morning would bring.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXX
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “O, gear will buy me rigs o’ land,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And gear will buy me sheep and kye;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- But the tender heart o’ leesome luve,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- The gowd and siller canna buy.
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- We may be poor—Robie and I;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Light is the burden luve lays on,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Content and luve bring peace and joy,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- What mair hae queens upon a throne?”—Burns.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">R</span>alph slept late
- the next day and only escaped a fine at Rehearsal by the merciful rule
- which permitted ten minutes’ grace.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have done it by the skin of your teeth,” said Macneillie with a
- laugh, “but of course you found the newspaper absorbing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have not even seen it. What is the news?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “There’s a warrant out for the arrest of Sir Matthew Mactavish on a charge
- of swindling, and Mr. Bruce Wylie they say is already in Holloway gaol
- having been arrested last night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Good heavens!” said Ralph, “Bruce Wylie in prison!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What matters more,” said Macneillie, “is that some South African company
- of which they were the leading directors has failed. And this following
- closely on the failure of that other Company with which they were
- connected will probably cause more failures to follow. Thousands will be
- ruined. Mr. Marriott was right enough when he darkly hinted to you that
- startling revelations were in store. Well we must get to work. What a
- mercy it is that Miss Ewart is safely out of her guardian’s power.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A sudden panic seized Ralph. What if Sir Matthew were to come across
- Evereld in France? He had no idea whereabouts she was but for the first
- time he wondered whether any possible scheme for getting her again into
- his power could have occurred to the Company Promoter.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the previous night such a thought had never entered his head, he had
- adopted the more reasonable conclusion that Sir Matthew chose Havre merely
- as a possible starting place for America or some distant port where he
- could safely shelter. It needed all his patience and self-control to wait
- through the tedious rehearsal, and the instant he was free he ran to the
- telegraph office and begged Mr. Marriott to send him tidings as soon as
- possible with regard to Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- The answer set him at rest before the evening’s performance. Evereld was
- safe and well and Mr. Marriott begged that Ralph would if possible spend
- the following Sunday at his house since there were many things to discuss.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was now only Wednesday so he had still some time to wait, but the worst
- of his suspense was over and it was with a very buoyant heart that early
- on Sunday morning he presented himself at the old lawyer’s house. After a
- pleasant breakfast with the kindly ladies who had always taken an interest
- in his career, he was carried off to the study by Mr. Marriott for a
- business talk.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I asked you to come up to town,” said the lawyer, “because you have a
- right to know the whole truth of things. Sir Matthew Mactavish was not
- only a scheming speculator, he was a fraudulent trustee. Miss Ewart’s
- affairs were entirely in his hands, and Bruce Wylie her solicitor aided
- and abetted the speculations which have dissipated her fortune.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The brutes!” said Ralph. “Still I can forgive them that. It’s their
- abominable scheme for trapping her into a marriage that I can’t forgive.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Perhaps you hardly realise things yet,” said the lawyer, “I mean exactly
- what I say. Instead of being an heiress she has now nothing whatever left
- but a couple of hundred a year which, being her mother’s property, and in
- the funds, could not be tampered with.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If she is much troubled about it I am sorry,” said Ralph. “But personally
- I don’t care a straw. No one will be able to say now that I was running
- after her fortune. How soon do you think we might be married? There is
- nothing to wait for now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you will have to get the leave of the Lord Chancellor, but I don’t
- suppose he will disapprove,” said the lawyer with a smile, “if you are in
- a position to support a wife that is. I can’t see any objection to your
- marrying before long if Miss Ewart desires it. Go and talk it over with
- Mr. Hereford, she is under his guardianship and he is in town till
- to-morrow evening.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What good luck,” said Ralph. “I will go round at once and try to catch
- him before he goes out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Very well. We shall meet again later on then,” said the old lawyer
- kindly. “We can put you up for the night and then you can let me know what
- arrangement you and Mr. Hereford have arrived at. I will walk round with
- you to Grosvenor Square; these bright frosty mornings are tempting.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph received a friendly greeting from Max Hereford who was amused by his
- extreme haste and anxiety to win the Lord Chancellor’s consent to his
- marriage with Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see, we have been practically engaged for several months,” he argued,
- “and I shall never have a moment’s peace about her while she is drifting
- about the world. Who can tell whether we have heard the last of Sir
- Matthew Mactavish even now! It’s unbearable to think that I don’t even
- know where she is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well I can set you at rest on that point,” said Max Hereford laughing.
- “She is on her way to Ireland, and my wife will take the greatest care of
- her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She has left France?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I went myself to bring her home and my sister-in-law came with her.
- Dermot will spend the winter in the south and I am taking the two girls
- across to Dublin to-morrow night. They are here now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph’s face was a sight to see.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You must talk to her and find out what her wishes are,” said his host
- pleasantly. “I am the last man to advise a prolonged engagement. And since
- Marriott has told you that Miss Ewart is no longer an heiress but has been
- robbed by those precious scoundrels of almost the whole of her fortune, I
- think it only remains for you two to decide upon your own course of
- action, subject of course to the approval of the Lord Chancellor. She
- shall always find a home with us, as she very well knows, if you think it
- advisable to wait.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think it advisable,” said Ralph eagerly. “But of course I must
- ask whether she is really willing to put up with the discomforts of a
- wandering life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will go and find her,” said Max Hereford, “and you can have an
- interview in peace.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld and Bride were in the great drawing-room, both looking rather pale
- and tired after their long journey.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Time to go to church?” asked Bride with a portentous yawn.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No my dear, you would only go to sleep,” he said teasingly, “as your
- brother-in-law and Evereld’s guardian I strictly prohibit church-going
- this morning. Rest and be thankful, and don’t forget that you will be
- travelling all to-morrow night. Evereld, if you have energy enough for the
- interview, Mr. Marriott has sent someone round on business. Should you
- mind just going down to the library? He wants to put a few questions to
- you.” Evereld started up, looking rather nervous.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How odd of him to come about business on a Sunday morning,” she said. “I
- hope he is not an alarming sort of person. Will you not come down with
- me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well I think on the whole you had better be alone,” said Max Hereford
- with profound gravity. “I always think it is a mistake to have a third
- person at an interview. I should only make you more nervous.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She said no more, but set off bravely for what to her was no slight
- ordeal, her first business interview.
- </p>
- <p>
- The touch of dignity, which even as a child she had possessed, was more
- noticeable now in the poise of her head and in her whole manner; but the
- face was not in the least altered: it was the same sweet gentle face which
- had for so long reigned in Ralph’s heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sprang up to greet her, and Evereld with a joyous laugh ran towards
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Ralph! is it you?” she eried, radiant with happiness. “What a tease
- Mr. Hereford is! He told me it was someone from Mr. Marriott on business!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph laughed as he released her from his embrace. “We have not begun in a
- very business like way!” he said, “but it is quite true that I have come
- from Mr. Marriott’s house. He has been telling me of this fraudulent
- trustee who has treated you so shamefully. Are you very angry with those
- two rogues? How does it feel to be robbed of a fortune?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It feels anything but pleasant,” said Evereld warmly. “But what I find it
- hardest to forgive is the hypocrisy. Of course it is sad to think that the
- money which my father and grandfather earned by such hard work has all
- been wasted, specially as I thought it would have been useful to you some
- day. Do you realise, dear, that I shall be quite poor?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t care a fig about that,” said Ralph. “But when I remember that
- those vile knaves nearly succeeded in trapping you into a marriage which
- must have been lifelong misery to you, then—well, I feel like
- killing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But they never did nearly succeed, Ralph,” she said slipping her hand
- into his. “I would have died sooner than marry Bruce Wylie. Oh, how good
- it is to be here with you, and quite safe! That time at Glion was
- dreadful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you know that you at nineteen have baffled two of the cleverest rogues
- of the present time?” said Ralph. “It is delicious to think of that. How
- did you think of such a plan and carry it out so pluckily?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know how,” said Evereld. “But I knew that somehow I must get away
- out of their power. Then, when, I was so very unhappy this thought
- suddenly came to me of Bride O’Ryan and Aimée Magnay in Auvergne, and
- after that it was all quite simple—except, indeed, the Continental
- Bradshaw which nearly drove me distracted!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You told me in your letter about that jolly old priest who took care of
- you. We must go and see him some day. I should like to thank him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I should so like you to see him, and you must go to Mabillon. It is
- such a dear old place. I have grown to love it almost as if it were my own
- home.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t you think we ought now to come to the business part of the
- interview?” said Ralph with a mirthful glance. “Do you think, darling,
- that you are really willing to become the wife of an actor who has still
- to fight his way up the ladder? Remember that as yet you are quite free,
- that there is no engagement even between us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The engagement really began for me that Sunday at Southbourne,” said
- Evereld shyly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And for me, too,” said Ralph. “But think once more, darling, and try to
- realise what it will mean. Ours will have to be, at any rate for some
- time, a wandering life. For Macneillie has been so very good to me that I
- must stay with him and try to repay him a little for all his training.
- Even if a London engagement were to be offered me, and that is not likely,
- I should feel bound to stay with him as long as he cares to have me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes of course,” said Evereld. “Why, we owe everything to him! I
- wonder if he would like———” she broke off rather
- abruptly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What were you going to propose?” said Ralph trying to read her face.
- There was a wistful look in it now which he did not understand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only I have felt so dreadfully sorry for him since the Fenchurch Case. Of
- course I heard people talking about it, and I can’t help fancying that he
- must still care for Miss Greville.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Ralph. “It is very rough on him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shouldn’t like to take you away from him, Ralph,” she continued,
- “specially just now, for I could see quite well at Southbourne that you
- are almost like a son to him; you don’t know what things he said about you
- when you were talking to Mrs. Hereford that morning. He would miss you
- dreadfully. Do you think we could still be in the same house with him when
- we are married? Or should I bother him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think you would be likely to do that,” said Ralph smiling. “When
- I tell him about our marriage I will see how the land lies. I wonder,
- darling, whether you will be able to put up with all the discomforts of
- life in a travelling company?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why it will be the greatest fun!” cried Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I have found it a very jolly life, but, you know, wayfaring men
- naturally have to put up with some discomforts. You will find the endless
- packing and unpacking, and the settling into fresh lodgings once a week an
- awful bore.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I shall have you, dear,” she said happily. “And nothing else will
- matter much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then it only remains for us to win the Lord Chancellor’s consent and to
- tell Macneillie, and find out when he can spare me for a few days. You
- won’t make me wait long will you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think Parliament meets on the 5th,” said Evereld, “and we are to come
- back from Ireland in the first week of February. I know the Hereford’s
- will let me be married from this house, and we will have a quiet wedding.
- You see we are both of us alone in the world; except the Marriotts and Mr.
- Macneillie there is really no one to ask, for of course the Mactavishs
- will keep away from town for some time to come.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder what will become of poor Lady Mactavish,” said Ralph. “I fancy
- she has something of her own, so as far as money goes she will be all
- right. But how she will feel the disgrace!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not at all sure,” said Evereld, “that now real trouble has overtaken
- her she won’t give up grumbling. If not I am sorry for Janet for she will
- have to bear the brunt of it. Oh, Ralph! what a strange world it is! Only
- last spring the Mactavishs seemed at the very height of their prosperity,
- and were so enchanted about Minnie’s engagement, and now here is Sir
- Matthew ruined and disgraced, and Bruce Wylie in prison.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Ralph, “it’s a much better fate than the one they tried to
- force upon you. It’s not of them I think, but of the thousands they have
- cruelly injured: if you had seen your father die of a broken heart as I
- saw mine, you would think prison and exile a very light punishment for
- those cursed speculators.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” assented Evereld, “it was more of the suddenness of the change I
- was thinking. Last spring, too, you were tramping through Scotland, ill
- and half starved, and now——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now I am the happiest man in the world,” said Ralph his face aglow with
- ardent love.
- </p>
- <p>
- And after that they forgot all the troubles of the past and sat weaving
- delicious plans for the future, and enjoying to the full the happy
- present.
- </p>
- <p>
- The next day Ralph rejoined the company in the Isle of Wight and in the
- evening, when supper was over, he with some trepidation told his story to
- the Manager.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie had of late been very silent and depressed and Ralph hated
- having to speak of his own happiness to one who was in the depths of
- dejection. However with an effort he broke the ice.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I saw Miss Ewart’s new guardian Mr. Hereford in town,” he began, “and it
- seems that almost the whole of her fortune has been lost by that swindling
- trustee of hers. She has nothing left but a couple of hundred a year which
- luckily was tied up and out of Sir Matthew’s reach.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The scoundrel!” exclaimed Macneillie, “so he had the audacity to put her
- fortune into his rotten companies I suppose?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. However it’s an ill wind that blows nobody good. The fortune is gone
- but so is Sir Matthew, and the new guardian permits our engagement and
- sees no reason why it should be a long one, he is distantly related to the
- Lord Chancellor and thinks he will consent to our being married shortly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And what does Miss Ewart say? have you heard from her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have seen her, she was passing through London on her way to Ireland.
- Well, she talked very sensibly about the money, had hoped it might be
- useful to us, but chiefly looked on it in my fashion as a hindrance to our
- immediate marriage now safely removed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie’s grave face was suddenly convulsed with merriment. He laughed
- aloud at this view of the case.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Was there ever such a couple of babies!” he said. “Pray how do you mean
- to live?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “On my salary to be sure,” said Ralph, “and on the two hundred which
- Evereld has left.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are over young yet to get much of a salary in London, and, even if we
- succeeded in getting you an engagement there, who can tell how long you
- would be secure of keeping it? Then living and rent is much higher in
- London, and Miss Ewart has never been used to anything except the very
- best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But why do you speak of London?” said Ralph. “Do you mean to give me the
- sack, Governor, if I marry?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie turned and looked at him in some surprise.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I naturally concluded that having gained some experience with me you
- meant to go off at the earliest opportunity. That is the way of the world.
- You don’t mean that you intend to bring your wife to travel with us?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not? It is often done. Harden’s wife used to go about with him, they
- say.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, of course it is often done, but after the sort of life Miss Ewart has
- been accustomed to——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph broke in eagerly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We talked it over very carefully, I told her exactly what it would be
- like, and she is only longing for the fun of it all. Indeed she made a
- very audacious proposal.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What was that?” said Macneillie pleased and interested in spite of
- himself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Her old hero worship of you is as keen as ever, she thinks nothing would
- be more delightful than to house-keep for you, and pour out the tea—women
- always think they do those things best—It’s quite a mistake! Then,
- too, she has a notion that you might miss me if we went off into rooms by
- ourselves. I told her that was nonsense.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” said Macneillie, “it’s true enough, my boy. I should miss you very
- much. But all the same I hardly know whether it is fair to you both to
- spoil the early days of your married life. I am growing a very ‘dour’ sort
- of man and that’s a fact.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have been a second father to me,” said Ralph, “and Evereld knows
- that: so if, as she says, we shall not bother you——”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie laughed. “If she can put up with a ‘dour’ man as third fiddle,
- and promise to speak the truth when his playing jars too much with your
- harmony I should like nothing better than to have you both with me. To
- tell the truth Ralph I dread being alone just now. By the bye, have you
- heard Jack Carrington say anything about his part in the new play? Brinton
- had a notion he didn’t take to it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I heard him say it didn’t suit him,” said Ralph. “I don’t see why.
- It seems to me rather a decent part.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not at all sure that he will renew his engagement,” said Macneillie.
- “And if he leaves, why there is no reason at all why you should not become
- Juvenile Lead, and I could raise your salary to five pounds a week.
- However that is between ourselves. As for Carrington he has been with me
- three years and is likely enough to get a good berth somewhere before
- long. When do you two hope to be married?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Early in the spring if possible,” said Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I would never counsel a long engagement,” said Macneillie with a
- sigh. “You are not obeying the advice of Mrs. Siddons but, after all,
- there are exceptions to every rule, and Miss Ewart is one of a thousand.
- By the bye, I never told you—little Miss Ivy Grant wrote to ask if I
- could give her an engagement and I have offered her the part of the French
- girl. She seems to me to have exactly the face for it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it will suit her down to the ground!” said Ralph looking pleased. “I
- am glad poor Ivy has left the Delaines, she was too good for them. Evereld
- will be glad that she is to be one of the Company.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXI
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “So let my singing say to you,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- ‘Our hearts are pilgrims going home;
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Love’s kingdom shall most surely come
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- To all who seek Love’s will to do.’”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- “Daydreams.”—A. Gurney.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>n the course of
- the next four months Ralph’s powers of letter-writing improved amazingly,
- and thanks to those love letters and to the bright merry life in the
- Hereford household Evereld’s engagement proved a happy one although she
- and her lover could only spend two Sundays together during the whole time.
- They knew each other so well already however that there was no risk of any
- misunderstanding between them, and the waiting-time was too short to be
- very irksome.
- </p>
- <p>
- As for Bride O’Ryan she proved herself a friend worth having, threw
- herself into all Evereld’s interests with delightful eagerness, and teased
- her just enough to add a little salt to the entertainment.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Lord Chancellor kept them for some time in suspense, and furnished
- Bride with endless food for merriment. “He is a very formidable guardian,”
- she protested, “and when once you get into his clutches it’s very hard
- indeed to get out again. I wonder you dared to appeal to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was the only thing to be done,” said Evereld, “but I do wish he would
- be quick and give his consent.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have always heard,” said Bride provokingly, “that when once things get
- into chancery they stay there for years and years. Remember how it was in
- <i>Bleak House</i>.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well at any rate Mrs. Hereford says the Lord Chancellor is most
- kindhearted,” said Evereld. “And I know he is fond of reading novels, so
- he ought to take an interest in the romances of real life. And
- particularly he ought to like Ralph, for they say he himself had dreadful
- struggles at the beginning of his career when he was a young barrister on
- circuit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- However at length the consent was given and it was arranged that, as
- Macneillie’s company were not giving any performances in Holy Week, Ralph
- and Evereld should be married on Palm Sunday.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld like a wise little woman was determined not to waste her substance
- in the purchase of a trousseau which would be an endless trouble in their
- wandering life.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have plenty of clothes already,” she protested. “All I shall need is a
- nice warm cloak in which I can walk to the theatre in the evening—a
- respectable dark sort of garment—and of course my wedding dress; I
- won’t be a frumpy bride in a travelling costume.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, have a gown like the bride in Blair Leighton’s picture ‘Called to
- arms,’” said Ralph who had come up from Bristol to spend a Sunday at the
- Hereford’s directly they had returned to London. “It’s a thousand times
- prettier than any of the ugly modern fashions.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld did not know the picture but she promised to do her best to copy
- it, and with the help of a clever American maid of Mrs. Hereford’s, and
- Bridget’s ready assistance, and the advice of all the female members of
- the household, her skilful fingers succeeded in turning out a very good
- reproduction of the artist’s design at about a fifth of the cost of an
- ordinary wedding dress.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Even had I not lost my money,” she said to Bride, “I don’t think I could
- have borne to spend much just on clothes when so many people are ruined
- and half starving from the failure of all these companies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- That was the greatest shadow that was cast over the happiness of the two
- lovers. The appalling accounts of the trouble caused by Sir Matthew’s
- wrong doing, the knowledge that many of the victims had literally died
- from the shock, that many more had lost their reason, that thousands were
- reduced to dire poverty and distress could not but affect them.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld was touched too by a very kindly but sad letter from Lady
- Mactavish. It contained one sentence which puzzled her not a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What does Lady Mactavish mean by speaking of the help you gave Sir
- Matthew?” she enquired, a week before their wedding day, as she and Ralph
- sat together in the library where in December they had had that first
- “business interview.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What does she say about it?” asked Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Here is her letter, it is a message to you;—‘Tell Ralph that I
- shall never cease to be grateful to him for the help he gave my husband.
- It saved his life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Ralph, “I suppose I am free to speak of it since she
- mentioned it to you. He came to me at Southampton, indeed I met him on my
- way back from Whinhaven,” and going through the whole story he made her
- understand exactly what had taken place. “To this day I don’t know whether
- I did right. But if the same thing were to happen again I should still
- probably help him. It was the dread of letting one’s private hatred and
- resentment bias one against helping a desperate man. As a matter of fact
- he has by no means escaped punishment by escaping from England. I don’t
- believe there is a corner of the earth where he will long remain
- unmolested. He will lead a miserable, hunted life far worse than the life
- Bruce Wylie leads in gaol, and with nothing really to look forward to. But
- I think he was in earnest when he said that night he would put an end to
- himself if they arrested him. And I have never regretted the little I did
- to shield him from discovery.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You wouldn’t have been yourself if you had acted differently,” said
- Evereld. “But it must have been hard work to decide.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope I may never again have such a decision to make,” said Ralph. “And
- all the time there was the maddening remembrance of what he had made you
- suffer. What a strange, complex character he had: there was a sort of
- greatness about him all the time. I suppose that was how he deceived
- people in such an extraordinary way,—he managed to deceive himself.
- Even now a sort of panic seizes me lest he should somehow interfere
- between us. I shall never feel at rest about you till we are safely
- married.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Next Sunday,” she whispered. “Where shall you be all this week?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “At Manchester,” he replied “and as ill luck will have it there is a
- matinée of the new play and an evening performance of ‘Much Ado’ next
- Saturday. However there will be plenty of time to sleep in the train, and
- I will meet you somewhere for the early service.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let it be at the Abbey then, that seems specially to belong to us. Bride
- and I often go there and we can meet you just by the Baptistry at the west
- end.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What time is the wedding to be? I have not even learnt that yet,” he said
- laughing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mrs. Hereford arranged that it should be at two, that will leave us
- plenty of time to catch our train, and I have not told anyone where we
- mean to go. That is our secret.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we will keep that dark,” said Ralph. “Otherwise it may be creeping
- into the papers. Did you see there was a paragraph about Sir Matthew
- Mactavish’s late ward in yesterday’s ‘Veracity’?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes. We couldn’t help laughing over it, but I hope Janet and Minnie won’t
- see it. Oh, Ralph! what a nightmare the past is to look back on! and how
- happy and safe I am with you!”.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now that all was arranged, she seemed perfectly at rest, able even to
- enjoy all the manifold little plans and the cheerful bustle that heralded
- the wedding-day. But Ralph down at Manchester spent a feverishly anxious
- week, and found it difficult indeed to concentrate his mind on his work.
- Most managers would have lost all patience with him, but Macneillie with
- the genial breadth of mind and the rare patience that characterised him
- took it all very quietly, and perhaps in his secret soul rather enjoyed
- the sight of such unusual and unsullied enthusiasm.
- </p>
- <p>
- By the time Saturday arrived, Ralph had become very “ill to live with.” He
- wandered about the house imagining that he was busy packing but contriving
- to forget half his possessions. He could hardly stir without singing or
- whistling, and he would have neglected to put in an appearance at
- “Treasury” if Macneillie himself had not reminded him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are like your namesake Sir Ralph the Rover,” said the manager, who
- had been answering his correspondence as well as he could to a running
- accompaniment of Ralph’s voice.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “He felt the cheering power of spring,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- It made him whistle, it made him sing—”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- “We won’t finish the quotation. But my dear fellow you will be quite
- played out to-morrow if you go on at this rate.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How about the train?” said Ralph. “That’s the thing that bothers me.
- Shall we ever get through to-night in time to catch the mail?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For pity’s sake don’t begin to fuss about that already!” said Macneillie
- with a comical expression about the corners of his mouth. “It’s a mercy
- that marrying and giving in marriage are not every-day occurrences or a
- manager’s life would not be worth living.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll promise never to do it again, Governor,” said Ralph with mock
- penitence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well well,” said Macneillie with a patient shrug of the shoulders, “it
- all comes in the day’s work. You will understand now how to render
- Claudio’s words ‘Time goes on crutches till love have all his rites.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph thought it extremely obnoxious of the Manchester folk to have
- petitioned for a performance of “Much ado about Nothing” on this
- particular day, and though he acted Claudio very well it was always to him
- an uncongenial character. Macneillie’s Benedick was however considered one
- of his best parts and though perhaps he enjoyed playing it as little just
- then as Ralph enjoyed going through the wedding scene on the eve of his
- own marriage, he was the last man to let his private feelings interfere
- with his work either as actor or as manager.
- </p>
- <p>
- The play was carefully rendered, and after a most uncomfortable rush and
- scramble, Ralph, thanks chiefly to the help of his many friends in the
- company, found himself at the station just as the Scotch mail steamed up
- to the platform. Whether Macneillie would arrive in time seemed doubtful,
- however as the guard’s whistle sounded he emerged from the booking office,
- and with his usual imperturbably grave face sprang in while the train
- moved off.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy Grant and Myra Brinton had packed up a most tempting little supper for
- the two and had taken care to see that it was not forgotten in the hurry
- of the last moment; and Macneillie, who always retained the power of
- enjoying a holiday under any circumstances, proved a very genial companion
- until the advent of another passenger at Crewe, when they relapsed into
- silence and settled down to sleep.
- </p>
- <p>
- The night was stormy; torrents of rain washed the windows, and the wind
- howled and moaned as the train sped on through the darkness. Ralph tried
- in vain to follow the example of his two companions who, quite oblivious
- of their surroundings slept composedly through all the din. He was far too
- much excited to lose consciousness even for a minute. The carriage lamp
- was shaded and, in the dim light, visions of Evereld kept rising before
- him.
- </p>
- <p>
- She was a little girl once more, in a black frock, and with soft, bright
- hair falling about her shoulders.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Are you not hungry?” she said to him confidentially as they stood
- together, strangers and yet somehow already friends, in a drearily grand
- London drawing-room.
- </p>
- <p>
- Again she was sitting beside him on the stairs, a fairylike little figure
- in white, eating ice pudding supplied to them by the goodnatured Geraghty.
- “I somehow think your father and mine will be talking together to-night?”
- she said, her sweet blue eyes looking as though they could see right into
- that spirit world of which she spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- On thundered the train, and yet another vision rose before Ralph. He was
- in Westminster Abbey and there before him he suddenly saw a face which
- took his heart by storm—the face of his old playfellow grown into
- gentle gracious womanhood. Then the same face, but with wistful love-lit
- eyes was lifted up to his outside the house in Queen Anne’s Gate kindling
- hope in his heart and filling him with a glow of happiness which had
- carried him through the pain of the parting. These same love-lit eyes and
- a yet more wonderful response of soul to soul rose in vision before him as
- he recalled a certain summer afternoon by the sea shore. What did it
- matter to him that the cold spring wind raged round the carriage piercing
- every crevice, or that the hail-stones rattled angrily against the glass!
- He was far away from it all, seeing blue waves and the mellow brown side
- of a boat and Evereld’s blushing face. The memory of that August day
- lasted him all the rest of the way to London; then in the chilly dawn they
- made their way to the nearest hotel, where the order of things was
- reversed for Ralph at last fell sound asleep on a sofa in the reading room
- and it was Macneillie who was wakeful and saw visions of the past—visions
- that he dared not dwell upon because with them there came the maddening
- recollection that he was close to Christine, that it would be the easiest
- thing in the world, yet the most fatal, to go that afternoon and call upon
- her. What was she doing? How did she struggle on in the difficult life on
- which she had embarked? All the craving to know, all the longing to serve
- her must be crushed down in his heart. Alone she must dree her weird.
- Alone he must bear the anguish of her pain and his own bitter loss.
- </p>
- <p>
- Almost involuntarily, those hard views of God from which years ago he had
- been rescued by Thomas Erskine’s book “The Spiritual Order,” returned now
- to him, flooding his mind with rebellious thoughts.
- </p>
- <p>
- Why did all this misery come to him? Why were the mistakes and sins of
- others visited upon him? Why were the ways of God so unequal? Other men
- prospered. Other men had the desire of their hearts granted. Why was he
- for ever to be thwarted? For years he knew that he had made strenuous
- efforts to live uprightly, yet there seemed nothing before him but sorrow;
- while over yonder there was a mere boy of one and twenty about to gain
- after the briefest of struggles the woman he loved.
- </p>
- <p>
- The Tempter had however defeated his own object by introducing the thought
- of Ralph Denmead. Macneillie’s heart was too large for jealousy to harbour
- in it. Jealousy can only rest long and comfortably in narrow, and cramped
- hearts where self love and petty absorption in trifles has contracted the
- space.
- </p>
- <p>
- As he glanced across the room he saw that the sunlight was streaming full
- upon the sleeper, he got up and lowered the blind pausing for a minute by
- the sofa to look at his companion. Ralph was sound asleep, and his
- untroubled, boyish face was worth looking at if only for its peace. To
- Macneillie it suggested many thoughts.
- He remembered his first impression of Ralph, lying in the last stage of
- misery on the banks of the Leny, and he delighted to think that partly by
- his aid the lad had battled through his difficulties and had got his foot
- firmly planted on the ladder of success.
- </p>
- <p>
- There is nothing so strange in life as the manner in which a kindly deed
- re-acts in a thousand subtle ways on the doer. And now, as had been the
- case before, Macneillie was lured back to life by the one he had helped
- long ago. The hard thoughts passed, he stood there in the bright spring
- morning strong once more in the belief that the eternal patience of the
- All-Father schools each son in the best possible way.
- </p>
- <p>
- Sitting down to the writing-table he filled up a couple of hours with
- answering the letters of the previous day, then when the time came, set
- off with Ralph to the Abbey and finding the way to the Baptistry unbarred
- waited there beside the busts of Maurice and Kingsley, lifted a degree
- nearer to that Light and Love of which their epitaphs spoke by the
- struggle he had just passed through.
- </p>
- <p>
- They were joined here by Mrs. Hereford, Bride, and Evereld, and Macneillie
- thought he had never seen anything more winning than Evereld’s eager
- welcome of her lover. He felt very much in harmony with their happiness as
- they all went together into the choir, and indeed throughout the day the
- depression which had overwhelmed him since he had received the bad news at
- Brighton was banished by the unalloyed bliss of the two who were just
- stepping into their goodly heritage of mutual love and companionship.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a thoroughly unconventional wedding with merely the merry Irish
- family in the house, with Bride and the two little Hereford girls for
- bridesmaids, and Macneillie and an old school fellow who had returned from
- Canada just in time to be Ralph’s best man, as the only outsiders.
- </p>
- <p>
- Of course, when at two o’clock they drove to the church, it was crowded
- with spectators, for the marriage of the heiress who had been defrauded of
- her fortune by Sir Matthew Mactavish had found its inevitable way into the
- hands of the paragraph-mongers. But then, as Macneillie remarked, a
- marriage ought to take place before a congregation, and it would have been
- a thousand pities if this particular marriage had been smuggled through in
- secret at some chilly hour of the morning in an empty church.
- </p>
- <p>
- “As it was,” he added, “some idle London folk had the chance of singing
- ‘All people that on earth do dwell’ to the old hundredth, and that’s a
- chance that doesn’t often come to us in these degenerate days of flabby
- modern hymns. All the women, moreover, will go away persuaded in their own
- minds that the conventional wedding dress of modern days is ugly and that
- the old-world dress of Mrs. Ralph Denmead is far more artistic.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was one thing, however, which baffled the Press. It described the
- service with gusto, and gave the most elaborate details as to the dresses,
- but it could not discover where the Bride and Bride-groom intended to
- spend the honeymoon. It was reduced at length to the desperate expedient
- of a good round lie, and said that they left <i>en route</i> for the
- continent.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph and Evereld, who had kept this detail entirely to themselves,
- laughed contentedly as they read this fable in their snug little
- sitting-room at Stratford-on-Avon.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We knew a trick worth two of that,” said Ralph. “Fancy rushing off to the
- Continent for a week! It never seemed to occur to anyone that Stratford
- was the ideal place for an actor’s honeymoon. We are not going to leave
- our Mecca entirely to the Yankees.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld hoped she thought enough of Shakspere as they wandered about the
- quaint old place and enjoyed the bright spring weather in the lovely
- country around.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was a delightful thought of yours to come here,” she said, “one likes
- to have a beautiful background for the happiest time of one’s life. But
- after all, darling, it’s very much in the background, we should really be
- as happy in the black country.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of course,” said Ralph laughing. “And there’ll be plenty of the black
- country to come by and bye. You have no idea what dreary towns we have
- sometimes to go to. Are you not afraid when you look forward to that sort
- of thing?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not a bit,” she said with a radiant face. “Don’t I know now what the song
- means when it speaks of ‘The desert being a paradise’? That used to seem
- such nonsense in the old days! But with you Ralph———”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was interrupted. They had been walking beside the pollarded willows by
- the river, Evereld’s hands were full of the early spring flowers, cowslips
- and primroses and delicate white anemones which they had gathered in the
- country. She looked up, for a daintily dressed little lady suddenly stood
- before her, having deserted a camp-stool and easel though she still
- retained palette and brushes in one hand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Miss Ewart!” she exclaimed with a faint touch of American intonation
- which instantly recalled Evereld to Glion. “I am so delighted to meet you
- again, and in this spot of all others, this sacred shrine which you lucky
- English people possess, though we would give millions of dollars if we
- could but transplant it right over the ocean!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How glad I am to see you!” said Evereld warmly. “I shall never forget
- your kindness last September. May I introduce my husband to you? Mr.
- Denmead, Miss Upton.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah,” said Miss Upton shaking hands with him, “I congratulate Mr. Denmead
- very warmly. And to think that the third volume which you were to have
- sent me in America should greet me here by the banks of the Avon! It is
- delightful!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have not gone back as soon as you expected,” said Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, no. You see the storm at Glion somehow cleared the atmosphere and
- many things were altered by it sooner or later,” said Miss Upton her
- bright eyes twinkling with fun. “In fact, thanks to you, another romance
- began there, and next year when Mr. Lewisham has taken his degree at
- Oxford, why he’ll be coming over the ocean to New York, and we have an
- idea of following the good example which you and Mr. Denmead have set us.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How glad I am!” said Evereld. “That is charming. Some day we all four
- ought to meet at Glion, for it is hard that I should have any disagreeable
- associations left with that lovely little place. You ought to see it
- Ralph.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why not plan a meeting here on one of Shakspere’s birthday’s? We may
- possibly be here for some of the performances in the Memorial theatre.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, that’s a better idea still,” agreed both Evereld and the American
- girl.
- </p>
- <p>
- And after walking back to the town together they parted on the best of
- terms.
- </p>
- <p>
- That evening a note and a little packet were brought to Evereld. They were
- from Miss Upton.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just one line in great haste,” the letter ran, “we are off to Woodstock
- to-night, being as they call us true Yankee rushers. You told me you were
- not going to set up house yet awhile, but wherever you are I know you will
- drink afternoon tea as you did in Switzerland. Stir your tea with these
- Stratford Memorial spoons and drink to our next merry meeting in the
- birthplace of the Swan of Avon. With all good wishes
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yours cordially,
- </p>
- <p>
- “Minnie K. Upton.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I hope my romance will have as satisfactory an end to its third Volume as
- yours.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What a jolly sort of girl she seems,” said Ralph as Evereld read him the
- note, “but that postscript is all wrong, darling. We are not at the end of
- things, we are only just at the beginning.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXII
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Heart, are you great enough
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- For a love that never tires?
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- O heart, are you great enough for love?
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- I have heard of thorns and briers.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Tennyson.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">O</span>n Easter Monday,
- Ralph and Evereld joined the company at Liverpool. It was not without
- misgivings that the little bride found herself suddenly launched into a
- life of which she knew so little, and as they drove through the busy
- streets from the station she had time to conjure up many fears. They were
- all however fears lest she should fall short in some way, prove an
- indifferent housekeeper, be unable to make friends with Ralph’s friends,
- or find herself in other people’s way. But all anxiety was lost sight of
- when they reached the little house in Seymour Street and found Macneillie
- with his genial voice and fatherly manner waiting to receive them. He was
- a man who, from his kindly considerateness and from a certain easy
- friendliness of tone, quickly made new comers feel at home with him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Perhaps he intuitively guessed that Evereld’s position would not be
- without its difficulties, and he did his very utmost to smooth the way for
- her. He at once allowed her to feel that she could be of use.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad you caught the early train from Stratford,” he said as they sat
- down to a two o’clock dinner. “No, you must take the head of the table for
- the future. I shall claim the privilege of an old man and sit at the side.
- As for Ralph he is a very decent carver and we will leave the work to him.
- The Brintons were in here just before you came, talking over the reception
- which we give this afternoon.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “A reception?” said Evereld shyly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, in the Foyer. You have just come in the nick of time. I was wanting
- help. Let me see, you were introduced to the Brintons I think at
- Southbourne.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, and to Mr. Carrington, and Miss Eva Carton.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They have both left us. Well, you will soon get to know us all.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld hoped she might do so, but she was utterly bewildered by the end
- of the reception, where she had been introduced to most of the company and
- to a number of residents and people of the neighbourhood. As to
- recognising Ralph’s fellow artists when she saw them again in the evening
- in stage attire, it was impossible. However they good-naturedly told her
- they were quite used to being cut, and she found Ivy Grant a very pleasant
- companion and had a good deal of talk with her between whiles.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy had greatly improved since the days of the Scotch tour; trouble had
- developed her in an extraordinary way; she had grown more gentle and
- refined, and she still retained her old winsomeness and was a general
- favourite. Thanks to Ralph’s straightforwardness that morning at Forres,
- she had quickly awakened from her first dream of love, and was none the
- worse for it. In fact, it had perhaps done her good, she would not lightly
- lose her heart again, and her standard was certain to remain high.
- Moreover she knew that Ralph would always be her friend, and she felt
- curiously drawn to Evereld, who was quite ready to respond to her
- advances.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was something very fascinating to Evereld in the novelty and variety
- of this new life; before many days had passed she began to feel quite as
- if she belonged to the company. She sympathised keenly with the desire to
- have good houses, listened with interest to all the discussions and
- arrangements, and soon found herself on friendly terms with almost every
- one.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is one man, though, that I can’t make out at all,” she remarked one
- evening. “He always seems to disappear in such an odd way. I mean Mr.
- Rawnleigh.” Macneillie and Ralph both laughed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You would be very clever indeed if you contrived to know anything about
- him,” said the Manager. “He chooses to keep himself wrapped in a mystery.
- There’s not a creature among us who can tell you anything about him. He’s
- the cleverest low comedian I have ever had; but his habits are peculiar.
- To my certain knowledge his whole personal wardrobe goes about the world
- tied up in a spotted handkerchief. He has no make-up box but just carries
- a stick of red rouge and powdered chalk screwed up in paper like tobacco
- in his pocket. He puts it on with his finger and rubs it in with a bit of
- brown paper. Nobody knows in any town where he lodges, but he is always
- punctual at rehearsal, and if in an emergency he happens to be needed, you
- can generally find him smoking peacefully in the nearest public-house. He
- has never been heard to speak an unnecessary word, and in ordinary life
- looks so like a death’s head that he goes by the name of ‘Old Mortality.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld laughed at this curious description.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is the sort of man Charles Lamb might have written an essay about,”
- she said. “Now let me see if I have grasped the rest of them. The retired
- Naval Captain, Mr. Tempest, is the heavy man, isn’t he? Then there are
- those two young Oxonians—they are Juveniles. And Ralph’s friend, Mr.
- Mowbray, the briefless barrister, what is he?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s the Responsible man,” said Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Brinton, I know, is the old man. And Mr. Thornton, what do you call
- him?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, he is the Utility man. Come you would stand a pretty good
- examination.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Those spring days were very happy both to Ralph and
- Evereld, while Macneillie who had been anxious as to the little bride’s
- comfort and well-being, began to feel entirely at rest on that score.
- </p>
- <p>
- It cheered him not a little to have her bright face and thoughtful
- housewifely ways making a home out of each temporary resting place. Her
- great charm was her ready sympathy and a certain restfulness and quietness
- of temperament very soothing to highly-strung artistic natures. When the
- two men returned from the theatre, it was delightful to find her
- comfortably ensconced with her needlework, ready to take keen interest in
- hearing about everything, and always giving a pleasant welcome to any
- visitor they might bring back with them. There was nothing fussy about
- Evereld: she was the ideal wife for a man of Ralph’s eager Keltic
- temperament.
- </p>
- <p>
- During July the company dispersed and Ralph and Evereld went to stay with
- the Magnays in London. It was not until the re-assembling in August that
- the discomforts of the new life began to become a little more apparent.
- Perhaps it was the intense heat of the weather, perhaps the contrast
- between the lodgings in a particularly dirty manufacturing town and the
- Magnays’ ideal home with all its art treasures, and its dainty half
- foreign arrangement. Certainly Evereld’s heart sank a little when she
- began to unpack.
- </p>
- <p>
- Their bedroom faced the west and the burning sunshine seemed to steep the
- little room in drowsy almost tropical heat. She felt sick and miserable.
- Opening the dressing-table drawer she found that her predecessor had left
- behind some most uninviting hair-curlers, and some greasepaint. Of course
- to throw these away and re-line the drawer was easy enough; but by the
- time she had done it and had arranged all their worldly goods and chattels
- she felt tired out and was glad to lie down, though she did not dare to
- scrutinise the blankets and could only try to find consolation in the
- remembrance that the sheets at least were quite immaculate, and the pillow
- her own. She was roused from a doze by Ralph’s entrance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Come and get a little air, darling,” he suggested. “This room is like an
- oven. Oh! we have got such a fellow in Thornton’s place! the most
- conceited puppy I ever set eyes on. What induced Macneillie to give him a
- trial I can’t think, he is quite a novice and though rolling in gold, he
- has never thought of offering a premium. I never saw a fellow with so much
- side on. He ought to be kicked!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who is he?” said Evereld laughing, as she put on her hat and prepared to
- go out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “He’s the younger son of an earl, I believe, and rejoices in the name of
- Bertie Vane-Ffoulkes. He patronises the manager as if he were doing him a
- great favour by joining his company, and he is already plaguing poor Ivy
- with attentions that she would far rather be without.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They went to the public garden hoping to find a seat in the shade where
- they could watch the tennis, and here they came across Ivy and Miss Helen
- Orme, who usually shared lodgings. In attendance on them walked a rather
- handsome young man with a pink and white complexion and an air of
- complacent self-esteem. Ivy catching sight of them hastened forward with
- joyful alacrity though her <i>cavalière servente</i> was in the middle of
- one of his most telling anecdotes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How delightful to meet you again!” she exclaimed taking both Evereld’s
- hands in hers. “I have been longing to see you. Now, if that obnoxious Mr.
- Vane-Ffoulkes will but take himself off there are so many things I want to
- say to you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Honorable Bertie, however, never thought himself in the way, he begged
- Ralph to introduce him to Mrs. Denmead and kindly patronised them all for
- the next hour, chatting in what he flattered himself was a very pleasant
- and genial manner about himself, the new costumes he had specially ordered
- from Abiram’s for his first appearance on the stage, the great success of
- the private theatricals at his father’s place in Southshire when he had
- acted with dear Lady Dunlop Tyars, and various anecdotes of high life
- which he felt sure would interest “these theatrical people.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At last to their relief he sauntered hack to his hotel.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder whether he really acts well?” said Evereld musingly. “He seems
- to have a very high opinion of his own powers. I thought all the men’s
- costumes were provided by the management.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So they are,” said Ralph with a smile, “But nothing worn by just a common
- actor would do for him, I suppose. He must have the very best of
- everything specially made for him by Abiram, and strike envy into the
- hearts of all the rest of us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We were so comfortable and friendly before he came,” said Ivy. “And now I
- am sure everything will be different. He’s an odious, conceited,
- empty-headed amateur, not in the least fit to be an actor. I wish he would
- go back to his private theatricals in the country with his Duchesses, and
- leave us in peace.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Poor fellow! perhaps he really means to work hard and improve,” said
- Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are always charitable,” said Ivy. “As for me I believe we shall never
- have a moment’s peace till Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes has gone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her prophesy was curiously fulfilled, for it was wonderful how much
- trouble and annoyance the wealthy amateur contrived to cause.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie bore with him with considerable patience, being determined that
- in spite of his many peccadillos he should have a fair chance. He taught
- him as much as it is possible to teach a very conceited mortal, gave him
- many hints by which it is to be feared he profited little, and quietly
- ignored his rudeness, sometimes enjoying a good laugh over it afterwards
- when he described to Evereld what had taken place.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld was one of those people who are always receiving confidences. It
- was partly her very quietness which made people open their hearts to her.
- They knew she would never talk and betray them, and there was something in
- her face which inspired those who knew her to come and pour out all their
- troubles, certain of meeting sympathy and that sort of womanly wisdom
- which is better than any amount of mere cleverness.
- </p>
- <p>
- Even Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes himself was driven at last by the growing
- consciousness of his unpopularity to tell her of his difficulties.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know how it is, Mrs. Denmead,” he said one day, when they chanced
- to be alone for a few minutes, “I am not gaining ground here. These stage
- people are very hard to get on with.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But they are your fellow artists,” said Evereld lifting her clear eyes to
- his, “why do you call them ‘these stage people’ as though they were a
- different sort of race?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well you know,” said the Honorable Bertie, “of course you know it’s not
- quite—not exactly—the same thing. Your husband is of a good
- family, I am quite aware of that, but many of the others, why, you know,
- they are just nobodies.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld’s mouth twitched as she thought how Macneillie would have taken
- off this characteristic little speech.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But art knows nothing of rank,” she said gently. “Who cares about the
- parentage of Raphael, or Dante, or David Garrick, or Paganini?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The earl’s son looked somewhat blank.
- </p>
- <p>
- “That’s all very well theoretically,” he said. “But in practice it’s
- abominable. I believe there’s a conspiracy against me. They are jealous of
- me and don’t mean to let me have a fair chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Mr. Macneillie is so just and fair to all, that could never be,” said
- Evereld warmly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The manager is the worst of them,” said the Honorable Bertie, deep gloom
- settling on his brow. “I hate his way at rehearsal of making a fool of one
- before all the rest of the company.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But you can’t have a rehearsal all to yourself,” said Evereld laughing.
- “You should hear what they say of other managers at rehearsal, who swear
- and rave and storm at the actors.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shouldn’t mind that half as much,” said Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes. “It’s just
- that cool persistent patience, and that insufferable air of dignity he
- puts on that I can’t stand. What right has Macneillie to authority and
- dignity and all that sort of thing? Why I believe he’s only the son of a
- highland crofter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think you’ll find your ancestors any good in art life,” said
- Evereld. “It is what you can do as an actor that matters, and as long as
- you feel yourself a different sort of flesh and blood how can you expect
- them to like you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The Honorable Bertie was not used to such straight talking but, to do him
- justice, he took it in very good part, and always spoke of Mrs. Ralph
- Denmead with respect, though he still cordially hated her husband. Ralph
- unfortunately occupied the exact position which he desired, he always
- coveted the Juvenile Lead, and Macneillie cruelly refused to give him
- anything but the smallest and most insignificant parts until he improved.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How can I make anything out of such a character as this?” he grumbled,
- “Why I have only a dozen sentences in the whole play.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can make it precisely what the author intended it to be,” said the
- Manager. “It is the greatest mistake in the world to judge a part by its
- length. You might make much of that character if only you would take the
- trouble. But it’s always the way, no heart is put into the work unless the
- part is a showy one; you go through it each night like a stick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was yet another reason why Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes disliked Ralph. In the
- dulness and disappointment of his theatrical tour he solaced himself by
- falling in love with Ivy Grant: and Ivy would have nothing to say to him,
- refused his presents, and took refuge as much as possible with Ralph and
- Evereld, who quite understanding the state of the case did all they could
- for her.
- </p>
- <p>
- The more she avoided him, however, the more irrepressible he became, until
- at last she quite dreaded meeting him, and had it not been for the
- friendship of the Denmeads and Helen Orme she would have fared ill.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was naturally impossible for the Honorable Bertie to confide to Evereld
- how cordially he detested her husband; he turned instead to Myra Brinton,
- who being at that time in a somewhat uncomfortable frame of mind was far
- from proving a wise counsellor. Though in the main a really good woman,
- Myra had a somewhat curious code of honour, and she was not without a
- considerable share of that worst of failings, jealousy. If any one had
- told her in Scotland that she should ever live to become jealous of little
- Ivy Grant, she would not have believed it possible. But latterly Ivy had
- several times crossed her path. She was making rapid strides in the
- profession, and was invariably popular with her audience. This however was
- less trying to Myra than the perception that a real friendship was
- springing up between Ivy and young Mrs. Denmead, who, it might have been
- expected would have more naturally turned to her. She did not realise that
- to the young bride there seemed a vast chasm of years between them, that a
- woman of seven and twenty seemed far removed from her ways of looking at
- everything, and that Evereld dreaded her criticism and turned to Ivy as
- the more companionable of the two.
- </p>
- <p>
- Deep down in her heart, moreover, poor Myra could not help contrasting her
- own lot with that of Ralph Denmead’s wife. The little bride was so
- unfeignedly happy and had such good cause for perfect trust and confidence
- in her husband that Myra sometimes felt bitterly towards her. Not that Tom
- Brinton was a bad fellow, there was much about him that was likeable; but
- the lover of her dreams had ceased to exist, she had settled down into
- married life that was perhaps as happy as the average but that
- nevertheless left much to be desired. Her husband would never have dreamt
- of ill-treating her, indeed in his way he was fond of her still. But it
- has been well said that unless we are deliberately kind to everyone, we
- shall often be unconsciously cruel, and it was for lack of this kindly
- tenderness that Myra’s life was becoming more and more difficult. She used
- to watch Ralph’s unfailing care and thoughtful considerateness for Evereld
- with an envy that ate into her very heart. She was jealous moreover with a
- jealousy that only a woman can understand of the hope of motherhood which
- began to dawn for Evereld. It seemed to her that everything a woman covets
- was given to this young wife, who had known so little of the hardness of
- life, the fierce struggle for success, which had made her own lot so
- different. And as time went on a sort of morbid sentimentality crept into
- her admiration for Ralph, and she found herself beginning to hate the
- sight of Evereld in a way which would have horrified her had she made time
- to think out the whole state of things. It was at this time that Mr.
- Vane-Ffoulkes turned to her for advice. He could not by any possibility
- have chosen a worse confidante.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why is little Miss Grant always running after the Denmeads?” he
- complained. “I can never get two words with her. If it’s not the wife she
- is with, then it’s the husband. I can’t think what she sees in that boy,
- but whenever he’s in the theatre she’s always talking to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, she is very unguarded,” said Myra with a sigh. “Of course he has
- known her since she was a child, and he was very good in helping her on
- when we were in Theophilus Skoot’s company. But she ought to be more
- careful, for there is no doubt that she was very much in love with him in
- the old days. You would be doing a good deed if you separated them a
- little.” She had not in the least intended to say anything of this sort,
- the words seemed put into her mouth, and somehow when once they were said
- she vehemently assured herself that she fully believed them. Not only so
- but she determined to act up to her belief.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never saw any one so fascinating,” said the Honorable Bertie, who was
- very badly hit indeed. “She’s a regular little witch. I assure you, Mrs.
- Brinton, I would marry her to-morrow if I were only lucky enough to have
- the chance. But she hasn’t a word to throw at me, and if she is not with
- the Denmeads, why she will stick like a leech to Miss Orme, and how is a
- man to make love to a girl when that’s the way she treats him? I wonder
- whether she still cares for that fellow Denmead? If so, couldn’t you give
- his wife a hint, then perhaps she would not have so much to do with her
- and I might possibly stand a chance of getting a hearing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well,” said Myra, rather startled by this suggestion. “I could do that if
- you like, but of course, it would lead to a quarrel between them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, never mind what it leads to,” said Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes. “It will at
- least give me a fair chance with her. Isn’t it hard, Mrs. Brinton, that
- when a fellow doesn’t care a straw the girls are all dying for love of
- him, and when at last he does care why the fates ordain that he shall fall
- in love with a girl who—well—who doesn’t care a straw for
- him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Myra could have found it in her heart to laugh at this lame ending, and at
- the sudden reversal of fortune which had so greatly depressed the earl’s
- son, but after all there was something genuine about the poor fellow that
- touched her: for the time Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes really was very much in love
- with Ivy. It was the sort of passion that might possibly exist for about
- six months, it might even prove to be a “hardy annual,” but it was
- certainly not a passion of the perennial sort.
- </p>
- <p>
- She promised that she would do her best for him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If he is an empty-headed fellow,” she reflected, “he is at least rich and
- well-connected. It would be a remarkably good marriage for Ivy Grant, and
- I will do what I can to further it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXIII
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “When ye sit by the fire yourselves to warm,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Take care that your tongues do your neighbours no
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- harm.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Old Chimney-piece Motto.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">C</span>hristmas had
- passed and they were engaged for a fortnight at Mardentown, one of the
- large manufacturing places. It was on a frosty clear morning early in the
- new year that Myra set out from her rather comfortless lodgings to call on
- Evereld. There was no rehearsal that day and she happened to know that
- both Macneillie and Ralph were out, so that the coast would be clear for
- her operations.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall be doing a kindness to her as well as to Ivy and Mr.
- Vane-Ffoulkes,” she reflected. “She is so very innocent, it is high time
- she understood a little more of the ways of the world.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld was sitting by the fire in a cheerful-looking room into which the
- wintry sun shone brightly; flowers were on the table, Christmas cards
- daintily arranged were on the mantelpiece; there was a homelike air about
- the place which Myra at once noted, and she looked with a pang at the
- little garment at which the young wife was working when she entered.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My husband told me Mr. Macneillie was at the theatre so I came in to have
- a chat with you,” she said kissing her affectionately. “You are looking
- pale this morning, dear, this wandering life is getting too hard for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I am very well,” said Evereld brightly, “and as to the travelling I
- shall not have much more of that for at the beginning of February I have
- promised to go and stay with Mrs. Hereford in London. They all say it is
- right, so I mustn’t grumble, but I do so hate leaving Ralph.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He can come to you for the Sundays,” said Myra. “Where has he gone to
- this morning?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He and Mr. Mowbray have hired bicycles and have gone over to Brookfield
- Castle. They will have a beautiful ride for it is so still and the roads
- will be nice and dry. Ivy wanted to go too, but she couldn’t manage to get
- a bicycle, they were all engaged.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well it sounds unkind,” said Myra. “But I am not sorry that she was
- forced to stay behind. Ivy is getting too careless of appearances.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you really disapprove of bicycling for women?” asked Evereld. “One has
- hardly had time to get used to it, but it seems such capital exercise, and
- no one could look more graceful in cycling than Ivy does.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I don’t mean that, dear,” said Myra colouring a little. “I really
- hardly know how to explain things to you, for you seem so young and
- confiding, and so ready to trust everyone. But you see Ivy rather runs
- after your husband. Of course she always was a born flirt, I don’t think
- she can help it. But people are beginning to notice it and to talk, they
- are indeed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder any one can be so foolish as to think such things,” said Evereld
- with a little air of matronly dignity which became her very well. “Every
- one belonging to the company must surely understand that Ivy is so much
- with us because she is being actually persecuted by that provoking Mr.
- Vane-Ffoulkes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes is not so bad as people make out, he may be vain and
- conceited I quite admit, but he really is in love with Ivy and she is very
- foolish to run away from him on every possible occasion. It would be a
- capital marriage for her. Why, if the present heir were to die, Mr.
- Vane-Ffoulkes comes into the title, Ivy forgets that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She positively dislikes him,” said Evereld. “You surely wouldn’t wish her
- to marry such a man as that just for his position?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, but I think she might be a little more civil to him and at least give
- him a hearing. And quite apart from that I really think, dear, you are
- ill-advised in having her so much here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld’s clear blue eyes looked questioningly and in a puzzled fashion at
- her visitor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “But we like her and she likes us. Why shouldn’t she come?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Because it would be much wiser for her not to come,” said Myra. “I know
- her past, and you do not. If you are wise you will not have Ivy for your
- intimate friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A troubled look began to steal over Evereld’s face, she was not well, and
- was very ill-fitted just then to take a calm dispassionate view of
- anything. Myra’s words and hints agitated her all the more because she
- only half understood them. Vaguely she felt that a shadow was creeping
- over her cloudless sky. She shivered a little and drew closer to the fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Please tell me just what you mean,” she said rather piteously. “I know of
- nothing against Ivy, and she has been Ralph’s friend for a long time, so
- naturally I like her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Naturally!” exclaimed Myra, whose jealous nature found it hard to credit
- such a statement. “That only shows how innocent you are, how little you
- understand the world. Why to my certain knowledge that girl is in love
- with your husband.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld’s eyes dilated, she stared at the speaker for a moment in mute
- consternation. Then suddenly she began to laugh but not quite naturally,
- her tears were at no great distance.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How ridiculous!” she said. “I wonder you can say such a thing to me. Ivy!
- who has been quite foolishly fond of me! Oh, indeed you are mistaken!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The mistake is yours!” said Myra, “Ivy is a very coaxing little thing and
- would of course find it most convenient to have your friendship. She is
- clever and managing, and always contrives to get her own way, and then of
- course she is a born actress. I have no doubt she was delighted to vow an
- eternal friendship with you. It’s just what would suit her best.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld’s heart sank, she seemed to be suddenly plunged into an entirely
- new region, where doubt and suspicion and jealousy and evil intention made
- the whole atmosphere dark and oppressive. Not since her difficulties at
- Glion had she felt so miserable and so utterly perplexed.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You see, dear,” said Myra, “I knew them both in the days of the Scotch
- tour, and from the first understood how things were. I daresay your
- husband hasn’t told you about it, men forget these things, but there is no
- doubt whatever that Ivy was in love with him. I saw it then clearly
- enough, and I see it now. Be persuaded by me, and for your own sake and
- for her good don’t have her much with you. I am older than you, and I know
- the harm that a fascinating little witch like Ivy can work. Of course I
- say all this to you in confidence, but I thought it was only kind to give
- you a hint. You have not been to the theatre just lately.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I am rather tired of this play,” said Evereld. “I am glad we are to
- have a Shaksperian week at Bath.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, ‘legitimate’ is rather refreshing, isn’t it?” said Myra. “But the
- dresses are a bother. I have to devise something new for Portia in the
- casket scene, for the old one was ruined the last time I wore it. There
- were six of us dressing in one room, and there was hardly space to turn
- round; the train is all over grease-paint. The men are lucky in having
- their costumes provided by the management. Well, good bye, dear, take care
- of yourself. And be sure to let me know if there is anything I can do for
- you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld thanked her rather faintly and was not sorry to find herself alone
- once more. She felt giddy as she tried to recall exactly what Myra had
- said and hinted. Could it possibly be true? And if so what was she to do?
- That there was a vein of silliness in Ivy she had long ago discovered; now
- and then she said things which jarred a little on her, but the more she
- had seen of her the more she had learnt to like her, and her perfectly
- open and rational friendship for Ralph had always seemed to her most
- natural. Was it true that all the time Ivy had been acting? Myra’s
- arguments returned to her with a force which she vainly tried to struggle
- against. Had she been able to go out in the sunshine for a brisk walk
- probably she would have taken a more quiet view of the state of affairs,
- but she was not well enough for that, and the more she brooded over it all
- the more miserable she became.
- </p>
- <p>
- Just when her visions were at the darkest the bell rang and the little
- servant ushered in Ivy herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What luck to find you alone,” said the girl brightly, “I was afraid Mr.
- Macneillie would perhaps be in. I’m in the worst of tempers, for on this
- perfect day there wasn’t a lady’s bicycle to be had, and there are those
- two lucky men enjoying themselves while I am left in this smoky town.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I was sorry to hear you had been disappointed,” said Evereld, going on
- with her work. But somehow as she said the words she knew that she was not
- so sorry as she had at first been. Things had changed since Myra’s visit.
- She even fancied a difference in Ivy. Was there something more than
- cleverness in that winsome face? Was there a certain craftiness in those
- ever-changing eyes? She began to think there was, and being a bad hand at
- concealing her thoughts, her manner became constrained and she was
- extremely unresponsive to the flood of bright talk which Ivy poured out.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Something is worrying you,” said the girl at last growing conscious of
- the curious difference in her friend’s manner. “‘Don’t worry! Try
- Sunlight!’ as the soap advertisement tells you. Come out with me for a
- turn before dinner. Walking is the sovereign remedy for all ills. We used
- to try it in Scotland when we were half starving.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld hated herself for it, but she was so overwrought and miserable
- that even the use of that word “we” grated upon her. She declined the
- invitation, and her manner grew more and more cold and repellent.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy was puzzled and hurt.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Have you been alone all the morning?” she said, wondering if perhaps that
- accounted for her friend’s manner.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I have had a call from Mrs. Brinton,” said Evereld colouring a
- little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Of all perplexing people she is the most perplexing,” said Ivy. “One day
- I like her, the next she is perfectly detestable. What did she talk
- about?”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld faltered a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, of various things,” she said blushing. “She is getting ready a new
- dress for the Casket scene.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “By the bye,” said Ivy springing up, “that reminds me that I must ask her
- for the pattern of a sleeve I want for Jessica. I know she has it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And with friendly farewells which Evereld could not find it in her heart
- to respond to at all cordially she took her departure.
- </p>
- <p>
- No sooner was she out of the house than Evereld’s conscience began to
- prick her. She had felt very unkindly towards Ivy, and the wistful look of
- surprise and bewilderment which she had seen on the girl’s face as she
- uttered her cold farewells kept returning to her. What if Ivy went now to
- see Myra and learnt that they had been talking her over? What if after all
- this story of Myra’s was quite mistaken, or possibly one of those half
- truths that are almost worse and more damaging than utter falsehoods?
- </p>
- <p>
- Shame and regret and self-reproach began to struggle with the wretched
- suspicions that had been sown in her heart by Myra’s words, and her long
- repressed tears broke forth at last,—she sobbed as if her heart
- would break.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How miserably I have failed,” she thought to herself. “How ready I was to
- think evil, and to jump to the very worst conclusions. It would be likely
- enough that she should have cared for Ralph who was so kind to her when
- she was a child—I should only love her all the more if she had loved
- him. Why must I fancy at the first hint that there is sin in her
- friendship for him now? I won’t believe it—I won’t—I won’t.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She took up her work again and tried to sew, but her tears blinded her,
- for she remembered how much harm might already have been done by her angry
- resentment and her ready suspicions. Ever since the hope of motherhood had
- come to her she had tried her very utmost to rule her thoughts, to dwell
- only on what was beautiful and of good report, to read only what was
- healthy and ennobling, to see beautiful scenery whenever there was an
- opportunity, and in every way to try harder than usual to live up to her
- ideal; she knew that in this way the character of the next generation
- might be sensibly affected.
- </p>
- <p>
- Well, she had failed just when failure was most bitter to her, and being
- now thoroughly upset she had to struggle with all sorts of nervous terrors
- and anxieties and forebodings, in which her only resource was to repeat to
- herself the words of the Ewart motto “Avaunt Fear!” which had stood her in
- good stead during her flight from Sir Matthew.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was the sound of the servant’s step on the stairs and the ominous
- rattle of the dinner things which finally checked her tears; she was not
- going to be caught crying, and hastily beat a retreat into her bedroom.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If they see me like this they will imagine Ralph is unkind to me!” she
- thought, shocked at her own reflection in the looking-glass. “Oh dear, how
- I wish he were at home! And yet I don’t, for if he were here just now I
- know I couldn’t resist telling him everything, and that would worry him;
- and he shall not be worried just now when he is so specially busy studying
- ‘Hamlet.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie returning from the theatre soon after, could not but observe at
- their <i>tête à tête</i> dinner that his companion had been crying, but
- like the sensible man he was he affected utter blindness and did the
- lion’s share of the talking.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can you spare me a little time this afternoon,” he said as he rose from
- the table. “I want to drive over to a village about three miles from here,
- the day is so bright I don’t think you would take cold.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld gladly assented, and Macneillie, who as an old traveller was an
- adept at making people comfortable with rugs and cushions, tucked her
- comfortably into the best open carriage he had been able to secure and was
- glad to see that the fresh air soon brought back the colour to her face
- and the light to her eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You and I have both had a dull morning. I have been bored to death with
- people incessantly wanting to speak to me, and you I suppose have been
- bored by being too much alone.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No,” she said, “I have not been much alone; Mrs. Brinton came to me
- first, and after she had gone Ivy came. They both of them vexed me
- somehow, but I think it was my own fault.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie meditated for a few minutes. He had not studied character all
- these years for nothing, and Evereld’s transparent honesty and
- straightforwardness made her easy reading. Myra he had known for a long
- time both before her engagement and since her marriage; she was a much
- more complex character, but he understood her thoroughly and had noted,
- though she little guessed it, that she was jealous both of Evereld’s
- happiness and of Ivy’s success in her profession: moreover he was not
- without a shrewd suspicion that she was just a little bit in love with
- Ralph herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Life is never altogether easy when a great number of people are going
- about the world together,” he said. “There are sure to be little rubs. If
- you have ever seen anything of military life you will understand that. The
- officers’ wives and families are pretty sure to have their quarrels and
- little differences now and then, but in the main there is a certain
- loyalty that binds them together. It is just the same with us. I have
- known people not on speaking terms for weeks, but they generally have a
- good-natured reconciliation before the end of the tour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Evereld, “I can quite fancy that. And I know if I hadn’t been
- horrid and suspicious things would have been different this morning.
- Please don’t say anything about it to Ralph, I don’t want him to know that
- I had been crying.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie could not resist teasing her a little.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What! I thought you were a model husband and wife, and had no secrets
- from each other! And here you are pledging me to silence!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She laughed at his comical expression, and felt much better for laughing.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We do tell each other everything as a rule, but this could only vex him
- and make things uncomfortable all round, and just now he is studying so
- very hard for his first attempt at Hamlet. I really believe he is more
- Hamlet than himself; he seems to think of him all day long and even in his
- sleep he has taken to muttering bits of his part. It’s quite uncanny to
- hear him in the dead of night!”
- </p>
- <p>
- She was quite her cheerful self again and nothing more was said as to what
- had passed that morning. Macneillie however turned things over in his mind
- and that evening at the theatre he reaped the harvest of a quiet eye, and
- began to understand the precise state of affairs.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXIV
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “O for a heart from self set free
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- And doubt and fret and care,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Light as a bird, instinct with glee,
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- That fans the breezy air.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “O for a mind whose virtue moulds
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- All sensuous fair display,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And, like a strong commander, holds
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- A world of thoughts in sway!”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Professor Blackie
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hat has happened
- to Evereld?” said Ivy that morning, as Myra graciously cut out for her a
- second pattern of the sleeve which she wanted. “I have been to see her and
- it was like hurling words at a stone wall. I couldn’t have imagined that
- she would ever be like that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, you have just been in there,” said Myra reflectively. “I am sorry you
- went to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What has come over her?” said Ivy. “She seemed almost to dislike me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think she was a little upset by something she had heard,” said Myra,
- handing the pattern to her visitor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What can she have heard that should make her different to me?” said Ivy
- hotly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, my dear,” said Myra with a swift glance at her, “you know people
- are beginning to say that you run after Mr. Denmead, and I daresay she
- knows that you cared for him when we were in Scotland. Though very
- innocent she can hardly help putting two and two together, and it is but
- natural that she should resent your making friends with her for the sake
- of being able to go about constantly with her husband. You made a mistake
- in professing such a very violent friendship for her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is all a horrible lie,” cried Ivy, crimson with anger and distress.
- “No wonder she hates me if she believes me to be such a hypocrite as that!
- I was her friend—but I never will be again, no, nor Ralph’s either.
- Oh! they will discuss it all and talk me over! and I believe it’s your
- doing. You told her this lie. How I hate you! how I hate you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Like a little fury she flung into the fire the pattern which Myra had just
- cut out for her, and was gone before her companion could get in a single
- word.
- </p>
- <p>
- Down the street she sped, looking prettier than ever because her eyes were
- still bright with indignation and her cheeks aglow at the recollection of
- what had passed. As ill luck would have it, just as she reached the quiet
- road in which she was lodging with Helen Orme, she came suddenly face to
- face with Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I had been to inquire if you were in, and to try and persuade you to come
- and skate this afternoon,” he said eagerly. “The ice in the park will bear
- they say. Do come.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I never skated in my life,” said Ivy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll teach you, I am sure you would learn in a very little while, and it
- is just the sort of thing you would do to perfection.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As he spoke a sudden thought darted into Ivy’s mind. Here was a man who
- for some time had seriously annoyed her by persistent attentions which she
- did not want. She would now change her tactics, would carry on a desperate
- flirtation with him, and show these detestable gossips that they were
- quite in the wrong. As for the Denmeads she would avoid them as much as
- possible, and to Myra she would not vouchsafe a single word, no—not
- though they shared dressing-rooms!
- </p>
- <p>
- All this passed through her mind while Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes was assuring her
- that she would skate like one to the manner born.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t think I can go,” she said hesitatingly. “For one thing I have no
- skates, and then——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will manage the skates if only you will just come and try,” he said
- persuasively, and after a little more discussion Ivy consented, and the
- Honorable Bertie in the seventh heaven of happiness hurried away into the
- High Street, there to procure the most dainty little pair of skates that
- the place could supply, while Ivy, forgetting her anger in the
- satisfaction of her new scheme, ran in to make a hasty meal, and to put on
- the prettiest walking-dress and hat she possessed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Late in the afternoon, Ralph and George Mowbray bicycling back from
- Brookfield Castle dismounted for a few minutes to watch the skaters in the
- park, and to speculate as to the chances of the ice for the next day.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hullo!” exclaimed Ralph, suddenly perceiving a graceful little figure
- skimming past under the guidance of a tall fair-haired man, “Why there’s
- Ivy Grant pioneered by the Honorable Bertie! Wonders will never cease.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So she has caved in at last,” said George Mowbray with a laugh, “having
- snubbed him all these months I thought she would have contrived to send
- him about his business. How cock-a-hoop he does look!”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was quite patent to every one after this that Ivy’s objections to Mr.
- Vane-Ffoulkes were a thing of the past. She accepted every votive offering
- he brought her, skated with him at every available opportunity, and
- listened in the most flattering way to his extremely vapid talk. For each
- inch she granted him he was ready enough to seize an ell, and Macneillie
- who had no confidence at all in the character of his wealthy amateur, soon
- saw that things must be promptly checked.
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear,” he said one day to Evereld when their stay at Marden-town was
- drawing to a close. “I wish you would somehow contrive to give Ivy Grant a
- hint; she is going on very foolishly with Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes, and it is
- quite impossible that she can really have any regard for him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t manage to get hold of her,” said Evereld sighing. “She won’t come
- here and see me, but always makes some excuse.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I shall get rid of Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes then,” said Macneillie. “He
- has been an insufferable nuisance ever since he came. Would you believe it—he
- actually had the presumption to grumble because Ralph was to play Hamlet!
- I believe he seriously thinks he would do it much better himself! The
- conceit of that fellow beats everything I ever knew. You should have seen
- his face when he found that he was cast for Rosencrantz! It was a
- picture!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never can understand why you yourself don’t play Hamlet,” said Evereld.
- “You would do it splendidly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ralph understands,” said Macneillie a shade crossing his face. “He will
- tell you why it is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was silence for some minutes. Then, as though shaking himself free
- from thoughts he did not wish to dwell upon, Macneillie began to pace the
- room and to consider how best to rid the company of the undesirable
- presence of the Honorable Bertie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have it!” he exclaimed,—suddenly bursting into a fit of laughter.
- “Great Scott! That will be the very thing!” he rubbed his hands with keen
- satisfaction, chuckling to himself in high glee over the thought of the
- fun he anticipated. “Come to the theatre to-night, my dear, and I will
- treat you to a new transformation scene which, if I’m not mistaken, will
- bring down the house. But mind, not a word of it to any one beforehand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was not only his fellow actors who objected to the Honorable Bertie, he
- was detested by the stage carpenters and scene shifters, not so much
- because of his conceit as because he had an objectionable habit of being
- always in the way. For the past week they had been giving a play in which
- he took the part of a dragoon guard and though the insignificance of the
- character chafed him sorely, he found some consolation in the knowledge
- that in uniform he presented a really splendid appearance.
- </p>
- <p>
- Now it chanced that there was a property chair used in this play of
- remarkably comfortable proportions, and the Honorable Bertie being long
- and lazy invariably lounged at his ease in this chair between the acts,
- for he had no change of dress and no opportunity of amusing himself with
- Ivy just in the intervals because she happened to have rather elaborate
- changes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie, who was his own Stage Manager, had for some time observed the
- cool disregard shown by the amateur of the peremptory call of “Clear!” on
- the part of his Assistant stage manager. Deaf to the order Mr.
- Vane-Ffoulkes invariably took his ease in the big chair, lazily watching
- the busy workers with an air of irritating superiority.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think I shall cure him of this little habit,” reflected Macneillie with
- a smile, and seizing a moment when his victim was the only person visible
- on the stage he suddenly rang up the curtain.
- </p>
- <p>
- A roar of laughter rose from the audience, for there in full view sat the
- Honorable Bertie with his legs dangling in unconventional comfort over the
- arm of the chair.
- </p>
- <p>
- He sprang to his feet in horror, dashed to the practicable door at the
- back of the stage deeming it his nearest escape, forgot that he still wore
- his guard’s helmet, crashed it violently against the lintel, and by the
- time he had staggered back, and with lowered crest disappeared behind the
- scenes, left the house in convulsions of merriment.
- </p>
- <p>
- The curtain descended again, and the Honorable Bertie choking with rage
- contemplated his battered helmet with a fiery face, and vowed vengeance on
- Macneillie, but had not the sense to join in the laughter which even Ivy
- could not suppress, do what she would. The sight of her mirth put the last
- touch to his wrath, and at the close of the performance he had an angry
- interview with the manager who, as he furiously declared, had made him
- ridiculous before the whole house.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The curtain was rung up too early,” admitted Macneillie. “But the order
- had been given to clear the stage; you persistently disregard that order
- every night and must take the consequences.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will not stay another day in your d——d company,” said the
- Honorable Bertie, fuming.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie bowed in acquiescence; gravely assured the Earl’s son that a
- cheque for the amount of his weekly salary should be sent the next day to
- his hotel, and bade him good evening. Perhaps Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes did not
- quite like to be so promptly taken at his own word, perhaps the quiet
- dignity of Macneillie’s manner was too much for him; the threats and
- denunciations he longed to pour forth somehow stuck in his throat, and
- with a muttered oath he took his departure, leaving Macneillie well
- satisfied with the result of his stratagem.
- </p>
- <p>
- Three days after, the company moved on to Gloucester, Ivy however had made
- the Business Manager put her in a different railway carriage from the
- Denmeads with whom she usually travelled, and Evereld could only contrive
- to exchange a few words with her at the station.
- </p>
- <p>
- The following week when they went to Bath matters seemed rather more
- favourable. Ralph who had a great liking for the old theatre there with
- its many memories, declared that it was the most interesting theatre in
- England, and Evereld, partly for the sake of seeing it, partly with the
- hope of patching up the quarrel, went with him on the Monday morning to
- rehearsal.
- </p>
- <p>
- The play was “The Merchant of Venice” and fortune favoured her, for Ivy
- had not a great deal to do, and quickly yielded to the gentle kindly
- manner of Ralph’s wife. Together they laughed over Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes’
- discomfiture, and agreed that it was a great relief to be well quit of
- him; then, as the rehearsal bid fair to be a lengthy one, Ivy ran out to
- buy Bath buns at Fort’s and handed them impartially to all present
- including Myra, and Evereld began to think that things would soon come
- straight once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do come in to tea with me to-day,” she begged. “I shall be alone for
- hours for they mean to go through some of Hamlet this afternoon for
- Ralph’s sake, and I shall be going to London next week you know for some
- time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It was difficult to resist the friendly look in her eyes, and Ivy
- consented to come, arriving soon after four at the rooms in Kingsmead
- Terrace in a somewhat silent mood. However tea and a good laugh over the
- vagaries of Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes soon thawed her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I only wish I had never flirted with him,” she said regretfully. “All the
- time I hated and despised him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What made you do it then?” said Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy crimsoned.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was Myra’s fault. I believe she was in league with him. When I found
- that she had told you such a lie about me, I thought I would show everyone
- how false it was.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I knew it to be false almost directly,” said Evereld. “It was only
- for an hour or so, before there had been time to think things over that I
- believed it, dear. Indeed if I had been well and strong I don’t think I
- should have believed it for a moment.”
- </p>
- <p>
- To her surprise Ivy suddenly broke down and began to sob.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh,” she said, “I am so dreadfully alone in the world! I don’t think I
- can do without you two.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why should you do without us?” said Evereld. “I hope you are not going to
- punish me any more for having been cold and repellent the other day? Ralph
- and I shall always want you to be our friend.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But how can I be your friend when all these days you have been discussing
- me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We haven’t discussed you. Ralph has never heard one word of what Myra
- said. The only thing he did say was that he thought you did not realise
- the sort of man Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes really was, or you would be more
- careful. Of course he can’t help knowing, too, that you have quarrelled
- with Myra, because you don’t speak to her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am going to tell you just the whole truth,” said Ivy, drying her eyes
- and looking straight up at Evereld with an air of resolute courage that
- made her winsome little face actually beautiful. “I did love Ralph once.
- At first he was just a sort of hero to me, but in Scotland when we were
- all so miserable and he was always trying to help me, then I began to love
- him; and when the Skoots disappeared and left us stranded at Forres I
- couldn’t bear to be parted from him and let him see that I cared. I knew
- he understood; for he showed me that it would not do for us to stay
- together when the company dispersed, and he told me how he cared for you,
- not of course saying your name, but I knew he meant you. At first it made
- me angry and miserable, but I liked him so for being true, and for
- speaking straightforwardly as very few men do to women; and always he made
- me feel that he respected me and liked and trusted me. When later on the
- Brintons told me he was engaged to you I was able to be glad of it—I
- was indeed; and when Myra told me the other day that you believed such a
- lie about me, and I guessed at once it was all her doing—why it
- seemed as if she had trodden under foot the very best part of me, and
- afterwards I didn’t much care what I did. I think I could almost have
- married Mr. Vane-Ffoulkes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That would have been an awful fate,” said Evereld with a shudder, as she
- realised how much harm her ready suspicions had done. “Ivy dear, you must
- promise me never to let anyone come between us again. Ralph and I are
- always your friends—do believe that once for all, or I shall never
- feel at rest about you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They kissed each other warmly and the misunderstanding was quite at an
- end, leaving them much closer friends than they had been before. To set
- things straight with Myra Brinton would probably not prove so easy, but
- Evereld was very anxious to effect a reconciliation before she went to
- London.
- </p>
- <p>
- Partly with a view to this, and partly because she had not yet seen the
- “Merchant of Venice” she got Ralph to take her that night behind the
- scenes.
- </p>
- <p>
- Unlike so many of the modern theatres the old theatre at Bath in which
- Mrs. Siddons had often acted in former days could boast a comfortable
- green room, and here, she and Ralph and Helen Orme did their best to draw
- Ivy and Myra Brinton into more pleasant relations.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy might have been persuaded to relent, but Myra withdrew into a shell of
- cold reserve which made Ralph think of the days when he had first known
- her at Dumfries. She looked on with chilling surprise and disapproval
- while Evereld chatted in a friendly fashion with Ivy, and quite refused to
- join in the general conversation. While all the rest were pinning each
- other’s draperies she stood by the fireplace busily occupied with her
- powder-puff, apparently quite self-engrossed, but in reality noting with
- jealous pangs the easy good fellowship of her fellow artists and the
- expression of Ralph’s face as he talked with Evereld and Ivy. She made up
- her mind to hold entirely aloof and show how she despised them all, and it
- proved quite impossible to make any way with her.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld made one last effort in the interval after the third act when
- Myra, looking extremely handsome in her lawyer’s cap and gown came into
- the green room ready for the Trial scene, and Ivy, in good spirits after
- receiving much applause for her sprightly rendering of Jessica’s part, was
- quite disposed to break the silence which had now lasted so long between
- them. But as it takes two to make a quarrel it also takes two to make an
- atonement, and Mrs. Brinton calmly turned her back upon the girl and
- sailed across the room to the inevitable powder-box.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t care,” said Ivy under her breath as she shrugged her shoulders
- and left the room. “If it pleases her to go about with a black dog on her
- back, let her! Now you are going to stand at the wings, Evereld, and enjoy
- the Trial scene; you will have a capital view of it just from here. As for
- me, I shall run up and change for my moonlight scene. <i>Au revoir!</i>”
- </p>
- <p>
- She felt in a mischievous mood, resenting Myra’s absurd behaviour, and yet
- too much pleased by her good reception and by the satisfaction of being on
- comfortable terms with Ralph and Evereld again to be exactly angry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will dress quickly and run down before Myra comes up for her next
- change,” she reflected. “It is just hateful sharing a dressing-room with
- anyone when you are not on speaking terms. I wish Mr. Macneillie would
- have let her have the ‘Star’ room, but he always will keep the one nearest
- the stage for himself whether it is good or bad. Bother! there’s not room
- to swing a cat in this place! I wish they would give us more decent
- rooms.” Jessica’s dress required a great deal of pinning and draping. It
- was by no means easy to dispose of the long trailing fold of light Liberty
- silk, and Ivy was in an impatient mood. Suddenly as she tossed the end of
- a bit of light gauze drapery over her shoulder it caught by some mischance
- in the gas jet from which she had, against rules, removed the guard while
- curling her fringe. In an instant it was flaring all about her, and wild
- with fright she found it impossible to free herself from its serpent like
- coils.
- </p>
- <p>
- Presence of mind had never been one of her characteristics and now the
- awful sense of her danger and her horrible loneliness drove her to
- distraction. She cried for help, but it seemed to her that she might burn
- to death before anyone heard her in that remote place.
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile Evereld standing at the wings was watching with keen interest
- Macneillie’s masterly representation of Shylock, and thinking how handsome
- Ralph looked as Bassanio, when she was startled by a distant cry.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You take my house when you do take the prop that doth sustain my house,”
- pleaded Shylock, and at that instant another much more distinct sound—unquestionably
- a scream—from behind, made Evereld’s heart stand still. Surely it
- was Ivy’s voice!
- </p>
- <p>
- Without a moment’s hesitation she opened the door leading to the ladies’
- dressing rooms, hurried up the stairs and had just gained the passage
- above, when to her horror she saw Ivy rushing forward her pale green dress
- all ablaze.
- </p>
- <p>
- Snatching off the warm cloak she had been wearing as she stood at the
- wings Evereld flung it about the terrified girl, and exerting all her
- strength almost hurled Ivy to the ground, dismayed to see how the flames
- were rising towards her face.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t try to get up,” she cried, as Ivy mad with fear and pain would have
- leapt to her feet again. “Roll over and we shall crush out the fire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It could have been only two minutes yet it seemed to them hours before
- others hearing the screams came to the rescue, and by that time Evereld
- had succeeded in stifling the flames. Macneillie learning directly he came
- off the stage that something was amiss hurried up to them and was dismayed
- to find what had happened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Go at once and get hold of Dr. Grey,” he said turning to the business
- manager who had been the first to come up. “He is in the front row of the
- dress circle. Brinton,” he added turning to the Duke of Venice, who was
- the next to appear, “you will help me to lift her into her dressing-room.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is so small and crowded,” said Evereld. “Would not the green room be
- better? she must be carried down the stairs sooner or later.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, quite true. Give me your cloak, Brinton, we will throw it over her,
- and do you go first, Evereld, and see that no one is in the way. We shall
- get her safely to the green room before the end of the act.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ivy’s moans as they carried her were drowned in the applause which
- followed the end of the Trial Scene. And Evereld, not pausing to realise
- that she was trembling from head to foot, went on before to make ready a
- place where they could lay her down, and thanks to the promptitude of the
- business manager the doctor was on the spot almost as soon as they were.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph, strolling up the stage a few minutes later, having heard nothing
- that had passed, was rudely recalled to the present as he approached the
- little group of people round the green room door. “The doctor has just
- gone in,” he heard some one say, and the words threw him into a sudden
- panic of terror.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Let me get by,” he said. “What’s the matter?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You can’t go in,” said several voices! “Ivy Grant has been awfully burnt,
- they say Mrs. Denmead managed to get the fire out.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where is my wife?” said Ralph distractedly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is in the green room helping. It’s no good my dear boy. I tell you no
- one can go in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph, sick with anxiety for Evereld, and only longing to get her out of
- the room, seemed on the point of taking the speaker by the collar and
- thrusting him aside, when to his relief the door opened and Macneillie
- came out. They all made way for him and heard him giving orders for a
- messenger to be sent at once for the ambulance, then before a single
- question could be put to him by Ralph, the Assistant stage manager came up
- to discuss the arrangements that were to be made for the last act.
- Fortunately Ivy’s understudy happened to be present so that no very great
- delay was to be feared, and when this matter had been disposed of, Helen
- Orme who had good naturedly hurried away to dress in order that she might
- be free to offer her help, came hastening back and begged leave to go in
- and do what she could for Ivy.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Send Evereld to me,” was Ralph’s parting injunction, and Helen Orme,
- feeling very sorry for him, went in and finding that the preliminary
- dressing of Ivy’s burns was over, admitted him on her own authority.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a kindly meant act but under the circumstances a little risky, for
- at the first sight of him Evereld’s composure began to give way. The
- doctor noticed it at once.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now, Mrs. Denmead,” he said cheerfully. “Let this lady take your place
- for a minute, and you go and sit down. I shall be ready to dress that hand
- of yours directly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” moaned Ivy who had spoken very little since they had carried her
- down. “Is Evereld hurt?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Just a little,” said the doctor. “But she won’t grudge that, for she has
- saved your life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think you could just manage to get me home,” whispered Evereld,
- suddenly realising that her strength would hold out no longer and that she
- could only agitate and harm Ivy by staying.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, darling,” said Ralph, “of course I can.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But the cheery doctor had overheard and was beside them in a minute.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where are you staying?” he said crossing the room to them. “In Kingsmead
- Terrace? I will drive you there at once in my carriage. Wait for a minute
- and I will bring it round to the stage door. My little patient here will
- do well enough now, and before long they will carry her to the hospital in
- the ambulance. Just one word with you, Mr. Denmead.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph followed him out of the room.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now kindly pilot me through these passages,” said the doctor, having put
- a brief question or two as to Evereld. “Your part is not quite finished is
- it? Another scene yet if I remember right. You must leave me to see your
- wife safely home, and don’t be over anxious. Of course, it’s an
- unfortunate thing that she has had this fearful shock, but there is no
- reason why she should not get on well enough. Have you a decent sort of
- landlady with a head on her shoulders?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is a capable sort of woman,” said Ralph, “but——”
- </p>
- <p>
- “All right. That will do very well for the present. Here’s my carriage——”
- </p>
- <p>
- He gave directions to the coachman, and in a few minutes time Ralph had
- put his wife into the brougham and with a heavy heart had turned back into
- the theatre to get through the rest of his work as best he could.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXV
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “God! do not let my loved one die,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- But rather wait until the time
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- That I am grown in purity
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Enough to enter thy pure clime.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- Lowell.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">W</span>hen Ivy from time
- to time opened her eyes in that dreadful interval of waiting for the
- ambulance which seemed to her almost age-long, she saw a curious
- succession of faces. First there had been the cheerful doctor, and Evereld
- with her brave blue eyes and firm little mouth. Then those two faces had
- mysteriously disappeared, and the wrinkled and careworn features of the
- wardrobe woman had greeted her instead, and Helen Orme dressed as Nerissa
- bent over her and asked her if she suffered much.
- </p>
- <p>
- After that Myra Brinton had stooped and kissed her, to her great
- astonishment, and all the foolish little quarrels of the past died out
- under the influence of that great uniter of human beings—pain. Ralph
- came too with kindly inquiries, and she roused herself to ask again after
- Evereld.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are sure the doctor told the truth?” she asked doubtfully. “Was she
- really not badly burnt?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, not badly,” said Ralph. “Only one hand blistered and her wrist
- scorched.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The summons came just at that minute for Myra and Helen Orme, and he
- seized the opportunity to escape, fearful lest she should ask further
- questions. He stood at the wings with his friend George Mowbray who was
- playing Antonio, watching in a dreamy way the ill-arranged dress which had
- been hastily contrived for Ivy’s understudy.
- </p>
- <p>
- He would have missed the cue for his entrance had not George Mowbray
- pushed him forward, and it seemed to him that it was not his own voice but
- the voice of somebody else that uttered Bassanio’s speeches, while all the
- time he himself was away with Evereld, though his body mechanically went
- through the business of his part. Macneillie watched him with some
- anxiety, but before the play ended, the arrival of the ambulance and the
- necessity of seeing Ivy safely transferred to it drove all else from the
- manager’s mind. He refused to allow anyone but himself to take her to the
- hospital, feeling that she was under his charge, and troubled to remember
- that the poor child had not a relation in the world who could now befriend
- her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do your best to get well quickly, my dear,” he said in his kindly voice
- when he took leave of her. “And don’t fret as to the future. You shall
- come back to the company whenever you like.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Returning to the theatre he found the scene struck and all the house in
- darkness save for the light by the stage door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is Mr. Denmead still in his dressing-room?” he inquired.
- </p>
- <p>
- “No sir,” said the door-keeper. “He has been gone some time and Mr. and
- Mrs. Brinton with him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie ran upstairs to speak a word to Ivy’s understudy as to the
- dresses needed later in the week, then he walked slowly back to Kingsmead
- Terrace, but although he rang repeatedly no one came to answer the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was just meditating a burglarious entrance by the kitchen window when
- at last he heard footsteps approaching and the latch was raised.
- </p>
- <p>
- Myra Brinton softly opened to him; her face was pale and anxious.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, is it you!” she exclaimed. “I hoped it was the nurse. Tom has gone to
- try and get hold of one. Evereld’s child is born and the doctor seems
- terribly anxious about her.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie was a true Scotsman and seldom said much when he was moved. He
- stalked on into the sitting room and began to pace to and fro in silence.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld had grown almost like a daughter to him and the thought of her
- peril and of Ralph’s frightful anxiety brought a choking sensation to his
- throat.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What of the child?” he asked presently.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is a boy,” said Myra. “Of course extremely small; they gave him to me
- in the next room and I have done what I could for him, the maidservant is
- seeing to him now, and the others are in with Evereld. Hark! there is
- someone coming downstairs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie went out into the passage and encountered Ralph who looked as
- if years had passed over his head since they last met.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They want another doctor,” he said snatching his hat from the stand.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give me the name and address and I will go,” said Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have not had your supper,” objected Ralph. “And, as it is, we are
- turning the whole house upside down for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What matter!” said Macneillie. “Go back to Evereld, my boy, I will see to
- this for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph protested no further, indeed his one desire was to return to his
- wife, but catching sight of Myra, he paused to inquire after the child.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Evereld keeps asking if it is all right,” he said. “And the doctor, who
- would say anything to quiet her, assures her it is all it ought to be. Do
- you think there is really a hope that it will live?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know so little about such things,” said Myra, with a sick remembrance
- of the jealous feelings that had stirred within her on first learning of
- Evereld’s hopes. “He is the tiniest little fellow I ever saw, but there
- seems nothing amiss with him. Hark! there is a ring at the door bell. It
- must be the nurse at last. We will see what she says to him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph, who had vaguely expected a sort of Mrs. Gamp, was relieved to see a
- comely middle-aged woman with a refined and sensible face, and that
- wonderful air of composure and capable quietness which makes a trained
- nurse so unlike an amateur.
- </p>
- <p>
- She praised all that Myra had done and declared that with care the child
- would do well enough, and Ralph, looking for the first time at the little
- doll-like face of his son felt a sudden sense of hope and joy and relief
- which carried him through the dark hours of that night of anxiety and
- suspense.
- </p>
- <p>
- For all night long Evereld lay between life and death. The younger doctor
- who had been called in despaired of saving her, and Ralph knew it, though
- no one actually put the thought into words. He knew it by the man’s face,
- and by the sound of effort in the voice of his first friend, cheery Doctor
- Grey. Evereld was dying from exhaustion, and from the terrible shock she
- had undergone.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still like a true Denmead he clung to hope, and held his fear at arm’s
- length; every word of encouragement that fell from Dr. Grey’s lips helping
- him to keep up.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her age was in her favour, her patience, her great firmness and courage
- all would stand her in good stead; so said the old doctor; and Ralph hoped
- against hope until at last about sunrise a change set in. Even the younger
- doctor grew sanguine. Evereld’s hold upon life was evidently growing
- firmer. She looked up at Ralph and smiled.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What day is it?” she asked, for pain knows no time limits and she had no
- notion whether hours or days had gone by.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is Tuesday morning,” he said stooping down to kiss her, a rapturous
- sense of relief filling his heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- She seemed to meditate for a few minutes, and obediently took the gruel
- the nurse brought her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why!” she exclaimed presently. “It is your first night in Hamlet, and you
- will be tired out. Go and rest, darling.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “The best rest is to see you growing better,” he said tenderly.
- </p>
- <p>
- After another interval she asked about the child.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you want to see him?” asked the young doctor, hailing as a good sign
- her return of interest.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not now, later on” she said quietly. “I will try to sleep first. I’m sure
- I could sleep if you would go and rest, Ralph.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Quite right, you are a wise little woman, Mrs. Denmead,” said Dr. Grey.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph allowed himself to be taken off by the younger doctor, seeing that
- they thought it best he should go. They paused on the way down to visit
- the next room, where the good-natured landlady sat in a rocking-chair by
- the fire nursing the latest descendant of Sir Ralph Denmead the Crusader
- who, instead of being born in a stately castle, had first seen the light
- in Kingsmead Terrace at a lodging house specially reserved for what the
- landlady termed “Theat’icals.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph could only thank her for all her help, but he was blessed with the
- power of expression and the good soul felt fully rewarded for what she had
- gone through.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t you mention it, sir, it’s nothing but a pleasure,” she said. “Mrs.
- Brinton she was here till one o’clock, and a very pleasant spoken lady she
- is and handy with the child. And, says I to her, the finest grown man I
- ever see in my life, six foot two in his stocking feet, was not a morsel
- bigger than this baby to start with. A fine set up man he was as you could
- wish till he lost his leg along of frost bites and under-feeding in the
- Crimea.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph looked at the funny little bundle swathed in flannel and almost
- laughed at the thought of his possible development into a military hero of
- six foot two, losing a leg for his country’s glory! But the mention of
- military life made him think of Bridget, and he determined to telegraph to
- her at once.
- </p>
- <p>
- Down in the sitting-room they found Macneillie solacing himself with
- Shakspere and a pipe, and delighted to hear the more favourable report.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You have been up all night, Governor,” said Ralph regretfully, when the
- doctor had gone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, yes, I was afraid you might need me,” said Macneillie. “I had
- hardly dared to hope for this good news. Come, sit down and eat, boy, you
- are nearly played out. I brewed some coffee for you, but I don’t know
- whether it is fit to drink now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph obeyed, eating like a hungry school boy, and his face gradually
- assumed a less ghastly hue.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What time is rehearsal?” he asked glancing at his watch. “Hullo! I forgot
- to wind it, and it has run down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s now eight,” said Macneillie. “Rehearsal is at eleven, but you won’t
- be needed. I am going to play Hamlet.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, Governor,” said Ralph emphatically. “I shall be all right after a
- little sleep, and it was almost the first thing Evereld thought of. Isn’t
- she a model actor’s wife?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He knew well that to play Hamlet was almost more than Macneillie could
- endure, for long ago the Manager had told him that he had acted it every
- night before Christine Greville’s wedding, and that it had become so bound
- up with all the mental misery he had gone through at that time that he had
- never dared to attempt it again.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, she remembered it,” said Macneillie with a smile. “That was very like
- Evereld. I would put off the performance if possible, but it is promised
- for three nights and it will be very difficult to manage anything else,
- specially as Ivy Grant is <i>hors de combat</i>, too, and her understudy
- such a novice. No, we will give the play; I have spent most of the night
- in company with the Danish prince and this evening he and I will patch up
- our ancient quarrel.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But Ralph was not to be borne down by these arguments, and at last
- Macneillie agreed to a compromise. The play had already been rehearsed for
- some time. Ralph should be excused from attendance that morning, and if
- all were well should play the part as arranged.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Now no more of this argle-bargle as we say in Scotland. To bed with you,
- or we shall have you breaking down this evening,” said Macneillie. “What?
- a letter you must write?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Only to Mrs. Hereford, who you know had promised to house Evereld during
- her illness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will see to it,” said Macneillie. “And you want this telegram to go to
- that nice old Irish body, the soldier’s widow? Well, leave them to me, and
- get along with you, do. Follow the excellent example of that son of yours,
- and spend your time in sleeping.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph took the advice very literally and for the next eight hours slept
- profoundly. He was roused at last to a consciousness that someone was
- standing beside his bed, and looking up sleepily was vaguely astonished to
- see Bridget’s well-known face. Was he a boy again in Sir Matthew’s house?
- And was Bridget as usual coming in to rouse him that he might not incur
- his guardian’s wrath by being late for breakfast? His heavy eyelids
- drooped again, when he was suddenly startled back to full recollection by
- the sound of a wailing baby in the room below.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why, that must be the boy,” he reflected. “And I am a family man,—and
- Sir Matthew has gone to Jericho! What news, Bridget?” he exclaimed
- anxiously. “How is my wife?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is doing nicely, sir, God bless her sweet soul! Your dinner is ready,
- Mr. Ralph, and after that, why you can be coming in to see mistress. She
- has had two good sleeps, thank God.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bridget was in her element with the sole care of the little doll-like
- baby.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s exactly like you, sir, bless it,” she remarked when Ralph paused on
- his way to the theatre to take another look at his small son.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, really, Bridget! You can’t expect me to take that for a
- compliment,” he said laughing. “He has no eyes to speak of—just a
- couple of slits—and as for his face, it seems to be all nose, with
- just a little margin of pink puckers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah, it’s always the outsiders that can see the likeness,” said Bridget.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Look here upon this picture, and on this,” quoted Ralph merrily. “You
- will send me off to play Hamlet in a very humble and chastened mood,
- Bridget. I never thought I was quite so ugly.”
- </p>
- <p>
- As a matter of fact the great strain he had passed through, and the
- present relief, quite blunted the feeling of intense nervousness which
- usually overwhelmed him when for the first time he played an important
- character. All his fellow actors too were in sympathy with him, and it did
- his heart good to hear what they said as to Evereld’s prompt courage and
- her plucky rescue of Ivy Grant. The news from the hospital was also
- cheering. Ivy was going on as well as could be expected, and although her
- burns were severe, she was likely to be able to resume her work in two or
- three months’ time, and thanks to Evereld she was not at all disfigured.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph’s long and patient study of his part bore excellent fruit. He gave a
- really striking representation of Hamlet’s lovable and strangely complex
- character; and Macneillie watched his pupil with satisfaction, feeling
- to-night more than he had ever done before that Ralph had in him the
- makings of a really great actor.
- </p>
- <p>
- “If only that brave little wife of his is spared,” he thought to himself,
- “his future is assured. But he is the sort of man who might be altogether
- paralysed by a great sorrow. I should fancy it was the early loss of his
- wife which turned the Vicar of Whinhaven into a recluse, and according to
- Ralph it was certainly a great trouble and disappointment which finally
- killed the poor man. What develops one kind of nature ruins another.”
- </p>
- <p>
- In the course of the next few days there was a great deal of anxiety both
- on account of Evereld and of the child. In the midst of it there suddenly
- appeared upon the scenes the one person who was most capable of cheering
- and helping them all.
- </p>
- <p>
- Mrs. Hereford, with her sweet bright face, the youthfulness and vivacity
- of which contrasted so curiously with her prematurely grey hair, took them
- all by surprise and was quietly announced one afternoon at the house in
- Kingsmead Terrace.
- </p>
- <p>
- “How good of you to come!” cried Ralph, feeling as if the mere sight of
- her had lifted a load from his mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And how is Evereld?” she asked. “They told me at the door she was better,
- but I wasn’t sure how much the little servant knew.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “She is better to-day,” said Ralph with a sigh. “But all last night we
- were terribly anxious again, I think it was worrying over the child’s
- illness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He is very delicate I am afraid,” said Mrs. Hereford.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, but they are hopeful about him now. Yesterday they thought him
- dying, and I had to rush out for a clergyman to get him christened.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And to go off to your work in the evening I suppose not knowing how
- things would be when you came back.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Ralph. “That was the worst part of all. It was my third
- appearance as Hamlet, and I all but broke down.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I well remember what an agony it used to be to sing in public when Dermot
- or Molly were dangerously ill,” said Mrs. Hereford. “And talking of Dermot
- reminds me of what I came to propose this afternoon. He is much stronger
- but the doctor doesn’t care for him to be in London just yet. I think of
- taking a house here till the Easter recess, and when Evereld can be moved
- we think it would be a capital plan if she came to us here instead of in
- town. I am not going to be defrauded of my visitor by this provoking
- catastrophe. I have been looking this afternoon at a furnished house which
- is to let in Lansdowne Crescent, and if all goes well I don’t see why in a
- fortnight or three weeks’ time Evereld and her baby should not come to us
- there. I suppose you will have to move on elsewhere with the company?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Ralph, “I must leave next Monday, but luckily we shall only be
- at Bristol so I can run over pretty often.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And we shall always be delighted to have you for your Sundays later on,”
- said Mrs. Hereford, “don’t you think it would be better for Evereld to
- come to us? She will be rather lonely here.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, it would be the best thing in the world for her to be with you,” said
- Ralph. “But it will be disarranging all your plans I am afraid,—and
- putting you to so much trouble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Not at all,” said Mrs. Hereford. “Evereld and I shall both be widowed
- during the week, that is the only drawback; but husbands must work. And in
- any case I should have had to take Dermot somewhere, for he is the last
- boy to take care of himself and will do the most mad things if he hasn’t a
- sister to look after him. I tell him it is becoming such a tax that I
- shall really have to take to matchmaking and select him a nice capable
- wife who would see that he wore his great-coat in an east wind, and didn’t
- always sit in a direct draught. Ah, here is Mr. Macneillie, we must tell
- him of our plans.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie rang for tea, and then they discussed the future arrangements
- of which he cordially approved.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And how about the poor little thing who was burnt? Is she getting on
- well?” asked Mrs. Hereford.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have just been to see her,” said Macneillie. “Miss Orme and I took her
- some flowers. She is suffering a great deal still poor child, but they say
- she is wonderfully patient.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t seem to remember her. Was she with you at Southbourne?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, she has only been with us a year,” said Macneillie. “And was getting
- on remarkably well. I hope she will be fit to act by Easter. She had a
- very narrow escape, and owed her life to Mrs. Denmead’s presence of mind
- and courage! They will be greater friends than ever after this.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like to go and see her,” said Mrs. Hereford. “Or is she hardly
- up to visitors yet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, she would like to see you,” said Ralph, “for she has heard so much
- about you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am not going to ask to see Evereld to-day, for I am quite sure she
- ought to be kept absolutely quiet,” said Mrs. Hereford. “You must tell her
- how much I look forward to having her later on. Suppose we walk round to
- the hospital now. There will just be time before my return train.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her cheery sensible talk did more for Ralph than anything else could have
- done; he poured out all his anxieties to her, and found in her motherly
- wisdom and her hopeful words exactly what he needed to tide him over the
- difficulties which overwhelmed him.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is it about her?” he thought to himself, as he paced up and down
- outside the hospital while she paid her visit to Ivy. “She seems to me
- just like a gleam of sunshine on a dark day, or a fresh breeze in the
- summer. I have met plenty of Irish women who were friendly and pleasant
- and delightful to talk to, but it isn’t a mere matter of charm with her,—she
- seems to have a heart wide enough to take in every one that is in
- trouble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Doreen Hereford did not find it difficult to make room in her heart for
- one so helpless and forlorn as Ivy. The merest glance at the wistful face
- in the hospital ward was sufficient. And Ivy responded to her at once and
- felt all the comfort of her presence. For Doreen never patronised people,
- she mothered them; and between these two forms of helpfulness there lies a
- world of difference.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me a little more about that poor child,” she said to Ralph as they
- walked to the station. “You have known her for a long time, have you not.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, her grandfather used to give me elocution lessons, she has been on
- the stage since she was ten and has had rather a hard apprenticeship.
- Evereld has taken a great fancy to her and she needs friends, poor girl,
- for she is quite alone in the world. The old Professor died just after our
- Scotch company broke up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have been wondering what she will do when she leaves the hospital,”
- said Mrs. Hereford. “Would Evereld like it if I asked her to stay with us
- too? Or wouldn’t that work well?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sure she would like it,” said Ralph. “But will you have room for
- them all?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh yes,” she said laughing. “It’s a big house, and besides we Irish
- people know how to stow away large numbers. I want somehow to see more of
- little Miss Grant, there is something very winning about her. Talk it over
- by and bye with Evereld and see what she thinks.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXVI
- </h2>
- <p>
- “<i>The comfort which poor human beings want in such a world as this is
- not the comfort of ease, but the comfort of strength</i>.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- C. Kingsley.
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">E</span>vereld thought the
- whole plan a most delightful one, and if anything could have consoled her
- for the parting with Ralph on Monday it would have been the prospect of
- spending the time of her convalescence with Bride O’Ryan and Mrs.
- Hereford, and of knowing that Ivy was not to be left out in the cold but
- was to enjoy just the same hospitality and care.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the Sunday she was allowed to see Myra Brinton for the first time.
- Perhaps the events of the week had done more for Myra than for anyone
- else; she had been so horrified to discover what mischief her sentimental
- fancy for Ralph, her jealousy of Evereld and her quarrel with Ivy had
- wrought, that she had taken herself thoroughly in hand, and had learnt a
- lesson she would never forget. As for the baby, it played no small part in
- her education, and Bridget was always delighted that she should come in
- and make much of it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I don’t know how to thank you enough,” said Evereld looking up at her
- gratefully. “They have all told me how good and helpful you were last
- Monday, when no one had time to think much of Baby Dick.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is he to be called Dick?” said Myra willing to turn the conversation from
- herself.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, after my brother who died. Have you seen Ivy yet?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, several times,” said Myra. “I wanted just to tell you that everything
- is quite right between us again. I was very wrong, Evereld, to tell you
- what I did at Mardentown. It was all a mistake and I little thought what
- it would lead to. If poor Ivy had not been in a hurry to be out of my way
- before I came back to the dressing-room, I do believe the accident would
- never have happened. My horrible gossip might have been the death of both
- of you. I can never forget that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t let us ever talk of it again,” said Evereld. “We shall all three be
- closer friends for the rest of our lives just because this has happened.
- That’s the only thing that matters now. And Myra, I wanted to ask you to
- be Dick’s Godmother. You had all the trouble of him at first, and so he
- seems rightly to belong to you. Mr. Macneillie has promised to be one of
- the Godfathers.”
- </p>
- <p>
- This was the finishing touch to the reconciliation and a very happy
- thought on the part of the little mother. Nothing could have pleased Myra
- more, and she left Bath a much happier and a much better woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld made herself as happy as she could with her baby and with old
- Bridget as companions, but her convalescence was tedious, and she was
- unspeakably glad when at length the day arrived for her removal to the
- Hereford’s house in Lansdowne Crescent.
- </p>
- <p>
- The beautiful view of the Somersetshire hills and of the grey city in the
- valley below, which she gained from her window, the cheerful sense of
- family life going on all about her, the companionship of Bride O’Ryan, and
- the comfort of having Mrs. Hereford always at hand to advise her about
- Dick and to share all her anxieties, seemed exactly what she needed.
- </p>
- <p>
- Her voice recovered its tone, her cheeks regained their fresh bright
- colour, and she became once more just a girl again, ready to enjoy life in
- her own quiet fashion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could almost fancy we were back at school,” said Bride cheerfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “When, as at present I’m in the shade with the light behind me,” quoted
- Evereld merrily. “My hands are about the worst part of me now, they are so
- horribly white, otherwise you must own that I am quite presentable. How
- strange it seems though to think of the life at Southbourne. It was so
- happy while it lasted, but the thought of going back to it is dreadful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Instead you spend half the day in playing with Dick,” said Bride
- teasingly. “The amount of time you waste on that child is appalling.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’m not going to be one of those horrid modern mothers who never have
- time to see their own babies,” said Evereld. “It would have been wrong to
- have had him at all if I didn’t mean to be his best friend from the very
- beginning right through his life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you mean him to be an actor?” asked Bride, looking at the funny little
- face nestled close to Evereld and wondering what it would develop into.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like it if he has all that is needed to make one,” said Evereld,
- “but who can prophesy whether he has any special gift, or whether he has
- patience for all the drudgery it involves?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me what you really think of the life, now that you have had some
- experience of it,” said Bride. “Quite candidly, don’t you find it very
- monotonous?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “No, I have found it very interesting,” said Evereld. “I can fancy though
- that it must be trying to do nothing but one play for many hundreds of
- nights. In a company like ours you see we get plenty of variety.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And you don’t mind the moving about week by week?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, sometimes it is tiresome, but there are many advantages. Mr.
- Macneillie knows a host of interesting people, all over the country, and
- they are generally very hospitable to us; besides I like getting to know
- fresh places, and as a rule the journeys are not very long or tiring.
- Sometimes I used to get a little bored by the incessant talk about things
- connected with the stage. But that would be just the same in any other
- profession. Don’t you remember how at the chateau we used to get so weary
- of the talk between Mr. Magnay and his two artist friends? They say it is
- exactly the same among authors, when two or three of them are together
- they can’t help talking shop. And as to clergymen, why they are
- proverbial! I suppose Kingsley was the only one who ever did entirely
- banish ‘clerical shop’ from his home talk.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, I think you are very wonderful people to be able to travel about
- for so long without losing your tempers or quarrelling like the Kilkenny
- cats,” said Bride. “There’s nothing on earth so trying to the temper as
- going about with people. I suppose that’s why they always make an
- unfortunate married couple travel on the continent. They learn in that way
- what sort of life is in store for them.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld laughed. “You know we do now and then quarrel a little, but as a
- rule we are all very friendly. There is only one thing I cannot stand, and
- I hope we shall never have such an infliction again.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is that?” said Bride smiling at her friend’s vehemence.
- </p>
- <p>
- “A wealthy amateur who thinks he can act but can’t,” said Evereld. “Oh, if
- you knew what we have endured all the autumn from an empty-headed fellow,
- who thought himself a genius!”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What did he do?” said Bride.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What did he not do! He was insufferably rude to Mr. Macneillie, he hated
- Ralph because he wanted the Juvenile Lead himself, he treated all the
- other men as though they were beneath contempt, he persecuted all the
- ladies of the company with tiresome attentions, and he was always dragging
- into the conversation the names of titled people of his acquaintance, or
- dropping coroneted envelopes in a casual way. Somehow he contrived to set
- us all at sixes and sevens, and there was joy throughout the company when
- at last something offended him and he suddenly brought his engagement to
- an end.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Bride laughed heartily as she heard of the stratagem by which the Manager
- had contrived to bring about this much desired event.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Who would ever think that Mr. Macneillie had so much fun in him as you
- describe,” she said. “His face is grave almost to sternness.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, but when it does light up he hardly looks like the same man,” said
- Evereld. “I don’t think he would ever have stood the wear and tear of his
- life if it hadn’t been for his strong vein of humour.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And with that she fell to musing on the strange fact which most people
- discover sooner or later, that it is not the prosperous and happy people
- who as a rule are blessed with this divine gift of a sense of the
- humourous, but the people whose lives are clouded with care and anxiety,
- or those who have to go about the world with an aching heart, or to bear
- the consequences of another’s sin. To such as these often enough, by some
- mysterious law of compensation, there comes a power, not only of feeling
- the pathos of life more acutely, but of perceiving in everything—even
- in matters connected with their own sorrows—the subtle touches of
- humour which keep life healthy and pure.
- </p>
- <p>
- She noticed it very much in Dermot O’Ryan, who young as he was had passed
- through a hard apprenticeship of ill health, misfortune, political
- imprisonment, and misunderstanding that to one of his temperament was
- excessively hard to bear.
- </p>
- <p>
- He was the only one of the O’Ryans who had any literary tastes, and now
- being cut off by his recent illness from active political life he was busy
- with a Memoir of his father, a well-known man in the Fenian rising of ‘65,
- who had died from the effects of his subsequent imprisonment.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dermot was a thorough Kelt, and Evereld thought his sweet-tempered,
- philosophic patience, made him a most delightful companion. They had liked
- each other at Southbourne, and had become firm friends during Evereld’s
- stay at Auvergne, so that they quickly fell into very easy terms of
- intimacy. They were sitting together in the large sunny drawing-room and
- Bride was reading a page of the Memoir upon which Dermot wanted a special
- criticism, when Mrs. Hereford returned from the hospital bringing Ivy with
- her. Dermot looked up rather curiously to see the girl of whom he had
- heard so much, but instead of a beautiful and striking face which he could
- either have admired or criticised, he saw a little childish creature, with
- startled blue-grey eyes and a wistful face which was not exactly pretty
- but was somehow more fascinating than if it had possessed more regular
- features.
- </p>
- <p>
- At sight of Evereld, Ivy forgot everything and ran across the room to
- greet her; she was so small and graceful and light that it seemed almost
- as if, like the birds, she had special air cells in her bones, for her
- movements had in them something altogether unusual so that merely to watch
- her limbs was keen delight.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had, too, an eager quick way of talking, and by the time she had been
- introduced to Dermot he felt that the scrap of a hand put into his had
- carried away his heart.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have heard of you from Mrs. Denmead,” she said. “You were one of the
- imprisoned patriots.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, most of us have a turn at that sort of thing,” he said smiling. “It’s
- part of an Irishman’s training.” Bride made some remark about the
- manuscript, and the talk became general, Ivy entering this new world with
- a sense of keen interest, and quite in the humour to study Irish history
- with Dermot as schoolmaster.
- </p>
- <p>
- During her illness she had had more leisure to think than had ever before
- been the case. For five weeks there had been nothing to do, but to keep
- quiet and to recover as steadily as might be. At first she had suffered
- too much to make any use of the time, but later on, when she was
- convalescent, there were long hours when she learnt more of the real truth
- of things than she had hitherto grasped. The mere physical pain seemed
- afterwards to fit her to understand what had hitherto been a riddle to
- her, and the strong feeling for Evereld which grew and deepened in her
- heart did wonders for her. All her nature seemed to have become more
- tender and sweet; and whereas in time past she would have flirted
- violently with Dermot and played with him as a cat plays with a mouse, she
- seemed now to have laid aside all her silly little affectations and
- coquetries, and to be capable of realising that love is not a game, or a
- pastime, or a selfish having, but rather the entrance to all that is most
- sacred, the mutual sacrifice of self, the nearest approach of humanity to
- the life divine.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dermot made no secret of his admiration for the little actress, it was
- quite patent to all observers, but his devotion was so unlike anything she
- had hitherto come across in life that Ivy herself was never startled by
- it. She quietly drifted into love with him, waking into an altogether new
- world as she did so, a world far removed from the reach of men like Mr.
- Vane-Ffoulkes with their compliments, and their presents, and their
- so-called love, which she knew all the time to be nothing but
- thinly-veiled selfishness.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last one day, when Ivy was out driving with Mrs. Hereford, Dermot
- seized the opportunity of a confidential talk with Evereld as she sat at
- work by the fire.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I want you to give me your advice,” he began, throwing down his pen and
- drawing a little nearer to her. “Do you think there is any hope at all for
- me with Miss Grant? I am sure you know without any telling that I fell in
- love with her the moment she came here. Do you think there is any hope for
- me?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That depends,” said Evereld thoughtfully.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Depends on what?” he asked eagerly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well, you see Ivy really cares for her profession and is just beginning
- to succeed in it. I don’t think she would consent to retire.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I could never allow my wife to remain on the stage,” said Dermot his face
- clouding.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Then I don’t think you have any business to go to the theatre,” said
- Evereld. “Every woman you see on the stage is somebody’s wife or
- somebody’s daughter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If one realised that, the disgusting things which amuse some audiences
- would fail for want of support,” said Dermot musingly. “Not that I imagine
- for a moment that Miss Grant would ever accept an engagement of which she
- really disapproved. Doreen would agree with her as to sticking to her
- profession, and perhaps she is right.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Having got on so well while she is young,” said Evereld, “for she won’t
- be eighteen till May, there seems every prospect of her soon getting to a
- really good position. And there is a sort of fascination about her—she
- is always popular.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You mean that I shall have a host of rivals.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Possibly, but you are early in the field and indeed I think you stand a
- very good chance.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Do you think it would be wrong if I spoke to her now? Would it spoil the
- rest of this time for her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well that would depend on the answer she gave you,” said Evereld
- laughing. “But indeed I think Ivy is just the sort of girl who would be
- happier if engaged while she is quite young. You see she is much in the
- position I was in—quite alone in the world with no relations and but
- few friends.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So Dermot, who detested waiting and was never at a loss for words, seized
- an early opportunity of urging his suit, and Max Hereford, coming down
- from town on the following Saturday, was greeted by his wife with the news
- that the two were just engaged.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I told you what the result would be when you hospitably invited that
- little actress,” he said laughing. “There never was such a matchmaker as
- you are, mavourneen. I knew something had happened the moment I caught
- sight of your face.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They are so happy,” she said smiling, “and Ivy is so gentle and sweet;
- Dermot will be exactly the right sort of husband for her I do believe. And
- she will make him just the capable, brisk, bright little wife that such a
- dreamy philosopher needs.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I do hope they are not going to marry upon Dermot’s penwork,” said
- Max Hereford. “He is making a good income now, but of course one can’t
- tell when he may be laid up, for I fear he will never be strong.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, they are quite content to wait for five or six years,” said Mrs.
- Hereford. “And I am thankful to say Dermot’s Eastern ideas as to wives are
- being overcome by Ivy’s practical good sense. She won’t hear of giving up
- her work, and in a talk I had with her the other day she spoke so sensibly
- of professional life, which she knows pretty thoroughly, that I am sure
- she is right about it. She has the makings of a very fine character in
- her, and I shall not be surprised if Dermot’s marriage proves as great a
- success as Michael’s has done.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “We shall now not be happy until Mollie and Bride are arranged for,” said
- Max Hereford teasingly, “and then there are our own children coming on, so
- you have your work cut out for you, dear. By and bye there will be
- match-making for the nieces and nephews, and after that no doubt a few
- grandchildren coming on. So you will be able to keep your hand in.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And isn’t it the least I can be doing then, since my own married life has
- been so happy?” she said laughing. Ivy, who had not yet seen Mr. Hereford,
- stood rather in awe of him and looked up apprehensively when her future
- brother-in-law came into the drawing-room where she was helping Dermot
- with some proofs. However his greeting was so kindly and his
- congratulations to Dermot sounded so genuine that her fears were soon set
- at rest; she felt that the family had fully adopted her and that she was
- no longer one of the waifs of the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXVII
- </h2>
- <p>
- “<i>The grace of God, the light and life that flow from His indwelling,
- can lift the very weariest and hardest-driven soul into a dignity of
- endurance, a radiance of faith, a simplicity of love, far above all that
- this world can give or take away</i>.” Dean Paget.
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">B</span>ut perhaps no one
- so thoroughly rejoiced in the news of the engagement as Myra Brinton. It
- was Ivy herself who first told her, when she and Evereld with Bridget and
- Dick in attendance rejoined the company at Worcester. Ralph had of course
- heard all about it the first Sunday he had visited them at Bath, but he
- had kept his own counsel, for Ivy preferred telling her own news herself
- both to Macneillie and to her friends in the company.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nothing could so completely have restored peace and harmony between Myra
- and Ivy, all the past mistakes and disagreements faded into oblivion, and
- the two became once more excellent friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- As for little Dick he soon became the darling of the whole company. Thanks
- to Bridget’s good management he throve wonderfully, spent most of his time
- in sleeping, seldom cried, and behaved with discretion on journeys, to the
- immense satisfaction of his mother, who proudly reflected that not even
- the most crabbed old bachelor in the company could ever complain that Dick
- was in the way.
- </p>
- <p>
- Like a true Denmead he was thoroughly well-bred and had a way of
- accommodating himself to all surroundings; but Evereld saw he would run an
- excellent chance of being spoilt as soon as he grew a little older, for
- everyone made much of him and he received votive offerings in such
- profusion that it became difficult to pack them. Even the low comedy man
- broke his rule of silence so far as to inquire occasionally after his
- health, and at Christmas presented him with a magnificent red and blue
- clown who shook his head to solemn music.
- </p>
- <p>
- As to Macneillie, though he had always professed total indifference to
- children, he was completely subjugated by the wiles of his Godson. Either
- from insight into character, or from some consideration of the strong
- hands and arms which held him so delightfully, Dick preferred the manager
- to anyone else in the world; his father’s long slender hands and taper
- fingers were not to be compared for a moment with the comfort of the
- highlander’s firm and comfortable grasp. And Macneillie found it
- impossible to resist the subtle flattery of this small worshipper who was
- always ready to laugh and shout with glee at the mere sight of him. In his
- darkest hours the little elf would often cajole him into a temporary
- forgetfulness, seeming indeed to take a special delight in beguiling him
- into a romp, whenever his clouded brow betokened that his own great
- trouble and the bitter thought of Christine’s lonely and difficult life
- were weighing him down.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the whole the years which followed the birth of Ralph’s child were as
- happy as any Macneillie had known since Christine’s marriage, and as
- tranquil as his life was ever likely to be. Ralph and Evereld were like a
- son and daughter to him, and both were able to do much to help him in the
- busy and harassing days which fall to the lot of most managers.
- </p>
- <p>
- Still there was no denying that his private troubles had more or less
- shattered his health; he worked on bravely, as had always been his custom,
- but now and then an intolerable sense of weariness crept over him and he
- would wonder how much longer he could keep going.
- </p>
- <p>
- At last, soon after Dick had celebrated his second birthday, the manager
- suddenly broke down.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was nothing which could definitely account for his failure; he had
- indeed been very busy with preparations for the Shaksperian Performances
- at Stratford-on-Avon, which were that year to be given by his company
- during the birthday week. But hard work seldom does people any harm. It
- was rather that he had for years been bearing a load which overtaxed his
- strength and at last, from sheer exhaustion, nature gave way.
- </p>
- <p>
- His old enemy, utter sleeplessness, returned to torment him, and there was
- nothing for it but to obey the doctor’s orders and go to Scotland for rest
- and change.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are looking sorely fagged, Hugh,” was his mother’s comment when on
- the evening of his arrival at Callander they sat together by the fireside.
- It was some months since she had seen him and she was quick to note that
- he was hollow-cheeked and that his face, as she expressed it, “looked all
- eyes.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Scottish air will soon cure me,” he said with forced cheerfulness. “I
- shall sleep to-night.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Ah lad,” she said with a sigh, “and what reason is there that you should
- not be always breathing your native air? If you had but chosen the calling
- I would have had you choose, how different all might have been.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we might now have been sitting in the most comfortable Manse,” said
- Macneillie, a gleam of humour lighting up his grave face. “Instead of a
- lean and hard-worked actor, roaming from place to place, I might have been
- a portly minister revered by half the neighbourhood.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I believe you are tired of your wandering life after all,” she said,
- scrutinizing his careworn face with her keen eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Deadly tired,” he admitted with a sigh. “But what has that to do with it?
- Are not half the manses in the land filled with weary men who would give
- anything for a change in the dull routine of the work they are called to
- do? It is the same with all of us, Mother. However much we love our
- profession there must be hard times now and again, and somehow we have got
- to live through them like men.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She did not reply, but silently knitted away at one of his socks, thinking
- to herself how different his life would have been had she had the ordering
- of it. He should have come to great honour, should have been a noted
- preacher filling a high position in Edinburgh, he should have married
- well, and about her in her old age troops of grandchildren should have
- played. As it was, his life had she felt been wrecked by the luckless
- taste for dramatic art which had puzzled her so much from his childhood
- upwards. She laid all his misfortunes to that strange and unaccountable
- passion for acting which she was wholly unable to comprehend. It was this
- which had brought him into contact with Christine Greville, this which had
- debarred him from marriage, this which had for years prevented him from
- settling down, and forced him to lead the life of a wanderer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hugh,” she said, “is it even now too late? Could you not give up acting
- and do something more worthy of your powers?”
- </p>
- <p>
- He started as though someone had struck him a blow.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Give up my profession?” he said in amazement. “Why no, mother, I could
- never do that. I am tired out and in a grumbling mood but you must not
- take me too literally. My vocation has saved me again and again from
- making utter shipwreck. Depend upon it no other work is as you would say
- ‘more worthy’ of me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She urged it no more; but the old sore feeling that his mother could not
- understand his point of view, that she still in her heart desired him to
- take up work for which he was wholly unfitted, came back to mar the entire
- peace of Macneillie’s holiday.
- </p>
- <p>
- On the Saturday before Holy Week he could no longer resist the restless
- craving for change which took possession of him as his strength gradually
- returned. And taking leave of his mother he left Callander and travelled
- down to Stratford, intending there to await the arrival of his company
- later on.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was a mild bright afternoon in mid April when he reached the quiet
- little town. It seemed to sleep tranquilly in the golden sunshine,
- scarcely a breath of air stirred the trees, the beautiful spire of the
- stately old church rose into the bluest of skies, and the green fields
- flecked with daisies seemed to be just the right setting for a picture so
- fair and peaceful. The pastoral character of the scenery somehow suited
- Macneillie’s mood better even than the rugged mountains of his own land.
- Surely in this quiet loveliness, rich in associations with the great
- Master he could gain the rest and the ease he so grievously needed!
- </p>
- <p>
- He would spend his days on the river, would not allow any business
- anxieties or arrangements for the following week to invade his repose;
- Shakspere and Shakspere’s country should hearten him for the future—the
- quiet of Holy Week should lift him up out of the depression which sought
- to drag him back into its dreary torture chambers.
- </p>
- <p>
- So he thought to himself on the evening of his arrival; forgetting that
- “through the shadow of an agony cometh redemption”;—never dreaming
- that in this most tranquil place he was to be confronted with the worst
- ordeal of his whole life.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXVIII
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “World’s use is cold—world’s love is vain,—
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- World’s cruelty is bitter bane;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- But pain is not the fruit of pain.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- E. B. Browning.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>f life during the
- past three years had been difficult for Macneillie it had been tenfold
- more difficult for Christine Greville. As everyone had foreseen, her
- position called for a strength of character which she did not possess, for
- a power of endurance which she was only learning by slow degrees, and for
- that sound judgment and prompt womanly wisdom which had never been her
- strong point.
- </p>
- <p>
- She had indeed resigned the cares and anxieties of Management, but this
- also meant that she was obliged to put up with whatever arrangements
- commended themselves to Barry Sterne at the theatre; and though he and his
- wife had always been good friends to her she was often unable to approve
- of his way of looking at things.
- </p>
- <p>
- They had nearly come to a serious disagreement when he engaged Dudley the
- comedian assuring her that the man had quite lived down his past. And
- though time had more or less reconciled her to this belief, she was never
- quite without the instinct which had made Myra Kay shrink from the man in
- Scotland. She grew to feel a little more confidence in him when one day he
- happened to mention Ralph Denmead in her presence. It was not so much what
- he said, but rather his tone and expression when referring to Ralph.
- </p>
- <p>
- “So young Denmead is to play Orlando at Stratford next month, I see,” he
- observed one morning before rehearsal. “That boy will do well if I’m not
- mistaken. There was a touch of genius about him even when I knew him as a
- half-starved novice in Scotland.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Did you know him then?” said Christine for the first time volunteering an
- unnecessary remark to Dudley. “He used to tell me when I was acting with
- him in Edinburgh what straits he had been reduced to during the spring.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, we had a rough time, but he was always a plucky, goodnatured fellow
- ready to take the fortune of war. I’m glad he has fallen on his feet.
- Macneillie has been the making of him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “They say Macneillie’s health has broken down,” said another actor
- strolling up. “He has gone to Scotland to recruit.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “He has been roaming about the world too long,” remarked a third. “I
- wonder he doesn’t give up his travelling company and settle in town. It
- would be better for him in every way.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well he’s doing very good work,” said Dudley. “As a matter of fact his
- company and Lorimer’s are the only training schools we have for the stage.
- How can the rising generation learn otherwise in these days of long runs?”
- </p>
- <p>
- The arrival of Barry Sterne checked the conversation at this moment and
- Christine turned away sick at heart, to get through her work as well as
- she could to the tune of those haunting words—“His health has broken
- down!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Was it true? Or had some lying paragraph in a newspaper set afloat a false
- report?
- </p>
- <p>
- Her whole nature seemed to rise up in rebellion against the miserable
- ignorance of his movements to which she was doomed. It tortured her to
- think that dozens of people who were wholly indifferent to him knew all,
- while she was racked with anxiety and fear on his behalf.
- </p>
- <p>
- She went home feeling wretched beyond expression; even Charlie’s eager
- greeting could not bring a smile to her face or ease her pain.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Auntie,” he exclaimed, “there’s a lady in the drawing-room waiting to see
- you. She has been here a long time, and she would wait for you. Susan says
- she looks as if she were in great trouble.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What name did she give?” asked Christine, her mind still full of Hugh
- Macneillie’s illness, and a terror seizing her that some bearer of ill
- news had come.
- </p>
- <p>
- Dugald Linklater handed her a card which bore a name quite unknown to her,—Mrs.
- Bouvery. She rose with a sigh of weariness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Don’t wait for me, Charlie,” she said, “I am not hungry and will
- interview this lady first.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Everything in Christine’s drawing-room was in the perfection of taste,
- there were no bright colours; no incongruous mixtures, the prevailing tint
- was a quiet low-toned blue: birds sang in the window, and everywhere her
- love of growing plants manifested itself. Nothing could have been more
- restful and harmonious than the effect of the whole, and probably no one
- could have seemed more tranquil and self-possessed than the graceful
- fair-haired woman who came forward to greet her visitor, though all the
- time beneath the surface her restless heart was full of passionate pain.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am sorry to have kept you waiting so long,” she said, her clear musical
- voice making each syllable a separate delight to the ear. As she spoke she
- looked wonderingly into the hard grief-worn face of the elderly lady who
- had risen as she entered and had coldly acknowledged her greeting.
- </p>
- <p>
- There was an uncomfortable pause.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Can I do anything for you?” said Christine, wondering whether her visitor
- had called for a subscription, or whether she was perhaps the mother of
- some stage-struck girl come for advice?
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” said Mrs. Bouvery, “you can listen to what I have to tell you. You
- have broken my daughter’s heart madam, you have ruined her life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Nervous terror began to fill Christine’s mind. Surely this lady must be
- mad. She instinctively measured the distance from the place where she was
- sitting to the door.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not understand you,” she faltered. “There must be some mistake. I do
- not even know your name.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Your name unfortunately is only too familiar to us, however,” said her
- visitor remorselessly. “My daughter was engaged to be married to Captain
- Karey and until he had the misfortune to see you on the stage she was
- perfectly happy. From that day however, all her misery dated. He was
- infatuated about you and you lured him on to his death.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Madam,” said Christine pale with indignation, “you do me a very great
- wrong. I never encouraged Captain Karey. On the contrary his persistent
- attentions annoyed me very much.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, so you say! so they all say!” said Mrs. Bouvery choking back a sob.
- “But I don’t believe a word of it. You actresses are all alike; as long as
- your vanity is satisfied you don’t care what wretchedness you cause to
- others.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is it possible you really believe that I encouraged a mere boy who must
- have been at least fifteen years my junior?” said Christine incredulously.
- “The moment I saw there was the least risk of anything serious, I would
- have nothing more to do with him. Every one of the presents he tried to
- give me were returned immediately. What more could I do?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You could retire from a profession which is unfit for any woman, you
- could refuse any longer to make your beauty a snare and a peril to men.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I think,” said Christine quietly, but with a ring of indignation in her
- voice, “you forget that some of the very best of women have been on the
- stage. Is art to be crippled, and are we all to retire to nunneries,
- because some men are weak fools and some men vicious knaves?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I do not care to argue with you,” said her visitor coldly, “The fact
- remains that you have spoilt my daughter’s whole life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Indeed I am very sorry for her,” said Christine with a sigh. “I can’t
- blame myself for what has happened, but I can feel very much grieved about
- it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Whether you blame yourself or not,” said Mrs. Bouvery, “Captain Karey’s
- death will be laid to your account at the last day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His death?” cried Christine with dilated eyes. “What do you mean? I had
- heard nothing.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh you had not seen it in the papers? Yes, he died three days ago from an
- over-dose of chloral—it was brought in as ‘death by misadventure.’ I
- do not envy you your feelings at this moment. It was a sad day for him
- when he first saw you, for him and for my poor daughter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Christine did not speak a word. She was horror-struck by the news so
- abruptly told her; it was no time to assert her own blamelessness, nay she
- could pardon the poor grief-stricken woman for reproaching her so
- bitterly, for insulting her by such cruel, false imputations. The admirer
- whose love letters had so greatly annoyed her, whose infatuation had for
- some time past been difficult to baffle, had been driven out of his senses
- by his unhappy and overmastering passion, and had died leaving the girl
- who had loved him to her desolate sorrow.
- </p>
- <p>
- Had Mrs. Bouvery been less hard and bitter, Christine could have opened
- her heart to her, and made her understand how distorted a view of the case
- she had taken; as it was they parted almost in silence and she could only
- resolve to find out a little more about the daughter and if possible to
- write to her later on.
- </p>
- <p>
- But for many days after that the story haunted her and made her miserable.
- Afterwards too, in her depression, the thought of Mrs. Bouvery’s cruel
- words returned to her.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Had I not been a solitary woman she would never have dared to attack me
- like that,” she reflected with tears in her eyes. “A woman without a
- protector is at the mercy of anyone who chooses to torment her. Were I not
- worse than widowed, Lord Rosscourt and men of his type would be unable to
- persecute me with attentions that are insults. They would not dare to send
- me letters which one can hardly glance at without feeling defiled.”
- </p>
- <p>
- It happened that among her best and most trusted friends was a certain
- literary man named Conway Sartoris. She had known him and the sensible
- middle-aged sister who kept house for him for the last ten years, and they
- had been the first to discern how very miserable was her married life.
- During the difficult years that followed her separation their entirely
- unaltered friendship had been a great comfort to her. Conway Sartoris was
- not only a brilliant writer and an advanced thinker, but a most delightful
- companion, full of dry humour, and shrewd common sense; while his sister
- had a genuine affection for Christine and always gave her a warm welcome
- at their pretty old-fashioned house in Westminster. She was dining with
- them on the following Sunday and found it a great relief to tell them of
- the tragedy with which so unwittingly she had become connected, and of
- Mrs. Bouvery’s interview.
- </p>
- <p>
- Alas! in seeking comfort she only met with fresh trouble. For the next
- evening on her return from the theatre she found a long letter from Conway
- Sartoris in which he frankly admitted that his friendship had some time
- ago deepened into love, that he was sure her life would always be
- difficult and perilous without a protector, and that he would do his
- utmost to make her happy. In blank dismay Christine read his proposal that
- they should enter into a union which would virtually be a marriage; he
- quoted instances in which such unions had been after a time condoned by
- society and had proved eminently happy, and he argued very plausibly that
- the best way to bring about a speedy reform of the present unjust law
- under which she suffered was to add another instance to the cases in which
- it had been deliberately and conscientiously broken.
- </p>
- <p>
- His pleading, as far as he himself was concerned, proved of course quite
- useless. Christine could only write in reply that her friendship and
- respect for him must always remain unaltered, but that her heart was still
- with the lover of her youth—the man who through her own weakness and
- ambition had been so cruelly sacrificed years ago.
- </p>
- <p>
- To this she received a very straightforward and kindly answer, and Conway
- Sartoris entreated her not to allow what had passed in any way to affect
- their friendship. But this was more easily said than done. His avowal had
- put an end to the perfect ease and rest of their intercourse and she felt
- more than ever alone in the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- Another result of this episode was that his arguments were constantly
- recurring to her mind. Surely there was great force in the suggestion he
- had brought forward in his masterly clear-headed way? Were there not
- bound to be exceptions to every rule? Was not Hugh Macneillie’s notion of
- obedience even to an unjust law, because it was the law of the land, an
- overstrained nicety? It might be a counsel of perfection, but surely it
- could not be the actual duty of each citizen? Hugh had such an element of
- austerity about his life; kind and genial and tolerant as he was with
- regard to others his own notions of right and wrong were so rigid. He was
- certainly old-fashioned, not up to date, not able to accommodate himself
- to <i>fin de siècle</i> conditions.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will not let him wreck his life!” she thought, pacing with agitated
- steps up and down her room. “My heart is breaking for want of him, and he
- is ill and alone. What do I care for the tongues of narrow-minded,
- conventional people who know nothing of our real story? ‘Let them rave!’
- He is mine and I am his. All the unfair unequal laws in the world can’t
- alter that.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Just then she happened to notice a letter upon the mantel-piece which by
- some oversight she had left unopened.
- </p>
- <p>
- “What is this?” she exclaimed glancing through it. “An invitation from
- Mrs. Hereford to lunch on Sunday, to meet Ralph Denmead and his wife? Yes,
- I will go, from them I may at any rate learn how Hugh is.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her stay at Monkton Verney had led to her becoming a friend of the
- Herefords; she had an unbounded respect for them both, and at their house
- in Grosvenor Square she invariably enjoyed herself. Charlie too, liked
- nothing better than to go there with her, and there was something in the
- atmosphere of the household which was curiously refreshing and
- invigorating. They were busy people but they never bored others with their
- work, and always seemed to have time for merriment, and for keen
- appreciation of the interests of their friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- On this Sunday however she was more taken up with the Denmeads than with
- her host and hostess. There was something in the mere happiness of the
- young husband and wife that appealed to her, and she had a long talk with
- them and heard all that she craved to know. Macneillie, they judged by his
- letters, was still far from well, and even the visit to his own country
- had failed to do him much good. He was to go on the following day to
- Stratford and for the sake of quiet would stay just outside the town at a
- curious old-fashioned house called The Swan’s Nest. He would remain there
- probably until the Birthday week when they were to rejoin him for the
- performances at the Memorial Theatre.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then Evereld had much to say about the Manager’s kindness to them, of
- Dick’s devotion to him, and all the many little details which her womanly
- instinct taught her would be to Christine what bread is to the starving.
- It was all told naturally and simply and as a matter of course, there was
- never any uncomfortable consciousness that they knew all about her past
- and could guess how bitter was her present. It was only when thinking it
- over afterwards that Christine felt sure that the Denmeads knew the whole
- truth, and she loved them for their tact and consideration.
- </p>
- <p>
- But all through the night that followed she was haunted by the thought of
- Hugh Macneillie ill and alone, unable even to find comfort in his mother’s
- society,—beyond the cure even of his native land.
- </p>
- <p>
- It is during wakeful nights that burdens usually grow unbearable. And
- Christine had now reached the point when every consideration but the one
- prevailing idea is crowded out of the mind.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I cannot let him suffer any more,” she thought. “At all costs this
- intolerable state of things must and shall be ended. I am free all this
- week, free till Easter Monday. To-morrow I will go down to Leamington with
- Charlie and the servants, and the next day I will see him.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XXXIX
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Greatly to do is great, but greater still
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Greatly to suffer.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- J. Noel Paton.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he following
- Tuesday proved to be as fine a day as Christine could have wished. Charlie
- was delighted to fall in with her suggestion of driving from Leamington to
- Warwick, and she left him with Linklater and his beloved camera to spend a
- long afternoon in seeing the castle, the church and the many picturesque
- places to be found in the old town.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I have to pay a call in the neighbourhood,” she explained, “and will meet
- you here at six o’clock. See that he has plenty to eat, Linklater, for we
- made a very early lunch.”
- </p>
- <p>
- When they were safely within the castle gates she ordered a Victoria at
- the hotel and drove in to Stratford. Up to that very moment she had felt
- eager and alert, ready to dare anything in her desperation. But now when
- there was no longer anything to do, she lay back in the carriage feeling
- utterly spent, unable to find the least comfort in the soft spring air, or
- in the beautiful expanse of country, or in the hedge-rows just bursting
- into leaf, or in the joyous song of the birds. It was not until they were
- close to Shakspere’s town that her spirit returned to her once more, and
- as they passed the Roman Catholic Church she sat up and called to her
- driver.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I will get out here,” she said adjusting her white gossamer travelling
- veil. “You can drive on and put up at the Shakspere Hotel until I come
- there.”
- </p>
- <p>
- The man obeyed and she walked on until upon the left she saw Clopton’s
- Bridge, at the further side of which she knew the Swan’s Nest was
- situated. As usual she was dressed with scrupulous quietness, there was
- nothing in her black serge coat and skirt and sailor hat to distinguish
- her from hundreds of other women, and no passer-by would have recognised
- her through her veil.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nevertheless her heart failed her somewhat when the little old-fashioned
- inn with its red brick walls and tiled roof came into sight. She fully
- realised that she was taking a desperate step.
- </p>
- <p>
- But then did not desperate diseases require desperate remedies? And had
- not Hugh Macneillie in the letter he wrote her three and a half years ago
- entreated her to let him serve her if ever she found herself in a
- difficulty?
- </p>
- <p>
- No one else could help her now. He only could shield her and make her life
- worth living. And was not he ill and in need of her? Was she not fully
- justified in seeking him? She had paused involuntarily on the bridge lost
- in thought and now just for a moment the exceeding beauty of the view drew
- her attention away from her perplexities.
- </p>
- <p>
- The silvery Avon, crossed a little further down by an old bridge of red
- brick, the irregular buildings of the little town, the finely proportioned
- Memorial theatre standing in its gardens upon the river’s brink; facing it
- a lovely pastoral bit of green meadows, and budding trees, and in the
- distance the old church spire with rooks circling about it.
- </p>
- <p>
- In the opposite direction lay peaceful fields, and all along the bank
- pollard willows overhung the stream which curved round in a way that
- delighted her eye. Just at the bend of the river, moored to a willow tree,
- a small golden-brown boat was to be seen. It was empty but on the bank
- above it lay the figure of a man with his head propped on his arm and a
- book in his hand. She could not distinguish his features at that distance
- but from something in his attitude she at once knew that it was Hugh
- Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- Moreover she could see a corner of the plaid which he had invariably taken
- about with him, the dark blue and green of the Macneil tartan with its
- thin alternate cross lines of white and yellow. It was the very same one
- that in old days had often been spread over her knees on some cold wintry
- railway journey.
- </p>
- <p>
- Somehow the sight of this restored her failing heart; she swiftly made her
- way down to the river-side and youth and hope seemed to come back to her
- as her feet touched the springy turf and passed lightly over the white and
- gold of the daisies.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie, just glancing up from his book, saw a lady approaching clad in
- the costume which is almost a uniform; he devoutly hoped, after the
- fashion of celebrities on a holiday, that she would not recognise him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Christine could so well read his thoughts and understand his slightest
- gesture that she could hardly help laughing. She put up her veil and
- walked straight towards him, her brown eyes full of that soft love-light
- which for years he had not seen in them. As she paused close to him he
- involuntarily looked up once more, and with a cry sprang to his feet.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Christine!” he exclaimed taking both her hands in his. “Is it indeed
- you!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Just for one exquisite moment he forgot everything, was only conscious
- that she was beside him, and that they loved each other, with a love which
- surpassed even the first bliss of the early days of their betrothal. The
- next moment, with a horrible revulsion, he remembered the barrier that lay
- between them. Neither of them spoke; in the stillness they were each
- conscious of the clear birdlike whistle of an errand boy crossing the
- bridge. He had caught up one of the prettiest airs in “Haddon Hall”—“To
- thine own heart be true”!
- </p>
- <p>
- “Hugh,” she said softly, “you told me if ever a time came when there was
- no one else who could help me more fitly that I was to come to you. I am
- driven almost desperate and I have come to claim your promise. Where can
- we talk quietly?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If you will not find it too cold I could row you up the river towards
- Charlcote,” he said. “Later in the week Stratford will be full of
- excursionists, but there is no one on the river this afternoon, we shall
- be quite unmolested.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She thought this an excellent plan and let him help her into the boat and
- spread the plaid over her knees.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was by this dear old tartan that I recognised you, at least chiefly by
- that,” she said.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Like its owner it has seen its best days,” said Macneillie with a smile.
- “But I have the same feeling for it that the fellow in Gounod’s song had
- for his old coat,
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- ‘Mon viel ami
- </p>
- <p class="indent20">
- Ne nous séparons pas.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="noindent">
- And he sighed a little as he remembered how in the days of their betrothal
- he had often taken her under his “plaidie.”
- </p>
- <p>
- A strange, dreamy, unreal feeling crept over Christine as she leant back
- in the stern, while Macneillie with his strong arms rowed her up the
- winding river. She almost wished his strokes had not been so long and
- steady, for it seemed to her as if this heaven of peace and repose would
- end too swiftly. At last he paused.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We couldn’t well find a more lovely place than this,” he said glancing
- over his shoulder and dexterously guiding the boat in between the grassy
- bank and the branches of an overhanging willow tree.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I never saw such a wonderful colour as these new spring shoots of the
- willow,” said Christine, as he drew in his oars and sat down beside her in
- the stern.
- </p>
- <p>
- Not a breath of wind stirred the leaves, the flies came out and made a
- cheerful droning sound as though summer had already come, a lark was
- singing far up in the blue vault above, and everywhere the quiet of
- perfect peace seemed to brood.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie felt that longer silence was perilous, he had learned to allow
- himself scant leisure when temptation was rife.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Tell me now what your trouble is,” he said quietly.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh!” she cried vehemently, “it seems like sacrilege even to speak of it
- in such a place as this where all is so peaceful.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie, who was very far from being at peace, smiled a little
- involuntarily.
- </p>
- <p>
- “The place is well enough,” he said glancing round. “But now that we are
- actually among the ‘pendent boughs’ it reminds me rather too much of
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- ‘There is a willow grows aslant a brook.’
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="noindent">
- It might be the identical spot where Ophelia was drowned.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I wonder if it is,” she said diverted for a minute from her own
- anxieties. “Poor Ophelia! Somehow I have never cared for acting that part
- of late years. You spoiled me for all other Hamlets. I have often wondered
- since, Hugh, how you contrived to get through that last season in London.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well it was a rough time,” said Macneillie, “for, like the Danish Prince,
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- ‘In my heart there was a kind of fighting
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- That would not let me sleep.’
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="noindent">
- By the end of the season I was as nearly mad as Hamlet feigned to be. But
- no more of that. It is of the present we must talk not of the past. How
- can I help you? Has anyone been molesting you?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes,” she faltered. “I will tell you all, and then you will understand.”
- </p>
- <p>
- So in her musical voice, and with that extraordinary charm of manner which
- made her irresistible, she told him simply and truthfully all the
- difficulties she had had to contend with. Lastly she told him of Conway
- Sartoris and of the arguments he had used in his letter.
- </p>
- <p>
- “They seem to me quite unanswerable,” she said, “and he is a man everyone
- respects, he is far more intellectual than we are, and he doesn’t merely
- theorise, he knows the difficulties of real life. The more I think of it,
- the more it seems to me that you and I are wrecking our lives and
- suffering so cruelly all for a mistaken idea,—a sort of
- fetish-worship for the law of the land.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie had grown very pale, his hands trembled, but from long force of
- habit his voice was well under control.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Sin is lawlessness,” he quoted in a low tone.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, yes,” she said quickly. “But this law that parts us, that makes our
- lives a hell—you say it is an unjust law and ought to be reformed.
- You said that in your letter.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I long for its reform with all my heart,” he replied. “And the greatest
- of living statesmen and the most devoted of English Churchmen did his
- utmost in 1857 to prevent this wicked double standard of morality from
- ever finding a place in the Divorce Law. He said he would deliberately
- prefer an increase in the number of cases of divorce to the acceptance of
- this shameful inequality between men and women.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “And are we patiently and tamely to go on enduring it?” she cried. “Why,
- surely, all reforms have been won by those who were not afraid to break
- the bad laws that had no business to exist. Think of your Covenanters who
- gloriously broke the law and saved their country from tyranny! Almost all
- heroes and martyrs have broken the law when it deserved to be broken.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, that is true,” he said. “But they only broke it out of obedience to
- a higher law, they did not break it for their own gain. My dearest,” he
- took her hand and held it closely in his, “though this law cries aloud for
- reform, let us be law-abiding citizens, and wait.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Her eyes filled with tears, her voice quivered pitifully when after awhile
- she spoke.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You talk of waiting, but when one sees how truth and justice are set at
- naught in parliament,—how with people agonising and dying, and with
- so much that is wrong to be righted our representatives will haggle
- miserably for months and years over useless questions, how from sheer
- spite they will waste the time of the nation, how from party jealousy they
- will thwart measures,—the thought of waiting grows intolerable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But reform is bound to come,” said Macneillie, “most of the fair minded
- people who have studied the matter and who know anything of practical life
- desire it, we have against us only the narrow minded and the men of
- vicious life.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You say <i>only!</i>” exclaimed Christine with a laugh that was a sob.
- “But it is just the narrow good and the vicious bad who work all the
- misery of the world. Oh, Hugh! I am not strong and brave like you, I am
- weak and tired and worn out. I cannot live longer without you. I have
- tried to bear it but I have come to the end of my strength.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She covered her face with her hands, he could see great tears slowly
- falling between her slender white fingers, and the sight wrung his heart.
- Yet he did not respond to her appeal. It was not because he failed to
- understand that bitter cry of exhaustion, it was because he understood it
- so well, had been indeed for the last few weeks so drearily conscious of
- just that same feeling that he could endure no longer, that his strength
- was gone. It was well that Christine could not see his face, for the
- agonising struggle which was going on within him was only too clearly
- visible. In the intense stillness of the calm sunny afternoon it seemed to
- him that all nature was at rest save themselves, and as in moments of
- great physical pain some very slight detail will attract the sufferer’s
- attention, so now, while he passed through the most cruel ordeal of his
- life, Macneillie was watching half unconsciously the pretty movements of a
- little water-rat which had run up the stem of a bush growing close to the
- river, and was evidently enjoying itself to the best of its ability. The
- birds, too, were singing as though in a perfect ecstasy of joy.
- </p>
- <p>
- Their song contrasted mockingly with the torturing thoughts which filled
- his mind, and yet nevertheless it was through the joyousness of these
- lesser creatures that his help was to come. For it carried him back to the
- thought of a great Teacher who, when speaking to “an innumerable multitude
- of people,” average men and women, tempest-tossed as he was now, had told
- them that not one single bird was forgotten by God, and had said, “Fear
- not, ye are of more value than many sparrows.”
- </p>
- <p>
- With that highest courage which in times of dire dismay can rise from what
- seems like certain defeat, and kindle hope and strength in the hearts of
- others, and win in a desperate fight, Macneillie gripped the words to his
- heart and was strong once more, with that trust in God which is man’s
- righteousness.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I know exactly what you mean,” he said, as Christine at length looked up
- and dried her tears. “Many a time I have felt at the end of my strength.
- It’s just a device of the devil’s own making. Depend upon it, God won’t
- take away His gift just when it is most needed. Is it likely He would do
- that?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It seems to me that the devil rules,” said Christine. “I can believe in
- little but evil in the wretched life I have had to live. Here, with you,
- it is different, I seem another being altogether. You can make me good.”
- </p>
- <p>
- There was truth in what she said. He had always had over her the best
- possible influence. Without each other they were incomplete.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And yet,” he said, “it is just because I so love and honour you that the
- arguments of Conway Sartoris which you mentioned just now, clever and
- plausible though they are, seem contemptible. Shall I let the one I love
- best in all the world bear shame and reproach? Shall you and I who have
- tried all these years to be a credit to the profession give such a handle
- to its enemies? Shall we dare to bring down upon innocent children the
- curse of illegitimacy? And all because we were too weakly impatient to
- wait—or too cowardly to suffer? Forgive me, my dear one, I put these
- things in a blunt way, but are they not things we must think out clearly
- if we would come safely through this ordeal?”
- </p>
- <p>
- She looked up in his face, it was singularly beautiful just at the minute,
- in spite of the havoc which time and suffering had wrought in it. She
- fancied that he would wear that look of manly courage, of noble strength
- in his resurrection body. The thought seemed to give her new life.
- Quietly, indeed with a calmness which surprised herself, she slipped her
- hand into his; it was done spontaneously as a child slips its hand into
- that of a trusted companion.
- </p>
- <p>
- “You are right, Hugh, quite right,” she said. “We will wait. You must
- forgive me for having come here to-day.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “You were only keeping your promise,” he said, “and perhaps to talk things
- out was best for both of us.”
- </p>
- <p>
- He was silent for a few minutes, wondering what could be done to render
- her life a little more bearable. What was it that had been his own
- greatest relief during the last few years? Well, undoubtedly, it had been
- the companionship of Ralph and his wife and little Dick. They were a very
- fascinating trio and carried about with them an atmosphere of youth and
- brightness which was pleasant enough to middle-aged folk sorely burdened
- with care and trouble. A sudden idea flashed into his mind. Many people
- are ready to assert that they would lay down their lives for those they
- love. Macneillie seldom protested in words but had a way of quietly giving
- up his most treasured possessions, so quietly, indeed, that most people
- hardly noticed that he did it at all.
- </p>
- <p>
- “And now,” he said, “I am going to ask you to do something for me. Do you
- recollect a young fellow who was acting with you at Edinburgh four summers
- ago—Ralph Denmead by name?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Why yes, to be sure. I met him only last Sunday at the Herefords. What a
- nice fellow he seems, and I lost my heart to his dear little wife.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am glad you saw them both, they are a delightful couple. Well now,
- could you possibly get him a London engagement? Would Barry Sterne have
- any opening for him? It seems to me that there is a very good chance just
- now for a young romantic actor. We have no really satisfactory Romeo or
- Orlando.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But surely you are in no hurry to part with him? I hear he is very
- popular everywhere.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “For myself I am in no hurry,” said Macneillie. “But I should be glad for
- him to get a London engagement, he deserves it, and then this wandering
- life is a little hard on his wife and child. They had better settle down,
- and if they were somewhere in your neighbourhood you would perhaps
- befriend them. Evereld is a dear little woman, you would like her, and she
- has the greatest admiration for you.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Christine’s face brightened up, it pleased her greatly that he should have
- asked her to do something for him; she resolved to leave no stone unturned
- and to do her utmost for his friends.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I should like to have them near me; you can’t think how lonely it is
- often,” she said. “If it were not for my work and for Charlie’s
- companionship I don’t think I could have endured it all this time. The
- best plan would be for Barry Sterne to see him act. I wonder whether there
- would be a chance of getting him to ran down for one of the performances
- in the Memorial Week?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “That is a good idea,” said Macneillie. “By the bye, Sterne will scarcely
- remember it, but the boy did go to him some years ago when he first made
- up his mind to be an actor. I have often heard him describe the interview.
- He got cold comfort from Sterne and a most discouraging letter from me.
- But nothing daunts your real genius. He plodded on, and starved and
- struggled till things took a turn. And some day if I am not much mistaken
- he will be one of our leading actors.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “His own opinion is that he owes everything to you,” said Christine with a
- smile. “I heard a great deal about you on Sunday from both of them. I
- shall be so glad if I can really do anything for people you care for,
- Hugh. The Denmeads will be quite a new object in life for me.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Those words and the look which went with them were Macneillie’s comfort
- when, shortly after, he parted with Christine. But to stay longer at
- Stratford with nothing to do had become impossible for him. The river was
- a haunted place, he dared not go on it again, everything which on his
- arrival had seemed so peaceful bore upon it now the ineffaceable stamp of
- the bitter struggle he had passed through.
- </p>
- <p>
- To go back to his work was directly against the doctor’s orders, but go
- somewhere he must. He packed his portmanteau, and tried to think of any
- place in the world he wished to see, but could not care even to return to
- his own country. All things were “weary, stale, flat and unprofitable.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Fate shall decide,” he said to himself with the ghost of a smile playing
- about his lips. And dragging out an ancient atlas from the pile of books
- on the sitting-room table, he opened at the map of Europe and solemnly
- spun a threepenny bit. After threatening to come to an end in the middle
- of the German Ocean it finally settled down in Holland.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Via Harwich and the Hook,” said Macneillie pocketing the arbiter of his
- fate. “So be it. I will run across and see if the bulbs are coming into
- bloom.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XL
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “Be noble! and the nobleness that lies
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- In other men, sleeping, but never dead
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Will rise in majesty to meet thine own;
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Then wilt thou see it gleam in many eyes,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Then will pure light around thy path be shed,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And thou wilt never more be sad and lone.”—Lowell.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">T</span>he entire change
- of scene, the vigour of his own mind, and the sturdy resolution with which
- he laid aside care and anxiety soon restored Macneillie to a great extent.
- He recovered his power of sleeping, and returned to Stratford to find
- Ralph and Evereld already settled there and awaiting him with a warmth of
- welcome which did his heart good. To hear him telling comical stories of
- his adventures among the Dutch as they lingered over the supper table that
- first evening, no one would have believed that he had passed through any
- ordeal whatever, and he seemed quite ready for all the hard work that lay
- before him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Indeed Ivy Grant thought him unnecessarily vigorous.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It’s all very well for Mr. Macneillie who has been enjoying a holiday all
- these weeks, but it’s rather hard on us,” she protested, “to be kept
- rehearsing every day till four o’clock, just when we wanted a little free
- time, too.”
- </p>
- <p>
- For Ivy was rejoicing in the presence of Dermot and Bride O’Ryan, who had
- come down for the Shaksperian performances, Bride for pleasure, and Dermot
- chiefly to see Ivy and to write a series of articles for his paper.
- </p>
- <p>
- Evereld was delighted to have her friend with her and thoroughly enjoyed
- her first experience of the Memorial week. Stratford had naturally very
- happy associations for her, and though the weather was not quite so
- perfect as it had been during their brief honeymoon, it did not affect the
- audiences which were always large and enthusiastic.
- </p>
- <p>
- One evening towards the end of the week Bride and Evereld were as usual
- setting off together for the theatre. There had been rain during the day
- but the evening was bright and clear so that there was nothing to prevent
- them from going by the river.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is something so delicious in just stepping into the ‘Miranda’ and
- being rowed to the very door,” said Evereld as she took her place in that
- same boat in which only a little while before Macneillie and Christine had
- had their last interview. “It must be like this at Venice.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Minus the Shaksperian associations and plus the smells,” said Bride with
- a smile. “Here come these vicious swans that look so picturesque and are
- really so bad tempered. One of them nearly made an end of Dick the other
- day, according to Bridget.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They glided on peacefully, watching the mellow sunset sky and the church
- spire and the stately trees surrounding it until the landlord rowed them
- up to the steps in the garden surrounding the theatre, and here as they
- climbed the grassy bank they were surprised to come across Macneillie
- walking to and fro with someone they did not recognise. Evereld wondered
- much how it came that he was deep in conversation, for it was nearly time
- for the performance to begin. He seemed somewhat relieved when he caught
- sight of her and introduced Mr. Barry Sterne, then telling her to see that
- the attendants gave him a good place, and arranging to meet him later on,
- he hurried to the Stage door, leaving Evereld and Bride to enjoy the talk
- of the new comer.
- </p>
- <p>
- “This looks something like Shakspere worship,” he remarked glancing round
- the perfectly built theatre which was already well filled. “I wish I had
- here with me the curious old fossil I met to-day in the train. There were
- a couple of Americans plying him with questions about Stratford; they set
- upon him the moment we left Euston, and ‘Wanted to know’ everything. The
- old gentleman couldn’t get in a word edgeways for some time, what with the
- tunnels and the sharp fire of questions. At last he remarked stiffly, ‘I
- have never read any of Shakspere’s plays myself, but I have always
- understood that he was a most immoral writer.’ You should have seen the
- faces of the two Yankees! It was as good as a play. And the old fellow was
- quite unaware that he had said anything extraordinary and blandly went on
- reading a religious newspaper!”
- </p>
- <p>
- The play was “As You Like It,” and for the first time Ivy was to play the
- part of Celia and Ralph was to make his first appearance as Orlando.
- Evereld wondered much what Barry Sterne thought of the performance. He was
- rather silent at the close of the second act and she was half afraid that
- he had not approved of it until she found that he had been listening to
- the criticisms of the people immediately behind them.
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is to me about the most amusing thing in the world to hear the
- comments of the public,” he said to Evereld. “Your amateur is always such
- a merciless critic. The less he knows the more scathing will be his fault
- finding. Now Macneillie’s melancholy Jaques is about as fine a piece of
- acting as one could wish to see, I don’t know anyone who makes so much of
- the character. But those wise-acres behind are carping away because they
- think it shows what cultured mortals they are.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It is much the same at the Academy,” said Evereld. “The less people know
- about painting the more severe are their comments.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “If Lear wrote a modern version of his nonsense alphabet it ought to be ‘C
- was the carping cantankerous critic who cavilled and canted of Culture,’”
- said Barry Sterne with a laugh. “Your husband makes an excellent Orlando.
- I hear, too, that his Romeo is very good. I suppose you have often seen
- him in that part?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, yes, very often. The last time,” she smiled at the remembrance, “was
- in the autumn up in the north of England; I shall never forget it. Exactly
- opposite the theatre on a bit of waste ground, a wild beast show was being
- held, and it had the most noisy band imaginable. All through the Balcony
- scene it was thundering out ‘The man that broke the bank at Monte Carlo.’
- And the next night Hamlet had to soliloquise to the strains of ‘Daisy
- Bell.’ It was the funniest thing I ever heard!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Barry Sterne capped this story with a reminiscence of the days when he had
- been in a travelling company, and by the end of the evening Evereld was
- ready to consider him the best raconteur she had ever met.
- </p>
- <p>
- He went round afterwards to Macneillie’s dressing-room and Evereld was
- escorted home by Dermot and Bride, who would not however accept her
- invitation to supper as they were already engaged to meet Ivy at the
- Brintons’. The night had turned chilly. Evereld was glad to find a fire
- awaiting them, and she curled herself up comfortably in an armchair
- waiting for the return of the men-folk and finishing Black’s charming
- story “Judith Shakspere.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “How long they are to-night!” she exclaimed, when the last page was turned
- and Judith whose grave she had seen in the chancel of Stratford church
- only that morning, had been left happily with her lover Tom Quiney. “I
- shall starve if they don’t come soon. What a fire this is for toast! I
- will make some to pass the time.”
- </p>
- <p>
- After a while steps were heard on the stairs and in came Macneillie and
- Ralph with apologies for having kept her so long. Macneillie, who was a
- man with a strong shrinking from any sort of change in his surroundings,
- felt a pang as he reflected that soon there would be no bright-faced
- little housekeeper waiting to welcome him, and making a home out of each
- place they stayed at in their wandering life. He stood warming himself by
- the fire noticing dreamily the mute caress which passed between husband
- and wife, the funny way in which Evereld divided her attention between the
- perfect toasting of a particular slice of bread, and the discussion of the
- way in which Orlando had carried Adam in the forest banquet scene, and
- then her half anxious glance in his direction which seemed to say, “I know
- you are tired and out of spirits but you shall not be bothered with
- questions, you shall be fed.”
- </p>
- <p>
- She made them laugh at supper over Barry Sterne’s travelling companion who
- had been sure that Shakspere was a most immoral writer, but she could see
- that something was troubling Ralph, for instead of being the life of the
- party he was silent and abstracted.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie soon solved the mystery, and turning to her with one of his
- humourous smiles, said, “I am sure you would think to look at him that he
- had dismally failed or had been half slaughtered by the critics. I assure
- you, my dear, it’s nothing of the sort. He has just had the offer of a
- very good London engagement.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “What, from Mr. Sterne?” asked Evereld in amazement.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, they brought out a new piece you know on Easter Monday and it seems
- that Jack Carrington is again going to prove Ralph’s good genius by
- failing altogether to get hold of the part he has to play. The fact is,
- Carrington is excellent as far as he goes, but his range is limited, he
- feels that he will never succeed in this play and Sterne sees it too. They
- are parting quite amicably, and he wants Ralph to take his place.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I can’t leave you, Governor,” said Ralph with a vibration in his voice
- which made the tears start to Evereld’s eyes.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh no,” she said eagerly. “Don’t let us go—why we belong to you
- now.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “My dear child,” said Macneillie, “don’t you go and encourage him in
- refusing an offer which he ought to jump at. We have been arguing the
- matter ever since we parted with Barry Sterne at the station and nothing
- can I get out of Ralph but protests which quite take me back to Mrs.
- Micawber. The fact is you two read Dickens to such an extent that you are
- quite saturated with him. This is an excellent offer and ought to be
- accepted.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “But I never will, no I never will desert Mr. Macneillie!” quoted Evereld
- merrily. “Why are you so anxious to get rid of us? You always pretend that
- you miss us when we are away.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “So I do, my dear, there’s no pretence about it,” said Macneillie, “but
- joking apart, it really would be madness to refuse such a chance as this
- just because we are the best of friends and are very happy together.
- Moreover there are two special reasons why I want you to accept it. The
- first I will tell you now, and the second shall be for Ralph presently. I
- don’t deny that I shall miss you horribly, but I shall be happier in the
- long run to think that you have a home of your own, and I should always
- reproach myself if Ralph neglected a chance which will probably lead on to
- fortune. You and I must consider what is best for his career. If he were
- my own son I should insist on his going, as it is I can only strongly
- advise it.”
- </p>
- <p>
- They talked for some little time over the proposed change, and then
- Evereld went to her room leaving the men to argue the matter out at still
- greater length over their pipes. In her own mind she began to have some
- vague suspicion of the reason why he was so anxious for them to accept the
- offer, and later on Ralph confirmed her in this idea. She was still
- brushing out her sunny brown hair when he came in.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well darling, I believe we shall have to go,” he said. “Hateful as it
- will be to leave Macneillie, it is of course a step upward, and he seems
- really anxious that we should not lose such a chance. Moreover it is not
- alone of us that he is thinking. It is of Miss Greville.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I felt somehow that it was, and yet what difference can it make to her?”
- said Evereld wonderingly. “I admire her more than I can tell you, but of
- what possible use can we be to her?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well it’s hard to say, but she seems to have told Macneillie that she
- had taken a great fancy to you the other day when we met her at the
- Herefords, and then I think he said something about the possibility of
- some opening in London for me, and naturally she would like to help his
- friends. Then too from what he told me she must be awfully lonely, and
- though she tries to lead as retired a life as possible yet difficulties
- are always cropping up.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Where does she live?”.
- </p>
- <p>
- “She has had a flat in Victoria Street, but is leaving, Barry Sterne told
- us. I think he said she had got another flat at Chelsea.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Could we afford to live in such a neighbourhood as Chelsea?”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, I think we might if we can find anything suitable, my salary will be
- better than it is now, and we could furnish by degrees.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, Ralph! what fun!” cried Evereld her eyes lighting up at the prospect
- of furnishing, for she was a true woman.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We would do it very, very economically. We would begin like Traddles and
- Sophy ‘on a Britannia metal footing;’ there would always be the Memorial
- spoons for visitors, you know.”
- </p>
- <p>
- And thus Macneillie’s plot prospered exceedingly, and though the wrench of
- parting was hard, Ralph and Evereld soon settled down very happily in
- their new quarters, a snug little flat at the very top of the same
- building at Chelsea in which Christine Greville occupied the first floor,
- and she could see as much or as little of them as she liked. She liked to
- see a great deal of them as it happened, and Evereld and Dick were always
- ready to come in and companionise Charlie, while Ralph proved himself a
- most trusty knight-errant, and the happiness of the young husband and wife
- cheered Christine as it had cheered Macneillie. Those whose lives have
- been clouded by some grievous trouble are supposed theoretically to hate
- the sight of happiness; but that is merely a popular fallacy. With the
- great majority it is an intense relief to come across happiness, the mere
- sight of it does good, and the happy confer on the sorrowful a real boon
- by their mere existence.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br /><br />
- </p>
- <hr />
- <p>
- <a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> </a>
- </p>
- <div style="height: 4em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
- <h2>
- CHAPTER XLI
- </h2>
- <p class="indent15">
- “As Thou hast found me ready to Thy call,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Which stationed me to watch the outer wall,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And, quitting joys and hopes that once were mine,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- To pace with patient steps this narrow line
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Oh! may it be that, coming soon or late,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Thou still shalt find Thy soldier at the gate,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- Who then may follow Thee till sight needs not to prove,
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- And faith will be dissolved in knowledge of Thy love.”
- </p>
- <p class="indent30">
- G. J. Romanes.
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="pfirst">
- <span class="dropcap" style="font-size: 4.00em">I</span>t was in July,
- while Macneillie was spending his summer holiday at Callander, that his
- mother’s sudden death made him more than ever alone in the world. They had
- passed together a particularly happy fortnight, and though he could see
- that she was gradually getting more infirm she had never known a day’s
- illness, and her loss came as a terrible shock to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- Ralph and Evereld were able to come down to the funeral, for the London
- season was just over and he was glad to have them with him for ten days
- before he started once more on tour. He was thinking of selling the house
- and furniture, but Ralph who knew what pains he had spent in building it,
- and how sad the dispersal of all his old home belongings must be,
- persuaded him to leave things much as they were and content himself with
- letting it as a furnished house for the summer months.
- </p>
- <p>
- For a time the presence of the Denmeads cheered him a good deal. He
- enjoyed hearing every detail of their life in London, and he insisted on
- taking them to the Pass of Leny that he might show Evereld the exact spot
- where he had first come across her husband. Each morning, too, they used
- to tramp up the road leading to the well and Ralph would read aloud from
- “Marius the Epicurean,” while Evereld made a sketch which Macneillie had
- long desired:—the rough moorland road in the foreground leading to
- the crest of the hill; on either side a stretch of purple heather; the
- hint of a valley down below where Callander lay hidden and, in the
- distance, a range of blue Scottish mountains which he said would make him
- breathe “caller” air only to look at.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I shall take it with me wherever I go,” he said. “There is no reason why
- wayfaring men shouldn’t have a few possessions of their own. Besides I
- have foresworn the travelling clock. It is no good to me since you have
- gone, for I can never remember to wind it, so there is one thing less to
- pack.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “It was here in this identical place that you coached me that summer after
- I was ill,” said Ralph. “I connect it with Florizel, and Claudio, and
- Fabian, and with that Scotch play Miss Greville was acting in at
- Edinburgh.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Yes, and taking him altogether he was a very amenable pupil,” said
- Macneillie smiling at Evereld. “I wish I could say as much for his
- successor.”
- </p>
- <p>
- But unfortunately a second Ralph Denmead proved hard to find. And
- Macneillie had a very discouraging time of it all through August and
- September. The weather was unusually hot and even in the watering-places
- that they visited the audiences were seldom good. Then came a spell of
- very wet weather, but the houses were still poor, and it seemed that no
- one cared for Shakspere, that old English Comedy ceased to attract and
- that the restless spirits of modern people required something much more
- highly seasoned.
- </p>
- <p>
- Nourished on skimmed newspaper, hashed review articles, minced magazines
- in the form of summaries, and short stories of dubious morality, was it
- likely that their brains could be in a condition to receive good wholesome
- literary food?
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie had long been aware that a wave of evil tendency was passing
- over literature and the drama, he had struggled on, never allowing it to
- influence his choice of plays, sure that in time the “evil on itself would
- back recoil,” and faithful to his own conviction of what was a manager’s
- duty. But he began now to think that, before the force of this wave of
- uncleanness had spent itself, it would altogether submerge his fortune and
- leave him a ruined man.
- </p>
- <p>
- One of the things that tried him most severely was the timidity of those
- who should have been his best supporters. The clergy with a few noteworthy
- exceptions fulminated against the evil plays but failed to support the
- good. He knew that hundreds of them would troop to Washington’s theatre
- when they went to London, but they were generally conspicuous by their
- absence from the theatres in their own towns where their presence might
- really have done much good. Personally they respected him and spoke of him
- in warm terms, but very few of them at all understood how hard a fight
- this man was making in a time of exceptional difficulty, or how bitter it
- was to him when those, from whom he reasonably expected much, held aloof.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was quite the end of September when the Macneillie Company found
- themselves once more at Liverpool. They were giving the plays they had
- performed at Stratford during the Memorial week, and this made Macneillie
- feel the loss of Ralph more acutely than ever. To turn straight from a
- pupil who had been extraordinarily receptive, always good-humoured, always
- ready to study, and grudging no pains in the effort to please his
- instructor and conquer his own faults, to a man of exactly the opposite
- type, was hard indeed. It was all the more annoying to Macneillie because
- Ralph’s successor had excellent abilities but was cursed with the
- conviction that he already knew everything a little better than the
- Manager; he had moreover been born with one of those touchy and wayward
- natures that are so hard to deal with. He lived in a perpetual state of
- taking offence, and though Macneillie apparently ignored this and went
- quietly on his way, it nevertheless chafed him a good deal.
- </p>
- <p>
- Then, too, all the many vicissitudes of a travelling company—the
- illness of one, the quarrels of another—seemed to worry him more now
- that he was alone and had no one to discuss things with. The very rooms he
- occupied in Seymour Street were full of memories to him; he had stayed
- there more than once with Ralph and Evereld, it had been there that they
- had first come to him after their marriage, and the place looked horribly
- blank without them.
- </p>
- <p>
- By the Thursday morning of their stay he was in the lowest spirits. For
- three nights they had played to wretchedly bad houses owing to counter
- attractions elsewhere; his old trouble of sleeplessness was returning and
- he felt ill and horribly depressed as he walked down through the wet dingy
- streets to the Shakspere Theatre. There was a rehearsal of Romeo and
- Juliet, and the insolent manner and insufferable conceit of the Juvenile
- Lead proved just the last straw. After going through some great agony in
- life, and going through it well and bravely we are sadly apt to break down
- under some quite trifling strain. A petty thing will irritate us absurdly
- in the reaction after great distress, and Macneillie lost his temper now
- and scolded the offending actor right royally. When an habitually quiet,
- self-restrained man does lose his temper he usually does it with great
- thoroughness. Romeo was impressed as he might have been by a sudden
- thunder storm on a winter’s day, but those who really knew the Manager
- were troubled at such an unwonted scene, and Ivy glanced at him with the
- conviction that his health was again breaking down.
- </p>
- <p>
- It was an uncomfortable rehearsal and Macneillie went back to Seymour
- Street doubly depressed. His thoughts turned to that April afternoon at
- Stratford on the river. He had been strong then, but
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- “It is very good for strength
- </p>
- <p class="indent15">
- To know that someone needs you to be strong.”
- </p>
- <p>
- <br />
- </p>
- <p>
- Christine’s presence, though in one sense it had been his most severe
- trial, had been in another an incentive to endure. To-day, in his lonely
- room with food before him which he could not touch, with a brain exhausted
- by want of rest, and harassed by a hundred cares and annoyances, he came
- perilously near to yielding. For that was the worst of it. The struggle
- was not one to be gone through once and for all, it was constantly
- recurring. And always he had the consciousness that Christine’s reverence
- for law was weaker than his own, that she would quickly yield to his
- lightest word. It was moreover so fatally easy to go to her, so hard to be
- loyal to that shamefully unfair law of the land which should be reformed.
- </p>
- <p>
- To check his thoughts he took up one of the London papers. The first thing
- that met his eye was the announcement that Sir Matthew Mactavish had died
- in the distant place of refuge which he had succeeded in gaining. And
- almost immediately afterwards he noticed a paragraph in which was a brief
- account of the marriage of the Honourable Herbert Vane-Ffoulkes to Lady
- Dunlop-Tyars, widow of the late Sir John Dunlop-Tyars, Bart.
- </p>
- <p>
- He smiled a little over the memories evoked by those names, but the dark
- cloud soon stole over him once more.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Villains can die,” he thought to himself, “and empty-headed fools can
- marry, but I must still drag on this death in life!”
- </p>
- <p>
- Then fiends’ voices began to urge him to give up: mocking fiends who
- jeered at his obsolete notions of right and wrong: practical fiends who
- would have had him cease a vain endeavor to keep up an impossible standard
- of morality, and from thenceforth pander to the depraved taste of the
- public; shrewd fiends who argued plausibly enough that his health was
- breaking down and that it was high time to yield.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie with an effort roused himself and for a while baffled them by
- taking a brisk walk; it was cold and wet and dreary but the exercise was a
- relief and by the time he had reached the Seaforth Sands he had regained
- his composure. The struggle was for the time over, but existence looked to
- him as wretched, as cheerless, as that wild desolate country at the
- entrance to the Mersey. The rain too began to come down remorselessly, and
- he made his way to the station of the electric railway and returned by the
- docks to the city. As he was walking along Church Street he chanced to
- come across Ralph’s friend George Mowbray.
- </p>
- <p>
- “I am just going to the Art Gallery,” he observed. “Bicycling is hopeless
- to-day, the tires do nothing but slip.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “I’ll come with you,” said Macneillie, not because he cared in the least
- to see the pictures, but from sheer dread of having spare time on his
- hands.
- </p>
- <p>
- He had never before contrived to see the Walker Art Gallery and as he
- wandered drearily round the place, seeing yet hardly heeding the treasures
- it contains, his attention was at length arrested by Poynter’s well-known
- picture “Faithful unto Death.” He was of course familiar with the story of
- the sentinel of Pompeii whose skeleton was discovered, hundreds of years
- later, standing on guard at his gate. But he never realised till he saw
- that picture how awful must have been the man’s temptation to escape and
- save himself as all the rest were doing. Behind him were only two or three
- flying figures, most of the citizens must already have fled; but before
- him, and drawing very near, was the awful lurid glow which meant certain
- death. The sentinel stood facing it, he was perfectly upright, perfectly
- calm, only in the strong tension of the muscles of the hand one could see
- how instinctively he gripped the sword which could now avail him nothing.
- In his dilated eyes there was no abject terror but a great awe, an
- intensely human look of dread of the swiftly approaching fiery foe. It
- would have been an easy thing to desert his post and disobey orders. Had
- it ever come into his mind as he gazed across the campagna to Vesuvius
- that self preservation was permissible under such circumstances? That a
- soldier need not always obey his captain’s orders? Perhaps it had, but
- nevertheless he had stood firm and had died in what no doubt seemed a
- useless fashion, out of reverence to mere law, never dreaming that his
- example would give courage and strength to millions of people in the ages
- to come.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie turned away thoughtfully, his mind at work on that old, old
- problem of evil and suffering, of the possible gain to others through the
- inexplicable pain of the world.
- </p>
- <p>
- The thought of it haunted him as he wrote business letters in his lonely
- room, as he went about his work that night at the theatre, as he looked
- with a sense of dull disappointment and depression at the rows of empty
- stalls, and reflected how much hard toil and careful preparation had been
- thrown away on an enterprise by which he was daily losing money. Someone
- brought an evening paper into the green room, he glanced hurriedly at an
- account of the new play shortly to be produced by Barry Sterne; he read a
- few lines as to the part Christine was to take, and was pleased by a brief
- allusion to the success Ralph had had in the summer. But as he went back
- to his rooms a weary distaste for his work in the provinces came over him,
- he longed as he had never longed before to be back in London, to be
- working once more with his old comrades.
- </p>
- <p>
- The dismal rain still fell in a drizzle, the flaring lights in the public
- house at the corner of Wild Street were reflected garishly in the wet
- pavement. A little further on as he crossed London Road he came upon a
- small crowd grouped about a tram car, and paused listlessly to see what
- was wrong. The horses were vainly struggling to make good their footing on
- the slippery road; they stumbled and plunged and strained, but the uphill
- way was too much for them, the car slipped back and for a minute the
- passengers seemed in some peril.
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie drew nearer and spoke to the conductor who was at the horses’
- heads doing his utmost to urge them on.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Is the load too heavy for them?” said Macneillie.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Bless you, no sir,” said the man, “they’ve done it scores of times, but
- it’s a strain on ’em when the road’s slippery, and this ’ere roan ’e’es
- afraid of coming down. It’s just panic sir, nothing more, ’e can do it fast
- enough.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Macneillie stroked the neck of the frightened horse, he had a fellow
- feeling for it.
- </p>
- <p>
- “We can’t have the line blocked or the passengers upset,” said the driver,
- with an oath which appeared to refresh him greatly. “Come on mate, he must
- do it. Take the whip and keep alongside of him thrashing him as we go.”
- </p>
- <p>
- At last with much ado the car was in motion once more, and the poor roan,
- kicking and plunging, was dragged and flogged up the hill.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, how could you let them be so cruel, Mr. Macneillie!” said Ivy who, on
- her way back to her rooms with Helen Orme, had witnessed the same scene.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Well my dear, I liked it as little as you did,” said the Manager. “But
- what was to be done? The load was not too great, it was merely that the
- horse was frightened, and there was no persuading it that it would not
- come to grief. Like the rest of us it would insist on thinking of the hill
- in front of it, instead of concentrating its mind on the next step. You
- see while you anathematised the driver I, like the melancholy Jaques, did
- ‘moralize this spectacle.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- They laughed and bade him good night, but Ivy looked rather anxiously
- after him as, having seen them to their door, he recrossed Seymour Street
- to his lodgings a little further up.
- </p>
- <p>
- “Nell,” she said to her companion, “how very ill Mr. Macneillie looks
- to-night. I think he will break down altogether.”
- </p>
- <p>
- “Oh, I hope not,” said Helen Orme. “I think he is only depressed. He has
- lost his mother lately you see, and besides I’m sure there is plenty to
- account for depression with such houses as we have had lately.”
- </p>
- <p>
- Meanwhile Macneillie had reached his desolate rooms. He had been thinking
- of the Stratford performances, of Ralph’s brilliant success, of the
- crowded theatre;—it seemed to him that he ought now to have found a
- sweet-faced little housekeeper sitting by the fire and making toast, that
- there ought to have been a welcoming glance from Evereld’s truthful blue
- eyes. Instead there was an empty room and a fireless grate and a solitary
- meal awaiting him. He sat down and ate dutifully but quite without
- appetite. He forced himself to remember how much better it was that Ralph
- and Evereld should be near Christine; but the more he thought the more
- that horrible craving to be there too assailed him.
- </p>
- <p>
- And presently, for the first time in his life, a feeling of deadly
- faintness came over him; he staggered into his bedroom. The gas was turned
- low, the window which was at the back of the house had been left wide
- open, he breathed more freely and leant for some minutes against the
- shutter, vaguely conscious of the night sky and of the dark outline of the
- neighbouring buildings. In his eyes there was the same look of awe—of
- a great human dread—which makes the eyes of the Pompeian sentinel so
- pathetic. He had endured long and patiently, had thought little of the
- effect on himself, but now the dread of an utter failure of health seized
- him, and he knew that it was no idle fancy but a very real peril which
- must be bravely faced.
- </p>
- <p>
- And yet better, a thousand times better, the wreck of body and mind than
- the failure to be a law-abiding citizen. Better this cruel absence from
- the woman he loved than faithlessness to what he knew to be right.
- </p>
- <p>
- “There is not a pin to choose between me and that tram-car horse!” he
- reflected, pulling down the blind and turning up the gas with a humourous
- smile flickering even then about his pale lips. “The way is slippery and
- there’s a hill to be climbed,—it is collar work, but a step at a
- time may do it safely after all. Anyhow I will put ‘a stiff back to a
- stubborn brae.’”
- </p>
- <p>
- He paused for a minute to look at Evereld’s water colour sketch of the
- moorland road, and to breathe “caller” air as he glanced at the heather
- and at the blue mountains beyond the hidden valley.
- </p>
- <p>
- He would go on patiently as a wayfaring man should do; and perchance in
- time—oh, how he longed and prayed for that time!—the unjust
- law would be reformed, and he and Christine might find rest and a home in
- that hidden valley of the future. In any case no one could rob them of
- their inheritance beyond.
- </p>
- <p>
- Not, however, until he turned the picture over and read the quotation from
- “Marius the Epicurean” which he had written at Callander on the back of
- it, did his usual look of quiet strength return to him.
- </p>
- <p>
- The words were these:—“Must not the whole world around have faded
- away from him altogether, had he been left for one moment really alone in
- it? In his deepest apparent solitude there had been rich entertainment. It
- was as if there were not one only, but two wayfarers, side by side.”
- </p>
- <h3>
- THE END
- </h3>
- <div style="height: 6em;">
- <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />
- </div>
-
-
-
-
-
-
-
-<pre>
-
-
-
-
-
-End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Wayfaring Men, by Edna Lyall
-
-*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WAYFARING MEN ***
-
-***** This file should be named 54100-h.htm or 54100-h.zip *****
-This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
- http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/1/0/54100/
-
-Produced by David Widger from page images generously
-provided by the Internet Archive
-
-
-Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will
-be renamed.
-
-Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
-law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
-so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
-States without permission and without paying copyright
-royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
-of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm
-concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
-and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive
-specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this
-eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook
-for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports,
-performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given
-away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks
-not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the
-trademark license, especially commercial redistribution.
-
-START: FULL LICENSE
-
-THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
-PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
-
-To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
-distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
-(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
-Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
-Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at
-www.gutenberg.org/license.
-
-Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic works
-
-1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
-and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
-(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
-the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
-destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your
-possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
-Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
-by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the
-person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph
-1.E.8.
-
-1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be
-used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
-agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
-things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
-even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
-paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this
-agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.
-
-1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the
-Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
-of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual
-works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
-States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
-United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
-claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
-displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
-all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
-that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting
-free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm
-works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
-Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily
-comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
-same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when
-you share it without charge with others.
-
-1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
-what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
-in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
-check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
-agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
-distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
-other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no
-representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
-country outside the United States.
-
-1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
-
-1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
-immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear
-prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work
-on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the
-phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed,
-performed, viewed, copied or distributed:
-
- This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
- most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the
- United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you
- are located before using this ebook.
-
-1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is
-derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
-contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
-copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
-the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
-redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project
-Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
-either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
-obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm
-trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
-
-1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
-with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
-must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
-additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
-will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works
-posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
-beginning of this work.
-
-1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
-License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
-work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
-
-1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
-electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
-prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
-active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
-Gutenberg-tm License.
-
-1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
-compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
-any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
-to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format
-other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official
-version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site
-(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
-to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
-of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain
-Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the
-full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
-
-1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
-performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
-unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
-
-1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
-access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
-provided that
-
-* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
- the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
- you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
- to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has
- agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
- Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
- within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
- legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
- payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
- Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
- Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
- Literary Archive Foundation."
-
-* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
- you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
- does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
- License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
- copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
- all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm
- works.
-
-* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
- any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
- electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
- receipt of the work.
-
-* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
- distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
-
-1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than
-are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
-from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The
-Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm
-trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
-
-1.F.
-
-1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
-effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
-works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
-Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
-contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
-or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
-intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
-other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
-cannot be read by your equipment.
-
-1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
-of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
-Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
-Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
-Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
-liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
-fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
-LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
-PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
-TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
-LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
-INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
-DAMAGE.
-
-1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
-defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
-receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
-written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
-received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
-with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
-with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
-lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
-or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
-opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
-the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
-without further opportunities to fix the problem.
-
-1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
-in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO
-OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
-LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
-
-1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
-warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
-damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
-violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
-agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
-limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
-unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
-remaining provisions.
-
-1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
-trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
-providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in
-accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
-production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm
-electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
-including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
-the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
-or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or
-additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any
-Defect you cause.
-
-Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
-
-Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
-electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
-computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
-exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
-from people in all walks of life.
-
-Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
-assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
-goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
-remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
-Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
-and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future
-generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
-Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at
-www.gutenberg.org Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg
-Literary Archive Foundation
-
-The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
-501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
-state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
-Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
-number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
-U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
-
-The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the
-mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its
-volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous
-locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt
-Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to
-date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and
-official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact
-
-For additional contact information:
-
- Dr. Gregory B. Newby
- Chief Executive and Director
- gbnewby@pglaf.org
-
-Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
-Literary Archive Foundation
-
-Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
-spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
-increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
-freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
-array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
-($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
-status with the IRS.
-
-The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
-charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
-States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
-considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
-with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
-where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
-DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular
-state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate
-
-While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
-have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
-against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
-approach us with offers to donate.
-
-International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
-any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
-outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
-
-Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
-methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
-ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
-donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate
-
-Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works.
-
-Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
-Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be
-freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
-distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of
-volunteer support.
-
-Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
-editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
-the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
-necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
-edition.
-
-Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search
-facility: www.gutenberg.org
-
-This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
-including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
-Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
-subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
-
-
-
-</pre>
-
- </body>
-</html>
|
